As might be expected, a very large number of stories in the
Bishop's note-book concern Episcopal dignitaries either past or
present. It is unfortunate that some of the very best are told
of bishops who are still alive, and, although there is not an
ill-natured word on any single page, yet it might not be
advisable to publish these anecdotes, lest this little volume
should be open to the charge of want of respect for those in
high places.
How often a story is told of, say Bishop Wilberforce, and at its
conclusion the narrator says, "Or perhaps it was Bishop Magee,"
entirely forgetting the wide difference between these witty
prelates, and spoiling the story by his uncertainty. It will be
noticed that some of the better-known stories which are given
below have Bishop Walsham How's own evidence of their origin,
and it is possible that in some cases their publication may be
useful as clearing up all doubts as to their source. For
instance, he knew well both Bishop Wilberforce and Bishop
Magee, and for the stories about them he frequently vouches.
The Bishop of Winchester (Wilberforce) is renowned for his wit. I was
one day dining in his company. He was to the right of the lady of the
house, Canon G---- to her left, and I next to him. Canon G---- was
talking to the bishop across the lady of the house about a very old man,
and observed that he was losing his faculties very fast, his senses of
taste and smell being so completely gone that some naughty boys in his
house, knowing that he always had a lightly boiled egg for breakfast,
blew it one morning and filled it with castor oil, and he never found
out. The bishop looked up with one of his merry twinkles and simply
said, "Never?"
On another occasion at a dinner party a young man was talking rather
foolishly about Darwin and his books, speaking very contemptuously of
them, and he said to the bishop, "My Lord, have you read Darwin's last
book on the Descent of Man?" "Yes, I have," said the bishop; whereupon
the young man continued, "What nonsense it is talking of our being
descended from apes! Besides, I can't see the use of such stuff. I
can't see what difference it would make to me if my grandfather was an
ape." "No," the bishop replied, "I don't see that it would; but it must
have made an amazing difference to your grandmother!" The young man had
no more to say. I could quote many more witty sayings of the bishop, but
they would give no idea of the real humour with which they were spoken,
so much depending on the bishop's inimitable manner and tone of voice.
Bishop Wilberforce, in one of his instructions upon preaching, gave
descriptions of what were _not_ sermons, before proceeding to describe
what _was_ a sermon. One of his sentences was this: "A few texts
floating here and there in the feeble waste of your own turbid
fancies--_that's_ not a sermon."
The same bishop, after preaching a very eloquent charity sermon, was
going from the pulpit to the altar when an enthusiastic lady, too much
moved to wait for the offertory plate, put a half-sovereign into his
hand, saying, "I _must_ give my mite," to which he replied, looking at
the coin, "I thought there were two of them."
A great friend of Bishop Wilberforce told me of a little bit of
cleverness of his which is worth recording. He was telling a story of an
Italian Marchesa, in which she made a clever repartee in French. The
bishop was known not to be very perfect in French, and my informant said
he awaited his enunciation of the French remark with some anxiety. But
he need not have been anxious, for the bishop discounted any
shortcomings by saying, "Then the Marchesa said--(you know her French
was not very perfect)----" and so made the quotation.
Of Archbishop Magee the following stories are recorded by the
Bishop:
I was with Bishop Magee in a railway carriage once, and he had the
_Church Times_ and the _Rock_ on his knees. Before the train started a
newspaper boy held up a copy of _Church Bells_ to him, and he looked up
and said, "What's that? Oh, _Church Bells_. That's moderate, isn't it?
No, thank you; I like to read the extremes and do the moderation for
myself."
The same bishop at a dinner party had some soup spilt over his coat by a
clumsy servant, and exclaimed, "Is there any layman who would kindly
express my feelings in suitable language?"
Bishop Magee at a City dinner was sitting next to some one who had to
propose the health of Alderman Pigeon, of whom he knew very little. He
asked the bishop what he could say about him: "Oh," was the reply, "say
you hope he will some day find himself in a mayor's nest."
Here is a story which is frequently quoted, and is inserted here
for the sake of the guarantee of authenticity:
The Bishop of Peterborough (Magee), being plagued to go and open all
sorts of things--churches, schools, bazaars, &c.--exclaimed one day, "I
do believe very soon there will not be a young curate in the diocese who
has bought a new umbrella, who will not apply to the bishop to come and
open it." (Said to the Bishop of Leicester, who told me.)
