,1 K\x Ihealagiai ^ . "^ PRINCETON, N. J. 5^^^ Division Section Number BX ST. ANDREWS AND ELSEWHERE BY THE SAME AUTHOR. Twenty-five Years of St. Andrews : 1865 to 1890. Two vols. 8vo. Vol. I. \is. Vol. II. 15^. I. -ESSAYS. East Coast Days ; and Memories. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6rf. Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 35. 6rf. Our Little Life : Essays Consolatory and Domestic, with some others. Two Series. Crown 8vo. 35-. dd. each. Landscapes, Churches, and Moralities. Crown 8vo. 3^. dd. Lessons of Middle Age : with some Account of various Cities and Men. Crown 8vo. 31. dd. The Recreations of a Country Parson. Three Series. Crown 8vo. 3i. dd. each. Leisure Hours in Town. Crown 8vo. 3^. dd. * The Commonplace Philosopher in Town and Country. Crown 8vo. 3^. dd. The Autumn Holidays of a Country Parson : Essays Consolatory, yEsthetical, Moral, Social, and Domestic. Crown Svo. y. 6d. The Critical Essays of a Country Parson. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6d. II.— DEVOTIONAL WORKS. " To Meet the Day " through the Christian Year : being a Te.vt of Scripture, with an original Meditation and a Short Selection in Verse, for Every Day. Crown Svo. 4^. 6d. The Best Last : with other Chapters to Help. Crown Svo. 3^. dd. What Set Him Right : with other Chapters to Help. Crown Svo. 3J. 6rf. Towards the Sunset : Teachings after Thirty Years. Crown Svo. 3J. 6d. Seaside Musings on Sundays and Week-Days. Crown Svo. 3^-. 6rf. The Graver Thoughts of a Country Parson. Three Series. Crown Svo. 3.S. bd. each. Counsel and Comfort Spoken from a City Pulpit. Crown 8vo. ■3,s. 6d. Sunday Afternoons at the Parish Church of a Scottish University City. Crown Svo. 3^. 6d. Changed Aspects of Unchanged Truths : Eighteen Sermons preached in the Parish Church of St. Andrews, N.B. Crown Svo. 3^. 6d. Present-Day Thoughts : Memorials of St. Andrews Sundays. Crown 8vo. ^s. bd. From a Quiet Place : Some Discourses. Crown Svo. $s. A Scotch Communion Sunday. Crown Svo. sj. ST. ANDREWS AND ELSEWHERE GLIMPSES OF SOME GONE AND OF THINGS LEFT BV THE AUTHOR OF ' TWENTY-FIVE VESA'S OF ST. ANDREWS THE RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON' &^<:. ^ LONDON LONGMANS. GREEN, AND CO. AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST le"- STREET 1894 AH rights rcicrvcd TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED IN TOKEN OF THE WARM AND CONSTANT FRIENDSHIP OF THIRTY-FIVE YEARS CONTENTS MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL ' CHAPTER I HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON PACE In South Street — Three Principals of St. Mary's College — The Lammas Dance— Dancing Anathematised — The Hotels — The Steam-Crane — Visitors to the Churches — A Classification of Preachers — Afternoon Services —Extempore Preaching — The Unexpected Bishop — The Dedication of St. Cuthbert's, Edinburgh — A Truthful ' Gentleman ' — Dr. MacGregor and Mr. Wallace Williamson — A Long-looked-for Duty done— July ii, 1894 — A Jesuit — A 'Religious' Newspaper — A Pilgrimage to Irongray — That Abominable Old Kipper — Keepers of Swine— A ' Silly Buddy ' 3 CHAPTER II TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS Bet with Bishop Wordsworth — Illegal Titles — Recognition of Orders — The Bishop's Christian Year — Criticisms — Traits of Bishop Words- worth-Insufferable Rhymes — An awful Pronunciation — Dislike of Rome — The Archbishop of Glasgow — Annals of Early Life — A Suc- cessful Book suggested — Leaving Bishopshall — The Collects Admired but not Imitated — The Bishop's Death — The Funeral — An Expec- tant Churchyard — Principal Cunningham — Professorships Jobbed — ' A Jined Member ' — His Time here — His Death — The Funeral — The Funeral Sermon— The last Whitsun-Day .... 36 viii CONTENTS CHAPTER III INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL PAGE At Farnham Castle — Poverty of the Clergy— Celibacy— A Privilege of the Impecunious — Funeral Services in Scotland — Parochialia — A Popular Young Preacher — Was it Jesuitical? — Lord Dufferin Lord Rector — The Tremendous Speech at Reykjavik— Ze/Z^r^/ww High Latitudes Reviewed — Lord Bute Lord Rector — His Rectorial Ad- dress — His LL.D's — The Priory Excavations — An illustrious Evan- gelical High Broad Churchman — Dr. Liddon's Death^What Keeps the National Churches separate — Five Lies ..... 70 CHAPTER IV ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY Dean Church's Opinion— Sir Daniel Sandford's — Dr. Liddon's — The Lowest Depth Conceivable — High-bred Provincialism — Archbishop Tait's understanding of Anglicanism — Did you ever see a Cathedral before ?^Singular Error in Bishop Wilberforce's Z?/^ — The Arch- bishop's Troubles — Deteriorated Handwriting — Consequential about the Legs — The Scotch Accent— Dux of the Edinburgh Academy — Glasgow College — 4.30 A.M. — Oxford — Turned a Whig — And Epis- copalian—Fellow and Tutor of Balliol — The Glasgow Greek Chair — Master of Rugby— Dean of Carlisle — Bereavement — Bishop of London — Lord Shaftesbury's Gulf opened — Archbishop — Addington Churchyard — A Consummate Ass— Farewell ..... 96 CHAPTER V DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER Dean Wellesley's Opinion — Qualification for the Episcopal Bench — Infidelity — Ruin of Countless Souls— Arthur and Hugh — Could be Provoking — The Finest Machinery in the World Not Used— Stanley at St. Andrews — An Ecclesiastical Curiosity — The appreciative Cab- man—The Welsh Grandmother— Arithmetic of Stanley and Mr. Gladstone— Sick of a Missionary Meeting— Rugby School— Arnold — Oxford— Growing Broad— The two Successful Books— Deanery of CONTENTS Carlisle — Canon of Canterbury — Oxford Professorship—* Fiendish Folly and Stupidity '—Dean of Westminster— Marriage — Fleeted Pope — Perplexity — Infallibility — Magus Muir — Too Liberal Inscrip- tion—The C.C.C.— His Death— Thou Miserable Idolater— The Procession in the Parish Church of St. Andrews . . . • u? CHAPTER VI HUGH PEARSON The Memoir — Sonning Church and Vicarage — Letters — First seen at Edinburgh — An Anonymous Correspondent — Nck that Ennocent — Stanley and Pearson at St. Bernard's Church — Kingsley — Dr. Guthrie — Wonder of George Giltillan — Vealberfoss — Hungry Scotsmen — 78 Great King Street — Shrove Tuesday, 1864 — Sonning — 'A placed minister ' — ' We had Veitch to-day ' — Ash Wednesday — Mr. William Longman's Lenten Dinner-party — Sonning in May 1877 — Windsor — The Deanery — Walk above the Slopes— St. George's Chapel — Lord Wriothesley Russell — Order of the Garter — Stanley and Pearson at St. Andrews — A memorable Evening — A memorable Forenoon To H. P. at Windsor, May 1881 — Dean Wellesley's Conversation — Stanley's Death — H. P. offered Deanery of Westminster — The Graves of Stanley and II. P. ....... 143 CHAPTER Vn OF A WILFUL MEMORY Unavailable Power— A Terrible Faculty — The Intruding Poem — Sir David Brewster — Suggestive Prayer — The Auld-Licht — Awful Praise — An Unblessed End — Appalling Adjectives — The Stolen Penknife — A Lamentable City — Hear, hear, during Prayer — A ' Charity ' D.D. bemuddled — Mr. Henley's Writings — A True Poet — The Famous Author Towser — A Rural Family— An Unyielding Noncon- formist — Onything Tempin' ? — Omnipotent in Little Peddlington — Burnt a' to bits — Faraday's rebuke of Light Talk — No Very Weel Conneckit ........... I7» X CONTENTS CHAPTER VIII THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK PAGE The Church Service Society— Its Aims — Its Book of Common Order — Dissatisfaction with Public Prayer in Scotland — A Striking Prayer — Current Exaggerations — Vulgar Irreverence — 'One Sheep' — Prayer- Book and Surplice unknown to Scotch Episcopacy — Timidity of First Reformers — Courage of Dr. Robert Lee — Not Conciliatory — 'Most Reverend Brethren' — Public Prayer always a Form— The Spirit not in this Place — Preposterous Requirements — Read Prayers — Persecution of Dr. Lee — Attempts to Terrorise — The Personnel of the Church Service Society — Dr. Lee's Prayer-Book — Euchologion — Its Growth — Morning Service — Arrangement of Churches — Private Communion — The Worship of the Ideal National Church — Prayer Liturgical and Nonliturgical— From many Sources . . . 195 THAT PEACEFUL TIME CHAPTER I HELPED BY NATURE A Month's Rest— Unreasonable Men— A magnificent Strath— Ross-shire Scenery— School-Girls— ' Little Devils ' — Imperfect Moral Govern- ment—' Oanyboaddy ! ' — ' Bawth '—Inefficiency of Alpine Scenery — Wordsworth's Resort— Ben Wy vis 231 CHAPTER II GROWING OLD ' Younger every Day ' — A Gracious Critic— The Autocrat—' This Time Thirty-Four Years '—A Wearied Preacher— An Octogenarian Dis- appointed ' Seeing ourselves '—A Chief-Justice without Pecooliari- ties— Julius Csesar— Disadvantages of a Diary— No Eveniiig Work— A Lad that is Gone 244 CONTENTS xi CHAPTER III THE SUNDAYS THERE PAGE To Church — Innovations — Desperate glad it's no me — Preparing for Sunday — 'Promiscuous Dancing' — Presbytery Smashed — ' Aboon a' prejudice ' — A horrible Church — Chalmers's First Style — ' Preach- ing ought to be Uninteresting' — Its Practical Result — ' Middlin' — ' Sham Reverence ' — Where Prayer Goes ..... 258 CHAPTER IV ALWAYS SOMETHING * Sin Tandrewce' — A Great Orator — A Pleasant Marriage — Sure to Come — The Dark Ages — ' The Noblesse ' to be Ruined — Fanciful Fears — Childe Harold a Humbug — The Haill Rickmatick — Sorrows Departed — A Pathetic Memory ....... 274 THINGS LEFT ONE'S REAL LIFE IN THE LATTER YEARS CHAPTER I WHEN WE GET OUT OF THE WOOD When the Ship Comes Home— A Hope which will not Deceive — Troubles Recorded and Described— How They Went Away — A Happy Illusion — Modest Hopes — Great Elevation — A famous Line 287 CHAPTER II JUST A NOVEMBER MORNING A Country Road — Robert Burns — Alloway Kirk — Rich and Poor — * No, no, no ! ' — An Ayrshire Church — An Improved Service . . . 296 xii CONTENTS CHAPTER III NOT TOGETHER PAGE The Filaments— Breaking Down— The Continuance of the Race— Indi- vidual Experience— An older Successor— ' Them at Home ' . . 303 CHAPTER IV ONLY ONE The Judgment of M.N. — A mortal Trouble— Little Cares — Aaron's Rod — A Self-conceited Fool— One's Thorn 310 CHAPTER V THAT PERIODICITY OF SENSATIONS Loch Awe and the Dead Sea — St. Conan's Tower —Post-Time — Writing one's Letters — A Weary Task — Unreasonable Correspon- dents-Anonymous Letters — Touting for an Unpaid Article . . 319 CHAPTER VI READ AFTER A GENERATION Dr. Chalmers — 772(? SoicPs Conflict — Helpfulness —Doctor Richard Sibbes — A Famous Book — ' Reputation, riches, &c.' — Dr. Vaughan's Text 328 CHAPTER VII NOT FOR US AT ALL The Palms of Ayrshire —Always in the Enjoyment of Ample Means — A great Archbishop —Washing the Feet— The 'Son of Perdition ' charming — The Tragedy of Modern Life— Her Last Half-Crown — Counting the Cost — Falsetto Appeals for Money — Insane Cravings — The Duke at Drumlanrig— A much -missed Man .... 335 CONTENTS xiii CHAPTER VIII THAT SUNDAY MORNING PACE A Red Town— The View from the Terrace — A Workhouse Service — An Exceptional Congre;jation — The Hymns and Prayers — The Ser- mon — A Prince of the Church preaching to Paupers — The Text — The Blessing — The Chapel of Farnham Castle — Bishop Words- worth's Ordination — The Voung Priest's Sermon to his Bishop . 347 CHAPTER IX WOULD YOU CHANGE? ' An Account of the Sermon '— ' He had no Plan ' — Diverse Sermons — Preaching to Children— Great Wealth — Great Popularity — High Rank — 'The Common Wretches that Crawl the Earth ' — Things are Balanced — Judiciousness of St. Paul ...... 355 CHAPTER X OF SAYING GOODBYE Half made up of Partings— An Enviable Faculty— Places where one has Lived —Friends Departed —When one Goes— Getting over Things — Did he remember ?— Part quickly ....... 364 CONCLUSION Pictures of Those Gone Before— Froude and the Autocrat— A Flood of Memories — Universal Praise — ' My dear Tennyson' — A Lingering Illness— The Reasons of 'These People '—Froude Beloved— Mr. Hatch's Estimate of Life— Doubtful Reciprocity— The Granite- Edinburgh —Position of a Bishop— The Last Goodbye— The Auto- crat's Letters— Writin;^ a Pleasure— His Books — A Broad Churchman — The Parsee in Church— A Pleasant Evening Service— Another Volume 372 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL i/t^ CHAPTER 1 HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON Standing at the door of the Post-office, in the drenching rain of this gloomy August day, one looks right across the famous street upon St. Mary's College. In that old- fashioned house Tulloch lived for thirty years. It was of that house Stanley spoke when he said, ' I have got into St. Mary's College, and I am happy.' There, through a de- parted summer a little boy abode with his mother, who in after-time was to be Lord-Rector of the University ; and in a grand inaugural address to state (among other life-like particulars) how, as a child he used, in that garden, * to play, and cat unripe pears.' Words were added, which in graceful and distinguished form conveyed the assurance that the little marquis suffered just like humbler people. To-day (so it was) I thought I saw a tall figure, care- lessly arra>ed, coming across that street with long slow steps, and carrying a great handful of letters. I heard the voice sa}-, ' My letters take up all my strength now.' For it had come to the latter days. Never in this life was any- thing more vivid than that glimpse of the friend departed. Of a sudden he was gone : and an alert little figure in a B 2 4 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL short black coat and a large wideawake was standing by the post-office window. A kind bright face : very keen but entirely good-natured : the very youngest living man of his years. That was Principal Cunningham, who came to Tulloch's empty chair ; and who held it for too short a time. I read the great words of Christian hope over each, when laid to rest in our grand churchyard. And now, I have gone into the old house, and talked with the new Principal. We walked together along the beautiful shady path, worn of one's frequent feet through these short years. No man could more worthily hold his place than Principal Stewart : and it was strange and touching to me to see him there. For when I came here, this time twenty-nine years, he was but a hopeful youth, a student of this College whose Head he is to-day. He was indeed the Admirable Crichton of his day ; and no man has surpassed his record. He was the first who read the lessons in church for me : and I have briefly told his story elsewhere.' He had risen high then : risen by merit and by nothing else : and we, who fancied we had helped to make him, were proud of him. But now he has got to the very end of his tether. He appears to me still to be one of my boys : but I see plainly he looks a good deal older. I should not like to enquire what, in that respect, he thinks of me. The world is beautiful yet, though one is some months older than Luther, Knox, Chalmers, lived to be. No words can express the blaze of green grass which I see, when I ' Twenty-five Years of Sf. Andrews: Vol. L pp. 183-4. HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 5 look up from this page through these windows : golden- green now in the sunshine, and shaded in parts by young oak-trees. St. Swithin, once Bishop of Winchester, has been unpitying : we have passed through a summer of con- tinual drenching showers. And these, ruinous to the ripen- ing corn, make the grass over our sandy soil a marvel. The famous Links arc a glory to see. We have had, this week, our Lammas holidays : they come according to the old style : and on one of them the terrible down-pour hardly ceased at all. Happily, the great day was fine : the day on which, from old time, there is dancing in the open air. It is ever a pleasant sight to me, in this country where there is too much work and too little play. Under the western gable of the parish church is a gravelled expanse, on which two hundred may foot it together : the orchestra, in which a great drum was most prominent, was set against the sacred wall itself I saw no earthly objection. The music was hearty : the time was marked : the dances were those of Scotland : the young folk danced beautifully. Decorum and propriety were per- fect. It must have been fatiguing to dance so actively on that freshly-gravelled ground : but the dancers were equal to it all. I would they had looked more cheery. But they took their pleasure seriously, and even sadly ; as is the fashion of the race. Still, I remarked, with satisfac- tion, that when I caught the eye of a young couple, alertly trfpping, the healthy young faces brightened into a smile : as assured of the approval of their minister. I could not have believed, but for recent experience. 6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL that any rational being could have condemned that inno- cent gaiety. But when I lately expressed a sympathetic approbation of such a spectacle, a worthy man, profoundly ignorant of Scotland, warned me that such sentiments might probably give offence. Not, assuredly, to any mortal whose approval I desire. Not to any mortal with whom. I ever exchange a word. I can, indeed, recall a sentence which appeared to be spoken at me : though not to me. I was at a gathering of good folk, interested in missions to people far away. A very self-sufficient and pragmatical youth, of rough aspect, said to another who was seated next to myself, ' Can any Christian dance .■' ' The lad, thus addressed, answered, briefly, ' Why not ? ' The self- sufficient youth rejoined, ' Whenever I see people dancing, I say to myself. You are dancing over hell ! ' Such were the words : I heard them. No authority was quoted ; the youth seemed to regard his own as sufficient. I fancied he was under an impression that he would draw me to take some notice of him : which I did not. I should just as soon have replied to the utterances of a braying ass. This is the season of visitors. The little city is even fuller than it can well hold : the many hotels are crowded. They are, all of them, extremely good. One, of great height (I say it not without pride) possesses a lift, which carries you smoothly up by hydraulic power. Here is indeed a link between this remote place, and the great world : by which we generally understand London. The pleasant proprietor and his cheerful partner in life took me up and down on one of the earliest days the lift was HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 7 available ; as assured of my hearty sympathy, and knc^w- ing that certain folk are pleased with a little thing. For more than a year past I have watched, with profound in- terest, the rising of another hotel : which is, architecturally, by far the most monumental building erected here since long before the Reformation. A great steam-crane seized up huge stones, weighing three and four tons : swept them through the blue sky, and dropped them in the place, to a hair's-breadth, designed by the builder. It was a wonder of ingenuity : to see it at work was fascinating. Simple- minded wise folk, not ashamed of their simplicity, stood and gazed upwards. And to the writer, that beautiful piece of Italian architecture, strongly flavoured with the true Gothic spirit, and towering to seven stories in height, has a special charm. For in this gray city, it is the soli- tary edifice of old red sandstone : the contrast is delightful : but, above all, it is the red rock of central Ayrshire, the very first I remember : it is the red rock of unforgetable Dumfries, where I was a youth in my beautiful country parish. Nobody, save the writer, either knows or cares that these red bays and arches have been carried, bit by bit, to this East Neuk of iMfe, from that region of Scotland, far away in the South-West, which ]\Ir. Murray's Handbook for Scotland very justly states ' is the scene of The Recrea- tions of a Country Parson.' In the old days, this household was always in Perthshire at this season. But there are no children now who must have change from St. Andrews in the holiday-time : and a more than aging man has not the strength for the weary 8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL journey to this place on Saturday, and back again to the Highlands on Monday, after the Sunday here. Let me earnestly counsel any clergyman, placed as one is here, not to attempt the like. After seven successive Sundays thus arranged, you will find yourself much more weary at the end of the so-called holiday than you were at its beginning. But a good deal has been said elsewhere upon this practi- cal question : and it will not produce the smallest effect till urgent necessity intervenes. How wisely Archbishop Tait, working himself to death, dilated to me on the in- fatuation (such was the word) of somebody else over- working ! Yet the Sundays were always uplifting : are just as uplifting now. After ever so many years, it abides (to some men) the most interesting of all work, to preach to a large and hearty congregation. I confess it, quite frankly ; and am not in the least degree ashamed to do so. Last Sunday the parish church in the morning and the little St. Mary's in the evening were each a heart-warming sight : plain buildings both, but the great thing about any church is the congregation ! And the parish church (as the reader has been told) can seat 2500. One wonders, in the little place, where the mass of people comes from. The uplifting in praise of these voices is comely : as was remarked with authority long ago. Many unknown friends cheer one by letters saying they were interested and helped. I never forget how good Dean Ramsay, when he gave me his twentieth edition, said simply, ' You know I am not conceited ; but I am thankful and pleased.' Surely the befitting attitude of mind. It has been said, of such a HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 9 congregation, ' a cheering, but a humbling sight.' Preachers, who can be called preachers, will understand. And never once does the thought intrude, which was once frankly ex- pressed by a very popular man departed. A friend of mine stood with him at his vestry window, and they two looked out on the multitude thronging in to worship. My friend never spoke to the preacher save that once. But the preacher (he was a >-oung man) seized my friend's arm, nervously ; and said, in a nervous tone, ' All these people are coming to hear Me I ' Whidi ought never to have been said ; never thought. And in fact it never is. In absolute reality, you never think of yourself at all. One has often thought that the vital division between fairly-attractive preachers is a simple one, easily discer- nible by the Philistine intelligence. It is quite marked. On one side of that line are the preachers who always interest a congregation, and commonly have the church where they minister quite full. On the other side they stand who always have the passages crowded when they preach. Very few arc these last ; and their selection appears arbitrary. In some cases it certainly is so. The writer is not numbered among them. On some quite exceptional occasions, when circumstances and not he brought together that multitude, he has ever felt, pain- fully, how tired the people must be, and has had a strong desire to beg them to go away. He has been well aware that it was not worth their while to stand, for anything he had to say. This is said sincerel)-. As long as people are comfortably seated, he does not mind about keeping lo MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL them. But he has two or three special friends who always, year after year, draw a congregation which overflows into the passages. This as regularly as they ascend their pulpit. I note that this does not make them happy : it makes them anxious. They would not like it to cease. I know them so well, that they talk to me frankly ; and they are perfectly sure that I rejoice in their eminence. Well I know the words : ' It will all collapse ! ' ' Only for a little while.' ' In two or three years the church will be quite empty.' It was pathetic when Chalmers, on his final visit to London, noted in his diary the signs of his lessening popularity. ' Nobody in the chapel when we went in : but full, with a few in the passages, when service began.' I suppose the only Scotch preachers who regularly crowded the passages in human memory have been Chalmers, Guthrie, Caird, MacGregor. They deserved all that came to them. I do not even name the vulgar and irreverent buffoons who have sometimes, for a little space, drawn a crowd of human beings with small sense and no taste at all. They are not preachers. If a man has this gift of outstanding attraction ; and if he be placed in the midst of a sufficient population from which to draw ; the size of the church is a negligable quantity. Dr. Guthrie's Edinburgh church was small, but he would have crammed the largest church all the same. Dr. MacGregor's holds 3000 ; but it is just as crowded as it would be if it held a few hundreds. One can but say there is a magic about such good men, which is not given to ordinary mortals. And it was only by trial they found HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON n out that they possessed it. Or did they grow up, inwardly knowing what strange power they were to wield .-' This is certain, that youths have gone through the University in confident anticipation of that which never could be. One of the stupidest men I ever knew said in my hearing, ' I should never have gone into the Church if I had not felt it was in me to preach much better than Caird.' A homely Scot said to mc, of one who was a seventh-rate student and a preacher of no rate at all, ' I Ic thocht they wad be stannin' in the passages when he cam' oot ! ' In the language of some plain folk, to ' come oot for the Kirk ' means to receive orders. I do not know how it may be with other preachers ; but in one's own experience there is nothing whatsoever which so strongly impresses it upon one that the )'ears have slipped away, as one's changed feeling towards after- noon services. When I was a lad at the University, the afternoon service was the great one. Then a preacher had the crowded church ; and he gave his best sermon. The morning sermon was probably extemporised from a few lines of manuscript : the afternoon one was fully written, and read. But, as the old Fifcr said of Chalmers' reading (which was very close), ' it was fell read in' thon ! ' The word fell has no equivalent in English speech. I was present, ages since, in the house of dear Dr. Craik of Glas- gow (one of the first men of his da}' in Scotland), when the story was related. ' Ye divna like readin',' was remarked to one expatiating with enthusiasm on Tom's preaching : they called him Tom then. The answer, given with 12 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL much intensity, was, ' Ay, but it's fell readin' thon ! ' ' What does fell mean ? ' asked a gentle English curate. Craik's answer, given in a single word, glowed with feeling: Escvos ! He was a great Greek scholar. The meaning conveyed was Dreadful I Tremendous ! Overwhelming ! Smashifig ! The word means all that and more. And Chalmers' reading was all that and more. The mere physical vehemence was terrible. It is a v/onder he lived to sixty-seven. As for the morning service, it was quietly got through. I remember a great Glasgow preacher saying, somewhat irreverently, ' I'm on the slack rope in the morning, but on the tight rope in the afternoon.' The thing was done under quite different pressure of steam. A homely farmer said to me of a very great preacher in- deed, ' The forenoon is jist a shoot-by.' Scrambled through, somehow. Yet these enthusiastic orators needed it, to work themselves up. One of the most outstanding uttered in my hearing the paradox, ' A man can only preach once on a Sunday. But to do that he must preach twice.' We are much quieter now, in the regions I know : which ap- pears a change much for the better. For I remember when you feared the orator would burst a blood-vessel ; he so bellowed and flew about. A saintly old lady said of one such, quite truly, ' He barked like a dog.' Then, unhappily, men who had nothing whatever of the genius of Chalmers or Caird, could try to exceed their physical vehe- mence. When Chalmers wrote in his diary, ' Preached in the Gorbals this morning, and exceeded' ; it must have been something tremendous. ' I never saw a human being in such HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 13 an excitement,' were the words to me of a fine old cavalry officer, describing his only glimpse of Chalmers. But, as a boy, I remember vividly the declaration of a rustic : ' Oor minister is a grand preacher I Div \c ken, he whiles comes oot wi' a roar just like a bull ! ' The vulgar idea was as of the Sibyl : inspired, possessed. Just look at Sir David Wilkie's picture of John Knox preaching at St. Andrews from the old pulpit of my church. And then, specially strange, this overwhelming vehemence rigorously demanded by a grave and unexcitable race : in all other things distinctly impatient of any display 0( feeling. Of old, the morning service was (as it still is) at eleven o'clock : the afternoon service at two, or a quarter past two. Evening services were exceptional. Now, the ser- vices tend to be morning and evening ; and the afternoon service tends to dry up. The congregation is small : some- times a mere handful. This, even where the church has been quite full at morning service. For certain of the clergy it is well that the taste has thus altered. For an aging preacher is really unequal to afternoon services ; even where his strength is fairly adequate to morning and evening. Each second Sunday, the writer ought to preach in the afternoon ; and though the congregation looks sparse, being scattered over the great place, it well de- serves the best one can give it. The number would be fairly respectable in a small building. Accurately counted, on three of my successive afternoons last winter, it varied from 430 to 480. At my last such service, it approached 700 : 14 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL which is more than the unforgotten ' two or three.' And it is the special service of many young folk who deserve the very kindest consideration : good maid-servants who will not be able to come to church in an evening till people change their Sunday dinner-hour. But, after the heavy pull of the morning church, where the worship ends at 12.30, at 2 P.M. one is in such a state of painful exhaustion that the duty cannot be faced much longer. My last ex- perience made me say that I should never again preach in an afternoon. Here, indeed, is the unmistakable warning that one has grown old. It is a very painful trial to go through a service, feeling every word beyond one's strength. It is awful to read your sermon, watching for sentences to leave out, because you really are unequal to saying them. There is indeed a way of getting over that painful sense of sinking ; but I strongly counsel my brethren not to try it : even if they be capable of it. For it takes out of you terribly : and you suffer for it afterwards. It is to preach extempore. That will warm you up. That will stick the spurs into you. You will be compelled to have all your wits about you. And you must give your hearers the very simplest and most earnest statements you can, of what we all need so much to know : of ^\'hat we forget so soon. The worship will be hearty enough : never heartier. But it is shortening your time of work and life. It is not your duty to do so, and you will not get the smallest thanks for doing so. You will come home very jarred and irritable, and you will find it hard to sleep that night. You will take gloomy views of things next morning. And you are HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 15 just as really bound to obey the laws of health, as to obey any one of the Ten Commandments. There are good folk who fail to take in this manifest truth. Other inconveniences attend this way of struggling through duty for which you are not fit. If you are an aged worker, you will not great!}- care about them. At any time, it is well to talk away in that informal fashion when you are perfectly at home : when you are speaking to old friends : when you are counselling those who have heard you many times before. A few days since, I got through my afternoon service, being dead-beat. I ought to have lain down to sleep when I went away to church. For the morning service had been killing. Some would say up- lifting. No doubt it lifted up. But then it dropped one down. The hearty music cheered some little. An Oxford youth read the lessons, remarkably well. Then, with just a few lines written, the sermon of twenty-five minutes : from a most elementary text, never discoursed from before. One soon saw ten or twelve clerics, listening more or less critically : the younger of them probably thinking that they could have done better themselves. For that one did not care at all. But really when, after service, one of the most outstanding Bishops of the Anglican Communion walked into the vestry and introduced himself in the most brotherly way (the very pleasantest of men), even a man long past the days in which self-conceit is tolerable could not but think that it had been well the Prelate had heard one for the first and last time when more like one's self A drawback of being surrounded by well-bred people is. i6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL that nobody tells you when you have got on lamely. Whereas I once knew a most eminent preacher whose elders were of so unpolished a class, that one of them would pat him on the shoulder, and say, with entire candour and probably with entire truth,' Ye werena jist yersel' the day, sir ! ' Even eminent men are unequal. Untold years since, a man who attended St. George's church in Edin- burgh took a friend with him to hear Dr. Candlish, who was then esteemed a most outstanding preacher. But coming forth, the brief criticism was, ' Very waff to-day.' What tvaff means, I do not distinctly know. But I gathered that the judgment was extremely depreciatory. However that might be, the Bishop came home with me, and sat a while in this room, brightly talking. I have rarely been more interested in any man's conversation. Very dignified and fine-looking, but absolutely frank and outspoken : pretty close to the ideal of what one in his office should be. I will not indicate who he was. But I may say he is the son of a Bishop, and the nephew of a Bishop. Sad to say, his visit to this sacred city was but from Saturday to Monday. He confessed, truly, that so short a stay was ' disrespectful to St. Andrews.' When he departed, I turned up the Men of tJie T27;ie,a.nd found he is nine years younger than myself We were old friends when he went : we found we had a host of common friends. I do not think I shall ever see him again. But that may be a vain fancy : as others have been. Telling of this present time which is passing over, it is absolutely necessary here to take up a link, dropt else- HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON \^ where ; and to finish astor}- which I never thought to finish at all. It is a pathetic story to m}-self, if it never proves such to any other soul. I have related ' how my dear and old friend Dr. MacGregor, who is and has for long time been the outstanding preacher of Edinburgh, wrote to me on January 5, 1889, that St. Cuthbert's church, the huge and hideous building in which he ministered, was to be pulled down and replaced by one worthier : adding, with authority, ' You must come and open the new building.' To this date, I have been asked to officiate at the opening of loi churches and organs, 70 churches and 31 organs : and a wearied mortal must learn resolutely to say No. But in this case that could not be. And I replied that should both of us be permitted to see the completion of the grand church designed, I should esteem it a great honour to minister at its dedication. When I wrote this story, more than three years had elapsed : for legal difficulties had arisen : and I said that the foundation-stone was to be laid by the Lord High Commissioner, the Marquis of Tweed- dale, on Wednesday, May 18, 1892. Then, probabh', two years more (the church was far advanced when the memorial stone was laid) : but it was added, ' I shall ^lope to be allowed to see the day, still equal to a great function : I mean equal so far as I ever was.' I wrote with some little show of lightness of Dickens' constant Please God, in making engagements only a short wa}- in advance : and I did not say to anybody that I felt as sure as ever of ' Ticenty-^vc Years of St. Andrews : Vol. II. pp. 322-3. C i8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL anything that I should not be here when that duty came to be done. MacGregor is a good deal my junior. The consecration fell happily on his birthday, July ii, 1894. He was sixty-three : but looked about forty. I vividly recall the laying of the stone. It was on the day before the opening of the General Assembly. The morning had been one of drenching rain : but there was beautiful sunshine throughout the function : which began at 4 P.M., and lasted more than an hour. Dr. MacGregor gave an address, in his very best style : recalling the as- sociations of that ground through twelve centuries. And I remember well how I thought that never once, in my long experience of the Kirk, had I heard prayer made more beautifully or fitly, than by Mr. Wallace Williamson : who is MacGregor's colleague in the weighty charge of the vast parish and congregation ; and who is, in an absolutely dif- ferent line of excellence, just as admirable a preacher and pastor as the great orator himself ; not second, indeed, to any man among the Scottish clergy. Whatever Lord Tweeddale does, is done with admirable grace and dignity : and the ever-charming Marchioness scattered flowers on the huge stone. The building went on, month by month : the vast monumental structure arose in as conspicuous a position as any in Edinburgh : vehement difference of opinion was expressed as to its beauties, a thing perfectly certain to occur in Scotland in such a case. But the architect was a man of high eminence : he had confidence in himself, and was heartily supported : and the verdict is fairly unanimous in his favour now. He had not indeed a HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 19 free hand. Most of us desired to see a grand Gothic church. But it was judged well to preserve the spire of the previous structure ; and so the new one had to be Palladian. Then it was necessary to provide for a con- gregation of about 3000 : hence galleries had to be. And the new St. Cuthbert's, occupying twice the ground-space of the preceding one, arose in a crowded churchyard. In such a case, delays are inevitable. But, finally, the day of the Dedication was fixed : already named. I wrote my sermon, every word of it, for the occasion : as was fit. For never in my little life, save when giving my closing address at the General Assembl}' and when preaching in Glasgow Cathedral at the Centenary of the Sons of the Clergy, have I been called to duty quite so conspicuous. No such occasion, in connection with the Church of Scot- land, has been in Edinburgh in the memory of living man. And even a preacher who has served for long, and is get- ting tired, could not grudge the preparation, to his very best, of a discourse which could never be preached but that one time. Commonly, such an incident would be a waste of the failing strength. And a carefully-written sermon is delivered a good many times : of course, in a good many places. Even in one's own church, I have said that such a composition is to be held as new after four or five years. Nothing can be sillier than to make any m\-stcry about this. There arc exceptional cases. The beloved and never- forgotten Liddon told me he never gave a sermon twice in St. Paul's. But thirteen sermons served him for a year there : and each appearance was historic. Quite 20 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL different from the position of an over-worked parish priest, who, besides the endless pastoral and other work of a large parish, must preach twice each Sunday all the year round, and a third time each Wednesday from Advent to Easter. Let it be said, that though you give quite new discourses continually, persons will be found to declare that all are old, and very old. And people w ho are always unscrupu- lous, are specially unscrupulous in what they say about things like these. Quite lately, a man making an attack upon the present writer, being obliged to admit that the sermon the previous Sunday morning was not wholly bad, went on to say that ' a gentleman ' told him that he (the gentleman) heard it that morning for the twentieth time. I never contradict falsehoods about myself from some quarters. But I was interested in the statement of that truthful ' gentleman.' I write at the end of all written sermons the place and time of their being delivered. That discourse was given that morning for exactly the tenth time. Wherefore none living could have heard it twenty times. And if the 'gentleman' had indeed heard it exactly half as often as he said, he must for several years have followed me all over Scotland, from Aberdeen in the North to Edinburgh and Glasgow in the South. For a good many of our large towns had listened to that careful composition before it was published. It is too plain that there are extreme Protestants who will always make a statement to the prejudice of one who differs from them in matters ecclesiastical, with little enquiry as to its truth. Such persons may not know that the statement is HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 2t false when they make it. But they could very easily iiiul out that it is false. And men of whom one would ha\c expected better act in this way. I lately read in a quite respectable periodical an account of an incident in the parish church here, which was false in every detail. I once found that a decent man was putting about a long story touching an intimation made from the pulpit in the same place, the point of which was that I called my church-officer ' the Sacristan.' I had never once done so in my life. I cannot count the occasions on which I have read, in newspapers which favour Nonconformity, that I preach in lavender kid gloves. Never once, in my lengthened pilgrimage, have I preached in gloves of any material or colour known among men. Not long ago, I read a circumstantial statement that the Bishop of Win- chester had set up a crucifix in the chapel of Farnham Castle. I think I know that beautiful place of pra}-er as well as mortal can. Not merely have I worshipped there, morning and evening, times immemorial ; but many times in the quiet day, abiding under that venerable roof, I have gone alone into that peaceful sanctuary, for a restful season there : not indeed always finding it. I need not say there is no crucifix there ; and never has been. We were abiding far away, at Strathpeffer in magnifi- cent Ross-shire, when the great day came. It is a long journey to Edinburgh. The railway from Strathpeffer at 8.15 A.M. Dingwall, Inverness, Forres. The Highland railway carries you for long in view of the Cairngorm mountains, where were vast expanses of snow even under 22 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL a blazing July sun. Through historic Killiecrankie : and now from Perth to Edinburgh by beautiful Glenfarg, and the miraculous Forth Bridge. Edinburgh is nine hours and a half from Strathpeffer. It is a much easier and shorter journey from Edinburgh to London ; and that by three diverse ways. But it was delightful to be housed under the dear MacGregor's roof: surely never man was more happily placed in this world. With that immense popularity out-of-doors, more than enough for any man's portion, that happy home besides, and that perfect sym- pathy. Blazing green was the look-out from my window ; ah, those thick trees ! And the little party at dinner was of the men but for whom the new St. Cuthbert's had never arisen. MacGregor himself; his colleague Williamson ; l^allantyne, son of the true genius who wrote Castles in tJie Air ; Forrest, who added the business faculty. How happy they were, in the success of a long and trying work ; how magnanimously each sought to give the merit to the others. It was as pleasant a sight as these eyes ever saw. This was Tuesday, July lo. Next day, Wednesday, July II, was the day some thousands will never forget. The birthday : as recorded. Early, with MacGregor and his wife, to see the church. Of course, the only way in which it is possible ever to get a new church opened at all, is to resolutely open it before it is quite ready. But St. Cuthbert's, only a workshop yet, to be entered with covered head, was quite wonderful. And before the great function, only a keen architect's eye could have discovered anything lacking. At noon, the sky grew black, threatening a HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 23 thunderstorm. Al! the plcasantcr when the afternoon proved one of the brightest sunshine. They understand the proprieties, here. The service was ' at the hour of prayer, being the ninth hour,' tjuite tlic most convenient : and grandly sanctioned. That the regular congregation might not be crowded out, admission was by tickets, for which the demand was vast. When MacGregor and I arrived, at 2.15, great crowds were gathered in the church- }-ard, and round each door. I will not forget the sun blazing on the green trees : magnificent Princes Street on one hand, and the stern Castle rock towering just above us. As for the Dedication service, nothing more impres- sive has been seen in Scotland. Yet not a suspicion of sight-seeing : the multitude was devout as great. But even the great place could hold but a portion of the con- gregation which would fain have been there that day. They were nervous and anxious, those who were to minister : though happy too. The vestries will never be so crowded any more. The Magistrates, in their official garb. More than a hundred clergy, in their robes, walked into church in procession. The dense mass of people arose, as the twenty-fourth psalm rung out : the great choir duly placed in the chancel. The organ is temporary : but it was quite adequate. Dr. Marshall Lang of Glasgow, Ex-Moderator, and I came last. Immediately before us the two ministers of the church. We were honoured more than was due. ]^ut that day one did exactly as one was told. Long ere the psalm was ended, which passed, at IV gates, into the famous Edinburgh tune, we were all in our 24 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL places. Among those in the chancel were five Moderators of the Kirk. Our present Primate, Professor Story, who would fain have been there, and whose presence would have been special!