ST. MARY’S, SHREWSBURY
Winnington Ingram was ordained on Sunday, March 19, 1884, by Dr.
Maclagan, who was then Bishop of Lichfield and afterwards Archbishop of
York. Thus, the young curate became one of the assistant clergy in the
diocese of one of the most remarkable men of the time.
Dr. Maclagan was a singularly robust and broad-minded man. This
enabled him to preserve his equanimity at a period when there was
very much which was disturbing, and to insist on tolerance when
others were calling for prosecutions of those who were endeavouring
to revive the Catholic faith and practice. Not only did he adopt this
attitude towards his fellow-Churchmen, but he assumed it also towards
the members of other communions. At a time, when the passage of Mr.
Morgan’s Bill in the House of Commons, throwing open parish churchyards
to other burial services than those of the Established Church, produced
bitter feeling, he was one of the Bishops who practically viewed it
with unconcern.
In an address given by him at the Church Congress in 1887 at
Wolverhampton, after referring to the wholesome issue of the Education
Acts, which had also been the subject of gloomy prognostications, he
had the courage to say amid cheers:
“Not less remarkable has been the result of the Burials Act. What
gloomy anticipations were rife amongst us as to the disorder and
scandal which would be witnessed in our churchyards if this measure
should ever come to pass! And what has been the result? The Act has
been to a large extent a dead letter. Our churchyards are as peaceful
and orderly as they were twenty years ago. Here and there, at rare
intervals, a burial service other than that of the Church of England
may take place, but the Act in the main has made very little difference
after all the alarm and foreboding which it excited before it passed
into law.”
When Archbishop Tait was dying, Dr. Maclagan came to see him, and in
the course of conversation the Archbishop remarked: “I hope you are
not a great alarmist about the present state of things”--referring to
the ritual difficulties in the Church. Dr. Maclagan replied: “I am not
at all!” He never was. His attitude towards most matters was fair and
judicial and prompted by an anxiety to see the other side of things;
and it may be that from his influence during the years afterwards spent
at Lichfield by Winnington Ingram that the young clergyman’s own kindly
and tolerant spirit was induced.
Again and again, in his public utterances later on, Dr. Ingram shows
how he readily sat at the feet of teachers of other communions, if
he found they had anything to tell him. He frequently refers to Dr.
Dale--the famous Congregationalist minister of Birmingham--and calls
him “that grand old man of Nonconformity.” He says of him: “He brought
home to me in one of his books the necessity for the Justice of God.”
Again and again he quotes John Wesley thus: “I saw the course of light
and love flow over the ocean of darkness and death and in this I saw
the infinite love of God.” Again and again he quotes Dr. Gordon, the
American divine, from his “Quiet Talks on Power.” Several times he
mentions Andrew Murray, the African Presbyterian minister, quoting from
his devotional works. All of this goes to show that Winnington Ingram
had gained that habit of mind, which can pluck fruit in all manner of
orchards, and understand that there are diversities of operation but
the same Spirit shineth through them all.
It was this which induced Winnington Ingram’s future tolerant
attitude towards the Anglo-Catholic revival. Only a man of judicial
fair-mindedness could have said what he did after the great Albert Hall
meeting of the Anglo-Catholics:
“Now the intellectuals (and I may include among them many of the
Bishops in the past) have never been fair to the movement, and yet
you had only to look into the Albert Hall about a year ago to see the
immense hold it has got over thousands of our fellow-countrymen, and
there is not a doubt that brighter and more ornate services appeal to
many of our poorer fellow-citizens who can be reached often through the
eye more easily than through the ear.
“At any rate, having the opportunity this morning, I would ask those
present to lay aside prejudice and to judge accurately, as you would
judge a case, and, while strengthening the hands of the Bishops in
putting down real disloyalty, sympathise with the revival of spiritual
life in parish after parish on lines absolutely different from those
to which you are accustomed yourselves, and which certainly would not
and do not appeal to you.”
