1865–1872
IN the year 1867 I published the first volumes of my “Ecclesiastical
History of England”; this calls for explanation of what preceded and
prepared for it.
Immediately after I left college, and settled at Windsor, I commenced the
study of Church history with much earnestness; and the first fruit was a
course of lectures on the subject to my congregation, delivered on week
evenings. When I had completed them they were sent by me to my revered
tutor, Dr. Henderson, for criticism and advice. He encouraged me to
pursue my studies in that direction, with the hope and intention of
making use of them in after life. I followed his advice, and during the
remainder of my Windsor ministry devoted all the time I could spare from
pulpit and pastoral duties to researches into early annals of
Christendom. In my investigations I was kindly allowed to use the Dean
and Chapter’s library. After I left Windsor, I turned attention to
ecclesiastical affairs during the Puritan period. This happened just as
I was about to pay a visit to my native county—Norfolk—where I commenced
studying original records in Norwich. Proceedings _against
Nonconformity_ and other records there came within my reach, that part of
England being somewhat rich in this department of history. “Spiritual
Heroes” was the title of my first volume, which not long after was
revised and enlarged in a second edition. The Congregational lecture on
“The Ages of Christendom,” was delivered and published in 1856. This
led, in 1867, to the “Ecclesiastical History of England, from the Opening
of the Long Parliament to the Death of Oliver Cromwell.” “The Church of
the Restoration,” forming two volumes, appeared in 1870, and “The Church
of the Revolution” in 1874. To complete the list of works on English
Ecclesiasticism, there followed other volumes on the reigns of Queen Anne
and the Three Georges. Afterwards came “Religion in England from 1800 to
1851.” I state all this, because some confusion has arisen from a
fragmentary publication of the original works and of successive editions.
In 1867 correspondence and personal intercourse commenced between a
distinguished Episcopalian and myself, of an interesting character. In
that year I received an invitation to Chichester from Dean Hook. He was
much talked of, on account of his High Churchmanship, and his pre-eminent
activity as Vicar of Leeds. Dissenters counted him amongst their bitter
foes; and I should have been much surprised, years earlier, had I been
told I was to be a guest at his house. Yet so it was. Historical
sympathies brought us together, and each found that the other wished to
be fair in dealing with men who held opposite opinions. Both believed in
a spiritual brotherhood reaching beyond denominational bounds. Soon
after my arrival at Chichester he asked: “What shall we talk about? If I
thought I could make you a Churchman, I would try to do so; and if you
thought you could make a Dissenter of me, you would make the attempt.” I
replied: “Nothing of the kind; let us leave out ecclesiastical
controversy, and talk of literary and religious matters, on which we are
pretty well agreed; and when we have exhausted them we will take up
points of difference.” He went on to say, that his great friend Lord
Hatherley, then High Chancellor, differed from him politically, and yet
they had walked up together to the polling booth to record opposite
votes, without any breach of friendship. “And so,” he said, “you and I
can unite to a certain extent; and when we come to the parting of the
way, we can each take our own course, with mutual good will.” I entered
into the compact. On historical and social subjects, and as to religion
in its spiritual and experimental aspects, we were of one accord, and
felt no inclination to unsheath swords.
We had pleasant drives in the country and cheerful chat at the
dinner-table, when he included within his party members of the cathedral
body. Plenty of anecdotes were related, some about Dr. Wilberforce, when
Bishop of Oxford. The Bishop, I heard, used to tell a story, which
showed how a man might, unconsciously, make a good pun. He had engaged
to dine with somebody whose name was _Hunter_, a cattle grazier, and on
his way, as was his wont, the Bishop bethought himself: “What topic of
talk can we have together?” At the railway-station his eye caught an
advertisement of “Thorley’s Food for Cattle.” That would suit very well.
So the bishop asked the grazier his opinion of such provision for beasts
of the field. The host replied: “It might do very well for _Oxen_, but
not for a _Hunter_.” He did not know he was quoting the diocesan name of
his right-reverend guest (Oxon.), and forgot at the moment he was also
repeating his own. The Dean gave a conundrum, invented by the Bishop,
for the amusement of a young lady:—
“What part of your dress resembles two popular preachers in the Church of
England?”
“Give it up?”
“Hook and I.”
The Chancellor of the Cathedral, I think it was, spoke of Wilberforce’s
power of adapting himself to people whom he met. He liked to know
beforehand who he was to see. Introduced to a Yorkshire-man, he began to
talk in the county dialect. Visiting a screw manufactory, he won the
confidence of workmen by showing some knowledge of their business. Once
at the Earl of Derby’s (grandfather of the present Lord) he met gentlemen
of the turf, and surprised them by giving the pedigree of a celebrated
racehorse. On being asked how he came to be “well up” on such a subject,
he said he had gleaned knowledge of that kind as a boy, in the stables of
a trainer, near his father’s house. He scarcely ever forgot anything he
had heard.