}' pleasant to many, was detained in England. Never has there been ^Moderator who held the place more worthily. I was at the North end and Dr. Lang at the South of the beautiful Holy Table of white marble, the gift of Mr. and ]\Irs. Wallace Williamson to the glory of God and in loving memory of a little one who is even as the angels now. One hardly likes to mention such a thing here. But it was a costly gift : as such ought to be. Not for centuries has the like been set in any parish church in Scotland. MacGregor and Williamson were in their stalls, at either corner of the great chancel, which is duly elevated. The dense mass of the congregation was a thing to remember. None of us were quite sure how we should be heard in the great untried edifice. It was soon made plain that the acoustics were all that could be desired. Of course, feeble tones would be inaudible in a place so huge. But when MacGregor's telling and pathetic voice filled every corner as he read the opening sentences of scripture, and then the fine prayers of dedication, it was felt that the question was settled. The Holy Table, and such vessels as were new, were dedicated by the Ex-Moderator with as much grace and solemnity as the like was ever done anywhere. What one felt, very deeply, was the awful reality of seriousness with which all who ministered did their part. The service went on. The music thrilled one through. The choir numbered HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 2? fifty, and every voice was a telling one. It was touching when that multitude stood up, and said the Apostles' Creed as though each one meant it. Of course, on such a da}-, the Tc Dciivi ' with intention of thanksgiving.' The Lessons were magnificent : i Chron. xxix. 1-25, and Rev. x.xi., and worthily read. The Intercessory prayers were most touchingly read by Williamson. The Anthem could not by possibility have been grander : it was the Hallelujah Chorus from T/ie MessiaJi. As Dean Ramsay wrote, long ago, ' There will never be another Hallelujah Chorus.' Both the ministers of St. Cuthbert's appeared to me that day as men inspired. One is quite lifted above trepidation, at such a time : though the nervous strain is great. When the verger came to conduct me to the pulpit, the brief record of the time says ' Not nervous, but strung up.' All of us who ministered are accustomed to large churches, and know their ways. I found at once I could be well heard by all who were not deaf, without any extreme effort. The printed order gave a beautiful and befitting Prayer before Serino7i : to which I could not but add the Collect for the Day. For it was Lord of all power and might : Jenny Geddes' Collect : which Stanley told me he never would preach in a Scotch kirk without reading before his sermon. The silent atten- tion of the congregation was inspiring. And those un- known friends had my very best. At the ascription which closed the sermon, the great multitude reverently stood up : juxta laudabileni Ecdesicz Scotice reformatcs formam et ritinn. And a voice, loud as from numbers not very 26 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL easily numbered, rolled Eastward O God of Bethel, to Haydn's grand Salzburg. Then MacGregor, standing in front of the Holy Table, said the Blessing. The congrega- tion stood as the procession retired, now in reverse order. Dr. Lang and I went first, who had come last. I had repeatedly been told, by good folk who knew not how unspeakably revolting to me is any irreverence in church, that my text was to be 'I will pull down my barns, and build greater.' My answer was, that I would not tell them what my text would be, but that most as- suredly it would not be that. As a matter of fact, the text that day was the grand motto of the Church of Scotland : the famous Nee tamen co7isumebatur. Most human beings know that the scutcheon bears the Burning Bush : and you read these words below. We do not, however, announce our texts in Latin. It was Exodus iii. 2, ' And the Bush was not consumed.' When all was over, I met many kind words. And the friendly Scotsman came and got the manuscript. It was very different in aspect from dear Dean Stanley's, given to the same great paper long ago when he first preached in the parish church of St. Andrews. He appeared a bright youth who came for that awful piece of penmanship. But when he received it, his countenance clouded over. Next morning, the sermon was published word for word as spoken. There was not one misprint. Only my division into paragraphs was ignored. The composition was printed right on : which, to me, always gives a heavy look. But only very big folk have their paragraphs regarded. HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 27 The service lasted just two hours. The sermon took t\\cnty-fi\c minutes. And all this storj' which I have now related was compendiously summed up in the statement, before the leading articles : ' The new parish church of St. Cuthbert's, Edinburgh, was opened yesterday by a dedication service, which was attended by about three thousand people, including a large number of clergymen from ever}' part of Scotland.' Nothing said of m}- sermon pleased me more than certain lines written to me by one of the first men in the Kirk : which showed how thoroughl)' he had taken in my intention. I omit words of far too kind appreciation : but I copy these : ' So full of tenderness for those who love the old ways, and yet so powerful in its defence of the older and better ways in which we are tr}'ing to walk.' I will confess that even one who has served these forty-three years, and met much to cheer as well as a good deal to take down, felt such praise worth having. I am aware that an outstanding public man, on an occasion when I spoke tenderly of the ways of the Kirk of my boyhood, which I have humbl)' helped, in m}- degree, to change for the better, hastened to state that I was ' a Jesuit.' He ought not to have made the statement in the presence of a good-natured slight ac- quaintance, who (before I had time to cut him short) told me so. What I said was said in absolute sincerity. And very moderate perspicacity might have discerned that there is no inconsistency. As matter of fact, I am Not a Jesuit. But the outstanding public man spoke in a 28 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL fashion which was both uncharitable and silly. What he said (not, I am sure, quite believing it) vexed me not at all. And when next we met, I took him by the hand quite cordially. I sometimes take people by the hand (in chilly fashion) whom I cordially dislike. Let it be recorded that on that sacred ground, Christian worship has been offered, in most diverse ways indeed, for more than twelve hundred years : a longer time without a break than on any other ground in Scotland. One fact shall be related in the very words spoken on that day : ' There is a touching continuity with centuries gone, even about the material fabric of the great and stately church which has been dedicated this day to Almighty God, and to His worship through His Son and by His Spirit. Every stone that was in the vast building now removed has been built into these walls : even as, when that church arose a hundred and twenty years since, every stone of the old church of the middle ages was incor- porated in the fabric that was rising. I know that there are strong souls which would smile at this as a sentimental fancy. To many, the fact is beyond words touching. And the tie is real to generations which are gone. We have " spared these stones." ' A bit of a sermon may be quoted, for once. And I request each reader of this page to repeat, to himself, the unforgetable verse from which those last three words are taken. Very slightly adapted, of necessity. All concerned in St. Cuthbert's parish were thankful, that beautiful evening. A great party gathered in Mac- HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 29 Gregor's kindly house ; and one heard things never heard before : the heart-breaking difficulties through which the work had been carried triumphantly. Brave and determined Scotsmen had done their part, both bravely and patientl}'. Just a few. The writer has no more valued friends than those with whom he had the high privilege to be associated in that solemn function. And not without deep feeling and true thankfulness did he, grown old in his vocation, take in that so the dut}- had been done which he was asked to do, five years and a half before. ' It had pleased God.' And not till the duty was done was a word said to any of the feeling with which that long engagement had been thought of. A needless fear : like very many more. But the likelihood had been. Next morning, awaj' back to Ross-shire, far away. To an untravelled soul, a great journey. From MacGregor's door to that of the temporary home at Strathpeffer, twelve hours exactly. North of the Grampians, drenching rain : tropical. The ways of the Highland Railway are leisurel}'. However late the train may be, abundant time appears to be taken for friendly talk between the authorities of each little station, and those in charge of the rolling stock. It is pleasing, when you are not in haste, to find that the railway serves the end of maintaining brotherly relations between human beings. And the little station, where not a soul got up or down, must be lonely to abide in. But I tried to make it a resting day, and I read over my sermon in print with at least as much interest as any one else ever did. 30 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL That discourse was received with extraordinary favour. Its aim had indeed been to conciliate. It did not how- ever please everybody. For in a few days an anonymous soul sent me a * religious ' newspaper, in which I beheld myself described as ' one of the arch-ritualists of Scot- land.' It was sad to see the bitterness of spirit which the writer of the little document showed. But I am always willing to learn : and while not regarding general abuse, I was struck by a statement of fact. It was said that my sermon was ' without Christ.' Had the case been so, I should indeed have been penitent. But glancing through the composition, I found the Blessed Saviour expressly referred to fifteen times. And I really think that the entire sermon was saturated with one great remembrance. I will confess, at once, that one accusation, three times made with incredible acerbity, is absolutely true. It is, that I am an ' old man.' So I am. It does not vex me in the very least degree to acknowledge the fact. And I re- member it every day of my life. Since its consecration, the great St. Cuthbert's has never been opened for worship without being densely crowded. It is magnificently serving the purpose for which it was built. And its uplifted ritual is warmly approved by all whose approval is worth having. It is not merely that propriety and dignity characterise all the ways of the stately church. But the warmth of spiritual heart and life is there. I was greatly touched when a youth, belonging to St. Cuthbert's congregation, brought me, as a memorial of HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 31 that opening clay, a beautiful bit of carving in oak, of his own handiwork. It is the head, in profile, of Cardinal Newman : a perfect likeness. The youth would not tell me hi.s name. But his work is placed where I see it continually. A good many incidents have occurred throughout this month of August, now drawing to its close, which give one heart to go on, though sometimes wearily. The history of the time says, ' These things should cheer more than they do. But they only make one feel that God can take a very poor weak soul, and make it somewhat helpful to people far better than itself Which was written in very sincere humility. Quite the outstanding fact must have its record here. It brings the record very near to the present hour. For this is Monday, August 27, 1894. And the letter is dated August 21. I do not give the whole of it. It is from the Bishop of Winchester : who had made a raid into Scotland to his old friend Sir Emilius Laurie : once Bayley, Rector of St. George's, Bloomsbury, and designated by Lord Palmerston to be Bishop of Worcester. The letter was written at Maxwelton : whose braes are generally known to be ' bonny.' ' Where do you think I went yesterday ? Over the Rootin' Bridge to Irongray ! Yes, it was quite a pilgrimage : and I took it all into my eye and heart, not without emotion. The minister, who has been there ever since you left, was very kind to Laurie and myself. The drawing-room is a pretty little room. The study took me most. But a window 32 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL looking into the garden has been added since you left. I saw the grand beech-trees— one wofully maimed last winter : the one which has your initials on it. The stable, where was the horse on whose patient head you wrote once, is pulled down. Then to the church : which is like most Scotch churches : airtight, watertight, just tolerable and no more. The vestry I regarded with peculiar interest. How small the Holy Table looked ! The pretty churchyard is made hideous by deformed and incongruous monuments. Of course I saw Jeanie Walker's grave,^ and thought Sir Walter Scott's epi- taph a little stilted. The view up the valley is serene and lovely. ' But the atmosphere of that place glowed and sparkled with you. I am not prepared to say that it quite came up to my expectations. The glamour of your style puts it a little out of perspective. All is so small. The garden so tiny. I think of the cat which might be swung in the domain. But I daresay it looked big to you then : and it was big enough for you to delight orbis teryanu)i from, and to let me and others find you out.' I am a little ashamed to give the picturesque and over- kind words of the kindest and most sympathetic friend I have found in this world ; or ever can find. The very best of men tends to think others as good as himself. Near thirty-six years have gone since I left that sweet place, which a predecessor there called TIic Land of GosJien. Even Carlyle, not easily pleased : ' I know Irongray well : ' Jeanie Deans : Helen Walker. HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON ^3 a beautiful place' ' And it was all I had, or for a while ex- pected ever to have. Wherefore one made much of it : made believe some little. The garden, after all, is three quarters of an acre, surely. The glebe is a respectable estate of twelve acres. And such a place, as Mr. Dorrit remarked of the Marshalsea, though it seem small at first, grows larger when you know it very well. Very seldom have I seen the place since I came away ; and never have I preached in the little kirk at all. ' Boyd was once minister of Irongray, who is now in St. Andrews : Boyd, that writes : ' such were the further words of the great Thomas Carlyle, addressing the humble author of this page. I have related the facts : in so far as I well could, elsewhere. And how gentle, and kind, the austere sage could be ! FatJierly is the word to express what I found him. I fancy no mortal could express more keen dislike, and contempt, in words. Some of the smartest were spoken, never written. Few abide more in one's memory than his allusion to one of the mighty of this world, who, instead of letting the dust return to the earth as it was, had fought against that law, and caused that he should be embalmed, at great cost. What, said the philosopher, in scorn : What, that abominable old Kipper I A kippered salmon is one which by skilful use of salt and pepper, and divers spices, is preserved for future use. The imagery was singularly unpleasant. Two facts more, in our real and simple life. The lamp-posts of the city have just been painted ' Twenty-five Years of St. Andrews: Vol. II. p. 119. D 34 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Venetian red : the upper part white. The effect is bright and cheerful. They were dust-coloured before. Now you remark them : which before you did not. They are a sensible pleasure to some quiet souls. Further, this day, a man of striking aspect, a stranger in the place, accosted the writer, hat in hand : and said, * Are you A. K. H. B. ? ' ' Such indeed are my initials,' was the reply. Then the stranger uttered words of cheering tone : adding, ' How am I to come to know you better ? ' Well, if you attend church regularly, you will hear most of what I have got to say.' The grave answer was, * Forty years ago I heard all that can be said : and you can add nothing to it.' His name, he added, was ' of no conse- quence.' So we, together for that minute, parted for ever more. It may here be said, that it is extremely uncertain how preaching may actually impress people. That unknown friend, had he come to church just for once, might not have liked me at all. Indeed, a sermon may give great offence, where no offence is intended. A youth, preaching in a parish church which was once my own, took for his subject the famous Swine that perished in the lake. He likened the possessors of those animals to men who cherish and practise sins, knowing them to be such. Then, address- ing the congregation, he said, ' I fear, much, that I am addressing "keepers of swine."' The good old clergyman who told me the story, forty years since, went on, solemnly, ' You know, everybody there keeps his pig : and they took it personal {sic), and thought of ducking him in the river.' HOW ST. ANDREWS GOES ON 35 If the )'outh had possessed much discretion, he would have avoided the sentence which wounded susceptible natures. l>ut his lack of judgment has recalled another case. Two friends of mine, eminent ministers of the Kirk, were walking along Princes Street in Edinburgh, when they met another : a saintly man. He began at once to speak of the great work then going on in the beautiful city through the agency of certain zealous but quite illiterate evangelists. ' All humbug,' said one of m}' friends : to the horror of the saintly soul. The other spake no word. But by intently gazing with his eyes, and by lively gestures with his hands, he conveyed the impression of a warm sympathy with the tale which was being told. The brief talk past, the speakers and the actor parted. Whenever it was certain the saintly man was beyond hearing, m}- friend, hitherto silent, opened his lips and spake. The words were but two : ' Silly buddy ! ' It was not entirely fair. That graceful pantomime distinctly tended to mislead. D 2 36 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL CHAPTER II TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS Never but once in my life have I made a bet. It was with Bishop Wordsworth. The dear and saintly man records, in his autobiography, that when he went to Oxford he made a resolution, and kept it, never to have a pack of cards in his rooms. And betting, he adds, was practically unknown. Yet, when an aged Bishop, vene- rated of all, he insisted upon this transaction with a minister of the Kirk, just twenty years his junior. The bet was upon an event in the ecclesiastical world of England : concerning which, mainly through the informa- tion supplied by the beloved Hugh Pearson, I sometimes evinced a degree of accurate knowledge which startled the Bishop. The admirable Prelate lost. The amount which I won was not great : but, being somewhat increased, it bought a very pleasing photograph of that good man in his robes, and put it in a pretty oak frame. For many years, it has stood on the mantelpiece in my study : and it will do so as long as I can keep it there. Beneath the picture is written, in the beautiful handwriting which abode to the very end, diaries WordswortJi, Bishop of St. Andrews. He always wrote the Saint in that way. I TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 2>7 That title was one of the very few points on which the Bishop and I did not entirely agree. And his position was singular, on this question. He said that as we in the National Church had no Bishops, it was for our advantage that the Bishops of the eminently-respectable Episcopal Communion should assume territorial titles : thus prevent- ing their being appropriated by Rome. But Rome cared not at all for any such thing. In a little, the Pope an- nounced that he had restored the Hierarchy, as before the Scottish Reformation : and appointed an Archbishop of St. Andrews. To my surprise, Bishop Wordsworth came to me and proposed that we should get up an indignation meeting, and protest against this insolent usurpation. ' It's an illegal title,' said the Bishop, with great animation. I see the beautiful and refined face flushed with unwonted wrath. ' So it is,' was my reply. ' And so is another too, connected with St. Andrews. Try to get presented at Court under either, and you will find out' Then I ven- tured to add, that in these days it was undesirable to raise such questions. Let the Pope arrange his own Church as he thought desirable : no Protestant cared a straw, no Protestant was a penny the worse. There was no need to inform the Bishop that the Pope did not recognise any of us as within the Fold of Christ. To him, the orders of the Archbishop of Canterbury are even as those of that Ayrshire country minister concerning whom a Scottish Bishop, the son of a minister of an extremely small dis- senting sect, said to a popular Earl, ' Your lordship might just as well receive the Holy Communion from your 38 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL butler, as from your parish minister.' In the presence of the ancient Church from which we all originated, all clerical persons not in communion with Rome stand on exactly the same level, with no credentials at all. One would think that this needed not to be said : to any educated person. But quite lately, a devout woman, a member of the Episcopal Communion in Scotland, said to me that her co-religionists had the advantage over us in the National Kirk. ' The Roman Catholic Church recognises our orders : it does not recognise yours.' I hastened to correct the singular misapprehension. But it was excusable in her. For Lord Lyndhurst, being Lord Chancellor, contradicting old Lord Eldon, made exactly the same statement as to Rome's recognition of the Anglican Church. And the Chancellor's adoring biographer. Sir Theodore Martin, seemed to share the belief. Lord Lynd- hurst was not a theologian : though he was Second Wrangler, and a marvel of acute ability. But that the Lord Rector, for three years, of the University of St. Andrews, should know no better, was sad indeed. The Decrees and Canons of Trent form a volume which is by no means recondite. I doubt not the University library has various copies of it. And whoever studies it may know what is the authoritative teaching of the Church of Rome just as well as the Pope knows it. It was a touching thing to me that when the Bishop called at this house, he always left a card on which he had written Bishop WordszvortJi : thus recognising the legal situation. The card he left elsewhere was engraved : TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 39 Bishop of St. Ancircxvs, Diinkcld, and Dunblane. For a good many years, in writing to him, I gave his legal desig- nation. But even a Roman Bishop addresses me as the Reverend Doctor: though in his belief I am not such. And Cardinal Manning, till he warmed up to jny dearest Charles, wrote my dear Bishop to one whom he could not regard as a Bishop at all. Thinking, too, of the venerable and saintly man himself, deserving any possible honour : thinking of his invariable kindness and sympathy : in the latter days, whenever he was in England, I addressed my letters to the Bishop of St. Andrews. Indeed, in Scot- land, life would not be tolerable if we always put in words what is our actual opinion. Very few, indeed, of any Church, have been to me what that revered and be- loved man was : and in this house he was always treated exactly as if a Bishop of the Church of England. But, as the Pope said to the Bishop of Gibraltar that he under- stood he was in that diocese, so Bishop Wordsworth fre- quently stated that he knew he was a Dissenter in Scot- land. Once, coming home with him from a meeting for a benevolent purpose, I expressed my regret that not one of our good dissenting ministers had been present. 'No,' replied the Bishop, sorrowfully : ' I was the only dissent- ing fellow there.' Even such were his words. He was well aware that the representatives of the National Church in this city held him in at least as reverent affection as any mortal in his own Communion. That dignified portrait, in the historic sleeves (very recently known in Scotland), is not the only memorial 40 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL in this room of the dear Father in God departed. Close to my left hand is another : much prized, and very pathetic to see. It is the copy of the Christian Year which lay upon his table, and was looked at daily for sixty-three years. The Bishop left among other directions : ' Gift Book to be presented after my death in memoriam : To Doctor Boyd : Christian Year, 1828.' On the fly leaf is written: ' C. Wordsworth: From my dear Father : 1829.' The Bishop died on Monday, December 5, 1892. The book came to me on December 13. And it lies on my table just where it lay on his, so long. It is covered with an- notations, of extraordinary interest : all in the clear beautiful handwriting. ' First came out June (July) 23, 1827, when the author was in his thirty-fifth year.' Then, ' The first Edition 500 copies. The second, November 1827, 750 copies. The third, March 1828, 1250 copies. Total number of Editions, 140. Of copies 305,500, between 1827 and April 1873. 95 Editions in the author's life- time.' The volume I possess is of the Fourth Edition. On another page, 'It is worthy of remark, that Heber's Hymns (1828), and James Montgomery's (1826-27), were published at the same time as this volume.' A quotation from Dean Stanley : Keble, ' who, if by his Prose, he represents an Ecclesiastical party, by his Poetry belongs to the whole of English Christendom.' On another page, ' After the Second Edition, a further addition was made concerning the so-called State services, the Form of Prayer to be used at Sea, and on Ordination : Six in all. There was also added an Index of first lines.' TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 41 The remarks which are appended to nearly every poem show a keen critical faculty : and certainly the severe taste of the scholar who wrote Latin verse as did hardly one of his generation is continually apparent. Not all that is said is praise : though praise is often expressed very warmly. Vix satis bene occwrs, more than once. Of the famous poem for Advent Sunday : ' A noble composition : combining the sublimity of a chorus of yEschylus with the grace and rotimdity of the most perfect of Horace's Odes.' But just the Sunday after : ' Ends rather abruptly ; and the last two stanzas do not fit in well with what goes before, nor indeed with the services of this Sunday. They belong rather to the 3rd of Advent : which again has no treatment that is sufficiently appropriate.' Christmas Day : ' Scarcely equal to the occasion.' St. Stephen's Day : ' Scarcely successful.' St. John's Day : ' Disappointing as a tribute to St. John : though with touches of much beauty.' Circumcision : ' Eather stiff and prosaic' Second Sunday after Epiphany : ' An exquisite poem : as Arch- bishop Trench, my old class-fellow at Harrow, has justly called it.' Yes : old class-fellow. In a pugilistic encounter, the future Bishop knocked out certain of the future Arch- bishop's teeth. Let me add only St. Andrew's Day : ' Tender and elegant : but rather deficient in power and concentration.' Bishop Wordsworth turned into exquisite Latin verse certain portions of Keble's classical work : Qua; ad cleruni pertinent : necnon carmen matutinum et vespertinuni. The dainty volume, bound in white and red, contains also 42 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Bishop Ken's Morning, Evening, and Midnight Hymns, The Preface is dated Sand. Atidreapoli : I)i Fest. S. Andrecu, MDCCCLXXX. It had been well, if the Bishop had written the inscription for the spot where Archbishop Sharp died. And, on the fly-leaf, in the familiar cali- graphy, Viro Reverendo Andr. K. H. Boyd, S. T. P. hoc quantulumcutique bonce voluntatis pignus Interpres dedit in fest. Nat. Dom. 1880. One does not presume to criticise one of the chiefest scholars of his day. Only it may be confessed that to some it appeared as though the dancing Horatian verse hardly beseemed the solemn subjects treated. But I fancy Bishop Wordsworth would not have condescended to imitate the rhymed Latin verses of mediaeval days. He was extremely particular in such things. When a Scotch Bishop of Irish Presbyterian up-bringing began to sign his name in a new fashion, all his own, some here remember how Bishop Wordsworth said, ' I don't mind about his presumption : you must settle about that : but the signature is dog-Latin.' The birthday was August 22. I never forgot it while he lived : saw him if here, wrote to him if elsewhere. The last he saw here was Monday, August 22, 1892. He was eighty-six. His look, and his little ways, come back vividly : the beautiful refined face : the stately presence. He was six feet four inches in his prime. There is not a man on the English Bench who looks every inch the Prince of the Church more fully than did Bishop Wordsworth. I see him walk into this room with a hearty salutation : bent a good deal towards the end, and with the great hat TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 43 on his head till he sat him down. I sec him playing tennis with Dr. MacGregor: flying about like a boy, though close on fourscore : and hopelessly smashing the presbyter. I see him examining the pulpit of the parish church the day before he preached from it : complaining of the narrow door, but saying ' I will steer in.' Fear had been expressed as to tearing the lawn. One present, a Wordsworthian, said ' Down to the vale this water steers.' He always met with an approving smile any quotation of his uncle's words. I see him sitting at the dinner-table, suave and cheerful : always the velvet cap in the latter years. I see him lying on the sofa in his library towards the end : often in great pain : but seeming to forget it as he roused him- self to lively talk : sometimes, with fatherly affection, holding one's hand for a while. I hear him say, of one he had met here : ' I was interested in your friend : a respectable dull man.' I see one who was in a few days to be Moderator of the Kirk (it was not myself), going down on his knees and asking the Bishop's blessing. A tried man, yet hope- ful and cheerful : his faith in God was very real and strong. Vividly I recall his miscalculation of the profits yielded by the humble writer's many volumes : he had thought thousands where hundreds were all : and very good too. He did not wholly like Liddon : though he acknow- ledged the groat preacher's power. His usual remark was that he wondered such solid preaching was so popular. One of our most distinguished Professors, on the other hand, thought Liddon extremely tiresome : declaring of a sermon on Eternity which he heard at Oxford, that he 44 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL believed Liddon wanted to give people an idea how long eternity would be. Then the saintly Liddon did not like the Bishop ; any more than he liked Arch- bishop Tait. I never forget how Liddon implied the lowest point to which humanity can sink. ' I don't regard the Archbishop as a clergyman at all, but just as a Scotch lawyer.' On a recent occasion, I deemed it fit to convey this humbling fact to a specially brilliant and renowned Chief-Justice. But thegreat Judge, far from being humbled in the earth, smiled benignantly ; and spoke of the un- reasonable prejudices of the best of men. More than once, Liddon said, with apparent seriousness, that it was doubtful whether Wordsworth was a Bishop at all. The reason was, that (under very pressing circumstances, of which the Bishop often spoke to me quite frankly) he was elected to the office by his own vote. It was suggested that even sup- posing this to be uncanonical, surely consecration, conveyed with assured validity, made everything right. But Liddon shook a doubtful head. No human being, who knew Bishop Wordsworth even a little, could for one moment have re- garded him as a self-seeker. But for an adherence to principle which to many appeared Quixotic, he might have been anywhere. Vividly it comes to me how one day when I was sitting with the inestimable Dean Church of St. Paul's (who put away from himself the very highest place, for which none but himself could have called him unfit), the Dean said, ' When I was a young man, if you had asked any well-informed person who was the coming man of the Church of England, the answer would have been Charles TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 45 Wordsworth.' Nephew of the Poet : Son of the Master of Trinity who would have been a Bishop too but for testify- ing against wrong-doing in a Prime Minister (there were no half-penny papers then, or that Prime Minister would have been kicked out with speed) : Brother of the great Senior Classic who was Bishop of Lincoln : Uncle of the Bishop of Sarum who could be half-a-dozcn Professors : Tutor and friend of the Double First who was to be Prime Minister as often and as long as he pleased : it was not a poor Scotch Bishopric with the legal status of a Nonconformist that was the place for him ! But he * played his cards very badly ' : how often one has heard the words said ! But then Charles Wordsworth was abso- lutcl}' incapable of that which is called playing one's cards at all. He had no arts at all. He knew nothing but lo do right : what he was perfectly sure was right. What was to come of it was the concern of the Great Disposer. You might think Bishop Wordsworth impracticable if }'ou would : you could not but reverence him. If there was an honest man on God's earth, there he stood. Pope did not write ' An honest man's the noblest work of God.' But he might have done it. It should have been said, recording the Bishop's criti- cisms of the Christian Year, that at the end of the much- worn volume there is given a short list of Insufferable Rhymes : seven in all. The list indicates a severe taste. One cannot defend God and awed : nor unheard and spared. Homes and Tombs may be regarded as a per- missible half-rhyme : like good and blood in one of Tenny- 46 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL son's most famous verses. But lines and signs, and even priest and ceased, seem to me (a phrase frequent on the saintly man's lips) to ' leave nothing to be desired.' No rhyme of Keble's is anything nearly so insufferable as the Cockney dawn and morn which stood at first in the May- Queen, and which is somewhat awkwardly evaded still. Here it may be recorded that Wordsworth welcomed the first appearing of the great poet. Writing to his brother Christopher on September 4, 1829, he says : ' What do you think of Tennyson's Prize Poem (Tim- buctoo) ? If such an exercise had been sent up at Oxford the author would have had a better chance of being rusti- cated — with the view of his passing a few months in a Lunatic Asylum — than of obtaining the prize. It is cer- tainly a wonderful production ; and, if it had come out with Lord Byron's name, it would have been thought as fine as anything he ever wrote.' The pronunciation of the Name of the Almighty is a great difficulty to many in this country. I have heard the word said, many times, in a manner which was indeed ' insufferable.' One occasion comes back. 1 was present at a school-examination, where a little boy was reading a Bible lesson. In a high sing-song he read ' And the Loard Goad ' said or did something. But an examiner broke in, ' My little man, you must never say Loard Goad. Always say Lurrd Gudd' It would not have been well to intervene upon the spot. But it appeared to me as quite certain that if you must choose between the two renderings, the small boy's was TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 47 the preferable. Tlicre was re\crcnce. But the other, snapped out with extreme rapidity, in the manner which musicians call staccato, was abhorrent in a high degree. I have written much of Bishop Wordsworth elsewhere,' and am not to repeat what has already been said. I can remember nothing but good of him : and I held him in such reverence and affection that I was not likely to say anything but good of him. I record, gladly, that he was quite pleased with everything" that was said of himself It may be recorded here, as a singular fact, that his dis- approval of the Church of Rome was intense : quite transcending the sympathy of ordinary members of the Reformed Church here. Everybody knows that it is so likewise with his brother, the great Bishop of Lincoln. This appeared very strange. No vulgar anti-popery lec- turer could be keener against the Ancient Church : which good old Dr. Muir of Edinburgh often called, speaking to me, ' That mystery of Iniquity ! ' Of course. Bishop Wordsworth's nature was so sweet, and he was so really a holy man, that he could not have said anything malignant or unfair. Anything vulgar could not have come from his lips : never was more high-bred gentleman. Yet one recalls instances of the unbending line he took. He would not meet a Roman priest. Several such are among the most welcome who ever enter this house. And in all plea- sant parochial gatherings of a social character, no man meets a heartier reception than the cultured and genial ' Twenty-five Years of St. Andre'Ms : passim. 48 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Oxonian who ministers to those in this city who hold the ancient way. Our Lord Rector, the Marquis of Bute, is a Roman Catholic. The Captain of the Royal and Ancient Club is the same. No mortal objected. Several years ago, I met, not for the first or second time, the stately Prince of the Church who bears the (illegal) title of Arch- bishop of Glasgow. It was under the hospitable roof of Dr. Burns, who de facto possesses the ancient and beautiful Cathedral of St. Kentigern, that I met the Prelate who doubtless holds that the Cathedral is his de jtire. Never did men, set in visible contrariety, get on so pleasantly. The grand old Archbishop, a truly-magnificent presence, told me he had never seen St. Andrews : and asked me if I would put him up if he paid it a visit. More than delighted : it need not be said. It was found the Prelate could only come in the morning and go in the evening. Straightway on returning home, I went to the Bishop : said what interesting guest was coming : and asked him to come and lunch with him. Tulloch, it need not be said, was charmed to come. But the dear Bishop was unbend- ing. ' I won't meet him,' was the downright reply. I expostulated : pointed out that Archbishop Eyre was one of the best of men, held in high honour all over Protestant Glasgow. It was vain. It would be an extraordinary experience for me, I urged, unworthily representing the National Church by law Established, to walk along South Street to the Cathedral with the Roman Catholic Arch- bishop of Glasgow on one hand, and the Scotch Episcopal Bishop of St. Andrews on the other. ' I know you would TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 49 like it,' was the severe reply. ' But I won't do it.' As things turned out, the Archbishop could not come. His visit remains a thing in the future. But I saw how un- bending Bishop Wordsworth could be, when he thought principle involved. Mr. Gladstone had found that out, man}' a year before. The Bishop was impatient even of light speech on such matters. I once related to him how an extremely illiterate anti-popery lecturer called upon me, to speak of getting up lectures here. My reply was that I had read, in the papers, reports of various lectures against Rome which had been given over the country by the little Organisation which he represented : that I feared the lec- turers were indeed Jesuits, highly-paid b)' the J'ope to go about making Protestantism ridiculous : and that I could not possibly countenance them. On this the lecturer departed. But the Bishop thought that jocular treatment of the subject was inadmissible : and that all attacks on Rome ought to be encouraged. I am obliged to confess that I know of no attacks on Rome which are less likely to affect myself, and many more, than those which the admirable Brother of Lincoln has managed to introduce into his Commentaries on Holy Scripture. But the one thing lacking in the fine Wordsworth nature, from the great poet onward, was the sense of humour. Yet it was not wholly lacking either. Looking back, I cannot re- member a solitary characteristic of the Bishop which I could wish other than it was. I remember no fault in him at all. And in his Autobiography, he quotes, with entire £ 50 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL good nature and enjoyment, the profane parody of a verse which is classic : if classic verse there be : There lived, beside the untrodden ways To Rydal mere which lead, A bard whom there were none to praise, And very few to read. That first volume. Annals of My Early Life, 1806- 1846, came straight from the Publishers, with only an engraved inscription. But a letter speedily followed : the Bishop was at Rydal at the time, as he was twice in the very latest years. ' You got my first volume, sent from the author. Please to add in yours, WitJi kindest regards! I cut out the words : and they form part of the book now. The volume, of 420 pages, was written by the Bishop in just two months. No doubt there is a good deal copied in it : prize compositions and the like. But it was wonder- ful work for the man of nearly eighty-four. And it cheered the present writer to attempt work long shrunk from. In October 1889, I had bought Personal and Family Glimpses of Remarkable People, by the son of the great Archbishop Whately of Dublin : and on Halloween the record stands, ' It suggested a volume. Twenty-five Years of St. Andrews, 1 865-1 890.' An encouraging reply came from Mr. C. J. Longman. But an overdriven man had not courage to begin a task which would never be finished. On Tuesday, October 21, 1890, the history of the time says, 'Out 1.40, and visiting hard all afternoon, ending with Bp. He has written Vol. I. of his Auto- biography in two months. Cheer for me. I may manage TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 51 my Twenty-five Years yet.' In fact, the first volume was not begun till September 3, 1891. And by hard work it was finished on November 3 : Bishop Wordsworth's time exactly. I had to write in hours snatched from continual duty. And but for the kindest encouragement coming from the dear friend at Farnham, to whom the book was dedicated, it could never have been written at all. I never had dedicated a book before. And this was my twenty- eighth volume. It seemed fit now. And it enabled a reviewer in a Scotch dissenting publication to suggest that I desired to advertise the fact that I had a friend who was a Bishop. The idea had not indeed entered my mind. But I felt that such a dedication was liable to that objec- tion. My second volume was begun on March 8, 1892, and finished on May 25. The last pages were written in the University Club at Edinburgh, after returning from the little Conclave which nominated Dr. Marshall Langr for Moderator. Awful blasts of drenching rain battered the window of my little room ; and it was pitchy dark. Such a book is written as with one's hands tied. At every step one is tempted to say a little more than ought to be said. If one wrote recklessly, widely read indeed would such a book be. You can say only a quarter of what you know. Yet now, looking back coolly, I see sentences which I should leave out. It would be stupid affectation not to say that the volumes met a quite-wonderful favour ; both from the critics, and from ver}' man)- unknown friends. One anonymous correspondent did indeed condemn me with much asperity. But the closing lines of his letter E 2 52 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL shook my faith in his judgment. ' Another overrated author, misnamed a poet, has just passed away, and we hope that his works will follow him to oblivion. We refer to the late laureate, Tennyson.' It was a pathetic incident that such a man as Bishop Wordsworth, having passed fourscore, had to leave the beautiful Bishopshall, with its pleasant garden. Quite frankly, he said he could not afford to keep that large and handsome dwelling, which had been built for a College Hall. Invent portum, he had written concerning it, making sure that there he was to live and die. And he told me, with pride, that there is not an English cathedral city where the palace is so outstanding in the view from a distance, as his house was in the finest view of St. Andrews, from the road that makes southward towards Anstruther. Such a man ought not to have known what it is to be pinched, in these last honoured days. Yet no one ever heard a murmur from him. He found a pretty house on the Scores, looking on the Bay ; and called it Kilrymont. The thing he regretted most was that he could no longer find space for the half which had come to him of the grand library of the old Master of Trinity. Here, as I remember at Perth, long ago, he had his great store of beautifully-written sermons in a large iron box. ' If the house took fire,' he said, ' this would be thrown out of the window.' And it was looking at that mass of manuscript that I hear him say, as if to himself, ' Yes, there will be a good deaj of trouble when I die.' It may here be said that he was nervous in preaching, though he did not look TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 53 it. lie appeared perfectly self-possessed. The voice was beautiful. The manner was perfect. Very simple and earnest : but extremely dignified. I cannot but say, that he felt when Bishop Eden died, and he did not succeed as Primus of the Scottish Epis- copal Church. I said to him that he had done so much, that at fourscore he deserved rest. Of course, he was beyond all comparison the most eminent man among the Scottish Bishops. No, he said : that was not the meaning of it. And he added, repeatedly, that his friendly relations with the Church of Scotland displeased some. Notably, the terms of close friendship with Tulloch, Milligan, and m}'self I cannot believe it. None of us ever pretended to be Presbyterian save as accepting, conscientiously, the Church government which the Scottish nation, or a large part of it, chose to have. We were National Churchmen : and could with entire good faith have been so though the National Church had been Episcopal. And we saw the evils of Presbytery, because we lived under it : even as Liddon, living under Episcopal government, saw the evils of Episcopacy. I never forget the great preacher's solemn words : ' I tell you, I dare not plead for Episcopacy on grounds of expediency. I see many evils in the working of the system. But I suppose God knows how His Church is to be governed.' We believed that Presbyter}' is 'founded on the Word of God, and agreeable thereto.' But we did not believe that any form of Church government is so exclusively right, as to make all others vitally wrong. Many are the books which the good Bishop gave me : 54 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL almost all bearing a graceful and kind inscription in Latin. The most costly bears an English inscription : ' With kindest regards and best wishes, from One of the Revisers.' It is the magnificent edition of the Revised Version of the Bible in five great octavo volumes, tall and broad-margined, full-bound in stately but simple purple morocco. A grand book, and a gift much-prized. The Bishop was one of the company which revised the New Testament : but his keen ear for the music of English prose made him keenly disapprove the lamentable degradation of the incomparable (so-called) Authorised Version. I think he withdrew, when he saw what the upshot was to be. Not less severe was his taste in the matter of public prayer. Once he said to me, ' I think you know Professor Knox, of Timbuctoo. I can't under- stand him. He tells me he is an immense admirer of our Collects. But he has just given me a volume of prayers of his own composition ; and it is impossible even to imagine anything less like the Collects.' The fine face expressed perplexity, only. Had certain valued friends of mine made the same remark, I should have regarded it as a smart rap over the knuckles administered to the ritua- listic nonconformist. The Bishop fought bravely against time. Notably, he preached on an important occasion in St. Giles' Cathedral at Edinburgh, when it had appeared impossible. But he gradually ' dwined.