CHAPTER I.

Life of

Father Ignatius of St. Paul,

Passionist.

{i}

{ii}

[Picture and autograph of Fr. Ignatius]

{iii}

LIFE OF

_Father Ignatius of St. Paul,_

PASSIONIST

(The Hon. & Rev. George Spencer).

_Compiled chiefly from his_

Autobiography, Journal, & Letters.

BY

The Rev. Father Pius A Sp. Sancto,

Passionist.

DUBLIN:

James Duffy, 15, Wellington Quay;

And 22, Paternoster Row, London.

1866.

[The right of translation is reserved.]

{iv}

Cox And Wyman,

Classical and General Printers,

Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, W.C.

{v}

_To the Very Reverend_

Father Ignatius Of The Infant Jesus,

Passionist,

Long The Director Of Father Ignatius Of St. Paul,

For Nine Years The Faithful Steward Of The Anglo-Hibernian

Province, Which He Found A Handful And Made A Host,

This Volume,

Written By His Order And Published With His Blessing,

Is Dedicated,

To Testify The Gratitude All His Subjects Feel, And The Most

Unworthy Of Them Tries To Express,

By His Paternity's

Devoted And Affectionate Child,

The Author.

{vi}

{vii}

Preface.

Great servants of God have seldom been understood in their lifetime.

Persecution has assailed them often, from quarters where help would be

expected in their defence. Even holy souls are sometimes mistaken

about the particular line of virtue which distinguishes their

contemporaries from themselves. St. John of the Cross, St. Joseph

Calasanctius, and St. Alphonsus Liguori, have had the close of their

lives embittered, as we might call it, by domestic persecution; and it

was some time before their splendour, as they vanished from the

horizon of life, rose again to its zenith, and outshone its former

glory. If the impartial eye, with which we read their actions, fails

to find a plea for the manner they have been dealt with, let us

remember that we have no interests at stake--no false colouring of

passion to blind us. Death, indeed, does not always mow down mistaken

notions with the life of him about whom they are taken up. We must,

however, be thankful that it slays so many {viii} wrong impressions,

and attribute the residue to other causes.

Justice to the dead is an impulse of nature; and those who would

qualify praise of the living by the mention of unworthy actions or

inferior motives, will qualify blame of the dead by a contrary

proceeding. This instinct has its golden mean as well as every other.

If an ancient Greek ostracised a man because he was praised by every

one, many moderns will defend a man because he is similarly blamed.

Whenever there exists a difference of opinion about a man during life,

it requires some length of time after he has departed, for prejudice

to settle to the bottom, and allow his genuine character to be seen

through clearly.

These facts, and the experience of history, lead us to conclude that a

man's life cannot be impartially written when his memory is yet fresh

in people's minds. Thousands have had opportunities of judging, and

bring their impressions to compare them with the page that records the

actions from which they were taken; and if they be different from the

idea the biographer intends to convey, it is not probable that, in

every case, their possessors will be content to lay them aside. It is

supposed, moreover, that a biographer owes a kind of vassalage to his

subject--that he is obliged to defend him through thick and {ix }

thin--in good and evil report. He is obliged, according to

traditionary, though arbitrary laws, to suppress whatever will not

tell in his favour, to put the very best face upon what he is

compelled to relate, and to make the most of excellencies. His

opinion, therefore, must be received with caution, for it is his duty

to be partial, in the most odious sense of that word, and it would be

a capital sin to deviate from this long-established rule.

These difficulties do not beset the life that is here presented to the

public. Father Ignatius had his alternations of praise and blame

during life; but those who thought least of him were forced to admit

his great sanctity. If this latter quality be conceded, apology has no

room. An admitted saint does not require to be defended; for the

_aureola_ of his own brow will shed the light through which his

actions are to be viewed. We see, therefore, no wrong impressions that

require to be removed--no calumnies that have to be cleared

away--nothing, in fact, to be done, except to give a faithful history

of his life. For this reason, we venture to publish this work before

the second anniversary of his death; and it would have been published

sooner, if the materials from which it is composed could have been

arranged and digested.

Again, he was heedless of the praise or blame of {x} men himself, and

it would be an injustice to his memory to wait for a favourable moment

for giving his thoughts publicity.

Those who expect to find nothing in the lives of holy people but

goodness and traits of high spirituality, will be disappointed when

they read this. Those who are accustomed to read that some saints

indeed have lived rather irregularly in their youth, but find

themselves left in blessed ignorance of what those irregularities

were, will also be disappointed. They shall find here recorded that

young Spencer was not a saint, and they shall be given data whereon to

form their own opinion too. They shall see him pass through various

phases of religious views, and shall find themselves left to draw

their own conclusions about his conduct throughout.

And now, perhaps, it is better to give some reasons why this course

was adopted in writing his life, rather than the usual one. Besides

that already given, there are two others.

In the first place, ordinary, well-meaning Christians feel

disheartened when they find saints ready to be canonized from their

infancy, and cannot think of the Magdalenes when they find the

calendar full of Marys, and Agneses, and Teresas. Neither will they

reflect much on an Augustin, when the majority are Sebastians and

Aloysiuses. Here is an example to help these people on; and they are

the greater number. {xi} We have therefore shown Father Ignatius's

weak points as well as his strong ones; we have brought him out in his

written life precisely as he was in reality.

He comes before us with a mind full of worldly notions, he traces his

own steps away from rectitude, he makes his confession to the whole

world. How many will see in the youth he passed, far away from God and

grazing the edge of the bottomless precipice, a perfect illustration

of their own youth. Let them then follow him through life. They shall

find him a prey to the worst passions, anger, pride, and their kindred

tendencies. They shall see him put his hand to the plough, and,

according to the measure of his grace and light, subduing first one,

and then another of his inclinations. They can trace his passage

through life, and see that he has so far overcome his passions that an

equivocal warmth of temper is a thing to be wondered at in him. There

is a servant of God that gives us courage, we need not despond when he

leads the way for us. Occasional imperfections are mentioned towards

the latter part of his life. These only show that he was a man and not

an angel, and that a defect now and again is not at all incompatible

with great holiness.

There was a reality about the man that can never leave the minds of

those who knew him. He hated shams. He would have the brightest

consequences of {xii} faith realized. He would not have the Gospel

laws be mere matter of sentimental platitudes, but great realities

pervading life and producing their legitimate effects. He went into

them, heart and soul; and the few points in which he seemed to go this

side or that of the mean of virtue in their observance, we have

recorded, that others may see how he observed them. Exceptions show

the beauty of a rule; and this is the second reason why we have

written as a historian and not as a panegyrist.

And now for an account of the materials from which the memoir has been

compiled. He wrote an account of his life about the year 1836. He was

then on a bed of sickness from which he scarcely expected to rise; but

we shall give his own reasons for writing what he has written. The

autobiography begins thus:--

"When a man comes before the world as an author, there is much

danger of his being actuated by motives of which he does not like to

acknowledge the influence, and people are so naturally disposed to

suspect the motive to be something different from that which ought

to be the leading one of all our important actions, and especially

of those which are possessed by our religious actions; namely, the

honour of God, and our own neighbour's good; that the common preface

to such works is, to guard the author against the imputation of

vanity or of self-love, in some one {xiii } or other of the

contemptible forms in which it rules so widely in this poor world of

ours. Such introductory apologies, on the part of an author, will not,

I believe, meet with full credit with those who know the world.

Those who are most obviously the slaves of self-will, will,

generally, be loudest in their protestations of the purity and

excellence of their motives; so that my advice to those who wish to

establish in the minds of others a good opinion of their sincerity,

would generally be, to say nothing about it, and let their conduct

speak for itself. Yet this is not what I intend to do in the

commencement of my present work. What I have undertaken is, _to give

to the public_ a history of my own mind. I shall make it my study to

recollect with accuracy and to state with truth the motives, the

impressions, and the feelings by which I have been guided in the

important passages of my past life; and therefore there seems to be

some peculiar reason, from the nature of the work itself, why I

should commence by stating why I have undertaken it. Yet I will not

venture to say positively what are my motives. I rather shall state,

in the sight of God and of my brethren, what are the motives which I

allow myself to entertain in deliberately presenting a history of my

thoughts _to the public_. My readers are at liberty to judge me in

their own way, and suppose that I deceive myself in the view I take

of my own intentions as much or as little as to them shall seem

probable. Of this {xvi} which, have obliged me to leave my flock to

the care of others, while my proper business is to be, for a time,

to recover my health by rest and relaxation. Here then is an

opportunity for undertaking something in the way of writing; and I

am about to make what I conceive is the most valuable contribution

in my power to the works already existing for the defence of our

Holy Faith.

"I have not the knowledge requisite for producing a learned work,

nor am I ever likely to acquire it. A work of fancy or invention is,

perhaps, yet further out of my line. I never had any talent for

compositions in which imagination is required. I hardly ever wrote a

line of poetry except when obliged to it at school or college. But

it requires neither learning nor imagination to give a simple

statement of facts, and there is a charm in truth which will give to

a composition, which bears its stamp, an interest more lively,

perhaps, than what the beauties of poetry and fiction are employed

to adorn.

"I believe the history of the human mind must always be interesting.

If the most insignificant of men could but be taught to write a

correct account of what has passed within his soul, in any period of

his existence, the history would be full of wonders and instruction;

and if, with God's help, I am able to fulfil my present undertaking,

and to give a picture of my own mind and heart, and recount, with

truth and {xvii} perspicuity, the revolutions which have taken place

within me, I have no doubt the narrative will be interesting. The

minds and hearts of men are wonderfully alike one to another. They

are also wonderfully various. Read the history of my mind and you

will find it interesting, as you know a book of travels is, through

countries which you have visited. You will see your own heart

represented to you, and be, perhaps, pleasingly reminded of the

feelings, the projects, the disappointments, the weaknesses of days

gone by. But I have a greater object before me than your amusement.

I desire your instruction. I may, perchance, throw on some passage

of your history, on some points of the great picture which a

retrospect of your past life presents to you, a more correct light.

I may show you where your views of things might have often been more

true than they were at the time, when your steps might have been

more prudently, more happily taken, and by the consideration of

mistakes and errors which I have afterwards acknowledged, though

once blind to them, and from which I have recovered through the

goodness of God, you may be assisted to take some steps forwards in

the path of truth and happiness.

"I do not, however, propose to myself the benefit of others only in

this composition. The noblest and the most useful study of mankind

is man; but, certainly, this study is in no way so important as when

it {xviii} is in the contemplation of ourselves that we follow it

up. It is a high point of wisdom to know and understand other men;

but we know nothing that will indeed avail us if we know not

ourselves. Hence, while I am undertaking a history of myself for the

instruction of others, I purpose, at the same time, and in the first

place, to gain from my researches instruction for myself. In now

recollecting and declaring the doings of God towards me, and my

doings towards Him, I most earnestly desire an advancement in myself

of love and humility; would that it might be an advancement in

perfection! I began this work with fervent prayer that I may be

preserved from the snares with which it may be accompanied; above

all, that I may not make it an occasion of vain-glory, and so turn

what ought to be done for God's service and for others' good into an

offence of God and my own exceeding loss; but that, being delivered

from the danger, I may find it the occasion of exceeding spiritual

benefit to myself, if it be not to any others."

The reader must take what Father Ignatius writes of himself with some

qualifications. He seems to have had an invincible propensity to put

his worst side out in whatever he wrote about himself. He did not see

his own perfections, he underrated his knowledge, his mind, his

virtues. He saw good in every one except himself. But it is needless

to speak much on {xix} this point, as his candour and simplicity are

sure to make every reader favourable.

It is to be regretted that the autobiography does not reach farther

into his life than his ordination as a minister. How gratifying it

would have been if we could read his interior conflicts, his exterior

difficulties, his alternations of joy and sadness, in the sweet,

affectionate style which tells us his early life. But the reason must

have been:--He had little to charge himself with; he had no faults

serious enough to lower him in the esteem of men from that time

forward, and therefore he did not write.

The next source of information is his journal. He began to keep a

journal in 1818, when he first went to Cambridge, and continued it

uninterruptedly down to 1829, a short time before his conversion. We

have found nothing in the shape of a diary among his papers, from that

time until the year 1846, a few months before he became a Passionist,

except a journal of a tour he made on the Continent in 1844, and that

is given entire in the third book. The journal from 1846, until a few

days before his death, is a mere record of dates and places in which

he has been and persons he spoke to. It is so closely written that it

is scarcely readable by the naked eye, and he gives in one page the

incidents of six months. This journal was of great use to him. It

helped his memory and prevented his making mistakes in the multitude

of scenes through {xx} which, he passed. It is also a valuable

contribution to the annals of our Order.

Besides these two sources of information regarding his life, we have

had access to a multitude of letters, running over the space of

upwards of forty years. He preserved a great many of the important

letters he received; and several of his friends, who preserved letters

received from him as treasures, kindly lent us their stock for the

preparation of this volume. His Eminence the late Cardinal Wiseman

gave us what letters he possessed, and promised to contribute some

recollections of his friend, but was prevented by death from

fulfilling his promise. Our thanks are due to their Lordships, the

Right Rev. Dr. Ullathorne, the Right Rev. Dr. Wareing, the Right Rev.

Dr. Turner, the Right Rev. Dr. Grant, the Right Rev. Dr. Amherst, and

to several clergymen and lay persons, for their kindness in sending us

letters and furnishing us with anecdotes and pleasing recollections of

Father Ignatius. Among the latter we are under special obligations to

Mr. De Lisle and Mr. Monteith. In truth we have found all the friends

of Father Ignatius most willing to assist us in our undertaking. Nor

must we forget several religious who have helped us in every possible

way. The information gathered from the correspondence has been the

most valuable. His letters were written to dear friends to whom he

laid the very inmost of his soul open,--fervent souls, who sympathized

{xxi} with his zealous exertions and profited by his advice in

advancing themselves and others in the way of virtue.

The Dowager Lady Lyttelton has kindly furnished us with dates and

accurate information about the members of the Spencer family, and as

she is the only survivor of the children of John George, Earl Spencer,

we hope the memory of her dear brother will serve to alleviate the

weight of her advancing years, and prolong them considerably to her

children and grandchildren. We beg to express our sincere thanks for

her ladyship's kindness.

A fourth and not a less interesting source of information has been our

own memory. Father Ignatius was most communicative to his brethren;

indeed he might be said to be transparent. We all knew him so well. He

related the anecdotes that are given in his memoir to us all; and when

each Father and Brother gave in his contribution, the quantity

furnished would have made a very entertaining life of itself. Their

thanks must be the consciousness of having helped to keep him yet

amongst us as far as was possible.

These, then, are the sources from which the following pages have been

compiled. The facts related may therefore be relied upon as perfectly

authentic. We possess the originals of the matter quoted--vouchers for

every opinion advanced, and the anecdotes can be corroborated by half

a dozen of witnesses.

{xxii}

Seeing that his life had been so diverse, and that the changes of

thought which influenced the early portion of it were so various, it

was thought best to divide it into four distinct books. The first book

takes him to the threshold of the Anglican ministry; the second into

the fold of the Church; the third into the Passionist novitiate; and

the fourth follows him to the grave.

We shall let the details speak for themselves, and only remark that

there is an identity in the character as well as in the countenance of

a man which underlies all the phases of opinion through which he may

have passed. It will be seen that, from childhood to old age, Father

Ignatius was remarkable for earnestness and reverence. Whatever he

thought to be his duty he pursued with indomitable perseverance. He

was not one to cloak over a weak point, or soothe a doubt with a

trumped-up answer. He candidly admitted every difficulty, and went

with unflagging zeal into clearing it up. This was the key to his

conversion. He had, besides, even in his greatest vagaries, a

reverential spirit with regard to his Creator, which formed an

atmosphere of duty around him, outside which he could not step without

being stung by conscience. A sting he never deadened. These were the

centripetal and centrifugal forces that kept his life balanced on an

axis that remained steady in the centre during his every evolution.

{xxiii}

We have endeavoured to be faithful to his memory. We have tried, as

far as we could, to let himself tell his life; we have only arranged

the materials and supplied the cement that would keep them together.

Whether the work has suffered in our hands or not is immaterial to us.

We have tried to do our best, and no one can do more. If any

expressions have escaped us that may appear offensive, we are ready to

make the most ample apology, but not at the sacrifice of a particle of

truth. If, through ignorance or inadvertence, errors have been

committed, we hold ourselves ready to retract them; and retract,

beforehand, anything that may, in the slightest degree, be injurious,

not to say contrary, to Catholic doctrine, and submit ourselves

unreservedly in this point to the judgment of ecclesiastical

authority.

_St. Joseph's Retreat, Highgate, London, N.,

Feast of the Epiphany, 1866._

{xxiv}

{xxv}

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

_Father Ignatius, a Young Noble._

CHAPTER I.

His Childhood--Page 1

CHAPTER II.

Four First Years At Eton--6

CHAPTER III.

His Two Last Years At Eton--12

CHAPTER IV.

Private Tuition Under Mr. Blomfield--18

CHAPTER V.

He Goes To Cambridge--22

CHAPTER VI.

His First Year In Cambridge--28

CHAPTER VII.

Conclusion Of His First Year In Cambridge--42

CHAPTER VIII.

Second Year In Cambridge Takes His Degree--48

{xxvi}

CHAPTER IX.

Travels On The Continent--57

CHAPTER X.

English Life In Naples--65

CHAPTER XI.

Continuation Of His Travels--74

CHAPTER XII.

An Interval Of Rest And Preparation For Orders--91

BOOK II.

_Father Ignatius, an Anglican Minister._

CHAPTER I.

He Is Ordained, And Enters On His Clerical Duties--103

CHAPTER II.

He Mends Some Of His Ways--110

CHAPTER III.

He Receives Further Orders--117

CHAPTER IV.

Mr. Spencer Becomes Rector Of Brington--122

CHAPTER V.

Changes In His Religious Opinions--127

CHAPTER VI.

Opposition To His Religious Views--134

{xxvii}

CHAPTER VII.

Progress Of His Religious Views--142

CHAPTER VIII.

Some Of The Practical Effects Of His Views--148

CHAPTER IX.

Scruples About The Athanasian Creed--155

CHAPTER X.

Incidents And State Of Mind In 1827-28--166

CHAPTER XI.

The Maid Of Lille--174

CHAPTER XII.

Ambrose Lisle Phillipps--186

BOOK III.

_Father Ignatius, a Secular Priest._

CHAPTER I.

His First Days In The Church--199

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Spencer In The English College, Rome--206

CHAPTER III.

Father Spencer Is Ordained Priest--212

CHAPTER IV.

Father Spencer Begins His Missionary Life--220

{xxviii}

CHAPTER V.

Prospects Of Widening His Sphere Of Action--226

CHAPTER VI.

Newspaper Discussions, Etc.--232

CHAPTER VII.

Private Life And Crosses Of Father Spencer--240

CHAPTER VIII.

Association Of Prayers For The Conversion Of England--248

CHAPTER IX.

His Last Days In West Bromwich--258

CHAPTER X.

Father Spencer Comes To Oscott--264

CHAPTER XI.

Some Of His Doings In Oscott College--270

CHAPTER XII.

Some Events Of Interest--275

CHAPTER XIII.

His Tour On The Continent In 1844--280

CHAPTER XIV.

Close Of His Career In Oscott;

And His Religious Vocation--343

{xxix }

BOOK IV.

_Father Ignatius, a Passionist_

CHAPTER I.

The Noviciate--351

CHAPTER II.

His First Year As A Passionist--361

CHAPTER III.

A Peculiar Mission--368

CHAPTER IV.

Death Of Father Dominic--374

CHAPTER V.

Spirit Of Father Ignatius At This Time--380

CHAPTER VI.

His Dealings With Protestants And Prayers For Union--387

CHAPTER VII.

Father Ignatius In 1850--393

CHAPTER VIII.

A New Form Of "The Crusade"--400

CHAPTER IX.

Visit To Rome And "The Association Of Prayers"--413

CHAPTER X.

A Tour In Germany--428

{xxx}

CHAPTER XI.

Father Ignatius Returns To England--436

CHAPTER XII.

A Little Of His Home And Foreign Work--443

CHAPTER XIII.

Sanctification Of Ireland--449

CHAPTER XIV.

Another Tour On The Continent--453

CHAPTER XV.

Father Ignatius In 1857--458

CHAPTER XVI.

His "Little Missions"--464

CHAPTER XVII.

Father Ignatius At Home--469

CHAPTER XVIII.

A Few Events--477

CHAPTER XIX.

Trials And Crosses--483

CHAPTER XX.

Foreshadowings And Death--495

CHAPTER XXI.

The Obsequies Of Father Ignatius--504

{xxxi}

BOOK I.

_F. Ignatius, a Young Noble._

{xxxii}

{1}

[Image of Cross]

I X P

LIFE OF FATHER IGNATIUS

OF ST. PAUL, PASSIONIST.

BOOK I.

_F. Ignatius, a Young Noble._

CHAPTER I.

His Childhood.

Saint Paul gives the general history of childhood in one sentence:

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I

thought as a child." The thoughts and ways of children are wonderfully

similar; the mind is not sufficiently developed to give direction to

character, and the peculiar incidents that are sometimes recorded to

prove "the child the father of the man," seem more the result of

chance than deliberation. With all this, we like to bask our memory in

those sunny days: we love to look at our cradles, at where we made and

spoiled our little castles, and we recall the smallest incidents to

mind, as if to try and fancy we could be children again. This natural

sentiment makes us anxious to know all about the infancy and childhood

of those whose life has an interest for us; {2} although knowing that

there can be nothing very strange about it; and even, if there be,

that it cannot have much weight in moulding the character of our hero,

and less still in influencing our own. The childhood of Father

Ignatius forms an exception to this. It is wonderful; it shaped his

character for a great part of his life. Its history is written by

himself, and it is instructive to all who have charge of children.

Before quoting from his own autobiography, it may be well to say

something about his family; more, because it is customary to do so on

occasions like the present, than to give information about what is

already well known.

His father was George John, Earl Spencer, K.G., &c., &c. He was

connected by ties of consanguinity and affinity with the Earl of

Sunderland and the renowned Duke of Marlborough; was successively

member of Parliament, one of the Lords of the Treasury, and succeeded

Lord Chatham as First Lord of the Admiralty on the 20th of December,

1794. This office he retained until 1800, and, during his

administration, the naval history of England shone with the victories

of St. Vincent, Camperdown, and the Nile. Perhaps his term of office

was more glorious to himself from the moderation and justice with

which he quelled the mutiny at the Nore, than from the fact of his

having published the victories that gave such glory to his country. He

married, in 1781, Lavinia, the daughter of Sir Charles Bingham,

afterwards Earl of Lucan. Five sons and three daughters were the issue

of this marriage. Two of them died in infancy. The oldest, John

Charles, Lord Althorp, succeeded his father in 1834, and died

childless in 1845; the second, Sarah, is the present Dowager Lady

Lyttelton; the fifth, Robert Cavendish, died unmarried in 1830; the

sixth, Georgiana, was married to Lord George Quin, son to the Marquis

of Headfort, and died in 1823; the seventh, Frederick, father of the

present earl, succeeded his eldest brother in 1845. The youngest, the

Honourable George Spencer, is the subject of the present biography.

He was born on the 21st of December, 1799, at the Admiralty in London,

and baptized according to the rite of {3} the Church of England, by

the Rev. Charles Norris, prebendary of Canterbury. Whether he was

taken to Althorp, the family seat in Northamptonshire, to be nursed,

before his father retired from office in 1800, we have no means of

knowing; but, certain it is, that it was there he spent his childhood

until he went to Eton in 1808. We will let himself give us the history

of his mind during this portion of his existence: the history of his

body is that of a nobleman's child, tended in all things as became his

station:--

"My recollections of the five or six first years of my life are very

vague,--more so by far than in the case of other persons; and

whether I had any notions of religion before my six-year-old

birthday, I cannot tell. But it was on that day, if I am not

mistaken, that I was taken aside, as for a serious conversation, by

my sister's governess, who was a Swiss lady, under whose care I

passed the years between leaving the nursery and being sent to

school, and instructed by her, for the first time, concerning the

existence of God and some other great truths of religion. It seems

strange now that I should have lived so long without acquiring any

ideas on the subject: my memory may deceive me, but I have a most

clear recollection of the very room at Althorp where I sat with her

while she declared to me, as a new piece of instruction, for which

till then I had not been judged old enough, that there was an

Almighty Being, dwelling in heaven, who had created me and all

things, and whom I was bound to fear. Till then, I believe, I had

not the least apprehension of the existence of anything beyond the

sensible world around me. This declaration, made to me as it was

with tender seriousness, was, I believe, accompanied with gracious

expressions, which have never been, in all my errors and wanderings,

obliterated. To what but the grace of God can I ascribe it, that I

firmly believed from the first moment this truth, of which I was not

capable of understanding a proof, and that I never since have

entertained a doubt of it, nor been led, like so many more, to

universal scepticism; that my faith in the truth of God should have

been preserved while for so long a time I lived, as I afterwards

did, wholly without its influence?

{4}

"I continued, with my brother Frederick, who was twenty months older

than myself, under the instruction of this same governess, till we

went to Eton School. I do not remember the least difficulty in

receiving as true whatever I was taught of religion at that time. It

never occurred to me to think that objections might be made to it,

though I knew that different religious persuasions existed. I

remember being told by our governess, and being pleased in the idea,

that the Church of England was peculiarly excellent; but I remember

no distinct feelings of opposition or aversion to the Catholic

religion. Of serious impressions I was at that time, I believe, very

susceptible; but they must have been most transient. I remember,

more than once, distinctly saying my prayers with fervour; though,

generally, I suppose, I paid but little attention to them. I was

sometimes impressed with great fear of the Day of Judgment, as I

remember once in particular, at hearing a French sermon read about

it; and, perhaps, I did not knowingly offend God, but I could not be

said to love God, nor heartily to embrace religion, if, as I

suppose, my ordinary feeling must have corresponded with what I

remember well crossing my mind when I was about seven years

old,--great regret at reflecting on the sin of Adam; by which I

understood that I could not expect to live for ever on the earth.

Whatever I thought desirable in the world,--abundance of money, high

titles, amusements of all sorts, fine dress, and the like,--as soon

and as far as I understood anything about them, I loved and longed

for; nor do I see how it could have been otherwise, as the holy,

severe maxims of the Gospel truth on these matters were not

impressed upon me. Why is it that the truth on these things is so

constantly withheld from children; and, instead of being taught by

constant, repeated, unremitting lessons that the world and all that

it has is worth nothing; that, if they gain all, but lose their

souls, they gain nothing; if they lose all and gain their souls,

they gain all? Why is it that they are to be encouraged to do right

by promises of pleasure, deterred from evil by worldly fear, and so

trained up, as it seems, to put a false value on all things? How {5}

easily, as it now appears to me, might my affections in those days

have been weaned from the world, and made to value God alone? But

let me not complain, but bless God for the care,--the very unusual

care, I believe,--which was taken of me, by which I remained, I may

say, ignorant of what evil was at an age when many, I fear, become

proficients. This blessing, however, of being wonderfully preserved

from the knowledge, and consequently from the practice, of vice, was

more remarkably manifested in the four years of my life succeeding

those of which I have been now writing."

The instilling into young minds religious motives for their actions

was a frequent topic of conversation with Father Ignatius in his

after-life. He was once speaking with some of our young religious on

this subject in general; one of them remarked how easy it was to act

upon holy motives practically, and instanced his own childhood, when

the thought that God would love or hate him kept him straight in his

actions: this was the simple and perpetually repeated lesson of his

mother, which he afterwards forgot, but which finally stopped him in a

career of ambition, and made him a religious. The old man's eye

glistened as he heard this, and he sighed deeply. He then observed

that it confirmed his opinion, that parents ought to instruct their

own children, and never commit them to the mercies of a public school

until they were perfectly grounded in the practice of virtue and

piety. The next chapter will show why he thought thus.

{6}

CHAPTER II.

Four First Years At Eton.

"The 18th of May, 1808, was the important day when first I left my

father's house. With a noble equipage, my father and mother took my

brother Frederick and me to the house of the Rev. Richard Godley,

whom they had chosen to be our private tutor at Eton. He lived, with

his family, at a place called the Wharf, about half a mile from the

college buildings, which we had to go to for school and chapel

across the playing-fields. Oh! how interesting are my recollections

whilst I recall the joys and sorrows of Eton days; but I must not

expatiate on them, as my own feelings would lead me to do with

pleasure. What I have to do now is to record how the circumstances

in which I was then placed have contributed to influence my

religions principles, and formed some links in the chain of events

by which I have arrived at my present state, so different from all

that might then have been anticipated. Mr. Godley I consider to have

been, what I believe my parents likewise regarded him, a strictly

conscientious and deeply religious man; and I must always account it

one of the greatest blessings for which, under God, I am indebted to

their wisdom and affection, that I was placed in such hands at so

critical a time. I do not intend, in all points, to declare my

approbation of the system which he pursued with us: but how can I be

too grateful for having been under the strict vigilance of one who

did, I am convinced, reckon the preservation of my innocence, and

the salvation of my soul, his chief concern with me? I remained with

Mr. Godley till the Midsummer holidays of 1812. My brother left Eton

and went to sea in the year 1811.

{7}

"Those who know what our public schools are, will reckon it, I

believe, almost incredible that I should be four years at Eton, and

remain, as I did, still almost ignorant of what the language of

wickedness meant. Mr. Godley's yoke I certainly thought at the time

to be a heavy one. Several times each day we were obliged to go

across the playing-fields to school, to chapel, or to absence (which

was the term by which Etonians will yet understand the calling over

the names of the boys at certain times); so that during the daytime,

when in health, we could never be more than three hours together

without appearing with the boys of the school. Mr. Godley, however,

was inexorable in his rule that we should invariably come home

immediately after each of these occasions: by this we were kept from

much intercourse with other boys. Most grievous then appeared my

unhappy lot, in the summer months especially, when we had to pass

through the playing-fields, crowded with cricketers, to whom a lower

boy, to fag for them and stop their balls, was sure to be an

important prize, whose wrath we incurred if we dared despise their

call, and run on our way; whilst, if we were but a few minutes late,

the yet more terrible sight awaited us of Mr. Godley's angry

countenance. We had not exemption from one of these musters, as most

boys had who lived at a distance from the school, yet none of them

were bound like us to a speedy return home. It seemed like an

Egyptian bondage, from which there was no escape; and doubtless the

effect was not altogether good upon my character. As might be

expected, the more we were required to observe rules and customs

different from others, the more did a certain class of big bullies

in the school seem to count it their business to watch over us, as

though they might be our evil geniuses. A certain set of faces,

consequently, I looked upon with a kind of mysterious dread; and I

was under a constant sense of being as though in an enemy's country,

obliged to guard against dangers on all sides. Shrinking and

skulking became my occupation beyond the ordinary lot of little

schoolboys, and my natural disposition to be cowardly and spiritless

was perhaps increased. I say _perhaps_, for other {8} circumstances

might have made me worse; for what I was in the eyes of the masters

of public opinion in the school, I really was--a chicken-hearted

creature, what, in Eton language, is called a _sawney_. It may be,

that had I been from the first in free intercourse among the boys,

instead of being a good innocent one, I might have been, what I

suppose must be reckoned one of the worst varieties of public-school

characters, a mean, dishonourable one. Whatever I may have lost from

not being trained, from the first of my Eton life, in the perfect

spirit of the place, could I possibly have escaped during that time

in any other way the utter corruption of my morals, at least the

filling of my mind with familiar images of all the most foul

iniquity? For, alas! where is the child from the age of eight till

twelve who, without one compassionate friend, already strong in

virtue to countenance and to encourage him, shall maintain the

profession of modesty and holiness against a persecution as

inveterate and merciless in its way as that which Lot had to bear at

Sodom? Was not the angel of God with me when He preserved me for so

long from all attacks of this kind in such a place as Eton was in my

time? How can I remember Godley but with veneration and gratitude,

who, though, it may be, not so considerately and wisely as might be

possible (for who is as wise as he might be?), kept me, I might say,

almost alone untainted in the midst of so much corruption.

"Yet, till the last year of my stay with him, I did not learn

decidedly to love religion. It was still my task and not my

pleasure. At length, my brother Frederick being gone to sea, and two

other boys, Mr. Godley's stepsons, who were with us under his

instructions, being sent to school elsewhere, I remained his only

pupil, and, I may almost say, his chief care and joy. He felt with

me and for me in the desolation of my little heart, at being parted

from my first and hitherto inseparable mate, and I became his almost

constant companion. It is not difficult to gain the confidence of a

simple child: he spoke almost continually of religious subjects, and

I learnt to take his view of things. I certainly did not begin to

lose my pleasure in life. Death {9} was an idea which still was

strange to me; and I did not come to an understanding of the great

doctrines of Revelation. I remember not to have taken much notice of

any peculiar articles of faith; but still believed implicitly,

without argument or inquiry, what I was taught. I can now hardly

give an account of what were the religious ideas and impressions

which began so greatly to engage my mind, except that I took my

chief delight in hearing Mr. Godley speak about religion, that I had

a great abhorrence and dread of wickedness, thought with pleasure of

my being intended to be a clergyman, as I was always told I should

be, and admired and loved all whom I was taught to look upon as

religious people. All these simple feelings of piety, which were

often accompanied with pure delight, were greatly increased in a

visit of six weeks which I paid, with Mr. Godley, to his mother and

sisters at Chester. He was a Prebendary of that cathedral, and of

course had to spend some time there every year in residence.

Usually, when he went from home, from time to time, he was used to

get one of the other tutors at Eton to hear my brother's and my

lessons, and to look over our exercises; but in the last summer I

staid with him, with my father's consent, he took me with him. Mr.

Godley's sisters, who showed me great kindness, like him, I suppose,

had no wish concerning me than to encourage me in becoming pious and

good, and I got to read a few pious books which they recommended.

'The Pilgrim's Progress,' Doddridge's 'Life of Colonel Gardiner,'

Alleine's 'Alarm,' were some which I remember taking great effect

upon me; so that when I returned from Chester to Eton, though I

cannot recall many particulars of my feelings, I know that the chief

prevailing one was, an ardent desire to keep myself untainted at

Eton, and to keep from all fellowship with the set of boys whom I

knew to be particularly profane mockers of piety. I bought a book of

prayers, and during the three weeks that I yet remained with this

tutor, after our return from Chester, and when first I went home to

the summer holidays, I took no delight like that of being by myself

at prayer. Ah! how grievous would be the thought if we could but

understand how to {10} lament such a calamity as it deserves, of a

pious child's tender, pure soul denied, made forgetful of all its

good, and hardened. O God, grant me wisdom to understand the

magnitude of such an evil, grant me a heart now at length to mourn

over the devastation and uprooting which it was, at this time, Thy

holy will to permit, of all those fair flowers of grace which Thy

hand had planted in my heart; and grant me to mourn my fall, that I

may now once at last recover that simplicity of childlike piety, the

feelings of which I now recollect, indeed, though faintly, but never

have since again enjoyed. Oh! God, if a child's love, pure through

ignorance of sin, is never to be mine again, oh! give me at least

that depth of penance for which my fall has given me such ample

matter.

"It occurred not to my mind to consider whether the new thoughts

which occupied my mind, and the books in which I took such pleasure,

would be approved of at home. I took them with me to the holidays.

It was judged, as was to be expected, by my parents, that Mr.

Godley's views of religion were not such as they would wish to be

instilled into me; and it was determined that I should leave his

house and be placed with one of the public tutors at Eton. It is a

difficult thing to classify religious Protestants, and so I do not

here pronounce Mr. Godley and his sisters to have been Evangelical,

or Calvinistic, nor give them any distinctive title. They did not,

as far as I remember, inculcate upon me any peculiar notions of

religion, but they certainly were not in the way which is usually

called orthodox Church of England religion, though indeed it is

difficult to define exactly what this is. It was likely, or rather

morally certain, that while with Mr. Godley, I should follow his

guidance, and take his views; so I was to be placed among the other

boys, as I imagine with the idea likewise, that I should gain in

this way more of the advantages supposed to belong to the rough

discipline of a public school. I do not understand how it was that I

received the intimation of this change with so little sadness.

Distant evils, as we all know, lose their sting strangely; and,

having the holidays before me when this change was declared, I {11}

felt no trouble about it then. It is easy to talk a docile child

into agreement with any plan made for him by those whom he is used

to confide in; and so I remember no difficulty when my books were

taken away, and I had no more persons by to bring my former thoughts

to remembrance, in quietly discontinuing my fervent practices."

{12}

CHAPTER III.

His Two Last Years At Eton.

"In the course of September, 1812, I began a new stage of my life by

entering at the Rev. ***'s, where I was, alas! too effectually to be

untaught what there might be unsound in my religion, by being

quickly stripped of it completely. The house contained, I think, but

about ten or twelve boys at the time I went to it, a much smaller

number than the generality of boarding houses about the school; and,

dreadful as was its moral condition, it was respectable in

comparison to others. There is no doubt that it was recommended to

my parents because its character stood high among the rest. The boys

were divided into three or four messes, as they were called. Each of

us had a room to himself and a separate little establishment, as the

boys had allowances to provide breakfast and tea for themselves, and

we did not meet in common rooms for private study, as in some

schools. In order to make their means go farther, two or three would

associate together and make a joint concern; and very comfortable

some would make themselves. But comfort was not what I had now to

enjoy.

"I have adverted already to the system of fagging at our public

schools. The law is established immemorially at Eton that the upper

boys, those of the fifth and sixth class, have an authority to

command those below them. This law, though understood and allowed by

the masters, is not enforced by them. They will interfere to check

and punish any great abuse of the power of the upper boys; but the

only power by which the commands of these masters are to be enforced

is their own hands; so that a boy, though by rank in the school a

fag, may escape the burdens to be imposed if he have but age and

strength and spirit to {13} maintain his independence. Each upper

boy may impose his commands on any number of inferiors he may please

at any time and in any place, so that an unhappy lower boy is never

safe. Nothing exempts him from the necessity of immediately quitting

his own pursuits and waiting on the pleasure of an unexpected

master, but being under orders to attend his tutor, or a certain

number of privileged excuses in matters about which those potentates

condescend to consider the feelings of the subalterns, and where

public opinion would condemn them if they did not--such as being

actually fagging for some one else, being engaged to play a match at

cricket which his absence would spoil. It was this sort of

out-of-door casual service which alone I had to dread as long as I

was in Mr. Godley's house. When I went to Mr. ***, I had to serve my

apprenticeship in domestic fagging, which consisted in performing to

one or more of the fifth or sixth form boys in the house almost all

the duties of a footman or a waiter at an inn. The burden of this

kind of servitude of course depended, in the first place, on the

temper of one's master, and then on the comparative number of upper

and lower boys in a house. During the time I had to fag at Mr.

***'s, but especially in the latter part of it, the number of fags

was dismally small, and sometimes heavy was my yoke.

"But it is not this which gives to my recollection of that period of

my life its peculiar sadness. I might have made a merry life in the

midst of it, like that of many another school-boy, and I was merry

sometimes, but I had known better things. I had once learnt to hate

wickedness, and I never could find myself at ease in the midst of

it, though I had not strength to resist it openly. The first evening

that I arrived at this new tutor's house, I was cordially received

to mess with the set of three or four lower boys who were there.

These were quiet, good-natured boys; but, to be one with them, it

was soon evident that the sweet practices of devotion must be given

up, and other rules followed from those I knew to be right. I was

taken by them on expeditions of boyish depredation and pilfering. I

had never been tempted or invited before to anything like this, and

{14} it was misery to me, on account of my natural want of courage

as well as my tender conscience, to join such enterprises. Yet I

dared not boldly declare my resolution to commit no sin, and I made

a trial now of that which has been so often tried, and what has

often led to fatal confusion--to satisfy the world without

altogether breaking with God. One day we went to pick up walnuts in

a park near Eton; another day to steal beans or turnips, or the

like, from fields or gardens; then, more bold, to take ducks and

chickens from farmyards. It is a common idea that this kind of

school-boys' theft is not indeed a sin. At Eton it certainly was not

so considered. A boy who stole money from another boy was disgraced,

and branded as a wretch almost beyond forgiveness, whereas for

stealing his school-books, he would not be blamed; and for robbing

orchards or farmyards he would be honoured and extolled, and so much

the more if, in doing it, one or two or three together had violently

beaten the farmer's boy, or even himself. But where is the reason

for this distinction? The Word of God and a simple conscience

certainly teach no such difference. At any rate, I know, to my

sorrow, that the beginning of my fall from all that was good, was by

being led to countenance and bear a part, though sorely against my

better will, in such work as this.

"This was not the worst misery. My ignorance in the mysteries of

iniquity was soon apparent. However much I strove to keep my

countenance firm, I could not hear immodesties without blushing. I

was, on this account, a choice object of the fun of some of the

boys, who took delight in forcing me to hear instructions in

iniquity. One evening after another, I well remember, the quarters

would be invaded where I and my companions were established; all our

little employments would be interrupted, our rooms filled with dirt,

our beds, perhaps, tossed about, and a noisy row kept up for hours,

of which sometimes one, and sometimes another of our set was the

principal butt. I was set up as a choice object, of course, on

account of my simplicity and inexperience in their ways, so that

some of the partners of these plagues with me would blame me for

being so silly {15} as to pretend ignorance of what their foul

expressions meant; for they could not believe it possible that I

should really be so simple as not to understand them. I maintained

for some time a weak conflict in my soul against all this flood of

evil. For a little time I found one short space of comfort through

the day, when at length, after an evening thus spent, I got to bed,

and in secret wept and prayed myself to sleep; but the trial was too

strong and too often repeated. I had no kind friend to speak to.

"Mr. Godley still lived at the Wharf, and though he seemed to think

it right not to press himself upon me, he asked me to come and dine

when I pleased. Two or three times I went to dine with him, and

these were my last really happy days, when for an hour or two I

could give my mind liberty to feel at ease, and recollect my former

feelings in this kindly company. But I could not, I dared not, tell

him all I was now exposed to, and so I was left to stand my ground

alone. Had any one then told me that by myself I must not hope to

resist temptation, and rightly directed me how to call on God for

help, I have since thought I might have stood it; but I had not yet

known the force of temptation, nor learnt by experience the power of

God to support the weak. My weakness I now felt by clear experience,

and after a short conflict,--for this battle was soon gained by the

great enemy who was so strong in the field against me,--I remember

well the conclusion striking my mind, that the work of resistance

was useless, and that I must give up. Where were you, O my God,

might I now exclaim, to leave me thus alone and unprotected on such

a boisterous sea? Ah! my Lord, I have never found fault with thy

divine appointments in thus permitting me to fall. Only I say, as

before, give me grace now fully to recover what I lost; and I will

ever bless thee for allowing me to have known so much evil, if it be

but that I may warn others,

"It might be, perhaps, ten days after my arrival at Mr. ***'s, when

I gave up all attempt to pray; and I think I did not say one word of

prayer for the two years and more that I afterwards continued there.

I remember {16} once being by, when one of the most rude and hard of

my tormentors was dressing himself, and, to my surprise, turned to

me, and, with his usual civility, said some such word as, 'Now hold

your jaw;' and then, down on his knees near the bed, and his face

between his hands, said his prayers. I then saw for a moment to what

I had fallen, when even this fellow had more religion than unhappy I

had retained; but I had no grain of strength now left to rise. One

would think that in the holidays my change would have been

discovered; for I imagine that I never knelt down even at home

except in the church. But, alas! little did my family suspect what a

place was Eton; or, at least, if a suspicion comes across parents'

minds of what their children are exposed to in public schools, they

generally persuade themselves that this must be endured for a

necessary good, which is, to make them learn to know the world.

"When I had ceased attempting to maintain my pious feelings, the

best consolation I had was in the company of a few boys of a spirit

congenial to what mine was now become. All the time that I remained

at Eton I never learnt to take pleasure in the manly, active games

for which it is so famous. It is not that I was without some natural

talent for such things. I have since had my time of most ardent

attachment to cricket, to tennis, shooting, hunting, and all active

exercises: but my spirit was bent down at Eton; and among the boys

who led the way in all manly pursuits, I was always shy and

miserable, which was partly a cause and partly an effect of my being

looked down upon by them. My pleasure there was in being with a few

boys, like myself, without spirit for these things, retired apart

from the sight of others, amusing ourselves with making arbours,

catching little fishes in the streams; and many were the hours I

wasted in such childish things when I was grown far too old for

them.

"Oh! the happiness of a Catholic child, whose inmost soul is known

to one whom God has charged with his salvation. Supposing I had been

a Catholic child in such a situation--if such a supposition be

possible--the pious feelings with which God inspired me, would have

been under {17} the guidance of a tender spiritual Father, who would

have supplied exactly what I needed when about to fall under that

sense of unassisted weakness which I have described. He would have

taught me how to be innocent and firm in the midst of all my trials,

which would then have tended to exalt, instead of suppressing, my

character. I would have kept my character not only clear in the

sight of God, but honourable among my fellows, who soon would have

given up their persecution when they found me steadfast; and I might

have brought with me in the path of peace and justice many whom I

followed in the dark ways of sin. But it is in vain to calculate on

what I might have been had I been then a Catholic. God be praised,

my losses I may yet recover, and perhaps even reap advantages from

them."

{18}

CHAPTER IV.

Private Tuition Under Mr. Blomfield.

"Had the public masters of the school been attentive to the

advancement of the scholars in learning while negligent of their

morals, and had I been making progress in my studies while losing my

innocence, I might have continued longer in that place; for I did

not fall into gross, outward, vicious habits, and it is possible

that no difference was perceived in my behaviour at home. But I

suppose my father saw a wide difference between the care which Mr.

Godley bestowed on me and that which boys in the public tutors'

houses could receive. I know not exactly the reasons that led to the

change; but, in the Christmas holidays at the end of the year 1813,

Mr. Blomfield was invited to Althorp, and he was pointed out to me

as my intended future tutor. Many of my readers will know at once

that he is now'[Footnote 1] the Protestant Bishop of London. My

father had presented him somewhat before this period with the

rectory of Dunton, in Buckinghamshire, having been led to do so by

the distinguished character which he heard of him from Cambridge for

he did not personally know him when he offered him this piece of

preferment. From the time that I made his acquaintance, and received

some directions from him for private reading at Eton during the

remaining time of my stay there, I began to take some more decided

interest than I had yet done in advancing myself in literary

knowledge. This, as well as my growing older and more independent of

other boys, and falling in {19} with more sensible companions, gave

to my mind a more satisfactory turn during my last year at Eton.

There was no return, though, to religion whilst I remained there,

nor was there likely to be; and so, most blessed was the change for

me when, before Christmas 1814, I left Mr. ***'s, and, after

remaining at home for about three months in company with my brother

Frederick, returned for the first time from sea, I went to Mr.

Blomfield's in March, 1815. I staid there till near the time of my

first going to Cambridge, which was in the summer of 1817.

Simplicity and purity of mind, alas! are not regained with the

readiness with which they are lost: the falling into bad company and

consenting to it will utterly ruin all innocence. The removal of

occasions may prevent the growth of evil habits and the farther

increase of corruption; but this alone will not restore that blessed

ignorance of evil which was no longer mine. My residence with

Blomfield was, however, the means to me of great good. Here I was

confirmed in that love for study and knowledge of which I have

already noticed the commencement. He had himself, as is well known,

though still young, gained a reputation for classical learning among

the scholars of England and the Continent; and his example and

conversations inspired me with desires for the like distinctions, to

which he gave all possible encouragement. This I reckon to have been

a considerable advantage to my religious welfare; for, although the

motive I set before me was merely worldly, and the subjects which I

studied had little of a good and much of a bad tendency, as must

needs be the case with pagan literature, yet, by gaining a habit for

study, I was directed in a line widely distinct from the most

vicious of the society through which I was afterwards to pass; and,

by being a reading man at Cambridge, I was saved from much

perversion."

[Footnote 1: This was written in 1836. See Preface.

Dr. Blomfield died in 1857.]

We shall be pardoned for interrupting the course of this interesting

narrative, by inserting an anecdote, which shows how unchanged was his

opinion on the merits of pagan literature. In a conversation with his

religious companions, shortly before he died, he happened to say

something about the discoveries of Cardinal Mai among the Bobbio {20}

manuscripts. Some one remarked that it was nothing less than Vandalism

for the old monks to erase one of the classic authors, and write some

crude chronicle or other over it. "Well," replied Father Ignatius, "I

suppose the monks had as much respect for Virgil and Ovid as the

angels have."

To resume.

"But what was of the chief importance to me at this time was, being

in a house and with company, where, if subjects of religion were not

so much put before me as with Mr. Godley, and if I was not

constantly exhorted and encouraged in simple piety, I and my fellow

pupils felt that no word of immorality would have been anywise

tolerated. Prayers were daily read in the family, the service of the

Church was performed with zeal and regularity, the Sunday was

strictly observed, and a prominent part of our instruction was on

matters of religion. It was also to me an invaluable benefit, that

the companion with whom I was principally associated, during the

chief part of my time at Dunton, was one who, like me, after a

careful education at home, where he had imbibed religious feelings,

had gone through the corruptions of another public school, but was

now, like me, happy to find himself in purer air.

"With him I was confirmed at Easter, 1816, by Dr. Howley, then

Protestant Bishop of London, now Archbishop of Canterbury. It was an

incalculable blessing to me, slave as I was to false shame, and

cowardly as I was to resist against bold iniquity, that I now had

had a period granted me, as it were, to breathe and gain a little

vigour again, before the second cruel and more ruinous devastation

which my poor heart was shortly to undergo. I prepared seriously for

my confirmation, and for receiving the Sacrament from time to time,

and recovered much of my former good practices of private devotion.

I remember especially to have procured once more a manual of

prayers, and during the last months of my stay at Dunton I spent a

long time in self-examination by the table of sins in that book,

somewhat similar to our Catholic preparation for confession. But,

alas! I could go no further than the preparation. Oh! the great

enemy of our souls knew well what he was {21} doing in abolishing

confession. As before, when I first lost my innocence and piety at

Eton, confession would, I am convinced, have preserved me from that

fall; so now that I was almost recovering from the fall, if I had

had the ear of a spiritual father to whom I might with confidence

have discovered the wounds of my poor soul, he would have assisted

me utterly to extirpate the remains of those evil habits of my

heart. He would have shown me what I knew so imperfectly, the

horrible danger of the state in which I had been so near eternal

damnation; he would have made me feel that holy shame for my sins,

which would have overcome that false earthly shame by which I still

was ready to be mastered; and he would, in short, have poured in

that balm and oil which the ministers of God possess, to heal, and

strengthen, and comfort me for my future trials, so that I might

have stood firm against my enemies. But it pleased Thee, O my God,

that once more, by such sad experience, I should have occasion to

learn the value of that holy discipline of penance, the power and

admirable virtue of the divine sacraments, with the dispensation of

which Thou hast now entrusted me, that I may be a more wise and

tender father to Thy little ones whom Thou committest to my care."

