1832–1837
WHEN I first saw Windsor in the winter of 1830–31 how different the town
appeared from what it did afterwards! All about Thames Street and Castle
Hill was crowded with old houses and shops on both sides of the way, and
the walls bounding Lower Ward were hidden from view, except where the
Clock Tower, which stood in advance, looked down upon the passers-by. A
large plain brick mansion, called the Queen’s Lodge, long since removed,
occupied the right hand of the road leading to York and Lancaster Gate,
while old-fashioned tenements lined the approach to the royal precincts.
On the night of my first arrival patches of snow covered the roofs, and
dotted the pediments of doors and windows; over Henry VIII.’s gateway
hung a gorgeous hatchment in memory of George IV., who had not long
before left this life. It was slow travelling from London to Windsor in
those days, especially when the waters were out, and the roads were
heavy, and thick fogs rendered the leaders invisible to the coachman;
whilst deep ruts clogged the wheels and now and then an icy flood came up
to the axles. In the town I heard a great deal about “Windsor of the
olden time,” when highway robbers were rife, and gentlemen who took to
the road would lie in wait under cover of a plantation, and, galloping
over a field, stop the traveller and lighten him of his purse. According
to one informant, a tradesman in High Street, at the latter part of the
eighteenth century, kept a swift-trotting nag, which he mounted after
dark to do a little business on the road, and then returned richer than
he went. People at that time, as I heard some of them say, did not think
of riding or driving over Hounslow Heath alone; but, when approaching
that ill-famed spot where gibbets lingered by the roadside, were careful
to wait till a number was formed able to defend themselves against the
attack of thieves. The sobriety of many inhabitants in the royal borough
did not stand high, and at mayors’ feasts the guests did not think they
sufficiently honoured the hospitalities of the evening, unless they drank
so much as made it difficult for them to find their way home.
Anecdotes of George III. were rife. I heard that he used to rise early,
take a walk before breakfast, and sit down in a certain bookseller’s
shop, looking at publications on the counter. But one morning he saw a
book by Tom Paine lying there; after that he paid no more visits.
Sometimes he said very shrewd things. A Bow-street runner, named
Townsend, liked to attend early prayers when His Majesty was present, and
to make himself heard in loud responses. One day he was running about
after service looking for something he could not find. “Townsend,
Townsend, what are you after?” “I have lost my hat, please your
Majesty.” “You prayed well,” was the monarch’s rejoinder; “but you did
not watch.” The king had a wonderful memory; and once, as a troop of
yeomanry rode past in review, he pointed out a man amongst them of whom
he had bought a horse twenty years before, and whom he had not seen
afterwards.
An old inhabitant, who became my father-in-law, vouched for the truth of
some of these stories; and bore testimony, not only to the condescension
and familiarity of George III., but to the kindness and consideration of
George IV. One remark which my friend and relative used to make as he
was walking through the apartments of the castle, produced a startling
effect. Stopping before the picture of Charles I., he would say: “He
looks just as he did when I last saw him.” The fact was that my relative
was present when Sir Henry Halford superintended the exhumation of the
beheaded king; and he first caught a glimpse of the royal face, because
he assisted in cutting open the coffin lid. The face was perfect, and
exactly resembled Vandyke’s famous portrait of Charles I. When exposed
to the air the dust crumbled away.
After preaching at Windsor, as a student, several times, I received an
invitation to become co-pastor of the Congregational church. The Rev. A.
Redford, a man of singular consistency of character, who by his conduct
as a Christian minister won the respect and confidence of the town
generally, as well as of his own little flock, had been in office for
many years, and needed assistance in his sacred calling. He won my
heart; and as a son with a father I laboured with him in the gospel.
George III., who had a domestic or two in his household attending on this
good man’s preaching, was heard to say: “The clergy are paid by the
country to pray for me, but Mr. Redford’s praying is without pay.”
In the prospect of my becoming co-pastor, the congregation in 1832
determined to build a new chapel, the one in existence being not
sufficiently large; and as a sign of the honour in which the senior
minister was held, I may mention, that Church-people, as well as
Dissenters, contributed to the fund. The late Earl of Derby, then Mr.