* He would lie on the sofa in his library, and make one sit close to him that he might hear. He was often in severe pain. But there never was the TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 55 slightest failure in mind : and he brightened-up and talked with astonishing liveliness. About the middle of October 1S92, he discussed my second St, Andrews volume, just published, in the brightest way : but he said he felt he would not see the second volume of his Autobiography published. In the latter days, I saw him but for a minute at a time : but always received the solemn blessing. It was going down hill now. Monday, December 5, was a day of intense frost : the snow lay deep everywhere. I had to make a hurried journey to Edinburgh, but was back soon after four o'clock, a magnificent red sun glinting on the snow. I went straight to ask for the Bishop : but the good and dear man was dying. I saw two of his daughters : very quiet. He passed at 8.30 in the evening. Next day I went to make enquiries, but found a message to come in. Two sons had come : and I stayed long with them and a daughter. Then to the library, and saw the grand old man at rest, on a little bed where I had last seen him. One bit of Latin verse, long before, had been dated In lectulo ante lucent. His eldest daughter was kneeling beside him. Never did death look less death-like. There was perfect peace on the calm unchanged face : not a trace of pain. And there was no laying-out in the robes. I took the hand and held it, as used to be. It was the first time it did not hold mine kindly. The funeral was on Friday, December 9. There was bright sunshine, with intense frost, and the streets were ice. The Episcopal church was quite full, and the service was reverently conducted by three Scottish Bishops : one 56 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL the Primus, and his brethren of Edinburgh and Glasgow. It was bitterly cold in the Cathedral churchyard, as the mortal part of Bishop Wordsworth was laid to rest. The choir sang ' O God, our help in ages past,' but it lacked the organ, and the music sounded thin and shrill in the keen air. More than once or twice I had stood with the Bishop at the spot which was waiting for him. He tried to get me to buy the space next his. But having a little place at Edinburgh, I put off till the space had been ac- quired by another. Sunday, December ii,was the Third in Advent, It was not for me to preach the ' funeral sermon.' But I had said a word at my Wednesday service at St. Mary's : and a word had to be said at the parish church this morning. The Bishop's brother-in-law, Mr. Barter, was seated close to the pulpit. The service was ' very Advent,' and so was the sermon. The text was Rom. viii. 19 : * For the earnest expectation of the Creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God.' And these were the last words spoken from it : ' I know not any place where that waiting look, that look of earnest expectation, seems to me oftentimes so ap- parent, as in that solemn churchyard where on these last two days we laid to rest one who bore a name of renown, one forty years a ruler in the Church of God : and yet another who filled a far less conspicuous place, but who was a good soldier and an earnest volunteer. The winter sun blazed through the windows, as they bore the Bishop out of the church where he often ministered, and shone on the TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 57 snowy ground as they lowered the mortal part of that benignant patriarch to the long rest with the words of immortal hope. But yesterday, when we bore to his grave the brother who had seen little more than half the Bishop's years, with music in our ears which comes straight to Scottish hearts, it was the dreariest December weather : yet the waiting look was there. Not far away, Samuel Rutherford sleeps : but the spirit made perfect knows better than of old that "glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land." And very near, another : whose name goes even more certainly with the remembrance of gray St. Andrews than even the name of Wordsworth : now in God's light seeing light as none can see it here. For a thousand years that sacred ground has waited the coming of the living : waited the resurrection of the dead. I knew the spot, he had shown it to me, where the Bishop was to rest : very quietly and calmly the saintly man looked on to the great change. Another characteristic figure has gone from these streets : a stately yet humble-minded churchman, who looked every inch far more than in God's Providence (which permits man's intervention) he was ever allowed in outward rank to be. He lived a blameless life : he worked continually towards an unselfish end. Not one controver- sial word shall be said to-day. But surely his record was a long expectation of what as yet has not come : what he believed the fulfilment of Christ's prayer. And I think all good men will acknowledge that he pressed upon us a truth which in Scotland has been too little regarded : the evil of needless division between people bearing the 58 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Christian name. With what pure devotion to what he deemed the right he took his line through Hfe, many know. And the graceful sympathy, the fatherly benignity, of the noble old man, some will never forget. When I beheld him in the last sleep : saw the look of perfect peace : and took the cold hand for the last time : I felt that I never have known a truer or better man. And I never look to do so.' Two things may be explained to the reader which needed no explanation in St. Andrews. On the base of the great granite cross above Principal Tulloch's grave, the text is engraved, ' In Thy light we shall see light.' And it has long been told that the last words of Samuel Rutherford, Principal of St. Mary's College in the University, who died March 20, 1661, aged no more than sixty, were, ' Glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.' But though the unforget- able words were spoken, it appears doubtful whether they were the famous Rutherford's very last. Like St. Columba, he was a saint, but a saint with a temper. And there is some reason to believe that the final words were in reply to a citation to appear before parliament on a charge of high treason, which was served upon the dying man. ' Tell the King that before that day I shall be where very few kings or privy-councillors ever come.' The words may possibly set forth a truth. But they could hardly be made the refrain of a beautiful sacred poem : certain selected verses of which, flavoured strongly with the imagery of the Canticles, now form a most popular hymn. Everybody knows Mrs. Cousin's touching poetry : which came to her one evening as a sudden inspiration. TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 59 It is interesting to remember that I was once told that ' The sands of time are sinking ' was written by Samuel Rutherford himself: and that it was found lying on his table after his sudden death. The good lady who wrote the poem still survives. It was first published in an Edin- burgh periodical called the The Christian Treasury, in 1S57. And it consisted of nineteen verses of eight lines each. Even so, the very striking verses, called Aquinas' Prayer for the Devil, were by many believed to be at least a translation of words of that Saint. They were in fact written b\' Mr. Call : as we used to say of Glasgow prize- essays, his ' unaided composition.' Long ago, he wrote to ask me if I knew where in the writings of Thomas Aquinas anything like them could be found. This crisp September afternoon, after reading the burial service over a much-missed man of thirt}'-thrce (he heard me preach last Sunday afternoon and this is but Thursday), I went to Bishop Wordsworth's grave with my ever kind and helpful friend and colleague. Dr. Anderson. He read to me, and I wrote down, the words engraven on the stone which comprise the life-work of the Bishop in Scotland. ' Remembering the prayer of his Divine Lord and Master for the Unity of His Church on earth, he prayed continually and laboured earnestly that a way be found for the Re-Union of the Episcopalian and Presbyterian Bodies, without the sacrifice of Catholic principle or scriptural truth.' These words are truth : if truth was ever written above a grave. 6o MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Principal Cunningham, bright, brave, lovable, worthy occupant of the Chair of Tulloch and Samuel Rutherford, departed a man ten years younger than the Bishop. It was pathetic that when Tulloch died, having been Principal of St. Mary's College for thirty years, the man who stepped alertly into the vacant place was Tulloch's senior by several years. For forty years Cunningham had been minister of the beautiful parish of Crieff, in Perthshire. And singu- larly, within these few days, Mr. Paterson, who succeeded Cunningham at Crieff, as brilliant a student and bright a man as has for long held a Scottish parish, has been elected Professor of Divinity at Aberdeen in succession to the brilliant student who has succeeded Cunningham here. That Aberdeen Chair (a thing without parallel) is decided by competitive examination. The candidates were eight : and every one of them would have made an admirable Professor. But Paterson, youngest of them all, stood first in every subject. He is a singularly attractive personality ; and a brief though near acquaintance sufficed to make one feel a warm regard for him. One dares not to prophesy : but I have the clearest anticipation of what, if God spare him, is sure to be. But one reflects, too, with sorrow, thinking of the eminent scholars who were unsuccessful, how little encouragement there is in the Kirk for any hard- working parish minister to keep up his scholarship. There have been days in which those who appointed to certain Scotch Chairs would have laughed in your face if you had been weak enough to fancy that the purpose of selecting the best man had ever entered their heads. Ur. Lindsay TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 6r Alexander told me that he accompanied Morcll, when a candidate for a Moral Philosophy Chair, in his canvass of certain small shopkeepers who were among the electors to it. A little grocer listened to Morell's statement of his qualifications : and then put the really-testing question, ' Are ee a jined member o' oany Boaddy ? ' The appointments made by Secretaries of State and Lord-Advocates have not unfrcquently been quite as scan- dalous. It would be extremely pleasant (and remarkably easy) to point out instances. But it is conceivable that it might give offence. Only it may be said that herein one political party is precisely as good as another. When a man keeps wonderfully youthful and alert to an advanced age, he breaks down (sometimes) of a sudden. I never took in that Principal Cunningham had grown old till on Wednesday, May 24, 1893, ^ walked with him from the University Club at Edinburgh, where we were abiding, to the Conclave about which there used to be a preposterous reticence. No doubt the days have been when the little College needed it all, to maintain anything like respectability. The dear Principal was alarmingly feeble. Then he ran down fast. Early in July, when I was taking the church at Strathpeffer for a month, the word came that the end was near. But I came back at the beginning of August, and saw him repeatedly : weak in body but clear in mind. Returning from country visit- ing work (I have plenty here and remain a country parson) on the evening of Wednesday, August 30, I found a note from his daughter that her father was getting low. I went 62 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL over at once and saw him. The record of the time says, ' Very low. Knew me. No pain. Just like himself. In the room where I saw Tulloch very ill, over the archway. His wife with him, a gentle devoted woman : his two daughters and niece. God help him through this last trial. A kind, amiable, clever man.' The next morning he was weaker, and did not know me. * Busy day. At 4 again saw poor Principal Cunningham. Doctor says sinking. Knew me " perfectly," he said. I prayed with him. He took my hand quite firmly, and said " God bless you." Looking very nice, but very weak.' Yet he got through the night, and passed away on the morning of Friday, September i, 1893. I saw them all, immediately. It was fixed he was to be laid here. And in the afternoon I went with his son to the Cathedral, he to settle the place for his father's grave. We found a beautiful spot. And going to the proper authority, we found that the good Principal had chosen, himself, the very place. One felt, then, how de- sirable it is that the resting-place be ready : also how vain it is to carry the mortal part to a great distance. Many had thought of beautiful Crieff. That day, ' His son took me in to see the dear Principal, at rest. He looked extremely nice. Far younger than in life. Calm and peaceful.' The funeral was on Wednesday, September 6. In a startling way, it recalled that of Tulloch. Dr. Gloag of Galashiels, Dr. Rankin of Muthill, old friends, came early to this house ; and William Tulloch. The service in the parish church was all as before. The coffin was placed as TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 63 then. There was a large congregation : the Magistrates were there : Lord Bute, the Lord Rector, in his robes : and some Professors and students. But it was the Long Vacation, and most of them were far away. I read the opening sentences. Psalm 90 was touchingly chanted. My colleague was absent of necessity. But Dr. Rodger of St. Leonard's read Job xiv., and Dr. Gloag the parts we read of i Cor. xv. Then I prayed : the record says ' ex- tempore, and not very well, but heartily.' Then ' When our heads ' was finely sung. Then the blessing : and the procession along South Street, as before. The day was overcast : but the trees were green. I met the coffin at the west door of the Cathedral, and went along the Nave : all the service as we have it here. There is but one burial- service for the English-speaking world. Principal Caird had come from Glasgow, He looked wonderfully youno-. But the jet-black hair was white. Dr. Rankin and I walked a long way out the west beach, talking (with many pauses) of the life and work which were done. When he went, I read the record of Tulloch's funeral. The old time came over one. For the sake of young ministers of the Kirk, I will run the risk of being charged with conceit. The record of the time sa>'s, ' I had thought my prayer very poor. But several papers said " singularly impressive and touching." One, indeed, in a paragraph plainly written by a well- educated man, " Nothing could have been more appro- priate and beautiful than the prayer with which (some- body) led the devotions of the congregation, so manly in 64 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL sentiment, so elegant in diction, and so sympathetic and impressive in tone." More is added, which I really must not take in. I did not mind so much about the papers, because they are always so extremely kind that they say one did what one ought to have done. But, curious, quite a number of letters came : which brought tears. Some- body, who ought to have known better, said Better {sic) than the magnificent service read at the grave. All this shows how something made on the instant for the instant and given with real feeling gets home to people.' Let it be added, that as we sometimes do fairly well when we thought we had done very ill, so we sometimes may have done very badly indeed when we thought we were getting on at our best. The funeral sermon was on Sunday, September lo, at the parish church. I was asked to preach it : never having done such a duty before. It was a touching occasion to some. There was a great congregation, filling the large church. Good Mrs. Cunningham and her children were there : very quiet. She had selected the hymns : her husband's favourites. The music was very hearty and good. The Psalms were 90 and 91. The Te Deuvi by Dr. Dykes. The hymns were Bishop Heber's ' Jesus, hear and save ' ; ' Be still, my soul ' ; ' When our heads ' ; and, of course, as when Tulloch went, the hymn founded on the words of the great predecessor two centuries before. I give what was said about Principal Cunningham : be- cause it really sums up what I should wish the readers of this page to know of a very remarkable man, who got his TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 65 due at the last, but did not get his due for many a laborious )'ear. This is how that morning's sermon closed : ' It is in any season of loss and sorrow that the family character of St. Andrews comes out. We are a family ; in the main a kindly and united family ; and there arc little family differences now and then. But in real great trouble surely there is no place where there is greater warmth of heart, nor deeper feeling, than in this sacred city by the Northern Sea. We can remember nothing but good of the brother who is called to go before us. But, thinking of him whom we laid to his rest last Wednesday, I know nothing but good to be remembered. ' He came to us late. It will not be seven years till the chill November comes since, in that quaint old library hall, he gave his bright opening lecture ; as epigrammatic and sparkling a discourse as I ever heard from any. But he put his heart into his duty, and gave it to this city ; and to-day we are mourning not only a dear but an old friend. Through these seven years I have seen him con- tinually, and though in the main agreeing with him, there were matters on which we had to agree to differ. But there never was ruffle nor jar. No kinder-hearted, no sweeter-natured man has been here. If a keen contro- versialist in earlier days, there never was a trace of rancour or bitterness. And the bright, alert, keen intellect, the ready incisive speech, the clear prevision whereto the times are going, made him one of the most remarkable men of his day in this Church and country. * The name of Mr. Cunningham, of Crieff, was outstand- F 66 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL ing when I was a lad in the Church ; we all knew it well. We always wondered how a preacher so immeasurably- above the ordinary line was not called to a more con- spicuous place ; though in that beautiful region, and in the beautiful church he mainly built, he was as happy as any- where. None can be more useful, none can be happier, than the country parson who is content to abide in Arcady. But it was not a parochial charge which was his niche. While still a young man, he had written his ClnircJi History of Scotland, an elaborate work in two large volumes, and quite the brightest and most interesting Church history I ever read. Of course, he ought to have been placed in a Church History Chair. No man in Scot- land had shown himself a tenth part as fit. But Cunning- ham was on the wrong side of politics, and time after time men were promoted over his head whom it would have been cruelty to compare with him. It is quite understood that these appointments are political — once they used, indeed, to be family — and one party is exactly as good as another in this respect. Cunningham, to his great honour, remained quite unsoured by ill-usage which was a scandal ; and was acknowledged to be such by all who knew the facts. A pusher is always contemptible ; never so con- temptible as in the Church. But the pusher and self- seeker sometimes makes his way. ' Everything came at last to one who deserved it all : the Croall Lecture, the Moderator's Chair, and the seat Tulloch had left : and Dr. Cunningham (he had not to tout for his Doctor's degree) was quite young enough TWO nEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 67 to enjoy things. He set himself to his new work with keen rehsh, the very youngest man of his years. In this pulpit, in the Presbytery, in his Chair, giving the effervescent opening lecture of each session, he was a man among a thousand. And never was eminent man more devoid of pretence. Like his great predecessor, he was a most lovable man. Bright, keen, vivacious, always ready, full}' equipped, but never rancorous, absolutely incapable of anything malignant or malicious : that was Principal Cunningham. And we shall see the alert form and face on the pavement, on the green turf never more. ' His time here was too short. It pleased God that he should be called while we looked for years of usefulness and honour. He had a quiet weaning from this life. I never will forget the worn, kind, patient face that looked at me the last evening here. " Do you know me, dear Principal?" "Perfectly." Then, "No pain." Last, the warm grasp of the failing hand whose work was done ; and it had done hard work ; and the quiet " God bless you " with which we parted. You would think little of me if I could forget these things. I saw him once again, at rest. A far younger face than any of you ever saw. Smooth, unlined, with the look of perfect peace. God send each of us as painless a departure. ' I think those to whom he was dearest must have felt in their hearts the honour and affection shown him on that burial day, when he was carried into this church, his mortal part ; and the congregation of rich and poor joined in worship where he was wont to worship ; then borne F 2 68 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL along that ancient street under the limes growing russet, and laid to rest with the sublime words of Christian hope. ' It is the way of our Kirk and country to forget (and, if possible, to ignore) a man's University eminence. Had it been in England, one half of Principal Cunningham/s College distinction would have effectually made his worldly fortune. Most of our congregations do not know whether their ministers were brilliant students or not. ' It was a remarkable gathering that came to that funeral — more remarkable than many knew. The priest of the ancient Church out of which we all came, and one of its dignified prelates, were with us under that roof ; also our Lord Rector, a working Lord Rector, a devout member of that communion. Some remembered how the stately old Bishop Wordsworth was with us last time. In another country that grave procession would have had more of outward state. Here the most outstanding man left in this Kirk, the greatest preacher of this half-century, walked modestly and undistinguished in the crowd to see the last (in this world) of his old friend. ' A new association has been added to that grand churchyard which has so many. Where Rutherford and Hallyburton sleep ; Principal Hill and Principal Tulloch, Robert Chambers and Adam Fergusson, John Park and John Robertson ; we left John Cunningham till the resur- rection day. We who abide in St. Andrews always re- member how our own poet, Andrew Lang, passes from the burying-place, far away, where is the grave which TWO DEPARTURES FROM ST. ANDREWS 6$ " has been wept above, with more than mortal tears," to ours above the ocean-cave of St. Rule. Grey sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies My heart flits forth from these. Back to the winter rose of northern skies, Back to the northern seas. And lo, the long waves of the ocean beat, Below the minster grey, Caverns and chapels worn of saintly feet, And knees of them that pray.' The last time the Principal heard the writer preach, was on Whitsun-Day, May 21, 1893. The text was 'As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you ; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem.' So, we humbly trust, he has found it. ' Jerusalem which is above is the Mother of us all ' : and will comfort all Her children as no mother ever did here. We do not, now, pitch our hopes so high as did Samuel Rutherford. Peace and consolation ' dwell in Immanuel's land.' Which will do. 70 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL CHAPTER III INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL On Saturday, June i6, 1894, a bright sunshiny afternoon, a meeting was held in the great hall of Farnham Castle in Surrey : which has been the dwelling of the Bishops of Winchester for seven hundred years. It was the annual meeting of the Surrey Clergy Relief Society : the name suggests what is very sad to think of For the greatest of National Churches, with its great prizes, has likewise depths which far exceed any in the poor Kirk of Scotland. Add all benefices together, beginning with Lambeth : then strike an average : and our average north of the Tweed, where there is scarce a stipend of a thousand a year, is decidedly the higher. With us, too, in rural regions long ago, there prevailed the belief, both among rich and poor, that the clergy ought to have their noses kept very tight to the grindstone : that (in the words of a stupid old Scotch Judge) ' a puir Church would be a pure Church.' A very rich old lady, whose brothers were enormously rich, once said to me, as laying down an axiom, that ' no mini- ster would do his duty if he had a thousand a year.' The statement was made to me (I was a lad) with intention of impertinence : for the old woman was well aware that my INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 71 Father, as faithful a parish clergyman as ever lived, would in the latter years have been held a well-to-do man even in the Anglican Church : and I knew the handsome pair of horses which conveyed him about were an offence to some. ' I like Mr. Stiggins : he's so humble ' : a lady of position once said to me, very significantly. ' Thank you,' was my reply : ' I know exactly what you mean.' She answered, ' No : I don't mean that at all.' But my rejoin- der was, ' Yes, you do.' There the conversation ended. Though elliptical in expression, it was perfectly intelligible • to any one who understands the ways of Scotland. It was a laird, of long descent, who said to one who was a minister and a minister's son, as though pleasantly expressing the normal relation, ' Of course the lairds always laughed at the ministers.' The lairds are now laughing in unhilarious fashion : and they do not meet much sympathy. But a good deal worse is coming to the ' merciless robbers of Christ's heritage ' : as downright John Knox called those who plundered the Church at the Reformation. Should the Kirk ever be disendowed, sure as fate the next question will be the disendowment of certain others (very easily indicated) : who for three centuries and more have grabbed the nation's money, and done no work for it at all. The Society which has been named was established for the relief of necessitous clergymen, and of their widows and children. The Bishop presided : who, with that house to keep up, and with the ceaseless calls upon him of the great office, would be (had he no more than the legal pro- vision) as necessitous a clergyman as any. He spoke, in a 72 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL quiet but very touching way, of the trouble which had come to many homes through reduced incomes : and added that if in the course of time disestablishment came, he did not see how their present system of a married clergy could go on. Many, he knew, would shudder at the idea of anything like a monastic life for the clergy : but it might have to be. It was curious to me to hear such words. For, in April 1890, Dr. Liddon (drawing near the close : he went on September 9, 1890) wrote to me in nearly the same terms : while speaking very kindly of the service at the Centenary of the Glasgow Sons of the Clergy. He disapproved enforced celibacy, for divers strong reasons : but what if narrow means made it inevitable ? Many touching facts were told : heart-breaking facts. I made a little speech, with much feeling : for though the two National Churches are in some respects very unlike, the like straits and anxieties are known in both. I thought, as often before, how our good Professor Baynes used to say that here is the tragedy of modern life. And times beyond number, thinking of the Manse, and the quiet, busy, careful life there : looking at the bright little people, boys and girls, racing about : one has thought that too much de- pended on a single life : it was the warm nest on the decaying bough. The meeting came to an end : and one was made to feel that the world is narrow. For a lady introduced herself as the grand-daughter of a minister of Urr : just the next parish to mine of old days in Galloway. And nearer still, another lady was the great grand-daughter of one who had preceded me there, and whose monument I INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 73 looked at each Sunday through those five years : a mini- ster of unforgotten Kirkpatrick-Irongray itself. Yet all that talk of the straits of the clergy wakened up a curious association : not quite consistent with serious reflections of which I did not speak that day. I thought not merely of powers abated and circumscribed : but of possible temptations. For the clergy are trusted, often, with the distribution of money. Not a word shall be said by me here, unless most seriously. Yet it came back how I once had concluded that the impecunious have one privilege : not wholly fanciful. Impecunious means poor. Poor is a short word : the other a long. Poor is a Saxon word : the other a Latin, And I greatly prefer Saxon words to Latin : and short words to long. Why then Impecunious .'' The Tay was flowing within sight and hearing ; and it was a golden harvest-day. The humble writer of these lines was standing by a little cottage, his for that hour ; when a very active and healthy tramp, of villainous ex pression, came up, a blot on the landscape (where only man was vile) ; and demanded money in an offensive and minacious tone. For the spot was lonely, and the police- man far away. The reply was, ' A strong young man like you should work for his bread. I will not give you any- thing : but I will sec that >'ou are provided with honest work for a week at least : the harvest needs it all.' He gazed on rne with contempt, and said, ' You English par- sons should be off to your own country.' I answered, ' You mistake, good man : I am not an English parson, 74 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL but a Scotch parish minister.' ' Oh,' said he, ' I have always understood that you are an Impecunious Lot ' : and then, casting upon me the pecuHar look of an idle tramp who knows he is not to cheat anybody, he departed from view. Nature smiled again. And I have related the incident exactly as it happened. Hence Impecunious. His word came back to me on another day, a wonder- ful October day, of changing leaves, of miraculous trans- parency and stillness of the environing atmosphere, walking townward amid the failing light. Then, leaning upon a wall, I discerned five little boys. I stopped, and had a talk with them ; leaning upon the wall too. They were all at school. They told me their names. I had christened four of them. I gave them some good advice, which they may possibly remember ; and finally, departing, bestowed upon each a modest sum, which made five little hearts glad. To-morrow, at school, some neighbouring boys will be disappointed : forasmuch as they had not chanced to be leaning on that wall at that moment too. But that is Election, and must needs be. Even so a man misses being made a Judge, a General, a Bishop. I came away. Ah, there was something amiss. This will not do. There was not the glow of modest satisfaction, in having done a small act of kindness. For the money was not my own. A kind soul had given it to me, to pass on. And fully to enjoy the doing of any little kind deed, taking the form of giving : (i) You must give your own. (2) You must give what you will miss. Da}-s have INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 75 been in which I could not have given that sum without a little thought, and possibly not then unless by doing with- out something I wished to have. Only thus will you realise how pleasant it may be to give : pleasanter than to receive : though to receive is pleasant too. To some folk it rarely happens to receive anything they have not worked hard for. Be glad, ye Impecunious ! You have a privilege, in your modest giving, which James Baird and Lady Burdett- Coutts could not know. They gave their own, indeed, these beneficent souls : both being so rich that they never missed what they gave. There could not be the sense of Sacrifice. They never (I suppose) had to do without any- thing, for that they had given their thousands of sterling pounds. A terrible sense of responsibility, doubtless, often pressed upon them both. Much had been given them : Freely they had received : we can all remember what ought to follow. But you whom I have known, who had to make an effort, to resign something, to pinch yourselves, that you might do good, that you might relieve another's necessity, your heart glowed, and it will glow again, then and there. You never thought of any reward. Something constrained you : and I know well what it is that (unsuspected some- times) constrains and has constrained to every good and gracious deed that ever was done by poor human being. But your reward came : and it was not fanciful : it was substantial and real. I have seen the tear on your check, which you did not want me or any other mortal to see : and I knew the swelling of your heart. Your soul was 76 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL happy, was lifted up, on that day. And your face shone with a heavenly light Yes : it is a fine thing, if the heart be right, that you be what the tramp said in Strathtay. It gives you a chance of something very pleasant : which will last for an hour or two. Which is something, in this world. A very little sum of money is a very great thing to many immortal beings. I have seen it so times innume- rable. It is specially pathetic when you see it so to people who are very old. I think my ways are only like those of my brethren of the Kirk. A rule is. Take off your hat to any one who is very old. Also to every one who uncovers his head to you. Also to every woman : unless where she would think you did not mean it seriously. And then a few kind words. I regret that I have known those who needed to be told, Never enter the poorest dwelling with your hat on your head. The present Speaker and I, long ago (he was merely Mr. Arthur Peel then), once went into various Highland cottages with a tremendously rich Member of Parliament : who kept his hat on his dignified head and his hands deep in his trousers pockets, and addressed us to the exclusion of the inhabitants. I liked it not. And he was an ' Advanced Liberal.' I was just the opposite in those days. But this is a deviation. It was very touching, on the first mild day of March two years since, at a funeral in the Cathedral churchyard here, as I said the words committing earth to earth, to look down on the inscription on the INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL ^^ coffin lid. Very brief. M. M., Aged loi years. For I knew what humble cares had filled the heart of the centenarian to the last. How eagerly anxious, a few days before, ]Vas s/ie to get her coals ? The answer, I need not say, Every earthly thing I could give her. But, indeed, without being so old, one is made to feel that the past is gone : and however long it may have been, you have to address yourself to the real and pressing present. I have no doubt my aged sister had thought to herself, eighty years before. If I only get this, I shall never want anything more. I know an apprehensive person who, writing a book he feared he would never finish, put in writing the resolution that if he were but permitted to finish this, his work should be ended. But it proved not to be so. Coming away, I met an aged man. He was much interested in the funeral of one so old : though with a quiet disregard of death. Would I give him something .-' A few in this place rarely meet me without such a question. I had exactly fivepence, which I handed over : saying I owe you two shillings and a penny next time we meet. How the wrinkled face brightened ! Here was a little blink of comfort. He would have a warm fire and a warm cup of tea for that evening at least. Not the gratitude of man, only, has often left one mourning : but the gladness too. There was a curious tendency in Scotland, of old, to attend funerals. Sir Walter's father attended all he could. And you had the trouble of getting into mourning often then : which is not here now. Yet when I first came here, I thought it strange to see an esteemed elder walking along 78 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL South Street in the grave procession in a Hght-coloured great-coat. Likewise to see the mourners, all save those who immediately followed the hearse, cheerfully talking. My mother told me it did not seem right that Mr. Disraeli should be diligently reading the newspaper while fol- lowing (in his carriage) the funeral car that bore the great Duke. When I was a student, the minister who officiated at a burial always wore 'Weepers': white cambric round the wrists of his coat. The sewing-on and taking-ofif were a great trouble. In days happily gone, the inducement to some was the regulation glass of wine to all comers. That irreverence is happily gone by. But I have often seen, at a rustic funeral, where it could ill be afforded, a crowd of people receive (i) a supply of bread and cheese, with beer : (2) a round of biscuits with whisky : (3) a round of short- bread with wine. And the prayers, which (sad to say) were forbidden at a funeral service, were smuggled in under the pretext of 'asking a blessing' and 'returning thanks,' before and after that indecent refreshment. There can be no doubt that Dr. Liddon was right when he said to me that the only thing which enabled people to endure the awful ways of the unimproved Kirk, stripped bare by English Brownism, was that ' they never knew anything better.' Even when I came to St. Andrews (in two days it will be twenty-nine years since) that terrible fashion of cake and wine remained. And it was not easy to put it down. We were Innovators : meddling with an old Scotch custom ' which had existed before we were born.' That last sug- INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND I'AROCHIAL 79 gestion was once held as a logical argument. While the fashion was dying out, I used to think that never man looked so contemptible as when taking a glass of wine at a funeral. For the mortal looked ashamed : yet his countenance conveyed a certain vulgar defiance of the ' ritualistic ' parson by, surveying him with disapproving look. Any minister in those days who aimed, I say not at attaining decency in public worship, but at cutting off gross indecency, was ' a ritualist ' ; and was aiming at ' priestly domination.' He was ' a Prelatist ' : even ' a Papist.' Now that the battle is won, and that I have at St. Mary's every Sunday a vast deal more than Robert Lee was persecuted into his grave for, I wonder how men lived through that time of vulgar and stupid bigotry at all. Of recent Moderators, certainly Dr. Story, Dr. Mar- shall Lang, and I, would have been deposed (if they durst) by those who dominated the Kirk forty years ago. On the other hand, it may be confessed that we never laid ourselves out to conciliate those reverend individuals. A good woman in this parish, with no inducement at all save the solemn beauty of the service, for years never failed to be in the churchyard at every funeral where she knew the service was to be read. Unhappily, it is not always read here, even yet. And there are men who introduce a discordant concoction of their own : which nothing would induce me to hear. Of course, we wear decorous robes. But I remember a man in a great-coat sticking his umbrella in the ground, hanging his hat thereon, and then proceeding to make a few observations. 8o MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL It was a melancholy occasion. But some thought it very- fine. Save as hooped together by Establishment, such do not belong to the same Church with me : and should that hoop break, they will go to their own place : which will be very far from mine. I saw that good old woman in the closing days, often. The last day came : she could barely speak. But when I entered, she whispered to a kind neighbour, Tell hint. The kind neighbour said, ' She wishes you to promise that you will read the service over her, yourself.' Only one answer was possible. ' Yes : if it please God you go first, I will.' And I did : not without a tear. She would not hear it, dear woman. But the antici- pation pleased. And it touched deeply, on another day, when a good daughter wrote, making the same request : and saying she felt it would soothe her mother in the last sleep if the magnificent words of Christian hope were said over her. These parochialia are serious, not to say sad. Cheer- ful things come too. There is a youth among our clergy who is specially dear to me. While a student, he read the Lessons for me regularly, and was much at home in this house. Immediately on receiving orders, he became my assistant for a while. His father, one of our most impres- sive pulpit orators, was taken in a moment : and with the impulsiveness of popular election, the youth was set in his father's place : holding at a very early age one of our chief charges and best livings: holding it worthily. A few Sundays since, he read the Lessons as of old, and read INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 8i them beautifully. But being on a holiday, and devoid of clerical array, he read ' as a layman ': walking from a pew to the lectern when the time came. His aspect was dis- tinctly military : the bright face moustached. A kind old gentleman, meeting him on the Links in the afternoon, introduced himself by saying how well he had read that morning : adding that in his judgment the young man had mistaken his profession. ' You should have gone into the Church,' he said. The answer, perfectly true, though somewhat misleading, was, ' Do you know, at one period in my life, I thought most seriously of going into the Church ? ' So they parted. And the kind old man knew not that he had addressed quite the luckiest man (in the sense of a rocket-like rise) who has entered the Kirk in the last fifty years. The story got into a newspaper published in the great town of Greenock, where my dear young friend is minister of the historic West Kirk (always so called). Thereupon a worthy parishioner declared that he was * a Jesuit' Surely the judgment was unduly severe. It is borne with entire good nature. If that youth lives, and is blest with health and strength, there can be no doubt what place he will take as a preacher. Two Lord Rectors of the University have given their inaugural addresses since the time at which a certain local history closed : each, in his way, a very remarkable and outstanding man : each quite worthy to take his place in a most distinguished succession. On Monday, April 6, 1891, in the great Recreation G 82 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Hall, Lord Dufferin was first seen of many to whom his name had long been familiar. I suppose no human being has ever been placed in so many difficult positions, and filled each without making a single mistake. I suppose if any mortal desired to point out the world's outstanding instance of brilliant faculty in combination with perfect temper, tact, and wisdom ; that truly illustrious marquis would be the very first thought of As for charm of manner, St. Andrews will never forget that Lord Rector. The arrangement of the hall that afternoon was con- spicuously stupid : decidedly worse than on other occa- sions when it was extremely stupid too. The Rector was placed at the precise point where it would be most dif- ficult to speak audibly : yet he managed, without vocifera- tion, to be perfectly heard by a gathering of perhaps eighteen hundred or more. He looked very dignified : very young considering his long record. The address was admirable : most of the educated class in Britain read it next day. It took an hour and twenty minutes : the hard- worked man had taken pains to be prepared. In the evening a great crowd gathered in the new library-hall : very academic in aspect. Principal Donaldson introduced me to the Rector : who was most frank and genial. But now I saw the anxious life marked on the fine face, as I had not at greater distance that afternoon. I ventured to say that admirable as the address had been, I thought that even greater enthusiasm would have been kindled in our students had it been expressed in that classical tongue which had been employed at the banquet at Reykjavik in INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHLXL 83 Iceland, long before. The oration is given in part in the charming Z^//tV'i-//w// HigJi Latitudes, '^\y}o\\s\\(id.\\\ 1857. Though the brilliant Rector is a modest man, he was con- strained to describe his speech as ' so great an effort of oratory.' Truth and justice required it. Just the opening sentence must brighten this page. ' Viri illustres, insolitus ut sum ad publicum loquen- dum, ego propero respondere ad complimentum quod Rectc-Reverendus Praelaticus mihi fecit, in proponendo meam salutem : et supplico vos credere quod multum gratificatus et flattificatus sum honore tarn distincto.' The Lord Rector, in the pleasantest manner, agreed with the humble writer as to the certain effect. But he appeared convinced that at Rc)-kjavik, on that memorable day, he had been so raised by circumstances above his ordinary level, that any attempt to repeat that effort, in the quietness and sobriety of St. Andrews, would have been doomed to failure. More seriously, Lord Dufferin was interested in learning that when the attractive volume was published, thirty-four years before that day, the pre- sent writer, then a youthful country parson, had contri- buted a lengthy and most favourable notice of it to the Saturday Revieiv : well-known to him at that time. The great diplomatist was again the effervescent young Irish peer : as he said that was the first friendl}- review of his book ; and it was pleasant reading. When I got home, I got out the bound volume, and read my review : unseen for thirty years. It was a sin- gular experience. Frankly, I thought it nicely written. 84 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Indeed, the autocratic Douglas Cook would have made short work of it, had it not been respectably done. But as I read it, it was little to say I did not recognise it as my own : or feel that I had written it. In the most serious manner I felt that I had not written that article, and could not. And yet I wrote it : that was certain. Ah, the young minister of Irongray was gone for evermore. Our present Lord Rector is the young Marquis of Bute : young comparatively. For when lately I conveyed to him that he was too youthful to quite take in something I was saying, he said, with feeling, ' I'm not young. I'm very old. I'm Half- Way, I'm forty-five.' The inevitable rejoinder came, ' Ah, thirty-five is Half-Way.' If a well- remembered statement of Moses be true, the case indeed is so. Various circumstances have given special interest to Lord Bute's personality, through his whole life ; and putting rank and wealth quite apart, he is one of the most outstanding men of the time. In several recondite fields of knowledge, I suppose he stands easily first. And never was territorial prince more unpretending. Yet only a fool would presume upon the Lord Rector. I regard him with as much personal concern as any. For I lived till I was six years old where Dumfries House dominates the region around ; and the old marquis was a very great noble. One of my earliest memories is of hearing him. make a speech. He was wise, and good ; but nature had denied him fluency. He held it his duty to maintain a regal state. Four horses always drew his carriage ; and all things matched. It is a changed world now. The INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 85 other day I had passed a gate : when of a sudden a tall figure in homely tweed issued forth, and came tearing after me for two hundred yards at the rate of eight miles an hour. It was he who was once vulgarly called Lothair. I could not but say, gazing on the panting marquis, and thinking of the unbending, unhurried father. The world is surely coming to an end. Though even in my early childhood it used to be said in that Arcadian tract, that ' the big marquis was much easier to get on with than the wee marquis ' : meaning the factor. And in an evening, with the green ribbon of the Thistle in evidence, and with the star on his breast, it may be admitted that the eminent architect and antiquarian looks very much as he ought to do. And one likes to see things right, I often remember what was said in my hearing, ages since, by a popular preacher as a startling paradox : ' Ah, my friends : if all be not right, depend upon it there is something wrong.' The people who listened held their breath in awe. Such a thing had never occurred to them before. Lord Bute delivered his rectorial address on Wednesday, November 22, 1893, in that same great hall. But it was incomparably better arranged than for Lord Dufferin ; and the Lord Rector, in a powerful and telling voice, made himself heard in every corner. The final function of that afternoon was the public conferring of the degree of LL.D. on ten persons, chosen by the Rector; and upon the Rector himself A more singular and heterogeneous lot never at any one time received that distinction. There were men of all Churches and nations. With the excep- 86 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL tion of two or three whom the Rector had known from infancy, and who were wholly undistinguished in any other way, all were men of distinct eminence. And instead of the hood of recent time, which hangs down over the robes, each man was invested with a proper friar's hood, capable of being turned over the head. The effect, to unused eyes, was most singular. One good man informed me that persons in his vocation were forbidden to cut their hair. I wondered whether they were likewise forbidden to wash their hands. The address was certainly a very remarkable one. Not merely for the pleasant touches of real life ; nor for the occasional passages of unmistakable eloquence. But that a devout Roman Catholic, a convert straight from the Kirk of Scotland, should tell the story of the Reformation to an audience almost exclusively Protestant, yet give no offence, and this without dealing in generalities and plati- tudes, was something which has seldom been. It did indeed occur to me, here and there, that possibly Cardinal Manning might not have liked the address so well as we did. And the great landowner was apparent : somewhat colouring the firm Romanist. But not Dean Stanley himself could have more touchingly spoken up for St. Andrews, nor more eloquently, than at several points did Lord Bute. It was a great success, the entire appearance. And for the first time, we have a working Lord Rector : ready to come whenever he is wanted. And he is wanted not unfrequcntl}\ INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 87 In other ways the cultured antiquarian, backed by means such as few other antiquarians ever possessed, has interested himself in the ancient place in a manner de- serving the highest praise. He is the very first person whom I have ever found disposed to go both heartily and intelligently into the matter of the restoration of the ancient parish church from unspeakable degradation. The thing will be done in time. I should rejoice if it were done in my time. Very much has been spoken and written upon the subject : nothing need be added now. Visible work has been done elsewhere. x\n incredibly ugly modern house, in a mangy classical style, built close to the great Gothic Cathedral, magnificent in ruin, a painfully- jarring presence in such neighbourhood, has for long borne the absurdly-pretentious and unfitting name of TJie Priory. Very little like a Priory, indeed. But those who intruded it there no doubt thought the name sounded well : even as I have known a Scotch publisher bring out a Bible in the English tongue only, and call it the Polyglot Bible. The space where was the grand Cloister was made a garden. A sacrilegious greenhouse was built against the South wall of the Nave, pouring smoke from a hideous chimney. Yet it is well that greenhouse was stuck there : as otherwise the noble wall would have gone down for building material. Many a year, the Cathedral was the common quarry of the place. Lord Bute bought the so-called Priory, and the ground all about it has been deeply excavated. Many feet beneath the recent surface, the foundations were found of buildings of extreme interest. 