{22}

CHAPTER V.

He Goes To Cambridge.

Young Spencer went with Mr. Blomfield to Cambridge in the spring of

1817, and was entered fellow commoner of Trinity. He returned,

immediately after being matriculated, to his family, and spent the

summer in cricketing and sea-bathing, in Ryde, Isle of Wight, and

hunting or shooting at Althorp. On Saturday, October 18th, he came to

London with his parents. He and his brother Frederick went about

shopping, to procure their several outfits for the University and the

sea. On the morning of the 21st October, he set out from his father's

house to Holborn, to catch the seven o'clock fly for Cambridge. This

vehicle, which has been so long superseded by the Eastern Counties

Railway, was filled with passengers before the Spencer carriage

arrived. He then took a post chaise at ten o'clock, and arrived in

Cambridge a little before six in the evening. All that remained of

that day, and the greater part of the next, was spent in getting his

rooms furnished, hiring his servant, making a few acquaintances,

meeting those he knew before, and the other employments of a freshman.

His tutor in classics was Mr. Evans, who long continued in the same

capacity at Cambridge, and had the reputation of being a most upright

man. For mathematics he had a Mr. Peacock, who afterwards became Dean

of Ely, and restored the cathedral there. He fell into good hands,

seemingly, as far as his studies were concerned. He does not seem to

have been less fortunate in the choice of his companions. He is very

slow in making friends; one he does not like for being "too much of

the fine gentleman;" another invites him, and he remarks: "I suppose I

must ask him to dinner or something {23} else; but I should not wish

to continue acquaintance with him, for though he is good-natured, he

is likely to be in a bad set." He also goes regularly to visit Mr.

Blomfield, who resided in Hildersham, and advises with him about his

proceedings. He also avoids needless waste of time, and says in his

journal: "They all played whist, in their turns, but Bridgman and

myself; which I am glad I did not, for I like it so well that I should

play at it too much if I once began." Besides these precautions, and a

feeling of indignation that bursts out now and again when he has to

note a misdemeanour in his associates, he reads seven hours a day on

an average. These conclusions are collected from the notes of a

journal he wrote at the time; they mark a very auspicious beginning;

and, being clear facts, will serve as a kind of glass through which

one may read the following from his autobiography.

"My intentions were now well directed (on entering Cambridge). I

began well, and for a time did not give way to the detestable

fashions of the place, and was not much ashamed in the presence of

the profligate. I was very happy likewise. I found myself now for

the first time emerged from the condition of a boy. I was treated

with respect and kindness by the tutors and fellows of the college;

my company was always sought, and I was made much of by what was

supposed to be the best--that is, the most well-bred and

fashionable, set in the University. I had all the health and high

spirits of my age, and I now enjoyed manly amusements, being set

free from the cowardly feeling of inferiority which I had to oppress

me at Eton. My first term at Cambridge--that is, the two months that

passed before the first Christmas vacation after my going there--

was, as I thought, the happiest time I had yet known. I find it

difficult, however, now to understand that happiness, and still more

to understand the religious principle which had more or less some

influence over me, when I remember one circumstance which by itself

proves my religion to have been absolutely nugatory, and which, I

remember well, most grievously spoiled my happiness. As to my

religion, I do not remember that at that time I said any private

prayer. {24} I suppose I must have discontinued it when I left Mr.

Blomfield's, or soon after. Yet I had a sort of principle which

guarded me from joining in the profane contempt of God's worship

which prevails generally in the College chapels at Cambridge, and

for a long time from consenting to the practice of open

immoralities, or even pretending to approve them, though almost all

the young men whom I knew at Cambridge either notoriously followed

or at least sanctioned them."

He alludes to "one circumstance" in the last extract as being a test

of his depth in religious matters, which it will be interesting to

have in his own words. It occurred before his entering Cambridge; but

as it considerably influenced his feelings during his stay there, it

may as well find its place here.

"The circumstance to which I allude was something of an affair of

honour, as the world blindly calls it, into which I got engaged, and

which had so important an influence upon my religious feelings for

about two years that I will here particularly relate the

circumstances of it. In the last summer vacation, before my going to

Cambridge, I attended, with my father, the Northampton races, in our

way from the Isle of Wight to visit my brother at his place in

Nottinghamshire. I had begun, at that time, to be extremely fond of

dancing, as well as cricket, shooting, and the like amusements. At

this race ball at Northampton, I enjoyed myself to the full; but,

unwittingly, laid the foundation for sorrow on the next day.

Fancying myself a sort of leader of the gaiety, in a set which

seemed to be the most fashionable and smart of the evening, I must

needs be making up parties for select dances; which proceeding was,

of course, taken by others as intruding on the liberties of a public

entertainment; and it happened that, without knowing it, I barred

out from one quadrille which I helped in forming, the sister of a

young gentleman of name and fortune in the county. I was in the mean

time making up a party for a match at cricket on the racecourse for

the next day, and this gentleman was one of my chief helpmates. The

next day, while busy in collecting our cricketers to go {25} to the

ground, I met him in the street, and he gave me the hard cut. I knew

not what it meant, and simply let it pass; but on the morning after,

I was surprised at receiving a letter from him to tell me what was

my offence: it ended with the words (which are deeply enough

impressed on my memory not yet to be forgotten), 'If I did not look

upon you as a mere boy, I should call you in a more serious manner

to account for your rudeness.' He then told me where he might be

found the following day. Without much reflecting on this unpleasant

communication, I showed it to my father, who was near me, with

several other gentlemen of the county, when I received it. He asked

me whether I had meant any rudeness, and when I told him I had not,

he bid me write an apology, and particularly charged me not to

notice the concluding taunt. He afterwards mentioned it to two

others of these gentlemen, who both agreed that I had done right in

sending such an answer. But soon after my mind fell into such a

torment as I had never yet known. The answer was certainly right

according to Christian rules, and I suppose the laws of honour would

not have required more; but, at the time, I know not whether it

would not be esteemed in his mind and that of the friends whom he

might consult, to be too gentle for a man of courage. A most

agonizing dilemma I was now in, neither side of which I could

endure. On the one hand, I could not bear to look on death, and

standing to be shot at was what nothing but a fit of desperation

could bring me to. On the other, that awful tyrant, the world, now,

as it were, put forth his hand and claimed me for his own. To lose

my character for courage, and be branded as a coward, was what I

could not anyways endure. I went with my father in the carriage to

sleep at Loughborough; and when, at the inn, I retired from him to

my bedroom, the tumult of my mind was at its height. I had all but

determined to set off and go that very night to the place assigned

me by this gentleman, who by one disdainful expression had now

mysteriously become, as it appeared, the master of my doom; and,

renewing the quarrel, take my chance of the consequence. But again,

I saw this would {26} not save my honour, if it were already

compromised. It was clear that a change of mind like that would

hardly satisfy the world, which does not forgive a breach of its

awful laws on such easy terms. I finally slept off my trouble for

the present; but my soul remained oppressed with a new load, which

almost made me weary of my life. I remained convinced that I had not

reached the standard of courage in this affair; and I felt,

therefore, that it depended on the good-nature of this gentleman

whether my character should be exposed or not. He did not reply to

my letter of explanation. Was he satisfied or not? During my first

term at Cambridge he was expected there, and I was even invited to

meet him at a wine party, as one who was known to be one of his

neighbours and friends. I dared not show any reluctance to meet him,

lest the whole story should be known at Cambridge; and if I did meet

him, was he again to treat me with disdain? If he did, how should I

avoid a duel? I knew that having anything to do with a duel was

expulsion by the laws of the University; but if I, coward as I was,

had not yet made up my mind, as I had, that I must run the chance of

his shot, if he chose still to resent the affront, no wonder, if the

spoiling of my prospects in life, by expulsion from Cambridge, was

not much regarded. The present distress was evaded by his not

coming, as was expected. After this I desired one person who knew

him as a friend, and to whom alone I had explained my case, to write

and ask whether my apology had appeared to him sufficient. The

answer to this was an assurance that the thing had been no more

thought of; but it was two years before I met him in person, and by

his courteous manner was finally satisfied that all was right

between us. I might think it impossible that the great question

could be overlooked by men, what is to become of them in eternity,

if I had not had the experience of my own feelings in such an

occasion as this. In that memorable evening at Loughborough, I did

not indeed altogether overlook the moral question--Is a duel wrong?

I had made the most of what I had heard said in palliation of it by

some moralists; I could not find any ground, however, to think it

right before {27} God; yet the thought of having, perhaps before the

next day was past, to answer in the presence of God for having

thrown away my life in it, was not the consideration which deterred

me from the rash resolution. Now, how stands the world in England on

this question? It is clear that a Catholic, whether ecclesiastic or

layman, has no choice. He must either utterly renounce his religion

or duelling. A maintenance of the abominable practice by which

duelling is justified would deprive him of communion with the

Church. But how stand Protestants? The clergy are exempted from this

law by the world. But how many Protestant laymen are there of the

rank of gentlemen who dare to proclaim that they detest duelling,

and that they would sooner bear the disgrace of refusing a challenge

than offend God by accepting it, or run the risk of offending God?

for I suppose the greater part would try an argument to prove that

it may be excusable. The clergy generally, I believe, reckon it

decidedly a wicked worldly law, yet they receive laymen to communion

without insisting on this enormous evil being first abjured. I do

not, however, here propose a further discussion of the question

generally. To this law of the world, miserably as it tormented me

for a time, I believe I am indebted spiritually more than can well

be understood: at least to the misery which it occasioned me. I have

heard it related of blessed (now Saint) Alphonsus Maria di Liguori

that he owed his being led to bid adieu to the world and choosing

God for the portion of his inheritance, to making a blunder in

pleading a cause as an advocate. Having till that time set his

happiness on his worldly reputation for talent, he then clearly saw

how vain, were the promises of the world, and once for all he gave

it up. I knew not, alas! whither nor how to turn for more solid

consolation, and thus the spoiling of my happiness, which had

resulted from a mistake in a ball-room, did not teach me to be wise;

but it contributed materially, and most blessedly, to poison my

happiness at this time. Yet, in a general way, I went on gaily and

pleasantly enough, for serious reflections, on whatever subject it

might be, had no long continuance."

{28}

CHAPTER VI.

His First Year in Cambridge.

What strikes a Catholic as the most singular feature in Protestant

education is the want of special training for the clergyman. A dozen

young men go to the University for a dozen different purposes, and

there is the same rule, the same studies, the same moral discipline

for all. Such, at least, was the rule in the days of Mr. Spencer's

college life. It seems extraordinary to the Catholic student, who has

to learn Latin and Greek only as subsidiary instruments to his higher

studies; who has to read two years philosophy and four years theology,

and pass severe examinations nine or ten different times in each,

besides a general one in all, before he can be qualified to receive

the priesthood. The clerical training with us is as different from

that through which young Spencer had to pass as one thing can be from

another.

His life for the first year may be very briefly told. He hears from

Mr. Blomfield that he is to attend divinity lectures, and he forthwith

begins. He is advised by a Professor Monk, afterwards Protestant

Bishop of Gloucester, to stand for a scholarship, and he does so after

getting Blomfield's consent. This makes him study very hard for some

time, and though he did not succeed, the taste he had acquired by the

preparation did not leave him till the end of the year, when he came

out in the first class, having left his competitors, with one

exception, far behind. He also spends some hours every day in athletic

exercises, is very fond of riding, goes now and again to London and

Althorp to amuse himself with attending the theatres, dining out,

shooting partridge, and playing at Pope Joan. He relaxes {29} in his

determination to avoid whist, and indulges so far that he puts a note

of exclamation in his journal at having returned to his chambers one

night without having had a game. This seems to be the regular course

of his life at Cambridge, a course edifying indeed, if compared with

the lives of his companions. He says:--

"I have observed before that the example and conversation of Mr.

Blomfield, while I remained with him, gave an impulse to my mind

towards the love of literary pursuits. I did not think, however, of

exerting myself particularly in that way till the end of the first

term, when I was persuaded by Mr. Monk, the Greek professor, now

Protestant Bishop of Gloucester, to be a candidate for a university

scholarship. Dr. Monk was four years senior to Mr. Blomfield, and I

understood from him that he had been of great service to him in the

same way, when at college, encouraging his exertions and studies. I

was told that I passed this examination creditably, but I did not

stand so high among the competitors as to make it desirable that I

should repeat the attempt afterwards, and the only honours that I

tried for were confined to Trinity College. I was thus stimulated

during this time to more than common exertions; it gave me a

disposition to study which continued through my time at Cambridge,

and was the only good disposition which was encouraged in me. I have

reason then to remember with gratitude those who helped me in this

way; though it is a lamentable thing that, being there professedly

as a student for the church, in what is the proper seminary for

ecclesiastics of the Church of England, I cannot call to mind one

word of advice given me by anyone among my superiors or companions

to guard me against the terrible dangers with which I was surrounded

of being entirely corrupted, or to dispose me towards some little

care of my spiritual concerns.

"My studies I followed with great zeal all the time I was at

Cambridge; but, as is generally the case there with those that aim

at places in the public examinations, I managed them without proper

distribution of time. By running through the journal I kept at the

time I find that, when {30} first I began to read hard, I have often

sat without moving from my table and read the clock round, that is,

from three or four in the afternoon to the same hour the next

morning, for the sake of doing what was counted an extraordinary

feat. There is no doubt that reading with regularity a smaller

number of hours every day would be more available for the attainment

of learning than these immoderate surfeits of study, as one may call

them; I only interposed a few days of amusement, when hardly any

work was done. In the long run, such a course as mine could not

answer, for it was sure to hurt the health and prevent the

attainment of the real end of all a young man's studies, which is,

acquiring knowledge to be turned to account in after life. Few young

men at Oxford or Cambridge, I suppose, have wisdom enough to

calculate this in advance. The object which they aim at is present

distinction, and outstripping their fellows in the race for college

prizes; and, as far as my experience goes, a glut of reading, if the

health does but stand it without breaking down, is the way to make

the most of one's chance at a public examination.

"The time of my being at Cambridge is one so interesting to me in

the recollection, that I cannot satisfy myself, when giving an

account of my progress through life, without dwelling at some length

upon it. My college course was not very long. At the time when I was

at Cambridge, honorary degrees were conferred on the sons of

noblemen at the end of two years' residence, by which they came to

the enjoyment of the rank and all the privileges of a Master of

Arts, which title was not to be attained, in the ordinary course, in

less than six or seven years. And what shortens the college life

much more is the extravagant length of the vacations; so that what

is reckoned one year at Cambridge is not more than five months'

actual residence in the University. Yet this is a most important and

critical period, and the short two years during which I was an

undergraduate at Cambridge were of immense importance in my destiny.

How vast is the good, of which I have learned the loss, but which I

might have gained, had I then known how to direct my views! On the

other hand, how {31} may I bless God for the quantity of evil from

which I have been preserved, and how wonderful has been my

preservation! When I remember how destitute I was of religion at

this time, I must say that I have to wonder rather at my being

preserved from so much evil, than at my having fallen into so much.

And how can I bless God for his exceeding goodness of which I am now

reminded, when I think how, against my own perverse will, against my

foolish, I must say mad wishes, I was prevented by his Providence

from being at this time irrevocably ruined and lost? What can I

return to Him for this blessing? One principal intention in my

present work is to record the sentiments of gratitude, however weak

and most unworthy, with which I at least desire my soul to be

inflamed, and which I hope will engage all the powers of my soul

throughout eternity. Most gladly, if it were for His honour and for

the edification of one soul which by the narrative might reap

instruction, I would enter before all the world into a more detailed

explanation of this my wonderful deliverance; but this I must not

do, for I must not be the means that others, hitherto in the

simplicity of holy ignorance, should be made acquainted with the

dark iniquity of which the knowledge has once infected my own

unhappy understanding. Be this enough to say on this point, which I

was obliged to touch, lest it should seem unreasonable that I should

speak of my case as one of most marvellous and almost unparalleled

mercy, when the circumstances which I may now detail, and what are

generally known among my most intimate companions, do not justify

such feelings in the review of it.

"By the great mercy of God, I had provided for me a refuge and, as

it were, a breathing time, between Eton and Cambridge. At Mr.

Blomfield's, my progress in evil was checked, and I had time to

prepare myself for the University with good resolutions, though I

knew not what sort of trials I should meet with there, nor had I

learnt how unavailing were my best resolutions to support me, while

yet I had not wholly put my confidence in God's grace. The vacation

which came between my leaving Dunton and going to Cambridge I spent

chiefly in the Isle of Wight, and my {32} soul was almost wholly

occupied that summer about cricket. I never became a great cricketer

myself; I had lost the best time for gaining the art while at Eton;

but, this summer, what perseverance and diligence could do to make

up for lost time, I think I did. Oh! that I might have the same

degree of zeal now in serving the Church of God, and collecting and

instructing a faithful flock, as I then had in seeking out, and

encouraging and giving and procuring instruction for my troop of

cricketers. The occupation of my mind on this subject was enough to

drive away any ardent attention to religion as well as to study. I

may say, in favour of this passion for cricket, that it was one of

the pursuits which I took to at the recommendation of my mother. I

remember generally that when anything in the way of amusement or

serious occupation was suggested to me by her, or anything else but

my own fancy, nothing more was required to make me have a distaste

for it. Otherwise, how many useful accomplishments might I have

gained which would now have been available to the great objects I

have before me. My dear mother wished me to learn fencing when I was

at Eton, and a good deal of time I spent, and a good deal of money

must have been paid by my father to Mr. Angelo, the fencing-master

who came to Eton. It might have been better for me to have gained

perfection in this exercise, by which it is related that St. Francis

of Sales acquired in part that elegance of manner and nobleness of

carriage through which he gained so many souls to Christ. While

other boys made fencing their amusement, I always would have it as a

task, and of course gained nothing by it. At a later period, when we

were at Naples, and I had a weakness in my eyes which made such an

employment suitable, my mother would have had me learn music. She

gave me a guitar, and would have paid for my lessons; but I could

not take to it, and have thus lost the advantage which, since I have

become a Catholic, I should have so much valued of understanding the

science of music, seeing that the trifling knowledge I do possess is

of so much use. There is the apology, then, for my cricket mania;

that she proposed my taking to it in the {33} summer I speak of. I

was surprised to find myself willing to acquiesce in the suggestion.

What I did take to I generally followed excessively, and she did not

calculate on the violence with which I followed up this. I got into

very little bad company by means of this pursuit, and perhaps, on

the whole, I rather gained than lost by it. It was manly and

healthful, and though, when in the heat of it, I thought it almost

impossible I should ever give it up, yet when I took Orders I did

give it up; and if it was in itself of no use, I hope that one

sacrifice, among the many I was obliged to make and, thank God, did

willingly make to more important objects, it was not without value.

Thus much for my cricketing; I mention it here as being the only

distinct cause to which I can attribute my losing before I went to

Cambridge the habits of serious thought and of regular prayer, which

I have observed I regained in a good degree towards the latter part

of my Dunton time.

"I nevertheless was full of good purposes. I desired and was

resolved to keep myself from giving countenance to immorality as

well as practising it, though after having once given way at Eton, I

hardly ever dared to say a word or even to give a look in

disapproval of whatever might be said or done before me by bold

profligates. I could not bear to appear out of the fashion; so that

when other boys at Eton used to talk of the balls and gay parties

which they had been to in their holidays, I was quite ashamed, when

asked what I had done, to say that I had been to no balls; for to my

mother I am greatly indebted for her wise conduct in this respect,

that she did not, as was done by others, make us men before our

time. So, although I detested and from my heart condemned the

fashionable immoralities of the young men with whom I came to be

associated about the time of my going to Cambridge, I hardly dared

declare my mind, except sometimes, almost in confidence, to one who

seemed to be like myself. Oh! what good might I have done had I then

known the value of God's grace, and, despising the world, boldly

stood up for the cause of virtue, at the same time continuing to be

gay and cheerful with my companions, and taking a leading part {34}

in all innocent and manly diversions, and in the objects of

honourable emulation which were set before me and my fellows. I know

how much I might have done by supporting others, weak like myself,

by acting at this time as I ought to have done, by what I felt

myself on one or two occasions when such support was given me. I

thank God that the memory of my brother Robert, who died in 1830,

commanding the _Madagascar_, near Alexandria, now rises before me to

claim my grateful acknowledgment as having twice given me such help

at a critical time. Never was a man more calculated than he to get

on, as it is said, in the world. He was brave and enterprising, and

skilled in all that might make him distinguished in his profession;

at the same time he was most eager in the pursuit of field sports

and manly amusements; and in society was one of the most agreeable

and popular men of his day. Once I remember complaining to him that

I was ashamed of having nothing to say before some ladies about

balls, when I was about sixteen. 'What a wretched false shame is

that!' said he to me. From that time I became more ashamed of my

shame than I had been before of my want of fashion. More important

yet was the service he did me when he was about to go on one of his

cruises as commander of the _Ganymede_. I was talking with him, the

last evening before he left London, about the Easter before I went

to Cambridge. He knew well what I should be exposed to better than I

did and charged me to take care never to laugh or look pleased when

I was forced to hear immoral conversation. What rare advice was this

from the mouth of a gay, gallant young officer; and if there were

more of his character who were not ashamed to give it to their young

brothers and friends, how many might be saved, who are now lost,

because they do not see one example to show how a manly, fashionable

character can be maintained with strict morality and modesty. These

few words from him were of infinite service to me. They made deep

impression on me at the time I heard them, and the resolution which

I then made continued with me till after I had been some time at

Cambridge, when the battle I had to bear against the universal

fashion {35} of iniquity once more, as formerly, at Eton, proved too

strong for me, and I again gave way. My fall now was gradual. I

began with the resolution to avoid all expenses which would

embarrass me with debts, and to keep from several fashionable

amusements which would engage too much time. For awhile, on this

account, I would not play at cards; but in less than half-a-year

this determination failed, and I wasted many an evening at whist of

my short college life. I soon grew careless, too, about my expenses,

and should have been involved in great embarrassments, had it not

been for my brother's (Lord Althorp's) generosity, who, hearing from

me at the end of my first year that I was in debt, gave me more than

enough to clear it all away; and, thus having enabled me to set my

affairs again in order, was the means of saving me from ever

afterwards going beyond my means extravagantly. I might, however,

have given way in some such resolutions as not playing at cards; I

might have entered into some expenses which I shunned at first,

without losing my peace of mind, and again defiling my conscience,

of which the good condition was partly restored; but these were not

the crying evils of the place. In the set with which I was now

associated in the University, gambling was not at that time much

practised, and not at all insisted on. There were occasional drunken

parties, and it was with difficulty that I kept out of them; but the

system of violently forcing people to drink, as well at the

Universities as throughout genteel society in England, had fallen

off before my time. There were some sets where drinking was

practised at Cambridge much more excessively than in what called

itself the best set of all. I could not help, without offending the

laws of society, being present at a considerable number of dinners

and suppers where men drank immoderately, but I was permitted to

keep myself sober without much difficulty; one or two gave me

countenance thus far, though any intimation of disapproving of what

others did, on religious or moral grounds, I felt would not have

been anyways tolerated; and so I ventured not. Swearing was among

them rather unfashionable than {36} not. Some undergraduates were

notorious for profane and impious language; and this was excused,

and tolerated, and made fun of, but it was not common, and many

among us made no difficulty of condemning it. I therefore never fell

into this habit. The crying, universal, and most frightful evil of

the place was open immorality. There was at Cambridge, in my time, a

religious set, who were sometimes called Simeonites, from Mr.

Simeon, one of the great leaders and promoters of the Evangelical

party in these latter days, who was minister of one of the small

churches in Cambridge, and for many years attracted into his

influence a certain number of young men. Among these open vice was

not countenanced; but not so the set to which I principally

belonged, and these were as distinct as if they had not belonged to

the same University. I was introduced to some few of these, and

rather valued myself on having an acquaintance with them, as well as

with many of the purely reading men; and my fashionable friends did

not altogether object to it, though I was generally a little ashamed

at being seen with any of them, and avoided any frequent intercourse

with them. I have wondered since that, if it were only from mere

curiosity, I should never once have gone to hear Simeon preach, but

so it was. I understood nothing whatever of what is in England

called Evangelical religion. Indeed, I thought nothing of religion;

had I paid any attention to it at this time, I could hardly have

escaped seeing how desperate was the course which I was following,

and I might perhaps have taken a strong resolution, and have joined

the serious party at once; but, very likely, I should have found the

power of fashion at that time too great, and, by knowing more of

religion, should only have made my conscience more guilty; and so I

believe it may be better that none ever spoke to me on the subject

all the time. I repeat it, that in our set, whatever other deviation

from the most established fashion was tolerated, any maintenance of

chastity or modesty was altogether proscribed. It was not long,

then, before I found myself beat out of the position I endeavoured

to maintain. During the first term I stood my ground rather better.

One reason for this was, {37} that among what were called the

freshmen--that is, those who entered with me on my college life,

there were several who were not initiated in vicious practices.

These, remaining for a time more or less in their simplicity, gave

me some countenance in not going at once in the way of the veteran

professors of evil. But as I saw some of them grow by degrees

shameless and bold, and soon beginning to join their older brethren

in upbraiding my weakness and folly for not being like the rest, I

found all my resolution failing, and, alas! many a deliberation did

I take whether I should not at length enter the same way with them.

I was still withheld, though it was not the fear of God which

restrained me. I knew that my entering a course of open profligacy

would not be tolerated by my parents. I had a character for

steadiness among the tutors and fellows of the college, which I was

ashamed to lose; though even before them I found it sometimes to

answer best not to appear different from other young men. Besides,

as I had resisted the first period of attacks, and established among

my companions a kind of character of my own, I felt that even they

would be astonished if I at last declared myself as one of their

sort. I could not bear the thought of their triumph, and the horrid

congratulations with which I should be greeted, if once I was found

going along with them in open feats of iniquity. Oh! how grievous is

the reflection that by such motives as these I was restrained. I was

longing often to be like them. I could not bear the taunts which

were sometimes made at me. Here again some of the old Etonians

perhaps would bring up the remembrance of my ancient propensity to

blush, and would take pleasure in putting me again to confusion.

Occasionally, by strange interpositions of Divine Providence, I was

hindered from accomplishing purposes of evil which I had, in a sort

of desperation, resolved by myself to perpetrate, by way of being

decided one way or other, like a man on the brink of a precipice

determining to throw himself down in order to escape the uneasy

apprehension of his danger. One way or another I was restrained, so

that it has afterwards appeared to me as if I had but barely stopped

short of {38} taking the last decisive steps by which I might be

irrevocably ranked among the reprobate. I never thought at the time

of this danger, otherwise I could hardly have borne my existence;

but, as it was, my mind at times was gloomy and miserable in the

extreme. To make me yet more so, at the end of my first year I began

to be afflicted with bilious attacks, arising, perhaps, from my

imprudent management in regard to study, to diet, and to hours; and

these occasioned exceeding depression of spirits, under which I used

to fancy myself the most unhappy of creatures. I had no knowledge of

the power of religion to set me free, and make me superior to all

external sensible causes of depression, and I knew no better than to

give myself up to my low feelings when they came upon me, till some

distraction removed them, or till the fit passed away of itself.

Many times at Cambridge, in order to hold up my head in a noisy

company after dinner, I drank wine to raise my spirits, though not

to great excess, yet enough to teach me by experience how mistaken

is the calculation of those who, when in sorrow, seek to cheer

themselves in that way, or in any way but by having recourse to God

by prayer and acts of resignation. I remember well once being told

by a good aunt of mine, that it was quite wrong to give way to my

depression, about which I one day complained to her, and that

religion would surely cure it; but the time was not come for me to

understand this truth, and I took no notice of her words.

"In the meantime I continued zealous about my studies. I did not

stop to ask _cui bono_ was I working in them. Had I seen how utterly

vain was a first-class place or a Trinity prize-book, which I had

set before me as the object of my labours, I should have found but

little consolation and refreshment to my melancholy reflections in

these pursuits. On the contrary, I should only have pined away with

a more complete sense of the truth of the Wise man's sentence which

Almighty God was teaching me in His own way, and in His own good

time: '_Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity_' but to serve Thee

only. I do not mean that if rightly followed, such academical

honours are worth nothing. I wish {39} I had followed them more

prudently and effectually. They were the objects set before me by my

superiors at the time, and I should say to another in my place that

he should do his best to gain the highest place in a spirit of

obedience, and for the honour of God, to whom we owe all the credit

and influence in the world which, by just and honourable exertions,

we can gain. In recollecting, therefore, how I exerted myself, and

succeeded in these attempts, I am dwelling on one of the most happy

points of view which that part of my life suggests to me; for though

I did not do this _as_ I ought, yet I was doing _what_ I ought, and

by doing so was preserved from much evil, and God knows how far the

creditable footing I gained at Cambridge in the studies of the place

may yet be available for a good end."

It is hard to believe young Spencer was so utterly devoid of religion

as he here describes himself to be; we draw a more favourable

inference from a journal he kept at the time. Noticing the death of

the Princess Charlotte, he says: "It appears to be the greatest

calamity that could have befallen us in public, and it is a deplorable

event in a private point of view. It must be ascribed to the

interposition of Providence, which must have some end in view beyond

our comprehension." He speaks of the death of Mrs. Blomfield thus--"It

is for her a happy event, after a life so well spent as hers has

been." A few pages further on he has these words about the death of

another friend of his. "I was extremely shocked to-day at hearing that

James Hornby died last Friday of apoplexy. It was but a short time

past that I was corresponding with him about the death of Mrs.

Blomfield; and little he or I thought that he would be the next to go.

The last year and a half I stayed at Eton I lived in the greatest

intimacy with him, which had afterwards fallen away a little; but he

was very clever and promising, and I always was fond of him. It must

be a wise dispensation of Providence, and may be intended as a warning

to us, in addition to those we have lately had in the deaths of

Maitland and Dundas. God grant it may be an effectual one!"

These are not the spontaneous expressions of one altogether {40} a

stranger to piety, though they may very well be put down as the

transient vibration of chords that had long lain still in his heart,

and which these rude shocks must have touched and made audibly heard

once more. This conclusion is more in accordance with other remarks

found scattered here and there in the same journal. He criticises

sermons and seems to like none; he is regular at chapel and puts on

his surplice on the days appointed; but he refuses to take the

sacrament for no conceivable reason but that he does not care about

it, and hears it is administered unbecomingly. He is shrewd and

considerate in his remarks upon persons and things; yet there is

scarcely a line of scandal or uncharitableness in the whole closely

written volume. When he records a drunken fit or a row, he suppresses

the names of the rioters; and if he says a sharp word about a person

in one page, he makes ample amends for it in many pages afterwards; by

showing how mistaken he was at first, and how agreeable it was to him

to change his opinion upon a longer acquaintance. This might not

appear very high praise; but let us take notice of his age and

circumstances, and then perhaps it may have its value. He was a young

man, just turned eighteen; he had been brought up in splendour at

home, and in a poisonous atmosphere at school. That he was not the

vilest of the vile is to be wondered at more than that he preserved as

much goodness as he did. Where is the young man, of even excellent

training, who will be able to contend, unaided and taunted, against a

whole college of the finest youth of any country? His motives may be

beneath a Christian's standard, but the fact that with this weak

armour, the bare shadow of what it might be, he made such noble

resistance and passed almost unscathed through the furnace into which

he was cast, only shows what he would have done had he been imbued

with the teachings of a higher order. The very human respect and

worldly considerations that succeeded in keeping him from vice,

acquire a respectability and a status in the catalogue of

preservatives from the fact of their being successful in his case. His

was a fine mind, and one is moved to tears at seeing this noble

material for sanctity thus tossed {41} about and buffeted by a herd of

capricious companions who could not see its beauty. Let us take up any

young man's journal of his age and read some pages of it, what shall

we find? Jokes played upon green freshmen, tricks for outdoing

proctors, records of follies, or perchance pompous unreality put on to

conceal all these or worse. His diary is the generous utterance of a

noble mind; it is candid, true, conscientious, and puts a failing and

a perfection of the writer side by side. It is no wonder that he was

loved and courted, and that his companions had acquired an esteem for

him in college, which years and toils have not succeeded in lessening.

His keen grief at the deficiencies of his college life only shows to

what height of sanctity he had reached, when what another might boast

of wrung from him these lamentations.

{42}

CHAPTER VII.

Conclusion Of His First Year In Cambridge.

The events recorded in his journal at this time could very

conveniently be swelled into chapters, if one had a mind to be

diffuse. To trace the fortunes of the gentlemen he comes in contact

with--Denison, Wodehouse, Carlisle, Hildyard, Brougham, and a host of

others, who afterwards shone in different circles, High Church

controversies, pleadings at the bar, parliamentary debates, and Irish

Lord-lieutenancies,--would form some very interesting episodes. We

should add many titles to the off-handed surnames of the collegian's

journal, and say a few words about how those dignities were procured,

earned, and worn by the possessors. It might be, perhaps, interesting

to some readers to know how many gay young noblemen were enticed into

becoming sons-in-law to some very reverend doctors. All this and more

Mr. Spencer notes down in the journal, but it is not our theme.

"I have before observed that about my first Christmas I was

encouraged by Mr. Monk and by Mr. Blomfield, who had removed from

Dunton and lived then about ten miles from Cambridge, to undertake a

contest for a University prize; but from this I afterwards drew

back. I followed up then principally the object of getting into the

first class at the Trinity College examinations, which took place at

the end of each year, and which is an honour much esteemed, on

account of that College standing so high in the University, though

of course it is not on a level with the honours gained in

examinations where competitors are admitted from the whole body of

students in the University. It was one object of silly ambition at

Cambridge to do well in the examinations without having appeared to

{43} take much trouble about it. During my second term I fell into

the idea of aiming a little at this, and I went to many more

parties, and took more time for various amusements, particularly

cards, than I allowed myself in the first term. Had I not been

checked for this, I should probably have lost much ground in my

race. But a check did come to me at Easter, when I went to town, and

one evening expressed to my father and mother something of

self-congratulation for having united so much amusement with my

studies. My mother saw the danger I was now falling into, and, as it

seemed to me, with too great severity, for an hour together

represented to me the absurdity of my notions, and upbraided me with

going the way to disappoint all their prospects. I had no thought of

bringing such a reproof upon myself, and went to bed actually crying

with mortification. However, it had its effect, and I was thankful

for it afterwards. The next term, which was the last and critical

one before the examination, I spent in very severe and regular

study, and cared not how some idle ones might derogate from my

success, and comfort themselves for their inferiority by the

thought, that I had read so hard as to take away from my merit. At

length, on the 18th May, 1818, the very day, as I observed, on

which, ten years before, I had gone to Eton, I went into the

examinations in which was to be gained the little share of credit in

this way which was to fall to my lot. They lasted for a week; and, a

day or two after, I received a note from Mr. Amos, now a

distinguished ...... in London, who was one of the examiners, and a

great friend of mine, which filled me with exultation: 'I have the

greatest pleasure in informing you that you are in the first class.

Ollivant is only eight marks above you, and you and he have left all

the rest of the class at a long, very long, distance.' I afterwards

learnt that the highest number of the marks was between 1,600 and

1,700, and that while Ollivant and I were near together at the head,

the next to me was at the distance of 291. Lord Graham, now Duke of

Montrose, was one of the first class, and if he had read as much as

I did, there is no doubt he would have been before {44} me. I was

told at the same time that I learnt the above-named particulars, as

I find it in my journal, that 'I was best in mathematics, and

Grahame next, although Grahame was first in algebra;' after which I

thus expressed my ambition at the time: 'I hope that Grahame will

not read for next year's examination, and if my eyes last out (for

at that time I was under some apprehension on that point) I may have

a chance of being first then, which would be delightful.' Such is

all earthly ambition, and, as in my case, so always its

effects--disappointment and mortification. Had I offered all my

studies to God, and worked for Him, depending on His help, I should

have done much more. I should have enjoyed my successes more purely,

and should have been guarded from all disappointment. The second

year's examination is much more confined to mathematics than to

classics, and had I been wise and regular and well-disciplined in my

mind, I might have gained that _first_ place which I was aiming at,

for Grahame did not read for it. As it was, Ollivant, who was some

way behind me in the first year, got up his ground, and beat me in

the second year's examination, in which, though I was second again,

I had no remarkable superiority over the one who came next to me."

Spencer formed the acquaintance of Sir Thomas Fremantle while they

were both at Dunton under the charge of Mr. Blomfield. Fremantle went

to Oxford and he to Cambridge, but they continued the intimacy, begun

here, to which Spencer pays cordial tributes of unfeigned gratitude.

Sir Thomas was a welcome guest at Althorp; he and George used to spur

each other on to renewed exertions in the pursuit of literary honours.

Spencer formed a plan for the long vacation, and went, on March 25, to

Oxford, to lay the subject before Fremantle; it was, that they should

go somewhere and read together. Spencer got into the coach in London,

and arrived in Oxford at twelve at night. He lionised the place next

day, was introduced to different celebrities, and dined and "wined" in

the most select companies his friends, Fremantle and Lord Wilton,

could muster for his reception. He lived during the time in the rooms

of a {45} fellow commoner of Oriel. He did not leave a single

department unvisited. He played at tennis with a Mr. Denison; compared

the agreements and disagreements of their ways there with those of

Cambridge; the only thing noteworthy he chose to put down in his

diary, as the result of his comparison, is, that (when he plays cards

in W ***'s rooms, where there are four tables) "they play high, and I

do not like the kind of party so well as those at Cambridge."

Spencer continued in Cambridge, and read, or idled, as the tone of his

mind directed, until the 31st of July, 1818. This morning he set off,

at half-past five, in the _Rising Sun_, for Birmingham; he falls in

with a brilliant Etonian, who recounts the progress of things at his

old school; and has to sleep in what he calls "the most uncomfortable

and uncivil inn I have ever seen." He sets off on another coach next

morning for Shrewsbury, and finds, to his agreeable surprise, that

Fremantle travelled by the inside of the same vehicle. They both

travel together into Wales, having first procured a supply of candles,

tea, and other commodities for housekeeping, which they did not hope

to find at hand where they were going to. After many long stages,

up-hill and down-hill, among Welsh mountains, and strange

fellow-travellers, they arrive at Towyn, at ten o'clock at night on

the 2nd of August, having been nearly three days performing a journey

which can now be accomplished in a few hours.

Towyn is a little town in Merionethshire, situated on the sea coast,

on a neck of land formed by a graceful little creek, into which the

River Doluny empties itself, and a kind of sloping arm of the channel.

Here Spencer and Fremantle took up their residence for the long

vacation, in a nice little house for which they paid ten guineas a

month. They had the whole premises to themselves, with a waiting-man

named Davis, and a maid Kitty. Their mode of life was very regular.

They rose early, bathed in the sea, which rolled its waves against

their premises, breakfasted, and studied till two o'clock. It was

customary with them then to go out exploring with dog and gun until

dinner, dine at five, take another stroll, and read again until they

thought it time to take tea, {46} and chat until bed-time. Each in

turn was steward for a week; they purchased their own provisions in

the little town, thus making a regular home there for the term of

their stay. They read pretty well for the first week or two;

afterwards they got so fond of brisk air and the adventures they came

across in their daily walks, that the reading became less agreeable,

and soon irksome. The first adventure recorded in the journal is the

following. They were both returning home after a two hours' vain

pursuit of game, and came across a gouty old gentleman, who asked them

a number of impertinent questions. He then asked them to dine, but

finding out on inquiry that he was "a notorious blackguard," although

great in lands and money, they politely declined his invitation.

Another time they rode a great way up the country and stopped at a

pretty place, which they found, to their chagrin, not to be a fairy

castle exactly, but "a grand shop for gossip, kept by two old ladies,

assisted by a third," at whose qualifications in point of age the

reader is left to make guesses. Another day they went out to shoot,

and met another serious adventure, which is thus noted: "I got an

immense ducking in a black mud ditch, which came up to my middle or

higher, and Fremantle got a wetting too, but not so serious as mine."

Things go on smoothly now for about a week; they receive several

visits from neighbouring gentry, and the way in which the return to

some of them is described gives us a fair specimen of the flow of

spirits Spencer enjoyed at the time. "Saturday, Aug. 15.--We made

ourselves greater bucks than usual to-day, and set off at two to call

on Mr. Scott, near Aberdovey. He takes pupils there. We came home to

dinner at half-past five; and after dinner (still greater bucks) we

went to drink tea at Bodalog, with Mr. and Mrs. Jeffreys, and came

home at half-past ten (14 miles walking)." The next adventure was one

in which they tried their hands at shooting on the river with Mr.

Jeffreys' long gun; whether the weight of the instrument, or an effort

to reach the game that it killed, drew them nearer the water than they

intended, he tells us that they "got quite soused in the water," and

figured at the gentleman's dinner-table in two complete sets of the

apparel of {47} the old man, to the no small amusement of the company.

Nothing remarkable occurred after this to the two friends, except a

trip to Aberystwyth, where they lodged a few days, met a few old

acquaintances, and enjoyed a ball that was given to the ladies and

gentlemen who were there for the season; until the 14th of September.

This day they had a great battle of words with their landlord, who did

not like their leaving him so soon: in this, however, they came off

victorious. They both travel through Wales, visit Snowdon, Carnarvon,

and meet a body of Cambridge men reading with a tutor at Conway.

September 29th, he took the mail to London, and thus ended his long

vacation. He stays at Wimbledon with his own family until the time for

returning to Cambridge again. He relates in the journal that a man

comes to teach Lady Spencer, his mother, how to bind books. This may

be thought a strange kind of recreation for a lady of high rank; but

it will not when we read that "this was the same person who set off

the fashion of _shoemaking_!"

He concludes his first year in Cambridge thus:--"This day's journal

completes a year from the time I began to keep my history. It has

indeed been an important year in my life the first in which I have

been my own master, and have, I fear, settled my character with all

its faults. Several things which I have both done and undone I shall

never cease regretting. I have only to _thank God_ that there is no

more reason for regret. With my reading, on the whole, I am as well

satisfied as I ever expected." Two words are underlined in this

extract; they were often on his lips till the day of his death, and

frequently formed the subject of his sermons. If his character had its

faults settled with it in his own estimation, it is pleasing to see

the habit of resignation existing as a virtue in him even at this age.

It was one that was confirmed in him afterwards, to an eminent degree.

{48}

CHAPTER VIII.

Second Year In Cambridge--Takes His Degree.

During the first term of his second year in Cambridge, his average

hours of reading decreased; yet he had still a taste for study, and

had not yet thrown aside what remained of his former ambition to

distinguish himself. He and the Duke of Montrose declaim on the

respective merits of Charles V. and Francis I.; they tossed up for

sides, and Charles V. fell to Spencer. This keeps him at hard study

for some time; meanwhile he hears Ollivant declaim, and thinks he will

get both prizes. After the declamation, in which he comes off more

creditably than he expected, he has half a hope of a prize, which he

says he should be surprised though delighted to receive. He did get

one, but not so high as he expected. Here and there in his journal at

this time a few expressions of discontent escape from him about

Cambridge; the cause being partially what has been related in the

chapter before last. This had also, conjointly with another

circumstance, the effect of cutting short his University career. He

writes in the autobiography:--

"I made some good progress during this year, but I should have done

much more had I been constantly regular. I must have suffered great

loss by my interruptions, as I find by my journal that for about

four weeks at the end of the long vacation, when I had come home and

was taken up with shooting, I did not make one hour's study; and two

more long intervals of cessation from reading took place in the

Christmas and Easter vacations, when a little steady application, if

it were but for three hours a-day, would have kept my mind

attentive, and given me a great advantage. After my first

examination, I entertained some thoughts {49} of waiving my

privilege of taking an honorary degree, and going through the Senate

House examinations with a view to University honours; but I lost all

wish to remain at Cambridge towards the end of the second autumn. I

was at times quite disgusted with the place, for such reasons as I

have stated; besides which, my father and mother had made a plan,

which pleased me greatly, of going for a year on the Continent, in

which I was to accompany them. My brother Frederick, who was come

home about this time, was to be of the party likewise, and happy was

I in the prospect of being again some time in his company; but as an

opportunity occurred for him to go to South America, with Sir Thomas

Hardy, with the hope of being made Commander, this professional

advantage was justly preferred."

Some of the heads at Cambridge as well as Lady Spencer urged him at

this time to stand for a fellowship, but he gave up the idea, and it

ended in his joining a new club they had formed--the Eton club. These

clubs at the Universities are looked upon with no great favour by

proctors and others who have charge of the morals of the students.

Their dinners entail great expenses on the members, and they end as

the first meeting did in his case: "They all made an enormous row, and

I too, by the bye." He came to spend the Christmas of 1818 at Althorp,

and closes the year with a succession of parties, Pope Joan, and

bookbinding. There is one little incident recorded in his journal at

this time which gives us a perfect insight into his character. One

might expect that at this age, nineteen, he would be very romantic and

dreamy, and that we should find many allusions to those topics which

engross so much of the time of novel-reading youths and maidens

nowadays. Nothing of the sort. There is an affair of the heart, but

his conduct in it, with his remarks on it, are worthy of a

sexagenarian. At a party, which took place at his father's, he dances

with various young ladies, among the rest a certain Miss A., who, he

says, "was a great flame of mine two years ago; she is not so pretty

as I thought her then, but she is a delightful partner. I was again in

love, but not violently to-night." Two or three days after this, he is

at another party, and {50} dances with a new set of partners to the

extent of three quadrilles. Of one of these he thus speaks--"I was

delighted with Miss B., who is a pleasant unaffected girl, and I am

doomed to think of her I suppose for two or three days instead of Miss

A. I was provoked that she would not give me her fan at parting." Was

it not cool and thoughtful of him to mark out the time such a change

of sentiment was likely to last? The next page of the journal brings

the subject before us still more clearly. His mother took him for a

walk around Althorp, and told him that she was planning a house for

the parsonage at Brington: "Which they say is to be mine when I am old

enough; it might be made a most comfortable and even a pretty place,

and if I live to come to it I can figure to myself some happy years

there with a fond partner of my joys, if I can meet with a good one.

'Here then, and with thee, my N.' [Footnote 2] would have been my

language some time ago; but how my opinions even of such important

things change with my increasing years. This thought often occurs to

me, and will I hope prevent me from ever making any engagements which

cannot be broken, in case my fancy should be altered during the time

which must elapse before the completion of them." It will be seen,

further on in the biography, how this affair ended. There is a very

good lesson in what he has left for young men of his age. If reason

were allowed to direct the affections, many would be preserved from

rash steps that embitter their whole lives. It seems amusing to a

Catholic to find the prospects of a clergyman's happiness so very

commonplace; but it will be a relief to learn by-and-by how very

different were his ideas when he became a clergyman, and built and

dwelt in that identical parsonage that now existed only in his own and

his mother's mind. He gets a commission in the Northamptonshire

Yeomanry before returning to Cambridge for Hilary term this year.

[Footnote 2: A quotation, as the reader may remember,

from _Guy Mannering_.]

Studies seem to him a necessary evil now, and he writes with a kind of

a sigh of relief when he notes, a few pages on, that he has taken his

last compulsory lesson in Latin. {51} Balls and parties of all kinds

are his rage. George and a friend of his had notice of a ball coming

off in Northampton in a few days, and he heard that his "ladye love"

would be one of the company, so they determined to be there. He writes

letters, gets an invitation for his friend, and makes all the

preparation possible for a week previous. The day comes, it is rainy;

but, no matter, they pack their best suits into trunks, bring the

necessary apparatus for making a good appearance, they search the town

for a conveyance, and at length procure a team for a tandem at

Jordan's. Off they go, eighteen miles the first stage, then eight

more; they bait their horses and dine; off again for full sixteen

miles. He has also to run the risk of a cross-examination from

whatever members of his family he may happen to meet at the ball, and

to answer the difficult question, "What brought you here?" It is

raining in torrents, it is a cold February day; but all difficulties

appear trifles to the two young adventurers as they urge their team

over the hills and plains of Northamptonshire. Even Spencer boasts in

his journal that he is now a first-rate whip. They arrive in high

glee, forgetting their hardships in the glow of anticipation, and are

greeted with the bad news, as they jump from their conveyance, that

the ball has been put off until next month. To make matters worse, the

bearer of these unfavourable tidings assured them that he wrote to

them to give this information, and they had an additional motive to

chagrin in the fact of their having forgotten to ask for their letters

in the hurry and anxiety to come off. He notes in the journal--"Feb.

10. We set off again in our tandem for Cambridge, truly _dimissis

auribus_, but with a resolution to try again on the 5th March." On the

5th of March they faithfully carried out this resolution. The ball

took place, but the ladies they were anxious to meet did not come, so

they only half enjoyed the thing. Spencer took a hack and rode off to

Althorp to make his appearance at his father's. He was very nervous

about the prospect of a meeting with his parents, and having to give

an account of himself. Fortunately the Earl was deep in some measure

for furthering George's happiness, and looked upon his son's {52}

arrival as an auspicious visit. Everything thus passed off smoothly,

and the youngsters arrived in Cambridge with their tandem "without

accidents, but with two or three narrow escapes." His journal here has

few incidents out of the ordinary line of his daily life; he learns to

wrestle with success; so as to bring his antagonist to the ground with

a dilapidation of the _res vestiaria_. He practises a good deal at

jumping, and one day, in clearing a hedge, a bramble caught his foot,

which brought him with violence to the ground; by this mishap his eye

was ornamented with a scar which gave him some trouble afterwards. He

also gets a shying horse to ride: this noble charger had a particular

dislike to carts: he shied at one in the market-place in Cambridge,

and soon left his rider on the flags. Spencer mounted again, but found

on his return, after a good ride, that his toe was sprained, and it

kept him indoors for five or six days. This chapter of accidents was

amply counterbalanced by the agreeable fact that he had just attended

his twenty-fifth divinity lecture, and had obtained the certificate

which was to insure him the imposition of his bishop's hands, whenever

he might think it convenient to put himself to the trouble of going

through the ceremony. His course is now coming to an end; he becomes a

freemason, and rises four degrees in the craft before the end of June.