The Dean was an early riser; and retired early to bed. We had family
prayer in the library about nine o’clock, the family and the guests
standing and kneeling together. He read the Psalms for the day, and used
parts of the Morning and Evening Service. Once, about half-past ten in
the evening, I said to Mrs. Hook—a charming woman, “light of the
dwelling”—“I must bid the Dean good-night. Where is he?”
“In bed and asleep the last hour,” she gently answered.
He told me that early rising had been his habit during his residence at
Leeds, and was so still; that demands on his time, from forenoon to
night, were such at Leeds as would have prevented all literary work, had
he not secured hours for study before breakfast. Then it was he wrote
his books. He worked hard all day when vicar, and adopted unusual
methods of usefulness, holding something like Methodist class-meetings,
which took strong hold on his Yorkshire parishioners. Familiar
devotional gatherings he kept up at Chichester; and a poor old woman was
so delighted with them, that, by an odd association of ideas, she
compared them to feasting on “lamb and salad.” These meetings he would
humorously call by that name. I had a good deal of talk with my kind
hostess about clerical incomes, and the demands made on them; and so I
became disabused of false notions common amongst outsiders. From what I
heard of large outgoings, payments on promotion, and so on, I am able to
form a more correct estimate of pecuniary affairs in the Establishment,
than I could before.
Considerable correspondence passed between us. A friendly intercourse
was also maintained by subsequent visits. In a letter dated June 4th,
1867, he says:—
“I like a companion who will look out for points of agreement, and
then coze upon them. I never court the society of those who love an
argument, and look out for topics on which we disagree. You will,
perhaps, infer from this, that I want vigour of mind; but I really
believe that many minds are drawn out and strengthened by cozing
instead of arguing, and I am sure that this conduces to brotherly
affection. My wife and I after many years of hard work—and what is
worse than work, worry—came here to retire from the world. We see
little of general society, and confine ourselves to pleasant cozy
intercourse, with our large and united family, and old friends. We
cannot, therefore, offer you any gaiety when you come amongst us, but
if you take us as we are, we shall hope to have some pleasant cozes.”
In a letter, dated March 1868, he remarks:
“In the Peninsular War the pickets of the two armies were accustomed
often to meet on the most friendly terms, and enjoy each other’s
conversation. But when the trumpet sounded each man was at his post,
ready to do his duty. So it is with us. I have always acted on this
principle of refusing to admit the assertion, that our differences
are on nonessentials—and of offering, nevertheless, the right hand of
friendship in private to those whom in public I might oppose, or
rather by whom I was myself opposed. I was freely censured at one
time for this; but when I left Leeds my Nonconformist friends rallied
round me to bid me farewell, and several of them saw I had pursued
the right course.”
“The great thing which you and I have to do is to guard against the
deadly sin of too many of our contemporaries—imputing motives. If we
can discover a good motive, we may rejoice, even though we condemn
the action to which it may have led. But no words can express, or
thought conceive, the indignation I experience, when men seek to
attribute good actions to bad motives.”
The Dean was not one of your modern correspondents. The last of these
extracts is from a letter on quarto sheets, which covers _sixteen_
closely written pages.
Dr. Hook was a delightful talker, English to the backbone—“a thorough
John Bull,” as an Oxford don once said to me. There was a strong dash of
humour in his constitution, and he was ready to tell amusing anecdotes of
himself. He was no ritualist, no Puritan, certainly no Erastian; but a
godly, warm-hearted, Christian man, whom it was a privilege to know.
During visits to Chichester I became acquainted with one of the canons,
Dr. Swainson, then Norrisian Professor at Cambridge, afterwards Master of
Christ’s College in that University. He rendered me essential service
whilst I was writing my volumes on “The Church of the Restoration.” Some
of the books and MSS. in the library of the cathedral were of great use;
and when I visited him afterwards at Cambridge he rendered me further
valuable aid. I had the pleasure of meeting some Cambridge dons at his
dinner table, and I remember being interested and instructed by a long
conversation on the rendering of names given in our version of the Bible
to ancient instruments of music. In 1869 I was present at the
announcement of wranglers for that year. I stood side by side with my
friend in the gallery, close to the gentleman who held in his hand a
paper big with the fates of university competitors. It was a dark
morning, and at eight o’clock, amidst breathless silence, the personal
secrets so many waited to learn, were publicly proclaimed. It was a
grand piece of living mosaic which lay before me, as upturned eager
countenances were fixed on the spot where I was standing; and the
announcement of the new senior wrangler raised applause which seemed
enough to lift the roof.
My friendly relations with Dr. Swainson continued through after-years;
and his laborious investigations into Church creeds were frequent topics
in our conversation. His inquiries into the date of the Utrecht MS.
containing the “Quicunque vult,” etc., were extraordinarily extensive,
minute, and careful, as I can bear testimony from repeated accounts he
gave of Continental journeys and inquiries. I apprehend that nobody ever
spent so much time and labour on the inquiry, as he did; therefore his
conclusions ought to carry much weight in the settlement of a controversy
touching historical theology, as well as an archæological question.
