When Housman wrote to Robert Bridges on 28 December 1928, the feast of the Holy Innocents as he called it, he informed him ‘I am myself engaged on one of my serious works, the fifth and last volume of Manilius. It ought to be out in a year's time, and then I shall have done what I came on earth to do, and can devote the rest of my days to religious meditation.’ Some chance, you might say.

On the same day, he had rapidly to come down to earth to deal with Percy Withers who, judging from Housman's reply, was feeling left out. Housman deftly turned the tables on him: ‘Christmas generally brings me a certain amount of abuse for being a bad letter writer, but nobody else makes such a moan as you do; so I suppose your feelings towards me are especially tender.’ Having smoothed ruffled feathers, Housman told him about his stay at the ‘luxurious Pavillon Henri Quatre’, his motor tours around Paris, his summer stays in south-west England, the many fine abbeys and churches he saw there, and their architectural detail.

A couple of days later he exhibited the caring side of his character. A.C Pearson was about to retire as Regius Professor of Greek. Housman, an elector for his replacement, was thinking about Pearson's feelings and wanted to help smooth his transition into retirement:

The Richards Press had been trying to lure him into limited editions of his poetry with a promise of financial gain. Housman reacted with a deep visceral rejection of money grubbing: ‘I have a dislike to limited editions. I know there is money in them, but I cannot stoop.’ Possibilities for limited editions were being offered from other directions; he refused to be a party to an edition of signed copies proposed by the Windsor Press of San Francisco.