A bishop visits Trinity College, and standing in solemn grandeur, with

a staff of college officers dressed out in their insignia encircling

him, his lordship delivers a grave expression of his displeasure at

the stupidity some twenty students gave evidence of during their

examination. Spencer comes out in the first class once more; his

brother Frederick is in Cambridge at the time, and as soon as the

result is known they take coach for London. Here they spend their time

agreeably between dining at home and abroad, going to Covent Garden,

and taking sundry lessons from an Italian dancing-master, until July

5th, when George returns to Cambridge to take out his degree. We will

hear himself now giving an account of this great event.

"My college labours terminated with the end of the second year's

college examination for the classes, which took {53} place on the

1st of June, 1819. On the 5th of June the result was declared, when,

as I have before said, I was in the first class again, and second to

Ollivant. This was rather a disappointment, and gave me some

reasonable discontent. For the cause of my not being, as I might

have expected, as far above the others as I had been the year

before, I saw clearly was a degree of carelessness in my reading,

especially of one subject that is, the three first sections of

Newton's Principia, which were appointed for the second year's

reading, and for which I had not had a taste as for other parts of

mathematics. However, the time was now past to recover my place, and

soon the importance of this little matter vanished into nothing. I

then went to London till the beginning of July, when I returned to

Cambridge to receive my degree as Master of Arts from the Duke of

Gloucester, who came in person at the commencement of this year to

confer the degrees as Chancellor of the University, and to be

entertained with the best that the colleges could raise to offer him

in the way of feasts and gaieties. My Cambridge cares and troubles

were now well-nigh past, and I enjoyed greatly the position I held

at this commencement as steward of the ball, and a sort of leader of

the gaieties in the presence of the Royal personages, because I was

the first in rank of those who received their honorary degrees.

"From this time there has been a complete cessation with me of all

mathematical studies, and almost of all my classical, to which I

have hardly ever again referred. For when I again returned to

regular study, I had nothing in my mind but matters of theology. It

was at this time, after leaving Cambridge, when I remained

principally fixed as an inmate in my father's house, till I was

settled in the country as a clergyman, that I was in the character

of what is called a young man about town. It was with my dear

brother Frederick, who was at home at the time, as I before

observed, that I began in earnest to take a share in the enjoyment

of London life. I have seen the dangers, the pleasures, and the

miseries of that career, though all in a mitigated degree, from the

happy circumstance of my not {54} being left alone to find my way

through it, as so many are at the age of which I speak. With many,

no doubt, the life in London is the time for going to the full depth

of all the evil of which Oxford or Cambridge have given the first

relish. My father and mother were not like many aged veterans in

dissipation--whom in the days when the fashionable world was most

accounted of by me, I have looked on with pity--who to the last of

their strength keep up what they can of youth, in pursuing still the

round of the gay parties of one rising generation after another.

They (my parents) hardly ever went into society away from home. They

kept a grand establishment, when in London, at Spencer House, as

well as at Althorp in the winter, when the first society, whether of

the political, or the literary and scientific, were constantly

received. It would, therefore, have been unreasonable in me to be

fond of going out for the sake of society, when, perhaps, none was

to be met with so interesting as that at home; besides this, my

father and mother were fond of being surrounded by their family

circle; and if I or my brothers, when staying with them in London,

went out from home several times in succession, or many times a

week, they would generally express some disappointment or

displeasure; and though I used at the time to be sometimes vexed at

this kind of restraint, as I was at other restraints on what I might

have reckoned the liberty of a young man, I used generally, even

then, to see how preferable my condition was. I now most clearly see

that the feelings of my parents in this matter were most reasonable,

and that it was a great blessing to me that I was situated in such

circumstances. They were desirous that we should see the world, and

when any amusement was going on, or party was to take place, which

she thought really worthy of attention, as not being so frivolous as

the general run of such things, my mother zealously assisted in

procuring us invitations, and providing us with needful dresses; as,

for instance, at this time she gave to my brother Frederick and me

very handsome full-dress uniforms (his being, of course, that of a

naval officer, mine of the Northamptonshire Yeomanry, in which I

then held a commission), {55} that we might appear at balls and

parties where full-dress was required, such as foreign ambassadors

sometimes gave. These were, she thought, really worth going to on

account of extraordinary or remarkable characters who came to them,

whether English or foreigners. Thanks to their regular domestic

habits, and to the strict authority which my mother still kept over

us all, while being at Spencer House, I should have found it almost

as difficult as in a well-regulated college to go into any

extravagant irregularities, and so I was hardly tempted to do so. My

feeling habitually was to try and avoid invitations and engagements

from home, far from seeking them eagerly."

The incidents we are able to add from his journal during the interval

between leaving Cambridge and going abroad are very meagre, yet, since

they are characteristic of the man's feelings, a few will be inserted.

From the journal: "Tuesday, July 20. We got up and went to a dreadful

formal breakfast at 10½. At one we were dressed, and the company began

to arrive for a public breakfast, to be given to-day to the people of

the county in honour of the marriage of Lord Temple. The collation was

in the greenhouse, and lasted off and on till about 6!" He goes

through the particulars of the entertainment, the quadrilles and

country dances, the partners' perfections, &c., &c.; but when Lady

Buckingham asked himself and his brother to stay a little while

longer, much as they liked it, they would not do so, because their

mother desired them to be home at a certain time. One must admire his

obedience even at the expense of his enjoyment, when he might

calculate upon the implicit consent of his mother to their acceding to

such a request, and from such a quarter. Another thing we gather from

this is, that F. Ignatius, even when a youth, could never bear what

was formal or ultra-refined; he always liked natural ease and

unaffected simplicity. "We find him turn away from a blue-stocking,

and steal three days' thoughts from his "flame" to bestow them on one

more unaffected and simple. The next incident he chooses to record is,

that the clergyman of the church he used to attend had gone to spend

his honeymoon, and that a preacher whom he did not admire took his

pulpit {56} in his absence. There are some partings of friends, and a

great variety of amusements, to fill up the pages for a month or so.

Father Ignatius used to tell a very remarkable anecdote about this

period of his life; he used it to illustrate the sacrifices that

people can willingly make for the law of fashion, and how reluctant

they are to make even the smallest for the love of God. There was a

great ball to be given somewhere in London; it was to be a most

splendid affair, full in all particulars of dress and etiquette, and

one of those that the Countess Spencer thought really worth going to.

A celebrated _coiffeur_ was imported direct from Paris, and he had a

peculiar style of hair-dressing that none of that craft in London

could hope to imitate with success. All the _belles_, marchionesses of

high degree, who intended figuring at the ball, hired the French

_coiffeur_. He accepted all the engagements, but found they were so

many that it would take twenty-four hours' hard work, without a

moment's repose, to satisfy all. He had to begin at three o'clock in

the afternoon of the day preceding the ball, and Father Ignatius knew

one lady who was high upon his list. She had her hair dressed about

four, and, lest it might be disarranged, slept in her arm-chair, with

her neck in stocks, for the night. This lady, be it remembered, was no

foolish young _belle_, but a matron who might have conveniently

introduced her granddaughter to the circle she attended. "These

people," he used to say, "laugh at the folly of St. Peter of Alcantara

and other mortified saints; and we, who aspire to be saints, will

undergo with difficulty what worldlings cheerfully endure for vanity

and folly." He often laughed at this, and often laughed others into

seriousness at his comments on it.

{57}

CHAPTER IX.

Travels On The Continent.

Spencer's thoughts now seemed perpetually fluttering around the

expectation of going abroad and seeing wonders. This idea comes out at

most unexpected times in the journal, it forms a parenthesis in

everything he considers bearing seriously upon his welfare. At one

time he is disappointed in not having his brother for companion, at

another he hopes his parents will not consider this trip travelling

enough for him; he expects, too, that the parental reins will be

slackened somewhat; and even it crosses his mind, as a kind of remote

probability, that he may perchance be allowed to take a tour by

himself. All that was hopeful in these day-dreams was gratified, and

some of them to an extent that he was very far from imagining at the

time. The great day did arrive at last; the evening before, the

different branches of the family came to dine at Wimbledon, where the

Earl was then staying. They were very serious, as they were going "on

a formidable expedition next morning." In the morning, the different

articles of luggage were sent before them on a van; and, after parting

with Lords Althorp, Lyttelton, and their families, the party started

for the Continent. It consisted of Lord and Lady Spencer in one

carriage, George and the physician in another, and the servants in a

third. They had a courier employed, Luigi Cavani, whose office it was

to ride ahead of the cavalcade, and provide horses and other

necessaries at the next stage. They set sail at Dover at six o'clock

on the evening of the 14th September, and, after what was called a

favourable passage, arrived in Calais the next morning at half-past

seven o'clock. One can leave London Bridge nowadays at the time they

left Dover Harbour, and be in Paris before they landed. {58} He says

in the autobiography:

"It was on the 15th of September, 1819, that we landed at Calais a

day most interesting to me, as I then considered, because the first

of my setting foot in a foreign land, but much more, I now must

reckon, as being the first on which I trod Catholic ground and

entered a Catholic church." In the journal he says: "Dr. Wilson and

I walked about a little (in Calais) to the market-place and the

church, both which were extraordinary to the greatest degree in my

eyes. Sept. 16. We breakfasted at eight, and then started on our

journey. 1st went my father and mother in their carriage with 4

horses; 2ndly. Dr. Wilson and I in a hired _calèche_ with two

horses. 3rd. Drewe and the maids, in one with three horses; and

last, the _fourgon_, with 3. This was the order of march. I was

amused extremely by the difference of this and our English posting.

The appearance of the postilions is so new to me, as they crack

their long whips over their heads, and the little horses with their

rope harness look so mean. Luigi rode post to order horses and

manage everything for us, and was always found waiting at every

relay."

We quote this in full to give an idea of how noblemen travelled in the

not very olden time. If George was much surprised at the church in

Calais, his wonder knew no bounds when he entered the Cathedral in

Amiens, and saw "Mass performed by separate Priests at different

Altars, and people at each." This is a mystery to Protestants who see

Catholic rites for the first time. They are taught to look upon true

worship as consisting in the meaning of some well-written sentences,

pronounced with emphatic unction, and responded to with some degree of

fervour. The service, the fine old psalms, anthems, and collects of

the Prayer-Book, issuing forth in melodious accents from the lips of a

God-fearing man, is about the highest kind of public worship they can

have any notion of. The sermon is first with some, second with others;

but whatever place the peculiar excellence of the preacher, and the

effects of it on a given occasion, may gain in the heart of an

individual, it may be taken for granted that the service comes before

the sermon in the abstract. But service and sermon must be heard, and

{59} listened to, and understood. With this idea in their minds, and

accustomed to see the minister assume a manner and mien calculated to

produce prayerful thoughts in his congregation, they are surprised, if

not shocked, at the Catholic Mass. They find the Priest hurrying off

through Latin prayers, and producing breathless attention by his own

silence; they see him arrayed in unintelligible attire, moving one way

and another, bowing, genuflecting, standing still, or blessing. They

scarcely understand a word or gesture, and feel perfectly sure that

the old woman who beats her breast and counts her beads by the side of

their staring effrontery is as much in the dark as themselves, if not

more. They have seen one evidence more of the humbug of Popery, and

bless God that Cranmer procured them another ritual. It is not our

object to explain Catholic mysteries, but it may be as well to hint

that if a stranger to Jerusalem happened to wander to Calvary on the

great day of the Crucifixion, and believed in the divinity of the

Victim who hung upon the Cross, he would find more devotion in

kneeling in silence at His feet, than in listening to the most

eloquent declamation he could hear about it. Such is the case with the

Catholic now as then; he knows the same Victim is offered up still,

and when the great moment arrives in the middle of the Mass, he would

have everything to be hushed and silent, except the little bell that

gives him notice of the awful moment. A reason why there should be

people at the different altars lies in this: that there is the same

Sacrifice on each, and one may happen to come into the church at a

time when it would be more convenient to hear Mass at some one place

than at another. The course of their journey lay through Paris, which

they entered from St. Denis by Montmartre. They remained some days

there to see Notre Dame, and Paris from its summit, admire the length

of the Louvre, and visit Fontainebleau. In the course they took by

Auxerre, Maison Neuve, Dijon, Poligny, and Morey, in order to cross

Mount Jura and to see Mont Blanc on their way to Switzerland, they

have to endure many privations. The inns are bad, the cooking is

inferior, and they have to undergo discomforts while sleeping in {60}

the _châlets_ of mountaineers, who were not accustomed to have their

quiet invaded by such state visits every day. All this they bore

manfully until they arrived in Geneva, which they find "crammed with

English." It strikes George as extraordinary that the Genevese should

have their shops in the top story of their houses. He misses the

morning service in the Calvinist Church on Sunday; thinks their

afternoon function very like the Scotch, and sensible. He gives vent

to his indignation at finding "a number of blackguard fellows playing

cards and smoking, publicly, at a cafe, whilst there were only twenty

at church." He is disappointed, therefore, at not finding Geneva the

devout, religious place he imagined it to be. He sees a few of the

sights with Dr. Wilson, and they cross the Lago Maggiore in a boat,

whilst the rest of the company go round it by land. They all meet

together in Milan; there they find Lord Lucan. He goes to see the

_Duomo, Brera,_ theatres; and admires the fine streets, shops, &c.,

and says the Cathedral is unique. He had the pleasure of meeting the

famous Angelo, afterwards Cardinal, Mai at the Ambrosian Library. He

went to the Cathedral on Saturday to see _Mass performed_, and was

disappointed at not hearing the organ. He had, however, quite enough

of the rite on Sunday, October 17th:--

"At 10½ I went to the _Duomo_, and got into a little gallery over

the choir, from whence I saw the ceremonies for the anniversary of

the consecration of the church. There was a procession all round the

building, with incense burning, and with the Priests singing anthems

all the time, and a quantity of _other mummery_, the sight of which

might well have driven Calvin to the extremities which he went to in

the contrary way. The whole service is always in Latin, so that the

people may not reap even the smallest benefit from it."

We shall give another extract from the journal, as it shows the state

of his mind at the time:--

"This day completes the second year of my journal. How quick are

they flown! those two years which are supposed to be the happiest in

life. I think any time in life is happy if one knows the secret of

making {61} it so. I have not learnt it yet, and have had a great

deal of unhappiness since going to College. But for what? Nothing

but my own imagination and weaknesses, for everything which

generally gives happiness I have enjoyed. I have made several

friends, been successful enough in my College studies, and have

never wanted anything; but I have a morbid constitution which makes

me raise phantoms of unhappiness where there is none, and clouds the

fairest scenes with a veil of melancholy. This must be conquered,

somehow or other, or I shall be a creature useless to others and

tormenting to myself."

He feels much distaste at what he terms the dirty style in which an

Italian gentleman chooses to live, because that gentleman finds

himself quite comfortable without such furniture and appliances as are

deemed essential in England. He happened to be a man fond of books,

and spent his spare time in libraries and academies.

The travellers leave Milan after a fortnight's stay, and proceed

through Placentia, Parma, Modena, and Bologna. Here the celebrated

Cardinal Mezzofanti called upon them, and Spencer remarks that the

only thing worth seeing, as far as he has gone, in Italy, are churches

and their ornaments. He singled out one of those latter for special

remark, as we find by the following passage:--

"Oct. 30. At nine o'clock Dr. Wilson's friend, a lawyer, took him

and me up to a church on the mountain, near the town, famous for a

picture--done, as they say, by St. Luke! There is a fine arcade to

it for 2½ miles, and pilgrims go by this to adore this nonsense!"

Their next stay is at Florence, where he had the ill-luck of not

providing against mosquitoes, who took the liberty of biting him

heartily the first night he slept there. News reaches him next day

that a great friend of his at Cambridge, a Mr. Gambler, has obtained a

fellowship in Trinity. This makes him merry all the evening. They halt

again for some rest at Perugia. All he says about this classic town

is, "Before breakfast the Doctor and I saw a gallery of frightful old

pictures, and other _maraviglia_ of {62} Perugia, and then set off,

still through mountainous country, to Spoleto. They start for Rome

next day, they see it fifteen miles off, but he does not seem to have

had a single spark of enthusiasm as he looks upon the great mistress

of the world for the first time. Of course Rome, as the capital of

Christendom, was not likely to stir up his best feelings, when we

remember the then frame of his religious mind. At all events, cold and

listless as it might be, he entered Rome on Wednesday, the 10th

November, 1819. The first thing he and his father with the Doctor did

on arriving, was to pay a visit to St. Peter's. "We saw it inside and

out. It was most glorious: but its size from some reason or other

disappoints me, as it does all strangers; it improves upon

acquaintance, I fancy." How like Byron's opinion. "Childe Harold:"

Canto iv. 65:--

"Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not;

And why? it is not lessened: but thy mind,

Expanded by the Genius of the spot,

Has grown colossal, and can only find

A fit abode wherein appear enshrined

Thy hopes of immortality; and thou

Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,

See thy God face to face, as thou dost now

His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by His brow."

He visits next the Capitoline, the ancient Forum, and the Coliseum; he

remarks: "this last is quite stupendous, and quite answers my

expectations. I could not yet understand the plan of the staircases

and seats. _The Pope has stuck it all over with little chapels_." He

meets Tom Moore, and spends a day with him and other merry companions

in Tivoli.

He stayed in Rome this time only a week: for on the 17th November they

all started for Naples. In passing through Terracina he meets what

Catholics will recognize as a _svegliarino_. It is customary, when a

mission is being given in some parts of Italy, for one of the

missioners to go out, accompanied by a bell, and such companions, lay

and clerical, as wish to take part in the ceremony, go {63} around the

village, and preach from a table in three or four different places.

This has a remarkable effect--the listless loungers who prefer basking

in the sun, or swallowing maccaroni, to going to the church for the

sermons, are thus roused so far as to put their heads out of the

window or door and ask what's the matter. By-and-bye the crowd

thickens, one looks inquisitively at the other, and when their

curiosity has been worked upon sufficiently, the missioner gets up,

and in a fiery zealous discourse puts the fear of God into his

hearers. Thousands are brought to repentance by these means every

year. The sermon, of course, is not a polished oration, with points of

rhetoric to suit the laws of criticism. It is rather broken and

inflamed, short and telling sentences, and delivered with all that

unction and impetuosity for which Italians are remarkable; and which

is anything but intelligible to an Englishman, who is accustomed to

the measured discourses of a London Churchman. Accordingly we find

this proceeding thus dotted down in the journal:--"At Terracina we

were very much _amused_ by a procession of penitents with the Bishop

of Terracina, and an extravagant sermon preached by a priest from a

table before the inn." At that time, how little could he foresee that

he should afterwards give such a mission in Italy himself, and

further, to the utmost of his power, with equal zeal, though with more

sedateness, even such an _extravaganza_, as it now appeared to him.

His style of preaching, however, as we shall hereafter see, was never

such as to qualify him for an emphatic _svegliarino_.

On November 21 they arrive in Naples, not very pleasantly, as Lady

Spencer had suffered from the roughness of the road, and was obliged

to rest a night in Capua, and George was suffering from a soreness in

his eye. These inconveniences were forgotten for a moment on meeting

Lord George Quin and his lady, daughter to Lord Spencer. Young Spencer

was delighted with the children, though they could only speak French

or Italian. The soreness of his eye keeps him at home next day, which

he enjoys as he has full opportunity of chatting with his sister, whom

he {64} seems to have loved very much. He has already alluded to the

plan his mother formed for his learning to play on the guitar; so we

shall not quote any of the handsome greetings which the guitar-master

receives as he comes to inflict the penance of making his pupil tune

the strings of this romantic instrument.

{65}

CHAPTER X.

English Life In Naples.

The English who wintered in Naples at the same time with the Spencer

family seemed to have formed, as they generally do, a special caste.

They dined together, drove out together, they laughed at the churches,

and crowded the opera. Their conduct in the latter place did not seem

to be very edifying to the Neapolitans, who, perhaps, may have thought

it was an English custom to see a nobleman "tumbling tipsy one night

into Earl Spencer's box," to the no small disedification of the whole

family, who were models of sobriety and decorum. The English, by

forming their own circles in this exclusive manner, and by their

external deportment on various occasions, keep away the higher and

more pious grades of society in Catholic cities. The scoffers at

monachism and priestly rule are freely admitted within the English

pale, and pay for their hospitality, by catering to the worst

prejudices of their entertainers, and maligning their neighbours. It

is very often a repetition of the fable of the sour grapes. For this

we have ample testimony in the writings of our contemporaries, which

we will strengthen by quoting Father Ignatius's own words a little

later. The better Italians sometimes laugh at all this, so that John

Bull is become a by-word among them for exclusiveness and arrogant,

selfish pride. The blame lies with the English.

They sometimes found disagreeable incidents from the clashing of

tastes and customs. On the 8th of December they made the round of the

churches, but were sorely piqued that the Neapolitans had too much

respect for our Blessed Lady to open the operas and theatres on the

evening {66} of the Feast of her Immaculate Conception, so they had to

content themselves with whist, and discordant notes from George's

guitar. Another of these crosses occurred a few days after. George

made a lame excursion to Vesuvius, and when groaning from toothache on

his return, heard that the father of his bosom friend, Sir Thomas

Fremantle, senior, was dead. To make matters worse, the remains could

not be interred in a cemetery, and the _Inglesi_ had to pay the last

sad rites to their friend in a private garden. On Christmas Day they

had service at the Consul's, and then they walked about, and had their

whist for the rest of the day. The old year was danced out at a grand

quadrille party, of which more hereafter; and George tells us very

carefully that "a set of us drank in the new year in _diavolone_." How

remarkable, at every turn, and even by such chance and off-hand

expressions, to note the contrast between the George Spencer of that

day and the subject of divine grace he afterwards became!

It is a relief to begin the new year 1820 with recording an exception

made to the general custom above. George was presented by his father

to King Ferdinand, and all the _nobili Inglesi_ were invited to join

in the festivities with which it was customary to usher in the new

year. For the rest, the evenings and early part of the mornings are

spent in a continual whirl of amusement, and it would require a page

to number up the balls and dances he figured in. He visits also the

Carthusian and Camaldolese monasteries, but makes no comments. He goes

two or three times to see Vesuvius and the crater and the lava, of

which he gives a very nice description; after this he is allowed, by

special favour, to be at the Royal chase: this puts him in great

humour, for, besides the sport it afforded in the way of getting shots

at such choice game as wild boars, it gave him an opportunity of

seeing the "King and all his court, to which nothing can be similar."

Towards the end of January, Lord and Lady Spencer determined on

returning to England, and offered to leave George to travel through

the sights of Southern Italy. He perceives, in a few days, the tokens

of an inclination in his {67} parents to have his company, and goes

straightway to the Honourable Augustus Barrington, who was to be his

fellow-traveller, and breaks off the plan they had formed. It was only

after very pressing instances from his father and mother that he could

be persuaded to take up the first plan anew. A portion of his

autobiography will throw some light upon many things we have only just

touched upon, and, therefore, it is better to quote it here, though it

might come in more opportunely at the conclusion of his first tour

abroad.

"It is extraordinary, indeed, that I should have remained a whole

year on the Continent and never once have seriously taken into

consideration the subject of the Catholic religion. Such was the

case; and I returned to England, as far as I can remember, without

one doubt having crossed my mind whether this was the true religion

or not. ...

And now for a little recollection of the state of my mind during

this period of travelling, and its moral effects upon me. During all

this time I continued, thank God, wholly convinced that a course of

iniquity would not answer; and had I met with any among the young

men, my associates, who would have dared to speak out fully in

favour of morality, I should, I believe, have been ready to agree

with him. But where were such to be found? I had now grown so far

more independent of the world, that I had not open assaults to bear

continually against for not running with the rest. Many of the young

men who maintained their character as free licentious livers, yet

professed some degree of moderation and restraint in their

indulgences. Some I remember, who professed to keep clear of immoral

practices, and no doubt their sincerity in this might be depended

on; for where no credit but dishonour would be the reward of steady

conduct, there was no temptation to pretend to it falsely. But I

remember now but one who dared to allude in my hearing--and that was

but once, I think, in private--to the consequence of this sin in

another world, and to maintain that it was better to avoid it for

fear of punishment hereafter. While, then, I still knew that the way

of evil was all wrong, and would have been most happy if the fashion

of wickedness could have been at {68} an end; and though I never

once, as far as I know, was the first to introduce immodest

conversation, and hardly ever heard it introduced by others without

inward repugnance, and seldom joined in it; yet I never dared

declare how much I hated it, and was still in the most awful and

desperate state of wishing I had been like the worst, sooner than be

thus subject to the torment of being put to shame before bold

profligates. While with my parents, I have before said, I was under

good surveillance, and could not think of being detected by them in

any evil. How shall I ever be thankful enough for all this? My

father's character was such that though many who were often in his

company were men whom I have known, when out of it, to delight in

most abominable things, I knew of none who ever dared in his sight

to do more than covertly allude to them. I was therefore happy in

this respect whenever he was near; but when once more left to

myself, I again returned to those fearful deliberations of which I

have before spoken of, as it were, selling myself, for a time at

least, to work wickedness without restraint. It may be well

conceived how miserably fallen and corrupt must have been my heart

when such purposes were entertained within it; and if, partly

through some remains of the holy impressions of my childhood, which

still operated on my poor, degraded heart as a kind of habit not yet

quite worn off; partly by a sense of the shame and misery I should

have before my family and some more whom I knew in the world, who

would be themselves most afflicted if they heard of my fall from the

good dispositions which they had known in me; partly from a fear of

ridicule, even from the profligate, if, after all, I was to fell;

partly by the wonderful providence of God, which (I acknowledge)

most wisely and most tenderly, yet strongly interposed at times to

baffle the madness of my designs when about to be accomplished--if,

I say, thus I have been in a degree preserved, God knows I have no

credit due to me: God knows that from my heart I take only shame and

confusion of face to myself in the remembrance, of my very

preservation. Towards the latter part of my stay abroad, I began to

be in some way weary of this uncertain state of mind. I {69} was

always expecting to take Orders when I should reach the age; and as

I knew that then I should not be expected by the world to join in

its fashionable vices, and should even suffer in public estimation

if I did, my thoughts began to be rather better directed, and I took

pains from time to time to overcome some of the evil that was in

me."

"It is wonderful that any good disposition should have lived within

me, when every remembrance of religion seems to have been put out of

my mind. I now could hardly understand how this should have indeed

been the case, if I had not a clear remembrance of certain

circumstances which plainly show what was the state of my mind. On

the 27th January, 1820, I went up Mount Vesuvius with Dr. Wilson,

when, as we were looking into the crater of the volcano, a discharge

of red-hot stones took place. I heard them whistle by me as they

ascended, and though it was of no use to attempt to get out of the

way, I hurried back a few steps by a natural impulse, and

immediately saw a lump of red-hot stuff twice the size of one's head

fall on the spot where I had been standing just before. We

immediately ran down the side of the mountain, and reached a place

about a quarter of a mile distant from the mouth of the crater, from

whence we could see the upper cone of the mountain. Just then a

grand explosion took place, which shook the whole mountain, and a

vast quantity of these masses of fiery red stuff was spouted out

from the crater, which in its return appeared entirely to cover the

whole space over which we had been running five minutes before. Here

was an evident escape which, in a mind possessed with any religion

at all, could not fail of awakening some serious reflections. Alas!

I never thought of the abyss into which I must have fallen had not

the good angel, who watched and guided me through so many perils

which I thought not of, then preserved me. When I came down in the

evening to Naples, the only effect was that I was pleased and vain

at having a good adventure to relate, and showing off a spirit of

bravery and indifference, when some blamed me for my rashness.

"Another circumstance I may record to show how free from all

religious fear my mind was. I have before noticed {70} the fits of

melancholy which became habitual to me during the last part of my

Cambridge life. These came, I think, to their greatest height in the

last half of the time I spent at Naples. The interesting excitement

of our journey, the company of my sister when I first came to

Naples, and the gaieties of which I had my fill there, and which at

first had all the charm of novelty, kept me from much thought of any

kind, and I enjoyed the balls, the concerts, the grand operas, the

enchanting rides of Naples, for a month or six weeks, almost without

a cloud. At least I used always to count that my brightest period in

the way of enjoyments. Unhappy those who have health and spirits and

talents to enable them to please and be pleased long together in

such a round of vanity! To my great vexation I found myself again

attacked with my old enemy, melancholy; do what I would, I could not

drive away those fits of gloom. They were caused partly by the

effect on my health of too much good living, and bad hours; but the

chief cause was the intrinsic worthlessness of all such pleasure,

which will discover itself sooner or later to every one even of its

most devoted lovers, and which happily showed itself to me sooner

than others. Oh! what frivolous causes did my happiness then seem to

depend on! Not dancing to my satisfaction in one quadrille, fancying

that some of my favourite partners were tired of my conversation,

and that the nonsense of some other silly youth pleased her better,

was enough to turn what I flattered myself was about to be a bright

and pleasant evening into gloom and sadness. Sometimes, without an

assignable cause, my spirits failed, as at others an equally

frivolous reason would remove my clouds and make me bright again;

but gradually the gloomy moods gained ground, and grew more dark and

tedious. I remember comparing notes with another young man, who was

like me a victim of the dumps, and finding some satisfaction in the

sympathy of a fellow-sufferer, who, with a smile at the absurdity of

such feelings, of which he was well sensible while he avowed them,

exactly described to me my state of mind when he said that under

them he fancied himself the most unfortunate of mankind, and would

willingly have {71} changed places with the most despicable and

wretched of men, not to say with any animal almost. Poor blind fools

that we were! We could not between us suggest the way to be happy

which is open to all.

"I remember well coming home one night from a ball, which, by my

journal, I find to be on the 25th January, when, as I wrote at that

time, I was more miserable than ever I was in that way. I went to

bed, and heard a noise like a creak in the ceiling of my room. I

felt a wish that it would break through and crush me. How I used to

wish at that time I had the sort of bold, firm heart which appeared

through some of the young manly faces which I used daily to meet--to

whom low spirits was a thing unknown. I knew not that I was

quarrelling with the most choice of God's mercies to me, without

which I should probably have been irrevocably lost. I still, to this

day, am used to the visits of my feelings of dejection, but, thank

God, I know better how to receive them; and, far from wishing them

away, I rather fear their departure, and desire they may never leave

me. For if I have within me one bright, heavenly desire, I owe it to

these feelings, which first poisoned my pleasure in the world, and

drew me at length to seek for it elsewhere, and now I wish never to

have peace within my breast while one desire lives there for

anything but God.

"Yet that thought of wishing even to be crushed, that I might escape

from my miserable feelings, shows how far I was at that time from

knowing how great a cause for sorrow I really had in the state of my

soul--which, if I had known it, must have driven away all imaginary

griefs--nor from what quarter I should seek for happiness; and it is

a wonder that it took so long a time, and so many repetitions of the

same lesson, before I began to correspond with the gracious purpose

of my Heavenly Teacher; of Him who was thus correcting me, that I

might at length love Him, and love Him willingly. How was it that I

could have lived so long without being awakened to one sentiment of

religious fear? ...

"But now we must return to the Catholic Faith. The main object of

this memoir being to trace the steps of my {72} progress towards

Catholicity, it would be expected that the period of my residence

for a whole year in Catholic countries must be most interesting.

Indeed it is wonderful that this year of my life should have been,

as it appears to me to have been, quite neutral in its effects. I

certainly made no progress towards my present faith. This would not

be extraordinary; for how many Protestants by their travels abroad

not only make no progress towards Catholicity, but are made its

violent enemies. But, undoubtedly, this was the effect produced on

me. It seems that at this time I was under the influence of

altogether other objects and notions from any connected with

religion. What I sought was, first, my own pleasure--next, only

general information; what I was chiefly controlled by was human

respect. Having no care at all about religion in any form, the

question of which was the right form never troubled me, and so the

observations which I could not help making on the Catholic religious

practices which I saw, were very superficial. It might be

interesting to transcribe a few passages from my journal which show

what was my mind.

"It is remarkable how easily one's mind takes in and rests contented

in the belief of false and prejudicial representations of things. I

never had had much pains taken with me to set me against the

Catholic religion; but though I knew nothing of what it was, I

rested in the conviction that it was full of superstition, and, in

fact, as good as no religion at all. I never opened my mind all the

time I was abroad to the admission of any idea but this; and so I

looked on all the Catholic ceremonies which I saw, in this perverted

light. I did not fall in the way of anyone to set me right; for I

was contented to go on in the stream of the English society with

which almost all the towns in Italy were filled, and if any really

zealous exemplary Catholics are sometimes mingled with them, they do

not find it available or prudent to introduce the mention of

religion; while there will be always some who have no objection to

seek to please them by encouraging their prejudices, which they do

effectually by telling stories--some true, perhaps, some obviously

false--of the Priests and Religious. Such a person, {73} who bore

the title of Abbate, and therefore must have been professedly a true

Catholic, we fell in with at Milan; he assisted my father in his

search after curious books. I remember some of his conversations,

and I find notice in my journal of his dining with us, and being

'very amusing in some stories about the Catholic processions.' The

impression on my mind was that the whole system of religion which we

saw was mere formality, people being taught to content themselves

with fulfilling some external rules, and the clergy making it their

business to keep them in the dark. I took little notice of religious

matters till we entered Italy. There Milan was the first town we

stopped at. On the Sunday after our arrival was the anniversary of

the consecration of the church. I saw the ceremonies in the

Cathedral, the very place where St. Augustine's heart was moved and

his conversion begun, by hearing the strains of holy music, perhaps

the same which I then heard. But very different was the effect on

me; here are the wise remarks inserted in my journal." [Footnote 3]

[Footnote 3: The passage is given in page 60.]

The autobiography breaks off abruptly here; but in order to fit the

remarks to the events which they concern, we have kept one or two

paragraphs in reserve for another place.

{74}

CHAPTER XI

Continuation Of His Travels.

After staying about three months in Naples, Spencer sets out with

Barrington, to travel through Sicily, on the 27th February. The voyage

was very smooth until they came to Stromboli, and passed near the cave

of AEolus, who "puffed at them accordingly," and delayed their landing

at Messina until March 2. He goes to a ceremony in the cathedral

there, and says, "the priests seem nourishing and very numerous here."

On his way to Mount Etna he remarks, with a kind of incredulous air,

that he went to see the lions of the five chestnuts and the bridge,

which has the same legend attached to its origin as the Devil's Bridge

in Wales, "dogs being, in both cases, sent over first to pay the

forfeit for having built it." [Footnote 4]

[Footnote 4: The most circumstantial legend bearing upon the remark

in the text is that about the Bridge of Rimini. Here there was a

fearful rapid, without a stone within the distance of 70 miles that

was available for building purposes. The bridge-builder of the town

may or may not have had the contract; but, at all events, he set

down in a confused state of mind as to how it might be done. The

devil appeared to him and contracted for the building of the bridge

on these easy terms--getting the first that crossed it for his own.

The bargain was struck, and in the twinkling of an eye some

thousands of infernal imps were scampering down the mountains with a

gigantic stone on the shoulder of each. One-third of them were quite

sufficient, and the arch-fiend who presided over the building cried

out, that no more were wanted: when each devil threw down his load

where he happened to be when the master's yell reached his ears.

This is said to account for the rocks one sees strewn about near

this bridge. The bridge itself is a circle, and was built in one

night, and indeed some kind of infernal machine would seem necessary

to remove the blocks of stone of which it is composed. Now came the

trial. The Christian builder of bridges had no fancy for going to

hell, and he was too charitable to send anyone else there. He

bethought him of an expedient, and calling out his dog he took a

small loaf, and threw it across the bridge with all his might. The

dog, of course, ran after it. Whereupon the devil seized him, and in

a rage flung him up to somewhere near the moon, and the dog falling

from this height upon the bridge, made a hole in its only arch which

cannot be filled up to this day. The legend embodies at least a

specimen of the Catholic instinct: viz., the anxiety of the devil

for our destruction, and how all hell thinks it cheap to turn out

for a day's hard labour in the hopes of gaining one single soul.]

{75}

He chiefly lodges in convents during his rambles through Sicily, the

inns being so very bad that they drive travellers away. He and his

companion sleep in different convents, and are very well treated; but

that scarcely evokes a word of thanks. Poor monks! they have a bad

name in Protestant nations, and what would be praiseworthy in others

is only an equivocal quality in them. This is very sad; that men who

have bid farewell to the world should, on that very account, be

considered hardly entitled to the bare rights of human beings. Yet go

on, poor souls, in your vocation; your Master before you received the

same treatment from the world, and you are not greater than He.

Spencer meets one or two monks whom he likes pretty well--one was the

superior of the Carmelites at Grirgenti. The rest he calls "stupid

friars," "lazy monks," and so forth, according to the tone of mind he

happens to be in. In one monastery they shut the door of the room

allowed them in the face of one of the brethren, because, forsooth,

they were "bored by visits from the monks." His journey does not

always lie through convents, and he meets others who are not monks;

one of these was a wine-merchant at Marsala, a native of England. It

seems the pair of tourists were received as handsomely by their

countryman as they had been by the "stupid friars," for he is thus

described in the journal: "He seems to think himself commissioned to

keep up the English character in a strange land, for he is a John Bull

in caricature in his manner." We are also told, a little lower down,

that he is very hospitable to all English who pass by that way. They

had the novelty of seeing an {76} Italian Good Friday in Marsala; the

impression is thus noted:

"Friday, Mar. 31.--This was Good Friday. The first, and I hope the

last, I shall spend without going to church; not that I should not

like to be abroad another year. We were reminded of the day by

quantities of groups representing the Passion and Crucifixion,

almost as large as life, carried about on men's shoulders, which,

absurd as they are, seemed to make an impression on the populace.

Men dressed in black accompanied them, with crowns of thorns and

crosses. It strikes me as direct idolatry, nearly. The gentry were

all in mourning, and the sentinels had their muskets with the

muzzles inverted. We all three (Sir H. Willoughby accompanied

Barrington and Spencer) took a walk up to the top of Monte di

Trapani, the ancient Eryx, where is a town of the same name. We

examined what was to be seen there, and came down again to dinner.

We dined at 6½, and had _some meat_, which we have not been able to

get for some days, it being Passion Week." He spent Easter Sunday in

Palermo, and here are his comments on its observance:

"Sunday, April 2, Easter-day.--We set off from Ahamo about 7¼. I

walked on for an hour, and then rode forward all the way to

Monreale, where I stopped an hour till the others came up. We then

proceeded together to Palermo. In the villages we passed, the people

were all out in their best clothes, which was a very pretty sight.

Bells were clattering everywhere, and _feux de joie_ were fired in

several villages as we passed, with a row of little tubes loaded

with gunpowder, in the market-places, and processions went about of

people in fancy dresses with flags and drums. This religion is most

extraordinary. It strikes me as impious; but I suppose it takes

possession of the common people sooner than a sensible one."

He completed the tour of the island by arriving in Messina, after a

most successful attempt to see Mount Etna, on the 14th of April. They

left Sicily for Reggio in a boat, and arrived there "with a good

ducking." They both went to visit Scylla, which was guarded as a

citadel by armed peasants. The sturdy yeomen refused to admit them,

whereupon George, with true English curiosity, climbed up the wall to

{77} get a peep at the sea, and perhaps inside. Scarcely had he got

half-way up when he was taken prisoner by the sentinel. He was

accordingly invited to visit the interior of the castle, and had to

gaze at the bleak walls of its keep for an hour, until Willoughby

procured his release from the commandant. They travelled on, and

George does not seem to be satisfied with the people of Salerno, whom

he designates as "surly and gothic." He heard his companions had to

get an escort of gendarmes, to save them from robbers, all along here.

Returns to Naples, April 26, delighted at being safe in life and limb;

he goes to the old lodgings to a party, and reflects thus on his

return: "I came home about one, rather sad with seeing the

representation of what I had enjoyed in the winter--but all the people

changed. _Gaiety after all does not pay_." This last sentence is not

underlined by Spencer himself. It is done to point a moral that may be

necessary for a certain class of persons. It is often supposed that

monks, and the like people, paint the world blacker than it is in

reality, and that it is a kind of morose sourness of disposition that

makes recluses cry down the enjoyments of those outside convent-walls.

This line will perhaps defend F. Ignatius from such an imputation. He

wrote that after the pure natural enjoyment of scenery had been

compared with the excitement of a ball-room; if he thought, in his

wildness, that gaiety did not pay, no wonder that his opinion was

confirmed in the quiet tameness of his after-life. A passage from the

autobiography, omitted above, comes in here opportunely. He was

speaking of the absence of the fear of God from his miserable mind:--

"This was almost true concerning the entire period. One occasion I

will mention when I was impressed with some shame at my wretched

state. While I was making the tour of Sicily, my father and mother

left Naples in the _Revolutionnaire_, a fine frigate which had been

placed at their disposal, and by which they went to Marseilles, to

shorten their land journey homewards. When I returned to Naples I

found a long letter from my father, full of kindness and affection

for me, in which he explained to me his wishes as to the course of

my journey home. This letter I believe I {78} have not kept, but I

remember in it a passage nearly as follows: 'As to your conduct, my

dear George, I need not tell you how important it is for your future

happiness and character that you should keep yourself from all evil;

especially considering the sacred profession for which you are

intended. But, on this subject, I have no wish concerning you but to

hear that you continue to be what you have hitherto been.' 'Ah!'

thought I to myself, 'how horrible is the difference between what I

am and what this sentence represents me.' But worldly shame was yet

more powerful in me than godly shame, and this salutary impression

did not produce one good resolution."

On May 3rd, 1820, he came to Rome a second time. His first visit this

time also was to St. Peter's, which, he says, "looked more superb to

me than ever." He attended Cardinal Litta's funeral from curiosity,

and has no remark about it worth extracting. There are two passages in

the journal relating to the ceremonies of Ascension Thursday and

Corpus Christi, which may be interesting as being indicative of his

notions of Catholic ritual:--

"Thursday, May 11.--Got up early, and wrote till breakfast. At 9½

went off with Barrington and Ford to St. John of Lateran, where

there were great ceremonies to take place for the Ascension Day. The

old Pope was there, and was carried round the church blessing, with

other mummeries. It was a fine sight when he knelt down and prayed

(or was supposed to do so) in the middle of the church, with all the

Cardinals behind him. Now this goes for nothing in comparison to

what it must have been when the Pope was really considered

infallible (_sic_). We then all went out of the church to receive

the blessing, from the principal window in the façade. The Pope came

to this in his chair, and performed the spreading of his hands very

becomingly. The whole thing was too protracted, perhaps, to be as

striking as it should; but I was not as disappointed as I expected

to be. The cannonry of St. Angelo and the band certainly gave

effect; and the crowd of people on the space before the church was a

scene to look at."

{79}

"Thursday, June 1.--To-day is the feast of Corpus Domini, one of the

greatest in the Catholic Church; so at eight we went, having

breakfasted [a fact, by the bye, he seldom omits to mention], to St.

Peter's, to see the _funzioni_, which are very grand on this

occasion. There was a great procession round the _cortile_--first of

the religious orders, about 450 monks only; and the boys of St.

Michael's Hospital, of the Collegio Romano, &c. Then came curates,

and priests temporal and secular, prelates, and monsignores, the

ensigns or canopies of the seven basilicas with their chapters, and

the priests belonging to them following; next came bishops, then

cardinals, and then the Pope, carried on four men's shoulders. He

was packed up on the top of the stand with his head out alone. He

seemed more dead than alive, and worse than on May 11 at S.

Giovanni's. The group of people about him, with their robes and

splendid mitres, made a very brilliant sight. The former part of the

procession rather showed the decadence of the Church from a great

height, than its present glory. After the Pope came the _guardia

nobile_, and other soldiers, in splendid uniforms. After the

procession there were functions in the Church, and a benediction

from the Altar, and which I did not see so well. St. Peter's never

showed so well as with a crowd of people in it, when one may

estimate its dimensions from the comparison of their littleness."

This is a fair specimen of how a candid, prejudiced Protestant stares

at Catholic services. He puts down as undisputed that all is absurd

before he goes, and if the Man of Sin himself, the poor Pope, is in

the middle of it, it rises to the very highest pitch of abomination. A

man who could consider holiday attire and exultation impious on Easter

Sunday, and the mourning and fasting and processions of Good Friday

something worse, cannot be very well qualified to comprehend the

Ascension and Corpus Christi in Rome. Catholics _do_ believe in the

authority of the Pope and the power of the Keys, and also in the Real

Presence; will it not follow, as a natural conclusion, that the four

quarters of the globe should get its spiritual Father's blessing one

day in the year, and that we should try to find out the best way of

honouring our Incarnate God in the Blessed Sacrament? {80} But

consistency is not a gift one finds among Protestants, especially when

they give their opinion on what they think too absurd to try to

understand. They must admit the Catholic ceremonial is imposing; but

then it is only to quarrel with it for being so. They can understand

pageantry and pomp in honouring an earthly monarch; but does it occur

to them that every best gift is from above, and that the King of kings

should be honoured with every circumstance of splendour and oblation a

creature can offer?

One or two of the salient points of his character come out in a few

extracts we shall produce from the journal now. He says, on leaving

Rome--"How delightful, and yet how melancholy, was my walk about those

dear rooms at the Vatican; after next Thursday I believe I am never to

see them again, so farewell to them now." This illustrates his better

nature; he was very affectionate, and could love whatever was really

worth loving; he was not very demonstrative of this feeling, but when

it came to leave-taking, he had to give vent to it. A peculiar caste

of his mind was to listen to every proposition, and weigh the reasons

adduced to support it. If they were unanswerable, he at once admitted

it, and, if possible, tested it by experience. This was the great key

to his conversion and subsequent life. In conversation, perhaps, with

a medical friend, he was told that it was far the best way, whilst on

the move in travelling, neither to eat nor drink. This was supported

by reasons drawn from the digestive principles, and so forth. He

thought it was well proved, and could find no valid objection against

it, so he determined to try it, and travelled from Rome to Sienna

without tasting a morsel for forty-two hours, and says in his

journal--"It is much the best way in travelling." In Florence we have

other tokens of the regret with which he parts from his friends; and

in the same page a very different feeling on parting with some

Franciscans. These "entertained him uncommonly well for mendicants,"

and showed him all their treasures of art and piety with the greatest

kindness; yet it did not prevent him calling them "lazy old monks"

when they let him away at three o'clock in the morning.

{81}

He walks about the country a good deal, and finds it pleasant, "as the

common people here are much more conversable than ours." This striking

difference between a Catholic and a Protestant peasantry is patent to

the most superficial observer. The poor Irish, French, or Italian

labourer, who can neither read nor write, is quite at his ease with

the merchant or the noble. He will have his joke and his laugh, very

often at the expense of his superior, and never outstep the bounds of

due respect. He is light-hearted and gay everywhere, and the exact

opposite of the English navvy.

The real cause of the difference is the want of religion in the poor

Briton. The Catholic religion inculcates humility on the great. It

brings the Lord of the Manor and his servant to the same confessional

and the same altar: they may be as far asunder as pole from pole

outside the church, but inside it they are both on a level. The works

of mercy are insisted on, and high-born ladies are most frequently the

ministering angels of the poor man's sick-bed, and the instructors of

his children, and nurses of his orphans. "Blessed are the poor" is not

a dead letter in Catholic theology, and until it be, and that poverty

becomes felony, the same ease and happiness will pervade the peasantry

of Catholic countries, which now gives them such grace and beauty. The

doctrine of self-worship and money-adoration can never fuse races;

there is a wide wide chasm between the upper and the lower orders in

Protestant countries, which no amount of mechanics' lectures, and

patronizing condescension, can bridge over, as long as the germs of

the worldly system remain rooted in the education and manners of the

people. Of course, these remarks do not apply to the general state of

things, for there is oppression in Catholic countries as well as

elsewhere; they simply concern the working of a Christian principle,

if it get fair play.

He visits Pisa, Lucca, Carrara, Sestri, and stops at Genoa. A bit of

the Protestant breaks out here. "We went to see that foolish _sacro

catino_ at the Cathedral, which I have no doubt is glass instead of

emerald." He says {82} again: "It makes me rather onked to be alone

now, though sometimes I wish to be so. But the only solitude that is

disagreeable is among numbers in a large town. The solitude of the

Apennines, and such places as last night's habitation, is a pleasure

to me." Now one _vetturino_ hands him over "to another more blackguard

than himself" on his way to Bologna, where he has a very satisfactory

meeting with Mezzofanti once more. Off he starts through Ferrara,

Rovigo, and Padua, for Venice; he visits the Piazza S. Marco, and is

told complacently by a French doctor, who proved to be a terrible bore

by-and-by, that it is nothing to the Palais Royal. He visits Mantua on

a pilgrimage to Virgil's birthplace, and says of a sight he saw by

accident: "I was amused by a figure of S. Zeno, just like a smiling

Otaheitan idol of the largest dimensions, which is the great protector

of the town." It is not hard to tell which way his devotion lay.

Spencer and a Mr. Lefevre, who was now his travelling companion, go to

a _villegiatura_ here, and are splendidly entertained for a couple of

days. They travel on for Germany through the Tyrol; from Verona to

Riva they chiefly travel by the Lago di Garda, and the only incidents

he chooses to record, until they come to "dem goldenen Adler" (the

golden Eagle) at Brixen, are the cicerone's opinions of Catullus, whom

that well-informed individual thought to have been a brigand chief.

They had to bring the bill of fare before the police in Riva, but were

not successful in getting a single charge diminished; he enjoyed a

good deal of idyllic life along here, and did not seem to think much

_pro_ or _con_ of the little town of Trent, though one should fancy he

would say something, if it were only a few angry words about the Great

Council.

He considers the Germans more honest than the Italians, and was

inclined to admire their solidity and steadiness; but his driver fell

asleep on their way to Innspruck, and let the reins fall on the

horse's neck when descending a steep, and he veers round to the

opinion that if they were a little livelier, it would be much better.

On his way through Bavaria to Munich he thinks the country very like

England--well cultivated and flourishing. "The costumes extraordinary,

{83} but not so pretty as the Tyrolese. The people themselves, both

men and women, are the ugliest race I ever saw." They had letters of

introduction to Prince Loewenstein and Count Peppenheim, two

aides-de-camp of the King of Bavaria; they were invited to a royal

_chasse_. Perhaps it is as well to give the whole account from the

Journal, as it conveys an idea of German sports too fine to be

overlooked.