On the occasion of my visit to Cambridge I went to see my friend, Mr.
Fordham of Melbourne, who possessed a valuable collection of paintings;
and I mention him here, for the sake of what he related respecting Lord
Beaconsfield, who had been a schoolfellow with Mr. Fordham’s
brother-in-law, the Right Honourable Russell Gurney, Recorder of London.
They were educated at an academy in Walthamstow, kept by Mr. Cogan, a
Presbyterian minister, whose son I knew well. Young Dizzy, as people
called the politician, was famous at school for two things. He delighted
in forming parties and getting up cabals—there was an embryo politician;
next he excelled in telling stories, and would keep the boys awake at
night by his romantic inventions—there was an embryo novelist. He had
early dreams of future greatness, I think; and my friend informed me that
he had talked to his schoolmates of being one day Prime Minister of
England.
In the winter of 1867–68, Dr. Alford, Dean of Canterbury, delivered and
printed a lecture on “The Christian Conscience,” which was followed up,
in _The Contemporary_ by an article expressive of kindly feelings towards
Nonconformists, and a desire for more friendly intercourse with them. I
felt it a duty to respond to this overture, and did so, both privately
and publicly. This prepared for a friendship which I highly valued.
About the same time, Archdeacon Sandford, father of the Bishop of
Gibraltar, made a move in the same direction. I spoke to brethren in
sympathy with myself, as regards union, and we thought of inviting a few
clergymen to meet us—when, on my acquainting Dean Stanley with what we
had in our minds, he expressed a wish to take the lead by getting several
friends on both sides to dine with him at Westminster. Accordingly Dean
Alford, Archdeacon Sandford, Prebendary Humphreys, and other clergymen,
met my friends Binney, Allon, and others, at our good friend’s hospitable
board; and the party proved most agreeable. Other gatherings of the same
kind followed, and at Fairlawn, where I lived, a long conversation took
place, when, in addition to those just mentioned, Lord Ebury, Henry
Winterbotham, M.P., Dr. Angus, Dr. Rigg, Dr. Roberts, and my intimate
friend, Joshua Harrison, interchanged views in reference to Catholic
intercourse. Dr. Alford, the Dean of Canterbury, afterwards invited Mr.
Binney and myself to one of his garden parties, and soon afterwards he
presided at the Cheshunt College Anniversary, when he uttered sentiments
which were followed by a pleasant response from ministers of different
denominations. On another occasion he met the Professors of New College,
by invitation from the Coward Trustees; thus, and in other and similar
ways, brotherly intercourse was considerably advanced.
If I may be permitted to trespass a little on what was at the time in
futurity, I will, for the sake of preserving connection between incidents
at that period, mention other circumstances which brought together, in a
friendly way, members of different religious bodies. The first was of no
great importance. I think it was in 1870, the Archbishop of Syra visited
England, and made some little stir. Dr. Stanley entertained him in the
Jerusalem Chamber, and invited a larger party to meet him afterwards.
The host was not likely to lose such an opportunity for bringing together
people of different opinions. Several were introduced to this stranger,
who occupied during his visit, perhaps, a position above his usual one.
The simple fact of this introduction was magnified, by newspapers, even
the _Times_, into a sort of submission to Greek Archiepiscopal
superiority; for the few whose names were mentioned were represented as
receiving his formal benediction, and I wrote to explain the nature of
the interview, which really amounted to nothing more than a respectful
bow on the part of an Englishman to a foreigner, and the return on the
foreigner’s part of an accustomed Greek salutation. The intended effect
of private civil reciprocities is often spoiled, by attributing to them
meanings never intended and utterly absurd. Reports of them in quite a
ridiculous way get into newspapers.
It was owing to the circumstance of my being “capped” in Edinburgh at the
same time with Matthew Arnold, that I became acquainted with that
remarkable man. He was by no means popular with Dissenters, owing to
what, in some of his books, he said with reference to them. They
appreciated his ability, but censured the spirit which appeared in some
of his criticisms. My acquaintance with him convinced me that in some
respects he was misjudged. When I came to know him pretty well, I
playfully referred to some things he had written, which stung people whom
I knew. “But I am not such a bad fellow,” he rejoined, “as Dissenters
think.” “No,” I replied, “but Dissenters look at you through your books;
I look at your books through you—and that makes a great difference.” I
always found him kind, gentle, tender-hearted. He sympathised with me in
domestic sorrows, and was pleased with some things I had written.
The publication of “Ecclesia,” a volume by Dissenters, about the same
time that another volume appeared written by Churchmen, was the means of
bringing the editors and writers of the two works together at the house
of a common friend, the Rev. H. S. Toms of Enfield. The Rev. W. D.