This might have been Dr. Maclagan speaking. The voice is the voice of
Winnington Ingram, but the spirit is that of Maclagan.
Well, it was under such a man that he now enlisted as one of his
assistant clergy at the Church of St. Mary, Shrewsbury. He started
out with two factors working in his mind. One was a memory which came
from his Oxford days, of an Oxford Don, who, at the risk of his life,
visited and nursed a graduate who was suffering from a contagious
disease. It taught him the greatness of sacrifice, when in the line of
duty. The other sprang from a layman, and how it came about can be best
told in the Bishop’s own words:
“I always remember advice given me by a learned judge at a time when
I was a young layman. ‘How,’ I asked him, ‘were you to be sure that a
doctrine was of God?’ ‘Soak in the Gospels,’ was his reply. I find what
he said was true advice; if you want to know if a piece of music is by
Handel, you soak in Handel’s style, and then when you hear it played,
you can tell; do you want to know if a saying is from God, soak in the
sayings of God, and you will know.”
He started out in this spirit, but none the less he admits:
“I do not myself remember realising at all what religion meant until
I was in the midst of two thousand poor people in my first curacy. I
found myself suddenly looked upon as a sort of earthly providence, and
it was a surprise to me that they should look to me for sympathy and
help. I was a comparatively young man, and it quite drew me out of
myself and made me realise Christ’s love in a way that nothing else
could.”
But the actual contact with the facts of life, and the responsibility
which was flung upon him as he went in and out of the homes of the
2,000 people who were under his charge in the parish of St. Mary’s, in
Shrewsbury, brought the habit of reliance for power to say what he had
to say, and to do what he had to do, upon the Spirit of God, Himself,
in ever greater degree. He refers to one of these experiences in the
following touching words:
“My memory goes back to a time, now many years ago, when, as a newly
ordained deacon, I was called upon to watch through the night by the
side of a little dying child. The doctor had done what he could, and
had left the child for me to tend. Hour after hour of the night passed,
and at last she could only say, ‘Oh, dear! Oh, dear!’ over and over
again. I spoke to her, held her hand, prayed by her; and at last, in
the early morning, she passed away. But the worst part had not come.
The mother came next day. She lived in the country, far away from
telegrams, and, though the telegram had gone as quickly as might be,
she arrived too late. Never to my dying day shall I forget taking that
mother into the dead-house of the Infirmary to see her dead child. As
she looked at the face of the child, whom she had parted with but a
few weeks before, a shriek of absolute anguish rang from her lips. ‘My
little lamb! My little lamb!’
“I would ask you to consider what you would have said to her that
morning.”
One of his friends, who afterwards made his acquaintance at Lichfield,
has pointed out to us that the fact of Winnington Ingram being ordained
Deacon in March, and Priest later in the same year, was indicative of
the very high opinion Bishop Maclagan had of him--it was a proceeding
so very unusual that it was emphatic, and at the time it occasioned a
good deal of kindly notice.
The Bishop’s opinion of him was speedily justified by Winnington
Ingram’s success as a curate at St. Mary’s, Shrewsbury. St. Mary’s was
an old historic church, and a leading church in the town itself. It was
a trying thing for any young man to become a curate there, but there
was no doubt that his advent was quickly followed by popularity to an
almost phenomenal extent. He appears to have rapidly made a reputation
for stirring preaching, which was characterised by practical thinking
and vigorous delivery. He wrote his sermons with an eye upon the most
distant listener, and broke them up into short sentences, so that they
could be readily followed. In a very short time he became appreciated
by many people in the town. Fortunately for him he had as his rector a
first-class organiser, in the person of the Rev. Canon B. Lloyd, who
afterwards deservedly was appointed Archdeacon of Salop. Through him
he received a glimpse of successful methods of organisation and the
business side of the life of a parish. Canon Lloyd himself resided
out of the town, but he had a parish room near the church, and at two
o’clock every day he regularly met his curate to arrange the next day’s
work, and to receive reports of the day before.