"Monday, Aug. 21.--At 4½ this morning we started for the _chasse_ in

the mountains about three leagues off. At the end of two leagues we

were stopped and obliged to walk, as the road became too narrow for

the King to pass us, in case we had been in the way when he came up.

So we walked the rest till we came to the toils where Loewenstein

received us. The _chasse_ was in a deep valley, shut in on the sides

by precipitous rocks: into this they had tracked about 80 or 90 head

of deer, and shut them in by toils at both ends; then little green

enclosures were made for the guns to be posted in. We had one of

these guns given us in conjunction with other spectators, the

shooter who was to have been there not having arrived. Before the

line was a broad course of a torrent, and beyond that was a wood

into which they had forced the game, and from which they drove it

again with dogs, and even into the way of the guns. This went on for

4 or 5 hours, during which they cannonaded very quick, but with

little effect, for I never saw a much greater proportion of misses.

The result was about 70 head of deer. We were much surprised in the

middle of the time at seeing Devon walk up. He came from Salzburg

for the purpose of this _chasse_, and stayed with us through it.

After it we were standing near the place where the King was counting

out the game, when Peppenheim presented us to him, and he asked us

to dine at Berchtesgaden. As our carriage was so far off, we were

obliged to be carried as we could, and I was taken in by

Loewenstein, who is, by the bye, about the fattest man in Bavaria.

We dressed directly, both ourselves and Devon, who had nothing here;

and even so we were late for dinner. However, the King was so

gracious and good-humoured that it all went off capitally. It was an

interesting dinner for the faces that {84} we saw. Eugene

Beauharnais, Prince Schwartzenberg, Reichenbach, engineer, Maréehal

Wrede, and about 16 more, were there. We stayed till about 6, and

then came home.

"Tuesday, Aug. 22.--To-day we again followed the motions of the

Court. Devon came over with horses from Hallein, where he had

returned last night; and so we went about comfortably.

Schwartzenberg took us to a famous machine of Mr. Reichenbach's,

without the King. This machine is employed to raise the salt water,

which is brought from the mines here, and convey it over the

mountains to Reichenhall, about 3 leagues distant, where is a

manufactory for extracting the salt. The reason of this is, that

there is not enough wood for consumption here. It is a vast

forcing-pump, which is worked by fresh water from a height of 400

feet, and raises the salt water 1,200. This water is in the

proportion of 53 to 44 heavier than fresh water. I did not

understand the whole explanation, being in German, but I admired the

machine, which works in a room so quietly as actually not to be

perceptible from the noise, except a little splashing. After this we

came to a miserable dinner at the inn, which was too full to attend

to us. At 1½, about, we started again to a romantic lake, König See,

where another scene of this royal drama was to be enacted. The King

came, with his whole party, an hour after us, and we were invited by

Loewenstein into his royal boat, which was rowed by 11 men and one

pretty damsel. "We went all down the lake, with several other boats

full following, one of which had 4 small cannons, which they

constantly discharged for the echo. The thing we came though for

was, two artificial cascades from the top of the mountains, one in

the course of a small torrent, which had been stopped above and made

into a lake, full of large pieces of timber, which were precipitated

all at once with surprising effect. The other was a dry cascade,

down which two heaps of timber were discharged, like the launching

of a ship from an inclined plane, the smallest of which, as I could

judge from below, was twice the height of a man, and four times the

length at least. The finest part of this was the prodigious {85}

splashing at the bottom, which resembled, in appearance and sound, a

line of cannonading. By way of sport, this is the most superb

child-amusement one could conceive. We rowed back in the same boat,

and disembarked about sunset. We proceeded directly to a salt-mine,

without the King, where was to be an illumination. We all were

decked out in miners' habits, and embarked, in little carts drawn by

two men, down a shaft 1,800 feet long, lighted by candles all the

way, ourselves having one each, like white penitents. At the end of

this we were surprised by entering a large chamber, perhaps 200

yards round, with a gallery at the top; the whole was surrounded by

festoons of lamps, and below it was a rich star of fire, which

showed the depth of the mine off to great advantage. A band of music

was playing, and mines were exploded at the bottom with really

tremendous noise. Altogether, this scene pleased me more than any I

have seen here, or perhaps anywhere.

"Wednesday, August 23.--At 5 we started in the carriage, with

Devon's servant, for the second _chasse_ (of chamois); we found

ourselves among a long train of other carriages also going there. We

passed through the _chasse_ of Monday, and went about 3 miles

further on foot. We found that of 60 chamois which had been

collected in the toils, 40 had escaped; so the _chasse_ was but of

about an hour's duration before they were all killed. The stands of

shooters were confined, so we were made to climb up a little

mountain, or rather a large rock, from which we had an excellent

view of everything. The scenery was superb and wild. Before, behind,

and everywhere, were immense mountains of solid and shagged rock,

9,000 feet high above the sea, with nothing like vegetation but

patches of stunted firs, which did not, even so, reach halfway up

their height, and looked like moss. It made a contrast with the

tameness of the _chasse_, where about 16 chamois were driven about

and killed out of little boxes, in an enclosure of a few acres. It

was not so fine in that respect as the deer _chasse_. The King asked

us again to dinner, near a small house in the valley of the deer

_chasse_ (Wimbach). The table was put on a platform under a

sycamore-tree in a glorious situation. {86} I was unexpectedly

called upon to sit next to Prince Schwartzenberg, and always called

_milord_, which probably was the original mistake. The whole

business went off very satisfactorily. The King's manners are most

affable, and made everything comfortable about him."

After this grand performance, our tourists took a ride through a

salt-mine, astride of a plank, with a man before and behind running as

fast as could be; they come finally to daylight, and shortly

afterwards to Salzburg. They travelled the country to Lintz, and

sailed down the Danube to Vienna, where they found the police

"ridiculously strict about passports." A few days after their arrival

in Vienna they took a drive through the _Prater_, and "during the

drive we conversed on the subject of family calamities, and on one's

means of bearing them. Soon after we came home, Lord Stewart's

_attaché_, Mr. Aston, called with a letter for me from Mr. Allen,

which told me of the horrible news of my brother Bob's death in

America, killed in an affray with his first lieutenant! How strangely

fulfilled were our yesterday's prognostics. This is a sort of thing

that is too great and deep an accident to feel in the common way. I

hardly understand it at this distance: I shall though before long. I

went with Lefevre after dinner to Lord Stewart's, where I found a

German courier was to start soon for England. I shall accompany him."

This is from the Journal; we shall now give an extract from the

Autobiography:--

"My first tour abroad was suddenly terminated at Vienna by a letter

which I received to recall me home, from the Rev. J. Allen, now

Bishop of Ely. This letter gave me notice of the supposed death of

my brother Robert, in South America, who, it was reported, had been

killed in an affray with his first lieutenant. This most strange

story, for which there was not the slightest foundation in truth,

was conveyed to our family in England in such a way as gained it

entire belief, and all had been for two or three weeks in deep

mourning and under the greatest affliction, when the falsehood of

the report was discovered. This affliction was considered a

sufficient cause for gathering together all the {87} members of the

family who were at liberty to come home; and so I was desired to

return immediately. I bought a carriage at Vienna, and, travelled

for some nights and days without ceasing, during which I thought to

try an experiment on how little nourishment I could subsist; and

from a sort of curiosity to amuse myself, for I can hardly attribute

it to a better motive, I accomplished a fast which it would appear a

dreadful hardship to be reduced to by necessity, and a very small

approach to which, in these times, would be by most persons looked

on as a most unreasonable austerity. I passed those successive

intervals of 38, 50, and 53 hours, as I find in my journal, without

touching the least particle of food to eat or drink; and what I took

between the intervals was only a little tea and bread and butter.

This matter is not worth noticing, except to show that, as I went

through this, while travelling, which is rather an exhausting

employment, without the least detriment to my health, and without a

feeling of hunger almost all the time, it is a sad delusion for

people in good health to fancy they need so many indulgences and

relaxations to go through the fasts appointed by the Church.

"It was when I got to Calais that I went to the English news-room to

see further accounts in the newspapers of my brother's death, the

report of which, though at first I had some suspicions it might be

false, I afterwards had made up my mind entirely to believe. My joy

was exceeding great at finding an explicit contradiction to it in

one of the latest papers. I remember going on my knees to thank God,

in the news-room, when I found myself alone, which I believe was the

first occasion for a long, long time I had made a prayer of any

sort, or gone on my knees, except in church-service time. This I

never gave up entirely, and during this time I never gave up

receiving the Sacrament explicitly, though I do not find that I

received it all the time I was abroad. I did not intend to commit

acts of hypocrisy, but must have gone on from custom and a certain

sense of propriety, without considering that I was mocking God."

{88}

On his arrival at Althorp he found the family all in the most joyous

mood possible. A little passage of his Journal gives an idea of the

character of the noble family in their relations with the tenantry:--

"Friday, Sept. 22. Bread and meat given to the poor of Brington,

Brampton, and Harleston, as a rejoicing for Bob's recovery. Three

oxen were killed, and the effect seemed very good. They gave some

lively cheers as they departed."

He goes to London, and hears Henry Brougham's speech on Queen

Caroline's trial; and immediately after, he starts for Switzerland to

see his sister, Lady Georgiana Quin. We shall relate this in his own

words in the Autobiography:--

"I became so fond of the business of travelling that, as I was

returning homewards, my mind was occupied constantly with plans for

further excursions. I intended to have gone with Lefevre from Vienna

to Dresden and Berlin on our way home, but I could not think of

regarding this as my last journey. I was longing to see Greece. I

had had thoughts of Spain, Russia, Egypt, and various indeed have

been the fancies and inclinations which have passed through my mind.

The regular travelling mania had its turn about this time, and I

wonder not, by my feelings then, at so many of our countrymen, whom

I have known myself, who have left England for a short excursion,

and not having professional engagements, nor wise parents and

relations, as I had, to control them, have become regular wanderers,

and have spent, in travelling about, the years on the good

employment of which, at home, depended mainly their success in

after-life. It may be judged how truly I was possessed with this

spirit of wandering, at the time of which I speak, by my remaining

but one fortnight at Althorp with my family before I was again on

wing. My sister, Lady Georgiana Quin--whose society had made to me

one of the chief charms of the winter at Naples, and whose being at

Naples with Lord George, her husband, and her children, had been the

main inducement for my father and mother to make an undertaking, at

their age, and with their habits, so extraordinary as this long

journey--had left Naples during my tour in Sicily, and was settled

at a country-house called the Château de Bethusy, near Lausanne. I

proposed going to {89} see her, and to give her the full account of

all that concerned the strange report about my brother Robert. I

wonder at my having had my parents' consent to make another

departure so soon, and with apparently so insufficient an object. I

suppose they thought it reasonable to give me this liberty, by way

of compensation for the sudden cutting-off of my first grand tour.

This time I passed by Dieppe to Paris, thence by Lyons to Bethusy,

where, having stayed a fortnight--the pleasantest, and, alas! almost

the last days I had in my sister's company--I returned by Nancy to

Paris, and thence through Calais to England. I reached Althorp on

the 19th of November, 1820. And so the fancy for travelling soon

died away, as my prospects for fresh journeys met with no

encouragement at home; and here is an end of all my travellings for

mere travelling's sake. When next I left England, it was, thank God,

with thoughts and views far other than before."

An extract from the Journal of this time may not be without

interest:--

"October 17, 1820.--With this day's journal ends the third year that

I have kept it. This year has been the most interesting and varied I

have ever passed, and probably ever shall, for my travelling will

not last long. I certainly have reaped advantages in some respects,

and great ones. I have had experience in the world, and have learnt

to shift for myself better than I could have done by any other

means. I have, I hope, increased the confidence of my family in me;

and, above all, I have nearly expelled that melancholy disposition I

gained at college; but most active I feel I must be to prevent its

return when I again remain quiet in England. I have still a damper

to my prospects that occasionally overwhelms me, but I must, I

trust, get over that too; as I have now persuaded myself on sober

reflection, though I am sadly slow in beginning to act on the

principle, that one quality alone is within all our reach, and that

one object alone is worth trying for. God grant this thought may

often occur to me. I have this year enjoyed the pleasures and

diversions most enlivening, and which I always most desired; but

even they are insufficient to make {90} one happy alone, though

nearer to it than any others. Let us then look to what certainly

can."

This train of thought seemed to have occupied his mind between his

leaving Paris, and returning to it again during the last visit to his

sister. There is one paragraph in the Autobiography which refers to

both; here it is, and it is the last morsel of that interesting

document that remains unwritten in his life:--

"The most remarkable impression of religion which I remember in all

this period, was in a place where it might have been least expected.

No other than the Italian Opera at Paris. I passed through that

city, as I have said before, in my last journey to Lausanne, and on

my return a month later. Both times I went to see the opera of _Don

Giovanni_, which was the piece then in course of representation. I

conceived that after this journey I should give up all thoughts of

worldly vices. I was likely to be fixed at home till the time of my

ordination, and should assume something of the character of a

candidate for holy orders. In short, I felt as if it was almost my

last occasion, and I was entertaining, alas! some wicked devices in

my mind when I went to this most dangerous and fascinating opera,

which is in itself, by the subjects it represents, one of the most

calculated to beguile a weak soul to its destruction. But the last

scene of it represents Don Giovanni, the hero of the piece, seized

in the midst of his licentious career by a troop of devils, and

hurried down to hell. As I saw this scene, I was terrified at my own

state. I knew that God, who knew what was within me, must look on me

as one in the same class with such as Don Giovanni, and for once

this holy fear of God's judgment saved me: and this holy warning I

was to find in an opera-house at Paris."

{91}

CHAPTER XII.

An Interval Of Rest And Preparation For Orders.

This chapter begins with his twenty-first birthday. He comes before

us, a fine young man nearly six feet high, graceful and handsome, of

independent mien, winning manners, and all the other attributes of

gentlemanly perfection that are calculated to make him an object of

attraction. His journal, even then, tends to show his worst side; we

find self-accusations in every page, and the round of enjoyments

broken in upon by serious correctives. For the great problem which

moralists solve so easily, and those whom the solution concerns keep

away from consideration, we will find in his life a golden key. It is

too soon yet to speak about the special workings of Divine Grace in

his soul; but, even so far off, we can find glimmerings of the

glorious sun of his after-life. Let us look into the world, we find

thousands that really enjoy and luxuriate in gay parties, balls,

pastimes, and pleasures, without a pang of remorse, and others with

sensibilities as keen, if not keener, for the relish of these

luxuries, plunging into them with a kind of intoxicating gusto, and

coming out fagged and disgusted, when they were perhaps thought the

very soul and life of the company. We are told of a patient dying of

melancholy who called in a doctor to prescribe for him; the

prescription of the medical man was, that he should go and hear Mr.

N., a celebrated comic actor, for a number of nights successively, and

the remedy was guaranteed to prove infallible, for no one could listen

to him and not laugh himself to hysterics. "Ah, my dear friend,"

answered the patient, "I am the veritable Mr. N. myself." It is

sometimes argued that small minds of a feminine caste, composed of the

ingredients {92} which the "Spectator" wittily discovers in the

dissection of a beau's head, can be content with frivolities, whilst a

grand intellect is only made indignant by them. We could quote

examples to bear us out in a conclusion the direct contrary of this.

How, then, can we solve the problem? Why can some live and die in a

whirl of dissipation with apparent relish, whilst others get clogged

by a few balls, and fling worldly enjoyment to the winds on account of

the very nausea it creates? It may be considered as "going into the

sacristy" to say that those whom God chooses for great things, He

weans from pleasure by a salutary dissatisfaction? so the point will

not be insisted on. The only ordinary way in which it can be accounted

for is, that the lovers of pleasure deafen the voice of conscience,

whereas the others give this good monitor room to speak, and

occasionally lend an ear. Whichever way we please to look upon F.

Ignatius at this period of his life, we shall find ample material for

theorizing on the unreality of worldly joys. He concludes the first

volume of his Journal with the following considerations:--

"Dec. 31.--I have ended this year, as the last, with a very pleasant

evening, as far as noise and fun can make it. But a more reasonable

way would be (as I am now in my room, with my watch in my hand,

nearly on the stroke of twelve) to end it in making good resolutions

for the year to come,--which may, I hope, pass as prosperously, and

more usefully, than the last. The new year is now commenced, and I

recommend myself to the protection and guidance of Almighty

Providence to bring me safely and well to the end of it. I now bid

farewell to this journal-book, which is but a record of my follies,

and absurdities, and weaknesses, to myself, who know the motive of

the actions which are here commemorated, and of many more which I

have done well to omit. There is no fear of my forgetting them, nor

do I wish it. The less other men know about my inward thoughts, the

better for me in their estimation."

Many of the readers of this book will feel disposed to disagree with

the last sentence. We have had his interior {93} before us, as clearly

perhaps as any other man's we can possibly call to mind, and yet there

is scarcely one that must not admire and love him as well, for the

sacrifice he made for their benefit in exposing his interior, as for

the beautiful sight that very disclosure gives them of his noble

heart. It is not very easy to write an interesting chapter about this

portion of his life; the Autobiography is run out, and the Journal

gives no incident of any great importance till we come to the

subject-matter of the next volume. Let us string together a few of the

leading events, especially such as may be calculated to give us some

idea of his mind and occupations.

He begins the volume by writing down that he got up rather earlier

than usual, played at battledore and shuttle-cock with Lady Georgiana

Bingham, and kept up to 2,120 hits. He is disappointed then in a day's

sport, and gives this account of his evening: "I was rather bilious

and nervous to-night, and consequently would have preferred being out

of the way, but from a wrong principle, I fear, viz., because I

thought I should seem rather dull and ill-humoured. But what if I did,

to the gay people that do not, nor wish to, know? And what if I did,

to those who do know how far it is real, my ill-humour?" It was

customary, as he told us some chapters back, for the Spencer family to

spend Christmas at Althorp, and collect many of their immediate

relatives about them during the time. The place is beautifully

disposed for every kind of enjoyment; there are landscapes and

pictures for the ladies to draw from, fine grounds for the gentlemen

to shoot over, everything that generosity and princely goodness could

procure to make the evenings as lively and entertaining as possible.

Balls and dances were, of course, a _sine qua non_. Let us not,

however, imagine it was all dissipation at Althorp. Lords Althorp and

Lyttelton used, every Sunday and often on week days, to read a sermon

to the assembled guests from some of the Anglican divines, and

sometimes, too, from the French, as we may see in a remark in the

first chapter. The party at Althorp this Christmas did not go beyond

three-and-twenty. George, notwithstanding {94} the sour extract quoted

above, went into the sports with heartfelt glee occasionally, and, as

a proof of this, it is enough to say that he danced, in one night, in

seven country dances and eight sets of quadrilles. He says in one

place: "Lyttelton, Sarah (Lady Lyttelton), and I, breakfasted

together, talking of a wise resolve of Nannette's, to pull down a

house she had just finished at Richmond, because it was not pretty

enough for the inhabitants to look at."

He goes to London as soon as the Christmas party is broken up, where

he dines chiefly at home, but is about occasionally, seeing his old

friends, and different things that pleased his whim or his taste. One

of these was "seeing the King going in state, and the nobility as

contented as if they never said a word against him on the Queen's

trial;" another was hearing Bishop Van Mildert preach. He has the good

fortune of meeting Sir Walter Scott at his father's, and says "We all

stayed the evening listening to him telling Scotch stories." His next

evening would be, perhaps, in the House of Lords or Commons, and all

the family seemed in a great stir to be present at the debates on the

"Catholic Question." What opinions they held about it do not appear

from the Journal; but there is nothing said there against Catholics

since he left Italy.

He begins to clear away the mist that lay between him and the

parsonage. He puts himself a little in the way of learning something

of what a clergyman could not be respectable without. His first essays

in this direction were, to hire a "dirty Jew master" to teach him

Hebrew, and to go occasionally to Mr. Blomfield's, who was rector of

Whitechapel, to dine and talk with clerical company. The first time he

tried this is told as follows:--

"I took up Fremantle, and we went together to Blomfield's to dine. We

met Dr. Lloyd, Mr. Rennel, Mr. and Mrs. Lyall, Mr. Watkinson, Mr.

Mawman, Mr. Tavel, and one more clergyman--a proper High Church set,

with language of intolerance. I was much amused though by observing

them." So much for his first lesson in church polity. That he was not

extravagant at this time is evidenced {95} by a little incident. He

found himself the possessor of a good sum, and had been, for some

time, putting part of his allowance aside until he finds himself able

to pay his brother, Lord Althorp, what he lent him to pay off his

debts in Cambridge, as early as the 7th of April. "This was a very

busy day. I first went to Althorp to offer him payment of a large debt

I owe him, but he refused it very generously, and made me rich in a

moment by so doing."

He pays off the Jew on the 25th of April, having had his lectures from

the 8th of March previous. This apparent falling away from the spirit

of his vocation, was redeemed in a few days, by his falling half in

love with some very high lady. He crosses himself immediately for the

absurdity, and wishes she were a clergyman's daughter. This fit wears

out completely in ten days' time. Lord John Russell and Sydney Smith

dine at his father's, and he says of the latter: "Sydney Smith is a

new person on my list, and very entertaining he is." The author of

"Peter Plimley's Letters" must certainly have been an agreeable guest.

On the 15th of June he gives the following note:--"My father and I

went to see the marriage of Mr. Neville and Lady Georgiana Bingham, in

the Portuguese Catholic Chapel, in South Street, close to Vernon's

house. Dr. Poynter, the Catholic bishop of London, performed it, and

gave us a long-prosy dissertation on the sacrament of marriage." The

scene changes now to Ryde, Isle of Wight, where the family go to spend

the summer. George occupies his time there in riding, fishing (with no

success), boating, cricketing, and doing the tutor to a young ward of

his father. He also learnt perspective from a Mr. Vorley, and his

opinion of him is, that "he talks more nonsense than any one I know in

a given time." He remained his pupil until he "picked his brains,"

which did not require much time or application seemingly. He hears of

Napoleon's death, and comments thereon thus:--"We heard this morning

of Bonaparte being dead in St. Helena. It does not make so much noise

as one would have thought his death must eight years ago. For one

thing, it will save us £150,000 a year."

{96}

St. Swithin's Day, July 15. "It rained all morning, which is ominous.

"This kept them indoors, and it was well, for they were all in a

bustle preparing for the coronation of William IV. The countess and

her maids were busy at the laces and the freshening of faded colours,

until the earl's state robes were got ready; when he was called upon

to fit them on, that the keen glance of ladies' eyes might see if

there was a flaw or a speck to be removed. George was present at the

time, and says: "My father put on his robes, and was looked at by a

room full of ladies and gentlemen." George himself, by the way, makes

some bold efforts at grandeur, and succeeds in getting into the Peers'

quarter of Westminster Abbey, at the coronation, "dressed in red coat,

with ruffs." After the coronation, they return to the Isle of Wight,

and George resumes his sports, with a little variation namely, that he

hears a "twaddle preacher," and receives the Sacrament without much

preparation, a proceeding he thus defends:--"I never can be satisfied

by any motives that occur for refusing on account of short notice, and

I think that when the Office is performed with devotion and sincerity,

to the best of one's ability, it is always profitable."

It may be objected that we do not give more numerous extracts from the

Journal; but we think it would tire the patience of readers to be

told, gravely and solemnly, such grand events as, "George Lyttelton,

Lord Lyttelton's eldest child, got into breeches to-day." Matters

kindred to this, with the hours of dining, and names of the guests,

form the bulk of the diary.

Towards the end of this year, 1821, he finds himself alone in Althorp,

waiting for the collecting of the Christmas party there, and muses

thus:--"I wish I might go on living as I now do, without any company

and nonsense. I have daily amusement, and, withal, get through a good

deal of reading." This last clause will make many expect that

Tillotson or Jeremy Taylor is in his hands for a great part of the

day. It may be so, but we are told in the same page:--"In the evening

I read 'Guy Mannering;' for a novel, when once begun, enslaves me." He

was very fond of the Waverly Novels, and seems to have read them as

{97} they came out. He misses a hunt, through mistake, and says; "I

was annoyed to-day at the hoy I made in my manoeuvres; but I am

ashamed of being so, for it all came from my odious vanity, and

sensibility to the opinion of all the fools I met with." On his

twenty-second birthday he makes these reflections:--"This anniversary

becomes uninteresting after passing 21. But it should be a useful

annual admonition to make the best of our short, fleeting life. What

are called the best and happiest years of life are already past with

me. God grant that I make those that remain more profitable to others,

and consequently to myself. As to happiness, I think my temper and

dispositions have prevented my having my share to the full of youthful

pleasures; so I may look forward to the future for better

circumstances: if I can but tutor my mind into contentment at my

situation, and an engrossing wish to make my duty the leading guide of

my actions. Indolence and irresolution are my stumbling blocks."

The new year of 1822 was danced into Althorp by a grand ball. Three

days after he had a narrow escape with his life; he went out

partridge-shooting with Lord Bingham, and this gentleman's

powder-flask took fire, and burst in his hand. George and the

attendants were nearly blown up, and Lord Bingham was severely

scorched. This he considered the greatest danger he was ever in, and

thanks God for his escape. The impression, however, did not last long;

for he tells us, as the result of a game of cards, on the same

night:--"I did not get to sleep for a long time for thinking over a

trick at cards which E---- did. I succeeded in discovering it." When

the Christmas party is dissolved, George's comments are: "I am sorry

they are all going, though the young damsels have caught nothing of my

heart."

There is an event now to be recorded. He becomes a magistrate, and his

first essay in court makes him think the business very amusing. He

shouts huzza! on hearing that his brother Robert is about to come

home. True, however, to his character, of never undertaking anything

unless he knew its obligations sufficiently to be able to acquit

himself {98} in them to the satisfaction of his conscience, he goes to

London, and studies "Blackstone's Commentaries," to qualify him for a

proper discharge of his duties as a magistrate. He dines, dances, goes

to balls and theatres, pays visits and bills during his stay in

London, notwithstanding.

Now he begins to prepare seriously for his future profession. Full

nine months before he is to receive Orders, on March the 12th he

begins to write a sermon. That is the point; let a man give a sermon,

and he may become a minister any day, provided he has an earl or a

viscount at his back, and a bishop who sits _tête â tête_ with either

in the House of Lords, and has two or three sons whom he wishes to put

into posts of honour. The sermon is everything. Any one can read the

Service, provided he has a good voice and distinct utterance; but the

sermon--that requires brains, views, style, and paper. How these

things can be done without we shall see further on. For the present,

poor George did not discover the secret. He could bowl to a wicket,

play cribbage, read Walter Scott, and shoot partridges, but where was

his theology? The twenty-five lectures were buried long ago under some

stone between Cambridge and Althorp. Well, the fact of it was, he must

do something. He goes to hear the "crack" preachers of London, and

even the "twaddle" ditto. He catches up some idea from them, borrows

the book Lord Althorp reads from on Sunday afternoons, and gets an

idea of what a sermon is like. He sets to, therefore, to write one

himself, and in six months that sermon is finished.

One could not expect him to be a bookworm just now. Lord Palmerston is

at a stag-hunt, and patronized the young candidate. Washington Irving

dines at his father's, and George has to take notes of his "Yankee

twang, sallow complexion, and nasal sounds." He used to say to us that

one who saw Irving, and heard him speak, could never believe he was

the author of "The Traveller" or "Bracebridge Hall," and much less of

"Knickerbocker's History of New York." Irving himself alludes to this,

when he says, somewhere, that the London people {99} "wondered that he

held a quill in his hand, instead of wearing it in his scalp-lock." He

gets over all this after the Ryde recreation, and the hunting at

Wiseton, when, towards the end of September this year, he bids

farewell to his military life as a cornet in the Yeomanry of

Northampton. This is as a preparation for his Orders; but they come

upon him still unexpectedly when he receives a letter from the Bishop

of Peterborough, on the 5th of October, to signify that he would have

Ordination on the 22nd of December following. He writes to the

Diocesan Examiner to ask what books he is to read, and how he is to

prepare, and that gentleman graciously tells him that he need not

trouble himself; that he knows, from the respectability of his family,

he must be already quite prepared. [Footnote 5] George is contented

for the present, but he has an eye to the future; he borrows,

therefore, some twelve of the Wimbledon clergyman's best sermons, and

says "that will set me up for a start." He then goes on retreat about

the 16th of December, and his day is divided into four principal

parts, making allowances for dinner and {100} sleep, consisting of

shooting, cribbage, whist, and sermon writing or copying, as the case

might be. On the 18th, two days before, he adds one more spiritual

exercise to his usual ones; he reads a novel. The next day he goes off

to Peterborough, and dines with the Dean and his wife, "who are to

feed him" whilst he is there. His examination is gone through--one of

the Thirty-nine Articles to be translated into Latin, and he has an

_exposé_, with illustrations, on the nature of mesmerism, for the rest

of the terrible ordeal. This passed successfully, he comes home to the

Dean's house, bids good night to the _materfamilias_, and collects his

spirits for the great occasion. He is wrapt in sublime ecstacy, and

bursts forth into the following exclamation in his Journal: "I am 22

years old, and not yet engaged to be married!"

[Footnote 5: Here is a copy of the letter with which he was

favoured from that dignitary:

" Yarmouth, Norfolk, October 12.

"My Dear Sir,

"I am sorry my absence from Cambridge may have made me appear

neglectful in answering your letter, but I have some consolation

in thinking that you will not have suffered by the delay. As far

as I am concerned, in my character of examiner, it is impossible

that I could ever entertain any idea of subjecting a gentleman

with whose talents and good qualities I am so well acquainted as I

am with yours, to any examination except one as a matter of form,

for which a verse in the Greek Testament, and an Article of the

Church of England returned into Latin will be amply sufficient.

With regard to the doctrinal part of the examination, that is

taken by the Bishop himself, but it is confined entirely to the

prepared questions, which are a test of opinions, not of

scholarship. This information, then, will, I trust, be

satisfactorily, and will leave you at liberty to pursue your

theological studies in that course which you yourself prefer, and

which I am confident will be a good one. I really am unable to say

whether the Bishop of Peterbro' requires a certificate of the

Divinity Lectures or not, but I know that he does not in all cases

make it a _sine qua non_; at any rate, I think you had better send

for it, as it will give the professor but very little trouble to

forward it under cover to your father.

"If I can be of the least service in answering any other queries,

or in any other way whatever, I beg you will, at any time, give me

a line; and believe me, my dear Sir,

"Yours very sincerely,

"T. S. Hughes.

"I shall not be in Camb. till the beginning of next month."]

{101}

BOOK II.

_F. Ignatius, an Anglican Minister._

{102}

{103}

BOOK II.

_F. Ignatius, an Anglican Minister._

CHAPTER I.

He Is Ordained, And Enters On His Clerical Duties.

The Establishment retains in her written formularies a great deal of

what looks very like Catholic. She has an attempt at a profession of

faith; a kind of a sacramental rite, as a substitute for the Mass; a

mode of visiting the sick, a marriage service, baptismal service,

burial service, and an ordinal; even something like the Sacrament of

Penance can be gleaned from two or three clauses in the Book of Common

Prayer. How much of sacramental power there may be in those several

ordinances is very easily determined; we admit none whatever in any

except baptism--the judicial voice of the Establishment leaves its

efficacy an open question--and matrimony. Of late, some amongst them

have felt their want of sacramental wealth so keenly, that they would

fain persuade themselves the shells of Catholic rites, which the

Reformers retained, were filled with sacramental substance. To give

this theory some show of plausibility, they claimed valid orders.

Pamphlets and books have been written on two sides of this question

until there seems scarcely any more to be said upon it, so we just

mention what is the Catholic opinion on the validity of Anglican

orders.

{104}

With what Protestants think of them we have no immediate concern; nor

would it be an easy matter to extract anything definite from the

multitude and contrariety of opinions on this one point.

We hold them to be simply _null_; they do not even come up to doubt;

for if the Archbishop of Canterbury became a Catholic to-morrow, and

wished to exercise any ministry, he would be obliged to receive all

the orders from the first tonsure upwards, absolutely, and without

even an implied condition. This has always been the practice: and, the

Church's acting thus, at the period which is now involved in

obscurity, is the best _de facto_ argument that the orders of the

Establishment were then, as they are now, a human designation, and

nothing more. There is nothing sacramental in Anglican orders, and

there never was, since England broke away from the Church, and,

consistently enough, orders were expunged from the Protestant

catalogue of sacraments in the very infancy of the Reformation. They

still keep up a semblance of orders: they have what they call the

diaconate, the priesthood, and the consecration of bishops. A deacon

is ordained much in the same way as our own deacons, and he can

perform all the duties of the parish, with the exception of the

Communion Service.

We see a man marked out by an Anglican bishop for ecclesiastical

duties, without any sacramental grace, spiritual character, or

jurisdiction, for no less a work than the care of immortal souls. Let

us see now what instruments he has wherewith to accomplish this.

He had once two Sacraments--the Lord's Supper and Baptism; the former,

Catholics know to be an empty ceremony, and perhaps it would nearly be

a Protestant heresy to say it was much more. Baptism they had as Turks

have, and as every lay man and woman in the world, who performs the

rite properly, has. Now their judicial decisions do not consider it

worth the having; so, as far as in themselves lies, they have tried to

deprive themselves of it. The practical means of sanctification a

minister has to use are chiefly four: prayer, preaching, visiting, and

reading. The reading part may evidently be performed as well, if not

{105} better sometimes, by a layman. The visiting is often better done

by the clergyman's wife or daughter than by himself, for, in attention

to sickness and sweet words of consolation, the female gifts seem the

more effectual. All that remains to him, peculiarly for his own, is

the preaching, and the respectability of character his own conduct and

regard for his position may give him. His power is altogether

personal, and if he be an indifferent preacher or a careless liver, he

loses all.

Whether candidates for orders, or even the ordained of the Anglican

Establishment, take this view of their position, one cannot be sure;

but, from the acts and words of Mr. Spencer, we can form a tolerable

conjecture of what he thought and intended when he took deacon's

orders from Dr. Marsh, Protestant Bishop of Peterborough, on the 22nd

December, 1822. He makes no preparation whatever, nor does he seem to

fancy that it is an action that requires any. He gives an account of

the ordination, which he was pleased to call, "talking of business,"

when making his arrangements for it, a few pages back in the Journal,

and, as a piece of business, it is gone through by him. We transcribe

his own words:--

"Sunday, Dec. 22. I breakfasted with Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Gregory at

the inn (Peterborough) at 8. At 9, two others of the candidates, Mr.

Pearson and Mr. Witherall, joined us, and we went to the palace,

from whence the bishop led us into the church, when we were

ordained. The service took an hour, including the Sacrament which he

gave us. I commenced my church-reading then by reading the gospel in

the service. I went (a clergyman) to the deanery. At 11 we went all

together from the palace to church, when Mr. Parsons preached a good

long sermon--at us very palpably. We then went to a cold collation

at the palace till evening church, which we attended. After that we

received our letters of orders and licences, and paid our fees."

It may be said that this is a very nice little account squeezed into a

journal, and one could not expect enthusiastic bursts about the gift

of the spirit and the power of {106} the Church, in a book allotted to

the bare recording of events. So be it. But there are enthusiastic

exclamations about less important things in that same little book, and

if ordination looked anything to Mr. Spencer than a condition _sine

qua_ of his getting fixed in his future position, he would have noted

it. The absence of deep religious feeling at this period of his life

may account in a great measure for this coolness; but perhaps the not

believing there was anything sacramental in the rite itself may give a

more satisfactory explanation. To wind up the matter in a few

words--he said grace for the family at dinner that evening, and then

read his _novel_ quietly in his room, because the day was not

favourable for any field sport.

These few explanations were deemed necessary for appreciating the

tenor of his life from this moment forward. It will run counter to all

anticipated results in the direction of excellence, and will even go

far beyond what its first evidences would warrant one to expect. He

looked his position in the face at the very outset: he saw that he had

souls to look after, and he knew that he could not do that without a

course of consistent conduct beseeming his character. For the first

few days things went on much as of old. The family were still spending

the winter in Althorp, and he joined in all the pastimes by which they

whiled away the short days and cheered the long nights. It was

requisite, however, that the cousins and nearer relations, should see

and hear George in his new position, if it were only to have something

to talk about when they came to London. Accordingly, he assisted in

the Communion Service on Christmas Day by administering "the cup,"

first to his father, and then to others. He did not "think the thing

so formidable," and it wore off the apprehension he had of appearing

in public sufficient for him to give his first sermon on Sunday, Dec.

29. It was on the Birth of Christ, and he says, "Althorp and Duncannon

were my audience;" whether they were a whole or a part of the

audience, it is not easy at this distance to discover.

He might be now considered fairly launched into his new element. The

rector of Great Brington, a Mr. Vigoreux, {107} was away on the

continent, and the parish was left to the care of the young curate. He

had three or four villages, numbering about 800, in his parish, some

distance apart, and he lived in Althorp himself. On the 1st of

January, 1823, he sets vigorously to work, and, regardless of wind or

weather, walks out from breakfast until about six o'clock every day,

visiting the people. After the first few days he gets quite interested

in the work, and is cheered on by his success in making up

differences, consoling the dying, and assisting the poor. Two notes

from the Journal will illustrate how he felt with regard to this

visiting:--"Feb. 10. Went to Little Brington, where I paid 20 visits

among the poor. Feb. 11. Visited 15 or 20 houses; this work is very

amusing to me now. I hope I shall never get tired of it, or be

disgusted by bad success to my lectures."

The principal work he tries to accomplish by his visits is, the

supplying those deficiencies he finds in the people with regard to

what he conceived to be sacraments. His very first round through the

parish showed him how few were up to the mark of good Christians. Many

Dissenters chose to dispute his right to lecture them, and were not

slow to produce clauses of protection for themselves; and his having

"a discussion with one roaring Methodist," did not lessen the

difficulty of making them tractable sheep. Discussions proved to be a

means of widening the breach, and simple kindness left things where

they stood. Something positive he must mark out as a duty to his

flock, and then exhort them to it. Instinct led him to the sacraments.

He found great numbers unbaptized, believing in a spiritual

regeneration, and scoffing at the idea of heavenly virtue being in a

drop of water; he found more still, and these among the baptized, who

had as little love for the Lord's Supper as he had himself once. Now

these could very easily be managed by exhorting them to read the

Bible, lending them a copy if they had not one, recommending family

prayers, and kindness and justice towards all men. Mr. Spencer thought

otherwise. He began with baptism, and within the first fortnight of

his clerical life he baptized the nine children of a blacksmith. This

was a good beginning, and encouraged {108} him to persevere, but he

did not find many so malleable as the offspring of this son of Tubal

Cain.

In the next sacramental duty he did not see his way so clearly as in

the first. In the Church of England, the _Sacrament_, as it is

emphatically called, must be administered three times a year, may be

once a month, and cannot be unless there be a number of communicants.

Giving the _Sacrament_ once a week is considered very High Church, and

to give it every morning is going a little too far. Superstitious

reverence and indifference keep the majority away from this rite, and

few come, except they get a monomonia for manifesting their godliness

in that special direction. This fact will account for Mr. Spencer's

hesitation, when he took to Christianizing his flock by making them

approach the Sacrament. He makes many promise to come, and gets a

neighbouring clergyman to administer it in their own houses to some

decrepid old people, who could not come to church. He preaches on

this, and "hopes he has not been wrong;" he discusses the propriety of

his proceedings with his older brethren in the ministry. The result

seems to confirm him in his ideas, and he preaches a second time, and

gives appendices to his sermon in every visit, about going to the

Lord's Supper. He still "hopes he is not wrong." He works very hard at

this point, however, and on the first Easter Sunday of his ministry,

he gives God thanks and prays against pride, at having 130

communicants. There was another little incident on the same day as a

set off to his success in beating up the parish; when he opens the

sermon-cover from which he used to read his MS., he finds he had put

the wrong sermon there, and had to preach extempore the sermon he

intended to have read: of course, it was not to his satisfaction,

though the people scarcely knew the difference.

One sad event cast a cloud over the beginning of his clerical life:

the sister he loved so much, and whose company and conversation he

thought more than an equivalent for the gayest party, Lady Georgiana

Quin, died in London. He was very much afflicted by it, and even in

after-life he would be deeply moved when speaking of this sister. He

{109} did not delay long in London, but came home in a day or two

after the funeral.

Excepting this short interval, his time was spent at home in the most

ardent fulfilment of the duties his fervour imposed upon him. Not only

did he go about from house to house, but he would spare a day or two,

in each week, when he went into Northampton for the sessions, and

visit the neighbouring clergy. It was his custom to discuss points of

duty with them; to invite them to Althorp, and spend evenings in

clerical conversation. He accompanied them on their visits to the sick

and other parochial employments, to learn, by a comparison of the

different ways of each, which would probably be best for himself. He

reads such books as the "Clergyman's Instructor," and other books of

divinity and sermons; he never fails to write a sermon every week, to

catechise the children on a Sunday, visit the schools, and try to make

every one as faithful in the discharge of their duties as he was in

his own. About Easter some members of his family came to Althorp, and

he relaxes a little for their sakes, and freely joins them in all his

former amusements; not, however, omitting any of his visits,

especially to the sick and dying.

{110}

CHAPTER II.

He Mends Some Of His Ways.

About the middle of April he came to London for three weeks' holidays.

He calls it "a smoky odious place," and says that entering it makes

him "miserable." He is soon immersed in the customs of his society in

the metropolis, and his feeling of uneasiness wears off. His little

experience in parish work brings a great many things to his knowledge,

of which he had not the slightest idea before. He is at a great loss,

also, how to meet the difficulties he encounters, and doubts whether

his proceedings in what he considered his duty have been quite right.

Dr. Blomfield had always been a kind of spiritual director to Mr.

Spencer: to him he goes now for a thorough investigation of his

principles and even doctrines. Extempore praying was a thing Dr.

Blomfield never liked, and its adoption by Mr. Spencer shows a leaning

to Evangelical if not Methodistic spirituality. Whether it was this

point, or another of the many things upon which clergymen of the

Establishment agree to differ, that they discussed, we cannot say; but

the result was far from consoling to either. He says: "I want some

setting to rights in point of orthodoxy I find. I only hope that my

decision in regard to my conduct may not be influenced by ambition or

worldliness on the one hand, nor by spiritual pride on the other."

Here may be seen that real sincerity and disinterestedness which

guided his every step through life. If we analyze the sentence, it

looks as if the arguments of his adviser are taken in part from the

sources which Mr. Spencer hopes will not influence his decision; and

this conclusion is borne out by a letter which will be given further

on, when his confidence {111} in the Church of England became

thoroughly shaken. It must not be supposed from this that Dr.

Blomfield was guided himself by these motives, though hints to that

effect were often rife in his lifetime; but it is natural enough that

the doctor should propose family considerations among his other

arguments, especially if he thought those not quite persuasive.

Mr. Spencer goes to the theatre, and it was the last time in his life.

His account of how that change was wrought in him, gives us one of

those peculiar instances in which ridicule proved to be more powerful

than logic or decorum. He attended Drury Lane Theatre with one or two

friends, and in some part of the performance a parson was fearfully

caricatured, and drew bursts of laughter and applause from the

audience. This touched him sorely; eyes were pointed towards him; his

friends laughed the more, in proportion to the efforts considerations

for him made them use, in suppressing their feelings. He went forth

from the theatre thoroughly vexed, and vowed he would never go to a

theatre again. The Journal does not give a solitary instance in which

this resolve was deviated from afterwards. This incident had also the

effect of making him consider the propriety of several other

unclerical pursuits, which he followed, as much since his ordination

as he did before. It was not, however, till towards the end of this

year that he began to retrench them, and a little of the same power of

ridicule came to his assistance then also.

His great concern was the union of all the sects in his parish. He

knew very well that our Lord gave but one system of Christianity, and

that _yea_ and _no_ upon any important point could not proceed from

His lips or be parts of His doctrine. He thought conciliatory measures

the best to effect his purpose, and he even adopted some of the ways

of Dissenters in order to be all to all towards them. On this he seems

to have been lectured by Dr. Blomfield with some profit, for, on his

return home, he says: "Whit-Sunday. I gave a strong sermon against the

Dissenters, founded on Whit-Sunday," In a few days he pays "an

unsatisfactory visit" to one family, and says: "They are {112} the

hardest schismatics I've got; children unbaptized, &c." This seems

High Church language, and his feeling of opposition to Evangelicals,

which finds expression in a few places, now makes one suppose he was

"a proper High Church man." He labours hard for several weeks to

prepare children for confirmation. He has 80 of them ready, and was so

pleased with the whole affair, that he moved the printing of the

bishop's charge, as he proposed his lordship's health in a speech

after the dinner. The Sunday after he goes round to every house, and

gives final admonitions to those on whom the bishop imposed hands a

few days before.

To help him in his incipient dislike of Methodism he has a very

curious conversation with a great "professor" of that persuasion. This

was an old woman whom he was in the habit of visiting whenever he made

his rounds where she lived. On his entrance, they both knelt down and

prayed alternately for some time, each, out loud and extempore, for

the edification of the other. When this rubric was carried out, they

talked at full length and breadth on the unconverted and the elect,

with sundries other kindred subjects, and this he used to style

"comfortable conversation." Sometimes the tone of conversation would

vary, and once it ran upon the line of self-accusation. The old lady

very humbly accused herself of a great many faults in general, and

signified to Mr. Spencer that she would be very much obliged to any

one who would point out her particular faults, and help her in

correcting them. Emboldened by this, he ventured, after a long

preamble, to suggest that there was one thing he would like to see

corrected in her, as it seemed to be the only speck on the lustre of

her godliness. "What is that?" asked she, rather curiously and

impatiently. "Well, it is that you are rather fond of contradicting

people." "No, I am not," was the reply. "You have just contradicted me

now." "No, I haven't." "Well, you have repeated the same fault." "I've

done no such thing," was the petulant rejoinder. Of course, he saw it

was useless to proceed further, and his visits became fewer for some

time. This {113} anecdote he used to relate with peculiar tact and a

most graphic imitation of the old lady's manner.

Before giving his own account of the rise and fall of his High Church

notions, it may be well to mention another incident that occurred

about this time, towards the end of 1823. He determines to give up

shooting and dancing. He told an anecdote about how the first of these

sports fell into disfavour with him. There was a shooting party in

Althorp on a certain day, and George was in the very thick of it. So

anxious was he to distinguish himself in bringing down game, that he

would run to take position for a shot with his double-barrel gun

loaded, and a cartridge stuck in either corner of his mouth, ready for

action, so as not to lose a minute in charging. He did great execution

that day, and bagged probably more braces than any other. In the

evening one of the company showed great anxiety to get possession of

something, and eventually succeeded; whereupon, one present said, with

a waggish look at George, "You've made a parson's shot at it." This

struck him very forcibly, and suggested the resolution, which he

finally came to and kept, of giving up shooting. There is no

particular anecdote about his abstinence from dancing, we only know

that at this time he refuses to go to a ball, makes his pastoral

visits instead, and declares that he feels far more comfortable after

this than when he has been "pleasuring."

The following is taken from a letter published by Father Ignatius in

the _Catholic Standard_ in December, 1853:--

... "When I was ordained deacon in the Church of England at

Christmas, 1822, I had, I may say, all my religious ideas and

principles to form. I do not so well know how far this is a common

case now. I have reason to think it was a very common one then. My

mind was possessed with a decided intention of doing good, and I was

delighted with the calling and life of a clergyman; but my ideas

were very vague indeed as to what a clergyman was meant for or had

to do. Very naturally, however, on becoming acquainted with my

parishioners, among whom the Wesleyan Methodists, the Baptists, and

the Independents had been gaining ground for some time previously, I

{114} concluded that I had to oppose their progress, and to draw

back those who had joined them. This disposition in me was highly

gratifying to some of the elder clergy in my neighbourhood, who came

to make acquaintance with me as a new neighbour, especially to one

old man, an ardent lover of High Church principles, who, to confirm

me in them, gave me a book to read entitled 'Daubeny's Guide to the

Church,' in which the divine authority of the Church, the importance

of Apostolical succession, of episcopal government, the evil and sin

of schism, and other ecclesiastical principles, were most lucidly

and learnedly demonstrated. So I thought then; and, as far as my

recollection goes, I should say now that I thought rightly. I was

exceedingly captivated by these principles, which were to me quite

new, and I found myself now ready to carry on my arguments with

dissenters as a warrior armed; whereas in the beginning I had

nothing but zeal in my cause to help me. I did not gain upon them;

but this new light was so bright in my own mind, that I had no doubt

of prevailing in time. But there was one weak point in the system I

was defending which I had overlooked. It was after a time pointed

out to me, and my fabric of High Churchism fell flat at once, like a

child's castle of cards.

"I was at this time living at Althorp, my father's principal

residence in the country, serving as a curate to the parish to which

it was attached, though the park itself is extra-parochial. Among

the visitors who resorted there, was one of the most distinguished

scholars of the day, to whom, as to many more of the Anglican

Church, I owe a debt of gratitude for the interest which he took in

me, and to the help I actually received from him in the course of

inquiry, which has happily terminated in the haven of the true

Church. I should like to make a grateful and honourable mention of

his name, but as this has been found fault with, I forbear. I was

one day explaining to him with earnestness the line of argument

which I was pursuing with dissenters, and my hopes from it; I

suppose I expected encouragement, such as I had received from many

others. But he simply and candidly said, 'These would be {115} very

convenient doctrines, if we could make use of them, but they are

available only for Roman Catholics; they will not serve us.' I saw

in a moment the truth of his remark, and his character and position

gave it additional weight. I did not answer him; but as a soldier

who has received what he feels to be a mortal wound, will suddenly

stand still, and then quietly retire out of the _mêlée_, and seek a

quiet spot to die in, so I went away with my High Churchism mortally

wounded in the very prime of its vigour and youth, to die for ever

to the character of an Anglican High Churchman. Why did not this

open my eyes, you will say, to the truth of Catholicity? I answer,

simply because my early prejudices were too strong. The unanswerable

remark of my friend was like a _reductio ad absurdum_ of all High

Church ideas. If they were true, the Catholic would be so: _which is

absurd_, as I remember Euclid would say. 'Therefore,' &c. The grand

support of the High Church system, church authority, having been

thus overthrown, it was an easy though gradual work to get out of my

mind all its minor details and accompaniments, one after another;

such as regard for holy places, for holy days, for consecrated

persons, for ecclesiastical writers; finally, almost all definite

dogmatic notions. It would seem that all was slipping away, when,

coming to the conviction of the truth of Catholicity some years

after, it was with extraordinary delight I found myself picking up

again the shattered dispersed pieces of the beautiful fabric, and

placing them now in better order on the right foundation, solid and

firm, no longer exposed to such a catastrophe as had upset my

card-castle of Anglican churchmanship. This little passage in my

ancient religious history is so sweetly interesting to me in the

remembrance, that I have looked into an old diary which I used to

keep at the time, to make out the dates, and I find by this that the

duration of my High Church ideas was shorter than I should have

imagined; but it was a period crowded with new, bright ideas, and

naturally seems longer than it is. I will, to please myself,

perhaps, more than my readers, give the dates. I note that, Dec. 24,

1823, the great scholar of whom I have {116} spoken came to Althorp;

Jan. 23, 1824, he goes away. This was his last visit, for he died

the summer following, as I find it was on the 28th of June, 1824,

that, in passing by Oxford with my eldest brother, we called at the

Hall of which he was superior, to inquire how he was. He was

sick--then on his death-bed." [Footnote 6]

[Footnote 6: The name of the gentleman referred to above was Dr.