Maclagan, editor of “The Church and the Age”—incumbent of a neighbouring
parish (afterwards Vicar of Kensington, then Bishop of Lichfield
{176a})—and Dr. Reynolds, of Cheshunt College, were present. Each editor
proposed success to his brother editor on the other side.
This was an instance of mutual recognition and charity, worthy of being
known; standing out, as it does, in pleasant contrast with bitter ways in
which ecclesiastical controversies have been too often waged. Nor did
that single interview end the intercourse thus begun, as I have had a few
opportunities since of kindly intercourse with Dr. Maclagan, both as
Kensington Vicar, and as a distinguished Bishop, earnestly doing his
Episcopal work.
Another event occurred about the same time, in favour of union. The
question of Bible Revision ripened to a practical issue in 1870. {176b}
A committee was formed by Convocation to carry out the project, and I had
the privilege of being present during a part of the discussion. I heard
the Dean of Canterbury, Dr. Alford, make an eloquent speech in favour of
the design he had done so much to initiate, and for the accomplishment of
which he laboured to the last. That speech was pronounced by some
members as the most effective he ever delivered. In the evening of the
same day, I came across Archdeacon Denison, at a clerical meeting, to
which I was invited by an old Kensington neighbour, the Rev. J. E. Kempe,
Rector of St. James’, Piccadilly. There is nothing like private chat
with men of pronounced opinions, who in public are accustomed to speak
with vehemence. Judging from newspapers, one regards them as repulsive,
whereas a little _tête-à-tête_ in a quiet corner, makes a marvellously
different impression. It was so in this instance, and the fiery
Archdeacon, as I had thought him, proved a genial, humorous old
clergyman, joking me on misconceptions of character formed by reading
outside critics.
I must say, after all his antecedents, I found him a thoroughly hearty
and kindly disposed Englishman and Christian. “The Revision,” had a
powerful and permanent effect in the relations of several distinguished
Churchmen and Nonconformists. Some of my scholarly brethren, I need
scarcely say, were chosen on the committee, and nothing could be more
harmonious than their co-operation on both sides. Having enjoyed the
friendship of some, and the acquaintance of more, I can testify to their
mutual regard and affection. Some High Churchmen—as I know from having
seen notes in their handwriting—expressed thankfulness to Almighty God
for having brought them into this new relationship. It evidently removed
prejudices, and inspired a feeling of religious oneness, where there had
been before estrangement, if not alienation. At the same time Dissenting
scholarship rose in estimation; and I found from conversation, that
Churchmen held their fellow-revisers in high respect as critical students
of the sacred volume. Some betrayed their possession of an idea, that
Nonconformist learning in our day had risen far above what it was of old;
an idea I endeavoured to correct, by maintaining that, whilst there has
been a wider _diffusion_ of knowledge amongst our ministers, it may be
questioned whether the attainments of living men amongst us have not been
exceeded by those of a past generation. Distinguished Hebrew scholars,
such as Drs. Boothroyd, Pye-Smith, and Henderson, famous in the early
years of the century, are dropping out of notice in the present day.
Social intercourse went on between the revisers and their friends.
Reunions were held at New College, and Regent’s Park College, and also in
private residences.
An attempt on a bolder line to promote Christian union, came into
prominence about the time now under review. I allude to a proposal for
what has been called an “interchange of pulpits,”—more properly an
interchange of preaching officers. A hundred years ago it was not
altogether uncommon for Incumbents of the Establishment to preach in
Dissenting chapels, especially those of the Countess of Huntingdon’s
Connexion; in a few instances a Nonconformist occupied a parish church
pulpit. Such irregularities died out early in this century. But twenty
years since there appeared a willingness on the part of several clergymen
to revive the practice. Conferences were held with reference to the
subject, and discussions occurred as to what measures should be taken to
secure legally, what seemed desirable to many. The Right Honourable
Cowper Temple, afterwards Lord Mount Temple (now deceased), took an
interest in the matter, and prepared a Bill to remove legal impediments
out of the way. He sent me the following note:—
“My desire is to give power to the Bishop and Incumbent to allow any
minister of any denomination, or any layman, to preach occasional
sermons without requiring the person who preaches to do any of the
things required of a Priest or Deacon.
“I shall not touch the Act of Uniformity, but provide for a case
which is not included in its provisions—that of preaching sermons
which are not part of the daily Church Service, though they may be
delivered at the same time. All that is wanted is the admission that
preaching in a church belonging to the Establishment is not
exclusively a function of the Established Church.”
I insert a copy of the Bill which he sent me.
“A BILL
“To enable Incumbents of Parishes, with the approval and consent of
the Archbishop or Bishop of the Diocese, to admit to the Pulpits of
their Parish Churches persons not in Holy Orders of the Church of
England, for the purpose of delivering occasional Sermons or
Lectures.