88 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL The entire ground- plan has been revealed ; and fragments of a wonderful beauty. The undercroft of the refectory- was in such condition that a good architect could readily reproduce it. The work of discovery being accomplished, a work of restoration is going on to-day : watched by many with profound interest. It is absolutely certain that what is done will be done with perfect taste, know- ledge, and reverence. How far the rebuilding may be carried is as yet unknown to the outer world. Possibly the Lord Rector has not entirely made up his own mind. It is many a day since St. Andrews has seen such a work attempted. And the discoveries here made suggest how much remains to be discovered in other parts of the ancient city. No more interesting visitor has in these last days come to St. Andrews, than the admirable woman whose husband was the great and good Bishop Fraser of Manchester. He was far too early taken from a noble work, nobly done. But it is singular how many have gone at the age of sixty- seven : fatal to ecclesiastics as thirty-seven to men of genius in poetry, music, and painting. John Knox went at sixty- seven : and Luther : and Chalmers. So did Thomas Campbell the poet. So did Bishop Wilberforce. Think- ing of a quiet vocation, unknown to the great world, I have been startled to find how many I could reckon up. You will not easily find a more stimulating book than that which records Bishop Fraser' s Lancashire Life. I had read it when it was first published ; but I went over it again with fresh concern after coming to know and value one so INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 89 dear to the great Bishop whom I never saw. It all came back, vividly. But I was specially cheered by one state- ment, not remembered till thus revived. It is that which defines the Bishop's theological position. ' He was pre- eminently an Evangelical High-Churchman with Broad- Church sympathies.' It was most pleasant to read the words. For many of us in the Kirk cannot more accurately describe ourselves than as Evangelical High Broad Church- men, When I preached in St. Giles' Cathedral at the opening of the General Assembly of 1891, I put the same idea in more balanced language ; and was disappointed to find that some found it unintelligible. It seemed to me perfectly clear. Fortified by a great and good man's ex- ample, I shall venture to reproduce my words here : ' And what did we teach ? We trust, Christ's truth : God's love in Him for man's salvation. And some among us have held a singular standpoint, in respect of Doctrine and Life, Evangelical by early training, and by the in- fluence of days when as boy and lad we came under deep personal conviction. High-Church by the cesthetic cul- ture of later days : through the beauty and power of old Church legend and art and prayer and praise. Broad, by farther meditation : seeing round things which once stopped the view. And not these in succession : all these together. Call them moods, or phases : they may be. But they come to very earnest and devout souls. And such souls can feel a true sympathy with the good men who reverently and worthily represent each school.' It was on Tuesday, September 9, i860, that Dr. Liddon 90 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL died. He was only sixty-one. In few places was he more heartily mourned than in St. Andrews. He held, uncom- promisingly, views which we quite firmly rejected : which, if true, set us in evil estate. But he spoke, and wrote, oftentimes, of the truths we held in common : of our con- dition together after all these differences. And he spoke warmly of the sympathy in which he felt himself with certain of us here. The discrepance never chilled reverent affection. And he acknowledged the high spiritual qualities he found in Scottish Presbytery in terms so cordial, that the keen Principal Cunningham was wont to say that if we could be so good without having (as Liddon judged) either Church or Sacrament, it really appeared that it did not matter much to a good man whether he had Church and Sacrament or not. As Principal Shairp declared, ' If these are not Christian people, I never expect to find Christian people at all.' As Principal Cunningham said, in his more vivacious way, it appeared to him that people in the Kirk were just as good as any mortal need be. Others, in graver mood : ' God is better than His word ; and does more than He ever promised.' As Cardinal Newman wrote, not yet a Roman Catholic, ' O rail not at our brethren of the North ' : but thankfully cleave to the belief that God's mercy surpasses ' His revealed design.' For divers reasons, we are perfectly content. When I, at certain Communions, beheld fourteen hundred receive as reverently as ever Christian did, I never failed, kneeling silently at the Holy Table, to pray for Liddon : asking that whichever of us was wrong, might be led right. I do not INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 91 forget how fervently the great preacher thanked me : saying that in Hke solemn circumstances he would lift up his heart for unworthy me. I had said, as one who continually communicates in both National Churches, that the comfort and uplifting are exactly the same in each. But he cautioned me, seriously, against believing much in personal experience in such a matter : adding, very gravely, that a Mohammedan con- gregation was, so far as man could judge, the devoutcst he had ever seen. This is a portion of what was said in our parish church, the Sunday after Liddon died : ' A great man, though a humble and saintly, has been taken from the Church of Christ since last Sunday. The great Anglican Communion has lost her foremost preacher. Here was a striking instance how, even in a hierarchical Church, true greatness and influence are quite apart from assigned rank. Few are the Archbishops who have held (in men's hearts) the place of Dr. Liddon. But in the worldly elevation which human beings can give, and can keep back, he never got his due. Which was nothing short of a scandal. ' He did not belong to our division of the Church Catholic. He did not recognise us as within the Church Catholic at all : any more than his friend. Cardinal New- man, recognised him as being within it. But the man's sweet nature quite did away the offence of his views : and he had no warmer friends than some of us in the Church of Scotland. Twice he visited this cit}'. He never saw it 92 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL but in blazing sunshine. Each time, with profound in- terest, he went over every corner in this historic church : which, even in its present degradation, was a thousand times as much to him as the most beautiful brand-new one. Each time he said, solemnly, how he prayed for the day when he might preach from this pulpit. On each occasion he entered it, and looked at the church from it, in silent prayer. Well I knew what he was asking for ! I see the beautiful face, when we had climbed St. Regulus together under a glorious September sun, the bright sea stretching from our feet into infinity, and the gray ruins by. " A sacred place," he said. In one of his latest letters to me he said, " I pray that the Scotch may have the grace to set in order the things that have been wanting to them ever since John Knox has been in authority — beyond the Tweed." But he added, " In saying this, I rejoice to re- member how very viuch we have in common : and shall have, I trust, in life, and in death, and beyond." To which we would all say, Amen ! ' A socially-pushing Scot, the son of a minister or elder of the Kirk, flippantly unchurching or vilipending the Church of his fathers, I will never hold any terms with. Nor will I with a half-educated Englishman, grossly de- fective in the simple morality of the Decalogue : yet who will not pass before an empty altar without ostentatiously bowing, looking sharply whether I see him : and who hastens to express his opinion that a ' Presbyterian can't possibly get to Heaven.' But the dear, saintly, profoundly- learned Liddon : solemnly holding a certain ecclesiastical INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 93 theory as demonstrably God's truth, and every now and then earnestly and afifectionately seeking to bring a Scottish brother into better things than he meanwhile knew : could one closely know such a man without venerating and loving him ? Looked nearly into, how little the point of vital difference. In either National Church, the highest orders are given by the laying-on of the hands of at least three, ordained already by ordained men, and these ordained in long succession back to the first of all. Must the man who presides at an ordination be one permanently set in a higher place, and called a Bishop .-* Or will it suffice that he be set on high, />re/atus, for that day and that duty ; and called a Moderator ? The two Establishments are not in communion : sorrowful to say. And this is all that keeps them apart. As good Archbishop Tait once said to me, ' Could you not have a permanent Moderator of Presbytery, who would preside at all ordinations .'* Such a man would be vitally a Bishop ; and would satisfy the extremest South of the Tweed.' The question of episcopal authority is a matter of detail. One of the greatest of ' Episcopalians,' a mighty preacher, who became a Bishop himself (he lived and worked outside of England), once said to me, ' I should like to see my Bishop try to exercise authority over me ! A Bishop is a man who is qualified to confirm and to ordain: just as a Judge is qualified to sentence a man to be hanged, and as an executioner is qualified to hang him. Let the Bishop stick to his own vocation ! ' 94 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL The words startled me. You have not the faintest idea who said them. If you knew who said them, you would be startled too. I know not why. But at this moment there appears before me a cynical old face, the face of a country parson who held a charge far out of the great world, and who has for many years been far away. I hear his words, spoken with great bitterness : not indeed to me, an insignificant youth, but to somebody of much greater importance. They have remained very distinct in my memory through that long time. ' You think a great deal of my nephew Tim. You would not, if you knew him as well as I do. I got a letter from him yesterday. It consisted of five lines. And it contained five lies.' I had been accustomed to regard Tim with admiration : and I was startled. But Charles Kingsley was wont to say that there is no weakness (call it so) which can abide so long in a man along with God's grace, as the tendency to make statements which are not historically accurate. They generally tend to the exaltation of the good man ; or to the tripping-up of some acquaintance. I am obliged to confess that though truth is the foundation of all good in character, I have known really good men, and very clever men, who were not truthful. But it was an awful flaw in them. And (in their absence) all their friends lamented it continually. INCIDENT, ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAROCHIAL 95 This day of magnificent September sunshine, tem- pered somewhat b}' autumnal crispness in the air, is Friday, September 14, 1894. I was inducted to the charge of this city and parish on this day twenty-nine years. It was Thursday, September 14, 1865. I have completed twenty-nine years as Minister of St. Andrews. It is nothing earthly to the reader : but it is a very awful thought to myself One thing I will sa)- : I have worked here to the very utmost of my strength. I have not willingly neglected anything which ought to be done. I deserve not the smallest credit. It had to be, through an anxious nature. I have had much cheer, and many dis- couragements. The discouragements, as must be in the working of any parish, were all close at hand. A good deal of cheer came from very near mc : but a vast deal more came from far away. 96 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL CHAPTER IV ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY ' * I NEVER liked Tait. I never could like him. And of course I differed from him on many subjects. But I will acknowledge that, during the years of his Primacy, there was no man in the Church of England, known to me, so fit to be Archbishop.' I was not likely to forget the words ; nor any words seriously said by one so revered. It was a great event in the writer's little history, to have a quiet talk with such a man. But I wrote dov/n the words that evening ; and many more which will never be printed. For indeed they were of special interest. We were sitting in a quaint old room, in a quiet recess just out of the busiest roar of great London. I watched intently the worn fine features, with their expression of singular benignity and sweetness, as the words were said : said by one who might have been Archbishop of Canterbury himself had he chosen. Then, in less grave mood : * Curious, his being so quiet and self-restrained in the latter days. I was there when Tait ' Life of Archibald Campbell Tait, Archbishop of Canlerbjiry. By Randall Thomas Davidson, D.D., Dean of Windsor ; and William Benham, B.D., Hon. Canon of Canterbury. In Two Volumes. London : Macmillan & Co., 1891. ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 97 of Balliol, with a tremendous flourish of his cap, defied the President of the Oxford Union and was fined a pound.' The speaker arose from his chair, and going through the action of violently bringing the cap from far behind him, shook it as in the President's face in truculent fashion. And sitting down, he added, with a smile, ' He was very- hot-tempered then.' It could only have been occasionally, one would say. I do not think any testimony ever borne to Tait's fitness for his great place would have been more valued by himself than this of the saintly Dean Church of St. Paul's : of whom it was truly said by one of the foremost Prelates of the Anglican Church, belonging to quite another party from the Dean's, ' There is nothing in the Church that he is not worthy of And now that both Dean and Archbishop are gone, there can be no harm in repeating what was equally honourable to both. We do not mind much about Tait's frequent statements, beginning early, that he was to be Archbishop of Canter- bury. Probably fifty other men were saying the like of themselves about the same time. And one great scholar and divine, still abiding, was far more solemnly designated to the primatial throne, by one possessed of the second sight. It was never to be. But when the writer was a boy, and Tait was no farther on his way than Rugby (where nobody pretends he was a very great Head-Master), the writer was often told by one who had heard the words, how Sir Daniel Sandford had said, ' That boy will wear the mitre.' It was well remembered, too, how James Hallcy, U 98 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL whom Sir Daniel pointed out as ' the man that beat Tait/ had said, near the end, ' I'd have liked to live to see Archy Tait a Bishop.' Other estimates were current too. For Tait, though a great scholar at Glasgow College, when he went to England was never in the same flight with either of the Wordsworths, Lincoln or St. Andrews. It was after a great debate at the Union, at the time of the Reform Bill of Lord Grey, that a brilliant Oxford Tutor wrote to his brother. Senior Classic at Cambridge, of the magnificent eloquence of certain young orators who had taken part in it. Several were named : but, outstanding among them, was one ' Gladstone, a sure Double-First,' who spoke ' better than Demosthenes ' : of course on the side of the most obstructive Toryism. The entire aristocracy of the University, intellectual and social, was ranged on one side. ' And who is there on the other ? ' the enthusiastic chronicler went on. (Names shall be withheld, save one.) ' A, Nobody : B, Nobody : C, Nobody : Tait, Nobody ! ' The irony of the event is sometimes terrible. And as the revered scholar who wrote the letter read it aloud to a little company after fifty-five years, he added, ' You see young men should not prophesy.' But Tait had reached his highest place, and none could call him Nobody (you might like him or not), when one of the greatest men in the great Church of England said to the writer, ' I don't regard the Archbishop as a clergyman at all. He is a hard-headed Scotch lawyer.' And then, in the most pathetic tones of the voice which thousands held their breath to hear, ' If I were dying, the very last man I should wish to see is the Archbishop of Canterbury ! ' ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 99 No one who reads the Life would say the Hkc now ; and the great and good man gone, least of all. But see how the foremost fail to understand one another. Not many quotations can be suffered in my little space. But one shall come here. It tells of the end of his dear old Nurse, ' almost my oldest and dearest friend.' Tait had taken his First-Class, and came to Edinburgh for Christmas. ' One day, towards the end of December, she was taken ill. The ailment seemed slight at first, but by the time her beloved Archie arrived she was in high fever, and occasionally distressed in mind. He never left her side except once, when he went to obtain the aid of Mr. Craig, a clergyman of the Scottish Episcopal Church, in order that the old nurse and her grown-up charge might together receive the Holy Communion, which at that time was rarely, if ever, administered privately in the Presby- terian Church, of which Betty was so staunch an adherent' When the Holy Communion had been celebrated, Mr. Craig left the two alone together. All night the young man sat by the old nurse's bed, and spoke to her words of peace and comfort as she was able to bear it. She died with her hand clasped in his as the morning broke on the first day of 1834.' Yes, and it would have been exactly the same had dear old Betty lived to see him Primate. Some words come back to one's memory. He was an illustrious man who said h'ghtly, ' So old Tait's away.' The answer was. Yes, gone to Paradise.' The rejoinder came. ' Very ' God be thanked, all that is changed. H 2 loo MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL good, but he won't be Archbishop of Canterbury there.' And indeed he would not. But though he could not take any earthly elevation where he went, he would take with him, wheresoever, the unspoiled heart of that long-departed New-year's-eve. Which is far better. Too much is made of the Archbishop's Presbyterian extraction and education, as though these did in some degree disqualify him for his place. No doubt, his father was an Elder of the Kirk. So were his two brothers : and they sat regularly in the General Assembly, where Sheriff Tait of Perthshire was an outstanding man. Many times, in May days just departed, the writer beheld the two Maclagans, brothers of the new Archbishop of York, sitting in that Venerable House. And in his youth he preached, each Sunday afternoon, in a Scotch parish church, to the Archbishop's father and mother. Dean Lake of Durham, in a strain which falls familiar on the ear,' expresses his opinion that Archbishop Tait, in his Epis- copal life, ' made serious mistakes, both in word and action.' Then comes the apology for the uncultured Scot ; which will provoke a smile in some readers : * But when we think of the manner in which, born and bred in a different Communion, he gradually learned, in a time of great difficulty, to understand and even to sympa- thise with all the varieties of the English Church, and of his constantly increasing determination to do justice to them all — a determination which, I believe, would have gone much further, had his life been preserved ' — ' Vol. IL p. 607. ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY loi And so on. Here is a bit of that high-bred provin- ciah'sm, too common in the AngHcan Church, which is based on absolute ignorance of things Scottish. There is no gulf at all between the best in the Church of Scotland and the best in the Church of England. Presbytery is accepted, as suiting the genius of the Scottish race : but it counts for nothing, when compared with such vital questions as those of a National profession of Christianity and a National Church. Not an anti-state-church Presbyterian, but a good Anglican churchman, is brother to most men worth counting in the Scottish Kirk. And should the day come which shall put Scottish churchmen to right and left, that will appear. It is twenty-seven years since Mr. Froude, after his very first evening in Scotland, spent in the com- pany of some who are mostly gone, said to the writer, ' I see your best men are exactly like our best men.' And it is many a day since Dr. Liddon, on his first day in St. Andrews, said how astonished he was at the sympathy he had met in the Kirk : said that though a system he liked not had gradually ' crystallised, through the fault of nobody living,' he found himself drawn, in true affection, to the men. Yet everybody knows that Liddon was uncompro- mising in his ecclesiastical views : even to a degree which certain of his Scottish friends found hard to bear : indeed did not bear but with frank expression of astonishment. When Bishop VVilberforce came to Scotland, and went about with his eyes blind-folded, he did indeed accept as true, and record in that very regrettable diary, various stories about the Church which were rather more outrageous I02 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL than if he had stated that black was white. And on August II, 1 86 1, he wrote therein of 'the bitter, levelHng spirit of Presbyterianism ' : a spirit which may possibly once have been, but which is utterly extinct among educated men. Quite as much narrowness, bitterness, and wrong-headed- ness, may be found in certain strata of the Church of England, as anywhere North of the Tweed. Read many of the letters which Tait received, not all anonymous : and this will be apparent. The future Archbishop had not far to go ; and had nothing at all to get over. Of course, to the end, it remained impossible for him to believe that all vital Christianity was confined to the members of Churches with three orders. It was with him as when Principal Shairp went to Oxford in the beginning of the ' Movement,' and could but feel If those men and wometi I have knozvn in the Kirk zuere not Christians, I cannot ex- pect to see any. But gradually, Tait, in lesser things, not only understood the Anglican Church quite as thoroughly as Dean Lake, but even caught the atmosphere he lived in to a degree which amused a countryman. Meeting for the first time a Scottish parson who had studied Gothic churches for many years (it was under the shade of Canterbury), he said, ' Did you ever see a Cathedral before } I mean an English Cathedral.' Here appeared the natural belief of the travelled Scot that his brother Scot knows nothing. Ere the Scottish parson could reply, another dignitary, quite as famous as Tait, said, in a loud voice, ' He has seen them all. He knows a great deal more about them than you do.' Whereupon the ready Primate, with his sweetest ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 103 smile, went on, ' Ah, but you must come and sec Lambeth. That is quite as interesting as any Cathedral.' Scotsmen for the most part understand one another perfectly. It was an Englishman, not a Scot, who once said to the writer, speaking of a saintly woman of high worldly place (indeed very high), ' Between ourselves, I fear she is very little better than a Presbyterian.' The words were ren- dered in a whisper, as stating something too dreadful to be put in audible words. We did not need this biography to assure us that only by some incredible mistake could the statement have crept into Bishop Wilberforce's Life,' that Tait said, ' You will be the real Archbishop ; I shall only be so in name.' And again, ' I do not care how soon the world knows what I know, that during your dear father's lifetime he was in reality Archbishop of Canterbury, and I was only his lieutenant.' Anything farther from the actual fact could not be imagined : fifty instances occur which so testify. Tait could not have acted under the orders of any mortal : least of all under the orders of Bishop Wilberforce. And Tait was not a gusher : though he was sometimes very outspoken. Such as knew him would testify that the sentences ascribed to him are singularly unlike his ordinary talk. As for his estimate of his brilliant contemporary, we find it expressed with perfect frankness. ' The Bishop of Oxford was as eloquent and in- discreet as usual.' - The writers of this Life have done their work very fairly, and very thoroughly. The defects of the book come ' I'- 337- Hdition in one vol. ■' Vol. II. p. 5. I04 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL of its not being merely a biography, but a minute history of the main events and controversies in the Church of England during Tait's Episcopate. We are told nothing but what we knew before : and many things are suppressed which many knew : knew not through irresponsible gossip, but surely. The frank revelations (in some details) of Bishop Wilberforce's Life, make a striking contrast with the reticence here. In the main, the Lives are like the men : though Tait could be very frank sometimes. And surely this Life would not make any modest and reasonable man ask to be Archbishop of Canterbury. Lambeth is all very well, though ' the most depressing of homes ' in the judg- ment of one once the head of the family there : Addington in May, with those acres of rhododendrons, with the grand woods, the Scotch firs of Perthshire and the heather, can redeem the big, ugly, featureless house : and the little church is charming, with its quiet churchyard where Tait, Longley, and Sumner sleep, with only the green grass above them. Possibly it may be pleasant to take prece- dence of a Duke ; and the income is handsome when a fleeced Primate has actually got hold of it. One such, a humorist, is said to have preached his first sermon from the text, 'A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves ' : and another, doing homage to the Queen, said she was the first official he had met who had not asked him for fifty guineas. But the responsibility is awful to a conscientious man : and unless to a man of very exceptional tastes, the work is incredibly wearisome. Every wrongheaded crank, every insolent ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 105 idiot, every conscientious bearer of a testimony, from Lord Shaftesbury on one wing to Dr. Fusey on the other, with Dean Stanley away out in the open far from both, has his representation to make to the Archbishop as to what is ruining the Church of England : and his representation, often extremely lengthy, must be considered, and wisely and courteously answered. Not every answer can be as brief as that which in a line told a correspondent that the Archbishop did not see any necessity for the correspondent supplying an alleged deficiency in the Lord's Prayer. Then the dreariness, the utter lack of interest, of the fierce contentions on details of ritual and the like : all related in the Life with conscientious fairness and intolerable pro- lixity. The biographers were bound to do it, one feels : the fault is not theirs. Here is Scotland again, for quarrel- someness and wrongheadedness and making vital of the pettiest matters. Well might Newman, still Anglican, write, ' O rail not at our brethren of the North ' : our brethren of the South, though on different details, are exactly the same. And all these dreary squabbles must be patiently gone into by the Archbishop. Nothing must be contemptuously daffed aside : as Tait once said in Perthshire, // zvouldjit do. Patience must be illimitable. And then the letters : the baskets-full to read ; the baskets- full to write. Every Bishop of a large diocese has this cross to bear : but the Archbishop is a quasi-Patriarch ; and from every corner of the earth where the Anglican Episcopate, or anything like it, has spread, the entreaty for counsel in all perplexity, for sympathy in all trouble, comes io6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL to Lambeth or Addington. One knows the meaning of the deteriorated handwriting : of the signature abridged to the utmost : of the gradual cessation of all punctuation. It tells a pathetic story of overwork : and that in the way which takes most out of a man, next to vehement oratory ; perpetual letter-writing. A Bishop's letter is a touching thing to see : less so indeed when a Chaplain who has learnt to write exactly like him pens the letter, and the blameless Prelate does but add his name. Not many human beings realise what it is to write seventy letters in a day. The writer remembers how Dean Wellesley of Windsor once said to him, with asperity, ' You could not make Stanley a Bishop : he writes such an abominable hand.' But what would that hand have grown to, after twenty years on the Bench ? It is not so many years since the writer walked, side by side with the Archbishop, up and down by the bank of a little Scottish river. ' What in- sanity it was in A.,' he said, * to work himself to death as he did ! ' Then, in a worn voice, with a sorrowful face, he expatiated on the foolishness of overworking. Ah, like other good men, wise for everybody except himself Only anonymous letter-writers, as a rule, take upon themselves to admonish the Primate of All England. But the writer thought, within himself, ' There is not a man in Britain, to- day, overworking more than you.' Never hurried nor flurried : nothing morbid or fanciful about him : good, honest, brave, strong, cautious, far-seeing : astute without shadow of craftiness : placed very high, yet with head absolutely unturned : had but the burden been brought ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 107 within man's bearing, he need not have had that solemn warning before sixty, he ought to have lived to fourscore. Then the sitting next the ministerial bench in the Lords, at any moment liable to be called on to speak in the name of the greatest National Church in Christendom. No wonder that somebody, the first time he had so to speak, was in a state of trepidation which a lay peer irreverently called ' a blue funk.' ' Why is not somebody else there ? ' was the question put to one who was criticising a Primate's action, having himself declined the Primacy. ' Ah,' was the quiet answer, ' that man would have disap- peared. He would have been in his grave. It is too much for anyone.' Tait was helped by his vein of Scottish humour. He listened to an amusing story with real enjoyment : and he told one admirably well. The sorrowful face, with the sad smile, added to the effect. Some remember one which Dean Stanlc}- repeated at a Bishop's dinner at Lambeth on the authority of a Scottish friend. It elicited from the Archbishop no more than ' A very good story' : but it is literally true. On one of his latest visits to a certain country house in a Scottish county, he went alone to the post-office to send a telegram to his brother. He wrote it out. 'The Archbishop of Canterbury to Sheriff Tait,' and handed it in. The sceptical old postmaster read it aloud in contemptuous tones : ' The Archbishop of Canterbury' : and added, ' Wha may ye be that taks this cognomen } ' The Archbishop, taken aback, remained silent for a moment. The morning was cold, and he had a woollen io8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL comforter wrapped round his neck : but on second view, the postmaster thought he looked more respectable than on a first, and added, ' Maybe ye're the gentleman himsel'.' Tait replied, modestly, ' For want of a better, I am.' On which the good old Scot hastened to apologise for his first suspicion of imposture : adding, ' I might have seen you were rather consequential about the legs.' Then he added words of cheer, which Tait said truly were vitally Scotch : * I have a son in London, a lad in a shop ; and he gaed to hear ye preach one day, and was verra weel satisfeed.' It was during that same visit that one v/as impressed by his odd suspicion of pressmen. A conspicuous London clergyman had written some sketches in a daily newspaper of immense circulation, which had attracted much notice. ' Oh,' said the Archbishop, ' lie's just a reporter! And there an end of him. And though it cannot be recorded, it can- not be forgot, how something condemnatory of the extreme ritual of a well-known London church, awakened a deep but musical voice of remonstrance. No one can say that that house was divided against itself But there was a loving diversity of opinion and of liking, which was quite well understood. The good son Craufurd, early taken, thought the Church of the Future would be ' higher than my Father, lower than my Mother.' And standing by the altar in the pretty chapel of a Bishop's house, out of which a beautiful conservatory opened, the good woman said to the Bishop, ' How convenient for bringing in flowers ! ' The Bishop had no objection. But the Archbishop silently shook his head, though not austerely. ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 109 Archibald Campbell Tait was born at Harviestoun, in Clackmannanshire, on December 22, 181 1. The family- had conformed to the National Kirk ; but the strain was originally Episcopal. The blood was purely Scottish ; and Tait, to the end, was a Scot. Even the accent could never deceive a countryman. I have heard English folk call it English. It was very Scotch indeed. He was well-con- nected, his grandfather being the Scottish Chief Justice. He was the ninth child, and was born club-footed. This was corrected : but not quite : he was ' never a good pro- cessional Bishop.' He was baptized in the drawing-room at Harviestoun, by Dr. MacKnight of the Old Church, Edinburgh : ' a large china vase ' being used on such occa- sions. The Edinburgh house was in Park Place, near the Meadows. His mother, a woman of the sweetest nature, died when Archy was not two years old. The father was a most lovable man ; but it was not from him that Tait inherited his caution. First, the High School of Edinburgh : then the New Academy, an admirable school, in the most unattractive surroundings. Here Tait was head-boy in his year : ' Dux.' At sixteen, to Glasgow College. Under the care of the authoritative but devoted Betty he lived in a lodging in College Street, looking on the grim but solemn facade of the old University buildings, all vanished. I have heard him speak with great feeling of those days. Sir Daniel Sandford was Professor of Greek : a very great man in his day. He died on his birthday : forty. I remember well how startled the Archbishop was when told this. It was suggested that Arnold was but forty-six. But he re- no MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL plied, ' Ah, in those years a man does the best work of his life.' Professor Buchanan held the Logic Chair : Tait says a man 'without any shining abilities.' Not the ordinary verdict of Glasgow men. Tait worked extremely hard, getting up at 4.30 A.M. He was all his life a pattern of conscientious goodness : like another, he had been ' born before the Fall.' There is a touching little diary, of hard work so long past. But many Glasgow students worked as hard and did not come to anything. James Halley, who died early, and who was terribly handicapped, ' beat Tait ' for the Greek Blackstone : but generally they ran a very equal race. Here he attended ' the Ramshorn Kirk,' now known as St. David's. Finally, he got one of the Snell Exhibitions to Oxford : not improbably for the reason he suggests, the hospitalities of his relation at Garscube. The Snell Exhibitions are held at Balliol ; and here Tait, a Tory at Glasgow, gradually turned a Whig. To the end of his life he was for Roman Catholic Emancipation and Endowment. His father, greatly beloved, died while he was at Oxford. In November 1833 he took his B.A. degree : First Class in Classics. Being entirely dependent on his own exertions, he remained at Balliol and took private pupils. But in due time he became Fellow and Tutor of Balliol : and now the struggle of his life was over. He became 'much more of a High Churchman than I was : nor has the Church of Scotland so much of my ad- miration as in former times.' Quite naturally, he passed into Anglicanism : being confirmed at Oxford as a young man. And on Trinity Sunday, 1836, he was ordained ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY in Deacon on his Fellowship b>' Bagot, Bishop of Oxford. At once, he set himself to clerical duty in the unattractive Baldon, five miles from Oxford : and, still busy with tutorial work, he served that cure diligently for five years. In these early days, he thought of the Moral Philosophy Chair at Glasgow : but more seriously of the Greek, a very considerable prize. I believe that he might have had it, in succession to Sandford. But having taken English orders, he had a difficulty about the University tests, which others did not feel at all. It was the turning-point in his life. Lushington got the Chair, to be succeeded by Jebb, both Senior Classics. Tait's life was to be in England : he determined ' to remain an Episcopalian.' Everyone knows how in March 1841 he was one of the Four Tutors who signed the famous letter concerning Tract 90. The letter was written by Tait. And he wrote, with some asperity, of those ' who regard the Kirk of Scotland as the synagogue of Baal.' He very decidedly preferred Anglicanism, both in government and worship : but, to the end, his heart warmed to the Church of his father, if not of his grand- father. In a little while, the 'great door was opened.' Arnold died on Sunday, June 12, 1842. And of eighteen candidates, after long perplexity between the two youngest, Tait and C. J. Vaughan, the decision was made on July 29, and Stanley, who thought no one really fit to take Arnold's place, received ' the awful intelligence of your election.' Tait was inaugurated on Sunday, August 14, Stanley preaching the sermon. He wanted some months of being thirty-one. 112 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL The story henceforth is within Hving memories. An adequate Head-Master : not a great one. He had the help of a Composition-Master from the first. The present Dean of Westminster (Bradley) says, ' His sermons were some- times really impressive. More than this I can hardly say.' Principal Shairp wrote : ' Tait was certainly by no means a born school-master. He had not himself been at an English public-school' And he had to get on with assistant-masters, who thought Arnold's place might be occupied, but never filled. On Midsummer day 1843 Tait was married to Catherine Spooner. ' The bright presence of the beautiful young wife ' was outstanding at Rugby, and afterwards. Besides other things, she was quite equal to unravelling the most complicated accounts, which had perplexed trained business-men. And this in the early Spring of 1848, when Tait seemed dying, and dictated his farewell to the Sixth Form. He got better : but it was a relief to all when, in October 1849, he accepted the Deanery of Carlisle : being, as Dean Lake writes, ' a Protestant, with a strong dash of the Presbyterian, to the end.' The Dean adds that in the Rugby of Arnold's memory and of Stanley's biography, ' a little cold water, from time to time, kindly administered, was not without its uses.' And the unexcitable, humorous Scot, was eminently the man to administer it. In May 1850 Tait and his household settled in the Deanery at Carlisle. He did much as Dean : but it was his work on the Oxford University Commission which marked him out for elevation by a Liberal Government. ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 113 In March and April 1856 the awful blow fell, whose story has been touchingly told : Five of six little dauj^hters died of scarlet fever. Between March 10 and April 10 the)- were laid to rest : and father and mother were never the same again. And on September 17 Tait writes in his diary that he had this morning been offered the See of London: that now (ii A.M.) he was to take an hour of prayer, though ' I have no doubt of accepting the offer.' ' God knows I have not sought it.' It might have been as well, in stating the considerations which pointed to Tait, to have omitted some lines which yet recall a savage sentence in the Saturday Rcviciu of those days : Who wrote it .