The town itself contained a population of nearly 27,000. It was the
Parliamentary Borough, and the County and Assize town of Shropshire.
Its historic associations were very appealing. There were a large
number of antique timber houses among them, in Butcher Row, the former
town residence of the Abbot of Lillishall. There were the remains
of the town ramparts built as far back as the reign of Henry III.
The castle built by Roger de Montgomery had been dismantled in the
seventeenth century, but there still remained the archway of the
interior gateway, the walls of the inner porch, and two large round
towers erected in the time of Edward I. Roger de Montgomery also
founded in 1083 the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul, which was of
great extent, and very richly endowed. At the dissolution the abbey
was destroyed, except part of the nave and the western tower of the
church. This was converted into a parish church, under the name of
“Holy Cross.” There was St. Julian’s, dating back before the Conquest;
St. Alkmond’s, dating from the tenth century; and St. Giles, dating
from the time of Henry I. The old church of St. Chad, which had been
destroyed by the fall of the tower in 1788, still had the Bishop’s
chancel remaining. But amongst all these churches the one of special
interest was St. Mary’s, where Winnington Ingram was curate. It was
founded in the tenth century, and was a fine cruciform structure, with
a tower and spire 222 feet high. The interior was specially worthy of
notice for its elaborate details, its stained glass, and its ancient
monuments.
The population around the church gained its living chiefly in glass
staining, the spinning of flax and linen yarn, iron founding,
brewing, malting, the preparation of brawn, and the manufacture of
the well-known Shrewsbury cakes. The presence of the ancient market
constantly brought the town into touch with the County agricultural
interests. Other denominations beside the Church of England had
flourishing causes in the town; so that practically Winnington Ingram’s
first curacy was spent in a position where _every_ problem--county,
municipal, and parochial--would present itself, either in the form of
industrial, educational, or denominational. It was a fine training
ground, differentiating in its experiences from that which might have
been his lot had he been starting in some more rural district.
In the short time he was there, Winnington Ingram put in a good deal of
steady work. His visiting was easy, for it was welcomed, and in after
days, as he faced the grave difficulties connected with visitation in
the East End, he would often refer, humorously, to the way in which
people used to dust chairs for him, and show their delight in seeing
him. These country townfolk seemed to be of opinion that “calls” should
be returned; and, as the curate left them after paying one, it was a
common thing to hear: “You will see us at church on Sunday, sir!”
His hard work told, and in a very short time he became thoroughly
appreciated. In the ordinary way the young curate would have received
his reward by staying on; but from the time of his ordination Bishop
Maclagan was closely observing him, and at the end of eighteen months
took the earliest opportunity of suggesting his removal to Lichfield
itself. That opportunity presented itself on this wise, and--the scene
was changed!
The Bishop suddenly had a double opening present itself. He needed a
private secretary-chaplain, and right-hand man for himself, and at
the same time there occurred a vacancy in the City foundation of St.
John’s Endowed Hospital. These endowments were for the Master and the
Chaplain. There were snug quarters for both: and Winnington Ingram
moved into his Chaplain’s quarters at St. John’s, and performed the
duties on Sundays for the inmates, and also for any of the Lichfield
public who cared to come. As a matter of fact, a good number did
usually resort to the services, especially after the coming of Mr.
Winnington Ingram, for he soon grew as popular as he had been at St.
Mary’s.
The appointment to St. John’s relieved the young priest of parochial
work, and he spent much of his time as practical secretary of the
Bishop. Thus he came more intimately than ever under Dr. Maclagan’s
personal influence. Some of Winnington Ingram’s contemporaries at
the time in Lichfield thus describe Dr. Maclagan: “He had brought up
with him from his parish ministry at St. Mary, Newington, the result
of experiences which had shown him to an unusual extent the working
of what may be called ‘the _personal_ influence of religion,’ in its
effects of conviction of personal sin and guilt, and the personal
touch of God upon the individual. Few men seemed to realise it more
deeply.” “He might almost have been a Methodist in his fervour and
his insistence upon personal experience,” said one. “Yet, in the same
man you had the other side which was perpetually laying emphasis on
the importance of the Church’s system, and the administration of its
Sacraments.”
