When I first saw Windsor in the winter of 1830–31 how different the town appeared from what it did afterwards! All about Thames Street and Castle Hill was crowded with old houses and shops on both sides of the way, and the walls bounding Lower Ward were hidden from view, except where the Clock Tower, which stood in advance, looked down upon the passers-by. A large plain brick mansion, called the Queen’s Lodge, long since removed, occupied the right hand of the road leading to York and Lancaster Gate, while old-fashioned tenements lined the approach to the royal precincts. On the night of my first arrival patches of snow covered the roofs, and dotted the pediments of doors and windows; over Henry VIII.’s gateway hung a gorgeous hatchment in memory of George IV., who had not long before left this life. It was slow travelling from London to Windsor in those days, especially when the waters were out, and the roads were heavy, and thick fogs rendered the leaders invisible to the coachman; whilst deep ruts clogged the wheels and now and then an icy flood came up to the axles. In the town I heard a great deal about “Windsor of the olden time,” when highway robbers were rife, and gentlemen who took to the road would lie in wait under cover of a plantation, and, galloping over a field, stop the traveller and lighten him of his purse. According to one informant, a tradesman in High Street, at the latter part of the eighteenth century, kept a swift-trotting nag, which he mounted after dark to do a little business on the road, and then returned richer than he went. People at that time, as I heard some of them say, did not think of riding or driving over Hounslow Heath alone; but, when approaching that ill-famed spot where gibbets lingered by the roadside, were careful to wait till a number was formed able to defend themselves against the attack of thieves. The sobriety of many inhabitants in the royal borough did not stand high, and at mayors’ feasts the guests did not think they sufficiently honoured the hospitalities of the evening, unless they drank so much as made it difficult for them to find their way home.

Anecdotes of George III. were rife. I heard that he used to rise early, take a walk before breakfast, and sit down in a certain bookseller’s shop, looking at publications on the counter. But one morning he saw a book by Tom Paine lying there; after that he paid no more visits. Sometimes he said very shrewd things. A Bow-street runner, named Townsend, liked to attend early prayers when His Majesty was present, and to make himself heard in loud responses. One day he was running about after service looking for something he could not find. “Townsend, Townsend, what are you after?” “I have lost my hat, please your Majesty.” “You prayed well,” was the monarch’s rejoinder; “but you did not watch.” The king had a wonderful memory; and once, as a troop of yeomanry rode past in review, he pointed out a man amongst them of whom he had bought a horse twenty years before, and whom he had not seen afterwards.

An old inhabitant, who became my father-in-law, vouched for the truth of some of these stories; and bore testimony, not only to the condescension and familiarity of George III., but to the kindness and consideration of George IV. One remark which my friend and relative used to make as he was walking through the apartments of the castle, produced a startling effect. Stopping before the picture of Charles I., he would say: “He looks just as he did when I last saw him.” The fact was that my relative was present when Sir Henry Halford superintended the exhumation of the beheaded king; and he first caught a glimpse of the royal face, because he assisted in cutting open the coffin lid. The face was perfect, and exactly resembled Vandyke’s famous portrait of Charles I. When exposed to the air the dust crumbled away.

After preaching at Windsor, as a student, several times, I received an invitation to become co-pastor of the Congregational church. The Rev. A. Redford, a man of singular consistency of character, who by his conduct as a Christian minister won the respect and confidence of the town generally, as well as of his own little flock, had been in office for many years, and needed assistance in his sacred calling. He won my heart; and as a son with a father I laboured with him in the gospel. George III., who had a domestic or two in his household attending on this good man’s preaching, was heard to say: “The clergy are paid by the country to pray for me, but Mr. Redford’s praying is without pay.”

In the prospect of my becoming co-pastor, the congregation in 1832 determined to build a new chapel, the one in existence being not sufficiently large; and as a sign of the honour in which the senior minister was held, I may mention, that Church-people, as well as Dissenters, contributed to the fund. The late Earl of Derby, then Mr. Stanley, who represented the borough, subscribed £50. The other member gave a like sum. The vicar and almost all the leading inhabitants were found on the list. The fact is now mentioned to indicate the good understanding between different classes of religionists which then existed in Windsor.

I was ordained the day after the new chapel was opened, at the beginning of May 1833. It was a service long to be remembered. Such services were thought more of in those days than they are now. Ministers and friends came from a great distance, and a large congregation was sure to assemble. Generally the spirit was devout. An introductory discourse illustrated the grounds of Nonconformity. After this several questions were answered by the candidate, as to his Christian experience, doctrinal sentiments, and reasons for believing he had a call to the ministry. A deacon of the Church related the steps which had led to the present choice, and, afterwards, the ordination prayer was offered with a solemn laying on of hands. In my case, my venerated co-pastor fulfilled this duty; and it was interesting to me that, in like manner, he had been ordained by Rowland Hill. A charge to the inducted minister followed; then came a sermon to the people, pointing out their duties. The holy influence of that day rests on me to this hour, after the lapse of more than fifty years.