Stanley, who represented the borough, subscribed £50. The other member
gave a like sum. The vicar and almost all the leading inhabitants were
found on the list. The fact is now mentioned to indicate the good
understanding between different classes of religionists which then
existed in Windsor.
I was ordained the day after the new chapel was opened, at the beginning
of May 1833. It was a service long to be remembered. Such services were
thought more of in those days than they are now. Ministers and friends
came from a great distance, and a large congregation was sure to
assemble. Generally the spirit was devout. An introductory discourse
illustrated the grounds of Nonconformity. After this several questions
were answered by the candidate, as to his Christian experience, doctrinal
sentiments, and reasons for believing he had a call to the ministry. A
deacon of the Church related the steps which had led to the present
choice, and, afterwards, the ordination prayer was offered with a solemn
laying on of hands. In my case, my venerated co-pastor fulfilled this
duty; and it was interesting to me that, in like manner, he had been
ordained by Rowland Hill. A charge to the inducted minister followed;
then came a sermon to the people, pointing out their duties. The holy
influence of that day rests on me to this hour, after the lapse of more
than fifty years.
The fresh impetus now given to our religious work served to stimulate
friends in the Establishment, who had so helped us in our department of
the one great cause. A Sunday evening service was commenced in the
parish church, and a new Episcopal place of worship was erected in Eton,
where it was much needed. In addition to the vicar of Windsor and his
curates, some of the masters at Eton College came forward in parish work,
rendering help by sermons at a third Sunday service then recently
commenced. The Rev. T. Chapman, afterwards a Colonial bishop, took the
lead, and did much to revive religion in the town. But the most
distinguished labourer at the time was the Rev. G. A. Selwyn, then
connected with Eton, who was afterwards one of the most heroic missionary
bishops of modern times; with him it was my privilege to co-operate in
the establishment of the Windsor Infants’ School.
lie would fain have induced me to enter the Establishment, but though he
did not succeed in that respect, he ever treated me with a brotherly
regard, which I sincerely reciprocated. Before he embarked for his
distant field of labour he wrote a farewell note in which he said: “On
the few points in which we differ, I thank God we have been enabled to
dwell, often at some length, without one particle of that acrimony which
often discredits controversy, and proves it to proceed rather from human
passions than from zeal for the truth of God. I cannot recollect,
throughout all our intercourse, one single word which can be considered
as a breach of charity between us. For this I am especially thankful,
that when I go to offer up my gift upon far distant altars, I shall have
left no brother at home, with whom I ought first to have been
reconciled.”
I had a ticket for St. George’s Chapel when William IV. was interred.
The interior of the building was dark, except as illumined by torches in
the hands of soldiers who lined the nave, and by numerous lights within
the choir. When the procession drew up about nine o’clock, at the south
entrance, the blaze of outside torches was seen through the stained
windows; then the appearance of heralds in their tabards followed: next
the slow march of mourners close to the coffin, the Duke of Sussex being
most conspicuous; afterwards a funeral dirge echoed from the fretted
roof. The silence was further broken by the Burial Service and the
repetition of royal titles. “Sic transit gloria mundi” came last, and
left an ineffaceable impression.
I was further favoured with a ticket to see the coronation in Westminster
Abbey. When the procession entered the nave, officers of state and
foreign ambassadors appeared in rich costume. Diamond-decked coats and
rich mantles made a grand show, yet they chiefly served to set off the
simple dignity of the queen in her early girlhood, whilst a spell of
loyalty touched spectators looking down from lofty galleries. The
coronation shout of “God save the Queen” needed to be heard that it might
be fully understood. Afterwards, a stream of dignified personages, with
mantles and coronets, issued from the choir and covered the nave with a
tesselated pattern of rich colours.