There is no doubt that these two sides of Bishop Maclagan were
afterwards reproduced in later life by his young Chaplain. The fervour
and the sense of the necessity of experimental religion has always
characterised Arthur Winnington Ingram, and the emphasis laid by Bishop
Maclagan upon attention to doing all things decently and in order has
been apparent also. Canon Petit says that “at the services in Lichfield
Cathedral everything was thought out with meticulous care. It was
especially so at ordinations. Everything went through on oiled wheels,
and without muddle. The Bishop would become the centre of the scene,
as he stood there, in those days without cope or mitre, but the moment
there was a chance for personal contact with the ordinand he would
carry it out on a personal line. Yes, it was impossible to live at the
side of Dr. Maclagan as Winnington Ingram did, without a deepening
conviction of the power and necessity of the personal touch of God upon
the individual soul, and the equal power and necessity of the personal
touch of man with man.
“When Winnington Ingram had been in Lichfield a short time, the Bishop
appointed him as one of the lecturers at the Theological College.
He delivered two lectures a week, each taking about an hour. The
curriculum of the College was practically divided into the students
of the Senior Group, and those of the Junior Group. Winnington Ingram
lectured to the Senior Group, and I myself to the Junior. But apart
from visiting as a lecturer, he was, in reality, sent there by the
Bishop for quite another purpose. He had perceived the extraordinary
gifts for _camaraderie_ possessed by young Winnington Ingram, and he
got him to go to the College that he might chum up with the students.
He did! He played with them at fives and tennis. It was a marvel to
see his rapid play at the latter, and in their Common Room he managed
to make the acquaintance of the men on a personal basis before they
would have to appear before the Bishop officially. Then, when that
happened, and the shy students came to the Bishop’s house, Winnington
Ingram was there to set them at their ease. ‘Ah, we have met before,
haven’t we?’ And a chat would follow before which all nervousness and
diffidence melted away. One of the students then resident, afterwards
the well-known Anglo-Catholic preacher, Father Passmore, says: ‘I well
remember him, and the knack Mr. Winnington Ingram had of putting his
arm round your shoulder, while he was speaking to you. He had the most
winning way with him.’”
Similar personal testimonies have come to us from many quarters
from which we gain a mental photograph of the young chaplain, as a
hand-on-your-shoulder, cheery, sympathetic, always friendly kind
of man, ever on the lookout for opportunities of comradeship as an
essential part of his work, and a real side of his influence.
The life in the Cathedral town introduced him to quite another type of
experience. When he arrived he found among the clergy Elmer Harding,
afterwards Principal of St. Aidan’s, but who later on returned to be
Principal of Lichfield itself; Burrows Southwell, who afterwards
became the Head of Bishop Jacob’s Hostel at Newcastle-on-Tyne, and
later on, Resident Canon of Worcester Cathedral; and Canon Petit, now
the Secretary of the Additional Curates’ Society.
He found himself mixing with men who were members of a very curious
Corporation which was a survival of an ancient foundation. “The Minor
Canons’ Corporation of Lichfield Cathedral consisted of the Minor
Canons and the Lay Clerks.[B] They were not a bit dependent on the Dean
and Canons. They were independent possessors of a freehold, and could
not be turned out except for moral unfitness and clear incapacity.