Bishop Magee, walking one day with the Bishop of Hereford by the Wye,
said to him, "If you will give me your river I will give you my see."
The Bishop of Peterborough, being pressed to give a certain man a
living, said, "If it rained livings I would offer Mr. ---- (after a
pause) an umbrella." (This was said by the bishop in the Athenaeum to a
friend of mine, who told me.)
A lady who was a great admirer of a certain preacher took Bishop Magee
with her to hear him, and asked him afterwards what he thought of the
sermon. "It was very long," the bishop said. "Yes," said the lady, "but
there was a saint in the pulpit." "And a martyr in the pew," rejoined
the bishop.
Lastly, there is a touching little story of his self-estimation:
The Bishop of Peterborough (Magee), speaking of Bishop Harold Browne,
said he owed him a grudge, "for he's got all my sweetness of disposition
as well as his own."
The remaining stories about bishops fall under two heads--first,
those which are told definitely of some particular bishop;
secondly, those which are told of "a bishop," and to which too
much credit need not necessarily be given.
Under the first heading come the following:
A certain bishop [the name is given] on his marriage determined to go
abroad, and he and his bride spent the first night at Folkestone,
meaning to cross next day to Boulogne. There was a great crowd on the
platform in the morning, and the bishop asked his wife to wait in a
certain spot while he went and saw to the luggage. He made some mistake
and could not find her, and, supposing she had gone on board, went to
look for her, when the vessel started and he was carried off to
Boulogne. His wife had to return ignominiously to the hotel, where she
received great commiseration from the landlady. The lady was quite sure
some accident had happened to her husband, and a messenger was sent to
see, and when he returned the landlady came in with a very grave face,
and said, "I am sorry to say, ma'am, there's been _no_ accident. But he
didn't look like a gentleman to do such a thing." Of course he returned
by the next steamer.
Bishop Selwyn of Lichfield was once asked how he came to give his
theological college men such an ugly hood--black and yellow like a wasp.
"Oh," he said, "I wanted to distinguish them from St. Bees' men."
It was said of Bishop Christopher Wordsworth of Lincoln that one half of
him was in heaven and the other half in the seventeenth century.
When Dr. Moberly, Bishop of Salisbury, was old and infirm, he went with
a friend to visit Old Sarum, and, as he was toiling up with the help of
his friend, the latter remarked, "It's hard work getting up Old Sarum,"
to which the bishop replied, "It's harder work getting old Sarum up!"
A certain suffragan bishop was mobbed one day in a low part of London by
costers, who told him they couldn't have him wear such a hat and dress.
He told them he was a poor orphan with neither father nor mother to look
after him and see to his clothes; so they let him go, saying, "We can't
chaff you, governor."
A witty bishop of the present day, being pressed to go to many parishes
for Confirmation, said that the final clause of the Baptismal Service
wanted altering, and should be worded, "Ye are to take care that the
bishop be brought to this child to confirm him," &c.
When Bishop Stanley first went to Norwich he went up the tower of the
Cathedral, and, hearing some jackdaws twittering in a hole in the wall,
and being very fond of birds, he put his hand in and drew out three
young jackdaws, which he took down in his pocket and put in the garden.
The next morning he could not find them, and, while looking round the
garden, heard, just outside, some boys making a noise. One was crying,
"Who stole Jim Crow's cadges?" (This is the local name for jackdaws.) So
he ran out and caught the boys, and found out the culprit, whom he had
up before the magistrates, and was going to have punished, when the
boy's father asked if he might ask a question, and, leave being given,
asked, "Can you tell me, sir, who the Cathedral belongs to?" "To the
dean," was the answer. "Then," said the man, "who stole the dean's
cadges?" This ended the matter, and the boy was dismissed.
Bishop Short (of St. Asaph) was much annoyed by his clergy seeking
promotion. One day he visited a certain parish with Archdeacon Wickham,
where the clergyman, as he knew, thought he ought to be promoted to a
better living. This clergyman pointed to his house and school, which he
had rebuilt, and said, "I think, my Lord, I have done pretty well in
this parish in building the parsonage and school." "Yes," said the
bishop, "indeed you have, and may you long live to enjoy the sight of
your labours."