“Whereas it is expedient that facilities should be given for the
occasional delivery of Sermons in Churches of the Church of England
by persons not in Holy Orders of the Church of England.
“May it therefore please Your Majesty,
“That it may be enacted, by the Queen’s Most Excellent Majesty, by
and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal,
and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the
authority of the same, as follows (that is to say):—
“1. It shall be lawful for the Bishop of any Diocese in England, on
the application of the Incumbent or Officiating Minister of any
Church or Chapel belonging to the Church of England within his
Diocese, or for the Ordinary of any Collegiate Church or Chapel, to
grant, if he shall think fit, permission under his hand to any
person, although he is not in Holy Orders and has not made or
subscribed a Declaration of Assent in the terms set forth in ‘The
Clerical Subscription Act, 1865,’ to preach occasional Sermons or
Lectures in such Church or Chapel; and thereupon it shall be lawful
for the person mentioned in such permission, on the invitation of the
Incumbent or Officiating Minister, to preach an occasional Sermon or
Lecture in such Church or Chapel without making any subscription or
declaration before preaching.
“2. The preaching of an occasional Sermon or Lecture, in pursuance
of this Act, may take place in any Church or Chapel either, after any
of the Services in the Book of Common Prayer, or at a time when no
Service is used, as may seem best to the Incumbent or Officiating
Minister of such Church or Chapel.”
This Bill did not propose liberty for an Episcopalian incumbent to preach
in a Nonconformist edifice—that object could be sought afterwards—and the
limited freedom contemplated by the proposed measure failed to receive
parliamentary support. The fact was, Members of Parliament, who were
Dissenters, did not take up the question with any zeal, and some were
decidedly against the proposal. They felt no more desire to see
Nonconformists in Church pulpits than the Established clergy and laity
did; though, of course, they took a different ground of objection. Lines
of division remained strongly marked, and those who aimed at
Disestablishment were bent on a more sweeping change. The time had not
become ripe even for so small an alteration, and as there seemed no great
willingness in any party to promote the proposal, it came to an
unfortunate end. All kinds of means for promoting union have been
suggested, and I have supported some very earnestly; but, in my old age,
I am persuaded there is truth in the remark: “The more we grow in
knowledge and advance in love, the more we should strive to preserve that
simplicity, which is so peculiarly the characteristic of the Gospel, and
the more we should guard against _the uncharitableness of supposing that
every other view_, _except our own_, _must be useless or erroneous_.”
{183}
The year 1871 was marked by an educational measure, opening Oxford to all
denominations more fully than it had been. The Bill met with opposition
from the Marquis of Salisbury and his friends. Some time before I had
been requested by Lord Ebury to draw up for the Ritual Commission an
account of Nonconformist modes of communion. The account is printed in
the Report for 1870 (p. 139). Now I received a note from the Marquis,
who had obtained a committee for collecting information, asking me to
give evidence with regard to matters referred to them. Accordingly I
attended. After listening to what Dr. Jowett, Master of Balliol, had to
say, I took my seat, to answer their Lordships’ queries. {184} I had
looked forward to examination as somewhat formidable, but found it far
otherwise. It turned out to be a pleasant conversation.
When the Bill came under discussion in the House of Lords, I felt an
interest in the debate, and consequently attended as a listener. After
Lord Carnarvon had spoken, he stepped over to the spot where I stood,
saying that his desire had been not to say anything discourteous to
Dissenters. I received from him afterwards a note, written in the same
spirit, and expressing a desire for the maintenance of friendly
relations. About the same time it happened that a course of lectures was
given on “Christian Evidences,” in which bishops and other clergymen took
part with Dissenting ministers.
The British and Foreign Bible Society is a bond of social, as well as
religious, union. A dinner at Mr. George Moore’s house, Palace Gardens,
was, at that time, an annual institution, and after the Exeter Hall
meeting in May, the committee, speakers, and other friends, met under his
hospitable roof. The host appeared at his very best, frank, generous,
and kind—no affectation, no assumption; only a rich vein of English
geniality. On his right hand at such occasions, usually sat Lord
Shaftesbury, on the left perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury. Without
flattery, but in homely ways of recognising service, the master of the
table would call up one after another of his guests, and after we left
the dining-room, we had family prayer together, a bishop and a Dissenter
taking part in conducting the worship.
In 1871 the Dean of Canterbury was suddenly taken to his rest. The
tidings gave great sorrow; and I felt it was due to his memory that some
Dissenting brethren should attend the funeral. Harrison, Baldwin Brown,
Newman Hall, and others did so; I was invited by the family to be one of
the pall bearers. Dr. Stanley, Dr. Merivale, Dean of Ely, and others,
met in the good man’s library, where his picture of St. Michael’s
Mount,—on which he had spent some of his last hours—stood upon the easel,
and Walton’s Polyglot lay open at the Book of Exodus, where Dr. Alford
had been reading just before his death. Slowly and sadly we walked into
the cloisters, where places were assigned us, and the procession moved
into the cathedral. There Mrs. Alford, with wonderful composure, joined
in the solemn service. Shops were shut, and the streets lined with
people, as we were conveyed to St. Martin’s Churchyard, where we joined
in singing one of his hymns, “Ten thousand times ten thousand,” etc. He
had expressed a wish to be interred there, and wrote the following
memorandum: “When I am gone, and a tomb is to be put up, let there be,
besides any indication of who is sleeping below, these words only:
_Deversorium viatoris Hierosolymam proficiscentis_—_i.e._, the inn of a
traveller who is on his way to Jerusalem.”