The fresh impetus now given to our religious work served to stimulate friends in the Establishment, who had so helped us in our department of the one great cause. A Sunday evening service was commenced in the parish church, and a new Episcopal place of worship was erected in Eton, where it was much needed. In addition to the vicar of Windsor and his curates, some of the masters at Eton College came forward in parish work, rendering help by sermons at a third Sunday service then recently commenced. The Rev. T. Chapman, afterwards a Colonial bishop, took the lead, and did much to revive religion in the town. But the most distinguished labourer at the time was the Rev. G. A. Selwyn, then connected with Eton, who was afterwards one of the most heroic missionary bishops of modern times; with him it was my privilege to co-operate in the establishment of the Windsor Infants’ School.

lie would fain have induced me to enter the Establishment, but though he did not succeed in that respect, he ever treated me with a brotherly regard, which I sincerely reciprocated. Before he embarked for his distant field of labour he wrote a farewell note in which he said: “On the few points in which we differ, I thank God we have been enabled to dwell, often at some length, without one particle of that acrimony which often discredits controversy, and proves it to proceed rather from human passions than from zeal for the truth of God. I cannot recollect, throughout all our intercourse, one single word which can be considered as a breach of charity between us. For this I am especially thankful, that when I go to offer up my gift upon far distant altars, I shall have left no brother at home, with whom I ought first to have been reconciled.”

I had a ticket for St. George’s Chapel when William IV. was interred. The interior of the building was dark, except as illumined by torches in the hands of soldiers who lined the nave, and by numerous lights within the choir. When the procession drew up about nine o’clock, at the south entrance, the blaze of outside torches was seen through the stained windows; then the appearance of heralds in their tabards followed: next the slow march of mourners close to the coffin, the Duke of Sussex being most conspicuous; afterwards a funeral dirge echoed from the fretted roof. The silence was further broken by the Burial Service and the repetition of royal titles. “Sic transit gloria mundi” came last, and left an ineffaceable impression.

I was further favoured with a ticket to see the coronation in Westminster Abbey. When the procession entered the nave, officers of state and foreign ambassadors appeared in rich costume. Diamond-decked coats and rich mantles made a grand show, yet they chiefly served to set off the simple dignity of the queen in her early girlhood, whilst a spell of loyalty touched spectators looking down from lofty galleries. The coronation shout of “God save the Queen” needed to be heard that it might be fully understood. Afterwards, a stream of dignified personages, with mantles and coronets, issued from the choir and covered the nave with a tesselated pattern of rich colours.

To the coronation succeeded the royal marriage, honoured at Windsor by extraordinary festivities; and at night the cortÉge of the bride and bridegroom, on their way to the castle through decorated and illuminated streets, evoked a rapturous welcome from assembled thousands. But what above all other incidents of that occasion lives in my memory at the present moment is the sudden view which I caught a day or two afterwards of the wedded pair in a pony carriage, driven by the bridegroom as his bride nestled beside him, under his wing, with simplicity which gave exquisite finish to the chief pictures which passed before me that summer.

Another incident may be mentioned. At a town meeting it was proposed that an address of congratulation should be presented to Her Majesty by the mayor and others. The presentation followed at a levÉe. It was interesting to see notabilities assembled in St. James’s Palace at the first public reception by Her Majesty after the royal marriage. Amongst a crowd of noblemen in the ante-room were pointed out, in particular, Dr. Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter, with an eagle eye indicative of his intellect, and Joseph Hume, the sturdy economist; both of them much talked of at that period. Others I have forgotten. After waiting we were ushered into the presence, the Queen, with Prince Albert at her side, occupying a place near a window not far from the entrance door. Since that I have knelt before Her Majesty more than once, but how great the difference between the first and last occasions—the girl become a matron, the sparkling bride a sorrowful widow, and the newly-married wife a mother with sons and daughters standing round in reverence and affection.

If I may here anticipate a Windsor ceremonial of later date, let me mention the royal presentation of colours to a regiment of Highlanders to which I acted as chaplain. The colours were bestowed in the quadrangle of the castle on the day when the christening of the Prince of Wales took place. The Prince Consort, the King of Prussia, and the Duke of Wellington, with several other grandees, formed a group under the shadow of the castle porch. As chaplain to the regiment I was allowed to stand near, and was struck with the Prince’s German accent, which he seemed to conquer in later life, when he spoke almost like a born Englishman. The Duke addressed the soldiers in his accustomed plain style, giving them very good advice. Preparations for the banquet in St. George’s Hall, which a number of people were allowed to see, were very magnificent, tables being covered with gold and silver plate. Some antique pieces brought from the Tower were of special interest. In the evening I joined the non-commissioned officers, to whom a dinner was given, and I was glad of an opportunity to recall to their minds the Duke’s address. This Highland regiment while in Windsor attended worship in our chapel, when the band accompanied the singing, and Highland bonnets hung round, outside the galleries. I visited the barracks, conversed and prayed with the sick, and baptised the children. My relations with the colonel and the officers were pleasant during the whole time that the Scotch remained in Windsor.