They had their own endowments, perfectly independent of the Cathedral
authorities, invested in the hands of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners,
who sent the dividends on their investments four times a year to divide
among themselves. The people who founded the Corporation in the Middle
Ages felt that the younger clergy who did the singing might spend too
much on dress and personal life. If they did not spend enough on food,
their health would suffer, and if their health, then their voices would
suffer, and that would mean the Cathedral services would suffer. So
they saw to it that it was laid upon the Dean and Canons to provide the
Minor Canons ‘with sufficient unto their daily maintenance, to wit, not
less than threepence a day.’ The whole time I was there, in addition
to my share of the dividends, I received under this curious provision
one shilling and ninepence per week. We had a little Close all to
ourselves. Winnington Ingram used frequently to drop in, especially
if he had failed to find someone to play with him at fives: then he
would look me up during those very times when I was resting before my
somewhat strenuous voice efforts in that very long Cathedral. The time
he had at his disposal was very limited, and it happened to fit in
with the time I had at mine. So I saw a good deal of him in this way,
and I can assure you that I remember him as a charming personality
altogether, and a very welcome visitor in the parishes around. He and
old Bishop Bromby held the posts of Master and Chaplain, and carried on
the services of St. John’s between them, and he resided in the Master’s
house.
[B] Canon Petit.
“There was one fact which no doubt remains in the Bishop of London’s
memory, which is connected with Lichfield Cathedral. During the Civil
War between the King and the Commonwealth, the Close and the Cathedral
became a fortified Royalist stronghold. Cromwell gained it, and his men
stabled their horses in the nave. For their amusement they pelted the
saints who were represented by the images in the niches in the west
front. At the top of it all stood the figure of our Blessed Lord which
they also smashed, until there was no more to smash. At the Restoration
of Charles II., there were, of course, great Royalist rejoicings, and
they determined to restore the damage which had been done. But money
was scarce and the extent of the damage could not be repaired all at
once: so they determined to fill in the great central niche where the
sculptured figure of our Blessed Lord had stood, and they did it by
putting in its place a statue of Charles II. himself, a fact which is,
perhaps, a practical commentary on what they thought in those days of
the Divine Right of Kings.”
It was in these surroundings that Winnington Ingram passed three years
of his public life; but meanwhile it is very evident that in his inner,
personal experience there were-things-which-were-happening. The young
priest himself told the story twenty-two years after.
“It was a very historic moment of my life. It occurred during a sermon
in Lichfield Cathedral. Now I will just paint you that. I do utterly
dislike speaking about myself, but when one is addressing people who
are about the same age as one was oneself then, it sometimes helps them
if one honestly tells them of one’s own experience. There was brought
to me in that sermon a conception, which I have never forgotten, of
the work of the Church as one vast Cathedral in which we are working,
and which fills the world. The reason I remember the sermon is this.
I was at Lichfield. I was very comfortable. I had the dearest little
church--St. John’s Hospital--in which I preached every Sunday evening.
I was honorary lecturer at the College, and played games with all the
young men--twenty to thirty young men--who were my great friends. I was
treated much too kindly by the Bishop, whose private chaplain I was.
Everything was _couleur de rose_. At that time, the Bishop of Brisbane,
Bishop Webber, came over to try and find someone to take the place of
my dear old friend, Bernard Wilson, who was _his_ chaplain at Brisbane.
He talked to me, but the old Adam was against it, and I did not want
to go. I felt, however, that the call could not be resisted, and in
that service, for the Church Guilds of the district, I was waiting for
the voice from Heaven to decide. An old man, Canon Twells, preached;
I can see him now; I knew him afterwards as a personal friend; and
this only shows how a sermon may speak home; I can still hear his
short sentences, ringing through the Cathedral, as he pointed out that
‘to every man was his work.’ I can never forget the most entrancing
conception which was put before us that day--of the great Cathedral
stretching throughout the world, in which you hear the chipping of the
stones, far away in the distant aisle, while you may be working in
another part of the same Cathedral. It made no difference if you were
chipping a stone in the Brisbane aisle far away, or polishing up the
reredos in the Lady Chapel at home. You hear sounds of what is going on
in this one great glorious Cathedral throughout the world. Possibly it
was that sermon which has always made me write, even at night--which is
a bad thing to do--to many of those brothers who have gone out in the
world. They want to hear the chipping of the stones at home. It cheers
them in doing their duty, and they value it tremendously. They are
working far away, but it is all one work, at home or abroad.