To the coronation succeeded the royal marriage, honoured at Windsor by
extraordinary festivities; and at night the cortége of the bride and
bridegroom, on their way to the castle through decorated and illuminated
streets, evoked a rapturous welcome from assembled thousands. But what
above all other incidents of that occasion lives in my memory at the
present moment is the sudden view which I caught a day or two afterwards
of the wedded pair in a pony carriage, driven by the bridegroom as his
bride nestled beside him, under his wing, with simplicity which gave
exquisite finish to the chief pictures which passed before me that
summer.
Another incident may be mentioned. At a town meeting it was proposed
that an address of congratulation should be presented to Her Majesty by
the mayor and others. The presentation followed at a levée. It was
interesting to see notabilities assembled in St. James’s Palace at the
first public reception by Her Majesty after the royal marriage. Amongst
a crowd of noblemen in the ante-room were pointed out, in particular, Dr.
Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter, with an eagle eye indicative of his
intellect, and Joseph Hume, the sturdy economist; both of them much
talked of at that period. Others I have forgotten. After waiting we
were ushered into the presence, the Queen, with Prince Albert at her
side, occupying a place near a window not far from the entrance door.
Since that I have knelt before Her Majesty more than once, but how great
the difference between the first and last occasions—the girl become a
matron, the sparkling bride a sorrowful widow, and the newly-married wife
a mother with sons and daughters standing round in reverence and
affection.
If I may here anticipate a Windsor ceremonial of later date, let me
mention the royal presentation of colours to a regiment of Highlanders to
which I acted as chaplain. The colours were bestowed in the quadrangle
of the castle on the day when the christening of the Prince of Wales took
place. The Prince Consort, the King of Prussia, and the Duke of
Wellington, with several other grandees, formed a group under the shadow
of the castle porch. As chaplain to the regiment I was allowed to stand
near, and was struck with the Prince’s German accent, which he seemed to
conquer in later life, when he spoke almost like a born Englishman. The
Duke addressed the soldiers in his accustomed plain style, giving them
very good advice. Preparations for the banquet in St. George’s Hall,
which a number of people were allowed to see, were very magnificent,
tables being covered with gold and silver plate. Some antique pieces
brought from the Tower were of special interest. In the evening I joined
the non-commissioned officers, to whom a dinner was given, and I was glad
of an opportunity to recall to their minds the Duke’s address. This
Highland regiment while in Windsor attended worship in our chapel, when
the band accompanied the singing, and Highland bonnets hung round,
outside the galleries. I visited the barracks, conversed and prayed with
the sick, and baptised the children. My relations with the colonel and
the officers were pleasant during the whole time that the Scotch remained
in Windsor.
Going back a few years, let me notice “Eton Montem,” then witnessed in
all its splendour. Approaches to the college were guarded by boys in
fancy costumes: coloured velvet coats, yellow boots, caps decorated with
graceful plumes, appeared on the scene. The youngsters levied a tax on
all comers, calling it “_salt_,” which they deposited in bags suspended
from their necks. As royal carriages swept across Windsor bridge,
picturesque sentinels received handsome donations from royal hands. The
gifts, together with a large number of others, formed a fund for the
captain of the school to defray his expenses at Cambridge, whither he was
sent in prospect of a fellowship. The procession of boys to Salt Hill,
where the captain waved a flag after a prescribed fashion, excited
immense interest, and was witnessed by multitudes. The sight in the
college gardens as the day closed, afforded perhaps the best of the
pageant, for these lads, attired in Turkish, Greek, Italian, and other
showy garbs, mixed with their friends so as to form a picture of animated
life, with old trees and old buildings for a background.
I had not been long in the town before I became intimately connected with
the British and Foreign Bible Society, which laid a strong hold on my
affections as a boy, and to which I firmly adhered, after I became a man.
Our auxiliary was a flourishing one. Some relatives of Lord Bexley,
president of the parent society, lived in our neighbourhood, and used to
come over to our annual gatherings in the Town Hall. One of them, the
Rev. Mr. Neal, of Taplow, was a constant visitor. He typified a class of
men now almost extinct. They loved the Establishment, and, judging of it
by its formularies, identified it with the cause of evangelical religion.
They knew much less of Anglo-Catholic theology than of Puritanical works.