In a letter which I received from Canon Robertson, he said, in reference
to this inscription: “Perhaps Mr. Bullock may be able to tell you, that
some one has discovered the source of the words engraved at the bottom of
the tombstone. My own inquiries have been fruitless.” I have not been
able to ascertain their origin.
A committee was formed to raise some testimonial to the Dean’s worth, and
they invited me to join them. They acted in correspondence with the
Chapter, and it was determined that a painted window should be placed in
the cathedral, and that it should contain symbols of the evangelists, and
the scenes of our Lord’s Temptation, in the larger circles; whilst the
four smaller ones around, were to contain subjects showing that He
exercised miraculous power of the same kinds, in which He refused to
exert it, at the Tempter’s suggestion.
In the following year I lost a valued friend, member of our Kensington
church, Sir Donald F. Macleod, C.B., K.C.S.I. He had occupied the
position of Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjaub, and met his death from a
railway accident in December, 1872. He possessed a rare gift for putting
himself into kindly fellowship with those he ruled, whether rich or poor,
entering into their feelings and cultivating their regard so that he
acquired a widespread influence in the Indian province, which might be
called the country of his adoption. All the people loved him as a friend
and father; hence it was said, that if the natives had to choose a
prince, he would be their choice. In a leading journal, the remark of an
Indian gentleman was preserved to the effect, that, “If all Christians
were like Sir Donald, there would be no Mahomedans or Hindoos.” His
private life was of a piece with his public career. He had the power of
making numerous friendships through the happy blending of religion with
an affectionate disposition. “Wherever he went,” said a relative, “his
presence was like sunshine, and the sunshine was the reflection of
another presence, even of Him of whom it is said, ‘In Thy presence is
fulness of joy.’” As he communed with us at Kensington, and was a
personal friend, I can bear testimony to his cheerful manners in company.
His tall, commanding figure attracted attention, and his calm, pleasant
utterances won all hearts, especially those of the young, who would
gather round him, attracted by the magic of his sympathy. This Indian
gentleman visited the Cripples’ Home; this Oriental scholar addressed a
class in the East of London; this ruler, who might have died a rich
nabob, gave away the surplus of his income in acts of charity.
In 1872 an incident occurred of an amusing description, which, as it has
some significancy, is worthy of notice. A paragraph appeared in a
religious newspaper to the following effect: “The Revs. Dr. Binney, Dr.
Allon, and Dr. Stoughton have been, it seems, presented to His Grace the
Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth Palace, by that consistent advocate
of comprehension, Dr. Stanley, Dean of Westminster. It remains to be
seen whether the Archbishop will invite either of the Doctors to preach
in any of the Metropolitan churches, if not in the Abbey, or in the
Cathedral. The Act of Uniformity will have to be repealed.” If anybody
who read this announcement had been acquainted with the circumstances, he
would have seen its absurdity. The visit arose from an informal
invitation to a party at Lambeth—from Dr. Tait, who was well acquainted
with all the three persons. They needed no “presentation,” such as the
newspaper imagined. It is a curious fact, that, while some people
complain of Dissenters being ignored or repulsed by the upper classes,
when, instead of it, there is friendly recognition, the complainants
imagine that, if the two classes do meet, there must be obsequiousness on
the one side, and patronage on the other. It is supposed an impossible
thing, for a Dignitary and a Dissenter to meet as gentlemen, without any
professional design; on the occasion referred to, ecclesiastical objects
no more entered the head of the host, as he welcomed us with cordiality,
than it entered the heads of his guests. It was an affair of social
courtesy, in which politeness on the one side, I hope, was returned on
the other. By the way, at a Lambeth reception, after mingling with
friends whom I had known for some years, I heard Mr. Binney say to Bishop
Wilberforce: “Are you not surprised to see us here?”
“Surprised! Why, if you were not here, who should be here?”
This rejoinder puzzled my friend, when I ventured to add, “I understand
your compliment, my lord, but at least you will acknowledge, it is
something new.”
“No, not new,” he rejoined, and laying his hand on my shoulder, proceeded
to say, “What is right is not new: is not righteousness as old as the
creation?”
“Then you consider it is right for us to be here,” I ventured to remark.
“Certainly; delighted to see you.”