-* Some think they know. The Prime Minister was Lord Palmerston. And even the friendly biographers say ' it was indeed a bold step on his part to send Dean Tait to London.' He was consecrated in the Chapel Royal, Whitehall, on November 23, 1856. The well- meaning Lord Shaftesbury was ' alarmed ' by the Bishop appointing Stanley one of his Chaplains. ' The Bishop knows not the gulf he is opening for himself We all know the good man's way. The wonder is that he did not say (as usual with him) that ' thousands and tens of thousands were startled.' But in a fortnight's time he wrote, ' It is all quite right. I have no more apprehensions.' Stability of mind is a fine thing. Troubles came, of course. The Divorce Act : Con- fession : St. George's-in-thc-Last : are ancient history. The open-air preaching : the services in Exeter Hall and in certain theatres : the evening services in Westminster I 114 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Abbey and St. Paul's ; and in Bethnal Green : the Primary Charge, reaching to near five hours, and certainly up to date : the offer in September 1 862 of York : are re- membered as of yesterday. The controversy as to Essays and Reviews brought letters from Dr. Temple which must have been very painful to read. Nobody dreamt that Temple was to be Bishop of London himself ' You ought not to make it impossible for a friend to calculate on what you will do. I do not care for your severity, I do care for being cheated.' Then came Bishop Colenso, and Bishop Gray. The question of what was called Ritualism grew warm in i860. All Saints', St. Alban's, St. Peter's, London Docks, became prominent ; and a ' religious ' newspaper spoke of ' that ecclesiastical bully, the Presby- terian-minded Bishop of London, who has shown himself as narrow-minded a bigot and as unchristian a gentleman as ever disgraced a Bishopric' In April 1863 the ' Bishop of London's Fund ' was founded. Through all, the work of the largest diocese in the world went steadily on. And on November 13, 1868, being at Stonehouse, in Thanet, the letter came from Mr. Disraeli which offered the Primacy. The offer was accepted the same afternoon. The circum- stances are quite well known. Most readers will acknowledge the wisdom of the part taken both by the Archbishop and the Queen in the difficult matter of Irish Disestablishment. On November 18, 1869, when only fifty-eight, a stroke of paralysis fell, from which his entire recovery was something miraculous. Probably the Church owes the introduction ARCHBISHOP TAIT OF CANTERBURY 115 of Suffragan Bishops to so striking an instance of fatal over-work. In the earHer days of the Archbishop's ilhiess, Dr. Temple was appointed Bishop of Exeter, having (as Dr. Pusey averred) ' participated in the ruin of countless souls.' Early in 1872 Lord Shaftesbury besought the Lords to take action against Ritualism : declaring (of course) that ' the fate of the Church of England is trembling in the balance.' But he found it ' hopeless, thankless, and fruitless work to reform Church abomina- tions.' Nothing need be said of the Athanasian Creed, save that Tait was violently abused by some. As little of the Public Worship Regulation Act. At the close of May 1877 the Archbishop came to Edinburgh to the funeral of his brother John. He visited the General Assembly, then in session : which rose to receive him. The death of his son, May 25, 1878, was an awful blow: and still heavier that of his wife, who died at Edinburgh on Advent Sunday in the same year. Many know their graves, in Addington Churchyard, side by side : ' Mother and Son.' The life of dignified drudgery went on a little longer. It was at the Royal Academy Banquet of 1880 (he wrote his speeches for such occasions) that he said, ' I am sure that the general effect of looking day after day upon a hideous building is debasing — I will not say demoralising.' The words have often been quoted to the end of improving Scottish parish kirks. Tait had no knowledge whatever of music. No man (with an ear) who sat by him in Canter- bury Cathedral while the Litany was sung, will ever forget it. In a loud speaking voice, the Primate produced a ii6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL discord which made the nerves tingle. Being at Paris, he ' went almost every day to the Madeleine.' Shade of Lord Shaftesbury ! Then at Lambeth, on just this June day, ' Interviews and business all daylong till I was nearly mad.' On July 23, 1882, the diary says, ' Still alive, but very shaky.' In August he was from Monday to Thursday at Selsdon Park with the Bishop of Winchester, ' alarmingly feeble.' Yet the humour lingered : To a worrying applicant, ' Tell him he is a consummate ass, but do it very kindly.' But he ran down fast : on Sunday, September 3, he thought he was dying. Some weeks more were given in the quiet sick-room at Addington as the days shortened But ' it is better I should go now.' Early on a Saturday morning all were summoned. A separate farewell to each : then the benediction in a steady voice. ' And now it is all over. It isn't so very dreadful after all.' He went at seven on Advent Sunday morning. It was on that day, four years since, that his wife had gone before him. He was seventy-two. As Chalmers said of another Primate, ' He had passed through the fire of worldly elevation, and the smell of it had not passed upon him.' It was Archy Tait of Glasgow College that died. 117 CHAPTER V DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER • * You could not make Stanley a Bishop : he writes such an abominable hand.' And indeed when in departed years the not infrequent letter came from him, one could but go over it repeatedly and write above each word what perhaps it meant. Then gradually the sense appeared. Little things, we know, may keep a great man back from what he would like : and in the latter years Stanley would have liked to be a Bishop. Doubtless that illegible manuscript came nearer to the question of his fitness for the great office than his incapacity to put on his clothes, the way he cut himself in shaving, the unconsciousness whether he had taken his necessary food, and the awful confusion in which he kept his bedroom. But there w^cre other reasons, as everybody could see. Outsiders naturally think that the greatest men in the Anglican Church should fill its highest places : forgetting that these are places of special and very exceptional work, for which men so illustrious as Dean ' The Life and Correspotideme of Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, D.D., late Dean of iVestiiiinsttr. By Rowland E. Prothero, M.A. , Barrister-at-law, late Fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford. With the co-operation and sanction of the Very Rev. G. G. Bradley, D.D., Dean of Westminster. In Two Volumes. London : John Murray, 1S93. ii8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Church, as Stanley, as Liddon, are far less fitted than others who must be placed a thousand miles below them. I heard the words : they were said only to myself. I looked at the stern face, which was gazing right on. We were walking, pretty fast, round and round the cloister of St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle : for an hour exactly, on that day of drenching rain. The speaker was the Great Duke's nephew, Dean Wellesley of Windsor : who knew very many strange things, and (now and then) spoke out with a startling freedom. If I durst but record what I have heard that remarkable man say, how these pages would be read ! Yes, and how fiercely what might be written here would be contradicted by divers cautious and sub- servient souls : who would contradict it precisely because they knew it true to the letter and the spirit : not to add the fact. I am not to begin my account of Dean Stanley's Life, and of his Biography, by any attempt at an estimate of his character, and of the actual work he did in this world. Many have already essayed to do all this : and, so far as concerns the facts, I do not much disagree with what I have seen said by anybody. Stanley's character was easily read : its lines were very marked : and the man was transparent sincerity. You might like him and approve him or not : it was easy to understand him. He awakened the keenest possible likes and dislikes. You might think his work in the main a good work : you might think it mischievous and soul-destroying. Thirty years since, when I had said something in his praise, a very stupid and DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 119 illiterate Scotch parson said to mc, * Dean Stanley ! He's a pickpocket. He gets his stipend under false pretences.' A vci)- hidebound and narrow soul once refused to meet him in this house, because he was ' a Latitudinarian.' The religious paper called Christian Charity stated that Stanley's teaching led directly to INFIDELITY : so was the word printed, for emphasis sake. Keble and Pusey, saintly and sincere, refused to preach in Westminster Abbey when he was there : thus ' coming out and being separate.' The lovable Liddon declined at first : but thought better of it and did preach : of course admirably. The well-meaning Lord Shaftesbury was ' alarmed ' when Bishop Tait made Stanley one of his chaplains : ' The Bishop knows not the gulf he is opening for himself When Temple was made Bishop of Exeter, Dr. Pusey averred that he had * partici- pated in the ruin of countless souls.' It may be hoped that the good man was mistaken. Who now has a word to say against the decorous and excellent Bishop Temple of London 'i All this is merely the way in which theo- logians express themselves. It was even as my dear old Professor of Divinity, Dr. Hill of Glasgow, lecturing to his students, briefly made an end of a great movement by saying, ' those pestilent publications, the Tracts for the Times.' And it mattered just as much when the saintly Dr. Muir of Edinburgh declared in my hearing at least fifteen times, that to kneel at prayers and stand at praise in the Kirk was of the instigation of the Devil. Long ago, when John Knox in this city spoke of ' the Trewth,' he meant his own opinions. And when he spoke of the Popish I20 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL devils, he meant people who did not agree with him. All these things are outgrown. Had we lived then, and held strong convictions, we should have spoken even so. In this room where I write, when I look up from my table I see the eager little figure with the sweet refined earnest face standing before the bright fire which to him was life, and visibly expanding in its warmth. When I close my eyes, I hear the voice flowing on and on, a very torrent of eager speech : uttered where he w^as sure of sympathy, if not of entire agreement. Tulloch's grand presence is by, and his silent attention. The lovable Hugh Pearson sits in that chair which T can touch : it was always Arthur and Hugh. In writing, it was H. P. I look at these shelves, still here as when he saw them : I behold Stanley eagerly going along one side of the chamber, and saying with great rapidity ' I could begin at one end of these shelves and read on to the other.' Till of a sudden, ' No : I stop here : I could not read this.' It was a volume of sermons by Guthrie : to whom, strange to say, he never did justice. And indeed on a September Sunday in Edinburgh in 1 862, he ' heard ' two preachers, one Guthrie and the other not : and strongly expressed his preference of the one who in popularity was pretty nearly nowhere in the general estimation. Hugh Pearson was with him all that day : it was that evening that Stanley, in absence of mind, seized up a piece of buttered toast in his fingers and handed it to Pearson, who received it after a moment's hesitation. It is not from these volumes that the living eager Stanley looks out : but from one's own remembrance DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 121 of words and looks, jijreatening and brightening upon one since I took up the pen. One's eyes are dimmed : thinking of the little vanished hand : thinking of the pleasant voice that is still : seeing the beautiful refined face : discerning, plainly as when present, the worn little figure standing in front of that fire, turning from side to side, and pouring out a stream of speech which was entrancing ; and some- times quite incisive enough. Stanley was a lovable saint : but there was nothing of the sheepish about him. He could defend himself And he could stand up bravely for any one whom he held to be oppressed and persecuted. One remembered Froude's saying, sometimes : that Stanley could be tremendously provoking. Provoking in the same way in which Newman was : just one sharp sentence in a long discourse which pierced somebody to the quick, which reached him where he felt most keenly. It was so in that farewell sermon, when he left Oxford for Westminster. It was in Christchurch Cathedral : he chose the place. He had long been silenced as a preacher in Oxford so far as that might be. And now he quoted to divers of those outstanding men who ruled the great University the words of Chalmers concerning it : ' You have the finest machinery in the world, and you don't know how to use it.' It was distinctly presumptuous in Chalmers to sa}- so ; an outsider, speaking in great igno- rance. It was extrcmel}' irritating when Stanley repeated it. I vividly recall another occasion, over many years. Dr. Lees of St. Giles' at Edinburgh and I had dined at the Deanery on a Sunday, before a great evening service 122 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL in the Nave at which Stanley was to preach. The long procession entered in all due state : the Choir first, then many clergy : and amid that surpliced train, walked side by side, unvested, the two ministers of the Scottish Kirk. We sat in the line with divers Canons, on chairs arranged in order. I remember yet how the fine old man next me shrank away as fi-om pollution. Had I been a Canon, I should have done exactly the same. To him, after the training of his life, it was even as it would be to me if a Muggletonian, incapable of spelling, were set to preach in the parish church of St. Andrews, Which indeed may quite possibly be after I am gone. But as Stanley told me he once said to John Bright when the great Tribune developed his views as to what was to come of the Church of England, — said with extreme rapidity, — ' I hope I may be dead and buried before that comes.' The view developed was as to the actual method of dis- establishment. All the parish churches were to be put up to auction, and sold to the highest bidder. Then Stanley added, with a ghastly look, ' Think of Westminster Abbey being sold by auction ! ' Two suggestions were made, neither of which pleased him. One, that the Ancient Church would move heaven and earth to get it. Another, that it might be carried away stone by stone and set up again beyond the Atlantic. The serious conclusion was that a national building like the great Abbey would never be sold, but might be mediatised : remain as a grand monument, attached to no religious ' body.' As for the parish churches, here for once Liddon felt even as did DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 123 Stanley. I sec the solemn expression with which Liddon said, walking in the still October sunshine amid great trees yet green, ' I don't see how the visible continuity of the Church of England could be maintained if she were stripped of the fabrics.' And indeed whatever Communion possessed the Cathedrals and the parish churches would be in the vulgar estimate the Church of England. I do not know whether or not a most illustrious statesman is of the same mind still concerning that proposed spoliation, as when he said to Liddon in the most fervid tones, ' I would fight with my hands to prevent tJiat ! ' Considering how small a place St. Andrews is, it is wonderful how much has of late been written about it. The latest volume is Mr. Andrew Lang's. It had to be bright and charming, coming from that pen : but not every one will quite take in how much vital, weighty, and impor- tant truth is given there in the liveliest fashion, on pages which sparkle and effervesce. But it is good both for places and for persons to meet the occasional taking-down. And St. Andrews is taken-down in these volumes. No doubt we need it. A very friendly and able writer, essen- tially a Londoner, in a most kind review of the present writer, deemed it necessary to admonish him that the death of the greatly-beloved Principal Tulloch did not eclipse the gaiety of nations : and that the world got on perfectly well without the sweet smile of Principal Shairp. I knew it before : knew it perfectly : but those losses made a terrible difference here. Now Dean Stanley was so much to St. Andrews, ' my own St. Andrews,' that it is 124 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL trying to find how very little St. Andrews was to him. The words come back, 'our own University of St. Andrews ' : and indeed he was Lord Rector when he said them : ' I never can work so well as at St. Andrews : there is some- thing here which is not at Westminster, which is not at O.Kford.' It is not that there was anything but absolute sincerity in such sayings, and many more : ' I have got into St. Mary's College, and I am happy ' : when housed under Tulloch's roof. It is that the intense sympathy which made him at home here, made him equally at home in fifty other places. We could not expect to keep to our- selves the man who knew so many historic cities, so many famous men. And the Kremlin, St. Petersburg, Rome, Avignon, Nuremberg, were more by far than our wind- swept ruins. It pleased him to sit in the General Assembly : but it had pleased him incomparably more could he have been at Rome when the Conclave elected a Pope. One never forgets ' There's nothing in the world so interests me as an ecclesiastical curiosity.' Some of us here he regarded as approaching to being ecclesiastical curiosities. And when he first preached in the parish church here, a brilliant London periodical had the philo- sophy of the case ready. ' Dean Stanley, being tired of the Abbey, is rushing about seeking all sorts of queer pulpits to preach from.' Or is it that the authors of these excellent volumes know little or nothing of Scotland : and care even less ? I cannot but think that if Stanley had written his auto- biography, Scotland would have bulked larger : if one may DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 125 use a horrible church-court phrase, in which, and the like of which, Stanlc)' delighted. He held them as wonderful instances of extreme degradation of the language : and having got a list of them from Shairp and myself (Tulloch cautioning us not to give it) he poured them out when presiding at the dinner of the Literary Fund. The bio- graphy is a piece of most faithful work : the man is truly represented here, even to foibles which we never thought foibles. We can remember nothing but good of him. All that is said in these two volumes is right, is fair, is labori- ously accurate. But it must be said : The man does not live and move, hurry about and eagerly talk, start up from his breakfast and forget he has eaten nothing : quite as it used to be. I know what the dignity of such a biography demands : I bow to the better judgment of Mr. Prothero and Dean Bradley : no writer could be more competent than either : and the pen is always restrained by a good taste which never for a moment fails. But still, I look back : I see things through a mist of tears. I walk in these streets, on the Links, beside the weary, bent, slight little figure : Bishop Ryle of Liverpool is just the same age, and they entered Oxford the same day : Would that Stanley could have been given the like stalwart frame ! I see him, just in from a four-miles round on the ' green,' having promised to lie down and rest before dinner where much talking must be, laid hold of by certain devout women, and feebly starting to go out a bit again, looking sadly bent and shaky : it was near the end. I hear the voice, as he looked from the ' Ladies' Links ' on the green 126 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL waves of the famous Bay tumbling in on the sandy beach, ' Ah, Westminster is very good, but there's nothing Hke this there ! ' And a Scot hkes not to read of ' the Rev. James Caird,' as the great preacher of a preaching Church and country for the last forty years. We call him the Very Rev. John Caird, D.D., LL.D., Principal of the great University of Glasgow. I see Stanley told that we heard much of Bishop Magee of Peterborough as a pulpit orator : reminded that he had listened to both Caird and Magee at their best : asked how he would place them. I hear the answer, given without hesitation and with extreme fervour : ' Caird first : and the Bishop second, loftgo intervallo! Then, preaching for Hugh Pearson in the charming church of Sonning, when the organ was under repair. Service over, H. P. regretted that the music was not so good as usual, there being no organ. Then the great Dean, passing by the pipeless case, ' Bless me ! Neither there is. I had never remarked it.' It was driving from Twyford to Sonning Vicarage that Stanley met what greatly pleased him. He was just married. Lady Augusta and her maid were inside the fly, and Stanley had climbed to the box beside the driver. ' I see you have got Lady Augusta Bruce inside,' said the friendly Jehu : ' I used to be at Windsor, and knew about her there.' Said the Dean, ' Not Lady Augusta Bruce now : Lady Augusta Stanley. She's my wife.' To which the driver replied, with unsimulated heartiness, ' Then, sir, I wish you joy. You have got about the best woman in the world.' It may here be recorded that the pulpit whence Stanley had descended on that day DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 127 without an organ, drew forth one austere remark from Bishop Blomfield of London. ' So you have got a stone pulpit,' he said to Pearson. ' I don't h'ke it. I prefer a wooden pulpit. In most cases, it is much liker the preacher.' I have seen many photographs of Stanley, but that at the beginning of the Biography is quite the worst I ever saw. It is singular!}' unfortunate. It gives the idea of a much larger man. And it has a fixed, stony look which is far indeed from the mobile, ever-changing face we knew. Of course, the features are there : but a stranger would never guess how refined, how small they were. I have seen Stanley, for a minute or two, look like that : two or three times of the hundreds in which I have watched him intently. Not in the pulpit of the Abbey did he look so grave. Once, perhaps, sitting before a great fire in the vestry of the parish church before going to preach, I saw that look, and thought it strange. But even then, the face was half the size which is here suggested. * I should have been a dull, heavy, stupid son of a Cheshire squire, one of a sluggish race, but that my grand- father married a clever lively Welshwoman ' : we have heard these words more than twice or thrice. When Arthur Penrhyn Stanley was born on December 13, 181 5, his father, afterwards known as Bishop of Norwich, was Rector of Alderley : son of Sir John Thomas Stanley, who in 1839 became the first Lord Stanley of Alderley. The biography tells us that the future Dean was christened Arthur, * mainly, doubtless, in honour of the hero of 128 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Waterloo, whose name was at that time on all men's lips : partly, perhaps, like the first-born of the first Tudor King, in memory of his Welsh ancestry.' But this is a bit of imaginative history : some here know better than that. In this house, I have heard him say to a little boy, ' If I tell you I was born in the second half of 1815, can you tell me why I am called Arthur .-• ' There was but the one reason known to himself In September 1824 he was sent to a preparatory school at Seaforth, a quiet hamlet on the Mersey, taught by Mr. Rawson the parish clergyman. He was bright and clever : but he could not learn arithmetic. The biographer does not know, what I have heard Stanley say, that Mr. Rawson declared that Arthur was the stupidest boy at figures who ever came under his care, save only one, who was yet more hopeless : being unable to grasp simple addition and multiplication. But while Stanley remained unchanged to the end, the other boy was to develop a mastery of arithmetic altogether phenomenal. He was to be the great Finance Minister of after years, Mr. Gladstone : the Chancellor of the Exchequer who could make a Budget speech enchaining. The future Premier was a good deal Stanley's senior, but they met. The boy's judgment is, ' He is so very good-natured, and I like him very much.' Stanley had no ear for music ; and no sense of smell. The latter implies the almost utter absence of the sense of taste. I see and hear him at Tulloch's dinner- table, when some mention was made (by one ignorant of the facts) of a great man who lacked power of smelling, vehemently tapping his nose, and exclaiming, 'Here, here!' DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 129 •He told how once in liis life, drivint; throut^h a fragrant pinewood in the Alps after a shower, he had what he supposed must be the sense of smell for just half an hour : ' It made the world like Paradise.' And indeed, any who were allowed to penetrate into retired nooks in the Deanery in departed days, were well assured that its master had not that sense. If he had possessed it, the sanitary arrangements would have been seen to, and the Dean would not have died when and how he did. It is terrible to think that the beautiful little face was not recognisable when it was hidden for ever. Hugh Pearson was not allowed to see it. Not that it mattered. As Samuel Rutherford said, dying, 'Glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.' And the old friends have long since met There. When at Seaforth, the boy was taken to a three hours' missionary meeting at Liverpool, hard by. At the end of it ' I felt rather sick, and had to go out.' I thought of the day on which I went with him to hear a Privy Council judgment. We were in what he called ' the dress circle ' : but after an hour of Lord Chancellor Cairns : ' I can't stand any more of this : Come away.' It was pleasant, going from the Deanery to Downing Street, to see all the cabmen, and a host of others, take off their hats to him. And thus early in the boy's life began those travels which to the last were such a delight and rest. Well I remember, going away from St. Andrews, the last words in the railway carriage, 'Travelling tires one in body, but it is such an unspeakable refreshment of mind.' But he went on, to a friend who was going abroad, ' I K J30 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL don't care a bit for snowy Alps : give me a historic German city ! ' All the world may rejoice that he went to Rugby : not to Eton as the young Gladstone advised. On the last day of January 1829 he entered the school he was to make famous. And though Arnold was a great and good man, there can be no doubt who made him a hero to all who read the English tongue. ' I certainly should not have taken him for a Doctor. He was very pleasant and did not look old.' Stanley rose like a rocket to every kind of eminence : always excepting his * sums.' With transparent delight he gained prize after prize. But he had no capacity for games. Still his great talents, and his entire amiability, secured him respect : ' prevented all annoyance.' Here is a glimpse : * When after reciting his beautiful prize poem, " Charles Martel," he returned from Arnold's chair so loaded with prize books that he could hardly carry them, his face radiant, yet so exquisitely modest, and free from all conceit, that we outsiders all rejoiced at little Stanley's successes.' Then he was elected a scholar of Balliol. And Arnold told the boys that Stanley had not only got everything he could at Rugby, but had already gained high honour for the school at the University. Soon tfter going to Oxford, the future Broad Churchman appears in an earnest letter to his confidant C. J. Vaughan : whom it is enough to name : * Alas that a Church that has so divine a service should keep its long list of Articles ! I am strengthened more DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 131 and more in my opinion, that there is only needed, that there only should be, one : viz. / believe that Christ is botli God and viaiL And he writes to his friend Lake of an acquaintance among the freshmen : 'A good type of his class apparently, who quotes the Articles as scripture, the Church as infallible. I went out a walk with him the other day : suddenly a look of horror appeared on his face. " I did not know such a thing was tolerated in Oxford," pointing to a notice on the wall. I imagined it to be "something dreadful": It was an innocent To the Chapel. " Oh," said I, " you mean the Dissenting Chapel." " Yes, how could it have been built here } I wonder they did not pull it down long ago."' That youth was just as tolerant as great John Knox himself. But no attempt shall be made here to sketch that life. There is not space : and such as would follow the history will read, with profound interest, every sentence of the biography. It grows always brighter and better as it goes on. And it is written with entire sympathy : which does not imply entire agreement. Mr. Prothero's theory of things is probably about as near to Stanley's as Hugh Pearson's was : as is the humble writer's. But who could know the man, and not love him ? In due time, First-Class at Oxford. And his famous prize-poem, ' The Gypsies.' Soon beginning to chafe at subscription : specially dreading the damnatory clauses 132 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL of the Athanasian Creed. Some of us remember how^ long after, he laughed like a mischievous schoolboy over a foot-note he had appended to an account of the Greek Archbishop of Syra taking part in a consecration in the Abbey. ' It is interesting to remember that this excellent person, not holding the Double Procession of the Holy Ghost, according to the Athanasian Creed, ivithout doubt shall perish everlastingly.' And he writes to H. P., in 1841, ' I have read No. 90, and almost all its consequences. The result clearly is, that Roman Catholics may become members of the Church and Universities of England, which I for one cannot deplore.' He was ordained by the Bishop of Oxford, after some hesitation on his own part. In 1846, after he had become his father's chaplain, he writes of an ordination in which he had taken part in Norwich Cathedral : ' A heart-rending sight, half prose, half poetry, half Protestant, half Catholic : an impressive ceremony with its meaning torn away : a profession, really of some importance, and claiming to be of the highest, dislocated from its place in society.' I have heard him tell the story of his first sermon, in a village church near Norwich. Two old women, after service. The first, ' Well, I do feel empty-like.' The other, ' And so do I. That young man did not give us much to feed on.' Assuredly he did not preach ' a rich gospel.' One does not mind about Stanley being known by at least four pet names. But it startles, to find the serious DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER ^33 Tait, after his historic condemnation of Tract 90, addressed as Belvedere and my dear Grcis. An unlucky associa- tion brings back Goldsmith's ' I am known as their agree- able Rattle. Rattle is not my real name, but one I'm known by.' It is to be confessed that after he was Arch- bishop, I have heard him called Potato. But that was by a very high churchman, who held him as little better than a Presbyterian. Nothing need be said of Arnold's death, in June 1842, nor of the famous Life. ' I have written just two books, which really made an impression,' one has heard him say. The other, of course, was Sinai and Palestine. When Tait was elected Arnold's successor, Stanley was in deep despondency as to the sufficiency of his scholarship. During the Hampden controversy, Stanley wrote to his sister in defence of Bishop Wilberforce's action. Stanley did not think it wise, but he thought it sincere. And the significant words occur, ' any act of undoubted sincerity in him is worth ten times as much as it would have been in another person.' Somehow, one would not like to be defended in that particular way. On a Sunday evening in 1847 Stanley preached in the College Chapel, with the unfortunate drawback of having a glove on his head : being quite unaware of the fact. Very like the inaccurate genius who would date a letter the wrong month of the wrong year. In the autumn of 1849 Stanley's father died : curiously at Brahan Castle, near Dingwall. Dean Hinds of Carlisle was appointed Bishop of Norwich, and Stanley was offered 134 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL the Deanery of Carlisle. He was not yet thirty-four. Had he accepted, it would have changed the course of another life. Tait was glad to leave Rugby for Carlisle. Had Stanley been there, it is quite certain that Tait's five children could not have died from the poisonous drains of the Deanery : in which case Tait would not have been thought of for the Bishopric of London, and the history of the Church of England might have been different. * The real attraction' of the Canterbury canonry, in 1851, was that it made a home for his mother and sister. Sinai and Palestine appeared in March 1856. 'Nothing I have ever written has so much interested and instructed me in the writing.' The success was instant and immense. But the saintly Keble felt called to testify. Yet Stanley testified in favour of the Christian Year, when a ' rabid Protestant ' declared it was of ' very improper tendency.' ' I confess my blood boils at such fiendish folly and stupidity.' In August 1856 he was at Dumfries, and visited the beautiful churchyard of Kirkpatrick-Irongray, where Jeanie Deans lies under a monument erected by Sir Walter. It is a covenanting region, and Stanley was greatly interested. In those days the writer was incumbent of that parish: but he did not meet Stanley till 1862. At this time it was put about that Stanley was to be Bishop of London : but every one knows that in September 1856 Tait was appointed. It was a curious sight to see men in the New Club at Edinburgh shaking hands enthusiasti- cally, and exclaiming, Archy Tait a Bishop ! Stanley soon became Professor of Church History at Oxford. ' How DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 135 many letters of congratulation do you suppose I have received from residents in Oxford? One from Jowett, and — not one beside ! ' Dr. Puscy, ' loving him personally,' was constrained to point out that his views tended to unbelief. Stanley replied in courteous terms, that many good souls believed that Pusey's views tended to some- thing in their judgment nearly as bad. I remember Stanley saying that when he became Dean of Westminster, the letters of congratulation reached 600. A good many came from Scotland. But his really intimate friends were few. * From Hugh Pearson or Professor Jowett he had no secrets.' Indeed to people far below these he some- times told strange and intimate things not to be repeated. But not one of them, though published ever so widely, would diminish the reverence and love in which he was held by all who really knew him. Surely he had not ' verified his quotation ' when he wrote, ' Trust in the Lord, as Cromwell said, and keep your temper dry.' The story of Essays and Reviews is fully given. No one has ever related how the book came to be at all. I re- member well how John Parker the younger told me that when the series of Oxford and Cambridge Essays which that house published came to a close, they had two or three essays on hand, paid for. So instead of casting them aside, old Mr. Parker thought they might as well get a few more, and make up a volume. This was done. The out- cry was tremendous. But it sold the book as the Oxford Essays never sold. The tour in the East with the Prince of Wales came early in 1862. During it, his beloved 136- MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL mother died. That September, Stanley and Pearson came to Edinburgh. And here the writer had the in- estimable privilege of making Hugh Pearson's acquaint- ance. Never on this earth was there a more lovable man. And it was always most touching to see the friends together. In November 1863, Stanley was offered the Deanery of Westminster. Dr. Wordsworth, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, and the most conscientious of men, preached against the appointment from the pulpit of the Abbey. Dean and Canon were to become warm friends. On December 23, in Westminster Abbey, Stanley was married to Lady Augusta Bruce. Nothing can be said of that lady better than she deserved. It was the happiest of all mar- riages. Not long after, he came to Edinburgh and gave two lectures in the Music Hall on Solomon. Substantially they are to be found in his Jewish Church. A great crowd listened. A worthy Philistine stated that they were about as good as Kitto's Bible Readings. In the waiting- room, before the lecture, Stanley was talking to the writer, when a bright cheery youth, wearing the kilt, came tearing in, and (morally) embraced the Dean enthusiastically. It was Prince Alfred, then abiding for a space in Holyrood. He sat next Stanley, on a crowded platform : and hearty applause followed when the Dean said Solomon was ' like our own Alfred ' : turning round in a marked way to the youth. On this visit, Stanley and his wife stayed with Mr. Erskine of Linlathen in Charlotte Square. And the Dean made the acquaintance of a good many outstanding DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 137 ministers of the Kirk : hardly any of whom had taken the trouble of attending his lectures. One remarked, when ushered into a drawing-room, he gave his name as Doctor Stanley. It was now that leaving our house, Dr. Grant of St. Mary's said to the beloved Dr. Hunter of the Tron Kirk of Edinburgh, ' Well, what do you think of the Dean ? ' Dr. Hunter was about a head less in stature than Stanley. But drawing himself up with old-fashioned dignity, he re- plied, ' A most charming man ; but somewhat deficient in personal presence ! ' His ' Lectures on the History of the Church of Scotland,' delivered in Edinburgh, caused great diversity of opinion. Which has to be. Mr. Trothero gives, briefly, Stanley's dream of being elected Pope. Some of us have repeatedly heard Stanley tell it at greater length, and in a varied version. I think I can recall it, nearly letter-perfect. Speaking with great rapidity : ' I don't usually attach any consequence to dreams : but this was remarkable. When I learnt that I had been elected Pope, I was in great perplexity. Not at all whether I should accept or not ; I had no difficulty about that ; but what name I should take. I thought of several, but I could not please myself Hugh Pearson could not help me. So I thought I would go down to the Athenaeum, and consult Jacobson, Bishop of Chester. Do any of you know Jacobson ? Well, if you did, you would know that he is the man that everybody goes to in perplexity ; the most cautious of men. He said, I should take it as a great com- pliment if you would take my name : William. Why not ? 138 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Somehow, it would not do. So I thought I should go away to Rome, and see about things there. Forthwith, with the rapidity of a dream, I found myself drawing near to Rome : walking along the Plaminian Way. As I came near the gate, a great procession came forth, to welcome the new Pope. Then I suddenly remembered that in the hurry of coming away from home, I had wrapped the blanket of my bed round me : and that it was exactly the colour which no Pope can wear until he is fully installed in office. I was in great agony. For I thought to myself, these people will think it most presumptuous in me to wear that colour when I have no right to it. But, on the other hand, I could not cast the blanket off, for I had not another stitch of raiment about me. Driven to this extremity, of course I awoke.' The Papacy had somehow an extraordinary interest for Stanley. Well I remember his saying : ' My great wish in this life is to be Pope. Then I should call a General Council. I should say, " Am I infallible? " " Yes." " Is whatever I say certainly true ? " " Yes." "Then the first use I make of my infallibility is to declare that I am not infallible : that no Pope ever was infallible : that the Church has fallen into many grievous errors, and stands in great need of a Reformation.'" When I related this to good Bishop Wordsworth, he answered with a solemn face, ' Yes, and that night the Pope would get a cup of coffee, and he would fall asleep and never awake.' Another suggestion was made. When Stanley had spoken the words, a sudden loud outcry would DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 139 be raised by those nearest, ' The Pope is taken ill : he has gone mad ! ' A rush would be made upon him ; he would be swept out of the Council ; and next day it would be an- nounced that he was dead. But it is quite unnecessary to discuss the steps which would practically be taken. Long before, while still a Professor, Stanley and H. P. had a private interview with Pius IX. I would I had space to relate the details : they are most interesting and strange. One only is given in the Life : How the Pope said Dr. Pusey was like a church-bell : ' He induces others to enter the Church, but he stays outside himself And coming forth, Stanley's first words to Pearson were, ' Well, that infallible man has made more stupid mistakes in twenty minutes, than I ever heard any mortal make before.' I am not to say a word of his sermons and speeches at St. Andrews : for I have told the story elsewhere, though only about half.' Very true is Mr. Prothero's word of Stanley's visit to the scene of the murder of Archbishop Sharp (never Shairp) at Magus Muir. I know that well, for I took him there. How solemnly he took it all ! ' It's an awful name, Magus Muir. Great part of the horror of the story comes of the name.' The Laird asked Stanley to write an inscription for the rude pyramid he put up to mark the spot. But the inscription was too ' Broad ' for old Mr. Whyte Melville. P^or it was equally complimentary • Deaii Stanley at St. Andrews : published in Fraser's Magazine, and now Chap, VIII. in the Recreations of a Country Parson. Third Series. Also in the two volumes Twenty-five Years of St. Andrews, fassim. 140 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL to the murdered Archbishop, and to the conscientious and devout souls who murdered him. The year 1874 saw Stanley's culmination. In the words of Archbishop Tait, ' No clergyman, perhaps, who ever lived, exercised over the public at large, and especially over the literary and thoughtful portion of it, so fascinating an influence.' His wife's death, on 'the Day of Ashes' in 1876, changed all this world. Yet even after that, he could be very bright and gay. Well I remember going with him round Henry VH.'s Chapel, how the eager flow of speech stopped, and he silently pointed to her resting-place, and turned away. Also how, going into the Abbey to preach, he got with great speed into his surplice (' I don't believe Stanley ever possessed a cassock,' were the words of an eminent friend), and entering his library with a solemn face, he silently patted the bust on its cheek, and then signed to me to follow him. When he went to preach elsewhere he carried ' The Order ' with him in an old newspaper. There is no doubt, he got downhearted about his work. I have heard the words which are recorded, ' Everything I do is sure to fail. The public have ceased to read or listen to anything 1 can tell them.' Yet at a meeting of the C.C.C. Society in the Deanery, he was at his very brightest, on the beautiful evening of Monday, May 30, 1881, that day seven weeks that he died. Now and then, his spirits were up- roarious. He uttered cries of approval of a paper read by one who could not agree with him in everything. As it grew towards midnight, I took Dean Stanley's hand for DEAN STANLEY OF WESTMINSTER 141 the last time. 'Yes, I'll preach for you on a Sunday in August, if you will put me up for a (cw days.' These were the final words I heard him say. Hugh Pearson wrote, ' He passed away in perfect peace — two long sighs, and not the slightest movement of the head or hand. There was no suffering throughout, thank God!' And H, P., soon to follow, added : ' What can one look forward to in the future for the Church without him ? For myself the light is gone out of life.' But the days of mourning are ended ; and we recall life- like little details with a smile. How he enjoyed the letter which came to him after the figures were set up in the reredos at the Abbey, which began : T/iou miserable idolater I Not less cheering was another communication, assuming a poetic form, which began : ' In old Cockaigne did Liddon Khan, A stately preaching-house decree.' Then the day on which Archbishop Tait, having written out a telegram at a country office, was addressed : ' And wha may ye be that tak' this cognomen } ' The Dean related the story at a bishops' dinner at Lambeth ; but could elicit no more from the cautious Primate than ' A vefj good story.' Bits of observation : ' I never walk along a street in an English town without seeing some name on a sign-board which I never saw before.' This, in contrast with Scotland, where the same surname of old served a county. Nothing pleased him more, preaching at St. Andrews, than when an old woman with a huge umbrella joined herself to the little 142 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL procession entering the church, and walked a long time close behind the Dean. ' It could not have happened in Westminster Abbey.' In graver mood, writing of a visit to St. Andrews : ' I am grateful to have a record of days so delightful ' : the absence of the incomparable wife being * the one shadow deepening and darkening over what else would have been unmixed happiness.' 143 CHAPTER VI HUGH PEARSON A LITTLE memoir of Hugh Pearson was printed, and sent to his friends. It is somewhere in this room, but I cannot find it to-day. I do not need it for my present purpose. I wish to show the greatly-loved man I knew. If I had found the volume, I should have turned it over, and then shut it and laid it aside, and written from my own memory and heart. While I live, I shall vividly remember the face and the voice, many looks and many sentences. I close my eyes and I see him : sitting in a large chair which I have just touched with this long quill. The days were in which I used to say to myself, over and over, Principal Tullodi is dead: not being able to take it in. It was exactly so when Hugh Pearson died. I know well that all the hours I spent with him were but a very little part of that honoured and helpful life. But they were quite enough to leave with me, for ever, the clearest idea of the manner of man he was. It is a very loving estimate of a man as true, kind, lovable, devout, as ever lived. It did one good to be near him. I fancy it is theologically certain that every human being must from time to time do wrong. I cannot remember that Hugh 144 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Pearson ever did wrong at all. Always wise : always good : always kind. No wonder that the biographer could say that from Pearson (and just one other, Jowett) Arthur Stanley had no secrets at all. Some of us, far below Stanley, could have told Pearson anything. It all comes vividly back, this Spring morning : from the first bright look at Edinburgh in August 1862, more than thirty-one years ago : through pleasant Sonning, which to me was always a glimpse of Paradise : Stanley used to say that Sonning church and vicarage were the ideal English church and parsonage, and Pearson the ideal English parson : then days in this house, red-letter days. Above all, a day comes back, a sad day. Pearson had his little individual ways. One was that he would come to stay at a friend's house, without giving any notice. He was ever far more than welcome. One August day, after a long lonely journey (which I think made him feel rather desolate), he came to this door : it was his first visit to St. Andrews. He made sure he was at home : knowing what a welcome awaited him here. But the faithful domestic who had stayed behind to see the house shut up had to tell him that we had all gone off that morning to Perth- shire for six weeks. She told us that she had never seen a man so knocked down. I know the smile of anticipation that was on the face when he came to our door. But he asked if he might come into this study : and he rested here a little and then departed. The moment I heard, I wrote begging him to come to us where we were : but it took days before he got my letter, and he was back in England. HUGH PEARSON 145 Then, )'cars after, the last sight of all of the kind face, sit- ting beside him as he read the Lessons one morning in St. George's Chapel at Windsor. How he enjoyed the stately- worship of that mai;nificcnt church ! When appointed a Canon of Windsor, he wrote, ' You know cathedral service is everything to me.' For twenty years his father was Dean of Salisbury : and amid such surroundings Hugh Pearson grew up, and there his ecclesiastical tastes were formed. They never left him. And though he was Stanley's dearest friend, the t}'pe of churchmanship was not quite the same. Well I remember, walking about with him at Sonning, his saying sorrowfully of a bright youth who had become quite too Broad, ' His faith is a wreck.' But he passed rapidly from sorrowful thoughts : and pointing up to a beautiful change he had made on the vicarage since my last \isit, he said, * A Xuiembcrg window.' He felt sad things deeply : I have seen the face look very sorrowful : but he thought it morbid to dwell on such, if one could righteously escape them. There arc two volumes in this room, greatly prized. A little one, bound in purple (he minded these things), called Hyvnis for the Sen'ices of the Church. No Editor's name is on the title-page. But there is a Preface, signed H. P., and dated Sonning, Advent, 1867. The other volume is a vellum-bound In Memoriavi : which bears ' In memory of Hugh Pearson, from his Brother W. H. Jervis.' The date is December 9, 1882. On the evening of a Sunday in this Lent, I turned over many letters which had been carefully tied up ; all beginning ' My dear .