Elmesly.]

{117}

CHAPTER III.

He Receives Further Orders.

The complete levelling of his church principles left him at a loss

which way to turn. The divided state of his parish, and the number of

sects, seemed to be perpetually harassing his mind. He set about

converting them by other ways than exhibiting his "card-castle;" he

tried to open the doors of the Establishment as wide as he could, so

as to admit if possible all classes of religionists to her communion.

Of a conversation upon this point with Lord Lyttelton, he says, "In

the evening I had a walk with Lyttelton, and was filled with scruples

about the Athanasian Creed by him unintentionally. I had a great war

with my conscience in the evening, at bed-time." These scruples slept

for some time on account of a soporific which Dr. Blomfield

administered to him; but they arose again, and were not settled till

he became a Catholic. Various discussions procure him "lights about

the Methodist practice," and "distressing thoughts;" so he gives up

that field of working now for another.

This other field was showing good example of the different works of

mercy, and he even tries Catholic ascetism. He takes such an interest

in the poor of his parish that he goes to the hospitals, attends

dissecting-rooms, and assists at a dispensary until he learns enough

about medicine to enable him to make prescriptions for the sick poor.

He spends evenings in making pills, and one day when a poor man broke

his thigh, Mr. Spencer went and set it for him, and it was so well

done that they did not change it when he was brought to the infirmary.

The exertion this cost him nearly made him faint.

{118}

The next thing he notes is, "I read a most persuasive sermon of

Beveridge's about fasting; I examined the question in other books, and

by God's grace I am resolved no longer to disregard that duty." He

applied for advice about fasting, as was his invariable practice when

he took up any idea out of the ordinary line. He went to a

neighbouring clergyman, whom he considered well versed in the matter,

and, though this gentleman discourages the practice, Mr. Spencer

adopts it notwithstanding, since his arguments are too weak. These are

the principal events out of his ordinary work, except his giving up

card-playing, from the beginning of the year 1824 until the 12th of

June, when we find him again in Peterborough, on the eve of receiving

priest's orders.

The demolition of his High Church notions, as well as the tone of mind

in which he received the former orders, might lead one to anticipate

that he received these second orders somewhat after the fashion of a

new step in the army. But it was quite the contrary. His notions of

orders were higher; he looked upon this step as an important one, and

he tells us, some days before, "I walked to-day in The Wilderness at

Althorp, ruminating on my approaching ordination." He also read the

Ordination Service over and over, a good many times. On the evening

before the ordination, whilst the Bishop and various clergymen, and

their ladies, with whom he dines, candidates included, amuse

themselves with a game of whist, Mr. Spencer refuses to play. We can

contrast his reflections now with those used on a similar occasion a

year and a half ago:--

"Trinity Sunday, June 13.--A beautiful day. I was awake from six,

and thought a great deal of my intended step to-day. At 11 we all

attended the Bishop to church, and the prayers, ordination, and

sacrament were performed all moat satisfactorily to me. I am now

bound by the awful tie of priesthood; and most solemnly, at the

time, did I devote myself to the service of my Master. May the

impression never fade away!"

Shortly before this he heard of Dr. Blomfield's promotion to the see

of Chester, who, in answer to his letter of congratulation, offered

him the office of chaplain. He accepted it, in a long letter to his

old tutor, immediately he returned {119} from Peterborough. Up to this

time Mr. Spencer had been reading the Anglican divines,--Tomline,

Jeremy Taylor, Wheatley, Bull, Hooker, &c.; now he begins to read the

Fathers of the Church. The first he takes up is St. John Chrysostom

_On the Priesthood_. His opinion upon some of the doctrines he met

with there is nicely told in the letter to the _Catholic Standard_,

from which the passage in the last chapter has been quoted.

"I had to make a long journey with my brother, in his carriage, on

that long day, June 28, from Althorp, near Northampton, to

Southampton. It was before the epoch of railroads; and I see we

started at half-past three. I was seeking a book to occupy me during

this long journey (N.B. no Breviary to recite in those days), and,

in the library at Althorp, I hit upon a copy, in Greek, of St. John

Chrysostom on the Priesthood. Nothing better. I had heard this work

highly praised, and I hoped to find some animating matter for the

exercise of my calling as a clergyman. I was not disappointed in

this hope; but when I came to what the saint says about the holy

Eucharist, as, of course, the grand circumstance which exalts the

Christian priest, I was overcome with surprise. I read, and read it

again. Is it possible! I thought to myself. Why, this is manifest

popery. He certainly must have believed in the Real Presence. I had

no idea that popish errors had commenced so soon; yes, and gained

deep root, too; for I saw that he wrote as of a doctrine about which

he expected no contradiction. What was my conclusion here? you will

ask. Why, simply this--_the Saint has erred_; otherwise this capital

tenet of popery is true--_which is absurd_. I brought in my Euclid

here, as on the previous 31st of December. I see that on the

following day I was in the cabin of the vessel in which we crossed

to the Isle of Wight, reading _Jeremy Taylor's Worthy Communicant_.

St. John Chrysostom, I have no doubt, had been thrown overboard, not

into the sea--which was making me then rather sick--as the volume

was not my own to dispose of thus; but he had been thrown overboard

with a whole multitude of Saints and Fathers besides, convicted with

him, and condemned for {120} popish errors, into the black gulph of

the dark ages; or rather, I had, by an act of my judgment, extended

the borders of that gulph several centuries back, as the Regent's

Canal Company are doing with their reservoir near our house, by Act

of Parliament, over some of our land, so as to flood him and his

contemporaries, and, of course, all after them till Luther rose to

set up a dyke and save on dry land those who had courage to step out

on the land of Gospel light which he first had re-discovered. I soon

came to look on our English Reformers of the Church of England as

the greatest and most enlightened men since the time of the

Apostles."

He does not give up his asceticism, though he feels the pain of it;

and well he might, for he would sometimes eat nothing until six

o'clock in the evening, and be all the day going through his parish,

or writing sermons if the day were wet. He says in the journal of one

of those days: "A fasting day till dinner made me very miserable, and

makes me doubt the excellency of this means .... dinner did me good."

He improves upon the fasting, however, by adding another day every

week, when he finds that it really helps him to eradicate his passions

and raise up his mind to heaven. The bodily pain consequent on want of

food was not the only thing Mr. Spencer had to endure from his

fasting. It was a practice that had a popish air about it; his friends

and members of his family grew indignant that he should be making

himself peculiar. He had to bear the brunt of all their remarks; he

did so willingly, and would sit down to the family breakfast to feed

on their rebukes and send his portion down untasted, whilst the rest

took their meal. He also reads Thomas-a-Kempis's "Imitation of

Christ," and we see evidences of that remarkable spirit for which he

was afterwards distinguished--thanking God for everything. He becomes

a secretary to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge: that

institution was a favourite of Dr. Blomfield's, and he may have

induced Mr. Spencer to patronize it. When Mr. Spencer saw how well it

worked in its department, he thought of a scheme for improvising

something of his own. He does not give particulars {121} of what it

was; but he submitted it to his Bishop, who "threw cold water on it,"

and Mr. Spencer simply thanks God for being thwarted. He is completely

wrapped up in his clerical duties, so much so that he does not give

the full time to his summer vacation in Ryde; he is always impatient

to get back to his parish when some pressing business requires him to

leave it; and even, while away, he is perpetually visiting clergymen,

and talking upon matters belonging to his office. He seems though,

ever since the destruction of his High Church principles, to be

getting every day more Evangelical in his words and actions.

{122}

CHAPTER IV.

Mr. Spencer Becomes Rector Of Brington.

Mr. Vigoreux, Rector of Brington, sent in his resignation of the

living to the Bishop towards the close of the year 1824. The letters

which are found among Father Ignatius's papers show this transaction

to have been very creditable to the Spencer family. The old rector was

on the continent,--he seems to have been very much in debt to Lord

Spencer, and upon his resigning his living, Lord Spencer not only

cancelled the debt, but made him so far independent for life, that the

old clergyman, in sheer gratitude, ordered £7. 10s. to be distributed

every year among the poor of the parish, whilst he lived. George was

transported with delight at the news, which was given him by a lawyer

in Northampton, on the 8th November in this year, that Mr. Vigoreux

had resigned. Mr. Spencer is full of his secret, and he and a brother

clergyman have a very pleasant evening in telling "secrets" to each

other--George about the rectorship, his friend about his intended

marriage. Things go on quietly now until the usual Christmas

assemblage of the family at Althorp, and George's reflection on his

birthday is this: "That my life past, in the main, has been mis-spent,

wasted, and worse than wasted. Last year I have become confirmed in

the first of all professions, and I truly desire that I may grow riper

and stronger in my office." For a while he resists the temptation to

join in the sports of the young gentlemen at Althorp; at length he

gives in; he plays a few rubbers at whist in compliment to his father,

and thanks God that he plays worse and worse every day. He also takes

a few shots; but finding his old {123} eagerness returning, he throws

up the gun at once, and goes to visit the sick and the poor.

On the 12th January he is presented by his father with the living of

Brington, is instituted by the Bishop two days after, and inducted by

a neighbouring clergyman on the 20th of the same month. He is now in

possession of a good income, can afford to pay a curate to do his

drudgery, and might follow the example of non-residence which was then

so common; but he does nothing of the kind. A fat parsonage does not

come to him with an arm-chair or a sofa, and invite him to sit down

and take his rest. He considers now that the weight of the charge

obliges him to redouble his labours; he continues to write his sermons

twice over, and never misses to have one for every Sunday. It was his

custom to give, what he called a lecture, on Sunday evenings,--he now

gives a full sermon; he also increases the days of attendance in

church as far as he can, for we find him beating up for an attendance

on Ash-Wednesday; and this he calls an innovation. He gets a little

keener in the spirit of asceticism just now, for he tries to conceal

his austerities; and on a day he fasted till six he says: "I wish I

could root out that devil of ambition and vain-glory." Probably it was

about this time that the incident happened he used often to relate to

his religious brethren in after-life. One day he thought to conceal

his fast; but the housekeeper brought up the toast for breakfast, and

if he sent it down untouched she would have discovered his abstinence;

he put it in the cupboard and locked it up; by-and-by the odour it

emitted perfumed the whole place, to the no small astonishment of the

housemaid. The end of it was, that every one discovered what he tried

to conceal even from one.

We find a thorough absorption of his energies in the work of his

ministry apparent in every page of his journal, as also from the

testimony of those who knew him at that period. One little remark will

throw light upon his interior:--"My dear Lyttelton,--Sal and the

children went away at 6½. I heard the sad departing wheels out of bed.

Thank God I have heretofore found happiness in my solitude, and shall

do {124} so again, I trust. His word, and the way of His Commandments,

they are my joy. May I grow in the knowledge and practice of them, and

I desire no more for this world." Another instance of his devotion to

his ministry may be seen in the following:--"Tuesday, March 22.--Rose

(a neighbouring clergyman) and I began talking about 8½, and hardly

ceased till 12 at night. Our subject was religion and the Church,

chiefly."

What beautiful material was there in this excellent clergyman! and had

he been where his spirit would be understood, or where one knew how to

direct him, what might he not become? He found himself in a Church

where spirituality and asceticism are exotics, and cannot thrive,

notwithstanding that the Scriptures are so emphatic in exhorting us to

practise them. Then, if he took them up, he knew not how far to go, or

at what point to restrain himself. He had no manuals, no guides; but

vague attempts at fulsome piety written for fellow-workmen, who

differed with him on the very first principles of faith. He was,

therefore, utterly left to his own views and fancies, and what he

considered grace and inspiration. He was getting too unworldly for his

position, too single-minded, and too earnest for the easy-going

clerical gentlemen who formed the bulk of his acquaintances. Not that

the majority did not do their duty. To be sure they did; but what was

it? To read a sermon from a desk on a Sunday; to pay visits, and read

a chapter of the Bible to a dying sinner. The Evangelical counsels,

without which, in some degree or other, Christian _perfection_ is

unattainable, are exploded anachronisms in the Established of souls,

as the outcry against those within its pale, who try to revive them,

but too clearly proves. Ecclesiastical virtue, with them, does not

differ from secular virtue, any more than the virtue of a Member of

Parliament differs from that of a Town Councillor. They are both

expected to be gentlemen, and to keep the rules of propriety the

public thinks proper to expect from their position. That is all. "Oh!"

as poor Father Ignatius used to say, "shall these dry bones live?"

Thou knowest, Lord, whether they shall or not; they don't; and in his

{125} time they were farther from it than they are now. We must

therefore expect, from the nature of the case, what is to follow in

the next chapter. He goes perfectly astray, in his pursuit after what

the "Church of his baptism" could not give him. It was fortunate that

he strayed in the end from a wrong path into the right one, by the way

of too far East being West.

Easter Sunday in this year he counts the happiest day he spent up to

this, though he had only fifty-eight communicants, a decrease since

his first Easter. His point of bringing all to the sacrament was not

carried. He had even bishops opposing him in this, as in everything

else that was not half world, half God.

The next thing he notices is, that an archdeacon gave a good charge,

"though against the Catholics,--a questionable topic." Mr. Spencer had

no special love for Catholics; on the contrary, he thought themselves

absurd, their doctrines abominable, and their ceremonies mummery. He

was of the Spencer family though, and in them there was an inbred love

of justice and fair-play. Lord Spencer and his son, Lord Althorp, both

favoured and spoke for emancipation. They thought the Catholics

aggrieved, and if they were Turks, they did not see why they should

cease to be men and subjects of the English crown. That was plain

common sense; besides, Mr. Spencer had not got so high in Church views

as some of his friends, who favoured Catholics before their elevation

and opposed them after it, to please a king. The Spencers were

generously liberal in all their dealings, and even when the subject of

this biography, the delight of the family, thought fit to become a

Catholic, their conduct towards him was worthy of their name. We shall

have to refer to this afterwards; the allusion is made now only to

show that the tenour of their opinions was not the creature of a whim

or an ephemeral fancy, but a grave, steady, and well-disciplined

feeling. Praise be to them for it. Would that their imitators were

more numerous.

He has also another project on hand at this time, besides the

evangelizing of his flock. He begins to build a new rectory. He gets

an architect from London; has {126} suggestions from the family about

the length and breadth of the apartments; others, more poetical,

survey the site to give their sentiments about the view from the

parlour window; the older portion have their say about the comfort of

the different rooms, with regard to size, position, and plastering.

Some few even make presents of articles of furniture, and a near

relation gives him a beautiful bed, which commodity has many

paragraphs of the journal dedicated to its praises and suitableness.

The building is at last begun, and we must say something of the

progress of his interior castle whilst we let the bricklayers obey the

orders of the builder and architect.

{127}

CHAPTER V.

Changes In His Religious Opinions.

For some time we are getting glimpses of his ways of thought, or

rather of his ways of expressing his thoughts. We read, "godly

dispositions," "mature unto repentance," "ripe for glory,"

"comfortable conversations," "springs in barren soil," and the

"_seeing_ of spiritual _blindness_." All these indicate the leaning of

his mind, and recall the language of Cromwellian "Saints," and

Bunyan's dreams. The strangest part of his proceedings now was the way

in which he became "justified." It is hardly necessary to mention that

in Calvinistic theology, which forms the basis, if not the

superstructure, of the principal part of Evangelical postulates, the

body of believers are divided into _elect_ and _reprobate_, or

_justified_ and _unconverted_. The election or justification is a

sentiment coming from what is supposed to be the assurance of an

interior spirit that one is to be saved. With them, happy the man or

woman who possesses this testimony, and miserable the wretch to whom

it is not given. There is for these latter only an everlasting groping

in the dark, and a seeking for light, while the _insured_ can go

through this vale of tears in exultation and gladness of spirit. Mr.

Spencer was not well versed in this particular doctrine, and a poor

woman, whom he met one day in Northampton, undertook to bring him to

the "true Gospel light" by the "pure milk of the Word." She put

together a few of those passages from the New Testament, which are

generally misquoted in support of this outlandish theory, and her

interpretation convinced Mr. Spencer, so that he felt justified, all

at once. This good woman proved to be a great trouble to him

afterwards; she would harangue him, {128} once a week, on his

unconverted state, even after the _assurance_. Her letters came

regularly, four large pages, badly and closely written; and when she

had done canting on spirituality, she would fill up what remained with

the scandals of the unconverted among whom she lived, and complaints

at the cold treatment she received from many. She became a kind of

apostle among the Dissenters, and it was only when she had been living

on Mr. Spencer's charity for a few years that he discovered where the

strength of her spirit lay. He had reasons for not trusting to the

genuineness of her piety, though she kept continually writing from

North Shields, where she lived, sometimes in good and sometimes in bad

circumstances, since the regeneration of Mr. Spencer. When she

received one letter in which her sanctity was made little of, she laid

the blame on slanderous tongues, and talked about suicide. Mr. Spencer

then dropped the correspondence, and gave her a sum of money to

purchase a like favour on her side.

He used to amuse us much by relating the system of self-laudation and

encouragement that kept the Evangelicals interested in each other. One

day he was describing how a clerical friend of his became justified.

He had travelled a good distance, and was pretty tired; the family he

thought proper to honour with his holy presence in a certain town,

prepared him a most excellent breakfast. He ate with the appetite of a

very hungry man, and when a more secular guest would have said, _O jam

satis_, he jumped up from the table and shouted with ecstatic delight,

"I am justified." He never doubted of his election to glory after

that, as far as Father Ignatius knew. The most extraordinary feature

in their modes was, that a kind of telegraphic communication was kept

up with each other, all over the country, for the purpose of making

the elect aware of the latest addition to their numbers. On finding

his brethren were disposed to laugh at the extravagant madness of this

kind of religion, he grew quite serious, and said: "They are really in

earnest, poor things, and we ought not to laugh at them, only to pray

that their earnestness might be properly directed." One will say:

Could any man or woman with a {129} grain of common sense, go on

thinking and talking this kind of unreality, which we commonly call

_cant?_ As a fact, they do, and we have proof positive of it in Mr.

Spencer himself. It is astonishing to see a man of his position, good

sense, and education, talk and write in the strange way he does,

whilst this mood of mind lasted. Not only does he write so; he holds

conversations with every one whom he meets about the state of their

soul, and those which he calls _interesting_, others considered very

probably the reverse. He also takes soundings of people's spiritual

depth, and is seldom consoled at the result. He is satisfied with no

one, except two or three of his immediate neighbours who were fed

mostly on his bounty or served in his house or garden. He goes at this

time (September, 1825) to attend Dr. Blomfield as chaplain through the

visitation of the diocese of Chester. He is very zealous throughout,

and converses on spiritual subjects with Dissenters of all kinds as

well as Churchmen; he does not even leave behind the followers of

Joanna Southcote. Some were supposing once, in his presence, that it

was impossible for followers of Joanna Southcote, and the like, not to

be fully aware that they were being deluded. Father Ignatius said it

was not so, and related a peculiar case that he witnessed himself. He

happened to be passing through Birmingham (perhaps it was after he

became a Catholic), and had occasion to enter a shop there to order

something. The shopkeeper asked him if he had heard of the great light

that had arisen in these modern times. He said no. "Well then,"

repeated the shopman, "here, sir, is something to enlighten you,"

handing him a neatly got up pamphlet. He had not time to glance at the

title when his friend behind the counter ran on at a great rate in a

speech something to the following effect. That the four Gospels were

all figures and myths, that the Epistles were only faint

foreshadowings of the real sun of justice that was now at length

arisen. The Messias was come in the person of a Mr. Ward, and he would

see the truth demonstrated beyond the possibility of a doubt by

looking at the Gospel he held in his hand. Whilst the shopman was

expressing hopes of converting him, he took {130} the opportunity of

looking at the pamphlet, and found that all this new theory of

religion was built upon a particular way of printing the text, _Glory

be to God on high, and on earth peace to_-WARD'S _men_. On turning

away in disgust from his fruitless remonstrances with this specimen of

WARD'S _men_, he found some of WARD'S _women_ also in the same place;

and overheard them exclaiming, "Oh! little England knows what a

treasure they have in ---- jail." The pretended Messias happened to be

in prison for felony at the time. He assured us that these poor

creatures were perfectly sincere and earnest in the faith they had in

this malefactor.

The characteristic features of the Low Church school, or whatever name

the religious bias of Mr. Spencer's mind at this time may be called,

are, a certain self-sufficiency and rank spiritual pride. It begins

with self and ends with self. From self springs the assurance of

salvation, for self's sake, too, and every one must feel him_self_ in

this mood before he can rely on himself. When this fancy gets

possession of a person's mind, they forthwith turn apostles, borrow

the language of inspiration even for table-talk, and no person is in

the way of salvation at all who does not completely fall in with the

stream of the new flood of ideas this notion brings into the

"_regenerated_" mind. No matter how worthy or great any person may

seem to the reprobate world, and did seem to the newly-made "saint"

before the assurance, they are now dark, lost, but hopeful if they

listen patiently to one half-hour's discourse upon the movements of

the Spirit. The vagaries of each mind are in proportion to the

imagination, and the facilities for expanding them by giving them

expression. But far or near as they may go, self, proud self, is the

beginning and end of them all.

The woman who was instrumental in "regenerating" Mr. Spencer writes in

one letter to say that she has "no pride," and that no one ever could

accuse her of being infected with this passion. At the same time, ay,

in the very next sentence, we have wrath and indignation at some of

the unregenerate who do not think proper to pay court to her. The

sweeping condemnations hurled against two or {131} three worthy

clergymen, which opened Mr. Spencer's eyes to the imposition practised

upon him, are further evidences of the same spirit. Mr. Spencer's own

ways of acting will be a fair sample of this kind of thing. During his

visit to Chester in 1825, he lectures the Bishop on several different

occasions, and considers himself quite qualified to do so by virtue of

the new spirit he has imbibed. One of the conversations he describes

thus:--"After dinner we had an animated discussion, in which I took a

lead against the field almost. Before going to bed, I had half an

hour's private conversation with the Bishop, most interesting _on his

account_. I humbly thank God who has heard my prayers, and made me a

lowly instrument in His hands for the good of this already admirable

man." In the next sentence he tells us that, in travelling home to

Althorp, "I did not read much, but thank God was enabled to keep my

mind in godly meditation almost all the way. God knows how blind and

perplexed I am still." We have taken the liberty to mark some words in

italics in the first quotation, as they show what is confirmed by

other passages, too numerous to be quoted, how high he had risen in

his own estimation when he considered a bishop benefited by half an

hour's conversation with him. He is very hopeful, though, of bringing

all the world to his ideas, and says of his family: "God grant me the

continuance of that kindness which lies between me and all my family

till such time as their hearts may be truly opened to my word."

Another reason why we are rather sparing in extracts is a respect for

a passage which occurs here in the journal. "I have put down many

circumstances in this journal relating to private discussions with

persons in religion. Should they fall into strange hands, be they

bound in conscience to use them discreetly." We simply quote what is

necessary to give a correct notion of the state of his mind. He

carried his zeal a little too far betimes, "he went so far as to

consider it the duty of a clergyman to call on and rebuke any brother

clergyman, whom he might consider negligent in his ministerial

office."

{132}

Thus a fellow-clergyman writes:--

He got into some difficulties at this time in consequence of

reporting to his bishop a clergyman who would not listen to his

remonstrances; but mutual explanations succeeded in making

everything right. The clergyman in question lived away from his

cure, and thought proper to enjoy unclerical, but otherwise

harmless, sports. Mr. Spencer, of course, was against this, but did

not succeed in imbuing the other with his sentiments.

Notwithstanding these notions of self-righteousness, he was far from

incurring much censure for officiousness. His character and mode of

life gained him so much respect that he could administer even

reproof without provoking anger, except where it was too richly

deserved. A letter of Dr. Blomfield's to him after this visit, bears

out this remark. The Bishop says: ... "I hope you will look back on

your visit to Chester with pleasure. You may have the satisfaction

of believing that you have done good to many _young_ clergymen, who

had an opportunity of conversing with you, if not to many _old_

ones. I was very glad to set before them the example of a young man

of rank and good prospects devoted in singleness of heart to the

duties of his holy calling."

That his single-mindedness and piety should have thus led him astray

is not to be wondered at; for, besides the want of a state where such

virtues could be properly cultivated, he had to breathe a religion

whose first principles tend directly that way. The exercise of private

judgment in what primarily concerns salvation must always lead one

astray, because articles of faith are not creatures of human

intelligence, neither are they within its compass to understand. He

had, of course, a private judgment shackled by contradictions, as

every subscriber of the Thirty-nine Articles has. He had an authority

to obey which gave a dubious sound, and he was told plainly by the

same voice that itself was defectible; the only tie to obedience was

the condition on which he discharged his clerical functions; it was

natural that he should see through this, from his very single-mindedness,

and overlook the conditions while trying to unravel the knots with

which they bound him. His birthday reflections this year, 1825, show

that he did not begin to retrace his steps. They are as follows:--

{133}

"Dec. 21. ...

This day sees me 26 years old, and blessed be my Almighty Protector,

the last year has greatly advanced me in hope and knowledge of

salvation. A reference to my observations last birthday shows me a

great alteration in my views. What admirable methods does He employ

in bringing sinners to himself? During the last half-year I reckon I

must fix the time when by the most unlikely means God has brought me

to faith and knowledge of His grace. I solemnly devote the next year

and every day and hour and minute of my future life to coming nearer

to Him, to learning His ways and word, and to leading others to the

same knowledge, in which He has caused me to exult with a joy

formerly unknown."

{134}

CHAPTER VI.

Opposition To His Religious Views.

Mr. Spencer was so taken with his new birth that he tried to have all

his friends and acquaintances born again after his own fashion. He

made no secret, therefore, of his religious leaning; by letter and

word of mouth he tried to bring all to his side. We find, from his

correspondence at this time, a shower of letters from every point of

the clerical compass where there was authority or influence enough to

muster a cloud for their discharge. In looking over such of the

letters as he has thought well to preserve, one is struck at once with

the diversity of opinion. It is better not to give names, perhaps; but

a few sentences from each may not be out of place.

Rev. Mr. A.--"I have read your letter through with great care, and I

can say with truth, that it has produced much the same effect upon

the eye of my mind which the full blaze of the meridian sun

sometimes produces upon the natural eye. It has been almost too much

for me." The letter goes on encouraging him in his spirit,

fortifying him against all carnal opposition. This gentleman is of

the same mind as Mr. Spencer, but more glowing in his zeal for the

great cause of Gospel freedom.

Rev. Mr. B.--"I address myself to one who, from that love of Christ

which passeth knowledge, has evinced an anxiety for me, who am less

than the least of all saints, and an unprofitable minister of the

Gospel of God." This gentleman's language is of the right stamp; but

he does not agree so perfectly, and arranges for a meeting, where

they are to have a mutual adjustment of ideas.

{135}

Rev. Mr. C.--"This is very well at the commencement. I trust the

Lord will add more, in the best sense of that expression."

Rev. Mr. D.--".... To this I will never consent [renewing left off

discussions], being satisfied (as I have before stated to you) that

every man who is able and willing and sincerely endeavouring to

learn and practise his duty, ought to be left in the quiet and

undisturbed possession of his own conscience, and not forced from it

against his will by others who happen to form a different judgment.

In our former conversations, you told me, as plainly as language

could well do, though perhaps not entirely at one interview, that

you considered me to be an unconverted sinner, as destitute of the

truth as any heathen could be, and in a state of perdition; and you

seemed to think that I could be recovered from that fearful

condition by that horrid system of indiscriminate condemnation and

terror which prevails (I find) at Northampton in its most odious

form, and which I believe to be essentially opposed to the

principles of the Christian religion, as it is repugnant to those

natural feelings of kindness and benevolence which God has implanted

in the human breast."

It might be fairer to transcribe his entire letter; but then the other

letters have the same claim, and that would make a new volume, for

some of the letters extend over fifteen pages of foolscap paper,

closely written. The sum of the remaining part is this, that he is

twenty-one years in holy orders, and that God could not have allowed

him to be in error all that time. He says that, "I never can for one

moment admit that any one is more anxious for my happiness than I am

myself, nor that any person has a greater right to decide than I have

by what means that happiness shall be sought. A man's own

conscientious judgment is the proper guide in such cases." He then

refers Mr. Spencer to others more learned than he for the discussion

of those matters, and mentions the Bishop of Chester and John Rose,

"whose qualifications for the task are incomparably superior to mine."

This gentleman seems to hesitate between Mr. Spencer's opinions and

his own, and is rather uneasy lest he might be wrong, yet does not see

{136} the use of troubling himself, as it is all the same in the end,

when one tries to do what his conscience tells him is right.

Rev. Mr. E. is a doctor, so let us listen to him. After a rhetorical

preface, in which he would make excuses but would not, because they

were such friends and did not want them, for handling his friend so

summarily, he thus launches forth:--

"Although there can be but _one_ line of duty marked out in the

situation of _every_ clergyman, and although, before God, the

humblest and the loftiest in that profession are equally bounden to

_pursue_ the same line of duty, and are, moreover, equally frail and

'found wanting,'--yet I cannot bring myself to consider yours as by

any means an _ordinary_ case."

After thus magnifying the importance of his subject, he neither agrees

nor disagrees, but discountenances Mr. Spencer's practices on

prudential motives. He staves off the whole matter of doctrine, and

talks about discipline.

The next quotation will be from a bishop. He very wisely and keenly

observes:--

"Amidst a great deal that is excellent and of right spirit in your

observations, there is a presumption and self-confident tone, which

is altogether new in _you_, and in my opinion not very consistent

with real humility. In fact, I almost wonder that this symptom, if

you have ever recalled to mind your conversations, or read over your

letters when written, has not made you doubt the reality of what you

call your conversion; for I remember perfectly well your having

observed to me, that the extreme confidence of those who hold

Calvinistic opinions as to their own case, and their extreme

uncharitableness towards, or rather _concerning_ others, were strong

indications of some radical error in their notions, and so they will

ever be considered by those who take the same view with St. Paul of

Christian charity."

The Bishop then states the case very clearly at issue between them,

and points how far they agree and disagree upon the point of

_assurance_ and reliance on the merits of Christ, and proves his side

of the question by Scripture, Anglican divines, and common sense.

{137}

It is a very singular thing that this bishop, when he first heard of

the manifestations of Mr. Spencers Calvinistic spirit, concludes a

short letter to him thus:--

"I recommend to your perusal a most interesting tract, which Blanco

White has just published, 'The Poor Man's Preservative against

Popery.'

"Ever yours affectionately,

*****"

These specimens are picked at random from a heap of letters. It looks

incomprehensible to a Catholic how such a state of things could be

possible in a system calling itself a Church. Not one of these, who

were the clergy working with him in the same field and in the same

way, dared to say, or knew how to say, "You have uttered a heresy."

Some agreed with him, some applauded him, some wanted to be left alone

in their old doctrines, and some begged leave very politely to differ

from him, and gave their reasons for so doing. The Bishop argued

warmly against him, but Mr. Spencer took up his lordship, and argued

quite as warmly for the other side of the question. If he did not put

them among the reprobate, they should very likely have let him alone.

Such was the state of _dogma_ in the Establishment in the beginning of

1826; it is scarcely improved, except in its own way, in 1865. No

definite teaching, nothing positive, nothing precise, all mist, doubt,

uncertainty, except that Popery is anti-Christian and subversive of

human liberty.

It is very hard to imagine, much less to realize, how these lukewarm

expressions of assent and dissent turned, in a few months, into a

tempest of opposition. Perhaps the following guess would nearly

account for it. We may conclude from the letter of Lady Spencer to Dr.

Blomfield (given in his life, page 70), on his being appointed to the

see of Chester, that she and Lord Spencer knew something about the

making of bishops and the mode of their _translation_. If she took

such an interest in a stranger, but a friend, it is not wonderful that

she should take a similar, if not a greater, interest in seeing a

mitre on the head of her own son. Lord Liverpool had not yet retired

from the head of the ministry, {138} and if his politics and Lord

Spencer's were sufficiently of accord to promote the man whom the Earl

patronized, they would be able to do a like service to the Earl's own

son in due course. Extreme Low Church views would never do for the

Episcopal Bench in those days, though many were raised to that dignity

with little High Church views. Whether Mr. Spencer's opinions clouded

this bright future, or that the noble family would feel it a disgrace

to have a son so methodistical, or whether real anxiety for his

spiritual welfare, or an endeavour to prevent a future that the

Bishop's ken seemed to have forecasted, troubled his parents, it is

difficult to say. At all events, Mr. Spencer's religious notions

caused a great commotion in the family, whilst those who abetted and

encouraged him went on preaching their sermons and reading their

services in their position, with one exception, and nobody seemed to

mind them.

Lady Spencer took her son to London, in the beginning of the year

1826, to have his new notions rectified by Dr. Blomfield. This good

doctor immediately prescribed for his patient, for he did not need

much feeling of his spiritual pulse after their correspondence. The

interview is thus described:--

"Jan. 24.--My mother allowed me her carriage after breakfast, to go

and see the Bishop of Chester. I did not find him at home, and so

came directly back again. He was so good as to call on me

afterwards, and sat talking with me a considerable time. His

conversation was most pleasing to me, though I could see that we did

not fully agree in our view of Christian doctrine (_sic_). He

desired me to read Sumner's 'Apostolical Preaching,' which I sent

out for and began doing before dinner."

His obedience to directors of all kinds was remarkable; but the

results were invariably contrary to their expectations. He began this

book at once, and be it remembered, he had read it twice before. Next

day he read on, and "marked many passages which he thought decidedly

wrong." He goes out a little, sees an old friend, and delights in

reading Cowper's "Task," exclaiming, "It is a great thing to be a true

Christian." He visits the Bishop in a day or two; they hold a

discussion, but part in charity; and the result was, {139} that Mr.

Spencer wrote him "the memorable letter" which scarcely left his

lordship a hope of salvation if he did not at once get assured of his

election.

A correspondence ensues now, which terminates in a promise given and

accepted of a longer stay in London, where matters may be settled in

conversation to their mutual satisfaction. In the mean time, Mr.

Spencer returns to his parish, and begins reading the New Testament in

Greek (another of Dr. Blomfield's prescriptions). As he lays down the

volume one day he exclaims, "How do I want the milk of God's word!"

An old lady whom he visits, in illness, dozes into a stupor, and

awakens unto Gospel faith. One evening he says:--"I spent this evening

with a mixture of scrupulosities and comforts, but trust soon to find

out what is the true Gospel freedom." There seem still some relics of

the old asceticism left in him, for on having to go to Peterborough on

some business, he says:--"I started in a chaise for Peterborough. I

had scruples about the heavy expense of this mode instead of coaches;

but I was consoled by the opportunity I had on the way of calling at

Titchmarsh, and having half an hour's conversation with Lyttelton

Powys. I got to Peterborough at 4½, dined with the dean and his lady

at 6, and spent the evening in hearing extracts from his intended life

of Bentley. I found myself in a land, alas! of spiritual barrenness;

but water-springs may rise in dry ground."

It was about this time, March, 1826, that he seems to have given up

reading anything in the way of theology, except the Bible. He gives an

odd dip into Cowper's poems, by way of recreation. He came across a

book called "The Convent," but immediately "discovered it to be

anti-Christian." This apparent quiet is, however, disturbed by the

play of the clerical artillery around him. The tone of one or two

extracts from the letters he received now will give an idea of the

vantage-ground these good champions of orthodoxy thought proper to

take. One writes:--

"I know you did think it un-Christian-like to converse or employ the

mind much on any subject but religion. To this almost entire

exclusion of all other topics I decidedly object, {140} on the

ground of its having a strong tendency to engender a pharisaical

spirit, and of its being inconsistent with the common duties and

occupations of life marked out for us by Providence, and contrary to

the true interests of genuine Christianity. And my opinion in this

respect has the sanction of some of the most excellent characters I

have ever known--persons eminent alike for sound wisdom and

discretion, and for a quiet and unostentatious, but sincere and

fervent piety.

"I cannot conclude this letter without remarking, that all your

conversations with me, since you adopted your present views, have

convinced me more and more that my own religious opinions are sound

and yours erroneous; and that every day's experience confirms and

strengthens me in the conviction, that the religious system which

your friends at Northampton are pursuing (whatever charm it may have

for enthusiastic minds) _is not the religion of the Bible_."

This is from the grumbler quoted above, as may be seen by the

style and sentiment.

Our friend the doctor calls him to task in this manner:--

".... You are endeavouring to make up for past deficiencies, or to

atone for past errors, by renewed activity or rather extraordinary

efforts. This you do in perfect sincerity; and, I believe, heartily.

In consequence, instead of _one_ sermon on a Sunday there are _two_;

instead of a _quarterly_ there is a _monthly_ sacrament; and, in

addition, an evening lecture, with prayers, is pronounced every

Wednesday evening. Now, supposing you had not taken this

unfavourable opinion of your past feelings and views, would you have

adopted such regulations? I think you would _not_; and yet, be it

observed, the necessity for them was and is a matter totally

irrelevant to your own private feelings."

The rest of this letter, the doctor's second, is to sober down Mr.

Spencer's fervour, and make him go on quietly, hoping thus to slacken

his enthusiasm and bring him to his former frame of mind.

It is sad to see a clergyman called to task for not being more worldly

and less zealous. He is, in fact, too much like a Catholic Saint to be

endured in the Establishment. {141} He must eventually abandon it, or

be stoned to death with hard words in it. We see the chink now through

which the first alternative gleamed on the Bishop; and we see the

disposition of Providence in moving him to confine himself to the

Bible, when some plausible Anglican work might have burnished up what

he had of Catholic instinct, and made it seem gold.

{142}

CHAPTER VII.

Progress Of His Religious Views.

It must not be supposed that Mr. Spencer broke away from the

Establishment by the religious notions he took up at this time; on the

contrary, his great hope is that he shall unite all the sects to her,

and he fancies they are being realized now among the Methodists in his

own parish. His cardinal point of opinion at this time was, that the

articles and formularies of the Anglican Church required some kind of

soul to put life into them and make them touch the heart; that this

life had been allowed to eke out of the Church in the days bygone, and

that it was high time to bring it back; the wording of the Church's

text-books gave room for his interpretation, and his whole line of

procedure was but acting upon it. Others interpreted differently, some

did not interpret at all; with both classes of opponents he maintained

an opposition so satisfactory to himself that his notions only gained

a stronger hold of his mind every day. We shall give some specimens of

the arguments urged against him by the second class of opponents, who

were chiefly influential members of his own family. One writes,--his

father:--

"I will commission Appleyard to get the Hebrew grammar you mention

and send it down, and I am very glad to hear that you intend to

revive that study, which must be so useful to a clergyman, and which

will I hope be an advantage to your mind by varying the objects to

which you apply it, and by that means tend to relieve it from the

effects of too intense an application to the more difficult and

abstruse points of religious study; which, if not under the

corrective guidance of greater learning and experience than it is

possible for you yet to have, might lead into the {143} wildness of

enthusiasm, instead of the sensible and sound doctrine which it

becomes an orthodox minister of an Established Church to hold for

himself and to preach to others."

Another,--his mother:--

"Infinite peril attends the setting our duties and religious notions

in too austere a point of view, and seeming mystic and obscure modes

of speech when describing religious sentiments; and disparaging

every effort to do right except it tallies exactly with some

indescribable rule of faith which cannot be comprehended by

simple-minded and quiet-tempered piety, is of all things the most

dangerous, since the risk is dreadful either of disgusting, or

repelling, or alarming into despair. Nothing proves the perfect

ignorance of human character and the art of persuasion than this

process. It never can do to terrify into doing right,--stubbornness

and hopelessness must ever be the consequence of such ill-judged

zeal; and to the preacher uncharitableness and spiritual pride.

Milton's beautiful meditation of our Saviour, in 'Paradise

Regained,' has two lines which exactly fill my idea of what ought to

be the mode of doing good by precept:--

"By winning words to conquer willing hearts,

And make persuasion do the work of fear."

.... Do not permit yourself to judge uncharitably of the motives of

others because their religious sentiments are not always floating on

the surface of their words and actions."

The remonstrances descend in a graduated scale from these elegant

remarks, through letters from old schoolfellows in an off-hand style;

frisky young matrons twit him in a very airy kind of argument, and all

seems to wind up in a flourish from a young officer, "How dy'e do, my

dear old parson; ever in the dumps, eh?"

The long visit to London is at length brought about. He writes in the

journal:--"April 13, 1826. At 9 set off for London. I leave Althorp

for a longer period than I have since taking orders. May God make it a

profitable excursion!" This visit was planned by the family and {144}

Dr. Blomfield, when they saw letters were unavailing, in order that

Spencer might be brought, by conversing with his old master, into

tamer notions on religion.

He accordingly dines and speaks with the Bishop and some clerical

friends, but the result was this note in the journal:--"I feel myself

in this great town like St. Paul in Athens. Not one like-minded man

can I now think of to whom I can resort. But God shall raise me some."

The next Sunday after his arrival in London he is asked by Dr.

Blomfield to preach in St. Botolph's Church, Bishopsgate street. This

sermon was to be a kind of profession of his faith. His own

commentaries on it are thus: "I had the wonderful glory of preaching a

full and free gospel discourse in the afternoon to a London

congregation, and God gave me perfect composure and boldness; and

although he liked not the doctrine, the Bishop was perfectly kind to

me afterwards." The Rev. Mr. Harvey, Rector of Hornsey, says, in a

letter he had the kindness to write to one of our fathers: "My first

acquaintance with Mr. Spencer was about 1824 or 1825, when I was

curate of St. Botolph's, Bishopsgate, of which Archdeacon Blomfield,

afterwards Bishop of London, was rector. Mr. Spencer had been a pupil

of the Bishop's, and was always regarded by him with great interest.

He generally came to him to stay for a few days in the spring, and

used then to come and see me, and accompany me in my pastoral visits.

He was a person of a most tender and loving spirit, very distrustful

of himself, and very anxious to arrive at truth. On one occasion I

remember his preaching on a Sunday afternoon at St. Botolph's, when

Dr. Blomfield, then Bishop of Chester, read prayers. To the surprise

of every one he took the opportunity of explaining his particular

views of religion, which were then decidedly evangelical, intimating

to the congregation that they were not accustomed generally to have

the Gospel fully and faithfully preached. The Bishop of course was

pained, but merely said, 'George, how could you preach such a sermon

as that? In future I must look over your sermon before you go into the

pulpit.' I do not vouch for the details, but this is what {145} I

recollect as far as my memory helps me at this distance of time."

Mr. Spencer went to hear others preach, and forms his opinions of each

according to his way of thinking. Here are some specimens:--

"The Bishop of Bristol preached in the morning for the schools, a

sermon worthy of Plato rather than St. Paul." Another day: "Went

with all speed to Craven Chapel, where I heard Irving, the Scotch

minister, preach nearly two hours. I was greatly delighted at his

eloquence and stout Christian doctrine, though his manner is most

blameably extravagant." Another day: "I went with Mr. A---- and Miss

B---- to hear Mrs. Fry perform, and was delighted with her

_expounding_ to the prisoners in Newgate."

He seems to advance more and more in his own religious views; and he

says his father was wretched about them. He gets an opportunity of

preaching in the West End of London, and writes thereupon: "O my God,

I have testified thy truth to east and west in this horrid Babylon."

He soon after returns home, and is so far improved that he determines

to preach extempore for the future; in this he succeeds very well.

What led him to this resolve was the facility with which he could

maintain a conversation on religious topics for any length of time,

and the rational supposition that he might do the same, as well in the

pulpit as in the parlour.

A letter to the Rev. Mr. Harvey, which is the only one that we have

come across of those written by him at this time, gives a fair idea of

the state of his mind: it was written on his return to Althorp after

this London visit.

"_August 3, 1826._

"My Dear Harvey,--Bishop Heber's sermon I think beautiful. I am also

pleased with all that has come of late from Bishop Sumner. His

apostolic preaching does not fully satisfy me, and I have little

doubt, from his writings, that he would not consider it as exactly

representing his present views. .... It must be admitted that St.

Paul's sins before his conversion are not so heinous as {146} those

of many who have not ignorance and unbelief to plead in their

favour. .... With regard to the question whether we be under guilt

and eternal wrath, or in the favour of God and on the way of life,

it seems to me highly dangerous to look to any distinction but this

plain one, 'He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the

Son of God hath not life.' .... Having thus ventured an opinion to

you, I will go on to say that I wish I could have some conversation

with you at large on these matters. I do not wish to introduce

discussions on these points with my brethren, except when I am led

to it by circumstances, and therefore I never entered on the subject

with you during my stay in London. I have sometimes blamed myself

for it, because you seemed to me to be so candid and unprejudiced

that I might have done so without any risk of displeasure. I now

tell you that I was much pleased always with the spirit of your

sermons and with all your feelings, as far as I could judge of them

from conversation; but I could plainly perceive that your views of

fundamental doctrines were not what, I am convinced, are the right

ones according to the Word of God and the Articles of our Church.

The Bishop would have told you, I suppose, that he and I were at

variance on these points, though in mutual regard and attachment I

humbly trust we never before were so nearly united. Indeed, I never

had an argument with him which did not leave me in admiration of his

genuine meekness and charity. .... I reckon him very nearly right,

and I am sure that he has real humility and an inquiring spirit; and

so I firmly trust that, by God's blessing, he will be led to

acknowledge the whole truth, and that very shortly. .... All that I

venture to say is that he has not, to my mind, yet taken the right

view of the plan of Redemption. But I am so convinced of his being

on the right way to it, that I could almost engage to acknowledge my

own views wrong (though I have not a single doubt of them now), if,

before his departure, which God send may be distant, he does not

declare his assent to them. I believe that you are just of the same

mind on these things, as I was myself a year or two ago. {147} You

probably know that my present views are of comparatively recent date

with me. They are, in fact, what I have at last settled into, after

two or three years of extreme doubts and oscillations and

scrupulosities. I thank God that from all these He has delivered me,

except the trouble and annoyance of my own evil heart, from which,

however, I do not expect complete freedom, while in this tabernacle.

As to writers on the subject, I have none, besides the formularies

of our Church, whose doctrines and principles I like better than

Thomas Scott's. There are some points of discipline, however, in

which I do not go along with him. But I now attach myself most

exclusively to the Word of God and prayer, as the method of

increasing in knowledge, and feel delighted in the freedom which I

have gained from the variety of opinions of learned men, which used

to perplex me so grievously."

This is what he looked upon as being in the Gospel freedom, that he

was free from doctors; and it is a freedom. If Anglican doctors were,

like our theologians, all of a mind in doctrine, with a certain margin

for diversity of opinion in things of minor consequence, or in the way

of clearing up a difficulty, it might be borne; but when one has

theologians for guides who agree about as much as one living clergyman

agrees with another, it is surely a freedom to be delivered from a

yoke that presses on so many sides, and forces so many ways at once.

{148}

CHAPTER VIII.

Some Of The Practical Effects Of His Views.

It is high time that we should turn from the abstract consideration of

Mr. Spencer's views, and test their efficiency by the great standard

of good and evil--facts. The facts, bearing upon our subject, which

the Journal gives up to this period of his life, the close of 1826,

and beginning of the next year, may be summed up in few words. One old

woman was the only one of whom he could say, "she seems fully

established in religion;" and it is remarkable that this very person,

Mrs. Wykes, became a Catholic later on. All the rest were in different

stages of fermentation; some "hopeful," some "promising," some

"ripening unto light," and so forth: they ripen more and more

according to the number of his visits; but if it should happen that

they did not need material help from him, they very soon got back to

their old way again, and poor Mr. Spencer used to return, after his

day's apostleship, much humiliated at his want of success. In fact,

his missionary work was a perfect representation of Protestant

missions to the heathen. He distributed Bibles and blankets,

prayer-books and porridge, and three of his best and most hopeful

proselytes went mad, and were sent to the county lunatic asylum. Of

himself, he tells us that he used to spend from two to three hours

daily in godly contemplation. Of this he began to get tired after some

time, and gives the following extraordinary notions of his interior

state:--

"Sep. 2. I was employed chiefly in reading Gr. Testament; but I find

myself very far yet from that state of real activity of mind which I

ought to gain. I wish for such experience in Christ as not to need

spiritual exercises as constantly as I now do to keep up communion

with God, and so have more time for active labour."

{149}

"Sep. 12. I went to Nobottle at 12 and returned at 3. I called in

every house except Chapman's, and, alas! I found _not one soul_ over

whom I could rejoice as a true child of God. Yet there are signs of

hope in a few. What an awful scene it would be if I had eyes to see

it, or how great is my deliverance, who, though not less deserving

perdition than any, am yet planted in the House of God, and rejoice

through Christ in the hope of His glory."

He begins the new year, 1827, with the following:--

"I have found my mind so far from settled that I never saw myself

more in need of God's grace. But I shall find it."

Strange prophecy; he was determined never to rest content until he

could feel right with regard to God and his salvation, and it is

needless to say that he was far from this, notwithstanding his great

Calvinistic assurance.

Every new Dissenting minister that comes into his parish, he makes it

his business to call upon and see if they could not unite their

respective flocks, even by compromising differences. He sometimes

comes home flushed with hope, and then, when he tries to persuade his

fellow-clergymen of the Establishment to make advances to Methodists

or Baptists, their coldness brings his hopes to nought. Nothing

disheartened, he comes to the charge again, and is buoyed up, the

whole time, by the hope of one day or other seeing his beloved people

in one fold, under the care of one shepherd.