Going back a few years, let me notice “Eton Montem,” then witnessed in all its splendour. Approaches to the college were guarded by boys in fancy costumes: coloured velvet coats, yellow boots, caps decorated with graceful plumes, appeared on the scene. The youngsters levied a tax on all comers, calling it “salt,” which they deposited in bags suspended from their necks. As royal carriages swept across Windsor bridge, picturesque sentinels received handsome donations from royal hands. The gifts, together with a large number of others, formed a fund for the captain of the school to defray his expenses at Cambridge, whither he was sent in prospect of a fellowship. The procession of boys to Salt Hill, where the captain waved a flag after a prescribed fashion, excited immense interest, and was witnessed by multitudes. The sight in the college gardens as the day closed, afforded perhaps the best of the pageant, for these lads, attired in Turkish, Greek, Italian, and other showy garbs, mixed with their friends so as to form a picture of animated life, with old trees and old buildings for a background.

I had not been long in the town before I became intimately connected with the British and Foreign Bible Society, which laid a strong hold on my affections as a boy, and to which I firmly adhered, after I became a man. Our auxiliary was a flourishing one. Some relatives of Lord Bexley, president of the parent society, lived in our neighbourhood, and used to come over to our annual gatherings in the Town Hall. One of them, the Rev. Mr. Neal, of Taplow, was a constant visitor. He typified a class of men now almost extinct. They loved the Establishment, and, judging of it by its formularies, identified it with the cause of evangelical religion. They knew much less of Anglo-Catholic theology than of Puritanical works. Owen and Baxter occupied a conspicuous place on their literary shelves, by the side of Latimer and Calvin. The Evangelicals were nevertheless faithful to their own ecclesiastical order, preferring episcopacy to any other form of government. Not on social or literary grounds had they sympathy with Dissenters, or from what is now recognised as “breadth of opinion,” but they cultivated union, on purely evangelical grounds.

At our Bible Meeting, with good old Mr. Neale, other evangelical clergymen were present, also one of our borough members, Mr. Ramsbottom, M.P. (who always took the chair), and Sir John Chapman, a strong conservative Churchman, was sure to be on the platform. I cannot say that the speeches were brilliant, though the deputation from London interested us much. First came Mr. Dudley, who had been a Quaker, but was then an Episcopalian; and, to the facts he detailed, there were added peculiarities of utterance, which gave a flavour to what he said. He slightly stuttered; and once, as he described how the blind were taught to read with their fingers the pages of embossed Bibles, he said it reminded him of the words, “That they should seek the Lord, if haply, they might feel after Him and find Him.” Hesitation of speech made the quotation increasingly effective. After him came Mr. Bourne, who had, I believe, been formerly a stipendiary magistrate in the West Indies; and he had a singular click in his voice. He told a story of some ladies who had coloured their maps so as to distinguish, by a pink colour, the countries where the Bible was circulated—thus “pinking the world for Christ.” The good man’s click told curiously on his pronunciation of words; and I used, sometimes, to make my Bible Society friends smile, by inquiring whether they offered a premium for agents with a “diversity of tongues.” The Rev. Sydney Godolphin Osborne—the famous “S. G. O.” of The Times newspaper—had at that period a living near Windsor, and took great interest in our auxiliary. He was a fine, tall, aristocratic young man, of straightforward character, strong common sense, and a racy style of utterance. He made capital speeches, and in many ways helped on our work; in one way especially, which deserves distinct mention. He thought it would be a good thing to obtain royal patronage for our auxiliary, though Her Majesty’s name was not identified with the parent society. He wrote to Lord John Russell, then a Cabinet Minister (whose brother, Lord Wriothesley Russell, after he became Canon of Windsor, lovingly supported our cause). When Lord John laid the request before Her Majesty, she graciously gave her name as local patroness, and sent a donation of twenty guineas. It is worth mentioning that this occurred at a time when party politics were running high. Two letters communicating the Queen’s kindness may be here inserted.

The first was addressed to the Honourable Godolphin Osborne.

“Sir,

“I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter respecting ‘The Windsor Auxiliary Bible Society,’ on which the Queen was last year pleased to bestow her patronage, which I have submitted to the Queen, and though Her Majesty does not usually grant a donation to those institutions to which Her Majesty’s patronage only has been given, yet, the Queen, taking into her consideration that the establishment in question is in the immediate neighbourhood of Windsor Castle, has been pleased to direct me to forward twenty guineas as a donation. I beg to enclose a draft for that sum, and request you will have the goodness to acknowledge its receipt.