\. K. H. B.,' all ending L 146 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL ' Ever afifectionately yours, H. P.' Alas, there is one, written on January 7, 1882, whose last words are ' I am most thankful that 1881 is gone : I breathe more freely.' One has known the feeling of being thankful that a trying year was past : hoping something better. But the end was drawing near. Only three months remained : and I have heard him say that he was so interested in the progress of the Church and world that he would like to be allowed to watch them for a few more years. On Easter Day, April 9, 1882, he was at early Communion : and he preached at evening service, telling the people it was his fortieth Easter Day at Sonning. On Thursday in that week he died. If you preserve only letters of special interest, it is a pathetic thing to untie a little bundle after a very few years. There, along with that prophetic letter from H. P., is the large round hand of Bishop Phillips Brooks : the clear beautiful writing of Liddon : the hand, singularly like it, of Dean Church of St. Paul's : the wonderful caligraphy of Stanley : the scholarly writing of Froude, not always easily read : the clear page, legible as print, of Oliver Wendell Holmes : two letters from historic Edgewood, signed Donald G. Mitchell ; whose Reveries of a Bachelor so reached the youthful heart ; and the solitary letter which ever reached this house of the charming Rector of Bishopsgate, that Rogers whose name has such affinity to theological science. I never can forget my first sight of Hugh Pearson : the extreme brightness of his look, and the cordiality of his greeting. Stanley and he had come to Edinburgh ; and on the evening of Saturday, August 30, they dined with Dr. HUGH PEARSON 147 Crawford, the Professor of Divinity. The day before \vc had come back from England, where wc had spent that August of 1862 : and in the house of Sir Frederick Pollock I had met Stanley for the first time. He said he was soon to be in Edinburgh, and would come and see us : all we knew of Pearson was that he was an English clergyman, and a great friend of Stanley's. Three hours that evening I listened to Stanley's talk : and Pearson's was just as in- teresting. They wished to come to church next morning : and our one Sunday in Edinburgh, passing from Devon- shire to the Clyde (for August and September were holiday then) was happily theirs too. I took to Pearson that da}-, as I never had taken to any other man, save only Bishop Thorold of Winchester. Stanley might be the more famous man : Pearson was the more charming. I do not presume to say that Pearson took to me unworthy : but, as matter of fact, he often told me that he did. I shrink from anything that looks presumptuous : for within these few daj's an anonymous soul, writing to me, with incredible bitterness, a letter of an abusive character, declared that he does not believe that I ever spoke to even one of the eminent men of whom I have made mention on various printed pages. So I fear I have unintentionally rubbed that kindly Christian the wrong way. And it would be vain to assure him that he is mistaken. In any case he is thorough. He reminded me of a charitable old man who declared aloud in my hearing, he knowing that I was a son of the manse, that ' there was not a minister of the Kirk of Scotland who would give up a plate of pudden or a L 2 148 MExN Ax\U MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL tummler of toddy to save the souls of all the people in hfsi parish.' I was but a lad : but I plucked up courage and uttered an outspoken reply. It was that evening that Pearson said to me, Stanley having expressed some disapproval of Bishop Wilberforce of Oxford, ' You may speak of him as you like : but he is the show man of the Church of England ! ' I remember too, ' Like all the Wilberforces, he has the gift of sympathy.' Yet Pearson was anxious that we should understand that the Bishop was not a mere mass of geniality : he could show his teeth upon occasion : which I suppose is still needful in this world that a man may be respected. The idea is some- times simply brought out by simple folk. A presumptuous bagman, entering a coach drawn by a horse along a little line of rails up to a Perthshire village, said, in depreciatory tone, ' A very innocent railway.' ' No that Ennocent,' said the driver with much indignation : ' No that Ennocent : we kellt a man ! ' There was a proper pride, too. The record of the day says ' Stanley ; and a Mr. Pearson, Rector of a parish in Berkshire : a most pleasant man.' Ah, how well read they showed themselves to be, both of them, in certain volumes by a young Scotch minister concerning which his revered Seniors in the Kirk, specially those of them who ministered to empty pews, kept a silence as of the grave : broken only by the occasional word of oblique condemnation. ' Not a credi- table book from such a quarter ' : I have known. And I remember well when it was said that TJie Recreations of a Country Parson was a rowdy, slangy, and Bohemian HUGH PEARSON 149 title such as no clergyman could decently use. So we came away. In those days I had a deep veneration for the great Church of England : which extraordinary kindness experienced from its clergy of all degrees converted to a warmer feeling. But I think I may say that Thorold, Stanley, and Pearson, were the first of their order who held out a warm hand to me. Sunday morning was dull and dark. In August and September the New Town congregations of Edinburgh are scattered : and I was sorry that St. Bernard's, usually quite as full as it could hold, must be ' thin ' : save for tourists. These, in my latter years, quite made up for the absent flock. Further, the Choir, which was amateur, did not sing on these holiday Sundays. Scotland has greatly changed in church matters. The afternoon congregation now has dried up, as in England : but at that period, the great service was the afternoon. For that, one's sermon was fully written out : and read. B^ut in the morning the discourse was extempore : that is, one had sketched on a single page the line of thought, but trusted to the moment for the words. I never had varied this usage in the three years I had been in Edinburgh : and though on Saturday night the thought had crossed me that one should give a prepared sermon to so great a man as Stanley, I resolved that he must take his chance. I did not know then that he was to hear me often enough, when I had done my best. Stanley and Pearson were apparent, in the body of the church : but after service, to my astonishment, Kingsle}' walked into the vestry w ith them, looking very bright and; 150 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL alert. The Oxford and Cambridge Professors, to their surprise, had met on the steps of that Scottish kirk. Be- holding these three visitors, I could not but say I wished I had given them a discourse fully written out. I hear Kingsley say, in a solemn voice, with an impressive catch in it, ' He's modest about his sermon.' It chanced that the sermon pleased both Stanley and Kingsley ; though not prepared to that end. Scottish preachers, in those days, used to lecture regularly through a book of Holy Scripture in these unwritten appearances. Thus the great difficulty of selecting a text and subject was escaped. And I had simply come that morning to the verse next in order. I have turned up my faded pages : they are strange to see. The notes take up a small page and a half. I see, yet, the eager glance with which Stanley looked up when the text was read. It was St. John iii. 5 : ' Born of water and of the Spirit.' I knew not then, how Stanley, in, his famous article in the Edinburgh Review on The, Gorhain Controversy, had treated the doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration. Neither did I know Stanley's interest in the Standards of the Kirk. Having said that many identify the two Baptisms, water and the Spirit, or say they always go together : the discourse went on, that fact so contradicts this teaching, that it has to be fenced about, till it amounts to nothing. It was shown that our Confession takes as ' High ' ground as any : the grace in baptism is ' not only offered, but really exhibited and conferred.' It may be long latent, but it should come out at last. But now I fear I went on a line at which HUGH PEARSON 151 many would shake a dissentient head. I said that we did not need to make up our mind whether children were invariably regenerated in baptism or not : that our duty was plain : to wit, to have our children baptised : and that as for the exact effect, that was no concern of ours : it was in higher hands. All we need is to know what to do : so far, all is plain. Many would doubtless say that this was the application of a very rationalistic common sense to this solemn question. I had come to that point then : probably without any help. For I fancy it is not the view of either Scotland or England. Kingsley came up with me to Great King Street, hard by. The time between services, ' the Interval,' was brief Morning service ended at 12.30. Afternoon service began 2.15. The three pleasant visitors went away to the Old Town, to hear the famous and charming Guthrie in the afternoon. I was sorry not to have them then. For St. Bernard's was quite full. And I had a discourse, new then, which in the next November was to stand XIII. in the first volume of The Graver Thoughts of a Country Parson. The material for that volume had already been copied out. And that evening I was cheered by finding that I had taken a line which Stanley thought made sermons readable. He said that Newman's sermons were read very much because he was the first who gave each sermon a title ; instead of merely denoting it by its text. I did not know this. But that afternoon's sermon claims to treat The Vagueness and Endlessness of Human Aspirations. The text was the famous ' Oh that I had wings like a dove ! ' 152 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL And though a youth wrote it, an old man may say its teaching is true. They dined with Mr. Erskine of Linlathen. Then Kingsley, tired, went to the Caledonian Hotel in Princes Street, where his wife was : Stanley and Pearson came to us at nine o'clock and stayed till eleven. One watches a great man, rarely seen. I thought of the jagged collar, at Pollock's in London : first beholding the man whose Life of Arnold had been so much to many a young Scot. Now, as he walked in first, I recognised an ill-fitting dress- coat in which at that epoch he had been photographed. I must not repeat the touching legend of the oleaginous toast, which Stanley in absence of mind seized up in his fingers and handed to Pearson. Pearson looked at it with hesitation : but received and consumed it. Then they talked of Guthrie's sermon. I had told them of the indescribable charm of his manner : Never was more touching and holding oratory in this world. A great orator, if ever there was one. I had told them how he had impressed Thackeray. To my disappointment, they were critical. ' He had no particular message to deliver : just the ordinary evangelical thing.' Then Stanley said : ' Pie divided his subject into three " heads " : but he broke them down : what was said under one head might just as well have been said under another.' I began to see, that Sun- day evening, August 31, 1862, when Stanley was just 47, what I became very sure of afterwards : that to think alike was the tie to Stanley after all. Guthrie's doctrine had somehow repelled him. HUGH PEARSON 153 Long after, Pearson recalled that Sunda}-, so memorable to me. He did so many times in conversation : but I fmd a letter which had been quite forgot. I w ill run the risk of being accused of conceit, copying some lines. For they are interesting in themselves : and neither to Guthrie where he is nor to me where I abide docs it matter now what, this man or that may say. ' Here is a return to the old happy vein. I am delighted with Aly Vestry W'indoivs. How well I remember hearing you preach in St. Bernard's: going with A. P. S. and Kingslcy ! An admirable sermon : which we all contrasted greatly to your advantage with one we heard from Dr. Guthrie in the afternoon.' Well, I had my day in Edinburgh : a bright warm day : but not many there would have said that. Then that letter ends sadly. Lady Augusta was near the end. * Lady Augusta is, I understand, improving very slowly. She sees no one, and I can't help being anxious : but they tell me there is no real danger.' Then the hearty conclusion, not quite in the usual words : yet somewhat warmer than is common in Scotland even between great friends. ' No more, my dear Boyd. Ever yours most cordially, H. P.' Bishop Words- worth, after more than forty )cars of Scotland, was essentially an Englishman. So it is not an exception to what has been said when my eye falls in this moment upon a letter from him, ending ' Ever yours most truly and affectionately, C. W. Bp.' Having thus burst forth in what some good Christians may hold an ebullition of conceit, let me balance it by humbly presenting m}-self in the white sheet of humility. 154 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL I lately read, printed as proof of incredible ignorance and bad taste, how certain Americans, visiting Edinburgh, went on a Sunday to St. Bernard's when they might have had the privilege of hearing Dr. Guthrie or Dr. Candlish. This painful fact was given as indicating a descent to pretty nearly the lowest possible deep. This, more than once. But here is a passage from the Diary of that really honest and attractive man, George GilfiUan of Dundee, written August 5, 1863. ' It is now nearly a year since a Mr. Appleton, a brother- in-law of Longfellow, called on me with a note from his celebrated relative. I asked what ministers he had heard in Edinburgh, and whether he had been to Guthrie's chapel. " No, he had no interest in Guthrie. He had gone to hear the two Edinburgh clergymen at present most talked of in the States, Dean Ramsay and A. K. H. B." ' How curious the chance medleys of fame ! And so the American had heard of, and longed to hear A. K. H. B., and had a contempt for Guthrie, and probably knew nothing about John Bruce.' * The astounding ignorance of the man ! ' Even such, as Hugh Pearson liked to tell, was the ex- clamation (not to be taken seriously) of Bishop Wilberforce, when Pearson reported to him words of Pope Pius IX. Pearson and Stanley had a private interview with His Holiness, during which the infallible man (as Stanley said) made more stupid blunders than he had ever known any mortal make in twenty minutes before. One question was : ' Is not Vealberfoss a Professor at Oxford.^' 'Oh, no: HUGH PEARSON 155 Bishop,' was Stanley's reply. ' Ah, Vealberfoss is Bishop : I did not know that.' Ilcncc the moan just recorded. Another curious detail of that historic talk, which appears to have been carried on in a singular mixture of French and English. * How is the Professor Pous6 ? ' said the Pope. Stanley took up the question wrongly ; fanc}'ing the Pope was asking if Stanley, then an Oxford Professor, w^s^pous^, married. Stanley was just going to be married : so in a somewhat confused way he stated that Oxford Professors might marry, but that he had not done so. Whereupon the Pope, impatiently : ' That is not what I mean : I want to know how is the Professor Pous(5 } ' The friends replied that he was very well. Then the Pope summed up. ' Ah, the Pro- fessor Pouse is like une cloche, a church-bell. He induces others to enter the Church, but he stays outside himself.' At this time it was very commonly put about that Stanley was shortly to be a Bishop : perhaps even Arch- bishop : not of Dublin, but of Canterbury. Pearson's remark to me was, ' Very likely a Bishop. I should say, very unlikely to be Archbishop.' That evening the two friends talked of an idea which had suggested itself to Stanley, who was eager for the drawing together of the two Established Churches of Britain. Tulloch had said, in his frank way, that he would have no objection to receive Anglican orders : not as casting any doubt on the validity of those of the Kirk, but simply as the legal qualification to minister in English parish churches ; not to name the holding of English preferment. So some shadowy notion, never to come to anything, occurred, that a few Scotch 156 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL parsons of the highest standing might in this sense be re- ordained : and, still holding their charges in the Church of Scotland, be made Canons of English Cathedrals. The thing would not have been popular in Scotland. I re- member with what bitterness a good man said, hearing one of our best men named as conceivably so placed : ' Give him a few hundreds a year more, and he would go over altogether.' Then, on the other side, I heard a Bishop say, ungraciously, ' What would our curates think, if a lot of hungry Scotchmen were to get our prizes .-* ' One could but suggest that a Scotchman, as hungry as any, for when he took his degree he had exactly nothing but what he earned, was at the moment Bishop of London. It was plain that the national jealousy could easily be aroused. Yet two Scots, both sons of the Kirk, were in a little to hold York and Canterbury. It was this evening that Stanley said, ' I'm a Canon of the shabbiest Cathedral in England : but I'm a Professor of the greatest University in the world.' At length they must go : and in the lingering twilight of the North, I walked up with them through the trees of the Queen Street Gardens. Reaching the top of the hill, I said, ' Now when you are made Bishops or Archbishops, surely you will hold out a hand to us in the Kirk, who are not so very unlike you ? ' ' Here is a hand,' said Stanley, in his most fervent mood. Pearson said the like : and after that warm grasp we parted. Nobody will care to know : but the number of that house in Great King Street was 78. Pleasant that it was twice * Poor Thirty-Nine.' And dear. HUGH PEARSON 157 The first dwcllincj the writer can call his own in fee- simple. Just so dear, that now, after nearly twenty-nine years, that division of Great King Street is barred. As Julius Hare wrote, ' Birth has f:^laddened it, death has hallowed it.' There is a gate in Ghent, — I passed beside it : A threshold there, worn of my frequent feet, AVhich I shall cross no more. There entered Froudc, the first house he ever entered in Scotland : there Thorold, no more than Rector of St. Giles' : though some of us made sure what was to be. There Tulloch, oftentimes. There Maclcod. Coming down the hill to it, Froude told of the Devonshire farmer who, having seen a picture of the walls of Jericho going down, walked round his barn blowing a ram's horn ' till he was like to burst,' with no result at all. But I must not go that way. From that day onward, H. P. began to write long and interesting letters. But it v/as not till Shrove Tuesday in 1S64 that I beheld Sonning. I was for ten days at St. Giles' rectory in Bedford Square, already quite home-like : and Pearson wrote that I must come down and end the Carnival with him. On Tuesday, February 9, in the loveliest of frosty sunshine, all the world gleaming, by the Great Western to Twyford : thence, as H. P. said, ' you must Fly.' I never had properly seen such a church and parsonage before. One good of being so starved in the bare sanctuaries then universal in the North, was that one had a quite enthusiastic enjoyment of Anglican beaut}'. 158 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL The entrance hall was square, panelled with black oak. Pearson's study was delightful. The dining-room was more like rooms in general : only that round the walls were the portraits of innumerable Bishops, All special friends of H. P. There was a very youthful picture of him the Pope called Vealberfoss : specially odious to that illustrious Prelate. ' Like nothing earthly but a hair- dresser's man/ was his criticism : and indeed the hyacinthine locks were much in evidence. Archbishop Longley was there : not so pleasant of aspect as when older. He was the first person I heard preach before the Queen : indeed the only person save one other. I remember the sermon perfectly : it was on ' neither circumcision nor uncircum- cision ' : the conclusion was most beautiful. As I was only sixteen, my opinion was probably of small value. The last glimpse I had of the Primate was singular. In Piccadilly, a horse had fallen : a little crowd was round it. I was driven sharply against a little figure, contemplating the horse. For he had lived long in Yorkshire. It was the Archbishop, quite alone : extremely well dressed : and with the self-same curious glance in his eye which Pius IX. had. I hastened to take off my hat : but no one else knew the good man. What facts H. P. knew about the dignitaries of Anglicanism ! That day, specially, how they were impoverished by the awful expenses of coming in to their places. But the apartment which stands out in memory in the Vicarage was the drawing-room. Black oak from floor to ceiling : and when lighted up with wax candles (H. P. would have no other light in it), the warm HUGH PEARSON 159 dark home-like glow was never to be forgotten. The record of that departed day is brief ' Perfect church and parsonage : Pearson kindest of men. My ideal of a place to live in.' I had to be at St. Giles' next morning, Ash Wednesday, to hear Thorold and his curates ' do the cursin ' to a moderate congregation : I never so grudged the rapid passing of the day. There were three curates : two of them English, and quite charming : the third Scotch, and not wholly so to a countryman. They were taught to address the Vicar as Hugh. The sweetest-natured of men had his ways. The Scotsman lived out in the country : the other two in a charming cottage-dwelling in the beautiful village. Of the church it need only be said that Stanley had not said a word too rniuch of it. Pearson got it in sad estate : but he restored it. They were the first pillars of chalk I had ever seen. When I spoke enthusiastically of the loveliness of ' kirk and manse,' H. P. replied, ' Ah, the living is but three hundred a year : think, when I go, of a vicar with six children and only the living ! ' We went into the school. Very pleasant, the pretty healthy children rising with a word of welcome. The Christmas decorations were still there. Church and vicarage are close together, in the same enclosure. And under the church's shadow, Pearson quietly pointed to his father's grave. The beautiful Thames flows by, surprisingly small : a quaint old bridge near. Here it was that Bishop Wilberforce, when weary, came for a quiet Sunday : and was happy. I thought Pearson, that day, the happiest of men. The devotion to i6o MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL him of his curates was delightful to see. But though his acquaintance was so wide, there was one friend who stood first : the talk went continually back to Arthur. Much was said that day of friendly alliance if not actual incorporation of the two National Churches. We all knew how Bishop Wordsworth, preaching at the re- opening of Chichester Cathedral, had taken for his text ' I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they be of the same mind in the Lord ' : the E and S standing for England and Scotland. One was in perfect harmony with the three born and bred Anglicans. The only jar was when the curate came who had been born and bred in the Kirk, and when he began to ridicule the heroic Communion in which his father at that time abode. 'I'm a placed minister ! ' he said, sarcastically. The term, a placed minister, implying one set in full charge of a parish, did not appear to me in itself more ridiculous than the synony- mous term, a benificed clergyman. It is a Scotticism, no doubt : in use among the less educated : even as Auld Lang Syne is Scotch for Old Long Since. Then, with a laugh as at something very barbarous, the Scot (whose speech bewrayed him though he assured me he was entirely an Englishman) went on to state that when staying with his father in Edinburgh, the father would come in from church and say We had Veitch to-day. I informed him that I had heard an eminent lawyer, coming from the Temple Church, say We had Vazighan this morning : and I could see nothing in the statement to laugh at. Then H. P. suppressed his subordinate : and explained to me HUGH PEARSON i6i afterwards (what I had already surmised) that no one minded what he said. I really cannot abide the Scot who, before the Saxon, tries to burlesque the Church in which he was born. Conscientious conviction (with however little reason) that it is no Church at all, I blame not. And between Liddon and myself, it made no severance. But when a native Scot, the son of an Elder of the Kirk, begins to talk to me of ' a God-appointed ministry and a man-appointed ministry,' it makes a gulf And gazing upon him, I recall Carlyle's downright words to a Scot ashamed of his country, ' Oh man, ye're a puir, \\ ratchcd, meeserable crater.' The little breeze of controversy lasted but a minute : and when we ascended to that beautiful drawing-room H. P. had so many interesting things to tell of eminent persons heard of but never seen, that it was hard to go, though returning to the very kindest of friends. And next day it was made apparent to the Scot that even south ol the Tweed days in the calendar are not always regarded. For after Commination Service at St. Giles', and a fitting sermon from him who was to be Bishop of Winchester, the Day of Ashes ended cheerfully with a dinner-party of twenty-four in the hospitable dwelling of Mr. William Long- man, where were many eminent men. Here were Froude and Ormsby, already well known. And I had my only glimpse of Mr. Fitzjames Stephen, afterwards a judge. I had read a brilliant paper by him in Frascr on my journey up, wherein he laid down the sound principle that you should help a man, as far as may be, through painful duty. But the illustration M i62 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL abides in memory, painfully. ' We must not grudge the hangman his glass of brandy.' The history of that evening records that the fare was not Lenten. And I remember well how Mr. Longman, not knowing how elevated above all prejudice we are in Scotland, made some apology for asking me on that penitential day. Just a year before, Froude being with us in Edinburgh, I asked an old curate of his father's to meet him : but received a solemn statement that he could not dine out on a Friday in Lent, On that day Dean Ramsay came to dinner without hesi- tation. Perhaps he ought not, that saintly man, on being told of the good parson's scruples, to have held up both his hands, exclaiming : W/iat a fool I Of course, it was a quiet gathering of some dozen men only, to meet the illustrious historian. That was my first view of H. P. in his beautiful home. I was to know it well : and fain would expatiate. But my space is brief; and I must select occasions which stand out in memory. One such was May 9, 1877. My daughter and I spent that sunshiny day at Sonning : where it is recorded that ' Church and house surpassed recollection.' Pearson, as ever, the kindest of hosts : but the kind face was sad as we walked about on the turf, he bewailing the young friend who had come not to believe anything. I never saw Pearson look so sorrowful : but he brightened up, by-and-by. The forenoon was spent in and about the church : after luncheon to see the good old Miss Palmer, H. P.'s warm friend and supporter, in the grand house near. John Locke was of her race : and it was strange, HUGH PEARSON 163 in the quiet library, to turn over Newton's Principia, bearing in a beautiful hand that it was the gift of the author. Then we drove to see the church where Tenn\'son was married, and to a most beautiful little church which II. I', had lately built. I was staj'ing in London for a fortnight's rest : Pearson said I must go to St. Paul's next day, Ascension Day, to hear Dean Church. I always shrink from pushing mj-self on any great man : but Pearson insisted on giving me a letter of introduction, which I can testify was effectual. For having left it at the Deanery along with my card (I would not enter in), within a few hours the E>ean called, I being out, and left the kindest of letters giving me choice of three days to dine with him. Three curates dined with the beloved ' Hugh ' that day : very unwillingly we drove away near 8 I'.M. to Twyford. I was to have another glimpse soon. On Tuesday, May 15, a very gloomy day, I went early to Windsor for a long day with the ever-charming Mrs. Oliphant. By extraordinary luck, at Slough Pearson came into the carriage : just made Canon of St. George's. I see the bright face as he exclaimed, ' Some inspiration brought us here together' : it was a happy inspiration for me. More than once he wrote to that effect : each of us had hesitated about moving on that dark morning ; and next day I had the long journey to Edinburgh. Never was H. P. brighter, happier, kinder, than on that memorable day. I must not speak of Eton, whither Mrs. Oliphant took me ; and where Tarver, Tulloch's son-in-law, showed me ever}-thing : that would demand a lengthy chapter. i64 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL But all the afternoon about the Castle, and St. George's, with Pearson. H. P.'s house was most quaint and delight- ful : it seemed too much for humanity that any mortal should have, within an hour of one another, two such dwellings as Sonning Vicarage and the Canon's house in Windsor Castle. But nothing could be too good for Pearson. When I went back to London, and spoke of those houses to Stanley, the Dean said, fervently, ' Ah, the man and the mountain have met ! ' Pearson took me to the Deanery, and introduced me to Dean Wellesley. I saw the room where the body of Charles I. lay the night before its burial : the queer squint through which, in the Dean's study, you commanded the High Altar in the Chapel : the Wolsey Chapel, and everything about the grand church itself. Well I remember, as a boy, thinking the Princess Charlotte's monument fine : now it appeared hideous. And H. P. said, ' Isn't it sad that this horrible thing is the most admired by visitors about St. George's ? ' Dean Wellesley was frankness itself: I believe he was not always so. Most interesting of all it was when Pearson, the Dean, and the lowly writer walked up and down long time on the terrace above the ' Slopes ' : well known of old to readers of that daily chronicle so dear to Thackeray. It was a charming scene. The trees below were growing into clouds of intense green. Below stretched the watery plain, Eton chdpel standing out grandly. The heights of Harrow made the horizon ; the two famous schools so near. How much the Dean said of extreme interest to an outsider to hear. And with what gusto he related a recent HUGH PEARSON 165 incident in the life of a good Canon, then in residence, whose brother had been several times I'rime Minister. For absence of mind, and forgetfulness of time and place, surely that benignant dignitary was hard to parallel. Still, it was rather mischievous to walk up and down with him, outside the famous sanctuary, for twenty minutes after the hour of a service at which he had to be present, giving him no warning : and then, when choir and congregation had been kept so long waiting, to suddenly demand if he were going to church, and mark him tear away in breathless horror. It appeared, indeed, that it was a needful lesson : the neglect being habitual. But it might have killed the aged lord. On this day H. P. departed for Sonning, as 4.30 approached : and the Dean and I were punctual. I wondered if anybody really cared as much for the Knights of the Garter as the prayers implied. And I thought of the wise remark of one set high : that though perhaps a Sovereign could not be prayed for too much, it might be too often. The speaker ought to know. Everybody knows that Stanley was elected Lord Rector of our University, and, following Froudes example, gave two addresses to the students. Pearson had written to me : * I was in town, with Stanley, when the telegram arrived, greeting him Lord Rector. It is very satisfactory. I wonder whether I shall be able to hear his inaugural address. Now I am tied more than ever.' H. P. heard neither of his friend's discourses : but he made a visit to St. Andrews, far too short, coming with the Rector to the election of a Professor. It was the year before those May i66 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL glimpses of Pearson. Everything comes back so vividly, that it is hard to think it is so long ago as Wednesday, August 2, 1876. I had a great carriage waiting at our awfully shabby station {now worthily replaced) : and brought up Stanley, H. P., and Lord Elgin, who was Lady Augusta's nephew and Stanley's Assessor in the University Court. He was but a youth then, bright-looking but silent. To-day he is Viceroy of India, as was his father too. Pearson stayed with us : Stanley with Tulloch : Lord Elgin had to go to a hotel. Both Stanley and Pearson looked specially cheery. It was a beautiful day : like the famous ' August the third ' of Bret Harte. Every corner of the little City was lovingly dwelt upon, and leisurely. The election took but a minute : then Stanley and Lord Elgin joined us : and we were quite a large party, all enthusiastic, as was fit. You may go round our ruins ^\hen it is cold weather : but you will not see them. It must be warm : that}-ou may linger. We had a Bishop with us : one of the early Suffragans. But, as Sydney Smith remarked, ' Even Sodor and Man is better than nothing.' Willingly could I linger upon the story of that day : it has all come back. Tea here : then Stanley to rest, H. P. and I a turn on the grand sandy beach. ' So different from Sonning. Grand. Norway over there.' It was an interesting party at dinner here that evening. ]-5esides my wife and me, only Stanley, Pearson, Mr. Whyte Melville (the Novelist's father, my chief Heritor), Tulloch, Professor Campbell, and Lord Elgin. Well I remember Pearson's consternation when I said to him that the Eari HUGH PEARSON 167 was such a youth, besides being Stanley's subordinate in the Court, that I thought I should make Stanley take my wife to dinner. H. P. had a deep respect for the pro- prieties : and he assured me that in England such a thing might not be. It did not occur, in fact, in Scotland. Stanley was quiet, at first : the blow had fallen on him. But before the end of the evening he was brilliant. No other word will do. Tulloch and he departed at 1 1 : but very far into the night did Pearson's flow of charming talk and reminiscence go on. He liked to speak of the eminent men he had known to one who sympathised. It was that night he said he grudged to grow old : Church and world were more and more interesting. The next forenoon was memorable. When I came down in the morning, the benignant descendant of Robert the Bruce was smiling before my study fire. He had to go by an early train, and wished to have more of H. P. I do not think he could have gone had he known what the day would bring forth. In a little, Stanley and Tulloch came. I knew Arthur's likings : and had the brightest of blazing fires. Stanley stood right in front of it : and blazed brighter by far. I never heard him so eloquent. He poured himself out : he dilated in the warmth which was life to him. Tulloch, H. P., and I sat and listened. What things we heard ! Ah, there, this morning, is the fire : but the eager little figure, alert from head to foot, and the beautiful face, are gone. And H. P. and Tulloch are long away. At 1.30 we all lunched with Tulloch. And at 3.30 all drove down to the railway : and Stanley and Pearson departed for i68 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Megginch, which to A. P. S. was specially dear, I could fill all the pages allotted me with my recollections of that morning's marvellous talk. The like may be said of my last visit to H. P. at Windsor in the last May he lived : 1881. I was going on my yearly visit to Bishop Thorold ; seventeen times now without a break : ' quite the best of May meetings,' was the hierarchical jest. Like divers kind old bachelors, H. P. was specially pleasant to young women : and having learnt that my daughter was in London, he hastened to call ; and heard where I was going. His residence at Windsor was to begin on May i. He went on, in his life-like way, ' It will be cheering to see you, and I will ask some of the Eton people to dinner. A glorious Easter Day here, and the best services I ever remember. There were loi at the 8 o'clock communion, and nearly as many afterwards : very cheering, considering that my whole population is only 750. So the great man is gone from us, and with him all the romance of politics. What a gap his death makes ! ' Still, trouble could come, even to Sonning. In another letter, ' We have had a great loss here since I wrote to you, in the death of my kind friend and squire, Richard Palmer. He succeeded his brother, whom you remember. Now there remains only one sister, the best person I have ever known, or now ever expect to know. If I should survive her, I should give up then, and retire for the rest of my days to some cottage (perhaps in a disestablished church), for I could not begin with a new regime here.' But I have recorded elsewhere ' about a twentieth * Twenty-five Years of St. Andrews : Vol. II. pp. 140-4. HUGH PEARSON 169 part of the history of that visit : and dare not expatiate now. Ah, Dean Wellesley's revelations ! How many things they have suggested to me, ever since ! Things (sometimes) come right. But that Wednesday, May 18, was a day of rain hke that of Loch Awe, and but that Pearson had a christening in London, I should not have had that unforgetable walk with the great Knower of secrets in Church and State. I can but recall Coleridge's lines : How seldom, Friend ! a good great man inherits Honour or wealth, with all his worth and pains ! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains. When we parted next day, after service at St. George's, there was no thought it was for the last time. Nor did we know that Stanley had just two months to come of this life. His day was July 18. And though he spoke eagerly to Pearson, in departing, the words could not be understood : and Pearson was not suffered to see the changed face. The Deanery of Westminster was pressed on Pearson when Stanley died. But he wrote that he was not the man at all. Many of us thought he was the very man. One has known good men in whose case one would have suspected some illusion, had they said they had declined the Deanery (' the best thing in the Church of England,' was Bishop Wilberforce's word, once himself Dean) : much more the Archbishopric, like another whom I have named. Though H. P. brightened, fitfully, in the remaining months which were given him, the great interest had gone from life when Arthur died. It was like himself that H. P. went : so I70 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL beloved, so loving. 'Unexpected this. But God's will, and therefore best. Yet it is a bitter wrench to leave all you dear ones.' Poor Michael Bruce, dying at twenty, had anticipated the feeling. ' I leave the world without a tear, Save for the friends I held so dear.' Of the little party, far more than friends, of that long memorable forenoon here in this room at St. Andrews, Stanley went first : Pearson nine months after him. Then Tulloch, more than eight years since. I alone remain. The youngest then : but this day older than any one of them lived to be. Thinking of Stanley's resting-place in the great Abbey and of Pearson's under the green turf in Sonning church- yard, one remembers how on that day I found that Stanley had (strange to say) never heard of Beattie's fine verse which contrasts two such-like. He was much im- pressed by it when read to him ; and he took away a copy of it to be put in the next edition of his Memorials of Westviinsier Abbey. But the next edition had not been called for when A. P. S. died. Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome. Where night and desolation ever frown : Mine be the breezy hill, that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave ; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. 171 CHAPTER VII OF A WILFUL MEMORY It was judiciously remarked by I\Ir. Carlyle (possibly on more than one occasion), that a man in a fever is not a strong man, though it may take six other men to hold him. For the poor patient's energy is not available to any good end : is not under control at all. Even so, I fear a memory cannot justly be called a good memory though it retain a vast amount of heterogeneous material, if it act capriciously, and at its own will : absolutely rejecting (let us say) the innumerable sermons one has heard, and treasuring up preposterous Sonnets from the Afghamse. Various saintly persons, and some to whom that adjective is in a lesser degree applicable, have stated that the present writer has a great memory. The statement is true under the serious reservation which has been indicated. An}-thing useless : anything odd : innumerable small in- cidents forty years old, whose history could in no way be helpful to any human being : glimpses of nature, seen in summer or winter, in his beautiful country parish, or on a bleak beach unvisited through the life of a human gene- ration : the look on a face in no way attractive, the face of one he did not in the least care for : ill-natured and stupid 172 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL speeches made in an unmusical voice : all these, and things innumerable more, often press upon him in a way that frightens : that revives as though it had happened within this hour something which befell when he was five years old. Long ago, an old gentleman (as I then thought him), long departed, said in my hearing that he ' was astonished at his own judgment' : he found himself so incredibly wise. I remember, vividly, that at the moment I esteemed the remark an injudicious one. But, in all sober earnest, I know people who are frightened at their own memory : so awfully vivid : so mighty to make past things live again which they would give much to forget. It appears to me that the punishment of past foolishness must be eternal : unless there be Lethe somewhere. I am not to permit myself to fall into too serious a line of thought. All this has been pressed upon me by the fact that certain lines have for two days kept ringing in my brain which I had absolutely forgotten : which I read in a London newspaper before I was ten years old, and never once have thought of since : and which are abso- lutely stupid. In those remote days, it was deemed jocular to print passages in Cockney language : and now, as I shut my eyes, I see the newspaper : it was called the Sunday Times, though it came regularly to a house where no mortal would have read a newspaper on a Sunday. I think it may exorcise the intruding poem if I give it here. I will give it, letter-perfect : and I do not believe another member of the human race remembers it. It was addressed to Mr. Green's famous balloon : — OF A WILFUL MEMORY 173 Great Gawky, wonder of the huppcr skies, Oh how I loves to see yer body rise ! There's lots of fear, although they tries to mask it. As they hangs dangling in a wicker basket. For me, wheneer I takes a hariel ride, I means to book a place hin the hinside : And, mounting huppards to the hupper skies, I shant feel giddy : — 'cos I'll shet both hies I Courteous reader, what do you say to a mcmor}' that of a sudden, and that continually, recalls, and urgently presses on one's attention, such material as that ? Could you lay your hand on your heart, and say it was a good memory ? At this moment, I put in that passage about hand and heart, because suddenly the face of an aged lady presented itself before me, and I heard her voice say, ' I should just like to ask Sir James to lay his hand on his heart, and say he has used me properly.' This important incident occurred when I was not seven years old. As the subject is poetry, there comes to my remem- brance a poem, written long ago, by a most eminent man whose reputation was rather in science than in polite literature. Not but what he wrote prose most eloquently and gracefully. Furthermore, when the writer was a youth, that illustrious man proved to him a specially kind friend. Few there are who know that Sir David Brewster, once Principal of St. Salvator's College, St. Andrews, and then of the University of Edinburgh, had ever soared into poetry. I believe he did so but once. But his poem is worthy of preservation. It is brief: but its construction is very remarkable. Five lines : each line containinf^ but 174 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL two syllables : but they rhyme with an entire perfection never elsewhere reached. They were a birthday tribute to a sweet young girl whose name was Phoebe : who, if she lives, must be an old lady now. They are highly compli- mentary to that attractive personality : and then they pass, with simple pathos, to contrast her early youth with the poet's advanced age. Here they are : — Phoebe, Ye be Hebe! We be D. B. ! It appears to me that a high level of excellence is reached in this remarkable composition. No accusation of pla- giarism can possibly arise here. I do not believe that any poem, in any close degree resembling this, was ever written since the days of Jubal himself And if he wrote anything like this, it has not been handed down. It may be objected that Jubal wrote in a language not susceptible of this treat- ment. It is not so. As dear Bishop Wordsworth used to say, talking of something awfully difficult in Greek versifi- cation, ' There is a way to do it, if you can find it out.' And I knew, with many others, a miraculous Hebrew scholar, who translated into Hebrew the ' well-known Scotch song ' Hame cam' our gude man at e'en. And hame cam' he ' : retaining the exact rhythm and giving rhymes. I fancy this was the most extraordinary effort ever made in the way of translation. As these last words are written, they suggest something OF A WILFUL MEMORY 175 quite unlike them : by a sudden association transcending that by which a crowd of schoolboys pla}'ing in the snow suggested to Douglas Jerrold Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lec- tures. The snowballs filled the air : the boys shouted : and in that instant Job Caudle and his famous wife burst com- plete on their author's view. Dr. Black, minister of the Barony church at Glasgow before Norman Macleod, used to ask students to dine with him in a very kind way. Once I was there, a lad at College. Dr. Black was talking of the difficulty of per- suading eminent preachers to give one a sermon : for that matter, preachers of no great eminence. He and another Glasgow minister, having a holiday in Cumberland, found there was a little Scotch kirk near : and on a Sunday morning came to service rather late, and got into a remote corner of the little building. But the eagle eye of the minister spotted them : and in the intercessory prayers he so expressed himself as to make quite sure of some aid from them. For the good man's words were these (I hear Dr. Black's voice uttering them in this moment) : ' Lord, have mercy on Thy ministering servants, who have popped in upon us so unexpectedly : one of whom will preach in the afternoon, and the other in the evening.' It was impossible to put the Scot, an exile in remote England, in the painful position of having made a mis- statement : wherefore they did preach. I have known the like expedient successful, when employed by a very little boy. His grandfather said to him that it was impossible to take him out in the carriage for a drive that day 176 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL * Then,' said the artful child, ' you'll have made me tell a He, for I told Robert ' (the coachman) ' that I was going with you.' The little boy was a very engaging boy, and the grandfather just about the very best of men. So the result was quite certain. In a Church where the prayers are made at the dis- cretion of the minister, very strange intercessions are sometimes presented. I remember well, ages since, hearing old Dr. Muir of Glasgow, who was a real though eccentric genius in his day, and of whom no English reader ever heard, relate an incident which had been in his own know- ledge. ' Mr. Smith was preaching at Drumsleekie : and he had come to the concluding prayer, where we pray for all and sundries (sz'c) : when he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to pray for the magistrates. So he put in the prayer just where he was. Have mercy upon all fools and idiots, and specially upon tJie magistrates of Drumsleekie. He meant no evil, but the magistrates were not pleased.' This at any rate was not so bad as when a vulgar puritan, uttering a discourse which he presumably thought was a prayer, thus expressed himself: Have mercy on that tniserable inan, who was lately pouring forth blasphemies against Thee. It was at a ' Sabbath-observance' meeting. The miserable man was the Roman Catholic Archbishop, a peaceful and devout cleric : and the blasphemy consisted in stating that in his judgment there was no harm in taking a quiet walk in the Botanic Garden at Edinburgh on a Sunday afternoon. This awful supplication was uttered, within my own knowledge, less than thirty years ago. I OF A WILFUL MEMORY 177 fancy that m}' reader will have no difficulty in deciding which individual was ' the miserable man.' The same Dr. Muir, on the same occasion (it was at a dinner-table) related a curious story. I was a young student of divinity, doubtless asked to fill a vacant place : Norman Macleod sat next me, and listened to Dr. Muir earnestly. Dr. Muir was a verj' great friend of Dr. Chalmers, I can give the words. ' Dr. Chalmers told me that he just once went to hear the chief preacher of the Auld-Licht. He was there in good time : he was put into the Elders' Seat. It was a terribly bare little building. The Elders were a grim set. They kept their bonnets on their heads till the minister entered : and they had each a large stick in his hand, which they used for chappin' their noses through all the service. The minister wore no gown nor bands. He gave a very long sermon, full of sound divinity, but without the smallest practical application, and without a vestige of feeling. At length Dr. Chalmers got out, the dismal worship being ended. And his word was. If these people ever get to Heaven, they will live on the North side of it.' This unutterably-dreary dissertation in Calvinistic theology, without the remotest bearing upon actual life, and listened to not with any idea of receiving instruction but with a sharp suspicious watch lest there should be anything unsound, or anything ' wanting ' (such was the cant phrase), was the only part of the awful worship which was held of any account. The prayers were 'the pre- leeminarics ' : they were listened to, but not joined in. The N 178 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Lord's Prayer was unsound. It was not a Christian prayer : and it was ' a form.' Holy scripture was never read. There was Httle singing, and that of a horrible character. Good old Dr. Paul of St. Cuthbert's used to tell how the first Italian music-master who came to Edinburgh (it was when Dr. Paul was a boy), being a Roman Catholic had no place then where to worship on Sunday with his fellows : and used to wander sadly about the streets on Sundays. One day he was passing the Tron Church, as the service was drawing to a close. The Beadle came to open the outer door, so that nothing might impede the rush of the congregation the moment the last Amen was said (by the minister only). The lonely Italian drew near the door, and was startled. He said to the Beadle, ' What is that horrible noise I hear?' The Beadle, much scandalised, answered, ' That's the people praising God.' ' Do the people think their God likes to hear that horrible noise ? ' ' To be sure : of course He does.' The sad foreigner rejoined, ' Then their God must have no ear for music ' : and sorrowfully shaking his head he walked away. But indeed, within these twenty years, a worthy man who left many thousands to the Kirk, and has his portrait hung up in a sort of shabby Valhalla, came to worship regularly in the parish church of St. Andrews. He found with con- sternation that there was a good deal of music. And he made his complaint to the minister of the parish whence he came. He told, with extreme condemnation, of our psalms, hymns, and canticles : and added, with intense bitterness, ' Now I put it to you, if that's not just an aff- OF A WILFUL MEMORY 179 puttin' of time ! ' The notion that the praise was the worship of the congregation had never entered the good man's head. It was something done to give the minister a rest. And indeed there have been vociferous preachers who would run themselves out of breath, and then interject two or three verses to be sung till they should be able to be ' at it again.' A bright )'oung parson, too early taken, told me he had hardly ever seen a country congregation more thrilled- through, than when an admirable pulpit-orator was depict- ing the probable upshot of a graceless life. He said many things, which