He removes in the middle of this year to the house he built for

himself at Great Brington, and he learns the pleasures of housekeeping

in a few weeks by the difficulties he encounters in the management of

servants. The rest of the year, until towards October, goes on rather

calmly; no incident of importance occurs except the preaching of his

Visitation Sermon. The Bishop of Peterborough, Dr. Marsh, comes to

make his diocesan visitation in Northampton, and the Honble. and Rev.

Mr. Spencer is asked to preach before him. He does so very nervously,

and although he introduces one passage into that sermon indicative of

his peculiar views, the Bishop was so pleased with it, {150} that he

ordered him to print it. It was printed accordingly, and Mr. Spencer

sent copies to all the friends he could remember; he even sent some

across the Atlantic to old schoolfellows. Between thanks for the

reception of this favour, and mutual acknowledgments of esteem and

regard, with compliments and returns of the same, an interval is given

him to prepare for another storm on the score of his opinions.

The second volume of his diary concludes with some distressing

discussions and family animadversions on his ways of thinking. It

sounds rather strange in Catholic ears that lay people should deem

themselves qualified to lecture a clergyman on what he ought to

believe and teach; it ought not, if he remembers that we are speaking

of a land of private judgment, where every one is qualified to think

and dictate to his neighbour. The friends take their arguments now

from a different point. Mr. Spencer had built his new rectory and gone

to live there; the architect had done his part so well, that he would

sometimes come off the coach, when passing near Brington, so that he

might have another look at this specimen of material comfort. It was

furnished, too, in a befitting style, for George went even to London,

and took counsel with his mother and others on what things were proper

and best suited for a parsonage. The best upholsterers were made to

contribute from their stock of cupboards, beds, mattresses, chairs,

and tables, and when the van arrived at Brington, there were several

connoisseur female relatives invited to give their opinions on the

colouring and papering of the rooms, the hanging and folds of the

window curtains, and the patterns of the carpets. All was finally

arranged to the satisfaction of all parties, and only one thing was

wanting,--"the partner of his joys," or troubles, as they would be

now, poor man.

Bright ideas struck his friends about this time. It was thought, in

very high and intellectual circles, that if the young rector of

Brington were married, he would settle down quietly in the snug

parsonage, and make metaphysical ideas give way to the realities of

life. This they concluded was the short road to his settlement, and he

himself used {151} often to tell how long arguments on religious views

often ended with, "Well, George, get yourself a wife, and settle down

like your neighbours, and all these dreams will vanish." To their

surprise, however, they found the young rector as difficult of

persuasion in this point as in his other notions; but experience gave

them the advantage over him here, and they were determined not to be

foiled. The want of a house to bring the bride to, was thought to be

the sole objection heretofore, and perhaps it was; that was now

removed. Suggestions to that effect reach him in letters from his

friends about this time. The following is a specimen:--

"It is probable that I shall return to Brington for the winter. If N

*** or N *** succeeds in a matrimonial alliance on your account, I

hope you will speedily let me know; perhaps an insinuating

advertisement in the _Morning Post_ might be useful to you. Joking

apart, I shall be most happy when the time comes for wishing you

joy."

Insinuations and arguments did not avail, so they had recourse to

stratagem. One would not like to suspect that the Bishop of Chester

was let into the secret, though he ought to be a capital hand at such

things, as he had the hymeneal knot twice tied upon himself. However

that may be, the plot was laid, hatched, and the eggs broken as

follows:--Towards the end of October, 1827, he accompanied Dr.

Blomfield on a visitation through the diocese of Chester. He was taken

a little out of his way in order to preach in a church near

Warrington. The rector of this place asked him specially;--what was

his surprise to find his "old flame," Miss A ***, as mentioned in a

former chapter, there ready prepared to be one of his listeners. He

walked with her to church, and was delighted with her company; he used

to say he never preached, whilst a minister, with greater satisfaction

than on that day. Coming home from church he had to hear out

compliments about his preaching, and he spent the evening with a

clerical party--one was a clergyman who was about being married to the

sister of Mr. Spencer's favourite. It was thought everything would

come round then, and that some kind of arrangement would be made for

the future; but Mr. Spencer, though pleased, {152} was not anywise

romantic, nor apt to put his head into a halter from which it would

not be so easy to draw it back. It was well, however, that he was

pleased, and he evinces as much himself in his Journal, when he says:

"Sunday, Oct. 21.

I begin this volume with one of the most interesting Sundays I have

ever spent. After breakfast with Mr. ***'s family, we went to church

about half a mile from the house, where I preached the first sermon

which it has been given me to preach in this diocese; and I am

pleased that it should be in this church and before N *** N ***

among other hearers, with whom I now converse as pleasingly as in

former times, but on higher subjects. With her and her sister I

walked home, and again to evening service, where I read prayers and

Mr. *** preached."

But this argument met the fate of all that had been spent on him for

the last three years. It seemed all settled as far as he was

concerned; for there was no doubt on the other side. He got into his

carriage to drive up to Althorp, and ask his father's consent. When

near the door, he called to the driver to stop, and turn to the

rectory. He had just formed the resolution _never to marry_. It was

not that he did not like the intended partner, it was an affair of

long standing; but he remembered the words of St. Paul: "He that is

unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may

please the Lord: But he that is married careth for the things that are

of the world, how he may please his wife" (1 Cor. vii. 32, 33, Prot.

version). No one was ever able to shake this resolution, and the

repeated attempts of others to do so only strengthened it the more. He

often related this incident to us, and when asked, if he then thought

of the Catholic priests, "Oh, I might, but I thought it was some

superstitious motive that made them live single; I thought I made a

new discovery myself;" he would reply.

A change takes places now in his finances. He was Always extremely

charitable, and his housekeeper tells of his equipment, when going out

to make his parish rounds, of a morning. He would carry a bottle of

wine in his coat pocket, and as much money as he could possibly spare.

{153} These he distributed among the sick and the poor. He used also

to buy them medicines, and procure them clothes. Of course it was

found soon that a very large income would not suffice for the

liberality of the son, so Lord Spencer came to an arrangement with

him. He allowed him a liberal yearly income; but George feels it

rather hard, and complains of his straitened means in two or three

places of his Journal. However, he set to make the best of it, and

began by retrenchment from his own table. "By way of retrenchment, I

have left off wine and puddings or tarts, and I have reduced my

quantity of clean linen to wear." Ever himself, what he spared from

his own table he brought to the poor. "We shall transcribe the simple

account of this period of his life given us by Mrs. Wykes, who knew

him from a child.

"His great charity to the poor and wandering beggars was unbounded.

At times he gave them all the money he had, and stripped himself of

his clothes to give them to the distressed; and when he had nothing

to give, he would thank God he had only His holy truth to impart,

and would speak of the love of God so fervently, that he would call

forth tears from the poor objects of misery who came many miles to

beg money or clothes of him. Many impostors presented themselves

with the rest, but even those he thanked God for, and thought

nothing of relieving them, as he said he lost nothing by them, but

got a lesson of humility. Some poor afflicted mendicants would

present themselves with loathsome sores, and these he would assist

in dressing and try to cure. His house was always open for the

distressed, and he often longed to make an hospital of it for the

poor. He was all for gaining souls to God; he would often walk to

Northampton to visit the lodging-houses, and most infamous dens of

the dissolute, to speak to them of God's holy law and mercy to

sinners. Indeed his whole time was devoted to doing good. He did not

often allow himself the privilege of riding, but would walk to

Northampton or further, carrying his clothes in a knapsack strapped

over his shoulders, and would smile at the jeers and laughs against

him, glorying in following out the practice of the Apostles. He

fasted as well as he knew {154} how, much stricter than when he

became a Catholic. In fact he allowed nothing to himself but plain

living, and willingly granted better to others. He gave no trouble,

but was always ready to wait upon others, and make them happy and

comfortable. He was always ready to hear complaints, and turn

everything into the goodness of God. He was indeed the father of the

poor, and a peace-maker, though meeting with many contradictions,

particularly among the Dissenters. He bore all with patience and

cheerfulness, and went on hoping all would end well in due time."

The last _effect_ we shall record in this chapter is another passage

from his Journal:--"Saturday, Nov. 17. To-day I called on Mr.

Griffiths, Independent minister at Long Buckley, with whom I had one

or two hours' conversation of a very interesting kind. I see clearly

that all is not right with the Church." He means the Church of

England, of course.

{155}

CHAPTER IX.

Scruples About The Athanasian Creed.

In the December of 1827 the old scruples, that came into his head some

two years before, about the Athanasian Creed revived. Perhaps it is

better to give the words of the Journal before going into particulars

on this point. He says--

"Tuesday, Dec. 4.--.... Thursby came to dine and sleep here. We

conversed till nearly 12, almost incessantly, about his concerns

first, then about mine. I let him know my thoughts of resigning my

preferment on account of the Athanasian Creed. He was at first very

much displeased at them, but seemed better satisfied as I explained

myself."

"Wed., Dec. 5.--I came down after a wakeful night, and much

confirmed in my resolution to take decided steps about declaring

against the Athanasian Creed. Thursby seemed to coincide much more

nearly with my views. We talked on this and other topics until 11 or

12, when he went away. I went out in Great Brington till 2; dined;

then ran to Althorp .... came back and wrote long letters to my

father and the Bishop of Chester, about my intended declaration, and

probable resignation of my living. I here solemnly affirm that

before last week I had no sort of idea of taking this step. I am now

writing on Friday, fully determined upon it. The circumstances which

led me to this decision are:--1st. My many conversations of late,

and correspondence with, dissenting ministers, by whose words I have

been led to doubt the perfectness of our Establishment. 2ndly. My

discussions and reflections about retrenchments, leading me to

consider the probability of more preferment, and how I could accept

it. 3rdly. The quantity of Church preferment which has been of late

{156} changing hands, by which I have been led to think how I should

answer an offer myself. And, 4thly. My thoughts about signing

Baily's boy's testimonial, which has led me to reckon more highly on

the value of my signature."

From the letters of those who undertook the setting of Mr. Spencer's

troubles at rest, it appears that his difficulties about the

Athanasian Creed did not arise from the doctrines there put forth

about the Blessed Trinity and Incarnation; but that he objected to the

terminology as un-Scriptural, and to the condemning clauses in the

beginning and end of the Creed. Dr. Blomfield is the first to reason

with him; his answer to the letter above-mentioned is couched in the

following terms:--

"The letter which I have just received from you astonishes and

confounds me; not that I ought to be surprised at anything strange

which you may do, after what I have lately witnessed and heard; but

I must say, in plain terms, that your letter is the letter of an

insane person. You profess to be willing to ask advice and hear

reasoning, and yet you take the most decided steps to wound the

feelings of your friends and injure the cause of the Church, without

giving those whom you pretend to consult an opportunity of

satisfying your doubts. You suffer your father to be with you two

days without giving him a hint that you were meditating a step

incomparably the most important of your life, and most involving his

happiness; and then, in the midst of his security, write him a

letter, not to tell him that you are doubtful on certain points and

wish to be advised, but that your mind is made up and you are

determined to act. Surely common sense and filial duty ought to have

suggested the propriety of waiting till you had communicated with

me, although even to me you do not state what your doubts and

difficulties are with sufficient precision to enable me to discuss

them; but you write a long panegyric upon your own sincerity and

humility, of which I entertained no doubt, and thus, after repeated

conferences with Dissenting ministers and Roman Catholic priests,

far more astute and subtle reasoners than yourself, you are worked

up into an utter disapprobation of one of the articles of our

Church, having all along concealed your doubts from your nearest and

dearest {157} friends, and from me, who had an especial claim to be

made acquainted with them. Is this sincere and judicious conduct?"

He proceeds to some lengths in this style, then tells him that it is

one thing to doubt of the truth of a doctrine, and another thing to

believe it to be false, and that one should take no step of importance

until he thought in the latter way. He tells him to be quiet for some

time, and give him the objections one by one. This Mr. Spencer does,

and the answer is partly, that given in Dr. Blomfield's life, page 85,

and partly, another letter he wrote to him within a fortnight's time.

The argument of this good ecclesiastic shapes itself thus:--

"The general proposition of excluding all from salvation who do not

believe the doctrine of the Trinity and Incarnation, as set forth in

the Athanasian Creed, is laid down with certain limitations. The

Protestant Church does lay it down thus, as is evident from certain

quotations from the Articles. Besides, she never intends to

pronounce a condemnation on any, like the Church of Rome. The

meaning, therefore, of these clauses is an assertion of the truth of

the doctrine simply; and for this he quotes the opinion of some

commissioned interpreters and the admission of "the most scrupulous

and captious Baxter that such exposition may be received."

This is the sum of Dr. Blomfield's argument; he gives several other

authorities for his opinion. We need not be surprised that the

argument was not convincing; and Mr. Spencer says, in his Journal:--"I

had a letter from the Bishop of Chester this morning, which was weak

in argument and flippant; I hope good may result from it." The

weakness of the Bishop's argument arises from the dilemma in which he

was placed. If he said the Anglican Church does really condemn all who

hold not her doctrines, then she would arrogate to herself the claim

of infallibility which she takes good care to disclaim, and even makes

an article to that effect. If she does not condemn, what is the

meaning of allowing the clauses to remain in her formularies, and

require her ministers to subscribe, read, and preach them? His only

line of argument, considering his position, was to {158} steer a

middle course, and this he endeavoured to do, and succeeded pretty

well. But shifting difficulties by trying to reconcile contradictions,

is a process that may calm an easy-going mind, previously disposed to

indifference, but never can satisfy a clear, earnest one, that seeks

the truth in all its terrible reality and straightforward meaning. A

Church composed of a mass of heterogeneous elements in doctrine and

practice, must be very hard set indeed when driven to give an account

of herself. The wonder is, that she cannot see the absence of a Divine

guidance, even in the admissions she is forced to make, if not in the

very nature of her own human constitution. Only a Catholic can account

for a creed, and if there was not a body of living teachers with the

promise of Divine direction in their formal decisions and utterances,

the Church that Christ established would not exist; and only Catholics

can claim and prove this very hinge of their system, which

pseudo-bishops have their hits at when they writhe under the pressure

of difficulties they cannot answer.

The letter of this Bishop did not settle Mr. Spencer's mind--it

unsettled him the more. Two or three clergymen were invited to talk

him back to the old way, but with similar success. Lord Spencer then

gets one of the London clergy to undertake the task which foiled so

many. We give the father's letter of introduction, as it is so

characteristic of his paternal affection and concern, and at the same

time his due consideration for his son's conscientious difficulties.

The Earl was staying in Althorp for a few days, and left this letter

for George on his departure:

"Your mother writes me word that Mr. Allen, of Battersea, will come

and dine with her to-morrow, and remain here nearly the whole week.

I am very happy at this, because, if you are sincere (and I do not

now mean to question your sincerity) in wishing for information,

instruction, and advice, I know of no man--either high or low,

clerical or secular--more able to afford them to you, more correct

in his doctrines and character, or more affectionately disposed to

be of all the service he can to every one connected with {159} us,

and to you in particular. But, my dear George, in order to enable

yourself to derive all the benefit that may unquestionably be

derived from serious and confidential communications on a most

important subject, with such a man, you must be more explicit, more

open, and more confidential with him than, I am grieved to think,

you have yet been, either with your excellent friend the Bishop of

Chester, or even with me, though I allow that in the conversations

we have had together _in this visit_ to you here, I saw rather more

disposition to frankness on your part than I had before experienced.

"I should not thus argue with you, my dear George, if I did not from

my heart, as God is my judge, firmly believe that your welfare, both

temporal and eternal, as well as the health both of your body and

mind, depended upon your taking every possible means to follow a

better course of thinking, and of study, and of occupation, than you

have hitherto done since you have entered the profession for which,

as I fondly hoped, and you seemed fitted by inclination, you would

have been in due time, if well directed and well advised, formed to

become as much an ornament to it as your brothers are, God Almighty

be thanked for it, to those they have entered into.

"I still venture to hope, though not without trembling, but I do

hope and will encourage myself in the humble hope, which shall be

daily expressed to the Almighty in my prayers, that I may be

permitted, before I go hence, to witness better things of you; and I

even extend my wish that when I return hither on Friday, I may have

the satisfaction of learning that your interviews with Mr. Allen,

who I have no doubt will be well prepared to hear and to discuss all

you have to say, have had a salutary effect; and that our private

domestic circle here may be relieved from the gloom which, for some

time past, you must have perceived to overhang it when you made part

of it, and afford us those blessings of home so comfortable and

almost necessary to our advancing age. I write all this, because,

perhaps, if I had had the opportunity, my spirits, which are {160}

always very sensitive, might prevent me from speaking it. God bless

you, my dear George.

"Your ever affectionate father,

"Spencer."

The conferences he held with this Mr. Allen are faithfully noted in

the Journal, and many and long they were. To-day conversing, to-morrow

reading Hay and Waterland together, on the Athanasian Creed. He became

no better, but a good deal worse, and the _finale_ was that he wrote

to his own Bishop, Dr. Marsh, of Peterborough, to resign his living or

have his doubts settled. This was early in the year 1828.

This Bishop answers him thus:--

"In reference to the doubts which you expressed in a former letter,

you say: 'All that I was anxious about was to avoid any just

imputation of dishonesty, by keeping an office and emoluments in the

Established Church, while I felt that I could not heartily assent to

her formularies.'

"If this difficulty had occurred to you when you were a candidate

for Holy Orders, it would certainly have been your duty, either to

wait till your doubts had been removed, or, if they _could not_ be

removed, to choose some other profession or employment. Whoever is

persuaded that our Liturgy and Articles are not founded on Holy

Scripture cannot conscientiously subscribe to the latter, or declare

his assent to the former. To enter, therefore, on a profession which

requires such subscription and assent, with the _previous belief_

that such assent is not warranted by Scripture, is undoubtedly a

sacrifice of principle made in the expectation of future advantage.

But you did _not_ make such a sacrifice of principle. ... Whatever

doubts you _now_ entertain, they have been imbibed since you became

Rector of Brington; and you are apprehensive that it may be

considered as a mark of dishonesty, if, oppressed with these

difficulties, you retain your preferment.

"I know not at present the kind or the extent of these difficulties,

and therefore can only reply in general terms. I have already stated

my opinion on the impropriety of {161} entering the Church with the

previous belief that our Liturgy and Articles are not founded on

Scripture. But if a clergyman who believed that they were so at the

time of his ordination, and continued that belief till after he had

obtained preferment in the Church, begins at some future period to

entertain doubts about certain parts either of the Liturgy or the

Articles, we have a case which presents a very different question

from that which was considered in the former paragraph. In the

former case there was a choice of professions, in the latter case

there is not. By the laws of this country a clergyman cannot divest

himself of the character acquired by the admission to Holy Orders.

He can hold no office in the State which is inconsistent with the

character of a clergyman. To relinquish preferment, therefore,

without being able to relinquish the character by which that

preferment was acquired, is quite a different question from that

which relates to the original assumption of that character: Nor must

it be forgotten that a clergyman may have a numerous family

altogether dependent on the income of his benefice, whom he would

bring therefore to utter ruin if he resigned it.

"On the other hand, I do not think that even a clergyman so situated

is at liberty to substitute his _own_ doctrine for that to which he

objects. By so doing he would directly impugn the Articles of our

Church, he would make himself liable to deprivation, and would

justly deserve it. For he would violate a solemn contract, and

destroy the very tenure by which he holds his preferment.

"But is there no medium between an open attack on our Liturgy and

Articles and the entertaining of doubts on certain points, which a

clergyman may communicate in confidence to a friend, in the hope of

having them removed? If, in the mean time, he is unwilling to

inculcate in the pulpit doctrines to which his doubts apply, he will

at the same time conscientiously abstain from inculcating doctrines

of an opposite tendency. Now, if I mistake not, this is precisely

your case. And happy shall I be if I can be instrumental to the

removal of the doubts which oppress you. I am now at leisure; the

engagements which I had at Cambridge {162} respecting my lectures

are finished; you may now fully and freely unburden your mind, and I

will give to all your difficulties the best consideration in my

power. "I am, my dear Sir,

"Very truly yours,

"Herbert Peterborough."

This letter evoked a statement of the precise points, and the

following was the answer:--

".... I now venture to approach the difficulties under which you

labour, and I will take them from the words you yourself have used

in your letter of April 30. In that letter, speaking of the Church,

you say, 'I cannot at this time state any paragraph in her

formularies and ordinances with which I cannot conscientiously

comply, except the Athanasian Creed.' You then proceed in the

following words: 'and now I must go on to state wherein I differ

from this Creed: not in the parts which may be called doctrinal;

that is, where the doctrine itself is stated and explained.' And you

conclude by saying, 'the parts of the Creed to which I object are

the condemning clauses.' And you object to the clauses on the

grounds that they are not warranted by the declaration of our

Saviour recorded in Mark xvi. 16, on which passage those clauses are

generally supposed to have been founded. Whether they are so

warranted or not depends on the extent of their application in this

Creed, which begins with the following words:--'Whosoever will be

saved, before all things, it is necessary that he hold the Catholic

faith, which faith, except every one do keep whole and undefiled

(entire and unviolated, Cath. trans.), without doubt he shall perish

everlastingly. Now the Catholic faith is this, that we worship one

God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity.' So far, then, it is evident

that they only are declared to be excluded from salvation who do not

hold the Catholic faith, that is, as the term is there explicitly

defined, who do not hold the doctrine of the Trinity in Unity. Now

this doctrine has been maintained, with very few exceptions, by

Christians in general from the earliest to the present age. It was

the doctrine of the Greek Church {163} ...... and all the Reformed

churches. To exclude from salvation, therefore, only those who

reject a doctrine which is received by Christians in general, is a

very different thing from the denial of salvation to every one who

does not believe in all the tenets of a particular Church. The

doctrine, _nulla salus nisi credas in Trinitatem_, bears no

resemblance to the sweeping declaration _nulla salus extra Ecclesiam

Romonam_. Surely, then, we may appeal to Mark xvi. 16, combined with

Matthew xxviii. 19, in order to prove that a belief in the Trinity

is necessary to salvation, and consequently to prove that those two

passages warrant the deduction, that they who reject the doctrine of

the Trinity will not be saved. The two passages must be taken

together, in order to learn the whole of our Saviour's last command

to his Apostles. If, then, our Saviour himself commanded his

Apostles to baptize 'in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and

of the Holy Ghost,' and then added, 'he that believeth and is

baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned;'

it really does appear that our Saviour himself has warranted the

opinion that a belief in the doctrine of the Trinity is such a

fundamental article of the Christian faith that they who reject it

do so at their own peril.

"But you think that the anathema of our Saviour in Mark xvi. 16, had

a different application from the corresponding anathema in the

Athanasian Creed. Our Saviour spoke of those to whom the Gospel had

been preached, as appears from Mark xvi. 15. And if the anathema in

the Athanasian Creed had a more extensive application, or if it were

meant to include not only those who wilfully rejected the doctrine

of the Trinity when it had been duly explained to them, but those

also to whom the doctrine had never been preached, and whose want of

belief arose merely from a want of knowledge, I should likewise

admit that the anathema of the Athanasian Creed derived no authority

from Mark xvi. 16. But I see no reason whatever for the opinion that

the anathema of the Athanasian Creed includes those who have never

heard of the doctrine. Neither the Creed itself, nor the

circumstances under which it was {164} composed, warrant such an

opinion. Whoever was the author of it, the Creed was framed during

the controversy which then distracted the whole of the Christian

Church. It applied, therefore, immediately and exclusively to those

who were partakers in or acquainted with the controversy. It could

not have been originally intended to apply to those who had never

heard of the controversy or the doctrine controverted. It would be,

therefore, quite uncritical to apply it at present in a way which

was not originally intended. Nor does the language of the Creed

itself warrant any other application. When it is declared necessary

to _hold_ the Catholic faith, and to _keep_ the Catholic faith, that

necessity can apply only to those to whom the Catholic faith has

been _presented_. Unless a man is previously put in possession of a

thing, he cannot be said either to _hold_ it or to _keep_ it.

"Surely the most conscientious clergyman who believes in our

Saviour's declaration, recorded in Mark xvi. 16, may read without

scruple the similar declaration in the Athanasian Creed. And if, on

the authority of our Saviour, he may read the anathema in the

beginning of the Creed, he may, without scruple, read the less

strongly expressed anathema in the end.

"In the hope that, after reading this letter, your mind will become

at ease, I subscribe myself, dear Sir,

"Very truly yours,

"Herbert Peterborough."

This letter is a tolerable specimen of the Bishop's power of

reasoning, and very sharp it is too; but it does not exactly meet Mr.

Spencer's difficulties. He might object:--"What passage of Scripture

warrants our uniting together the two passages from St. Mark and St.

Matthew?" And "being _presented with_ a thing is not exactly the same

as _being in possession of_ a thing." "We should have the same warrant

for the remaining clauses of the Creed as for the first three,

otherwise, according to the Articles, we are not bound to receive

them; then why not erase them?' The Bishop would have no resource

here, except to fall back {165} upon the Church, and that was not the

point at issue; so perhaps he did well not to try. He uses tradition,

and Dr. Blomfield authority; but these could have no weight against a

Bible Christian, as Mr. Spencer was then.

A Catholic could very easily solve the difficulty. The Church has used

these terms to express her doctrine, and she says this is the revealed

doctrine; therefore it must be. No one can be saved who does not

believe the Trinity and Incarnation, implicitly or explicitly; those

to whom it has never been properly proposed, implicitly, and those to

whom it has, explicitly. Some theologians will have explicit credence

required of both classes, and say that God would even send an angel to

a savage, if he placed no obstacle, and reveal this mystery to him

rather than that he should die without it. And now it will seem very

strange to say that this doctrine is less terrible than the Protestant

open-arm theory. Yet, so it is, for we allow many Socinians and

ignorant Protestants and others to be in good faith, and perhaps never

have had this doctrine properly proposed to them. We suspend our

judgments with regard to them, and say if they live well they may be

saved. That is more than the Bishop of Peterborough could allow,

according to his principles.

{166}

CHAPTER X.

Incidents And State Of Mind In 1827-28.

His life, though perpetually floating on religious discussions and

doctrinal scruples, found other matters to check its course and employ

it otherwise for a few days more. The family were all in a great glow

of delight towards the close of the year 1827, in consequence of the

Honourable Frederick Spencer, who was commander of the _Talbot_

man-of-war, having distinguished himself at the battle of Navarino.

George, of course, was overjoyed; here was his brother, who pored over

the same lesson, played at the same games, and contended about the

same trifles as himself, crowned with laurels and in the flush of

victory. George loved him dearly, and these well-earned honours

imparted a season of sunshine to the clergyman, which all his gospel

fervour had failed to do up to this. Lord Spencer alludes to it in the

touching letter given in a former chapter; but like everything human,

this rose had its thorns. After the letters announcing the startling

determination which called forth the efforts of ecclesiastical

learning quoted in the last chapter, a great dulness fell over the

family circle. Mr. Allen did not clear the atmosphere, and Mr. Spencer

tells us feelingly in his Journal that his mother did not exchange one

cordial sentence with him during the whole term of her Christmas stay

at Althorp. This he felt, but bore in the spirit of a martyr; it was

inflicted upon him for what he thought right before God, and he tried

to make the best of it, wishing, but unable, to change the aspect of

things. The Bishop of Peterborough's letter had the effect of quieting

him for some time, in so far as he did not feel himself called {167}

upon to preach against what he did not assent to, but was content with

letting it remain in abeyance.

The old way of settling him is again revived. During the last week of

February, 1828, he notices three or four long conversations about

matrimony; he takes the subject into consideration, and reads the

Epistles to St. Timothy for light: but he is not convinced, and

continues in his determination. He might foresee the settlement of

ideas that would result from this step, if he considered the trouble

of setting his money affairs in order, which forced itself upon him

now. He says: "I was employed almost all day till three o'clock in

putting my papers to rights. I feel that I have been careless in all

matters of business, and this is wrong; for it leads me to be

chargeable and dependent on others, and that a minister especially

must guard himself against. It greatly shortens my powers of

liberality, and it makes men despise me. On all these accounts I trust

I shall overcome the evil, and be a good man of business." He is as

good as his word. He sends a full and clear account of his affairs to

his father, and his lordship makes an arrangement that places his son

in independence, whilst he is able at the same time to get clear of

all difficulties and debts incurred by his building.

To turn to his spiritual progress. He is not a whit nearer Catholic

faith now than he was when he returned from Italy, except that the

time is shorter. On June 29 he says: "It was St. Peter's day, and I

preached on the pretensions of the Pope." He also holdeth a tea-party

in the true Evangelical style, and says: "To-day the candle of the

Lord burnt brightly within me." He buys a mare about this time, which

does not seem to be as amenable as her master would wish, and he says

thereupon: "This mare disappoints me rather, and puts to shame my

boasting of God's blessing in buying her. Yet I shall not be ashamed

of my faith some day or other." It was usual with him at this time,

when he had a servant to choose, a journey to take, or anything

special to get through, "to seek the Lord in prayer therefor," and

proceed according to the inspirations he might get at the moment.

Bishop Blomfield scolds him {168} heartily about this, and shows him

the folly of using one faculty for a thing which God has given him

another for, and proceeding in his ordinary actions without the

ordinary means placed in his way. This was, of course, a delusion of

his; but two or three disappointments convinced him of its being akin

to tempting God.

He accompanies Dr. Blomfield in his visitation this year also, and he

gets very severely handled by him on the score of his religious views,

in the presence also of two other clergymen. The lecture turned

chiefly upon the inculcation of humility, and the subduing of that

spiritual pride which the Bishop noticed in a former communication. A

few days after this lecture, which sank deeply into Mr. Spencer's

mind, as a whole company were seated at dinner with the Bishop, a

letter arrived from the Duke of Wellington, announcing the translation

of Dr. Blomfield from Chester to London. This was July 25, 1828. His

reflections upon this news are: "God be praised;" and the next day he

says: "I wrote a sermon for to-morrow, and spent much time in prayer

for a quiet mind and superiority to the snares of ambition. It was a

most boisterous day, almost continual thunder and pouring rain. I

found fault with a good deal said by the Bishop in regard to his

promotion, but I pray that I may judge myself and not others."

He now relaxes a little in his Puritanism; he gives dinners, invites

guests, and notes that he has to pray against being too particular

with regard to his guests. A pretty large company dine at the rectory.

This is an essay in parties, and ladies are invited for the first time

since he commenced housekeeping. He had the ominous number of thirteen

at table, and it could not pass off without some mishap or other.

Contrary to old wives' rules, the servant was the unfortunate one. We

will let himself tell the story. "Mrs. Nicholls was in great misery

about breaking the dish, which made her send up the haunch of venison

upside down. I have cause to be thankful for this, as the means by

which God will humble her. The evening passed off well, and thank God

I was not careful or shy."

He comes across a Baptist minister, who so far outdid {169} him in the

Methodistic way of talking, that he writes: "I consider him a very bad

specimen of cant." After this, his outlandish gospelling comments upon

trifles and iotas begin to disappear. He becomes more rational, gets

into the ways of the world, reads newspapers, and is a very sensible

kind of man altogether. He notes in his Journal, here and there, that

he carries his own bundle, and works a part of the day at manual

labour in his garden. He also remarks that, the coldest day he ever

remembered, he went out without gloves or great-coat, and was unable

from numbness to write his sermon when he came home. He goes on the

coach next day in the same trim, and says he wants "to give an example

to the poor," and that "God preserved him from catching cold." Very

likely he had given the great-coat to some poor man the day before.

After a few complaints of quarrels among the clergy, and the manner in

which he has been treated by his family for the last three years on

account of his religious scruples, he concludes the year 1828 with the

following reflection:--"I now look back to this time a year ago, and

observe what I felt and wrote then, that God only knows where I should

be at present. Wondrously am I now placed still where I was, and in

all respects more firmly settled. Yet only confirmed in my

disagreement with the powers of the Church; but they have not been

willing to attend to me, and so when my thoughts become known, they

will be more sound and influential. What I now pray is, that I may be

led to a state of heart above the world, and may live the rest of my

time always longing for the presence of Christ, which I shall one day

see. While I abide in the flesh, may it be to no purpose but the good

of God's flock, and may I be led to suffer and to do many and great

things for His sake."

At this time he extends his correspondence to Mr. Irving, the founder

of the Irvingites, and is so struck by what that gentleman says on the

second coming of our Lord, that he begins to prepare himself for it.

He never let us know how far he went on in this preparation.

So far is he now, February 1829, from Catholicity in his opinions,

that his father thinks it necessary to rebuke him {170} for the

violence of a sermon he preached on the Catholic question; against

them, of course, for his father was always a stanch advocate of

Emancipation. Little he knew that on that day twelve months he would

be a Catholic himself.

It is recorded in the Journal here, that thieves broke into the

parsonage one night. Mr. Spencer heard them; he arose, called a

servant or two, pursued the delinquents, and captured them. This feat

tells rather in favour of his bravery, and might qualify the opinion

he had of himself on this point.

We shall give the result of the Creed question in his own words, as

given in the account of his conversion:--

"My scruples [about the Athanasian Creed] returned after a sermon

which I preached on Trinity Sunday, 1827, in defence of that very

Creed. I observed that the arguments by which I defended the

doctrine of the Trinity itself were indeed founded on Scripture, but

in attempting to prove to my hearers that a belief of this doctrine

was absolutely necessary for man's salvation, I had recourse to

arguments independent of Scripture, and that no passage in Scripture

could be found which declares that whosoever will be saved must hold

the orthodox faith on the Trinity. I had this difficulty on my mind

for eight or nine months, after which, finding that I could not

satisfy myself upon it, I gave notice to my superiors that I could

not conscientiously declare my full assent to the Thirty-nine

Articles. They attempted at first to satisfy me by arguments; but

the more I discussed the subject the more convinced I became that

the Article in question was not defensible, and after fifteen

months' further pause, I made up my mind to leave off reading the

Creed in the service of my Church, and informed my Bishop of my

final resolution. Of course, he might have taken measures to oblige

me to resign my benefice, but he thought it more prudent to take no

notice of my letter; and thus I remained in possession of my place

till I embraced the Catholic faith.

"The point on which I thus found myself opposed to the Church of

England appears a trifling one; but here was enough to hinder all my

prospects of advancement, and to {171} put it in the power of the

Bishop, if at any time he had chosen to do so, to call on me to give

up my benefice. It is easy to conceive that under these

circumstances my mind was set free, beyond what could be imagined in

any other way, to follow without prejudice my researches after

truth. I lost no opportunity of discoursing with ministers of all

persuasions. I called upon them all to join with me in the inquiry

where was the truth, which could be but one, and therefore could not

be in any two contrary systems of religion, much less in all the

variety of sects into which Christians are divided in England. I

found little encouragement in any quarter to this way of proceeding,

at least among Protestants. Those sectarians of a contrary

persuasion to myself, to whom I proposed an inquiry with me after

truth, I found generally ready to speak with me; but they did not

even pretend to have any disposition to examine the grounds of their

own principles, which they were determined to abide by without

further hesitation. My brethren of the Established Church equally

declined joining me in my discussions with persons of other

persuasions, and disapproved of my pursuit, saying that I should

never convert them to our side, and that I only ran the risk of

being shaken myself. Their objections only incited me to greater

diligence. I considered that if what I held were truth, charity

required that I should never give over my attempts to bring others

into the same way, though I were to labour all my life in vain. If,

on the contrary, I was in any degree of error, the sooner I was

shaken the better. I was convinced, by the numberless exhortations

of St. Paul to his disciples, that they should be of one mind and

have no divisions; that the object which I had before me, that is,

the reunion of the differing bodies of Christians, was pleasing to

God; and I had full confidence that I was in no danger of being led

into error, or suffering any harm in following it up, as long as I

studied nothing but to do the will of God in it, and trusted to His

Holy Spirit to direct me.

"The result of all these discussions with different sects of

Protestants was a conviction that no one of us had a correct view of

Christianity. We all appeared right thus far, in {172} acknowledging

Christ as the Son of God, whose doctrines and commandments we were

to follow as the way to happiness both in time and eternity; but it

seemed as if the form of doctrine and discipline established by the

Apostles had been lost sight of all through the Church. I wished,

therefore, to see Christians in general united in the resolution to

find the way of truth and peace, convinced that God would not fail

to point it out to them. Whether or not others would seek His

blessing with me, I had great confidence that, before long, God

would clear up my doubts, and therefore my mind was not made uneasy

by them. I must here notice a conversation I had with a Protestant

minister about a year before I was a Catholic, by which my views of

the use of the Scriptures were much enlightened, and by which, as it

will be clearly seen, I was yet farther prepared to come to a right

understanding of the true rule of Christian faith proposed by the

Catholic Church. This gentleman was a zealous defender of the

authority of the Church of England against the various sects of

Protestant Dissenters, who have of late years gained so much

advantage against her. He perceived that while men were allowed to

claim a right of interpreting the Scriptures according to their own

judgment there never could be an end of schism; and, therefore, he

zealously insisted on the duty of our submitting to ecclesiastical

authority in controversies of faith, maintaining that the Spirit of

God spoke to us through the voice of the Church, as well as in the

written word. Had I been convinced by this part of his argument, it

would have led me to submit to the Catholic Church, and not to the

Church of England; and, indeed, I am acquainted with one young man,

who actually became a Catholic through the preaching of this

gentleman--following these true principles, as he was bound to do,

to their legitimate consequences. But I did not, at this time,

perceive the truth of the position; I yet had no idea of the

existence of Divine, unwritten Tradition in the Church. I could

imagine no way for the discovery of the truth but persevering study

of the Scriptures, which, as they were the only Divine rule of faith

with which I was acquainted, I thought must of course be sufficient

for our {173} guidance, if used with an humble and tractable spirit;

but the discourse of this clergyman led me at least to make an

observation which had never struck my mind before as being of any

importance,--namely, that the system of religion which Christ taught

the Apostles, and which they delivered to the Church, was something

distinct from our volume of Scriptures. The New Testament I

perceived to be a collection of accidental writings, which, as

coming from the pens of inspired men, I was assured must, in every

point, be agreeable to the true faith; but they neither were, nor

anywhere professed to be, a complete and systematic account of

Christian faith and practice. I was, therefore, in want of some

further guidance on which I could depend. I knew not that it was in

the Catholic Church that I was at length to find what I was in

search of; but every Catholic will see, if I have sufficiently

explained my case, how well I was prepared to accept with joy the

direction of the Catholic Church, when once I should be convinced

that she still preserved unchanged and inviolate the very form of

faith taught by the Apostles, the knowledge of which is, as it were,

the key to the right and sure interpretation of the written word."

It was in April, 1829, that he wrote the letter to the Bishop which

was not taken notice of. He next withdrew his name from some

societies--such as the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, &c.

This act so displeased Dr. Blomfield, that he writes to say Mr.

Spencer is no longer his chaplain. At the suggestion of some member of

his family, he wrote an apology, and was restored again to favour and

to his office. On May 22, 1829, the Journal suddenly breaks off, and

he did not resume it again until the 1st of May, 1846. The events of

the seventeen years intervening can be gathered from his

correspondence, though, perhaps, not with the precision that would be

desirable.

{174}

CHAPTER XI.

The Maid Of Lille.

Incidents overlapped each other so thickly, and were of such different

tendencies during the last two years of Mr. Spencer's life as a

minister, that we have judged it better to give them singly, even at

the expense of a little sacrifice of the order of time. One of these,

and an important one, is selected for the subject of this chapter. On

the 23rd of November, 1827, just before his Athanasian scruples had

risen to their height, as he returned from his pastoral visitation, he

found a letter, purporting to be from a gentleman in Lille, "who was

grievously troubled about the arguments for Popery." This letter

contains little more than a statement of tendencies towards

Catholicity in the writer, with extracts from Papin, _De la Tolérance

des Protestants_, to account for them. The extracts draw a parallel

between the Church and a well-regulated kingdom, in many of her

doctrines and chief points of her discipline. It was anonymous, and

reasons were assigned for withholding the writer's name. Mr. Spencer,

ever anxious to counsel the doubtful, lost no time in answering, and

sent off a long letter to his unknown friend by that evening's post.

It was shortly after this that he wrote the letters to his father and

Dr. Blomfield about the resignation of his preferment, and whether the

Lille letter had anything to do with increasing his doubts, or not, is

a question. It had, however, one effect: it made him anxious to find

out what kind of people Catholics were; and an incident that occurred

about the same time aided this curiosity. There were some soldiers

quartered in Northampton, and, as Mr. Spencer was talking to some of

the officers in the court-yard of the barracks, the {175} Catholic

priest entered, to look after such of the soldiers as might require

his spiritual care. He saw the priest, and spoke to him; and, finding

out the object of his mission, kindly introduced him to one of the

officers, who, in consideration of Mr. Spencer, got all due attention

paid to the priest; and the good parson was assured that he succeeded

to his satisfaction before he left the place. A few days afterwards he

met the priest, who thanked him for his charity, and said it was

Providence sent him there at such a time, and arranged that his duty

could be discharged among the soldiers with ease and honour, which had

often-times to be done amid insults, or at least coldness on the part

of the military authorities. Mr. Spencer began to think, "Really these

Papists believe in Providence!" This wonderful discovery made him

think they believed a little more also, and that they were not quite

such idolaters as he had been taught to suppose. Another letter from

the Lille correspondent confirmed him in this, and shook him in many

of his older notions. He dines, in a few days after this despatch,

with the celebrated Dr. Fletcher and a Miss Armytage, at Lady

Throckmorton's. He has a long conversation with the last of the Douay

controversialists after dinner; but the only effect produced is this:

"I am thankful for the kindness of both those Papists. The Lord reward

them by showing them His truth." He invites Dr. Fletcher to dinner at

Brington--a favour the Doctor avails himself of on the 27th March,

1828. Another letter from his friend at Lille makes him acknowledge

that he has not had proper notions of Catholicity; in his own words:

"I expected easily to convince him that the Catholic Church was full

of errors; but he answered my arguments. .... I discovered by means

of this correspondence that I had never duly considered the principles

of our Reformation; that my objections to the Catholic Church were

prejudices adopted from the sayings of others, not the result of my

own observation. Instead of gaming the advantage in this controversy,

I saw, and I owned to my correspondent, that a great change had been

produced in myself. I no longer desired to persuade him to keep in the

communion of the Protestant Church, {176} but rather determined and

promised to follow up the same inquiries with him, if he would make

his name known to me, and only pause awhile before he joined the

Catholics. But I heard no more of him till after my conversion and

arrival at Rome, when I discovered that my correspondent was a lady,

who had herself been converted a short time before she wrote to me. I

never heard her name before, [Footnote 7] nor am I aware that she had

ever seen my person; but God moved her to desire and pray for my

salvation, which she also undertook to bring about in the way I have

related. I cannot say that I entirely approve of the stratagem to

which she had recourse, but her motive was good, and God gave success

to her attempt: for it was this which first directed my attention

particularly to inquire about the Catholic religion, though she lived

not to know the accomplishment of her wishes and prayers. She died at

Paris, a year before my conversion, when about to take the veil as a

nun of the Sacred Heart; and I trust I have in her an intercessor in

Heaven, as she prayed for me so fervently on earth."

[Footnote 7: The lady's name was Miss Dolling.]

This was the last of F. Ignatius's romances, and a beautiful one it

was. As it may be interesting to see what was in those famous letters,

we think it well to give a few extracts:--

The line of the lady's argument is this. That Scripture without

Tradition is quite insufficient for salvation. We cannot know

anything about the Scriptures themselves, their composition,

inspiration, interpretation, without Tradition. Besides the New

Testament was not the text-book of the Apostles--it is a collection

of some things they were inspired to write for the edification of

the first Christians and others who had not seen our Lord; and the

Epistles are a number of letters from inspired men bound up together

in one volume. The body of doctrine, with its bearings, symmetry,

extent, and obligation, was delivered orally by the Apostles, and

the Epistles must be consonant to that system as well as explanatory

of portions of it. Only by the unbroken succession of pastors from

the Apostles to the present time, can we have any safeguard as {177}

to what we are to believe, and how we are to believe. The Apostles

and their successors were "to teach all nations," and Christ

promised them and them alone the unerring guidance of the Holy

Spirit. She then assigns to tradition the office of bearing

testimony to what the doctrines of the Church have been, and are at

present. The definitions of Councils are simple declarations that

such and such is the belief then and from the beginning of the

Catholic Church. They state what is, not invent what is to be. Now

history, or written tradition, as contra-distinguished from

Scripture, testifies to every single tenet of the Catholic

Church--her creeds, liturgy, sacraments, jurisdiction. It testifies

unerringly, too, even from the objections of heretics, to the fact

that this Church has been always believed divine in her origin,

divine in her teaching, infallible and unerring in her solemn

pronouncements. This is fact, and who can gainsay it?

This peculiar way of arguing, by making tradition or history bear

witness to the existence of the Church, as well as to what she always

declared to be her doctrine, is a very felicitous shape to cast her

arguments into. It draws the line between faith and the evidence of

faith. Evidence, human evidence of the first grade of moral certainty,

says: The Church believed this, and that, and the other, at such and

such times, and not as a new, but as an old doctrine, that came down

from age to age since the Apostles. The same evidence says: that she

believed them as revealed by God, and that she could not be mistaken

on account of His promise. That she never swerved, and never will

swerve, from one single article which she has once believed. If this

Church be not _The Church_ of Christ, I ask you where is it to be

found?

In the second letter she says:

"After much reflection I must confess to you their system appears

reasonable, natural, and convincing. With us, they consider the Holy

Scriptures as the most respectable testimony of our faith, and they

profess a strict adherence to them; they have for them the greatest

respect; and the Catholic priests support from the Bible what they

{178} teach the people, and I am certain that they study and

understand the Scriptures as much as our ministers. The principal

difference I remark is, that they do not undertake to interpret them

according to their own opinions: they say that the inspired writings

are replete with mysteries, which the eye of man cannot penetrate;

and that He alone who gave them is able to comprehend their

sublimity; consequently, to follow the impulse of reason in

explaining them, would be incurring the danger of falling into

error, and leading others into the same path. For this cause the

Catholic minister will not suffer the Holy Scriptures to be

separated from the instruction of their predecessors up to the

Apostles; not that they by any means give the word of man precedence

to the Word of God, since they believe that man alone cannot explain

it, for 'who,' they ask, 'assisted at the council of the Almighty?'

But they believe that those who heard the Apostles preach,

understood the true meaning of their words; and that their immediate

successors, _especially_, educated by them, and who taught the

Gospel during the life of their instructors, necessarily understood

the meaning of their writings, the doctrine of which was undoubtedly

conformable to what they taught verbally. ...."

"St. Paul, in his Epistles to the Colossians, informs us that the

Gospel was preached to all the world. This being the case, I see no

possibility of introducing any new doctrine. The Apostles threatened

with eternal punishment those who did not believe what they taught

in the name of Jesus Christ. And whoever would have the temerity to

add to the primitive doctrine they visited with a like anathema.

Tell me, now, how could the Church have introduced such a doctrine

as that of the Real Presence, after a priest has pronounced the

words, "This is my body"? How is it possible that the faithful could

reconcile themselves to the idea of acknowledging and adoring Jesus

Christ present on the altar, as He was in the manger at Bethlehem,

and as He is in Heaven at the right hand of His Father, if this

doctrine had not always been received and believed as it is at

present by the Roman Catholic Church? {179} Christians who knew the

value of salvation could not so easily be deceived; several among

them would have remonstrated against this superstition and idolatry.

Do we find that they have done so?"

"I imagine myself in idea at the period of the Reformation, and

consider the belief and customs of that time. All Europe, the

provinces of Asia and Africa which had not embraced Mahomedanism,

admitted and believed the contrary to what Calvin taught, especially

concerning the Lord's Supper. I should be glad to hear your

impartial opinion on this subject. Where did Calvin find this

doctrine? As I observe, he did not learn it in the schools, nor in

any book, nor in his own family, nor in the temple of God; the

innovation was universally opposed; a million voices remonstrated

against his impiety. What right had he to be believed? He proposed

only the interpretation which _he_ gave to the words of Jesus

Christ, _This is my body_. He supported his opinion in no other way,

he proved it by no miracles, and therefore did not deserve belief,

since he gave no proofs of a divine mission. He was but a man, and,

what is more, one of whom historians do not speak as being virtuous.

Tell me, then, how can I acknowledge that he possessed the Holy

Spirit, knew the meaning of Scripture. .... listen to and follow a

young man in his opinion and oppose the rest of the world. Could

that be wisdom?

"But supposing, my dear sir, the Church to be in error, or even

liable to err, how can we possibly profess to believe any mystery?

For to have faith, it is impossible to doubt or hesitate. And if I

believe not, I am lost. I am already condemned. 'He that believeth

not is already judged.' If the Church be liable to error, may I not

reply to our ministers:--'I doubt the truth of what you preach: I am

not obliged to believe you'? You tell me I am not obliged to believe

what _you_ so charitably wrote to me, and many passages of which

letter have sensibly affected me: to whom, then, must I have

recourse? You give me reason to conclude that you are not certain of

the assistance of the Holy Ghost, as you do not oblige me to believe

what you {180} say, but you desire me to compare your words with the

Scriptures, and to reject them if I don't find them conformable to

the Word of God. How can I imagine myself more certain than you that

I rightly interpret them, or that I have the assistance of Heaven? I

must continue to doubt during the rest of my life, and remain an

unbeliever.

"You say, 'if a man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine

whether it be of God.' To do the will of God is certainly to listen

to those God has sent to teach us. ....

She quotes several authorities bearing witness in their day that the

supremacy of the Pope was then believed to be of divine right, and

closes the list with Sir Thomas More.

"By the grace of God I have always professed the Catholic religion.

Having, however, often heard the power of the Pope was of human

institution, I resolved to weigh the matter without, at the same

time, injuring my faith. For seven years I followed up this study: I

drank at the fountain head: I went to the origin of things. At

length I found that the pontifical power is not only useful and

necessary--but, strictly lawful and of divine appointment. ..."

"I cannot admit the system of _particular_ inspiration, since I see

many, pretending to be inspired, fall into manifest contradictions,

and consequently into error. .... I admit with you that divine

authority must fix the faith of men. Where am I to find it? It must

exist somewhere. ...."

The third letter is partly a continuation of the second, and partly on

a new plan; so a few extracts from it must be welcome, especially as

it really did such work upon poor Mr. Spencer's mind.