“I have the honour to be,
“Your most obedient servant,
“H. Wheatley.”

This letter was conveyed to me by the person addressed, who added the following note:—

“I wrote to Sir H. Wheatley about a donation from the Queen to the Bible Society. I have received a satisfactory answer, and a draft for twenty guineas. If it meets your approbation, I would wish that the fact should not be known to any but ourselves just now. At the present moment the country is so party-mad, and there is such a determination to catch at anything for party purposes, that I am anxious to avoid giving a handle of any sort to either side in a matter which has no real reference to politics. I only wrote last week from Wales, and got an immediate answer, which I have acknowledged, saying, at the same time, that at the anniversary meeting a more official acknowledgment will be sent.

“I remain,
“Yours truly,
“Godolphin Osborne.”

This letter sheds light on the state of public feeling existing at that day.

In connection with the town of Windsor, let me mention two or three traditions I received from the lips of my beloved wife, who became the light of my dwelling on May 12th, 1835. Her good old father, Mr. George Cooper, had long been a sort of Christian Gaius, receiving as guests under his hospitable roof several men and women of renown. Often would she speak of Rowland Hill, who repeatedly visited her home on his way to Wotton-under-Edge, where he spent the summer months. He delighted to preach in our little chapel in High Street, where the Eton boys would attend to see and hear the eccentric old clergyman, who in his youth had been one of their predecessors as a schoolboy. He would tell Mr. Cooper how he used sometimes to steal at eventide beyond Eton bounds, to attend a prayer-meeting in a cottage, which he could reach only by leaping over a ditch with the help of a long pole. He allowed the good woman who lived there an annuity, which Mr. Cooper used to convey as long as she lived. Rowland Hill liked to hear at High Street Chapel the Hundredth Psalm in Watts’s Hymn-book, and the youngsters who came used to alter the last verse, shouting: “When Rowland Hill shall cease to move.”

I remember hearing how Charles Wesley, the son of the great hymn-writer, visited the town, accompanied by his sister, and spent an evening in Mr. Cooper’s house, greatly to the joy of my wife as a girl. They arrived in a sedan chair, dressed in Court costume. His execution on the piano was surprising; and those who watched his thick, short fingers, as they swept over the keys, said it was miraculous how he played.

Before I conclude what I have to say of my life in Windsor, let me advert to attempts I made to promote intellectual and literary improvement, according to methods then beginning to be popular. There was an Institute formed in the adjoining town of Eton for the encouragement of reading amongst such as had not enjoyed the advantages of early education. A room was opened, furnished with a few books, where inducements to what is termed mutual improvement were provided, and there the famous astronomer Sir J. F. W. Herschell delivered an inaugural lecture, which gave it at once a character of distinguished respectability. I was invited to join in the infant enterprise, which I did with pleasure and satisfaction, and felt it an honour to become one of its lecturers. The effort made at Eton was followed at Windsor. I threw myself into the enterprise, and worked on its behalf as long as I remained in the town. The committee honoured me with an invitation to lecture in the Town Hall, where my effort was kindly accepted by a large audience; a short course on the History of the Castle and Town followed. This, by request, was published in a volume dedicated, by permission, to the Prince Consort. In its preparation assistance had been furnished through books, documents, and advice, by residents in the town, and by officials in the castle.

In concluding this chapter, I am constrained to notice some friendships which were enjoyed by me during my Windsor residence. Poyle is a small hamlet on the Great Western road not far from Windsor, near Colnbrook. Sixty years ago a long line of mail coaches passed every night the turnpike-gate, as cottagers heard the blast of the guard’s horn, and stepped out to see the coachmen, in like livery, handling the reins which guided their teams. Hard by the spot there was a paper mill, spanning a pretty little river, the Coln, which kept the machinery in motion. The whole formed a picture common in the early part of this century, not so common now. Close to the mill were two goodly residences, occupied by two brothers named Ibotson, of an old Nonconformist stock, who could trace back religious ancestors to Puritan days. What pleasant gatherings of congenial friends I met with at Poyle!—neighbouring pastors, and the Rev. Joshua Clarkson Harrison, born not far off, and at the time building up a goodly reputation in London and its environs, were of the number.

In contrast with these bright circumstances, I must notice incidents of a far different kind. My dear wife lost about that time two brothers in early life by what we call accidents; but, worse still, while I was from home one summer, my beloved mother, who lived with me, set fire to her muslin dress, while the servant was absent, and immediately became enveloped in flames. Some one passing by endeavoured to render assistance, but it was too late, and the next morning she expired. Bright summer weather was for a long time after that, to my eyes, covered with a pall of darkness; and to look on the blue sky and the gay summer flowers only made me more sad.