cannot be recorded here. But he summcd-up in a never- forgotten sentence : which the young parson repeated with a voice choked with emotion : — And the end of that man is the Ropp, the Rahzor, or the Ruvver ! Once, in my bo\-hood, I heard that orator : only once. The hush was startling as he repeated, many times, ' But there was no room in the Inn for poor Mary.' Each of these last two words was pathetically and musicall}- lengthened out in a fashion almost incredible : reminding one of the miraculously-prolonged notes of the silvery bells of Antwerp Cathedral. With real pathos, and unmis- takable effect, the orator painted in a realistic way the straits of the Blessed Virgin. It did not equally carr}- sympathy when he passed to denunciation. He stated that in consideration of room not being provided for One of whose personality the poor inn-people knew nothing what- ever, the Almighty would ha\e been justified in sending N 2 i8o MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL down an avenging force, and burning up the inn and all the people in it : likewise all the inhabitants of little Bethlehem ; and furthermore all the country for many miles round, with the unoffending children and other inhabitants. He went on, I hear him now, ' Trusting that such are your sentiments, I now proceed to ' something else. Though I was a little fellow, a trifle would have made me get up and shriek out, ' These are not my sentiments at all. It would be an abominable shame ! ' The dear man, long gone to his rest, did not really take in the meaning of what he was saying. Not any more than many rude souls who use regrettable language : ' half-ignorant,' like the Brothers in Keats's exquisite verse. And this brings to me the distant day on which a saintly patriarch, set in charge of a little seaport, spoke of the fashion in which his soul was vexed by the sailors' communications to one another. Their parts of speech were sad to hear. ' Ah,' said the preacher, in solemn tones, ' the fearful Nouns, the appalling Adjectives, and the tremenduous {sic) Verbs, one hears down at the Harbour ! ' I fear me much that this witness was too true. But the sailors did not mean it : any more than the Council of Trent designed its frequent Anathema sit to be taken literally. Tulloch was greatly touched when I pointed out to him that the words ought not to be trans- lated Let him be accursed. They ought merely to be rendered, innocuously vilipending, He be blowcd. With the mention of the dear name of Tulloch, an odd remembrance revives. He was the Kirk's first Croall OF A WILFUL MEMORY i8i Lecturer : getting four hundred pounds for six lectures which did not cost him a great deal of trouble. His subject was Sin. The volume was published by our eminent firm in George Street, the Blackwoods. It sold well. But a chief authority told me one day, as I sat in ' The Old Saloon,' that it sounded odd when a message-boy came in from a retail bookseller, exclaiming, ' Gie us six Tulloch's Sins ! ' It was not a Bishop, but only a Bishop's son, who appeared much aggrieved by a statement once made by the friend we miss continually. Surely humour was lack- ing in that dutiful man, who would stand up for his father when not attacked at all. But indeed the Principal stated, with much gravity, that a lady had given him a beautiful penknife, which he valued highly. One day, in the Athenaeum, he laid it down on a writing-table, and going elsewhere lost sight of it for a few minutes. When he returned to recover it, it had vanished : and Tulloch never saw it more. But the terrible thing was, that no mortal had been near that fatal table save five or six Bishops. Here the Principal paused : and after the manner of the great orators he left his hearers to complete the sense. A pause followed. And Tulloch resumed. ' It is very sad to say that the person who had been nearest my knife was the Archbishop of Canterbury.' The little ways of departed friends are infinitely touch- ing to me. Tulloch told me that when writing to a friend in St. Andrews, even from Edinburgh thirty miles off, he always wrote St. Amfrews, Fife. One thought of Dickens, i82 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL and the never-failing Rochester, Kent. There is but one Rochester in England : while there is a lesser St. Andrews even in Scotland, and several places beyond the Atlantic bear the name. Yet Dickens was quietly persistent, when told the additional word was needless. Stanley's unvarying St. Andrezvs, N.B., has taken a letter to New Brunswick. A letter adressed from Birmingham to St. Andrews only, went to the incumbent of St. Andrew's parish in that city. And Plumptre used to complain that a communication to The Deanery, Wells, often went to Wells in Norfolk, where is no Deanery. The caution of the lovable Double-First waSj ' Mind, in writing to me, always Wells, Somerset! The most invidious mention of this city was at a large eligious meeting held in a town whose name I vividly remember. There was a great hall : and tv/o or three thousand good folk were gathered in it who apparently deemed themselves better than other people. Requests were being made that divers souls, supposed to be in evil case, should be interceded for. One arose, and asked the prayers of the meeting for a little town on the East coast of Scotland, which was ' wholly given to idolatry.' Such was the expression. A little city, with many schools, also the seat of a University. Having thus mysteriously indicated the place, the excellent individual plainly felt that no mortal could possibly guess what place was meant : and putting his hand over his mouth, he said to his friends on the platform, in a hoarse whisper distinctly heard over the entire hall, — St. Andrews I Being very seriously concerned in the moral estate of that city, I confess to OF A WILFUL MEMORY 183 have been somcwliat startled when I heard the talc. For, so far from esteeming St. Andrews as worse than other towns, I was strongly convinced that it was even a good deal better than most of them. Quite recently prayer was being offered in a certain large gathering for something which may be good, or may not. I have a clear opinion on that point : but that is of no consequence. As certain words were uttered, a good man, deeply sympathising with the sentiment, loudly exclaimed Hca>% hear! With many more, I was much disgusted. But I was also considerably perplexed. Who was it that the wild enthusiast desired to move to closer attention } Who is generally understood, in Christian assemblies, to be the Hearer of Prayer? The incident appeared to me a very awful one. A pleasanter remembrance of that exclamation comes. A poet and a genius, whom the wTiter seldom sees but holds in warm affection, was once speaking of the prepos- terous and idiotic fashion of Scotland whereby the minister in the Kirk having finished his pra}-er, adds the Avien, the congregation keeping dead silence. ' Why,' said that man, enlightened beyond his surroundings, ' for a man to say Amen to his own prayer is just as if he w^ere to say Hear hear to his own speech ! ' Though not more idiotic, it is in fact a great deal worse. For if the speaker did thus call attention to the sentiment he uttered, he would at least not be putting himself in stupid and cantankerous contra- riety to the old and good way of Christian people from the first until now. But the unhappy thing here is, that many i84 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL worthy folk are in the belief that they are following the order of Christendom, when they are vehemently contend- ing for some ugly and stupid fashion which is unknown save in an unappreciable fraction of the Church Catholic. An excellent old lady, listening at eighty years to the familiar chanting of the psalms for the very first time in her life, stated to me that ' it was a kind of lilt.' As for a certain hymn, well-known outside of Scotland as the Te Deum, it was 'just like the quackin' of ducks.' A minister who at length succeeded in getting made a ' Charity ' D.D., told me that the Te Deum was utterly unfit for public worship : forasmuch as it led one over such a number of subjects as ' to leave the mind quite bemuddled.' In this Scottish parish, I am thankful to say that we have sung that grandest of uninspired hymns every Sunday for near nineteen years : and until now our minds are no more bemuddled than before we began that pleasant conformity to Catholic order. Still, the opinion of all the people among whom you live has an awful weight. You remember the poor M.A. who was constrained to declare that ' the world is as flat as a pancake.' Happily, the general consensus some- times leads one right. It was touching, when a rustic seeking baptism for his child was questioned by the parish minister on matters more elementary than seem needful. * But how do you know there is a God ? ' The homely answer was, ' It's the clash o' the kintra ' : which means the belief of everyone he knew. The poor man was quite right. It is not everyhuman being who is called to 'prove all things. OF A WILFUL MEMORY 185 I do not know that among the many visitors to this place we have ever had one more interesting than a man whose face suddenly looks wistfully at me, though he is some hundreds of miles away. Twice has William Ernest Henley come to St. Andrews, each time for two or three days : twice I have met him and talked with him elsewhere. He is little more than forty, but he looks much older. Few of a suffering race have had to bear what Henley has gone through : and I never knew a sufferer bear his burden more heroically. His volume, called A Book of Ft'rj-^J, was pub- lished in the summer of 1888, and it came very straight to many hearts. The first part of it, ' In Hospital : Rhymes and Rhythms,' has an awful realistic power. Quorum pars viagna fui is nothing, to express the sombre and terrible truth here. But there is far more in Mr. Henley's verse than the uttering of a most exceptional experience If there be such a thing at all as the ipsissinia poetic inspiration, the incommunicable spark, you have it continually there. I durst not try to read uncounted lines aloud, from that pen. The Song of the Sicord has come this }ear of '92 : in the summer of '90 there was a remarkable volume of prose, Views and Reviezus. The prose is admirable : but many write prose well in these days. And the views set forth are often exceptional : an unfriendly critic would say crotchety : they are vitally their author's own. It is the verse which is unapproached, in its own way, by any : it sets its writer on high. Here is a Poet : there can be no question about that. Mr. Henley was brought to Edinburgh to edit what was i86 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL at first called the Scots Observer: but in a little the headquarters were moved to London : it is the National Observer now. When he first came to this place, it was in company with the writer's dear and tried friend Charles Baxter, to whom Louis Stevenson has dedicated two of his books : a distinction of such a kind has seldom befallen an Edinburgh W.S. One evening the friends dined here : and Henley left on one's mind the impression of a very singular individuality. He was most interesting, and indeed charming : but he was quite unlike anybody else one knew. His whole heart was in his paper, then just started : and I remember the eagerness with which he carried off, for study at home, one of the earliest volumes of the Saturday Review. I bound that periodical for many years : in divinity calf with red edges : I wonder if any other human being ever did the like. But when a distinguished Professor died, and at the sale of his library twenty-three bound volumes of the trenchant paper went for eighteen shillings, I ceased to bind it. And practically, the volumes are very rarely opened : any more than the volumes of a monthly magazine. Thirty years since I had a friend who possessed Fraser from the first number. Though the volumes were curious, and interesting, they took up much space and they were dusty : and my friend would willingly have given them to any one who would have carried them away. In reading much of Mr. Henley's verse, one feels that there is something terrible about a man who resolutely tells the truth : utterly ignoring what we poor souls wish were true. There are those who will relate an old church legend OF A WILFUL MEMORY 187 for its pathetic beauty, not minding that indeed it is not true : touched b\- it just as much as though it were true : even as the man whose faith failed him till he was sure of nothing still delighted in the hymns which he loved of old : moved as in past years by Rock of Ages though not believing there was any Rock of Ages at all. On this page, I am yielding to inexplicable associations as did Mrs. Nickleby herself: wherefore let it be said that the wilful memor)', as the last sentence was written, brought back vividly a day left forty years behind : if one may vary Wordsworth. Coming out of Keswick on the top of a coach bound for Penrith, and crowded with tourists, the coachman pointed to a white house on a hill with his whip, and uttered the enigmatic words, ' That's where Towser lived.' ' Who was Towser .'' ' ' Oh, Towser, that wrote books.' A traveller mildly said, ' I think you must mean Southey.' ' Well,' said the driver, in a loud and indignant tone, ' Southey, or Towser, or something of that kind : I don't care.' Such is fame. It had been different, two days before, driving from Bowness by Thirlmere to Keswick : now enjoying the privilege of the box-seat. Passing by Rydal, the question was put, ' Did you know Mr. Words- worth ? ' ' Oh yes, I knew old Wordsworth very well : He was very fond of the box-seat was old Wordsworth.' I am not sure that the coachman was personally very familiar with the great poet's works : but he was extremely well aware that 'old Wordsworth ' was esteemed b)' many as a very great man. Familiarity had not diminished reverence. There is a simple-minded conviction with many that it is i88 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL impossible anyone well-known to them can be a person of high eminence. That conviction was clearly expressed in my hearing when I was a lad at College. I had said, in the hearing of an old lady whose brother had been a St. Andrews Professor, something implying that Chalmers was a great man. Her niece, a young woman, sat by. The startling words came, ' Ye need not say that in this house ! Jessie there has sat far too often on Dr. Chalmers's knee to think him a great man,' I was struck dumb. And the good old lady, going back to the estimate of a remote day, summed up with the exclamation, ' Daft Tam Chalmers ! ' As she closed, a voice, stilled for a generation, went on : not addressing me : not speaking of Chalmers. ' Yes, he was a good man : an excellent good man. Only you could not believe anything he said.' That was his only weakness. And his divagations from truth were always in the way of exaggeration. And his very name was appropriate. It was brought in nicely in a little poem about him. Here it is : — You Double each story you tell : You Double each sight that you see : Your name's Double-U E Double-L, Double-U Double-0 D ! For the old gentleman's name had been IVelkvood. The thing was a little awkward. We were in the beautiful dwelling of a delightful old man, kind to me in my youth : and who was pretty near the incarnation of absolute truthfulness : hating even playful colouring-up. And his Christian name was Wellwood ! ' I trust,' said he, with just OF A WILFUL MEMORY 189 a tinge of aspcrit)*, ' that it docs not follow that all who bear the name arc to take that line ? ' Many disclaimers instantly followed. It was he, that dear old gentleman, who when on a bright summer morning walking with him under his fine trees and seeing the grass golden under the sun of July I said to him ' What a lovely place you have here ! ' replied, with a sigh, ' Yes : if you could have a nine-hundred- and-ninety-nine years' lease of it ! ' And silence fell upon us. It would not do to have to go away. North of the Tweed, such a lease means for ever. Two brothers, kindly devoted to one another as the Cheerybles, abode together in that sylvan home : and I was the young parish minister. I blushed, I did indeed, when the venerable man in a meeting of the parishioners once said, ' We're all just a pleasant Family : and thafs the head of it.' Little fit, indeed. And, as plain fact, the head of all of us was hard by : and he governed us paternally for our good. I went back, years after I was no longer a country parson, to that beautiful region : one brother had departed, and the elder of the two was left. I see the kind yet firm face, as he held my hand a space and looked at me intently ere we parted for this life. And I do not think that when Alexander was gone, Wellwood desired that long lease any more. Long-since reunited : where things are better by far. ' Heaven is better than Kentuck,' was the word of Uncle Tom. And Paradise is better than the sweetest spot in unforgotten Kirkpatrick-Irongray. Did the ingenuous reader ever receive a letter from a total stranger, stating that the stranger wanted 60/. to pay iQo MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL a lawyer's bill incurred through pure wrongheadedness, and requesting the reader to send that sum by post? Such a letter came to me a little while ago. And it was not a bad joke : it was very serious earnest. The stranger lived some hundreds of miles away, but still in Scotland. He appeared to think I combined unlimited wealth with extreme sim- plicity. Modest as the livings of the Kirk are, there are those who fancy the clergy of Scotland are very rich. I hear, to-day, a very astute old farmer say (thirty-five years ago) ' We know that the ministers are full of money.' It was the only time I ever heard the phrase. And I re- membered how Charles Lamb had said that Coleridge was ' full of fun.' But that is a quite different condition. And in these days of terribly reduced stipends, which appear unlikely ever to increase, there is not much fun in rectory, vicarage, or manse. Another bit of clerical experience. I have a friend, a parson, the incumbent of a Scottish parish. He is a very decided churchman, and has distinct views as to schism. Accordingly, fighting against his natural tendency, he determined to be wonderfully friendly with nonconformists. One morning, going to church, he met the dissenting minister going to his place of worship. The representative of the National Establishment held out his hand to the Anti-State-Churchman : and said ' I wish you a pleasant day's duty.' ' Ah, ah,' was the answer of the good separatist as he rapidly fled away. Upon this my friend resolved that he would try whether it were possible to elicit a responsive good wish from the man unhappily divided. OF A WILFUL MEMORY 191 For seven successive Sunday mornings he took the worthy- man's hand, uttering the Hke kind sentiment : but he never drew any friendly reply. For a day or two, with an astonished air, the response continued to be ' Ah, ah.' Then it appeared that a rejoinder had been meditated. It assumed the form, ' A cold morning.' ' Very cold indeed,' my friend sorrowfully subjoined. ' It was awkwardness,' I said to him, as he told the story. * Ah no : it was not.' And he sighed. As these last words are written, a cloud descends upon the humble writer : the remembrance of a grievous dis- appointment. It never wholly passes away : sometimes it revives painfully. This Christmas-eve brings it back : it fell upon a Christmas-eve. At that period I was twelve years old. But the scene is vivid as ever. Upon that day, two school-boys might have been seen leaning against the window of the chief pastry-cook of a little Scottish town. No such tarts are now made by man as those that good man made. A wealthy farmer of the neighbourhood came up, and stopped when he reached us. Placing his right hand in his pocket, he rattled a vast amount (so it seemed to us) of coin ; and said, with a benevolent air, ' Boys, is there onything there tempin' you ? ' By tempin', let the English reader understand, the worthy man meant to convey the notion of tantalising, or exciting the desire of enjoyment. ' Boys,' he repeated, ' is there onything tempin' you .' ' With characteristic modesty we preserved silence : but a suppressed giggle and a rapid glance at the pocket made our feelings very manifest. 192 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Already, in fancy, were we enjoying the sustenance to be purchased with the hberal tip we made sure was coming. The good old man then said, ' Ah, boys, I see there's some- thing tempin' you ' : and again rattling his money in his pocket he walked off and was seen no more. Long since, that benevolent soul has gone where cheesecakes are not : but the incident dies not in the wilful memory. And now, when at times few and far between we revisit the schoolboy spot, and pass that corner, where new boys loiter as we loitered then, again I behold the puffy red face, and hear the wheezy voice say in apoplectic tones, ' I see, boys, there's something tempin' you.' Of a sudden, I see a cheery face, of a man in middle age who in great incompetence held an elevation of about the dignity of a mole hill. He was explaining to me (a lad) how great and influential he had been in a former sphere of uselessness. ' In fact,' said he, ' I was Omnipotent in Little Peddlington ! ' How pleased with himself the good man seemed ! I could but utter an inarticulate murmur, as of awe-stricken admiration. I was very young. And I have ever shrunk from giving offence. The incident recalled another day, in a village among the hills. A little man, with a deep voice, who was what we call a ' Chapel-minister,' found a workman painting the door of the place of worship without orders from himself. ' Who told that to be done ? ' The answer was, ' The Factor.' Then came the dignified rejoinder, ' A greater than the Factor is here ! ' Graver thoughts come. A very clever and laborious OF A WILFUL MEMORY 193 man, the Professor of Divinity in a very great Universit\' (it has near 4000 students), said to me that he had been read- ing" up some books of Roman theology upon the solemn subject of Purgatory. He was much impressed by the length of time for which it appeared some evil-doers would be detained there. ' I wouldn't want to be let out after thirty thousand years. I would be burnt a' to bits ! ' A Scotsman says would where an Englishman would say should. Never did I see Stanley look more solemn than when speaking of the life beyond all that is here. Once, he told two or three of us, in this room, how some of Faraday's friends began to speak lightly in his presence of what may be There. Finally, one of them, turning to the great man who was so happy in his simple faith, said ' What do you really expect you will find on the other side of death ? Will there be newspapers, and clubs, and dinner- parties ? ' In a moment, the smile passed from Faraday's face, and with deep seriousness of expression and of voice, he answered : ' Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man ' Here Stanley's voice failed him. The beautiful little face was strange to see. And deep silence was in this room for a space. In that inconceivabh'- remote age when the writer was a lad at Glasgow College, he sojourned for a space in the o 194 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL vicinity of a little Scotch town, in a lonely region. The inhabitants were incredibly pragmatical and self-sufficient. Our biggest Scotch preacher ministered one Sunday in the parish-kirk. I said to an aged inhabitant, ' Well, what did you all think of Mr. Caird ? ' The answer was prompt. It was likewise idiotic. ' No much : we thought his sermons no very weel conneckit.' It may be feared that even such would be an austere reader's criticism of the present chapter. It matters not at all. 195 CHAPTER VIII THE NEW LITURCICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH^K The existence of the Church Service Society is a note- worthy fact. On January 31, 1865, a meeting was held in Glasgow, at which it was resolved to found a society whose object should be ' the study of the liturgies — ancient and modern — of the Christian Church, with a view to the pre- paration and publication of forms of prayer for public wor- ship, and services for the administration of the sacraments, the celebration of marriage, the burial of the dead, etc' At the annual meeting held at Edinburgh on May 30, 1890, it was reported that the clerical members numbered, at that date, 506; and the lay members 130. Of the clerical members there were 495 resident and working in Scotland, distributed through 70 Presbyteries. There are 84 Presby- teries in the Church. Eleven clerical members were in England, and abroad. These figures are striking, as in- dicating a decided conviction and a strong feeling through- out the Church of Scotland. But if the membership be weighed, as well as counted, the figures become still more striking, and significant. Good Presbyterians may like the Church Service Societx', or not. But the Society cannot be ignored. It reckons among its members a decided o 2 196 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL majority of the most outstanding ministers of the Kirk. And the names of Tulloch, Macleod, Caird, MilHgan, Story, and MacGregor, are well known beyond the Hmits of Scotland. The circulation of the Book of Common Order,' issued by the Society, is a noteworthy fact. The first Edition was published in 1867. The sixth Edition has been published in 1890. The volume is not quite a cheap one : and, so far, it has hardly been much read by the laity. But to men- tion the Editions which have appeared gives but little notion of the influence which the book has exerted. You can enter few Scottish parish churches now in which you will not recognise the beautiful and familiar sentences pervading all the prayers : in which you will not find that the old traditional floating liturgy (save in the instances where its sentences are touching and admirable) has been superseded by decorous and devout supplication which has the true liturgical music and flow. The ' eloquent and impressive prayer,' at which the congregation gaped in wonder, really not thinking of joining in it: 'the most eloquent prayer ever addressed to a Boston audience ' (and a very awful reflection it is that the prayer ivas addressed to the Boston audience) : is dead and gone. ' A most eloquent address,' was the brief criticism of an English ' Euxo^o^w;/. A Book of Common Order : being Forms of Prayer, and Administration of the Sacraments, and other Ordinances of the Church ; Issued by the Church Service Society. Sixth Edition, carefully revised;. "William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London. 1890. Church Service Society. Annual Report for 1890. With List of Office- bearers and Members. THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 197 Duke, when an eminent Scotch preacher had ministered at a funeral : it had never occurred to the Duke that the address was Prayer. And we all remember how the petitions, though spoken to the Almighty were spoken at the congregation : and conveyed information, or reproof, or the speaker's views upon matters political and religious, and his low estimate of such as ventured to think other- wise. Information: as 'Bless each one of the 1345 com- municants who received the sacrament last Sunday under this roof.' Reproof: as ' Have mercy on those who permit trifling excuses, which would not for a moment be suffered to de- tain them from any engagement of business or of amuse- ment, to keep them away from the place where God has recorded His Name, and promised to meet with His people.' (By an unattractive preacher.) The speaker's views : as ' Lord, have mercy upon the magistrates of Drumsleekie, such as they are. Make them wiser and better.' Estimate of opponents : as ' Lord, have mercy upon that miserable man who was lately pouring forth blasphemies against Thee.' The blasphemy consisted of declaring that there was no harm in taking a walk in a Botanic Garden on the Lord's Day. It may be permitted to one who has been a member of the Church Seivice Society from the first, and who has (in the main) heartily approved the work it has done and the 198 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL current of tendency of which it has been partly the cause and much more the effect, to relate, as fairly as he can, the story of the new Liturgies of the Church of Scotland. There is not time to discuss the technical and conven- tional meaning of the word Liturgy. Here, we are content to take the word as signifying what is its signification both etymologically and in ordinary parlance, ' a formulary of public devotion.' We know that this is not the severe ecclesiological sense. We know, too, that there never was such a man as Lord Bacon : there was a Francis Bacon who became Lord Verulam. We know also that there is not the smallest warrant in holy Scripture for the imagery of the besetting sin. But accuracy beyond what is generally accepted is irritating to many. And these pages are meant not to irritate but to soothe : if indeed that may be in treating such a subject in Scotland. It may be said, with confidence, that the growth of the Church Service Society, and the wide acceptance of its Book of Common Order, indicate a dissatisfaction, in the minds of many, with the previous state of things as relating to public prayer in the Church of Scotland. It was not that the members of the Society, at its beginning, con- templated the preparation of a Liturgy in the sense of a Service-Book to be enforced (or even authorised) by law, and to be continually used in churches. The Society, as such, holds no opinion upon that question : as matter of fact, the most diverse views exist within the Society upon that question. And even those of its members who are clear in favour of an authorised Service-Book, have ever THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH liUT Edward Prince of Wales! I had no dirficulty in dis- cerning that the mistake arose through the minister's peculiar pronunciation, Albert Edward being so rendered as to sound all but Edzvard. Within the last few weeks, the Moderator of the General Assembly was designated, far South in the garden of England, TJie Mediator : this by a person of high culture. When doubt was expressed as to the accuracy of the designation, the impatient reply was. The Mediator, or something of that kind. Let the Anglican reader be cautious in accepting anything related as to the Church of Scotland by hasty English tourists. Such may relate very preposterous things. Although liturgical prayer was beyond question the use of the Kirk for long after the Reformation, it is to be admitted that since the Revolution in 1688 read prayers were, as the rule, unknown till within the last thirty years in the national worship of Scotland. Anglicans will be surprised to learn that read prayers were equal I)- disused when Episcopacy was established by law. To the Philistine mind, Episcopacy means, essentially, the Prayer Book and the surplice. But Scotch Episcopacy, till comparative!)- recent da\s, knew neither the one nor the other. The prayers were ' conceived ' : the robes were black : the worship was not to be distinguished from that of the Presbyterian Establishment. You had to watch minute 2o6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL details to make sure whether the officiating minister had been ordained by a Bishop with Presbyters, or by a Presbytery without a Bishop. Thus the characteristic prayers of Scotland were what those who like them call Free ; and those who dislike them, Extempore. In many cases they were indeed extempore : made on the instant for the instant : often extremely well. And assuredly an able, ready, and devout minister attained to a very perfect adaptation to time and place. One recalls the vulgar quasi-argument of a vulgar person, about ready-made prayers not fitting any more than ready-made clothes. In some cases the prayers were written, and committed to memory. In more cases, probably, they had through long use gradually crystallised into a form : the same thing was said every day, but it had never been composed : it had grown. Surely this is in the experience of most Scotch ministers. But the outstanding fact, apparent to all, was that the prayers were said without book. Neither printed nor written page lay before the minister. A strong and brave man, here and there, brushed aside the tradition : it never was law. No human being can produce the statute of Church or of State which forbids the reading of prayers. Chalmers read his prayers in the Divinity Hall : he read them when Moderator of the General Assembly. A man in a thousand had told his Presbytery that through failing health he could not extemporise or repeat his prayers ; and he got permission to read them. But it is unques- tionable that it was a very startling thing to average Scotch worshippers, when it was proposed that prayers THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH^K 207 should be read in church. It was only Restoration : it was called Innovation. And the impression went about that there must be some lack of the right spirit about the man who could not extemporise his prayers. It became necessary to argue the question of liturgical or free prayer, as in the presence of judges to whom the issue was entirely new. And there was a very strong bias against the dis- turbers of the peace, the vilipenders of the good old way, who proposed change. I heard it stated in a church court that the reason wh\' Dr. Robert Lee proposed to read his prayers probably was that having wholly given over praying in private, he had lost the power of expressing himself in supplication : he being an evil man, not merely uninspired by the Holy Spirit, but positively inspired by the Devil. The Moderator apparently regarded this as legitimate argument, for he did not intervene. And various members of court vociferously conveyed their approval. We all know the probable fate of any man who pro- poses reformation : whether in locomotion, in aesthetics, in politics, or in public prayer. But when the question of worship came to be thrashed out, the reasons, if you set aside mere prejudice, or a more respectable cleaving to the dear old way, appeared to be all on one side. No doubt, it took a little while to see this. Dr. Robertson died early : Dr. Crawford, who had mainly started the movement, had become Professor of Divinity, had been got hold of by those who persuaded him that he must be silent, and in fact never had the nature of the controversialist. So the battle, at the first, was fought, all but alone, by Dr. Robert 2o8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Lee. It was singular that it should have fallen to him. He had little ear for the melody of liturgical prayer. He valued dogmatic freedom incomparably more than ritual. His taste, in matters ecclesiological, was exactly the reverse of Catholic. His marvellous cleverness and smart- ness, and his capacity as a hard hitter, seemed not quite the characteristics of the man who was to mend the devo- tions of the Church. He was as alert and bright a debater as ever I listened to : but even a great Lord President dismissed these qualities with the single word flippant. And though a most amiable man, he was (in public) not conciliatory. I was present in the Presbytery of Edin- burgh when he was pulled up for the first time for his * Innovations.* They were as nothing to what is done every day now in many churches. To kneel at prayer, instead of standing (or lounging) : to stand at praise, instead of irreverently sitting : to have the help of the sacred organ : these were all, save the little printed prayer- book, which had some modest beginnings of responses. The Bible says, ' Let all the people say Amen ' : but the Kirk had for a time said, ' Let nobody but the minister say Amen ' : surely a most unscriptural and preposterous fashion. The two estimable members of Presbytery who brought up the matter. Dr. Simpson of Kirknewton and Dr. Stevenson of South Leith, were studiously conciliatory : indeed, upon the merits, they seemed thoroughly with Dr, Lee : only they thought the law forbade such change, however desirable. But the incredible bitterness of some members against Dr. Lee filled a young parson, fresh from THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH^K 209 his beautiful country parish, with astonishment and even with consternation. It appeared, however, ere the end of the debate, that no love whatever was lost between good Dr. Lee and his opponents. In fact, he was extremely provoking. It was in the Assembly Hall. I sec Dr. Lee arise to make his reply : lay aside a great wrap which used to be called a Highland cloak : and stand out, keen, polished, self-possessed, fluent : the ideal of a debater. I fancy he had made up his mind that the Presbytery was against him : for he took no pains to soothe them. ' My congregation and I do this and that,' he said : ' Is there any harm in that, most reverend BretJiren ? ' Then he related, with great tact, a farther step in his progress : and again and again, in most provoking fashion, came ' Is there any harm in t/iat, most reverend Brethren ? ' The words were said with an unconcealed sneer, which made it too apparent that the speaker did not revere or even reverence his brethren in the smallest degree. And many good men were plainly rubbed the wrong way. Coming to the essential merits of the question between prayers written and not written : and putting aside such collateral issues as whether liturgical prayers had actually been used in the Kirk and whether they could constitu- tionally be used again : the question became a very simple one. For it is as certain as that two and two make four, that, so far as concerns the congregation, public prayer is always of necessit)' a provided form. It is never the ex- temporaneous nor the free prayer of the congregation : it is a form provided and imposed upon them by the officiating P 2IO MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL minister. The congregation cannot even (as with a prayer- book) look at the service beforehand, and resolve whether it be such as they can, in conscience, in feeling, in good taste, join in and accept as their own. Nobody knows what the form is to be till it is actually produced : not even the man who is to produce it. Often, from sentence to sentence, he is groping his way. Often, he knows not what is to come next. Often, he feels deeply that he has not said what he desired, and wishes he could withdraw or amend the words. TJiat is to say, and By ivJiich I mean. Principal Tulloch told me, were words familiar %o him in the prayers of a fine old professor of his youth. The question is not. Form or No Form .'* The only issue is, Shall the form be provided deliberately, calmly, with serious consideration, and by the combined wisdom of a company of devout and earnest men ? or shall it be provided in great haste, nervous trepidation, and utter blankness, without a vestige of devotional feeling, by some youth without religious experience, and quite unable to interpret and express the needs and feelings of good old Christian people tried in ways of which he knows nothing at all ? Lord Campbell tells us that the morning he had first to pray in the Divinity Hall at St. Andrews, ' I heard the bell cease, and my heart died within me.' Is that a fit mood in which to extemporise a form of prayer ? We know, God be thanked, it is not always so. It is not even commonly so. The form is provided by a good and ex- perienced minister, well knowing the case of his congrega- tion, tolerably free from nervousness, and with his memory THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 211 stored with decorous sentences, the traditional hturgy of the North : he can hardly go wrong. But for arrangement, for words, for all that is essential to public worship, neither the congregation nor the minister himself has any assurance of what is coming. Not merely on the minister's spiritual frame, but upon the humblest details of his physical nature, the congregation are helplessly dependent for their prayers. ' The Spirit is not in this place,' said an emotional Evan- gelist, preaching for good Dr. Craik of Glasgow : one of the best and most cultivated of Scotch ministers in his day. But Dr. Craik told me, with much indignation, ' I said to him, after church, that the Spirit would not be in any place if a man ate two pounds of beef-steak at breakfast that morning.' The statement was humbling. But it was true. A physical miracle need not be looked for. Many years ago, the writer was one of two who were sent to ask the late Dr. Vcitch, of St. Cuthbert's, to con- duct the prayers of his brethren upon a specially interesting and solemn occasion. Dr. Vcitch was one of the ablest and best ministers of his time : and he had not the smallest sympathy with the Church Service Society. Indeed, he disliked and distrusted it heartily. But he listened : and I remember his reply, given very solemnly. ' No : I can- not undertake the duty. Here, in my own study, quietly by myself, I can think of what ought to be said on so special an occasion. But I have not that command of my nervous system that I could be sure of saying it when the time came. So you must excuse me.' I was young then, and I did not venture to say what came into my mind : • Is P2 212 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL not that reason why, in your study by yourself, you should write down the suitable petitions, and thus make sure of saying them worthily when the time comes ? ' I knew well that if I had said so much to good Dr. Veitch, he would never have spoken to me again. But my belief then was what it is to-day : and I thought I had hardly ever heard a stronger instance of the service of liturgical prayer. Nor do I forget what was said to me by a saintly minister who for fifty years ranked high as any ; and who detested Dr. Robert Lee and all his works. Each Sunday morning, he said, he went to church under an awful burden of misery, through his anxiety about his extempore prayers. He was unutterably miserable in the vestry before service. He was miserable while the opening psalm was being sung. He was miserable when he stood up to begin his first prayer. But he took the psalm which had been sung for his theme : and he tried to cast himself on God's help : and gradually the burden lifted, and he got on heartily with his prayer, and peace came to him. I looked at the beautiful face : and I thought. If the burden of conducting public worship according to our order lie so awfully upon a saint like you, with a record of half-a-century, what ought it to be for me, going each morning to minister to a great congregation of educated folk and to pray in their name .'' Not but what it lay heavily enough ; for in those days the morning prayers were bond fide extemporised, and continually varied : one went to church under great nervous tension : but it was not quite like that morbid terror of a far better man. But I knew too well what he THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 213 would have said had I suggested that he might prepare his prayers. That would have been ceasing to trust simply in the Holy Spirit. Singularly, he never thought of trusting to any supernal aid in the matter of his sermons. They were carefully written, and read : which appeared inconsistent. And the good man plainly thought that to go through this superfluous misery each Sunday morning was ' spending and being spent ' : it was the right thing to do. Well one remembers the awful nervousness of our greatest preachers in those days in the vestry before service ; and how one envied the composure of Anglican friends in the like circumstances. One would try to go through anything, if the congregation were to gain vastly by the minister's suffering. But the congregation did not gain at all. The strain of conducting public worship was intensified to a breaking pitch by requirements which could add nothing to the edification of the flock, or to the beauty of worship in the house of prayer. And when, as in Kyle, the sermon had to be got by heart and painfully repeated, often as a manifest schoolboy task by a poor man plainly reading from his mcmor)-, and without a vestige of the spontaneity of extempore oratory, one can but wonder how the sair-Jiaddcn-doon minister lived through the thing at all. Ifs Peace : were the words of one of our outstanding ministers, when I met him on a Sunday morning going to his church : as he held out his handsomely-bound prayer- book. And indeed the relief is unutterable : even to such as have in their memory great store of devotional material : 214 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL even to such as can without much strain extemporise their prayers. I have seen men who used to be in abject trepidation before service, now glancing over their Book of Common Order with a calm and benignant face. Of course, it is of no consequence whatev^er to the congre- gation whether the prayers are read or not. If the people kneel down (so far as may be), and bow their heads, and seek to join in the supplications, they will not know whether the prayers are read or not, unless by their being a great deal better than usual. One remembers an ignorant busybody approaching his parish minister, and saying that he ' felt it his duty ' to inform him that he feared some of the congregation would be aggrieved by Professor Story's having read his prayers at evening service the day before. But the answer was ready. ' Pray, how do you know that Dr. Story read his prayers .'' I fear that instead of devoutly joining in the prayers you were staring at the minister. I don't myself know whether the prayers were read or not : and you ought not to know either.' It is wholly for the minister to consider how he shall best lead the congregation's de- votions. There can be no more absurd superstition than that the prayers are inspired in any sense which absolves the minister from doing the utmost he can with the faculties and opportunities his Maker has given. In praying, and in preaching, as in all other human work, heaven helps those who help themselves. And it is a singular inconsistency that old-fashioned Scotsmen who still maintain that the minister ought to rely simply on THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 215 divine aid for his public prayers, would be extremely indignant if the minister failed most diligently to prepare his sermon. There are singular people who object to liturgical prayer on the ground that it lightens the burden of the officiating clergyman. I remember vividly hearing one such, many years since, exclaim, * I like to see a man burst out into a perspiration when he's prayin'.' His desire was that the poor man's nose should be held as close to the grindstone as possible, in the conducting- of public worship as in all other things. The speaker on that occasion was not a churchman : but it may be feared that a like sentiment is not unknown among the laity, both rich and poor. We may venture to say that it may be absolutely disregarded. And the kind of folk one thinks of may be assured that the burden of the Scotch clergy will remain quite heavy enough, though a prayer- book were imposed by law to-morrow. It is difficult, at this time of day, to believe that Dr. Robert Lee and any who were supposed to sympathise with him could have been regarded, and treated, as in fact they were, by men of any account. And there is no good in reviving the details of painful controversy, now happily past. Yet one recalls the day on which a venerable clergy- man, backed by two or three of the like mind, solemnly declared to three suspected younger brethren, that all who approved Dr. Lee's innovations were perjured persons inspired by the Devil. A Professor of Divinity informed the writer that ' nobody connected with Robert Lee ' would 2i6 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL be thought of, for a desirable living near Edinburgh. When Dr. Lee preached in the parish church of St. Andrews for the University Missionary Society, a blame- less Professor,^ under the excitement of the time, screamed out to certain ladies passing under his window, ' Are you going to hear Bobby Lee ? ' These words he appeared to regard as a logical argument against Dr. Lee's ways. A worthy Edinburgh minister said to the writer, on many occasions, that the Lord President of the Court of Session ^ had assured him that in case of the question coming before him whether innovating ministers were entitled to draw their stipends, he would decide that they were not. It appeared