Some one overhearing this colloquy, observed in a whisper, “He will talk
in a different way in different company.” Possibly; but I believe there
is force in what I have heard his friends say—he was a man of many-sided
sympathy, thoroughly good-natured, fond of approbation, wishing to stand
well with everybody, and for the moment _sincerely_ meaning what he said.
But he was changeful and inconsistent, saying one day, under an amiable
impulse, what it was difficult to reconcile with his conversation another
day in different company. I knew little of him personally as a man; but
as a preacher, and author, I must say I have derived no small advantage
from his sermons and addresses.
Further, in reference to Bishop Wilberforce, remarkable stories were
current showing what a marvellous gift of extemporary eloquence he
possessed. Archdeacon Sinclair told me that once the Bishop came to a
meeting of the National School Society, totally unprepared, and whispered
to him: “What points had I better take up?” The Archdeacon mentioned two
or three. Wilberforce a few minutes afterwards rose, and delivered a
speech on those very points, as if he had spent the morning in
preparation. Dean Stanley told me that when the Bishop held a
confirmation in the Abbey, he asked, as they walked together up the nave,
whether there was any particular subject he would like to have
introduced. One was mentioned. Forthwith the Bishop took it up in his
address to the confirmed, in a way which led his hearers to suppose he
had carefully prepared what he said.
Dr. Guthrie was one of the most genial men I ever knew; full of anecdote
up to the brim. Indeed his conversation almost entirely took that form,
and his racy way of telling a story gave what he said an irresistible
charm. He was far more catholic than many of his brethren, and though he
had respect for his ecclesiastical party, his sympathies went far beyond
his own circle; and with reference to the Established Church of Scotland,
though himself a _Free_ Churchman, he cherished no animosity, and was not
_indisposed_ to preach occasionally in the old parish pulpits. His
attachment to Evangelical truth was very strong, and for any deviations
from it he would listen to no excuse. He visited some of my people at
Kensington, and that brought me frequently into his society. How he used
to talk of his visits to Mr. Disraeli and the Countess of Beaconsfield,
of the wedding of the Marquis of Lorne, when he escorted the children of
the family to Windsor Castle, and was especially noticed by Her Majesty,
and was addressed as “My Lord” by somebody who thought him a bishop; and
of a dinner-party at Argyle Lodge, when he met Mr. Bright, and could
hardly get in a word himself, because the great orator would talk so
much! The last time I saw him was at breakfast with me at my house, when
I think he was more brilliant and merry than usual. He knew I was
entertaining thoughts of retirement, and he strongly urged me to
relinquish pastoral duties and become an occasional preacher. Moreover
he said, “It is better to be too early than too late in this respect.
‘Why do you give up so soon?’ one of Her Majesty’s Ministers once asked
me; ‘you have all your wits about you.’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘and if I were
to wait, as some do, till my wits are gone, I should never give up at
all.’”
An important crisis in the summer of 1872, had occurred in the history of
New College. Dr. Halley from age and infirmities, retired from the
principalship. Dr. Newth was chosen successor, and to fill up the chair,
left vacant by my old friend and tutor, the services of three London
ministers were called into requisition. Mr. Binney undertook the
Homiletic Class, Dr. Kennedy became Theological Professor in the
department of Apologetics, and I was invited to conduct instruction in
Historical Theology. My hands were pretty full, but this was an
engagement congenial to my taste, and for which I felt I was better
qualified than I had been at the time when an invitation was given me to
accept the office of principal. {193}
The question of my retirement from the pastorate occupied my thoughts at
a later period, and I indicated this in a communication to the Church
through my deacons. That communication was met by a warm and earnest
request that I would continue at Kensington Chapel a little while longer.
I consented to tarry till the end of two years.
About the time just noticed, education in reference to public schools
assisted by Government grants was keenly discussed. Those amongst
Nonconformists who were disposed to accept State aid in support of
schools in which religion was taught were regarded as acting
inconsistently with their principles in opposition to State endowment of
Christianity. Into that question it is unnecessary to enter here, but I
repeat what I urged at the time referred to, that Government aid and
Government inspection were co-extensive; that if Government assisted a
school, and inquired _exclusively_ into the _secular_ instruction of
pupils, the aid bestowed was to be regarded as in aid of that alone. The
separation in a school of religious from secular instruction, appeared to
me inconsistent with our duty _as Christians_. In guiding the intellect
of the young, an infusion of Gospel truth is, I believe, of essential
importance. A declaration to the effect that the Bible should be used in
public schools was signed by several hundred Christian ministers, and in
that declaration I most cordially joined. The severance of revelation
from other fundamental grounds of youthful knowledge was, in my
estimation, very mischievous.