Owen and Baxter occupied a conspicuous place on their literary shelves,
by the side of Latimer and Calvin. The Evangelicals were nevertheless
faithful to their own ecclesiastical order, preferring episcopacy to any
other form of government. Not on social or literary grounds had they
sympathy with Dissenters, or from what is now recognised as “breadth of
opinion,” but they cultivated union, on purely evangelical grounds.
At our Bible Meeting, with good old Mr. Neale, other evangelical
clergymen were present, also one of our borough members, Mr. Ramsbottom,
M.P. (who always took the chair), and Sir John Chapman, a strong
conservative Churchman, was sure to be on the platform. I cannot say
that the speeches were brilliant, though the deputation from London
interested us much. First came Mr. Dudley, who had been a Quaker, but
was then an Episcopalian; and, to the facts he detailed, there were added
peculiarities of utterance, which gave a flavour to what he said. He
slightly stuttered; and once, as he described how the blind were taught
to read with their fingers the pages of embossed Bibles, he said it
reminded him of the words, “That they should seek the Lord, if haply,
they might _feel after __Him and find Him_.” Hesitation of speech made
the quotation increasingly effective. After him came Mr. Bourne, who
had, I believe, been formerly a stipendiary magistrate in the West
Indies; and he had a singular _click_ in his voice. He told a story of
some ladies who had coloured their maps so as to distinguish, by a pink
colour, the countries where the Bible was circulated—thus “_pinking_ the
world for Christ.” The good man’s click told curiously on his
pronunciation of words; and I used, sometimes, to make my Bible Society
friends smile, by inquiring whether they offered a premium for agents
with a “_diversity of tongues_.” The Rev. Sydney Godolphin Osborne—the
famous “S. G. O.” of _The Times_ newspaper—had at that period a living
near Windsor, and took great interest in our auxiliary. He was a fine,
tall, aristocratic young man, of straightforward character, strong common
sense, and a racy style of utterance. He made capital speeches, and in
many ways helped on our work; in one way especially, which deserves
distinct mention. He thought it would be a good thing to obtain royal
patronage for our auxiliary, though Her Majesty’s name was not identified
with the parent society. He wrote to Lord John Russell, then a Cabinet
Minister (whose brother, Lord Wriothesley Russell, after he became Canon
of Windsor, lovingly supported our cause). When Lord John laid the
request before Her Majesty, she graciously gave her name as local
patroness, and sent a donation of twenty guineas. It is worth mentioning
that this occurred at a time when party politics were running high. Two
letters communicating the Queen’s kindness may be here inserted.
The first was addressed to the Honourable Godolphin Osborne.
“SIR,
“I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter
respecting ‘The Windsor Auxiliary Bible Society,’ on which the Queen
was last year pleased to bestow her patronage, which I have submitted
to the Queen, and though Her Majesty does not usually grant a
donation to those institutions to which Her Majesty’s patronage only
has been given, yet, the Queen, taking into her consideration that
the establishment in question is in the immediate neighbourhood of
Windsor Castle, has been pleased to direct me to forward twenty
guineas as a donation. I beg to enclose a draft for that sum, and
request you will have the goodness to acknowledge its receipt.
“I have the honour to be,
“Your most obedient servant,
“H. WHEATLEY.”
This letter was conveyed to me by the person addressed, who added the
following note:—
“I wrote to Sir H. Wheatley about a donation from the Queen to the
Bible Society. I have received a satisfactory answer, and a draft
for twenty guineas. If it meets your approbation, I would wish that
the fact should not be known to any but ourselves just now. At the
present moment the country is so _party-mad_, and there is such a
determination to catch at anything for party purposes, that I am
anxious to avoid giving a handle of any sort to either side in a
matter which has no real reference to politics. I only wrote last
week from Wales, and got an immediate answer, which I have
acknowledged, saying, at the same time, that at the anniversary
meeting a more official acknowledgment will be sent.
“I remain,
“Yours truly,
“GODOLPHIN OSBORNE.”
This letter sheds light on the state of public feeling existing at that
day.