“That was the deciding message to me. In the evening I offered myself
to go, never dreaming, of course, that I should not be allowed so to
do.”
We think it very probable that Bishop Maclagan placed his veto upon
it. Winnington Ingram had already proved his value in the work of the
Lichfield diocese and especially in connection with the work of the
hostel; but from whatever cause, his application was refused, and the
young chaplain stayed on for a time.
One other experience he had which he himself has preserved for us.
It occurred at a time when there was a retreat for the clergy--some
hundred of them--at Lichfield Cathedral also. Bishop Gott was the
Missioner, and he stood before them, and dropped the startling remark:
“Don’t you think, my brethren, that if God dropped His hold on any one
of us, we might fall anywhere?” One of his listeners at any rate was
impressed; and to him it was as he confesses a searchlight question for
many a year.
It is from the pen of the Bishop of London himself that we have the
best sketch of Bishop Maclagan.[C] He describes him as his second
father; mentions the extreme nervousness he felt at his first interview
with him, and hints that while he was at St. Mary’s, Shrewsbury, he
saw little of him, except at meetings which were held by him for the
younger clergy.
[C] “Memoir of Archbishop Maclagan,” by F. D. How. Pp. 210 _seq._ Wells
Gardner, Darton and Co.
“When I left the people of my district in Shrewsbury, to go to
Lichfield as the Bishop’s private chaplain, I soon found myself under
a guidance and training which, as it turned out, was fitting me for
the work of my later life. To go round with the Bishop, hear his
delightful addresses to Confirmation candidates, or see the readiness
with which he always had the right thing to say on every occasion,
was an inspiration. What better text could you find for an address to
agriculturists at the Royal Agricultural Show of the County than his,
‘Is not a man better than a sheep?’
“During the three years I was his private chaplain I never once
received a cross word. In the little church where I preached every
Sunday to the congregation including the old men of St. John’s Hostel,
to my horror I once saw him in the audience. I need hardly say there
was nothing remarkable in the sermon, but what was remarkable (and it
has been a lifelong lesson to me) was the loving encouragement given to
the young preacher by the Bishop afterwards, the remembrance of which
has never failed to make me encourage and not depress the efforts of
young preachers.”
Apparently Bishop Maclagan was very eager that deacons should be
_trained_ to preach, and no deacon was allowed to preach a sermon of
his own composition more than once a month: all other sermons were to
be read, copied, or learned by heart from various books selected by
the Bishop. This restriction applied to the Parish Church only. Every
deacon had to send his monthly sermon to Lichfield, where they were
sent on to the various examining chaplains, and then redistributed to
them with their notes and comments.
“But I might gossip on for long on that Lichfield time, certainly
one of the happiest in my own life. What ‘days off’ we had--when we
got them! When the Bishop drove us all off--and he was an excellent
whip--to some distant valley, where we picknicked in the sunshine. It
was really the sense that it was _too_ happy a life for a man of thirty
which made me offer myself, first for Brisbane, and then, when the
Bishop would not allow that, for East London six months later.
“For years no holiday of mine was complete without a week at
Lichfield, and afterwards at Bishopsthorpe, or at some beautiful place
in Wales, and always I found the Bishop the same. Some men change
towards you as life goes on. I never felt that about the Bishop (or,
rather, Archbishop). There was always the same smile of welcome, the
readiness to be interested in what you were doing, and the best kind
of sympathy in your joys and griefs. Looking back, if I were asked to
choose the adjective which best described him, I should say he was one
of the most lovable men I have ever met.”