Mr. Forster was condemned severely by a large number of Dissenters as
being opposed to the interests of Nonconformity. I have good reason for
believing that he wished to deal fairly between Church and Dissent. The
opinions of all parties had to be consulted, and it was no easy thing for
any man in his place to give universal satisfaction. I conversed with
him at the time on the subject of his measure, and am persuaded he was
honest throughout the whole business. When the strongest feeling against
him existed, I know, from what he said to me, that he gave full credit to
his opponents for good intentions. Of some friends we both knew, who
differed from him widely, he spoke in the kindest terms. When he was
regarded as an enemy by some Nonconformists, I was informed he attended a
Nonconformist chapel in the country during a summer holiday; and I know
he helped the pastor by pecuniary assistance,—that very pastor being my
informant. Mr. Forster never lost sympathy with Quakerism. Our common
friend, Mr. Braithwaite, a well-known member of that denomination, spoke
at his funeral; and an eminent Baptist minister told me of his pleasant
visits to Mr. Forster’s residence.
Matthew Arnold proposed my name for election to the Athenæum Club. The
usual mode is vote by ballot, which, on account of the number of
candidates, occasions delay for many years. But the committee have power
to choose annually nine members by special vote. I did not know fully
until the secretary wrote to me, that I had been so elected—an honour to
which I felt myself by no means entitled. The influence of Dr. Stanley,
Mr. Matthew Arnold, and other kind friends, secured for me this great
privilege, which has been a source of literary advantage and pleasure to
me ever since. And I may here mention, from what occurred in the
proceedings of the committee, as I was told, Nonconformity was, in my
case, rather a help than hindrance; as the club, in a catholic spirit,
desires to have representatives of different classes and opinions
included on its rolls. On the same principle not long afterwards Dr.
Martineau was introduced to the Athenæum.
I was surprised a few weeks after my election to receive an invitation to
the Academy dinner, and was pleased to learn from one of the Academicians
that this compliment, as well as the preceding, arose from the same
spirit of catholic sociality. Nothing but presence at one of these
banquets can give an adequate idea of their remarkable magnificence. A
sudden burst of light, just before speeches commence, has a magical
effect. Mr. Disraeli, then Prime Minister, delivered a highly finished
oration, after sitting silent and sphinx-like for an hour before.
At an early part of the period to which this chapter belongs, the famous
volume entitled “Ecce Homo” was published. It excited much controversy.
I read it with interest and attention. It has long been my habit, in
perusing works unfavourable to orthodoxy, to search in them for admitted
principles which, by a fair application, may be employed in support of
truths to which the author is regarded as being opposed. In the work
just mentioned there is a chapter on what is called “Christ’s Royalty!”
{197} Christ is represented as having established in the world a new
theocracy in describing Himself as King of the kingdom of God; in other
words, as a King representing the Majesty of the Invisible Ruler of a
theocracy. He claimed the character of Founder, of Legislator, and, in a
certain high and peculiar sense, “of Judge of a new and Divine society.”
Whatever might be the views of the writer with regard to the nature of
Jesus Christ, such a position as he reached, seems to me to involve
Christ’s true and proper Divinity. In other words, it is tantamount to
saying that “Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
I remember that at the time, whatever might be the tendency of the work
on the whole, I thought there were in it admissions of such a nature as
to afford a basis for convincing arguments in favour of Evangelical
Christianity.
One evening, at that time, I met Lord Shaftesbury at a friend’s house,
and had a conversation with him on the subject of the book. It is well
known that, with the impetuosity which was so natural to that great and
good man, he was swept along by a hurricane of indignation, which led him
to pronounce “Ecce Homo” a work of most pernicious tendency. Of Lord
Shaftesbury it might be said that he was like a cloud which moveth
altogether, if it move at all. He could do or say nothing by halves; and
however minds of a different order might judge of his acts and
utterances, there can be no doubt that by the enthusiasm of his advocacy
he carried beneficial measures which otherwise might not have succeeded.
When I was talking with him after the manner just indicated and pointing
out arguments which I conceived might be constructed out of some of the
writer’s admissions, he was evidently very restless, and expressed his
strong conviction, that the book deserved to be strongly reprehended, in
order to warn people against being led away by its contents. In the
course of conversation he manifested, that he had not read what he so
severely condemned. This habit of condemning books without reading them,
it is to be feared, is too common in the present day.
Here let me add Lord Shaftesbury’s manner was not always the same. At
times he was gentle and exceedingly affable, of which I remember an
amusing instance. We were travelling together from Peterborough, after a
jubilee meeting of the British and Foreign Bible Society in that city.
He was speaking of the profound ignorance of the upper classes respecting
the character and habits of Nonconformists; and I ventured to relate to
him, in illustration of what he had said himself, a story which I had
heard respecting his father, who was Chairman of the Committee of the
House of Lords. A solicitor waited upon him to confer respecting a Bill,
which was coming before the Upper House, in reference to matters which
affected the rights of Dissenters. The old Earl said to this gentleman,
“I hear a good deal about these Dissenters, and some things very strange.
I have been told they are people _who go about without clothes_.” The
Earl laughed, and said, such a thing as I related was just like him.