In connection with the town of Windsor, let me mention two or three
traditions I received from the lips of my beloved wife, who became the
light of my dwelling on May 12th, 1835. Her good old father, Mr. George
Cooper, had long been a sort of Christian Gaius, receiving as guests
under his hospitable roof several men and women of renown. Often would
she speak of Rowland Hill, who repeatedly visited her home on his way to
Wotton-under-Edge, where he spent the summer months. He delighted to
preach in our little chapel in High Street, where the Eton boys would
attend to see and hear the eccentric old clergyman, who in his youth had
been one of their predecessors as a schoolboy. He would tell Mr. Cooper
how he used sometimes to steal at eventide beyond Eton bounds, to attend
a prayer-meeting in a cottage, which he could reach only by leaping over
a ditch with the help of a long pole. He allowed the good woman who
lived there an annuity, which Mr. Cooper used to convey as long as she
lived. Rowland Hill liked to hear at High Street Chapel the Hundredth
Psalm in Watts’s Hymn-book, and the youngsters who came used to alter the
last verse, shouting: “When _Rowland Hill_ shall cease to move.”
I remember hearing how Charles Wesley, the son of the great hymn-writer,
visited the town, accompanied by his sister, and spent an evening in Mr.
Cooper’s house, greatly to the joy of my wife as a girl. They arrived in
a sedan chair, dressed in Court costume. His execution on the piano was
surprising; and those who watched his thick, short fingers, as they swept
over the keys, said it was miraculous how he played.
Before I conclude what I have to say of my life in Windsor, let me advert
to attempts I made to promote intellectual and literary improvement,
according to methods then beginning to be popular. There was an
Institute formed in the adjoining town of Eton for the encouragement of
reading amongst such as had not enjoyed the advantages of early
education. A room was opened, furnished with a few books, where
inducements to what is termed mutual improvement were provided, and there
the famous astronomer Sir J. F. W. Herschell delivered an inaugural
lecture, which gave it at once a character of distinguished
respectability. I was invited to join in the infant enterprise, which I
did with pleasure and satisfaction, and felt it an honour to become one
of its lecturers. The effort made at Eton was followed at Windsor. I
threw myself into the enterprise, and worked on its behalf as long as I
remained in the town. The committee honoured me with an invitation to
lecture in the Town Hall, where my effort was kindly accepted by a large
audience; a short course on the History of the Castle and Town followed.
This, by request, was published in a volume dedicated, by permission, to
the Prince Consort. In its preparation assistance had been furnished
through books, documents, and advice, by residents in the town, and by
officials in the castle.
In concluding this chapter, I am constrained to notice some friendships
which were enjoyed by me during my Windsor residence. Poyle is a small
hamlet on the Great Western road not far from Windsor, near Colnbrook.
Sixty years ago a long line of mail coaches passed every night the
turnpike-gate, as cottagers heard the blast of the guard’s horn, and
stepped out to see the coachmen, in like livery, handling the reins which
guided their teams. Hard by the spot there was a paper mill, spanning a
pretty little river, the Coln, which kept the machinery in motion. The
whole formed a picture common in the early part of this century, not so
common now. Close to the mill were two goodly residences, occupied by
two brothers named Ibotson, of an old Nonconformist stock, who could
trace back religious ancestors to Puritan days. What pleasant gatherings
of congenial friends I met with at Poyle!—neighbouring pastors, and the
Rev. Joshua Clarkson Harrison, born not far off, and at the time building
up a goodly reputation in London and its environs, were of the number.
In contrast with these bright circumstances, I must notice incidents of a
far different kind. My dear wife lost about that time two brothers in
early life by what we call accidents; but, worse still, while I was from
home one summer, my beloved mother, who lived with me, set fire to her
muslin dress, while the servant was absent, and immediately became
enveloped in flames. Some one passing by endeavoured to render
assistance, but it was too late, and the next morning she expired.
Bright summer weather was for a long time after that, to my eyes, covered
with a pall of darkness; and to look on the blue sky and the gay summer
flowers only made me more sad.