When preparations were being made for the funeral of a former bishop of
Lichfield, a newly made archdeacon, who had held preferment in the Black
Country, was giving directions to the secretary in the cathedral. The
senior verger was standing by with some others. The archdeacon said to
the secretary, "You had better send post cards to the prebendaries
stating the exact hour," whereupon the verger turned to a gentleman
standing by and said, "Post cards to prebendaries! Well, if them's his
Black Country manners the sooner he goes back there the better!"
Bishop Pepys (of Worcester), who was a stout old man, was walking near
Hartlebury one day when the omnibus for Worcester passed, and the driver
was beating the horses most unmercifully. The bishop called out to him
that if he went on in that way he would have him up. The man told him to
hold his noise or he would give him the same. The bishop followed the
omnibus into the village and found it standing at the inn door, so he
called out the landlady and asked the name of the driver. She said she
did not know as he was a stranger, the regular driver being ill. So the
bishop walked on, and entered the drive up to the castle. Meantime the
landlady went to the driver and asked him what he had been doing, as the
bishop had been asking his name. "What," he said, "was that the bishop?
Why, I said I would lay into him next! Which way did he go?" So off he
ran, whip in hand, to beg the bishop's pardon. In a short time the
bishop heard steps following, looked round, saw the driver running
after him, and, remembering the man's threat, took to his heels and ran
as hard as he could towards the house. At last to his relief he heard
the man panting and puffing behind him cry out, "Oh, my Lord! I hope
you'll forgive me, my Lord!" So he pulled up and recovered his breath
and his dignity as best he could.
When the Act of Uniformity Amendment Act (Shortened Services Act) was
passed, a very short service was held in Westminster Abbey at 7.45 A.M.
to last only fifteen minutes, partly for the sake of the masters at the
school. Lord Hatherly always attended this service, but, although
perhaps the busiest man in England, did not like the abbreviations. The
new lectionary had lately come into use, and Lord Hatherly told the
Bishop of Lichfield (Selwyn) as they came out of the Abbey one morning
that he had discovered the true merits of the new lectionary. He said
that, the lessons beginning so often in the middle of a chapter, he
found that it took the reader so long to find his place that he (Lord
H.) had time to finish the Psalms (of which only a portion was used) to
himself. [In connection with the above story it may be noted that
Bishop Walsham How was at one time examining chaplain to Bishop Selwyn,
and may probably have been told it by him.]
I happened to be in London just at the time when the Diocese of St.
Alban's was created, and when Bishop Claughton, then Bishop of
Rochester, had his choice between Rochester and St. Alban's, but had not
decided which to be. I went to dine with Canon Erskine Clarke and met
there old Mr. Philip Cazenove, who took me in his carriage to a
reception at Bishop Woodford's. Mr. Cazenove knew both his Bible and his
Horace thoroughly. Almost the first person we met at the reception was
Bishop Claughton, and Mr. Cazenove shook him by the hand saying, "How do
you do, my Lord, sive tu mavis Rochester vocari sive St. Alban's." The
bishop, a First in Classics, was delighted. [It may be noted that Bishop
Walsham How had been curate to Bishop Claughton at Kidderminster, and a
close friend all his life.]
Miss Jacobson told me that her father, the Bishop of Chester, was once
talking with a foreign ecclesiastic who had a great admiration for Dr.
Pusey, whom he spoke of as _ce cher Pussy_.
A gushing young lady was visiting Bishop Philpotts at Torquay, and,
standing at a window at Bishop's Court, she exclaimed, "How beautiful!
It's just like Switzerland!" "Yes," said the bishop, "just like
Switzerland, except that here there are no mountains, and there no sea."
The Bishop of Bangor (Campbell) told me that when a former dean was
quite in his dotage he had got it into his head that the bishop was
dead. So he went and called upon him. The old dean was very courteous,
asking after his health and his daughter's, seeming to have quite
forgotten his delusion, when suddenly he seemed struck with the thought
that he was losing an opportunity and exclaimed, "Oh, by the way, you
are sure to be able to tell me who your successor is."
The late Bishop Hills one Monday morning was standing talking to Mr.
