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.