This impression was _penned_ by the Bishop of London in 1911, but it
was _made_ during the four and a-half years in which young Winnington
Ingram first came under the influence of Bishop Maclagan.
One other thing he owed to Dr. Maclagan, and that was a system of rules
for the conduct of his ordinary life, to which the Bishop has not
infrequently referred. These were the rules:
I. To devote a fixed time daily to private devotion, including Prayer,
Intercession, and Meditation.
II. To give one hour, at least, in every day, or six hours in each week
to definite Theological Study.
III. To be specially faithful in visiting both the sick and the whole.
IV. To be methodical, punctual, and thorough in all things; rising
early and at a fixed hour; having as far as possible definite times for
different duties; and keeping a daily record of the work done for the
Master.
V. To devote a fixed portion of our income to the service of God and
the relief of the poor.
VI. To observe in a loyal spirit, as God may guide us, the rules and
directions of the Church.
VII. On one of the days of each Ember season to read over on our knees
the vows and exhortations of the Ordinal; and to make the day as far as
possible a day of retirement for self-examination and prayer.
VIII. Once in each year to seek for one or more days seclusion from the
world at some Retreat or Clerical Conference, for the reviving of our
spiritual life, and for higher instruction in the ways of God and in
the work of our calling.
IX. To daily endeavour ourselves to follow the blessed steps of His
most holy life, Whose we are and Whom we serve, and to adorn the
doctrine of God our Saviour in all things.
It would appear that one of the most intimate friends of Dr. Maclagan
was G. Howard Wilkinson, afterwards Vicar of St. Peter’s, Eaton Square,
and later, Bishop of Truro, and later on still, Bishop of St. Andrew’s,
and Primus of the Scottish Church. He became to him the most closely
related of all his friends.
It was perfectly natural, therefore, that a friend such as Bishop
Wilkinson should meet this much younger friend, Winnington Ingram, and
become deeply interested in him:--an interest which was as great on the
part of the young chaplain, as of his more elderly friend. Winnington
Ingram refers to him again and again as “my great spiritual master.”
The one thing which impressed him about Dr. Maclagan’s intimate friend
was his intense belief in the Holy Spirit. Speaking of him years later,
he said, coupling his name with that of Bishop King, of Lincoln: “No
one would have said they were men of striking intellectual gifts; no
one, in all probability, would have said at school or at college that
they were going to leave a lasting mark on their generation, compared
perhaps with their more brilliant contemporaries. But those two men
have died in a blaze of glory which will illuminate the world for years.
“I have a precious possession now--a thumbed Bible with the leaves
almost falling out, which was used every day by Bishop Wilkinson; and I
value that like the sword of Goliath.
“I remember so well that one day, when I was walking in Scotland
with Bishop Wilkinson, I said to him: ‘I cannot thank you enough for
teaching me the lesson of living “day by day” which comes out in your
book the “Laws of the Kingdom,” in which one of the chapters is called
the Law of Day by Day.’
“So he turned quickly to me, and said: ‘Did I say that?’ I answered:
‘Of course, you said it. You said it in the whole chapter.’
“He did not say to me anything more that day, but next day he said: ‘It
was curious, Bishop, your speaking to me about “day by day.” I was so
dreadfully worried yesterday about something, and it was the very thing
I wanted someone to say to me.’
“I have never forgotten what Bishop Wilkinson told me about his
addresses at St. Peter’s, Eaton Square; for he said that those
addresses of his which were sold, I believe, at half-a-guinea a piece
in West London for some charity, and which the whole of West London
poured in to hear, were the same addresses, in substance, which he had
given to the miners in his old parish.
“Bishop Wilkinson was a man who all his life had to struggle against a
tendency to melancholia; yet he had his head above the mist all the
time, and because he had his head above the mist he was able to convert
thousands in London, and throughout the world. This man was living in a
real world which gave him his extraordinary power.”
Such was the influence upon the young chaplain of the impact upon his
character of this truly consecrated man.