.... "It is certain that Jesus Christ founded a Church upon earth

for the salvation of man; where, then, is it? This is certainly the

whole question among the different sects opposed to each other. ....

I must necessarily enter the true Church, for I cannot be saved in

that which is false. ....

.... "I am persuaded the Catholics do not found their belief on the

opinions and interpretations of men; {181} their authority is Jesus

Christ, God Himself; certainly that must be infallible, and the

reason of man ought to bend to it. They believe in such and such

doctrines because Jesus Christ and His Apostles taught them; this is

the simple and reasonable motive of their faith. The doctrine of

Jesus' and His Apostles is not an opinion, but a fact, which I see

so completely proved by an assemblage of facts and circumstances so

striking, that, not to be convinced of its truth, would be to

renounce all common sense. .... The fact that the Catholic Church is

in possession of the true doctrine is a fact proved like all other

historical facts; it is proved by a weight of testimony given by

persons who saw and heard themselves. Observe, it is not the

opinions or interpretations given by those persons which are

advanced as proofs, as you suppose in your letter; but all these

holy persons have shed their blood to support and defend the truth,

not of their opinions, but of what they have seen or heard. I can

understand that fanaticism would induce a man to sacrifice his life

to support a favourite opinion, but it has never yet been seen that

any one would lose his life to prove that he had seen or heard

things which he, in fact, had not. Tradition is not, therefore, as

you suppose, the opinions and interpretations of the Fathers, but

their testimony to what they saw, heard, taught, and practised. In

the same way, the general Councils have fixed the sense of Scripture

only by declaring the fact that such has been the universal doctrine

since the Apostles. It is the assemblage of these proofs that brings

conviction to the soul; they must all be seen united and compared,

and this is undoubtedly a laborious study.

"The Catholics believe that their Church is in possession of the

doctrine taught by Christ, and listen to it as they would to Him.

Judge from this how strong and lively must be the faith of a

Catholic, how firm and immovable, since the voice of their Church is

the voice of their Saviour, and the interval of eighteen hundred

years disappears as they every day hear the voice of Jesus. There

cannot be any division in this Church. It being an historical fact

that the same doctrine has been taught from the beginning by the

{182} infallible mouth of Jesus Christ and His Apostles, it follows

that _all_ must yield to that authority, and that the rash

individual who would dispute, disputes as it were with Jesus Christ,

and consequently ought to be driven from the flock. ....

"The Catholics say:--_without the Scriptures we should not hear the

Saviour speak, but without tradition we should not know what He

says_. ....

"Why are not _our_ eyes opened--having every day proof that private

interpretation is at fault?--let us try. Take your Bible, and read

whatever passage you please; I also will read it. Let us both, then,

invoke the assistance of God, and do you candidly think our

inspirations would agree as to the sense of the passage? I think

not. However, should we differ, who is to decide which is in error?

....

"I see by your letters you have not always had the same opinion on

all points that you have at this time. ... What warrant have you

that you are better inspired now than before? Inspiration does not

cause change of opinion.

....

"We have in our country written laws of ancient date. Suppose some

persons, even of great learning, were to give them a different

interpretation to that hitherto received, would not they be

confounded by showing them, by means of history or tradition, that

the King himself who made these laws, his ministers and successors,

have always understood and executed them in a different sense. That

is the way Catholics avoid all difficulty. ....

"You are in error as to the Pope if you suppose that formerly, or

now, Catholics give him their faith, as Calvinists do to Calvin, &c.

I thought the same. The Pope is simply the chief administrator; the

doctrines he has the stewardship of do not come from him or any

other Pope, as that of Calvinism from Calvin; it comes from Jesus

Christ, from His Apostles, and from their churches throughout the

world. An administrator is not the master of the doctrines with

which he is entrusted. The Pope and Bishops are charged to preserve

the doctrine, to propagate it and {183} defend it against all

attacks of the enemies of Jesus Christ.

....

"You interpret the text, 'lo! I am with you _always_,' that God

promised His Holy Spirit to every individual; but that I am inclined

by no means to admit. The whole of the passage must be considered.

It was not to every one He addressed these words; it was only to His

Apostles that He said, 'Go and teach all nations .... behold, I am

with you.' From this it is clearly to the Apostles and their

successors that He promised the Holy Spirit. I see in these words

that they received from God himself the formal order or mission to

go and preach, not what they found written, but what He had taught.

.... I see also by these words that sovereigns of this world have

not received the power of sending ministers to teach the Gospel, and

certainly by so doing they usurp the power given to the Apostles and

their successors. What we have to find is, to whom God has said, 'Go

and teach.' It is physically impossible that it should concern our

ministers, since they are established by temporal authority."

About the Reformers she says:--

"Can man reform the work of his Creator?"

"You say you will never claim any name but that of Christian, but

still it is not with you a matter of indifference what communion you

belong to; therefore, this being the case, it is not sufficient to

bear the name of Christian, and say we trust in Jesus; we must be

sure that the doctrines we adopt are really his. For it is not being

a Christian to embrace doctrines contrary to those given by our

Saviour; it is assuming the name of Christian without being certain

we are so; we must find if we are in communion with His Church.

Without faith there is no salvation; this cannot mean a faith of our

own choosing, but what God has been pleased to command we should

believe. ....

"Many of our ministers are ignorant or wicked enough to accuse

Catholics of idolatry. It is Jesus Christ they adore really present

though invisible in the Eucharist. They very loudly exclaim among us

against images, &c. All this is nothing; on all sides that Church

presents images to {184} render their faith more lively, and to

induce them thereby to adore God the more truly in spirit and in

truth."

These are arguments of no little strength, to say the least of them.

It would be a pleasure to transcribe the letters _in extenso_, but the

three cover thirty-two pages of closely-written letter-paper, and

would consequently take up too much room in a biography. Some

sceptically-inclined person will probably say,--"she had some Jesuit

or other astute Romish priest at her elbow when she wrote these

letters." The writer can only tell his reader that he verily suspects

as much himself. But before any of us jump at a conclusion, it might

be well to consider this sentence which occurs towards the end of the

third letter. "Do not think I am under the influence of some priests

who have induced me to undertake this examination. It was a lawyer

first awakened my curiosity, telling me you may read in vain and

argue--you will not, you cannot find the truth unless you pray for it

as the free gift of God; and to obtain this you must be humble, your

conscience must be as pure as you can make it: God alone can be your

help; pray to Him unceasingly."

However we may think about their real author, the matter itself is

very good, and their consequence to Mr. Spencer was of vital

importance. There are no rough copies of his answers to the unknown to

be found among his papers, or it would be very interesting to place

them side by side with what we have quoted. The result of these

letters we have in his account of his conversion:--

"After this period I entertained the opinion that the Reformers had

done wrong in separating from the original body of the Church; at

any rate, I was convinced that Protestants who succeeded them were

bound to make a reunion with it. I still conceived that many errors

and corruptions had been introduced among Catholics, and I did not

imagine that I could ever conform to their faith, or join in their

practices, without some alterations on their part; but I trusted

that the time might not be distant when God would inspire all

Christians with a spirit of peace and concord, which would make

Protestants anxiously seek to be {185} re-united to their brethren,

and Catholics willing to listen to reason, and to correct those

abuses in faith, and discipline which kept their brethren from

joining them. To the procuring such a happy termination to the

miserable schisms which had rent the Church, I determined to devote

my life. I now lost no opportunity of conversations with Protestants

and Catholics. My object with both was to awaken them to a desire of

unity with each other; to satisfy myself the more clearly where was

the exact path of truth in which it was desirable that we should all

walk together; and then to persuade all to correct their respective

errors in conformity with the perfect rule, which I had no doubt the

Lord would in due time point out to me, and to all who were ready to

follow His will disinterestedly. I thought that when Catholics were

at length willing to enter with me on these discussions with

candour, they would at once begin to see the errors which to me

appeared so palpable in their system: but I was greatly surprised to

find them all so fixed in their principles, that they gave me no

prospect of re-union except on condition of others submitting

unreservedly to them; and, at the same time, I could see in their

ordinary conduct and manner of disputing with me nothing to make one

suspect them of insincerity, or of want of sufficient information of

the grounds of their belief. These repeated conversations increased

more and more my desire to discover the true road, which I saw that

I, at least for one, was ignorant of: but I still imagined that I

could see such plain marks of difference between the Catholic Church

of the present day and the Church of the primitive ages as described

in Scripture, that I repeatedly put aside the impression which the

arguments of Catholics, and, yet more, my observation of their

character, made upon me, and I still held up my head in the

controversy."

{186}

CHAPTER XII.

Ambrose Lisle Phillipps.

The close and warm friendship between Father Ignatius and Mr.

Phillipps has scarcely a parallel in ancient or modern history. They

became acquainted in 1829; and until death suspended their mutual

communication for awhile, they ever wrote, spoke, and thought, with

more than a brotherly--ay, more than any human or natural affection.

The Christian patriotism of each, which prayed and laboured to bring

their countrymen to the blessings they themselves had received, may

have fostered this beautiful love; and even the different spheres in,

as well as means by, which they felt themselves called to prosecute

the work of their predilection may have helped to keep it ever warm

and new; but there was a something in it which reminds one of David

and Jonathan, that spread over it a grace and splendour far above what

it is given us now and then to behold. This chapter will show the rise

of their mutual affection, and show where lay the basis of the edifice

gratitude and charity helped to fashion.

Father Ignatius says, in the account of his conversion:--

"Near the end of the year 1829 I was introduced to young Mr.

Phillipps, eldest son of a rich gentleman in Leicestershire, whom I

had often heard spoken of as a convert to the Catholic religion. I

had for a long time been curious to see him, that I might observe

the mode of reasoning by which he had been persuaded into what I

still thought so great an error. We spent five hours together in the

house of the Rev. Mr. Foley, Catholic Missionary in my

neighbourhood, with whom I had already had much intercourse. I was

interested by the ardent zeal of this {187} young man in the cause

of his faith. I had previously imagined that he must have been

ignorant on the subject of religion, and that he had suffered

himself to be led blindly by others; but he answered all my

objections about his own conversion with readiness and intelligence.

I could not but see that it had been in him the result of his own

diligent investigations. I was delighted with what I could observe

of his character. I was more than ever inflamed with a desire to be

united in communion with persons in whom I saw such clear signs of

the Spirit of God; but yet my time was not fully come. I fancied, by

his conversation, that he had principles and ideas inconsistent with

what I had learned from Scripture; and in a few days I again put

aside the uneasiness which this meeting had occasioned, and

continued to follow my former purpose, only with increased

resolution to come at satisfaction. He was, in the meanwhile, much

interested in my case. He recommended me to the prayers of some

religious communities, and soon after invited me to his father's

house that we might continue our discourses. I was happy at the

prospect of this meeting, and full of hopes that it would prove

satisfactory to me; but I left home without any idea of the

conclusion to which it pleased God to bring me so soon."

Mr. Phillipps wrote to him:--

"My Dear Sir,--We expect the Bishop of Lichfield here on the 25th

January, and I have ventured to hope that I might be able to induce

you to come here at that time, to meet him and stay the week. I hope

so the more, as I think your conversation might induce him, as well

as my father, to think more seriously on that awful subject on which

we conversed when I had the great happiness of being introduced to

you at Northampton. I assure you, a day has not passed without my

offering up my unworthy prayers to Almighty God in your behalf; and

I cannot refrain from again saying, that I hope one day we shall be

united in the same faith of the One Holy and Apostolic Church of

Jesus Christ. How great is the consolation to belong to that holy

Church which alone Jesus Christ has founded, which alone He has

illustrated with a never-failing succession of {188} pastors and of

miracles, from which all others have separated, and out of which I

find in the Holy Scriptures no covenanted promise of salvation! The

Catholic Church alone has converted those nations which have been

brought to the faith of Christ; and as, on the one hand, no man

could at this moment be a Protestant had not Luther and the other

Reformers existed, so, on the other, neither Luther nor any

succeeding Protestant could derive any knowledge of Christianity but

from the Catholic Church. How sublime are the promises of Christ,

'Upon this Rock I will build My Church, and the gates of Hell shall

not prevail against it.' .... 'Going, therefore, teach ye all

nations.' .... 'And lo! I am with you all days, even unto the end of

the world.' Now to what Church was this promise made (a promise

which involves infallibility; for it would be blasphemy to say that

the God of Truth could commission a Church to teach the world, if

that Church could possibly teach error)? Certainly not to Churches

(sects, I should say) which separated from the parent Church fifteen

hundred years after the promise was given, and therefore came into

existence fifteen hundred years too late to be the Church of Christ.

And to what do the sects have recourse? To groundless accusations of

the Church of God, involving the charge of idolatry; but this very

charge condemns them, '_ex ore tuo judico te_.' for, by saying that

the Church fell into idolatry, and that that justifies their

separation, they admit that there was a time when the Church was not

guilty of idolatry. Now how are the promises of Christ verified, if

His Church could ever become idolatrous? I find in no part of

Scripture any prediction that the Church of Christ should ever

become idolatrous, and that then it should be lawful to separate

from her. Christ said simply, 'I am with you all days,' and 'he that

believeth and is baptised shall be saved, and he that believeth not

shall be condemned.' It is in vain to urge that St. Paul speaks of

the 'man of sin,' and of 'a falling away,'--he speaks not of the

Church; and the very expression 'a falling away' shows that it is

not the Church, but sects, to which he alludes--for the Church never

fell away from any previous Church,--this is matter of {189}

history; but all the sects, all schismatics, all heretics, fell away

from the Catholic Church of Christ,--this is equally matter of

history. No. St. Paul, the ever-glorious apostle and doctor of the

Gentiles, spoke of Arius, Luther, Calvin, Knox, and Henry VIII., and

all other heresiarchs, all of whom did apostatize and 'fall away,'

and have by their schisms and endless divisions, and the spirit of

infidelity resulting from them, paved the way for the Man of Sin,

the great Antichrist, who may perhaps shortly appear, the last

development of Heresy and Liberalism. But how shall sectaries take

refuge in the mysterious predictions of the Apocalypse? As well

might that atrocious assassin who killed Henry IV. find some excuse

in the hidden words of that volume. But I might pursue the question

still further. What right have sects to the Bible? Jesus Christ gave

it to us, and these men have stolen our book. If they say He did not

give it to us, I reply, then they ought to cease to believe that

Jesus Christ ever existed, for that is no more a matter of history,

nor a more certain fact, than His commission to His Church to teach

all nations all truth.

"But I must conclude. I have not written all this without some fear;

but, my dear Mr. Spencer, I know it is a subject which is deeply

interesting to you, and, therefore, however ill I may have said it,

I have said it with the less hesitation. Will you write me a line to

say if you can come here? I do hope you will. My father says he had

the pleasure once of meeting you at Mr. Thornton's.

"Believe me, my dear Mr. Spencer,

"Most sincerely yours,

"Ambrose Lisle Phillipps.

"Clarendon Park, Loughbro',

_"Dec._ 30."

The letter in which Father Ignatius signified his acceptance of this

invitation is still extant, and was lent by Mr. Phillipps to the

Passionists for this "Life." It is interesting, as the last vibration

of the needle to the pole of Catholic truth, as well as for the idea

it gives of his state of mind at that time. We give it, therefore, in

full. He wrote it from {190} Althorp, where the family were assembled,

as usual, for the Christmas holidays.

"Althorp, _Jan_. 4, 1830.

"My Dear Sir,--I received your kind invitation to Garendon on

Saturday; but I thought it best to postpone answering it for a day

or two, that I might consider what I had better do. If the visit

which you propose to me had been an ordinary one, I suppose I should

have declined it for the present, as I believe my father and mother

will be at Althorp till about the 25th January, and I seldom go out

when they are here. But as you invite me in the hope, and with a

desire, that good may be done by my going, I believe I should be

sorry afterwards if I refused. I therefore have told my father of my

intention, and, if nothing happens to prevent me, I will be with you

on Monday the 25th. As to the hour of my arrival, I cannot just now

tell how the coaches run between Northampton and Loughborough; but I

conclude I shall be with you in good time. And now that I have

determined to go, I am really thankful that another opportunity of

conversing with you is given me so soon; and I trust that our

intercourse will be blessed for our own good and that of others. And

if the step you have taken in becoming a Roman Catholic is correct,

according to the will of Christ, I have no doubt that my

conversation with you will be of use in drawing me nearer to the

right point. If, as I still am convinced, there is some error in

your views, let us agree in hoping that our intercourse may be

likewise profitable to you. I have been confirmed, by every

conversation which I have had with Roman Catholics, in the

persuasion that there is something materially wrong in what we may

call the Protestant system; and I have spoken my mind to this effect

as often as occasion has been given me. But if our union with the

Roman Catholic Church involves a declaration of my belief of all

that she teaches, and a submission to all her authority, as their

subjects are set forth in Bossuet's Exposition and Catechism, I am

not as yet one of the body; and I am reduced to the conviction that

somewhere or other there is an error among {191} you. One thing I

have learnt in the course of these inquiries is that the Scriptures

of the New Testament are not, as I formerly used to regard them

through want of consideration, the formal canon of the Christian

faith. It is as clear to me as I suppose you could wish it to be,

that the oral tradition of Christ to Peter and the other Apostles,

and that of the Apostles to the Churches, is the rule of Christian

doctrine, and with all my heart I seek for the knowledge of what

they taught, and have been frequently struck with the desirableness

of a clear and definite authority to which we might refer, when I

have observed the mischief into which Christians have fallen by

following each his own judgment. I do not see how I should be

stopped from at once becoming Catholic, under this impression, if it

was not that on comparing the state of the doctrine and discipline

of the Roman Church with what the Scriptures plainly teach me of the

state of the Apostolic Church, and the method of their doctrine, I

see such an obvious and plain difference, and I cannot be convinced

but that, between their time and that of the Council of Trent,

improper use has been made of the Church's authority. I am waiting

to learn what is the right way, which God knows and He alone; and I

can only hope for His guidance of me into the right way by standing

ready for conviction when the means of it are offered to me. I

declare myself to be in doubt. But that doubt gives me no

uneasiness, for my hope of salvation is simply founded on Jesus

Christ crucified; whom I expect to meet, as one of His redeemed

ones, when He returns. It is not any works of righteousness which I

can do, nor any outward profession of doctrine which I can make,

that can justify me. I am justified freely by the grace of God

through faith in Jesus Christ, to whom I give myself, to learn of

Him and follow Him whithersoever He leadeth. You will find me as

open to instruction and conviction as you seemed to think me at Mr.

Foley's; and I will weigh what you say, though you should decline to

meet me on the same terms, and declare yourself determined to give

your mind no more to inquiry. Yet, for your own sake and the sake of

others, who will of course be more disposed to attend to you if they

see you {192} candid and still humble and doubtful of your own

judgment, I wish you to resolve that you will meet me as I come to

you, determined that we will, with the blessing of God, come to one

mind, at the cost of all our respective prejudices. We should not

meet as polemics determined on victory, but in the spirit of

meekness and mutual forbearance. Then God, who sees the heart, if he

sees us truly thus disposed, will know how to make his truth shine

clearly to us both. Above all, let us pray for each other, and for

all, but especially those who most nearly belong to us, and be

encouraged by the promise, 'If any two of you shall agree as

touching anything that ye shall ask, on earth it shall be done for

them of My Father, who is in heaven.' Pray give my respectful

compliments to your father, whom I remember well meeting once at

Brock Hall, and of whom I have often heard the Thorntons speak with

great regard; and to carry to him my best thanks for his kind

permission to you to receive me in his house. Perhaps I shall write

to the Bishop of Lichfield, to tell him that I expect to meet him

there. I hope nothing will prevent his coming. And if we are allowed

to have freedom of conversation with him on these things, which I

pray to God may be given us, I must particularly interest you to

hear and consider what he says with meekness and humility, though

you may have the clearest conviction that he is in error. Surely his

age and rank, and the work to which he has sincerely devoted

himself, and his relation to you, make this a double duty; and, by

acting so, you will not be hurt, for though you may be perplexed for

awhile, God will not suffer you to lose one point of what is really

good, but will finally establish you the more firmly for acting in

this humble spirit.

"Believe me, dear Sir,

"Yours most sincerely,

"George Spencer."

He relates, in the _Account of his Conversion_, the effects of this

visit:--

"On Sunday, 24th January, 1830, I preached in my church, and in the

evening took leave of my family for the {193} week, intending to

return on the Saturday following to my ordinary duties at home. But

our Lord ordered better for me. During the week I spent on this

visit I passed many hours daily in conversation with Phillipps, and

was satisfied beyond all my expectations with the answers he gave to

the different questions I proposed, about the principal tenets and

practices of Catholics. During the week we were in company with

several other Protestants, and among them some distinguished

clergymen of the Church of England, who occasionally joined in our

discussions. I was struck with observing how the advantage always

appeared on his side in the arguments which took place between them,

notwithstanding their superior age and experience;[Footnote 8] and I

saw how weak was the cause in behalf of which I had hitherto been

engaged; I felt ashamed of arguing any longer against what I began

to see clearly could not be fairly disproved. I now openly declared

myself completely shaken, and, though I determined to take no

decided step until I was entirely convinced, I determined to give

myself no rest till I was satisfied, and had little doubt now of

what the result would be. But yet I thought not how soon God would

make the truth clear to me. I was to return home, as I have said, on

Saturday. Phillipps agreed to accompany me on the day previous to

Leicester, where we might have further conversation with Father

Caestryck, the Catholic missionary established in that place. I

imagined that I might take some weeks longer for consideration, but

Mr. Caestryck's conversation that afternoon overcame all my

opposition. He explained to me, and made me see, that the way to

come at the knowledge of the true religion is not to contend, as men

are disposed to do, about each individual point, but to submit

implicitly to the authority of Christ, and of those to whom He has

committed the charge of His flock. He set before me the undeniable

but wonderful fact of the agreement of the Catholic Church all over

the world, in one faith, under one head; he showed me the assertions

of Protestants, that the Catholic Church had altered her doctrines,

were {194} not supported by evidence; he pointed out the wonderful,

unbroken chain of the Roman Pontiffs; he observed to me how in all

ages the Church, under their guidance, had exercised an authority,

undisputed by her children, of cutting off from her communion all

who opposed her faith and disobeyed her discipline. I saw that her

assumption of this power was consistent with Christ's commission to

His Apostles to teach all men to the end of the world; and His

declaration that those who would not hear the pastors of His Church

rejected Him. What right, then, thought I, had Luther and his

companions to set themselves against the united voice of the Church?

I saw that he rebelled against the authority of God when he set

himself up as an independent guide. He was bound to obey the

Catholic Church--how then should I not be equally bound to return to

it? And need I fear that I should be led into error by trusting to

those guides to whom Christ himself thus directed me? No! I thought

this impossible. Full of these impressions, I left Mr. Caestryck's

house to go to my inn, whence I was to return home next morning.

Phillipps accompanied me, and took this last occasion to impress on

me the awful importance of the decision which I was called upon to

make. At length I answered:--

[Footnote 8: Phillipps was then about 17 years of age.]

"'I am overcome. There is no doubt of the truth. One more Sunday I

will preach to my congregation, and then put myself into Mr. Foley's

hands, and conclude this business.'

"It may be thought with what joyful ardour he embraced this

declaration, and warned me to declare my sentiments faithfully in

these my last discourses. The next minute led me to the

reflection,--Have I any right to stand in that pulpit, being once

convinced that the Church is heretical to which it belongs? Am I

safe in exposing myself to the danger which may attend one day's

travelling, while I turn my back on the Church of God, which now

calls me to unite myself to her for ever? I said to Phillipps: 'If

this step is right for me to take next week, it is my duty to take

it now. My resolution is made; to-morrow I will be received into the

Church.' We lost no time in despatching a messenger to {195} my

father, to inform him of this unexpected event. As I was forming my

last resolution, the thought of him came across me; will it not be

said that I endanger his very life by so sudden and severe a shock?

The words of our Lord rose before me, and answered all my doubts:

'He that hateth not father and mother, and brothers and sisters, and

houses and lands, and his own life too, cannot be my disciple.' To

the Lord, then, I trusted for the support and comfort of my dear

father under the trial which, in obedience to His call, I was about

to inflict upon him. I had no further anxiety to disturb me. God

alone knows the peace and joy with which I laid me down that night

to rest. The next day, at nine o'clock, the Church received me for

her child."

{196}

{197}

BOOK III

_F. Ignatius, a Secular Priest_.

{198}

{199}

BOOK III.

_F. Ignatius, a Secular Priest_.

CHAPTER I.

His First Days In The Church.

Conversions to Catholicism were not such every-day occurrences, some

thirty years ago, as they are now. The disabilities under which

Catholics laboured politically, before 1829, made them hide their

heads, except when forced into public notice by efforts to break their

shackles. The religion that civilized England, and consecrated every

remarkable spot in it to the service of God, had become a thing of the

past, and the relics of Catholic piety that studded the land were

looked upon as the gravestones of its corse, or the trophies of

vanquishing Protestantism. Not only was Catholicity supposed to be

dead in England, but its memory was in execration; nurses frightened

the children with phantoms of monks, and mountebank preachers took

their inspiration from the prejudices they had imbibed in childhood.

The agitation about the _Veto_, and the Debates on the Catholic

question, which filled the public mind about the year 1830, and for

some ten years before, showed that Catholicity had not died, but only

slept. The Catholics emerged from their dens and caverns; they bought

and sold, spoke and listened, like their neighbours; and the King was

not afraid of a Catholic ball when he took his next airing {200} in

Hyde Park. The Catholic Church had been barely given leave to eke out

its declining days, with something like the indulgence allowed a

condemned criminal, when, to the astonishment of all, it sprung up

with new vigour, and waxed and throve in numbers and in position. It

was considered worth a hearing now, and faith came by hearing to many,

who would have been horrified before at opening by chance such an

antichristian thing as a Catholic book. A conversion, then, rather

stunned than embittered the relatives of the convert. The full tide of

Tractarianism had not yet set in, and the systematic pitchforks of

private persecution and stately rebuke, that were afterwards invented

to stop it, were not so much as thought of. The conversion of the

Honourable George Spencer happened in those peculiar times. His family

were partially prepared for it, for fluctuating between so many

religious opinions as he had been for so long, and earnest, too, in

pushing arguments to their furthest length, it was often half

suspected that he would go to Popery at last. There he was now, a

child of the Catholic Church, shrived and baptized according to her

ritual. His die was cast. He was fixed for ever. His wandering was at

an end. With the exception of his house-keeper, who laid her down to

die for sheer affliction at the news, we are not aware that many

others were much moved by what they considered his defection.

Doubtless, his father and the immediate family circle felt it deeply;

his Protestant vagaries had caused them sleepless nights and silent

afternoons, and the Church of which he became a member was not likely

to seem less absurd to them than it once seemed to himself. But then

he was incorrigible; there was no use talking to him; he would have

his own way, and there was what it led to.

Lord Spencer was always favourable to Catholics, but it was in the

spirit of generosity to a fallen, or justice to an injured people. He

never dreamt his own son would be one of the first to reap the benefit

of the measures he advocated in Parliament. The letter he received

from Leicester in January, 1830, must have been a shock indeed.

Besides, a member of this aristocratic house descending to such a

level {201} must be considered a family disgrace--an event to be wept

over as long as there was one to glory in the name of Spencer, or feel

for its _prestige_. Taking all these things into account, and many

other minor considerations, it would be no wonder if Mr. Spencer was

treated with harshness, and banished Althorp for ever. Nothing of the

kind. His father was very considerate; and liberal, too, in making a

provision for his son's future maintenance. George himself was

received on friendly terms by every branch of the family, and, so far

from avoiding him or mortifying him, they seemed all to have respected

his sincerity. He wrote to Dr. Walsh, the Vicar Apostolic of the

central district, immediately after his reception into the Church,

placing himself as a subject at his lordship's disposition. Mr.

Spencer's idea was to be ordained as soon as possible, and come back

to his own parish to preach, like St. Paul, against his former

teaching. This intention was checked by the Bishop's writing word for

him to put off his first Communion a little longer, and to come and

meet his Lordship in Wolverhampton towards the middle of February.

This letter he received in F. Caestryck's, in Leicester, three days

after his reception. He thinks the arrangement excellent. He spent a

fortnight in the priest's house at Leicester, and he used often to say

that this good priest's way of settling difficulties, though it might

look unsatisfactory, was the very best thing that ever occurred to

him. He made Mr. Spencer fully aware of the great dogma of the

Church's infallibility before he received him. F. Caestryck was one of

those good emigre priests who were well up in the Church's positive

and moral theology, but cared very little for polemics. Whenever Mr.

Spencer asked him "Why was anything such a way in Catholic teaching?"

the old man simply replied: "The Church says so." This was very wise

at such a time; the period for reasoning and discussion was passed,

and the neophyte had to be taught to exercise the faith he had adopted

now. He learnt the lesson very well, and was saved from the danger of

arguing himself out of the Church again, as some do who do not leave

their private judgment outside the Church-door, at their conversion.

{202}

Scarcely anything is so remarkable as the readiness with which, on his

reception, he laid down all notions of his being a minister of God.

One short extract from a letter to his housekeeper, enclosing money

from Leicester, to pay bills, will illustrate this: "If you have an

opportunity, tell those who choose to attend, that I have acknowledged

the authority of the Catholic Church, and therefore resigned my

ministry for the present. If they care for my advice, tell them to

send for Mr. Foley (the priest at Northampton), and hear him as the

minister of God." This letter was written before he was a week a

Catholic, and it promises well for his future that he does not

arrogate to himself the office of teacher before he is commissioned,

much less before he is sufficiently instructed. Many, in their first

fervour, make false steps in the way he avoided which it is often

difficult to retrace. The glow of happiness at finding one's self in

_the Church_ ought to be allowed to subside, and to allow the newborn

judgment to be capable of discretion, before beginning to dabble in

theology.

He pays a visit to Brington in a few days, in company with F.

Caestryck, and writes beforehand to his housekeeper to collect a few

of his faithful listeners, that he may get them a few words of advice

from a real live priest. It seems, from hints thrown out here and

there in his letters, that Bishop Walsh was for his going to Rome to

prepare himself for Orders. This was a drawback to his own plan, but

events will show how wisely the Bishop arranged. Mr. Spencer's anxiety

to be ordained at once and sent out to preach is an evidence of the

strength of his faith. He imagined the Sacrament of Orders would have

infused all ecclesiastical knowledge into his soul, and it was only

when he had to work hard at the study of theology that he perceived

the wisdom of blind submission to the judgment of his superiors. He

goes to London to consult Dr. Bramston as to what he had better do,

and he gives the result in a letter to Mr. Phillipps.

"London, _Feb_. 18, 1830.

"My Dear Ambrose,--I write from Bishop Bramston's study; he has left

me there, and is gone to transact a little {203} business in another

room. I have passed through my interview with my father, and thank

God for it. His kindness was very great, joined with great depth of

feeling. I will tell you more of it soon, when we meet. I shall

leave London on Saturday for Northampton, where I am to be at Lady

Throckmorton's till Monday. I shall then proceed to Birmingham by a

coach which passes through Northampton from Cambridge, at one or two

o'clock. On the next day, Tuesday, I will go to Wolverhampton, where

I hope to meet you, my dear brother. I shall have plenty more to

tell you then. Now, let it suffice to say that all my family and

Bishop Bramston are decidedly for the Roman plan. I suppose the Lord

so intends it. His will be done and His glory advanced; I will be as

wax in His hand. My father has made me quite comfortable for money,

and in the most prudent way. Farewell, my brother, and believe me,

"Your affectionate

"George Spencer."

He expressed his gratitude, again and again, for the manner in which

his family received him, especially as he knew that his late step was

looked upon by them as "an unmixed evil." They were even willing to

receive him as a guest wherever they might be staying except at

Althorp; and, at Dr. Bramston's suggestion, he agreed to these terms,

as well as made up his mind not to go to Brington again, in compliance

with his father's wishes. These matters he arranged in a few days; he

pensioned off one or two of his servants, he made his will about his

stock of sermons, and it was, "Give them to the new incumbent, and let

him do what he likes with them."

He had some difficulty in obeying his Bishop with regard to "the Roman

plan," as he calls it. It was the first test of his obedience. He

thought it was because the Bishop was weak enough to yield to the

wishes of his family that he was sent. These wishes appeared to him to

proceed from principles to which the Church's policy should not suit

itself. There would be a noise made in the papers about his

conversion, and his friends would have to answer {204} questions about

him in inquisitive circles. His father did not wish him to go to

Brington, and he himself was most anxious to use the influence he

possessed over his dependants in order to their conversion. To avoid

these inconveniences and clashing of motives they desired he might be

absent from England for some time. Some of his friends also thought

going to Rome would make him Protestant again; for, he says in a

letter written a few days after his arrival in Rome, "You see now that

coming to Rome does not open my eyes and make me wish myself a

Protestant again. You may tell all Protestants that I am under no

charm, and if anything occurs to make me see that ours is an apostate

Church, I shall not, I trust, perversely suffer my fate to be bound up

with hers, and consent to die in her plagues." The public parade of

Catholic ceremonial had not formerly produced the best of effects upon

him, and perhaps it was expected the old feelings would be revived by

seeing the same things once more.

The very reasons his friends had for detaining him might urge the

Bishop to hasten his departure. His anxiety to go and preach

Catholicity in Brington was not quite according to prudence, for

though he might know the principal dogmas of faith and believe them

firmly, he still needed that Catholic instinct and mode of thought

which can nowhere be imbibed so quickly or so surely as in Rome. There

are many traits of Protestant _viewiness_ to be seen in his letters at

this period, but,

"Quo semel imbuta est recens servabit odorem,

Testa din."

It would not have been so easy to bring these properly into subjection

whilst he had the thousand-and-one forms of Protestant errors seething

around him, and would be forced by his zeal to seek out ways of making

Catholic truth approach them. Where everything was Catholic to the

very core, in might and majesty, was the best school for tutoring him

into Catholic feelings and ideas. It was well also to let him see the

force of prejudice, by making him experience in himself how

differently things seem according {205} to the state of one's mind. If

he was shocked at Rome as a Protestant, it was well to let him know

that it was because he was unable to understand as a Protestant what

gave him so much joy and edification, when he could see with Catholic

eyes.

A courier was leaving London for Ancona, and as he did not see any

reason for delay, he took a seat with him, and started for Rome on the

1st March, and arrived on the 12th, the feast of St. Gregory. He

contrived to make the acquaintance of Mr. Digby in Paris, and hear

mass three times during his journey, which was considered a very

quickly made one in those days. He also had a very pleasing interview

with Cardinal Mezzofanti in passing through Bologna.

{206}

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Spencer In The English College, Rome.

On the evening of his arrival in Rome he went to the English College

and presented himself to Dr. Wiseman, the late Cardinal, who was the

rector. Dr. Wiseman had heard of his conversion, but did not expect to

see him so soon, and while they were conversing and giving and

receiving explanations, two letters arrived by post from Bishops

Bramston and Walsh, which put everything in its proper place. Here

then we have this distinguished convert lodged in a student's cell to

prepare for receiving real Orders in due time. He gives his

impressions of the college in a letter to Mr. Phillipps, written about

a week after his arrival, as follows:--

"I have felt most completely comfortable and happy ever since I have

been here. The life of the college is of course regular and strict.

I could not have believed in the existence of a society for

education such as this, half a year ago. Such discipline and

obedience, united with perfect freedom and cordiality, is the fruit

of the Catholic religion alone, in which we learn really to look on

men as bearing rule in God's name, so that they need not keep up

their influence by affectation of superiority and mysterious

reserve. I do not know all the members of the college by name even

yet, but, as far as I do, I can speak only in one language of them

all. I have kept company principally with the rector and

vice-rector, as I am not put on the footing of the ordinary

students, being a _convictor_, that is, paying my own way, and also

brought here under such peculiarity of circumstances as warrants

some distinction, though I desire to make that as little as

possible. I do not go with the others to the public schools, but am

to study at home under Dr. Wiseman and Dr. Errington. The rules

{207} of the house I observe, and indeed so do the rectors as the

rest."

The peace of sober college life could not long remain unalloyed, if it

were to be lasting. Whilst Mr. Spencer was studying his Moral or Dogma

by the little lamp, and unmoved except by the anxiety to read faster,

in order to be sooner in the field to work for God, the world outside

was not disposed to forget him. Various rumours were set afloat about

Northampton concerning him; one would account for his sudden

disappearance, another for his resignation of his living, a third

would set about unravelling the popish plots of which he must have

been a dupe. These were trifling pastimes, which could be ungrudgingly

permitted for the better savouring of devout tea-parties: but surmise

will not be content with all this. There was his housekeeper, who

became ill immediately, and was near dying. What did that mean?

Slanderous reports were set on foot, and the answer to them is the

most complete refutation that could possibly be given, while it is at

the same time a proof of his virtue. On May 17th, 1830, he thus writes

from the English college to the housekeeper, who had mentioned the

matter in a letter to him:

.... "I see that it has pleased God that you should suffer under

calumny; thank God, most undeserved. It is evident that this slander

affects my character as much as yours, and there is hardly a state

of life to be conceived where such imputations are more injurious

than a priest's; yet if all men should believe it, and I should live

and die under this evil report, God forbid I should willingly

repine. It would be no trial to suffer calumny, if it was not at

first a painful thing; and therefore I do not wonder, nor find fault

with you, at your being greatly afflicted when you were so insulted

and abused as you describe; but, my dear girl, you should not have

_allowed_ this to weigh upon your mind. You have more reason to

grieve for this proof of how weak your faith and love to God is,

than for the slander. I think it was a mistake that you did not tell

me of this at Northampton. I trust I should then and shall always

{208} rejoice, when I am counted worthy to suffer reproach for the

sake of Christ; and I thank God that such is this reproach. I

deserve reproach enough, it is true; and both you and I, if we look

through our past lives, shall see that we deserve this and much more

for our sins. Let us then learn to accept the bitter words of

unfeeling men, as David did the curses of Semei, as ordered by God

for our chastening, that we may be purified by them, and He will

then turn their calumnies into greater honour one day or other.

Though you had better have told me, as I might have helped you at

once to overcome your annoyance, yet it may have been better for you

to suffer it thus long, that you may learn how much you do care for

character, and may henceforth give that up as well as everything

besides that you love on earth. If you are so afflicted at a false

reproach against you, what would your feelings have been if the Lord

had seen fit to prove you, by suffering you indeed to fall; and

where is your strength or mine, that we should be innocent in

anything for a day, except through His grace? Just think over the

matter with yourself, and let this word of advice be sufficient, and

let me have the happiness of knowing that you are again what I

remember you, patient, and meek, and cheerful, and allowing nothing

to concern you but to please God more and more, and work out your

salvation. I see by your letter, which I look at again, that you

certainly would have told me of this at Northampton, had you judged

for yourself, and perhaps it was right that you should act in it as

you were advised. Therefore, do not take what I say now as if I had

anything but the sincerest love and respect for you; I only speak to

warn you of your spiritual wants, in which I partake with you. A

woman's feelings are more tender, of course, under such cruel

insults. When my feelings are hurt I find the same proof that I do

not love God as I ought to do, and surely we never can have too much

of that love. How infinitely blessed are you that you are singled

out from the herd of those who prosper in the world, and have all

men speaking well of them, and are permitted to walk in the way by

which alone we can attain to the kingdom set before us. Remember the

most blessed and {209} glorious Virgin, Mary, of all creatures the

most beloved and most worthy to be loved of God, who was saluted by

an angel as full of grace, and is now in heaven, Queen of Angels,

and Prophets, and Apostles, and Martyrs. How was her infinite honour

of being mother of God made the occasion of most cruel suspicions

against her heavenly purity. If she was content to bear this with

perfect meekness and humility for God's sake, surely you may say

with her, 'be it done unto me according to thy word,' whether He

shall order you to bear this or any other trouble. If occasion is

put before you to prove yourself undeserving of such imputations, do

not neglect to use it, for God's honour, which suffers by our being

supposed guilty, and for the good of your slanderers, who may be

brought to repentance by a due reproof; but take no pains about it,

except in prayer to God, and in examining throughout all your past

ways, what may be the cause of the affliction as ordered by Him. I

am sure I can hardly find anything to accuse you of. I used to

delight in your conversation, and you did in mine; but, thank God,

great as my sins have been, I never, I believe, said a word to wound

your delicacy, and you never transgressed the bounds of respect

which a servant ought to show towards a master. But those who, for

their own sorrow, will not learn what the joys of spiritual

friendship are, cannot understand any intimacy but that which is

sensual and gross. As, therefore, I left home so suddenly, and they

could not again understand the possibility that my faith should be

so suddenly established, and that, for the sake of it, I was willing

to give up my home, and as you showed such emotion at learning that

I was to leave you, these people had no way to account for the whole

matter but imputing to us shameful guilt."

From Mr. Spencer's charity before he became a Catholic we may conclude

what it must have been now. It would seem that, in temporals, he had

not those difficulties in the way of his conversion that beset many

Protestant clergymen who depend solely on their livings. But, the

sacrifices he willingly made, prove that the prospect of sheer want

even would not have deterred him from following God's {210} call. A

few days after his conversion he went to see the Dominican Fathers at

Hinckley, and said, in conversation, "I suppose it is not lawful for

me to receive the fruits of my benefice, now that I have ceased to be

a minister of the Establishment." One of them said, "Certainly not."

Whereupon he asked for a sheet of paper, wrote a letter to the

Protestant bishop in a few minutes, resigning his cure, and simply

said, as he impressed the seal, "There goes £3,000 a year." He was

then wholly dependent on his father's bounty, and if unworthy motives

had had any force with Earl Spencer, his son might have found himself

penniless. From the allowance granted him he received monthly whilst

in Rome much more than was sufficient to pay his way in the college.

It was remarked, however, that the day after he got his money he had

not a farthing in his possession, and on inquiry it was found that

what remained from the college pension he distributed regularly among

the poor. Dr. Wiseman turned the channel of his charity to a more

profitable object, knowing how much he would be imposed on by the

Roman beggars, and several monuments still look fresh in the chapel of

the English College, which were repaired by what remained over and

above what was absolutely necessary of his income. It seems as if he

never could bear to be the possessor of money; he would scruple having

it about him. He was known, even when a minister, to draw money out of

the bank in Northampton, and give the last sixpence of it to the poor

before he got to Brington.

Before August, 1830, he received minor orders, and immediately after

hears the news that Mary Wykes, his housekeeper, has become a

Catholic. It is a singular fact that she took his conversion so to

heart that she nearly died, and was yet the first to follow his

example. She was delicate in health, of a respectable family in his

parish, and Mr. Spencer acknowledges that he is under many obligations

to her father. He settles an annuity of £25 or £30 a year upon her for

life, and writes to her from the English College thus: "Pray to God to

give you a tender devotion to her whom He loves above all creatures,

and who of all creatures is the most pure, amiable, and exalted. I

dare say you will {211} have found difficulty, as I have done, in

overcoming the prejudices in which we have been brought up against

devotion to the Saints of God; but let this very thing make you the

more diligent in asking of God to give you that devotion to them which

He delights in seeing us cultivate."

On the 13th of March, _Sabbato Sitientis_, 1831, he received the

Subdiaconate, This is the great step, as Catholics know, in the life

of one destined for the priesthood. The Subdiaconate imposes perpetual

celibacy, with the obligation of daily reciting the divine office, and

it is then the young cleric is first styled Reverend. It is said that

a few days after his receiving this sacred order, a message was sent

him by his family not to become a priest, as it was feared his brother

would have no issue, and George was looked to as the only source

whence an heir presumptive could arise for the earldom. He simply

answered, "You spoke too late," an answer he would have given whether

or no, as he had long ago determined never to marry. It was at this

time also he wrote, at the request of the Bishop of Oppido, the

_Account of my Conversion_,--a work well known to English readers.

{212}

CHAPTER III.

F. Spencer Is Ordained Priest.

Father Spencer, ever since he first turned completely to the service

of God, was determined to do whatever he knew to be more perfect. He

did not understand serving God by halves; he thought He deserved to be

loved with "all our strength, all our mind, and above all things."

This he knew to be a precept, a strict command given by our divine

Lord. How it was to be observed was his difficulty. He was groping in

the dark hitherto, and though not making many false steps, still far

from clearly seeing his way to perfection. The exactness of Catholic

theology, which sifts every question to the last atom, made him meet

this one face to face.

The first difficulty he had to master was the received axiom that _the

religious state is more perfect than the secular_. He could not see

how a vow, which apparently takes away a man's liberty, could increase

the merit of actions done under it. As the vow of obedience is the

principal one in religion, so much so that in some orders subjects are

professed by promising obedience according to the rule, its

explanation would remove the difficulty. Two things principally

constitute the superiority of _vowed actions_. One, that they must be

of a better good; the second, that the will is confirmed in the doing

of them. A vow must be of a good better than another good--such as

celibacy better than marriage, poverty better than riches, obedience

to proper authority better than absolute liberty. The state of

religion which takes these three walks of life as essential to its

constitution is insomuch better than any other state. But the question

comes, why not observe poverty, chastity, and obedience, without

vowing them? "Would it not be better that {213} the practice of these

virtues should be spontaneous, than that a person should put himself

under the moral necessity of not deviating from it? No; because it is

a weak will which reserves to itself the right of refusing to

persevere in a sacrifice. If a man intends to observe chastity, but

reserves to himself the right to marry whenever he pleases, he

signifies by his state of mind that he may some day repent of his

choice, and makes provision for that defalcation. That is a want of

generosity, it is a safety valve by which trusting to God's grace

escapes, and perfection can never be attained while one has the least

notion of the possibility of doing less for God than he does. "He that

puts his hand to the plough and turns back is not worthy." By a vow, a

person not only resolves to do for the present what is perfect, but to

continue doing it for life, and as the person knows right well that

his natural strength will not carry him through, he trusts the issue

to God's goodness. This fixing of the will, and narrowing, as far as

possible, the range of our liberty, is an assimilation of the present

state to the state of the blessed. They do the will of God and cannot

help doing it, they have no liberty of sinning, and the vow of

obedience by which a man binds himself to do God's will, manifested to

him through his superiors or his rule, takes away from him the least

rational inclination for liberty to sin. Not only that, but he makes

it a sin to recede from God one step, and he sacrifices to his Creator

a portion of the liberty that is granted to us all. It is a sin for a

man who has a vow of chastity to marry, though naturally he was

perfectly free to do so. He sacrificed that freedom to God, and lest

he might be inclined to backslide at any future day he put the barrier

of this moral obligation behind him. The person under vow is God's

peculiar property; all his actions are in a certain sense sacred, and

of double merit in His sight. Be it remembered that a religious makes

this sacrifice freely, and it is in this free dedication to God's

service perpetually of body, soul, and possessions, without reserving

the right to claim back anything for self, that the special excellence

of the religious state consists.

{214}

There are several other less cogent arguments in favour of the

religious state, as that without it we should not have the Evangelical

virtues practised which form the principal part of the note of

holiness in the Church. That it is easier to practice great virtue in

a monastery than in the world, and that more religious have been

canonized than seculars since the time of the martyrs.

Father Spencer came to understand that the religious state is more

perfect than the secular, though he knew that many seculars are far

more perfect than some religious, but one point he could never get

over, and that was since vows undoubtedly do raise the merit of one's

actions, why cannot people take and observe vows without shutting

themselves up within the walls of a convent? He consulted many grave

theologians, doctors, and even cardinals, for the solution of this

problem. He was told, to be sure, that it was quite possible in the

abstract to have a people observing vows, but that in practice it

proved to be chimerical and Utopian. _What is possible can be done_,

was his maxim, and he resolved to begin with himself. He was told by

Dr. Wiseman and Cardinal Weld that he seemed to have a religious

vocation. He wrote accordingly to his diocesan, Dr. Walsh, who

dissuaded him from becoming a religious by saying that, though it was

a better state, a secular priest could be more useful in England.

Others differed from this opinion, but F. Spencer heard in it the

voice of his Superior, and resolved to obey it for the present. This

settled matters for the time, but his _view_ could never be got out of

his head. He gets thoroughly engrossed now with his approaching

ordination. It grieves him to see souls lost in heresy and sin in a

way that few grieve; for, the concern he felt for the spiritual

destitution of his country began to tell upon his health. It is feared

he will die; he begins to spit blood, and several consumptive symptoms

alarm his physicians. He is removed to Fiumicino, and writes a long

letter from his sick bed there to Mr. Phillipps. In this letter he

hopes his friend may be caught into the Church like his patron, St.

Ambrose. Here we have the first evidence of his getting thoroughly

into a Catholic way of thinking. {215} Nothing strikes a cold,

careful, Catholic, who has been brought up in a Protestant atmosphere,

so much as the wonderful familiarity of Spanish and Italian boys with

the lives of the Saints. They quote a Saint for everything, and they

can tell you directly how St. Peter of Alcantara would season his

dinner, or how St. Rose of Lima would make use of ornaments. Father

Spencer has paragraphs in every letter at this time full of hints

taken from Saints' lives, showing that he evidently gave a great

portion of his time to learn ascetic theology in these remarkable

volumes. He is wishing also that Mr. Digby should become a priest, but

in both cases he was doomed to be disappointed so far, though both his

friends graced, by their virtues, the state of life in which they

remained. He was ordained Deacon on the 17th December, Quater tense,

1831; and on the 26th of May, 1832, two years and four months after

his reception into the Church, he was ordained Priest by Cardinal

Zurla. He thus writes to Mr. Phillipps on the event: "I made my

arrangements directly (on being called off suddenly to England) for

ordination to the priesthood on St. Philip Neri's Day, and saying my

first mass on the day following, which was Sunday. How will you

sympathise with my joy when, in the middle of my retreat, Dr. Wiseman

told me, what none of us had observed at first, that the 26th May was

not only St. Philip's feast at Rome, but in England that of St.

Augustine, our Apostle, and that he should ask Cardinal Zurla to

ordain me in St. Gregory's Church, which his Eminence did. It was at

St. Gregory's only that we learned from the monks that the next day

was the deposition of Venerable Bede."

The coincidences are really remarkable with regard to his destination

for the English mission. He was born on the feast of the Apostle St.

Thomas; he arrived in Rome, as a Catholic, on the feast of St.

Gregory; he was ordained on the feast of St. Augustine of Canterbury;

he said his first mass of St. Bede, by special leave from the Pope, on

that Saint's day. He was ordained by a Cardinal of the Camaldolese

branch of the Benedictine Order, to which St. Augustine belonged; and

he got the blessing and commission of {216} Pope Gregory XVI., a

member of the same order; and under all these auspices set out

directly for England.

