In January 1865, four months before the EIrenicon was published, Pusey had written to Newman to ask him:

supposing the Church of England to be willing to accept the Council of Trent provided the acceptance of it involved no more than its words go to, how would she escape accepting all the rest, against which the chief objections lie?

Newman's fear at the time, that Pusey was engaged on a vast, and ultimately futile task of defining the essential characteristics of both the Church of England and of Rome, was ultimately proven correct by the Eirenicon. He wrote to Pusey on 31 October 1865:

It is true, too true, that your book disappointed  me. It does seem to me that "Eirenicon" is a misnomer; and that it is calculated to make most Catholics very angry. And that because they will consider it rhetorical and unfair.

A few days earlier he had made plainer his feelings. Writing to Keble on 8 October, he marvelled that Pusey had called it an Eirenicon:

if Pusey is writing to hinder his own people from joining us, well and good, he has the right to write as he has done - but how can he fancy that to exaggerate, instead of smoothing contrarities, is the way to make us listen to him?

It was, Newman thought, 'the first duty of charity to try to enter into the mind and feelings of others'. This was what he had come to 'love so much' in Keble, and he deplored its absence in Pusey's book.

One of the things which irritated Newman was the way in which Pusey, whom he thought should have known better, used the somewhat fanciful terms in which the likes of Fr Faber and others wrote about Our Lady (and other matters) as though they were the authentic voice of the Magisterium.

All pious devotions have their extremists, who, carried away, perhaps, by the intensity of their devotion, use language which offends the ears of those not attuned to their pitch. 

'Many persons,' he wrote to Hope-Scott, 'wish me to write on the subject of Pusey's book, and it has struck me that it will be the most inoffensive way of alluding to Faber and Ward, if I can write without hurting Pusey.'

As with Newman's Apologia, and later, with his reply to Gladstone's comments on the 'Vatican Decrees', Newman kept his own view of the 'via media' in sight. It consisted not of the hope that the Roman Church would water down its dogma and doctrines to accommodate the Anglicans, but that the Anglicans, if they could but properly understand Roman Catholicism, would come to embrace it, as he had.

In many ways, as William Ward pointed out, there:

still remained writers of the old Catholic school in England who had ever been averse to extremes both in devotion and in theology. This gave him strong support, and was a fact which ought to be brought home to Pusey.

It was not, he told Pusey on 31 October 1865:

fair to throw together Suarez, St. Bernardine, Eadmer, and Faber? As to Faber, I never read his books. I never heard of the names of de Montfort and Oswald. Thus a person like myself may be in authority and place, and know nothing at all of such extravagances as these writers put out. I venture to say the majority of Catholics in England know nothing of them. They do not colour our body. They are the opinions of a set of people, and not of even them permanently. A young man or woman takes them up, and abandons them in a few years. The single question is, how far ought they to be censured. Such extravagances are often censured by authority. I recollect hearing, more than twenty years ago, instances of books about the B.V.M. which Pope Gregory XVI. had censured. I think I am right in saying that every superstition about Our Lady's presence in the Holy Eucharist has been censured,—I think Rogers told me this in 1841, writing from Rome 

This, as we shall see, remained at the heart of Newman's view of the relationship between his old and his new Church; if men could just be brought to see the Church as he saw it, they, like him, would join it. In his own way, Newman remained a Romantic.