Pearson, the Vicar of Darlington, when a Mr. Maughan (pronounced Morn)
came up and handed the bishop some sovereigns, saying, "There, my Lord,
is our yesterday's collection for your fund." At once Mr. Pearson bowed
and said, "Hail, smiling morn, that tips the hills with gold!"
A former bishop of Nottingham was a large, fine man with a good deal of
dignity of manner. He one night found a burglar in his house, seized
him, threw him down, and, having managed to ring the bell, sat upon him
till help came. While so doing he asked the man if he knew who was
sitting upon him. The burglar said "No." "I am the Bishop of
Nottingham," said the bishop, whereupon (as the bishop told it) the
burglar used an expression not complimentary to bishops.
Bishop Temple of London is a very powerful man, and when he first
preached in Spitalfields Church some of the policemen came to hear him.
The rector, Mr. Billing, afterwards asked one of them what he thought of
the new bishop. "Well, sir," said the man, "I think it would take two of
us to run him in."
A former bishop of Exeter in old days was noted for saying severe and
sarcastic things in the blandest tones. Once when sitting with a friend
in an arbour in his garden he saw a party of strangers coolly walking
round his garden. He mentioned to his friend that he was frequently
annoyed by these unwarrantable intrusions, saying he would speak very
sharply to these people when they came past. As they reached the place
the bishop to their great dismay stepped out and confronted them. They
were profuse in their apologies, saying they knew his kindness and hoped
they were not intruding, "Oh, no," said his Lordship, "pray make it your
own: I will only ask one little favour: I should be greatly obliged if
you would not go through the house to-day, as a lady is seriously ill
there."
Apropos of this story it is worth recording that when Bishop
Walsham How moved into the new house which was built for him at
Wakefield a footpath which ran straight through the middle of
the garden had to be diverted. The legal time for closing the
old footpath had not arrived when the bishop first went to live
in the house, and he was much beset by inquisitive people
wandering about the whole place. There is a flower border round
the house, edged with a raised stone edging. This stonework was
kept thoroughly worn and dirty opposite to each sitting-room
window, owing to it being used by the unobtrusive Yorkshireman
as a standing place from which he could look into the rooms. The
edging was not more than a few feet from the windows, so the
nuisance became very great.
A bishop of Sodor and Man travelling on the continent found himself
entered in the book of a French hotel as _l'eveque du siphon et de
l'homme_.
A story about suffragan bishops. Archbishop Tait's coachman, Wyatt, was
driving a gentleman one day when the latter asked about the horses, the
coachman saying, "We had a hard time of it some years ago knocking about
to Confirmations and Consecrations all over the country, but since we've
taken Mr. Parry into the business we've done better." (Mr. Parry was the
suffragan bishop of Dover.)
The Bishop of Bedford (Billing) when rector of Spitalfields was once
visiting a pickpocket who had been very ill, and on whom he thought he
had made some impression. One day Mr. Billing saw he was getting better
and said he hoped he would soon be able to get to work. "Oh, yes, sir,"
said the man, "it's a good time of year coming on, just when one meets
so many old gents coming home from dinner at night."
Finally, here are two or three stories to which no name is
attached:
An ambitious young curate once complained to his bishop that he had not
sufficient scope for his energies, and would like a larger sphere of
work. The bishop quietly remarked, "Would a hemisphere do?"
A bishop once stayed at a house where they put out for him a set of
silver-mounted brushes. When he left, the brushes disappeared, and the
master of the house waited some days thinking he should receive them
back, but, not doing so, he wrote and inquired if they had got packed up
by mistake with the bishop's things. He received a telegram next day
saying, "Poor but honest; look in table-drawer."
A young lady sitting by a bishop-suffragan who was also an archdeacon,
asked him if it was true that he was an archdeacon as well as a bishop,
and when he said, "Yes," she said, "Is not that what they call
pleurisy?"
A certain bishop of the old school had a well-known and invariable
Confirmation charge, which began, "My dear young friends, we have been
engaged in a very interesting, and (as I hold it to be) a perfectly
unobjectionable ceremony."
A certain clergyman about to be married is said to have written to his
bishop to ask if he could marry himself, as he wished the wedding to be
very quiet, and did not want to trouble any other clergyman. The bishop
is said to have replied that he could not give him permission to marry
himself, but he thought he might allow him to bury himself if he wished
and felt able.