During his stay in Rome he made the acquaintance of our Father

Dominic. This was a great happiness to him. Father Dominic was on fire

for the conversion of England, and Father Spencer echoed back, with

additions, every sentiment of his zealous soul. They spoke together,

they wrote to each other, they got devout people to pray, and prayed

themselves every day, for the conversion of England. We cannot know

how far prayers go, we only know that the continual prayer of the just

man availeth much; and therefore, it might not seem safe reasoning, to

attribute effects that can be traced to other causes to the prayers of

some devout servants of God. Without attempting to assign causes, we

cannot help remarking the fact that these two holy souls began to

pray, and enlist others in praying, for England's conversion in 1832,

and that the first number of the "Tracts for the Times" appeared

before the end of 1833. Neither of them had anything to do with the

Tracts, if we except a few letters from Father Dominic in a Belgian

newspaper, as writers or suggestors of matter; but both took a deep

interest in them, and fed their hopes, as each appeared more Catholic

than the one before. He spends a week with Father Dominic in Lucca, on

his way to England, and in Geneva happened one of those interesting

events with which his life was chequered. He thus tells it in a letter

to the _Catholic Standard_ in 1853:--

"I went one day, at Genoa (see Chap. IX., Bk. i.), in 1820, to see

the great relics in the treasury of the Cathedral. Relics, indeed,

were little to me; but to get at these, three keys from various

first-rate dignitaries, ecclesiastical and civil, were necessary.

This was enough to make a young English sight-seer determined to get

at them. A young priest, the sacristan of the Cathedral, received me

and the party I had made up to accompany me, and showed us the

precious treasures. I did nothing but despise; and yet why should I,

or other Protestants, look on it as a kind of impossibility that any

relic can be genuine? However, so I did; and I let the sacristan

plainly know it. Yet he was not vexed. Nay, he treated {217} me with

great affection, and said, among other things, 'The English are a

worthy, good people, _brava nazione_; if only it had not been for

that moment, that unhappy moment!' 'What moment do you mean?' said

I. 'Ah! surely,' he replied, 'when Henry VIII. resolved on revolting

against the Church.' I did not answer, but I thought within myself,

'Poor man, what ignorance! what infatuation! And what were my

thoughts of that moment of which he spoke? My thoughts on this head

had been formed in my young days, and, oh! how deep are first young

thoughts allowed to take firm root undisturbed! When I was a

child"----

Here he relates the discourse of his sisters' governess about the

English Reformation, given in a former chapter. "When, accordingly,

the Genoese priest thus spoke I thought, Poor, blind man! little he

knows what England gained at that same moment for which he pities it.

... I cannot but add to this last circumstance, that twelve years

later I was returning from Rome--a priest! I came by sea. Stopping one

day in the harbour of Genoa, I went on shore to say mass at the

Cathedral, and found the same priest still at the head of the

sacristy--the same benign features I saw, but somewhat marked with

age. I asked him did he remember and recognise the young English

disputer? _O altitudo_! .... And is it I whom they would expect to

give up my poor countrymen for hopeless? No! leave this to others, who

have not tasted like me the fruits of the tender mercies of God."

As soon as he arrived in England, he went to see his family, who were

in Ryde for the summer, according to their custom. He was cordially

welcomed; but it must seem a cold thing for a newly-ordained priest to

come to a home where not a brother or sister would kneel to get his

blessing, nor father nor mother be in ecstacy of joy at hearing him

say mass for the first time. This was in July, 1832. Early in August

he met several priests at Sir Edward Doughty's, Upton House,

Dorsetshire; and Lady Doughty says:--"Mr. Spencer greatly edified all

who then met him by his humility, fervour, and earnest desire for the

conversion of England. On the 11th of August he left Upton, {218}

accompanied by Dr. Logan, for Prior Park. On that morning, as the

coach from Poole passed at an early hour, Mr. Spencer engaged one of

the men servants to serve his mass at five o'clock. The servant went

to call him soon after four, but finding the room apparently

undisturbed, he proceeded to the little domestic chapel, and there he

found Mr. Spencer prostrate before the altar in fervent prayer, and he

then rose and said mass; the servant's conviction being, that he had

been there in prayer all night."

An incident occurred, as Father Spencer was passing through Bordeaux

on his way to England, which deserves especial mention, if only to

recall the droll pleasure he used to experience himself, and create in

others, while relating it. He met there a great, big, fat convert, who

had just made his abjuration and been baptised. Father Spencer

questioned him about his first communion, and the trouble of preparing

himself "in his then state of body" seemed an awful exertion. However,

after a great deal of what the gentleman termed "painful goading,"

Father Spencer succeeded in bringing him to the altar. The fat

gentleman sat him down afterwards to melt in the shade of a midsummer

June day in Bordeaux, grumbling yet delighted at the exertion he had

made. The Bishop of Bordeaux was giving confirmation in some of the

churches in the town, and Father Spencer thought he should not lose

the opportunity of getting his fat friend to the sacrament. He knew

how hateful exertion of any kind was to the neophyte, who, though he

believed all the Catholic doctrines in a kind of a heap, was not

over-inclined for works of supererogation. He resolved to do what he

could. He went to him, and boldly told him that he ought to prepare

himself for confirmation. "What!" exclaimed the gentleman, making an

effort to yawn, "have I not done yet? Is there more to be got through

before I am a perfect Catholic? Oh, dear!" And he moved himself. He

was brought through, however, to the no small inconvenience of himself

and others, and many was the moral Father Ignatius pointed afterwards

with this first essay of his in missionary work.

{219}

At Prior Park, Father Spencer met Dr. Walsh, and he was appointed to

begin a new mission in West Bromwich; he sets about it immediately,

and gets an altar for it from Lord Dormer in Walsall. He met Dr.

Wiseman, who came to England about this time, and they are both

invited by Earl Spencer to spend a day at Althorp. The Earl was

charmed with Dr. Wiseman, and Father Spencer exclaims, in a letter,

"What a grand point was this! A Catholic priest, and a D.D., rector of

a Catholic college, received with distinction at a Protestant

nobleman's!" He met some of his old parishioners, and was welcomed by

them with love and kind remembrances. His church in West Bromwich was

opened on the 21st November, 1832, and he was settled down as a

Catholic pastor near where he hunted as a Protestant layman, and

preached heresy as a Protestant minister.

{220}

CHAPTER IV.

F. Spencer Begins His Missionary Life.

Far different is the position on which Mr. Spencer enters towards the

close of 1832, from that which he was promoted to in 1825. Then he

took the cure of souls with vague notions of his precise duty; now he

took the cure of souls as a clearly defined duty, for the fulfilment

of which he knew he should render a severe account. Then he received a

large income from the bare fact of his being put in possession of his

post; now he has to expend even what he has in trying to provide a

place of worship for his flock. Then, there were eight hundred souls

under his charge, most of them wealthy and comfortable, and all

looking up to him with respect for being his father's son; now he

could scarcely count half that number as his own, scattered among

hovels and garrets; amid their more opulent neighbours, who mocked him

for being a priest. He then dwelt with pleasure on his rich benefice,

and on the rising walls of his handsome rectory; now he prayed the

bishop to put him into the poorest mission in the diocese, and

delighted in being housed like the poor. The life he led as a priest

in West Bromwich is worthy of the ancient solitaries. He began by

placing all his property in the bishop's hands, and his lordship

appointed an _Econome_, who gave him now and again such sums as he

needed to keep himself alive, give something to the poor, and supply

his church with necessaries. He keeps an account of every farthing he

spends, and shows it to the Bishop at the end of the quarter, to see

if his lordship approves, or wishes anything to be retrenched for the

future. His ordinary course of life was--rise at six, {221} Meditation

Office and Mass, hear some confessions, and, after breakfast, at ten,

go out through the parish until six, when he came home to dinner, and

spent the time that was left till supper in instructing catechumens,

reading, praying, or writing. He had no luxuries, no comforts, he

scarcely allowed himself any recreation, except in doing pastoral

work. He leaves two rooms of his little house unfurnished, and says he

has something else to do with the money that might be thus spent. Much

as he loved Mr. Phillipps, he did not go to see him after his

marriage, because he thought it was not necessary to spend money in

that way which could alleviate the poverty of a parishioner; and

because he did not like to be a day absent from his parish work as

long as God gave him strength. During the first year of his residence

at West Bromwich he opens three schools; one of them had been a

pork-shop, and was bought for him by a Catholic tradesman. Here he

used to come and lecture once or twice a week, and is surprised and

pleased to find a well-ordered assembly ready to listen to him. He

says in a letter at this time: "I go to bed weary every night, and

enjoy my sleep more than great people do theirs; for it is the sleep

of the labourer." He is rather sanguine in his hopes of converting

Protestants; but, although he receives a good many into the Church, he

finds error more difficult to root out than he imagined. He bears up,

however, and a letter to Mr. Phillipps will tell us what he thought;

he says: "Keep England's conversion always next your heart. It is no

small matter to overturn a dynasty so settled and rooted as that of

error in this country; and how are we possibly to expect that we shall

be made instruments to effect this, unless we become in some measure

conformable to the characters of the Saints who have done such things

before us? Yet let us not give up the undertaking, for as, on the one

hand, no one has succeeded without wonderful labour and patience, so,

on the other, none ever has failed when duly followed up. Let us not

be discouraged by opposition, but work the more earnestly: and as we

see people about some hard bodily exertion begin with their clothes

on, but, when they find {222} the difficulty of their job, strip first

the coat, then the waistcoat, then turn up their sleeves, and so on,

we must do the same. God does not give success at once, because He

wishes us better than to remain as we are, fettered and attached to

the world. If we succeeded before all this encumbrance is stripped

off, we should certainly not get rid of it afterwards." He did "turn

up his sleeves," and toil, no doubt, at converting his neighbours; he

opened a new mission in Dudley towards the Christmas of 1833; he first

began in an old warehouse, which he fitted up with a chapel and seats,

and turned one or two little houses adjoining into a sacristy and

sitting-room for the priest who might come there to officiate.

He goes on in this even course for the whole of the two first years of

his life in West Bromwich, without any striking event to bring one

part more prominently forward than another. His every day work was

not, however, all plain sailing; in proportion as his holiness of life

increased the reverence Catholics began to conceive for him, it

provoked the persecution and contempt of the Protestants. He was

pensive generally, and yet had a keen relish for wit and humour. He

was one day speaking with a brother priest in his sacristy, with sad

earnestness, about the spiritual destitution of the poor people around

him, who neither knew God, nor would listen to those who were willing

to teach them. A poor woman knocked at the sacristy door, and was

ordered to come in; she fell on her knees very reverently, to get

Father Spencer's blessing, as soon as she approached him. His

companion observed that this poor woman reminded him of the mother of

the sons of Zebedee, who came to Our Saviour _adorans_. "Yes," replied

Father Spencer, with a very arch smile, "and not only _adorans_, but

_petens aliquid ah eo_" Such was his usual way; he would season his

discourse on the most important subject--even go a little out of his

way for that purpose--with a pointed anecdote, or witty remark.

All did not feel inclined to follow the old woman's example in the

first part of the above scene, though many were led {223} to do so

through their love and practice of the second. A person sent us the

following letter, who still lives on the spot that was blessed by this

holy priest's labours, and as it bears evidence to some of the

statements we have made from other sources, it may be well to give it

insertion:--

"I was one of his first converts at West Bromwich, and a fearful

battle I had; but his sublime instructions taught me how to pray for

the grace of God to guide me to his true Church. He was ever

persecuted, and nobly overcame his enemies. I remember one morning

when he was going his accustomed rounds to visit the poor and sick,

he had to pass a boys' school, at Hill Top; they used to hoot after

him low names, but, seeing he did not take any notice, they came

into the road and threw mud and stones at him; he took no notice.

Then they took hold of his coat, and ripped it up the back. He did

not mind, but went on all day, as usual, through Oldbury, Tipton

Oudley, and Hill Top, visiting his poor people. He used to leave

home every morning, and fill his pockets with wine and food for the

poor sick, and return home about six in the evening, without taking

any refreshment all day, though he might have walked twenty miles in

the heat of summer. One winter's day he gave all his clothes away to

the poor, except those that were on him. He used to say two Masses

on Sunday, in West Bromwich, and preach. I never saw him use a

conveyance of any kind in his visits through his parish."

It could not be expected that the newspapers would keep silence about

him. He gets a little in that way, which he writes about, as

follow:--"Eliot (an apostate) has been writing in divers quarters that

I know of, and I dare say in many others (for he was very fond of

letter-writing), the most violent abuse of the Catholic Church, and of

all her priests, excepting me, whom he pities as a wretched victim of

priest-craft. I still hope there is some strange infatuation about him

which may dissipate, and let him return; but if not, the Church has

ramparts enough to stand his battering, and I am not afraid of my

little castle being shaken by him. I feel desirous rather than not

that he should publish the {224} worst he can about me and mine in the

Protestant papers. It will help to correct us of some faults, and

bring to light, perhaps, at the same time, something creditable to our

cause."

He must have felt the extraordinary change in his state of mind and

duty now to what he experienced some four or five years before. There

are no doubts about doctrines, nor difficulties about Dissenters; his

way is plain and clear, without mist or equivocal clause; there is but

one way for Catholics of being united with heretics--their

unconditional submission to the Church. There is no going half-way to

meet them, or sacrificing of principles to soothe their scruples;

either all or none--the last definition of the Council of Trent, as

well as the first article of the Apostles' Creed. If he has

difficulties about any matter, he will not find Bishops giving him

shifting answers, and seemingly ignorant themselves of what is the

received interpretation of a point of faith. He will be told at once

by the next priest what is the doctrine of the Church, and if he

refuses to assent to it he ceases to be a Catholic. This looks an iron

rule in the Church of God, and those outside her cannot understand how

its very unbending firmness consoles the doubtful, cheers the

desponding, strengthens the will and expands and nourishes the

intellect.

A priest has many consolations in his little country parish that few

can understand or appreciate. It is not the number and efficiency of

his schools, the round of his visits, or the frequency of his

instructions. No; it is the offering of the Victim of Salvation every

morning for his own and his people's sins, and it is the conveying the

precious blood of his Saviour to their souls, through the Sacraments

he administers. Only a priest can understand what it is to feel that a

creature kneels before him, steeped in vice and sin, and, after a good

confession, rises from his knees, restored to God's grace and

friendship. All his labours have this one object--the putting of his

people into the grace of God, and keeping them in it until they reach

to their reward. There is a reality in all this which faith alone can

give that makes {225} him taste and feel the good he is doing. A

reality that will make him fly without hesitation to the pestilential

deathbed, and glory in inhaling a poison that may end his own days, in

the discharge of his duty. He must be ever ready to give his life for

his sheep, not in fancy or in words, but in very deed, and thus seal

by his martyrdom both the truth which he professes, and his love for

the Master whom he has been chosen to serve.

The number of priests who die every year, and the average of a

missionary priest's life, prove but too clearly how often the

sacrifice is accepted.

{226}

CHAPTER V.

Prospects Of Widening His Sphere Of Action.

Towards the close of the year 1834, Earl Spencer died. George, of

course, felt it deeply; he loved his father with, if possible, more

than filial affection, for he could look up since his childhood to his

paternal example; and all the virtue he was able to practise during

his younger days, despite the occasions into which he was cast, he

attributed chiefly to the influence of his father's authority. The

country lost a statesman, and the Catholics an advocate in the noble

earl; his death was therefore regretted by more than his immediate

family; but there was one great reason why his son felt so deeply--his

father had not died a Catholic. There were many things to make up for

his exclusion from the _mementoes_ of his son in the mass, as not

being one of those _qui nos praecesserunt cum signo fidei_; such as,

his real natural goodness, his acting up to his lights, and his kind

treatment of his son; but they were, of course, poor, weak

assuagements to the stern fact that he could not pray publicly for the

repose of his soul, and only, by the merest conditional permission,

even privately. Father Spencer goes shortly after to Althorp. The new

earl thinks proper to prohibit his brother speaking to any except

those of his own rank while visiting there. He had, of course, his

reasons, but it was a sore trial to Father Spencer, who ever loved the

poor, and never felt so happy as when exercising his patience in

listening to the detailed account of their sufferings, or in trying to

relieve them by words or alms. He put up with it, and a _thank God_

soon made him at home amid lords and ladies for the time of his short

stay.

{227}

It may strike some person as a very strange thing that this

illustrious convert and great saint, as he really was and appeared to

be, should be shut up in a poor hamlet whose name does not appear even

on railway maps, and not located in some resort of pride and fashion.

But the Honourable and Reverend George Spencer had seen enough of

fashion and gentility to be thoroughly disgusted with both the one and

the other. He understood no way of going to heaven except that which

Our Lord pointed out to us and went Himself first for us to follow,

the way of the cross in poverty and humility. Hence he applied to

Bishop Walsh for the poorest and worst mission in the diocese. If one

will not be inclined to give this good Bishop credit for forwarding

the apostolical intentions of his young priest, let him know that

there might be also a more inferior motive why he should accede to his

request. Priests with private incomes can better subsist in poor

missions than those who depend on the charity of their flocks; and we

find at present that many, who have property of their own, are

appointed, notwithstanding the honourable and creditable prefixes to

their names, to missions which are not able to support a priest from

their internal resources. These two reasons put together will account

for the placing of the Hon. and Rev. George Spencer in the mission of

West Bromwich.

St. Thomas defines zeal, "an intense love by which one is moved

against and repels whatever is detrimental to the good of his friend,

and does his best to prevent whatever is against the honour or the

will of God." Alphonsus Rodrigues says: "It is the love of God on

fire, and a vehement desire that He should be loved, honoured, and

adored by all; and so intense is it, that he who burns therewith tries

to communicate its heat to every one." This effect of zeal is the

special gleam by which the shining of great saints can be

distinguished from ordinary servants of God. They are filled with the

love of God, they overflow with it, and dash off floods that sweep

down vice and sin by their impetuosity. When obstacles occur to show

that the time is not opportune, or that the sluices should not yet be

drawn, the saints are far from languishing into ordinary ways. No; the

springs are open afresh, their hearts are filling the more {228} they

are pent up, and seek avenues on every side and in every way in which

they may possibly allow some heavenly water to escape. Such was the

zeal of St. Chrysostom, who would be blind if his audience could but

see. Such was the love of St. Francis Xavier, who went through unknown

and almost inaccessible regions to convert the heathen. Such was the

love of St. Teresa, who sighed that she was not a man, because her sex

and state forbade her to be an apostle. Such was the Psalmist, when he

said, "The zeal of Thy house has eaten me up."

The difference between heavenly zeal and fanaticism is, that one is

willing to be directed, the other breaks the bonds of authority. One

acts sweetly and consistently, the other intemperately and rashly. One

distrusts self, the other begins and ends with self.

Father Spencer was full of zeal. It was, in fact, his zeal that

brought him into the Church. Now that he found himself commissioned to

propagate God's kingdom, his zeal arose to that of the saints, and

began to burst forth and devise means by which that kingdom could be

speedily and perfectly spread. He devised plans for the sanctification

of the clergy by introducing a kind of religious life amongst them; he

formed plans for the perfection of the laity, after an old but

abandoned model, which will be described; he had conceived plans of

founding a religious institute, of which a devout soul he knew was to

be first rev. mother; he had plans of preaching, away at some place or

places which he does not tell us about; he had plans for finding out

the secret by which the Jesuits became such successful missionaries;

he had plans of going to Cambridge for an installation, and bearding

the lion of heresy and error in his very den;--and all these he

proposed from time to time to his director and diocesan superior, but

all met the one fate of being drowned by the cold water thrown upon

them. He complains a little, in a letter he wrote at this time, of

"the slowness of Catholic prelates with regard to schemes;" but after

being told to lay them aside, he resigns himself with perfect

submission. He finds out, in a short time, that the Catholic prelates

were right, and he drops his wings completely, by saying: "I am

resolved to give up forming plans {229} for the future, and I shall

try to gain more love of God and devotion to the Blessed Virgin. This

again He must give me, and Mary must gain it for me; or rather, I must

charge her to persevere in making this request for me, whether I

forget it occasionally or not." Besides the crossing of his plans, he

has another cross to endure; he loves to visit Hagley, where Lady

Lyttelton, his sister, generally lived, and he is received only on

condition that he will not speak of religion. This he feels hard, as

he loved this sister very much, and thought he could not show a

greater proof of his affection than that of communicating to her, if

possible, what he prized more than his life--his faith.

One plan he forms, however, which does not meet with the disapproval

of his superiors, and that was, to go to London and beg among his

aristocratic friends for funds for a new church he intended building

at Dudley. He seems to have succeeded pretty well, as there is a nice

gothic church there at present, which was built by him. We have only

one peculiar incident of his first begging tour.

He took it into his head to go and ask a subscription of the Duchess

of Kent, mother to our Queen. He was received kindly by the Duchess,

and the Princess Victoria was allowed to be present at the

conversation. Father Spencer spoke for some time about the lamentable

state of England, on account of its religious divisions; he gave a

short account of his own conversion, and wound up by putting forward

the claims of the Catholic Church to the obedience of all Christians,

as there ought to be but one fold under one shepherd. It may be said

that he formed a very favourable opinion of the Princess from this

meeting; he said once, when relating the story: "I considered the

Princess very sensible and thoughtful. She listened with great

attention to everything I said, and maintained a respectful silence,

because she sat beside her mother. I had great hopes of her then, and

so far they have not been disappointed. I hope ye will all pray for

her, and we may one day have the pleasure of seeing her a Catholic."

This he said in 1863, and then he was firmly convinced that the

Duchess herself had died a Catholic.

He returned soon to his mission in West Bromwich, and {230} writes, in

a letter to Mr. Phillipps: "I had a project in my head when I

returned, more extensive than any that filled it of late. That is,

going to Dublin to see if there I might find some unknown mine out of

which I could draw what I want for Dudley. This soon grew into the

thought of a tour round Ireland, and the subject of collecting alms

for Dudley soon began to look trivial and secondary. I could hardly

contain myself at the thoughts of preaching all over Ireland the

conversion of England, and exhorting them all to forget their earthly

miseries in the view of our spiritual ones, and to begin to retaliate

the evils they have endured in the way of the true Christian, not by

violent opposition, but by rendering good a thousandfold, or rather

beyond reckoning." This scheme was put off for some time, by the

advice of the Rev. Mr. Martyn, who seems to have been his director.

In the beginning of August, 1835, Father Spencer got a severe attack

of illness: it proceeded principally from over-exertion. He began to

spit blood, and as soon as his friends heard of it, his sister, Lady

Lyttelton, and his brother-in-law, Lord George Quin, came for him and

took him to Hagley, where he might be carefully nursed until he should

recover. They set him down to say mass in Stourbridge, and allowed him

all the spiritual aid he wished for, even going so far as to invite a

priest to come and stay with him, and make Hagley his home for the

time. This was in keeping with their usual kindness, and Father

Spencer never forgot it; nay, he would treasure up the least act of

kindness done him by any one, much more so when received from those

who differed from him in religious matters. He writes now, apparently

under the shadow of death: one thing looks strange to him when he

thinks of dying, that he cannot see why God gives him such a strong

desire for an apostolic life if it be not sometime carried into

effect. "It may be that He will give me the merit of the desires

without their accomplishment, but this seems less probable. His will

be done. I only mention this to prevent your being discouraged on my

account. What is an illness in His sight? It is easier to restore me

my vigour than at first to give it to me. Let us only wait prepared

for quick {231} obedience to His call, whether for this world or the

next." In another letter, written about the same time, he says: "What

I am further to do must be decided by my present _bodily_ director,

Dr. Johnstone, to whom for my correction and humiliation the Bishop

has committed me."

It seems most likely that he wrote the autobiography during this

illness; it has the marks and tokens of his then state of mind upon

the first part of it at least.

After his recovery there is talk of his being made a bishop, and some

of his friends are doing their best, by writing and so forth, to help

his promotion to the mitre. No better idea can be given of the way he

felt with regard to this matter, than by introducing a letter he wrote

at the time to one of his friends:

"I know you are as eager about everything that concerns me as about

your own matters; and that you are now boiling to come and be busy

about this most interesting affair. Yet it will prove better to go

on quietly. To be sure I should exult if it please God of His own

will to enlarge my powers and faculties of advancing His kingdom,

trusting to Him to furnish me with graces sufficient; but the call

must be clear, and His will manifest, or, I thank God, I have made

up my mind to answer, I stir not. And how can I know this but by the

rule of obedience? Many reasons strike me _pro_ and _con_.

immediately; but these I had better not meditate upon. I shall leave

it to Dr. Walsh to decide whether I accept or do not. I cannot be

right any other way. If he chooses to hear me plead the cause for

myself, stating what I think are the motives _pro_ and _con_., I

will do it when he likes; if not, it is certainly better not to go

against him. I was at Prior Park three years ago, when Dr. Baines

knows that I refused the offer of an Irish clergyman to propose me

for an Irish bishopric, on Dr. Walsh's judgment, and he approved of

that decision. No doubt he will of this."

We hear nothing further of this, so it is likely Dr. Walsh judged it

proper for him to refuse the contemplated honour.

{232}

CHAPTER VI.

Newspaper Discussions, Etc.

From the end of the year 1835 to the middle of 1836, Father Spencer

was more or less engaged in newspaper controversy with some ministers.

The first champion of Protestantism, or rather assailant of

Catholicism, he condescended to argue with was a Mr. Gideon Ouseley.

This gentleman is described in a letter written at the time as a "Low

Church parson, or Methodist, of Armagh." There may be some distinction

between the two characters, but it is only fair to say that we freely

grant him the benefit of the doubt. They had a paper fight about the

usual topics of controversy, beginning with mis-statements of doctrine

from Mr. Ouseley and explanations from Mr. Spencer, and continuing

through a very brisk parrying of logical thrusts to a conclusion which

ended by the newspaper refusing to insert any more letters. Some good

effects may have been produced by the controversy, which seldom

happens, and also some breaches of charity; but there is one

circumstance worthy to be mentioned, though perhaps it cannot well be

traced back to _The Watchman_ newspaper, that this same Rev. Gideon

Ouseley is, at the time these pages are writing, the officiating

chaplain of the _soi-disant_ monks of Norwich, Br. Ignatius and his

companions.

The next adversary was a Mr. Dalton. Father Spencer expends some very

good arguments on him, among others, the following in the first

letter: "You and other Protestants may say that they consider this

doctrine (transubstantiation) unscriptural; but the arguments by which

you endeavour to impugn it never are scriptural. I once used to argue

against it myself, and the best arguments I could find were from {233}

reason." There may be fault found with this argument, because a thing

could be unscriptural, though its denial or refutation were not; but

F. Spencer establishes the positive side of the question afterwards.

And the argument was good thus far that its denial is an Article of

the 39, which should be proved by "sure warranty of Scripture." He

does so in a passage which begins thus: "If Scripture be appealed to

simply, I know not how any one can deny that it speaks altogether in

our favour, whenever the Eucharist is mentioned or alluded to. When we

are asked for proofs of our doctrine we invariably begin by an appeal

to the simple words of Christ given in Scripture. 'This is my body,'

'This is my blood,' which, taken as they stand, can agree with no

doctrine but the Catholic."

F. Spencer thought he had a gentleman to deal with in his adversary,

but found that he had overrated the attributes his charity supposed

him to possess. He pointed an argument upon the unity of our teachers

as contradistinguished from sectarian ones, by bringing in Mr. Dalton

and his brother us an example. At this Dalton took offence, and F.

Spencer made a most ample and beautiful apology. This evoked all the

bile of his opponent in a flourish of trumpets, by which he boasted of

a post relinquished in the argument, which really argued gain in F.

Spencer as a Christian antagonist. He flung out then in glorious

confusion--imperfect councils, bad popes, Spanish inquisitions, just

as they came to hand. When Spencer saw this, he thought of answering

him according to his folly, and instead of analyzing his "concentrated

lozenge," wrote something in the style of cudgelling him for the fun

of the thing next time. Here is an extract from his next letter, which

is produced more as a specimen of his humour than of his logic:--

A sentence of Mr. Dalton's letter ran thus:

"But let me first remind you what our view of private judgment is.

Do we mean that every man may set up as an interpreter of Scripture,

that every shoemaker and ploughman (as Catholics say) may become a

preacher? By no means; we recognise authority when it is scriptural,

and believe that an authorized ministry is God's mode of extending

the Bible."

{234}

Father Spencer replies:--

"Now this sentence suggests so many reflections to me that I hardly

know which way to begin with it. I will first try what a little

paraphrase will do, and explain what I think might perchance have

been in your mind when you wrote it, and you may tell me whether I

am near the mark before I make further comments on it. I would

figure you to myself as reasoning thus with your self:--The right of

private judgment must be maintained in some form, or else even we

ministers shall not be able to stand our ground against the

Romanists. If we allow of any reasonable notion of Church authority

when we talk to them, they will hook us up again, and we shall not

be able to assert even our own liberty to interpret as we like. But,

on the other hand, if we put away talking of Church authority when

we mount our pulpits, and impart the word to our hitherto obedient

poor followers, they will begin to ask themselves, what need, then,

is there of our reverend guides? Why should we pay any more tithes,

and seat rents, and church rates, and Easter offerings, and the

like? Yea! then would be sad danger that our craft would come to be

set at nought, and the Temple of Great Diana (the Church of Great

Elizabeth) would be reputed for nothing, and therefore we must teach

people that there is such a thing as ministerial authority at least,

if we cannot make much of an attempt to prove ecclesiastical

authority; we must take care to maintain that to be capable of being

a minister, a man must be able to read the New Testament in Greek,

and the Old in Hebrew, at least, have a smattering of Hebrew, or

else we shall have shoemakers and plough-men setting up opposition

without being able to put them down; for they will be able to match

us in what we must hold forth as the grand proof of the ministry,

viz., that a man should be able to quote texts at pleasure, and talk

about them so rapidly and unintelligibly as to make a congregation

think him mighty wise and deeply spiritual. Such are the men who

must be proclaimed worthy of great honour and admiration, but, above

all, of ample revenues. Never mind how many contradictory systems

enter into their respective reverend heads, we must persuade the

{235} people, as long as they will swallow it, that they all speak

by the Holy Ghost. It would, indeed, be more according to Scripture

and reason, if all who professed to be led by the Spirit taught one

doctrine; but this we can never bring about, unless we all get back

to popery: and, indeed, it is not needful, nor even expedient, for

the purpose we have before us, which is not to speak sound words

which cannot be reproved, but such words as will keep together our

congregation, and suit their tastes. Now as the tastes of men are so

various, it is absolutely necessary that the doctrines we give them

should vary too, and, therefore, as we know that Bible truth is but

one, and the Bible, nevertheless, is the book out of which we must

all pretend to teach, we cannot sufficiently praise the cleverness

of those gifted individuals, who, by organizing a sort of

skirmishing ministry, to take the place of the old uniform heavy

phalanx of the Romanists, one fit _to extend the truth of the

Bible_, so as to suit the tastes of all sorts of men, have enabled

so many of us to extract from the pockets of all a genteel

maintenance for our wives and families. I have in this paraphrase

found myself obliged to pass over one word when you speak of _God's_

mode of _extending_ the truth of the Bible. This operation, I think,

God had never anything to do with. I believe that 1,800 years ago,

God did, by his only Son, institute a ministry as his mode of

_preserving_ the truth of the Bible, but _extending_ the truth of

the Bible is a very different sort of affair. These words, though

rather obscure, yet seem to convey very felicitiously the idea of

what the Gospel ministers of the present day have accomplished, that

is, making the Bible truth so extensive as to embrace all the

various contradictory systems--Church of England, High, Low,

Evangelical, _et hoc genus omne_. But the time would fail me to tell

a tenth part of the glorious variety which the spiritual bill of

fare of the nineteenth century presents to the dainty taste of our

countrymen. This plan of truth extension is a wonder which was

reserved for the wisdom of our preachers to contrive and to

develope, under the guidance of a wiser spirit than that of man, and

yet certainly not the spirit of God. The ancient saints had no {236}

more idea of it than Archimedes had of a hydraulic press. I have

taken the liberty of playing upon your exposition of authority, to

show how vain it is to attempt to uphold anything like a legitimate

authority, and the right of private judgment together. I do not

wonder that you got rather into a perplexity in trying to explain

how they may be reconciled. The Church of England has tried to

explain this matter in her 20th Article, but finds it too hard. She

just says, 'the Church hath authority in controversies of faith,'

but leaves it to her children to guess whether this authority be

divine or human, infallible or fallible, granted her by the King of

Heaven or the king of England. She intimates, indeed, that it is not

quite to be depended on, by the next words, in which it is said, 'it

is not lawful for the Church to ordain anything contrary to God's

word written:' but again we are left to divine who the judge is, who

is to keep the Church in order: is it the king, or every licensed

preacher, or every single Christian? ..... Ah! these Articles are

troublesome things. I have known what it is to be under those

shackles, and what it is to be set free from them."

In the next letter, his opponent complains that Father Spencer has

_hurt his feelings_, and made his _heart sicken_, which complaint the

_wily priest_, as he was termed, began to answer thus:--

"I have heard of certain ladies who have recourse to a method

something like this to escape being kept in order by their husbands,

and who silence everything that is said against their humours by

falling into hysterics. A tender husband will once or twice perhaps

be melted by the alarming spectacle; he will run and fetch the

smelling-bottle, ring for the servants, beg pardon, and say pretty

things to compose his dear partner's mind again. But when he finds

that as soon as she has gained her point she gets well directly, and

is more saucy and wilful than before--if he wishes to be happy, or

to make her so--he will be what she calls cruel next time, and let

her get well by herself till she is tired of fainting fits. Now,

sir, I have once been tender-hearted over you .... I apologized ....

{237} In the next letter you took advantage of this to make an

impertinent remark. This discovered to me that your feelings need

not be so tenderly dealt with, and I proceeded with my disagreeable

questions, and shall still do so at the risk of your telling me in

the next letter that I have not only sickened you, but made you

quite faint away."

After thus sickening his delicate friend, he sums up in the last

letter and answers the difficulties objected to him very well indeed.

We forbear introducing purely controversial matter, except in as far

as it bears upon the peculiar gifts or manner of Father Spencer. There

is nothing but what any ordinary priest of fair acquirements could

have said in defence of our doctrines in the remainder, except that

the answer to the hackneyed objection about some councils being of

doubtful authority is very clearly and forcibly given.

A third champion entered the lists before these had been "conquered"

enough to think themselves qualified "to argue still." This was a Rev.

W. Riland Bedford. Indeed, he was so impatient of distinguishing

himself by the honour of having once engaged with so respectable a

foe, that he could not wait until Mr. Dalton was ousted. Besides, it

is very likely he thought Mr. Dalton was missing fine opportunities of

giving clever strokes, by spending too much time in quarrelling with

the ungenerous hits of his adversary or, perhaps, he thought he did

not take the proper instruments of warfare. However, he made a grand

stroke, and aimed also at what he believed to be the most vulnerable,

as well as the most defenceless, spot in the person of F. Spencer's

system. Here we might be corrected by the _Maid of Lille_, who said,

very pertly, to Mr. Spencer once: "Catholics have no systems." They

have doctrines. At all events, Mr. Riland Bedford did attack F.

Spencer, and lest he might lose by being single-handed, a brace of

them--Revs. Messrs. M'Ghee and himself--made an onslaught on Revs.

Messrs. M'Donnel and Spencer, thereby intending, of course, to make a

grand breach in Popery. The subject of their letters was the treating

of certain sins by our moral theologians. F. Spencer made use of the

usual line of defence here, but {238} he added also an _argumentum ad

hominem_. "St. Paul, in the chapter above referred to (Rom. i.), tells

us that there were no sins more prevalent in his day, and none more

destructive, than that grievous class of sins to which these questions

relate. The afflicting experience of the pastors of the Church leads

them to fear that no less awfully in these times and in this country,

do habits of the like crimes make ruin of thousands of souls; and

_your own recollection of the University, where, I suppose, you were

educated for holy orders, must convince you that our fears are not

unfounded. For what must be expected in the body of the people, when,

among those who are preparing to be their pastors, at the most

critical time of their life, there are so few who dare openly to

withstand the prevailing fashion of iniquity, and so many who profess

to despise morality and chastity as a thing to be ashamed of._" F.

Spencer was tripped up in some allusions he made to a Protestant

attempt at a prayer-book, of which there were two or three editions;

but, since he happened not to be correct as to one edition, and to

miss something about another, still, though his argument was not

thereby weakened, but Rev. Mr. Riland Bedford thought it was, and so,

or nearly so, the matter ended.

F. Spencer was induced to begin this paper controversy by the hope of

conveying some information about Catholic dogmas to those who would

not read Catholic books, but would, and did, read newspapers. Shortly

after, he learnt, by one instance, what little good generally comes of

this kind of contention. He paid a visit to Hagley, and, in a

conversation with Lord Lyttelton, asked him if he had seen the

_Birmingham Gazette_ lately. "Yes," replied the other, "but delicacy

forbade me to allude to your share in that concern." The sum of it was

that his lordship thought George under a perfect delusion, and

wondered he was not confounded at such powerful refutations as his

adversary's were. All F. Spencer wrote looked to him perfectly

trifling; so much so, that he had made up his mind to take George in

hand himself, and convert him back again, and was then {239} actually

getting up some little theology to aid him in doing so more summarily.

This George took in very good humour, and hoped good from, especially

as Lord Lyttelton appeared to be the leader in the family in point of

religion. He was doomed to a sad disappointment; for Lord Lyttelton

died shortly after this conversation, and, as far as documentary

evidence goes, without having had another conversation with Father

Spencer.

{240}

CHAPTER VII.

Private Life And Crosses Of F. Spencer.

It could scarcely be supposed that the self-denying, laborious life of

F. Spencer in West Bromwich, which has been already alluded to, could

be one of those effervescent fits that pass away with the newness of

change, when one remembers his life as a Protestant minister. He did

not abate one iota of his mortifications or labours, but he became

systematized with them, and managed, under the advice of his director,

to keep from extremes. He no longer scrupled paying for a conveyance,

if he thought the object of his journey was worth more than the

coach-fare. For letters, he followed the same rule, though, as he was

in a position to obtain franks very frequently, he had not so much

difficulty to put up with in the matter of paying heavy postage. To

bear these remarks out, we have some of his own letters, but the

letter of a lady, who made his acquaintance some time about 1835, and

had frequent opportunities of observing him up to the time of his

becoming a Passionist, will be more satisfactory than snatches of

sentences here and there, which accidentally tell what he was doing.

"In the year 1835 I first became acquainted with the Catholic

religion, and, in consequence, with the Hon. and Rev. George

Spencer, who instructed and afterwards received me into the Church.

From that time till the present I never for a moment doubted of his

extraordinary sanctity. He never in all his discourses with me,

which were numerous, spoke of anything but with an aim to the glory

of God. I knew his housekeeper at West Bromwich, a very good woman,

who has been dead many years. She told me that she many times found

him, very early in the morning, {241} cleaning his own shoes, and

she dare not let him see her for fear of confusion. She often

remarked that he spent a very long time in the exercise of prayer

and meditation. He was so zealous for the salvation of souls that

whenever he saw any new comer in his chapel he would find them out,

go to their houses and speak with them; he thus brought many into

the Church. Although he was insulted in all kinds of ways, on his

walks, he rejoiced and thanked God for all. When he opened his

mission in Dudley, rather than go to a public inn he slept, wrapped

up in a large rough cloak, on the bare floor of what served as for

sacristy, and continued to do so for some time until he had a proper

place prepared. Many nights at his own home he used to disturb the

bed a little, but it was found that he had not lain in it at all for

the whole night. When he was instructing me in the year 1836, he

broke a blood-vessel, and though the blood literally flowed from his

head into a dish, he continued on the instructions. He visited the

sick constantly. On one occasion he went to see a poor woman, who

had not one to attend her; she became very restless whilst he was

there, and wanted to go downstairs; he wrapped her up in a blanket

and carried her down. She was no sooner down than she wanted to be

brought up again; he brought her up, too; she got quiet then,

listened to him, and after a short time expired before he left the

room.

"At one house where he visited, a child was suffering from a bad

mouth, so that it was quite distressing to look at it. Father

Spencer laid his finger on the child's tongue, and said, 'It will be

well;' in a half-an-hour afterwards it was quite well. Once my

grandmother was at the point of death; he came and blessed her, and

in a day or two she was quite well." Miraculous cures are wrought

very frequently by priests' blessings. "Whatever thou blessest shall

be blessed," is not pronounced in vain at their ordination; and "we

must," as Father Ignatius would say pointedly to those who reflected

little on them, "remember that our Lord's words do deserve some

little attention." Faith can remove mountains, and it is only proper

and just that faith could do something less. Since the faith of the

person {242} "made whole" is often as powerful as the faith of the

servant of God, each side escapes the vanity of having wrought

wonders, by attributing the effect to the other. "He generally went

to the kitchen himself, or other places, to get what he wanted, and

would often do without a thing, rather than trouble his housekeeper

or a servant, if he knew them to be engaged. He wished to be not

only his own servant, but the servant of everybody as far as he

could. He used to beg of my father and me to pray that he might

become poorer than the poorest man we ever knew. He even once asked

my father to pray that he might become so poor as to be compelled to

_lie down and die in a ditch_. I never saw him out of heart or in

the least discouraged, however difficult a case he might come

across: he would generally say, 'We must go on, rejoice and thank

God; it will all come right in the end.' One of his former high-up

friends and he were walking by a lunatic asylum once, and his friend

remarked that he should soon be fit for admission there. This he

used to relate with as great glee as if he had received a first-rate

compliment, perhaps greater. When he visited our house in the

country once, he struck his head against a beam somewhere, and I was

astonished at hearing him exclaim, 'Served me right.'"

Several dear friends die about this time, and the conflict between

affection and religious detachment is beautifully pourtrayed in the

yielding of the former to the latter by several remarks of his own and

others, which we subjoin.

He hears of the death of Cardinal Weld about the beginning of the year

1837, and thus writes to Mr. Phillipps about it: "You have heard, of

course, of Cardinal Weld's death. I have felt that it is to me like

the loss of a father almost; for he treated me as a child, as no doubt

he did a great many more. But we must not give way to sorrows, for we

have enough to do with our feelings in the battle against present

evils, without wasting them on evils which are irremediable." The next

death he heard of was that of the Honourable George Quin, a nephew of

his, and he wrote to Mr. Phillipps: "That is another warning to us to

pray better for the remainder, when one of our four families is {243}

carried off before the fruit of our prayers appears." Somewhere about

this time Lord Lyttelton dies also, without having succeeded in the

project he formed last year, nor did poor Father Spencer succeed much

in bringing him over to his side. He always respected this good

brother-in-law, and the feeling was returned. He felt greatly for his

loss, as well as for the bereavement of his sister. To add to his

trials, a change comes over the relations between him and his family.

Hitherto it was stipulated that Father Spencer was to be always

received as a welcome guest provided he never spoke on religious

subjects. The Bishop thinks it, as of course it was, unfair to place

restrictions upon him, and not leave the matter to his own discretion.

It was not quite becoming for a priest to pay visits, and keep his

lips closed by contract on everything that was proper to his sacred

character. On the other hand, the family did not like to have their

agreeable parties disturbed by controversy, which was likely to draw

out hotter words than was suitable to the state of things. Both sides

had some kind of reason to show, and Father Spencer was placed between

them. He communicated the decision of his bishop to the more

influential members of the Spencer family, but he found they would not

bend. He cheerfully gives up visiting, and even consoles some of his

friends who manifest their concern that he should be debarred a

pleasure so innocent and apparently so justifiable. How much he felt

this, notwithstanding his cheerful resignation, may be seen from the

following testimony, of one who knew him well, to the affection he had

for Lady Lyttelton, his sister, who still survives:--

"In the year 1837 Mr. Mackey (Mrs. Mackey writes the letter) was

engaged painting a picture for Father Ignatius, for his chapel at

West Bromwich, and we saw a great deal of him. He was devotedly

attached to his sister, Lady Lyttelton, and he often used to speak

of her loving care of him when a boy; and once, when I quoted those

lines of Gray:--

{244}

"'See the wretch that long was toss'd

On the stormy bed of pain,

At once regain his vigour lost,

And breathe and walk again.

The meanest note that swells the gale,

The simplest flower that scents the dale,

The common sun, the air, the skies,

To him are opening Paradise--'

he was much affected, and said he had not heard them since his

sister, Lady Lyttelton, repeated them to him after recovering from

an illness when he was young. There was, also, a song he sang

occasionally at our house, because she liked it, and had taught it

to him. He sang it with such feeling that it always moved me to

tears, and as soon as I heard of his death I began to sing it, and

it kept recurring to me all day. I seemed to rejoice for him in the

song. These are the words: they are Moore's:--

"'The bird, let loose in Eastern skies,

When hastening fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay:

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, Lord, from ev'ry care,

And stain of passion free,

Aloft through virtue's nobler air,

To wing my course to thee.

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay,

My soul as home she springs,

Thy sunshine on her joyful way,

Thy freedom on her wings.'

He was always very much moved when speaking of Lady Lyttelton."

It was no small sacrifice to submit with cheerfulness to the

circumstances which prevented him visiting this sister, now that she

had become a widow and had need of a consoler to help herself and

children to bear their affliction. He simply says: "I find all my

crosses and vexations to be blessings; and directly I made the

sacrifice of feeling to duty, God sent me the best set of catechumens

I have had yet. {245} Among others, a man and wife who have been

_male_ and _female_ preachers, among the Primitive Methodists, or

Ranters."

His great friend and director, the Rev. Mr. Martyn, was the next of

whose death he heard. This good and virtuous priest was more than a

friend to Father Spencer. He served his novitiate to the work of the

English mission, under his direction in Walsall, for three months

before he came to West Bromwich. He had been his confessor and guide

in all his practices of piety until now. He managed his affairs with

as much interest as if they were his own; he was ever ready with his

counsel and assistance, and seems to have taken the Dudley mission as

soon as Father Spencer had built the church there. Father Spencer

preached his funeral oration, and paid the last tribute of respect to

his mortal remains in the very spot where he so often profited by his

counsels. Here there was no cause of regret, except for the good

priest's widowed flock, for his saintly life gave strong hopes of a

blessed eternity.

It was said, in a former chapter, that he gave all his money to the

Bishop, and had sums given him now and again, of which he returned an

account at stated times, to see if the way in which he spent them

would be approved of. It may be interesting to know how he kept these

accounts. Fortunately a few leaves of the book in which they were

noted have been found among his papers, and from them we make the

following extract:--

{246}

1838. £ s. d.

Dec. 1. Mrs. Nicholl's rent paid up to Nov. 12 1 0 0

Advanced to Mr. Elves 0 10 0

Mr. Davis, for a walk to Walsall 0 1 0

2. Letter to Paris 0 1 5

3. Omnibus to and from Birmingham 0 2 0

Given to Bridget Cullinge 0 2 0

Shoe-string 0 0 6

Mrs. Cooper.

Housekeeping 1 1 7

Washing 0 5 8

Postage 1 1 9½

Watchman 0 0 9

Mr. Elves 0 3 6

Betsy Hawkins, quarter's wages 0 15 0

Mrs. Cooper, towards wages 5 0 0

Advanced to Mr. Elves 5 0 0

4. Mrs. Whelan 0 10 0

John and Barney White, for a message 0 1 0

Elizabeth Morley 0 1 0

5. Armytage, 6d.; Mrs. Brown, 1s. 0 1 6

Coals, paid Mr. Pearse 1 6 3

6. P. O'Brien, 2s.; Peggy, 1s. 0 3 0

Boy who brought horse 0 1 0

Gordon, butcher's bill 5 19 0

Sealing-wax 0 0 6

Letter to Dr. Wiseman 0 2 3

7. Mrs. Cottril, 1s. 6d.; Mrs. Gale, 1s. 0 2 6

Turnpike, 8d.; Chs. Gordon, 6d. 0 1 2

8. Gig-whip, 2s. 6d.; turnpike, 8d. 0 3 2

Morris, for Mrs. Callaghan's rent 0 15 0

Shenton, for holding the mare 0 1 0

Clothes-brush 0 2 6

9. Conway, 7s.6d.; school-window mended,6d 0 8 0

10. Turnpike, 4d.; horse at Dudley, 6s. 0 6 4

Hat at Domely's 1 1 0

Mrs. Brown, tailor's 0 2 0

Gloves 0 1 10

Armytage, 6d.; lucifers, 2d. 0 0 8

11. Stuff to make a collar, &c. 0 3 9

Two dozen Douay Catechisms 0 4 0

Carriage of parcel to Dr. Fletcher 0 1 2

12. John Collinge, 1s.; P. O'Brien, 2s. 0 3 0

Adv. to Mr. Elves 0 1 0

13. Adv. to Mrs. Cooper, for wages 6 0 0

Housekeeping 0 17 10

Ribbon for stole 0 5 2

Parcel, 8s. 2d.; postage, 3s. 8d. 0 11 10

Washing, 4s. 9d.; Mr. Elves, 8d. 0 5 5

To this may be added, that on the credit side he puts his instalments

from the Bishop, and every single penny he gets in the shape of

offerings, seat-rents, alms, &c., &c. There have also remained,

between some of the leaves of this account-book, a few little slips of

paper, on which he pencilled whatever he paid or received when away

from home, so as to be able to note it down when he came back. It

{247} may be well to remark that the extract given above cannot be

taken as an average of his expenditure, as December is a month when

bills come in thicker than in other months of the year.

It will be remembered that this mode of managing his household

affairs, was the result of the trial Father Spencer made of the vows

of religion in his secular state, which has been alluded to in a

former chapter.

{248}

CHAPTER VIII.

Association Of Prayers For The Conversion Of England.

It was in the year 1838 that he began the great work to which his life

and energies were afterwards devoted--the moving of the Catholics

everywhere to pray conjointly for the conversion of England. Before

this time he and a few of his friends prayed privately, said or heard

masses for this intention, and encouraged one another by letters and

conversations to perseverance in so holy a practice. Now he went to

work on a larger scale. How this change in the working of his zeal was

brought about will be best seen from a letter he wrote to Dr. Briggs

in November, 1838. Before, however, quoting it, it may be well to

remark that the cause of his going to France with Mr. Phillipps was

that he was breaking down in health, hard-worked by two laborious