so unlikely that a judge of high eminence would inform a gossiping individual what his judgment would be on a question not yet raised or argued, that those who heard the story felt assured there was some strange mistake. The writer has in his possession a solemn letter of excom- munication addressed to himself by a saintly minister, long a dear friend. The writer at that period had brought in no innovation whatever. But he had publicly said that he approved the bringing in of the organ in their respective churches by his Father and his Brother. One smiles at these poor attempts at terrorism : smiles at them now. They were very serious things, less than five-and-twenty years since. Nor should it be forgotten that innovation in ritual was at that day supposed by many to indicate ad- herence to a certain school of theological thinking : which, though numbering Lee and Tulloch among its members, ' Shairp. ■ Lord Colonsay. THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH^K 217 appeared not unlikcl}' to be crushed out. ' Execution must be done,' was tlie word of men who, if uneducated, were Thorough. ' Surel)' there is room for Macleod and Tulloch without,' was the sentiment of a good man who was Thorough if ever mortal was. Of course a man may be thoroughly in the wrong. And possibly some of us, at that time and in those circumstances, should have been wrong too. Just a word may be .said of the />ersonne/ of the Church Service Society from the beginning till now. Its first President was Principal Campbell of Aberdeen. When he died, Principal Barclay of Glasgow succeeded. After him came Principal Tulloch of St. Andrews. And when that great and lovable man went, he was succeeded by the Duke of Argyll, who is now President. The present Vice- Presidents (who have held office for many years) are Principal Caird of Glasgow, Professor Story of Glasgow, Dr. Snodgrass lately Principal of a College in Canada, and Dr. Boyd of St. Andrews. In the Editorial Committee, which prepared the Book of Common Order, and which practically does the work of the Societ)-, all schools of thought in the Church arc represented : High, Broad, and Low. Professor Story is Convener. Among its members are Professor Milligan of Aberdeen, Dr. Sprott, Dr. Macleod of Govan, Dr. Leishman, Dr. M'Murtrie, Dr. Cooper of Aberdeen, Professor Menzies of St. Andrews, Dr. Mitford Mitchell, and Mr. Carrick of Newbattle. Anybody who is informed on the present state of the Kirk will understand the import of such a list ; and will know 2i8 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL how fairly the work is done when it is added that those men, though widely differing on many points, work kindly together. The sixth edition, just out, was prepared by a lesser Editorial Committee, consisting of Professor Story, Dr. Sprott, Dr. Boyd, Dr. Campbell of Dundee, and Dr. Muir of Morningside. It is to be acknowledged that from the outset until now, Dr. Story has been the leading spirit in the Society : after him, Dr. Sprott. Both are men of whom the Church may be proud. Dr. Sprott's knowledge of Liturgies is wide and most accurate : and thirty-five years since, almost alone, he held and taught his present doctrine. Dr. Story is well known as, since Tulloch was taken, on the whole the most outstanding speaker in the General Assembly. For incisiveness, for grace, for the occasional restrained touch of pathos, he will bear com- parison with the best speakers in any deliberative assembly in Britain. For the lighter sportive touch which, in prose and verse, lightens ecclesiastical controversy, he stands alone. And as trusty friend, on whom those who know him best feel they can lean heavily year after year, some of us lack words to speak of him worthily. Of Dr. Leish- man, who is minister of a quiet pastoral parish in Rox- burghshire, it is enough to say that when one seeks to picture the ideal Country Parson, learned, devout, peace- loving, pretty close to the first meridian of clergyman and gentleman, many of us think of him. And recalling the self-denying holiness of Cooper, the wonderful combination of zeal and tact in M'Murtrie, the genial earnestness of Donald Macleod, the youthful learning of Carrick, and the THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 219 lovable qualities of divers other friends on that Editorial Committee, one wonders how they should ever be vilified, even by the very poorest specimens of poor humanity. The writer is proud to range himself with such good men. He does not pretend to write of them impartially. We are all 'right dear friends': and time does not chill such affection. It is noteworthy that Dr. Robert Lee, who had been the veiy first (after Chalmers) to revive the custom of reading prayers, although a member of the Church Service Society, did not take an active part in the preparation of its Book of Common Order. He had compiled a Praycr-Book of his own, which was in use in his church of Old Greyfriars. Possibly he was disappointed that the Society did not adopt or approve his book : which in point of fact never commended itself to some of the most active members of the new organisation. The writer, for one, thoroughly disliked Dr. Lee's book : not the less that he has heard it read in church in the peculiar tone in which one might read out a newspaper. The genuine liturgical flow was quite lacking in most of Dr. Lee's prayers, which were to a considerable degree original. They were likewise, very naturally, flavoured with Dr. Lee's theology ; which was more advanced than was in those days common. The prayers of the Church Service Society tended to be ' High ' : they were in any case severely orthodox : those who compiled them did not think that at this time of day originality was much to be sought after in public devotion, and they drew their material from the Catholic Church's 220 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL rich store of devout thought and expression. The music of true liturgical language, which never palls by repetition and which lends itself so admirably to actual reading, was a most marked characteristic of the Euchologion. The prayer-book of the Church Service Society was, in all respects, extremely different from Dr. Lee's. And in the judgment of some who prepared it, it was beyond com- parison better. The first edition of the Euchologion was published in the summer of 1867. It is interesting to mark how the book has developed, and changed, in the editions which followed, down to the sixth, published in May 1890. That first edition professed no more than to provide material : from which members might piece together their own prayers. But it was a new departure : if a return to the older and better way may be so named. The old ' preaching prayer,' the ' eloquent and impressive prayer,' which even if it touch at a first hearing does so sicken upon repetition, was ab- solutely discarded. The ancient, simple, and devout felicity was brought back : and it seemed to many as though it were doing any congregation a real kind turn to lead them from the worst, and sometimes the intolerably bad, to that which was infinitely better. The second edition, published in 1869, still confined itself to materials for the construction of a Sunday's service : while offering formal services for Baptism, for the Holy Communion, for the admission of Catechumens, for Marriage, and for the Burial of the Dead. The third edition advanced to the provision of complete services for the morning and evening of the five Sundays THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISPI KIRK 221 which may occur in a month. From that edition, progress has beeen steadfast : not always, it is to be confessed, in a direction approved b}' all members of the Society. Some of these regarded the prayers as too dogmatic in tone, and the sacramental teaching too ' High ' : though no one has maintained that it is higher than the authoritative standards of the Kirk. Even to this day, when the Book of Common Order is regularly read in many churches, and more or less closely repeated in almost all churches wherein the younger clergy minister, it is unusual to find the office for any Sunday morning or evening read straight through. The office is pieced together by the officiating minister, from different parts of the book. Only thus can the seasons of the Christian Year be followed, and the special circum- stances of the congregation be recognised. In one or two cases where these special prayers are ignored, and the daily service read straight on, the effect is extremely wooden and disappointing. It is exactly the opposite of what was intended by those who prepared the volume. Without further detail, which is uninteresting unless to experts, let us look at the latest edition of Euchologion. It is a handsome volume of 412 pages. It is divided into three Parts. The First Fart contains tables of Psalms and Lessons for Ordinary and Special Services throughout the year : likewise the order of Divine Service for the morning and evening of the five possible Sundays of the month. The Second Part contains the Litany : Pra}'ers for Special Occasions, and for the Christian Year : also addi- tional forms of service for such as desire them. The Third 222 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Part, which for convenience is bound separately, contains the order for the Communion, for Baptism, for the admission of Catechumens, for Marriage, Burial, for the ordination of Ministers and the admission of Elders, and for the laying the foundation-stone of a church, and the dedication of a church. We are not concerned to deny that several of these titles imply a considerable change of feeling in Scotland from that which prevailed even thirty years since. Beginning with the ten morning and evening services, we may say that some would much rather have had but one morning and one evening service : sufficient variety being given by the Psalms and Lessons for the day, and by the prayers for the seasons. And at this point it may be mentioned that, although the Society has given forth no voice upon the subject, many of its leading members strongly approve the fashion which has of late been adopted in various churches, of placing the communion- table at the east or quasi-east end of the building : setting the pulpit forward, outside the chancel-arch and to one side of it ; and using the pulpit only for the sermon : the prayers being said by the minister so kneeling among the people as to make it plain that he is not speaking to them but for them. The beautiful parish churches of Govan, the Barony of Glasgow, and St. Cuthbert's in Edinburgh, may be regarded as representing the ideal now aimed at. Those who have worshipped in them must have remarked the deep devotion of the crowded congregations : the manifest joining in the prayers and not merely listening to them : and the marked distinction made, to the great THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KIRK 223 advantage of both, between the devotional part of public worship, and the preaching. It may be said with con- fidence that while Prayer and Praise are made much of, the sermon will not be vilipended : forasmuch as members of the Church Service Society are the most outstanding preachers of the Church, and are not likely to belittle their special vocation. It is known that the Director)^ states that the service is to begin with prayer. And while most ministers have felt that to join in hearty praise is the best means of bring- ing a Scotch congregation into a unity befitting common prayer, some have been in use to ask the people not to zvorship God, but to compose their minds to the ivorsJiip of God, by singing the opening psalm or hymn. Thus the Directory was recognised. But the custom is antiquated. And Burns has made classic the solemn Let us tvorship God with which the public services of Scotland in fact begin. The first rubric of the first Morning (not Fore- noon) Service in Euchologion runs thus : the words may begin being a reminder of what is past : The Congregation being assembled, Divine Service may begin with the singittg of a Psalm or Hymn ; then, the Co?i- gregation still standing, the Minister shall say— Suitable introductory sentences from Holy Scripture. These are varied, and for the most part very happily chosen. After these, the minister say?, Let us Pray -. and he and the congregation kneel down, and go on with what used to be called The First Prayer. We prefer, now, to say The Prayers. First, comes a brief Prayer of Invocation : 224 MEN AND MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL at the end of which it is desired, but not ahvays attained, that the congregation say Amen. Next, The Confession : followed by Amen. Then the prayer For Pardon mid Peace: a declaratory-absolution: with Amen. Next, S2ipplicatio7is : prayers for divers graces, and for the season of the Natural and Christian Year : full room being given for free or extemporaneous supplication fitted to the circumstances of the congregation assembled. All these end with the Lord's Prayer, said aloud by Minister and Congregation ; and ending with Amen, said by all. It was felt that where the Lord's Prayer is said but once in the service, it ought to come with the substantive prayers of the people ; and not, as in fact it often does, following a brief collect before sermon. And, as the people have not com- monly the prayer-book in their hands, it is necessary to preface the Lord's Prayer. Where this is not done, one has sorrowfully remarked that it was half over ere the congregation had fully joined in it. In the first Morning Service the great Prayer is introduced in touching words which some of us learnt from Archbishop Sumner of Canterbury : Through Jesus Christ our Lord : in whose pre- vailing Name and Words we yet further pray. I am aware that this preface has been found fault with : some declaring that they can discern no difference between it and certain others of lamentable character : in luhose beautiful zvords. But he who says that may say anything. And few will regard him. Now follow the Psalms for the day, to be said or sung : the Gloria ending each Psalm. In the sixth edition it is THE NEW LITURGICS OF THE SCOTTISH KH^K 225 for the first time suggested that before the Psalms the minister should say O Lord, open Thou our lips : the con- gregation responding, rt«^ ^wr mouth shall show forth Thy praise. After the Psalms comes the Lesson from the Old Testament : and it is particularly suggested that it close with something other than Here endeth the First Lesson : which in point of fact one generally hears. The rubric now says : Then shall be sung the Hymn Te Deum Laudamus, (?r other Hymn or Psalm, after zuhich shall be read a lesson from the N'ew Testament. This being done, the rubric goes on : Then shall be sung the Hymn Benedictus, or other Hymn or Psalm, after ivhich may be sung or said by the Minister and people standing. The Apostles' Creed. It would be incredibly small scholarship to discuss the question whether its name be true to fact or not. And where the Creed is said at all, though the occasional inconsiderable soul may ' leave the kirk ' on account of it, I can testify that it is said heartily. The Intercessory Prayers follow : it being suggested that, first, the minister say The Lord be ivith you : the people responding, ^'i;/-mpathy has ever been with the good maid-servant in Ayrshire long ago, 356 THINGS LEFT who, being asked to state what was the plan of the sermon she had heard, replied, firmly, ' He had no plan.' Passing quite away from any thought of the dismal discourses which, both north and south of the Tweed, made one feel in church an awful sense of tedium never known elsewhere (these were in childish days) : thoughts come to one to-night about what may rightly be called preaching : I mean the discourse which grips the congre- gation tight, and is followed with the audible hush one knows. There is one way of being impressed : deeply impressed. I have heard it put in words. A man said to me, * It was most splendid. I never heard human speech like it. It was more than the finest tragic acting. It thrilled through one's nervous system.' That preacher was a truly good man ; and he has gone to his account. But when he made a most brilliant appearance in a great cathedral, addressing a dense crowd, the published judgment on the sermon of one who rose high, was, * There is not gospel in it to save the soul of a tomtit.' Then, there is another way. A youth came, when the service was over, to one who was not an orator at all, but a simple sincere preacher of truth which he uttered because he had found it out for himself And the youth said words, awful to hear : yet words for which to thank God too. ' I was to have made away with myself to-night : I had the black river before me. But I saw the church lighted, and by chance I turned in : and I was stopped. I had gone to the bad. I broke my parents' hearts : thank WOULD YOU CHANGE? 357 God, they are dead. I swear I will begin and keep straight from this hour.' And he did. Do you think that preacher dreamt it was he who had arrested that lad ? Nay vcril)'. Somebody else had intervened. But he cast himself down that night, and, with many tears, thanked God for all. Thirty years ago, a saintly man, very near the end of a fruitful ministry, said to me words which I have never forgotten. ' I went one Sunday evening to preach in your father's church. I felt utterly flat and miserable. I never got on with so little heart. When I came away, I said to myself, Can any mortal be the better for listening to that.? 1 went home, thinki/ig I could never preach again. Many years after, I met an eminent American preacher. He asked me if I remembered that evening in the Tron Church of Glasgow. He said. Your sermon was the turn- ing-point of ]ny life. A lonely lad in the great city, he had turned out of the crowded street by chance : and the poor weak sermon was carried home to him.' If you had known the man who said that to me, you would know how impossible it was to imagine him as sounding his own trumpet. ' Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts.' Not but what the best preacher is likeliest to do good. As a rule, God works by adequate means. As the first Napoleon said, * Providence is on the side of the strongest battalions.' There must have been something about that disheartened sermon of which the preacher was not aware. Incompe- tence will not generally avail. 358 THINGS LEFT And here, meandering about, as one does by the even- ing fireside, let it be said that some men (the writer is one) take great delight in preaching to children. The preacher gets his lesson on such an occasion, as well as the hearers. It is a good thing, that children show so frankly and promptly if they are not being interested by what is said. I do not call a man a preacher at all if he is content to go on without carr\nng the steadfast attention of the whole congregation with him. But children keep you up tight. One dull sentence is enough to make you lose hold of them. Of course, though you have thought most carefully of what you are to say, it will not do to read it. No, not the ' fell readin' ' of Chalmers would avail. You must speak straight to the little people. There must be instant adaptation to time and place. And I know no greater reward to any speaker than to see the bright faces looking eagerly, and to be aware of the audible hush. It is a far greater thing than to hold the attention of (say) the General Assembly. That is easy. They are all big folk : and then they are all so kind, that they will try to look interested when in fact they are not. All this is introductor}-. Too big a porch for so little a dwelling. But it would come in. And this is a wilful meditation. I desire to put a question to you, friendly reader (I see your face, clearly), which I have recently put to many. Every one of them answered it in the same way. And I think the result was to do them some little good. It tended to make them more content. WOULD YOU CHANGE 359 I said, You have been telling me of j'our troubles. They arc not so few : and some of them are heavy. Would you change places with any human being j-ou know ? — I trow not. The names shall not be given here. They were given quite frankl)', in actual speech. They were names very familiar in the locality where we talked : though not of much concern to the great world : some of them. Your life is a struggle to make the ends meet. I know it. Even such is the life of nearly every mortal I know well. Would you take such a man's great wealth along with that thing (specified) which you know he has to bear daily ? The instant answer was No : I ivould not. Better as I am. You tell me (one or two have in fact told me) that you are a disappointed man. You think it was in you, possibly, long ago, to do far more conspicuous work than in God's Providence you have ever had the chance of trying to do. And doubtless it is true that one of the greatest of men had to spend the best years of his life keeping sheep in the wilderness. The man's name was Moses. For forty years he did the work of a cattleman. Well, would you take such a man's popularity along with that disability, that thorn, of which you know? On the instant came the resolute Nay verily. To another it was said (how well I remember it !), Circumstances have enabled you to see and know, near at hand, a human being who is set very high indeed : just as high as mortal can be : and who is, besides, a good Chris- 36o THINGS LEFT tian. You have often been crushed down (you tell me) by sore anxieties, and the outlook was black. Did you ever wish you could change places with your fellow- creature who is placed so high ? — Never once ! Never, at the very worst I In the days when John and Charles Wesley were awaking warmth and life where the chill had been deathly, an eminent lady wrote a letter to a friend concerning these good men. The lady was indeed a Duchess : and at that time such rank carried a glamour which has now ceased to be. And she was a very great Duchess, of illustrious line. ' I thank your ladyship,' were the words, ' for the informa- tion concerning the Methodist preachers. Their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly tinctured with imperti- nence and disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavouring to level all ranks, and do away with all dis- tinctions. It is monstrous to be told that you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl the earth. This is highly offensive and insulting, and I cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at variance with high rank and good breeding.' It is not recorded whether the poor woman went through this life, and went out of it, still in that mind. Let us hope better for her. But would the hardest-driven Christian woman who ever wore her poor strength out in seeing to the food and raiment of her little children and sending them decent out to school, take that unhappy princess's rank and wealth, along with her peculiar theory of the way in which God Almighty will treat the souls He made ? I WOULD YOU CHANGE? 361 know not whether an\- reader has smiled at her words. I will confess that the)- make me shudder. There is a famous text which sa}-s, ' God resisteth the proud.' And it is not merely that pride is so shockingly wrong, but that it is so unutterably idiotic. God help us, what on earth has any mortal to be proud of? Much to be thankful for. Much to be humbled, remembering. But to be proud of, nothing at all. I am taking for granted that you cannot select a bit of another man's condition, leaving the rest. You must take it all as it stands, for better for worse. When I say that not one reader of this page (I take for granted that all arc decent well-behaved folk) would change places with an)- other mortal, how great or fortunate soever such a one seem, it is not but there are things both in your nature and your circumstances you continually wish other than they are : ay, very far other. It is not but there are things in which other mortals are far better than you, both as concerns the .soul that is within and the surrounding.s that are without. Vou would be thankful to have such a friend's sweet and equable temper : to have such another's beautiful church : to have such another's blossom- ing trees. But then there is the other page to turn. There is the other side of the account. And when you think of facts you know, which suggest ever so much more which }-ou do not know : }-ou durst not risk taking the evil with the good. You do not know what iron hand might be laid upon you. More than this. You would not really desire to change 363 THINGS LEFT the stage you have reached in this Hfe. You have grown old : strength and heart sometimes fail you : you must take in sail : you cannot get through your work as you did, long ago. But you are humbly thankful that you have got on so far, decently. You are humbly thankful (there is no affectation earthly) that the end is drawing near. You would not put back the clock, if you could. You do not wish to be younger : to be young again : you do not wish to begin it all over. No, you do not. Not, though you would be allowed to change the course you have come, profiting by dearly-bought experience : though the errors have been many and sorrowful. Far less, if you had to tread just the same path over again. Ah, when one comes to know what some come to know, how things are balanced in God's Providence ! As for your own lot, you are aware of the best and worst of it. You remember the homely Scot, in the days of Marts, who uttered the strange words, not understandable by the pre- sent generation, that ' he hadna made up his mind whether to kill himsel', or to tak' a side o' his feyther.' Morally, we should be pleased to take a side, or at least a slice, of divers other men. You wish you were rid of that morbid temperament which sometimes makes the world black and yourself a burden to those who must bear with you. You know a good friend, whose cheery nature you would take thankfully. No doubt, plodding along the dusty road for various miles, you have just a little envied Mr. Smith the fine horses which swept him by you, cool and restful. Though, for that matter, the sourest and most discontented WOULD YOU CHANGE? 363 faces I have ever seen, were looking out of the windows of extremely handsome carriages. And I, instructed in Gothic art, who have been appointed to minister in certain of the ugliest churches in Christendom, have looked with a certain longing at the beautiful edifices which have been given to certain friends. Never mind : the great thing about an\' church on earth is tlie li\ing congregation ! And you would not risk taking the pleasantest things you ever knew, along with what might come with them. You would not again take that turn you took in life. Trouble came of it. But worse trouble might have come had you turned the other way. It is not that )-ou think )-ou have come to much ; or that }'ou have not your heavy troubles. l^ut far better Christians have fared far worse. And you have grown accustomed to things. You are in a way re- signed : reconciled : to being what and where you are. You could not bear to be anybody else. My experience leads me to think that the overwhelming majority of decent Christian folk have quite learned a lesson which St. Paul seemed to imply took him a while to learn. ' I have learned, in whatsoever state T am, there- with to be content.' And resting peacefully by the Sunday fireside, on the Sunday evening, thinking how graciously God has led them (not to say borne with them) ; many a modest heart is lifted up in lowly thankfulness. 564 THINGS LEFT CHAPTER X OF SAYING GOODBYE My subject is not what you think. I am not, here, to treat the awful subject of parting. Dickens, writing a last letter to his boy going away to Australia (where, God be thanked, he has worked and prospered bravely) said that life is half made up of partings : and indeed we have found it so. Further, the pathos of the subject is so much beyond words, that it affects me (for one) with deep indignation when I find a coarse-grained soul seeking to touch aging people by saying what is very likely to move them : move them in a fashion for which that soul is entitled to not the smallest credit. The many pleasant faces, the many sweet country scenes, the many quiet little rooms, to which we have each said goodbye ! I would not wittingly, for any inducement you could offer, stir that fountain of sorrowful tears. But I desire to think of an enviable faculty which I note in certain valued friends. How easily and completely they part from a place or a person : the place where they lived for years : the person with whom they conversed familiarly for years ! Doubtless it is better : there is no good in dragging a lengthening chain. But there are those OF SAYING GOODBYE 365 who cannot attain to this. The beautiful fields and trees, left behind, come perpetually into the memory : ay, after years : and the eye turns moist in a way which serves no practical end. The plain little chamber where much hard headwork was wrestled tlirough : the pattern of the grate, often vacantly studied through lonely evenings long de- parted : all these things and more innumerable are part of the life of the present day, though they are never spoken of There are some who could not point carelessly to a house in a row, when driving rapidly by it, and say, ' I lived there, five-and-thirty years ago.' The voice would fail if they tried to do so. The whole life of that time would come back too vividh' : and a face gone away. It is good for us, it is helpful in doing the present task with undivided attention, to be able to definitively turn the leaf, and shut it down, and begin upon a fresh page. St. Paul, besides what else he was, was a man of shrewd worldly wisdom, when he wrote certain words not likely to be forgotten, which run ' Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.' It is by an effort, a conscious effort, not always suc- cessful, that one shuts out the intruding pictures of the places where one has lived, has sojourned. But there are good men to whom that task comes easy. They are able to live in the present, and to give a full mind to the present duty. Stranger still, how easily those who have an immense number of friends, and are pressed continually by great concerns and interests, can drop any apparent remembrance of a friend, a true and much-prized friend, dail}- seen, dail}- 366 THINGS LEFT talked with through years. I am not forgetting that men may be thinking of many things of which they make no mention even in the most intimate talk : but one can read, pretty accurately, the mind and heart of one who is speci- ally dear ; and you know perfectly, my reader, that there is nothing weighing very heavily upon him of which he says not a word to you. For long, for an appreciable part of a shortening life, there was a bright face on the other side of the evening fireside : there was one to whom you could talk of everything ; there was profound sympathy with you in all that troubled and perplexed. But that familiar friend was taken : you saw the turf smoothed over him : then you turned away and took to the old task-work very much as you used to do when you could speak to him of it. Of another kind of friend you say, ' I venerated that man : I loved him : it was a blow when he was taken : I miss him continually. Come and let us see to that awful basketful of letters : they must be answered, and that forth- with.' Then they are attacked. There is a hearty laugh at this one and that : they are all worked through. The mind has been quite engrossed by them : and the lost friend has never been thought of at all. All this is healthy : is good. Only some men could not do it : could not do it (to say the least) for a very long time after. And I have noted that men who by nature or training have attained to this, desire no other for themselves. I cannot forget (for I have that sorrowfully-long memory) how once I was pre- sent where a man set in great place was led to say just a brief word of the day when his great place would be left OF SAYING GOODBYE 367 vacant. Only four were present : all these very special friends. Something had been said, very unaffectedly, and because circumstances led up to it, as to how much he would be missed. But the dear and great man, the mo.st lovable of the race, spoke with some measure of heat and impatience: spoke in that fa.shion for the solitary time in thirty years. ' Nothing of that kind,' he said : ' no brooding on the past : lay me in the earth : sing Now the laboiirei^s task is oer : then go away back to your work and take to it as hard as }-ou can ! ' One thought of Tennyson's Then you may lay me lozu V the mould a?id thi?tk no more of mc. The shade of feeling was different, of course : the theory was that of Cardinal Newman : Weep not for me : Be blithe-as wont, nor tinge with gloom The stream of love which circles home, Light hearts and free ! Joy in the gifts Heaven's bounty sends ; Nor miss my face, dear friends ! Only approval can be expressed of such words : here is unselfishness ; here are things placed in healthful perspec- tive. Here is the manifest intention of our Creator. Yet we should like to be remembered, though with a painless remembrance. We could not quite make up our minds to be forgot. No more than One, in whom we see all that is sinlessly natural to frail humanity, and who expressly de- sired to be remembered : This do in remembrance of Me. I look with deliberate approval, not untouched with wonder how they did it, on good men and women who have quite 358 THINGS LEFT got over things. They are the wisest, and often the best of the race. I watch them at their work, at their play : I see them bright and cheer}' : I hear the ringing laugh, the mild jest. They look wonderfully young for their years. All the while, I am thinking of what they have come through. Not merely work and worry ; the trace of these fades out when great success comes, and perhaps outstanding honour. One's thoughts are much more of those gone away ; of dark days when it seemed impossible that the house should ever be bright again, or the interrupted task resumed. But the wiser reflection which comes second is, that (wise in the wisdom of a better world) those gone away will never think they are forgotten, though the house be cheery and sun- shiny once more. You have seen the good face turn ver}- grave as the eyes fell upon a picture on the wall : as a sudden likeness strikes both friends on a beaming young countenance. It saddens one to whom it comes as some- thing new. It does not appreciably sadden one by whom it is seen daily ; and one does not forget words, very kindly said, by one to whom a duty of extreme responsibility was appointed, yet who seemed quite gay in the prospect of it. ' I feel all that, but I don't speak of it.' While we abide in this world it is needful that in many very serious ex- periences we be quite alone. I know I am not succeeding in making my meaning as clear as I could wish. I do not mean that there is any- thing admirable, or enviable, about people to whom parting is easy because they are selfish and heartless, and so do not mind. I am thinking of those who feel deeply ; as deeply OF SAYING GOODBYE 369 as any ; yet who by their make can acquiesce in the inevi- table, can cease to mourn for the lost, can let by-gones be by-gones. I have known a man who, if he had been Job, would never have felt that the new sons and daughters, given in like number, in any way made up for the awful loss of the first : and who hailed with delight the sugges- tion of the latest scholarship that these were the same children brought back safe and well. It was Satan who sent the terrible news ; and the terrible news was false. But I have known another who rose by the regular steps to the highest place in a great profession : who held, in magnificent sufficiency, the post of the Chief Judge of his time, and who was a cheerful though somewhat reserved companion in social life : who never made one feel, even coDversing with him daily, that he was remembering the young wife who had to go after a very little time together, who had to go without seeing him take even the first step of many that led so high. Doubtless, that great man was not a gusher : he did not wear his heart upon his sleeve : the empty place was never filled ; and when the letter came, time after time, asking him to step up, one can but guess how he thought within himself that there was no one to throw it across to. His was the grand manner, in all things : he kept a certain distance. It was otherwise with a good man gone, who being raised to a very modest ele- vation, said to the writer, ' Ah, if this had come before she died ! ' It was otherwise with Arthur Stanley, as lovable as he was great, who frankly showed how he never got over his great loss. Walking round the chapels in West- 370 THINGS LEFT minster Abbey with only two or three, he came to one where he silently waved his friends to enter, and then turned away and remained outside. And speaking of his latest visit to St. Andrews, where he was overwhelmed with love and honour, he said, * It would have been perfect happiness if only she had been there.' I have noted that such as take, or seem to take, their partings heroically, or at least silently, say goodbye very quickly and informally. You have had a pleasant time together, days or even weeks. Then, without a word of scenes which to you have taken the wistful last look, you drive away together to the railway, and you start on the little run of twelve miles. Your friend's eye is never lifted from his newspaper. And when you both descend from the carriage it is just a word, and he has disappeared. Of course this is the better way. When a lad of not quite twenty went away to India it was striking how for the last two days he kept out of the sight of his father and mother, and was always very busy and hurried ; no time to talk. Well they knew why. It is a mistake, when you are de- parting from a beautiful place long familiar, and now to be seen no more, to solemnly go out quite alone, and pene- trate into each nook trying to recall its associations and to bid it farewell. All that is gratuitous pain. And it is not even that hasty glance which will abide in your memory. One would not wish to know when the last look is being taken of a place which has long been very dear. And the look will not merely be painful ; it will be disappointing. It will not be the place you used to know. I am glad I OF SAYING GOODBYE 371 cannot remember the last time I spoke to one who for twenty years was my great friend here. There is an ancient church which has been the centre of all my serious work for more than a quarter of a century. I trust that I may not know when I come out of it for the last time. Now let us look at a characteristic but cheering picture of the last goodbye. It is of Archbishop Tait, of Canter- bury. ' Early next morning we were all summoned, as his strength seemed to be ebbing fast. He bid a separate farewell to each, and then asked for the Commendatory Prayer. He gave the Benediction in a steady voice, and then added, quite in his usual manner — And 7ioiv it is all over. It isn't so very dreadful after all! 372 CONCLUSION Very obvious things are often not distinctly thought of by those to whom they are continually present. Two days gone, I was startled, some little, when someone said, look- ing round this room in which I work, ' What a number of dead people you have got looking down upon you from these walls ! ' And so indeed it is : one's most valued friends have gone before one. Helps looks down, fixedly ; which he never did in this life. Stanley, a beautiful and characteristic etching, showing him in middle age. Kings- ley, grave and stern, as his aspect was in repose. Bishop Wordsworth, the pleasant portrait bought with money illegally v/on from himself Lord Chancellor Campbell, the most successful of recent St. Andrews students : and specially kind and gracious to this writer while a young Edinburgh minister, long ago. My two immediate pre- decessors in this charge : and my Father's kindly presence, with thick gray hair to the last. And now Froude and the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table are gone too. Dr. Holmes sent me his pleasant picture, many years since. And P>oude's beautiful and pathetic face has looked down on my daily task here, since he was Lord Rector of this University. Was it not yesterday we passed from under CONCLUSION 373 my roof, to the near dwclHnfr of Dr. Adamson : and there that chief of amateur photographers, after many failures, took the pleasantest and most characteristic picture of the historian which I have ever seen ? Can it be many months more than a quarter of a century since then ? Many other kindly faces look down, the faces of those very dear but not known to fame. John Parker, the younger : long away, but often remembered : one of the best of our race. But not one of those shown upon these walls is gone more completely than the youth represented by a crayon picture by our great President, Sir Daniel Macnee. The unlined face, with abundant brown hair : the robes carefully represented, and the ' bands,' which in Scotland indicate full orders, and are worn by a youth not without a modest pride : the youth who at twenty-five was incumbent of a parish of five thousand souls, and thought himself quite old enough. Many have asked the writer who was that cheerful young parson : never dreaming that they stood beside him who was such, forty-two years ago. But indeed, pictures, even of things which do not change as we do, sometimes fail of recognition. A year or more back, a very pretty photograph of this room was published in a periodical of vast circulation. Several individuals, not conspicuously stupid, have gazed upon it here in my study ; and asked what room was that. St. Luke's summer is here with us : this wonderful October sunshine. The grass before these windows blazes. And though many leaves have fallen, the two tall oak-trees on which I look up are thick and green. But Froude is 374 CONCLUSION gone : the friend of five and thirty years. A flood of memories of him, of how he looked, and of what he said and did, has come over one : this day on which he is quietly laid to rest in his native Devon. But it is not now, in these days of mourning, that they can be set down : not one of them but would make for the honour of him who was as lovable as great. They must wait, for their record, till the day comes (if it is to come) when one can speak again of the charming writer and dear friend with a smile. Which is not possible now. It is pleasant, to those who loved him, to witness the unbroken chorus of praise which has attended his passing from us. All that one has read of him has been sub- stantially just. For with that fascination of style, he did tend to be inaccurate in details : and he quite knew it. He knew it so well that more than once he has accepted correction when in fact he was right. And I have known him viciously accused of levity for doing so : this, by the person who had without reason corrected him. The spots on the sun were incredibly small. Yet one smiled, ages ago, when Mr. Hosack chivalrously undertook the defence of poor Queen Mary : and Froude wrote and asked me what I thought of Hosier's {sic) attack upon him. But Froude had no more valued friend than Dr. John Skelton : and the world knows how eloquently and ingeniously Skelton stood up for the luckless Queen who never had a chance. Once upon a time a critic, in a very considerable paper, rebuked the writer for venturing to say Froude in speaking of so great a man. My only apology was that I had been CONCLUSION 375 wont, in speech and in writing, so to address him for far more than thirty years. Yet I can sympathise with the clever writer who found fault with me. It was in Sep- tember 1856, on his first visit to Irongray, that John Parker sat down at this table where I write ; and indited a letter which he handed to me to read, and which began J/j' dear Tennyson. It seemed profanation. I knew no authors then. And I had since boyhood looked up to the great poet with reverence not to be put in words. Even yet, does not a true poet who abides with us speak of Arthur Hallam's grave as having ' been wept above, with more than mortal tears ' ? Could this be t Yet Parker did it, quite coolly. We live to learn. But a few days since, did not certain ears, normal in their length, hear a most eminent statesman addressed as Bally ? And he re- sponded, meekly. A high-bred gentleman, if ever such was. P'or many a year, fully understood and prized under this roof: not least by the children whose houses of bricks he piled up to an incredible height, with amazing ingenuity : never more than by the boy (now a man, far away, who has known a man's sorrows) whom he carried on his shoulder through the streets of Edinburgh on that night when the beautiful city was illuminated marvellously for the wedding of one born to be King some day. The quiet lovable man : silent sometimes in general society : but so frankly outspoken to those who were indeed his friends. While I live, I will hold it as something to be proud of that for many a day his letters ended Yours very affectionately. Which would 376 CONCLUSION not have been said unless it had been meant. Froude was a sincere true man. It is but a few days since a letter (to be treasured) said ' My Father is not able to read his letters. But we tell him about any that come which we think would interest him. The kind affection of yours pleased him very much ; and he wished me to write and thank you for it.' There was beautiful and heroic patience through the long weary illness ; and no wish to be spared here to be useless. Very simple and solemn were the words in which, as once we parted for the night (he was staying with us), he spoke of what may be beyond all work and trouble here. Thinking of these days and nights of endurance, one grudged our terrible tenacity of life : one thought how Lord Campbell, the evening he died, thinking of an old friend near him, said he would fain change the petition in the Litany for de- liverance from sudden death, to one for deliverance from lingering illness. Things repeat themselves, strangely. Sir Walter and his father, similarly tried at the last : Froude and Carlyle. I recall, vividly, the last interview between these tried friends ; when Carlyle was wearying to be allowed to slip away. ' What pleasure can These People have in keeping me so long in this pain .'' ' The answer, solemnly said : ' Perhaps These People have reasons which we do not know.' Then came the quiet last words. ' I'll not say but what they have.' So Froude and Carlyle parted. I think, spite of the voice here and there, Froude in the latter years was valued as he deserved. There must be CONCLUSION 377 exceptional judgments. A very clever man told me he did not think Froude wrote good English. And Froude himself told me how a man of high eminence, who for years had laid himself on Fronde's track to show up his little blunders, being asked why he so persevered in an invidious task, replied, ' Because I hate the fellow.' It was because he knew him not. Of course, Froude could sometimes be in a playful mood provoking. But none ever knew him well without loving him. I do remember one individual, quite extraordinarily ordinary, whom I foolishly (at his own request) brought into my dwelling in Great King Street when Froude was with us in his first visit to Edinburgh, and indeed to Scotland. I see him yet sitting by the drawing-room fire that afternoon, criti- cally estimating the historian ; and indeed putting him to the proof by some remarks as to the standards of the Kirk. Froude was found wanting, and the worthy soul went. As he passed through the front door, his judgment was. ex- pressed : ' I don't think much of your friend.' I hear the words to-day. I made no reply : not a syllable : for the man was much my senior in my vocation : for fear of say- ing out too keenly what I thought and felt in that hour. But I unbosomed my feeling to the dear Skelton : who I know has forgot all about it : and I was relieved when Skelton calmly said ' Who cares a straw what he says ? ' Froude used to speak seriously, as the rule : and often on the very gravest matters. Yet there was the relief of humour. Many remember his laugh. Though he had his days like that on which he wrote to me that ' when the 378 CONCLUSION weather was bad, the old wounds ached ' : I do not think he would have approved terrible words in Mr. Hatch's first Bampton lecture : * the weight of that awful sadness of which, then as now, to the mass of men, life was the synonym and the sum.' I cannot remember, in literature, any more desponding estimate. It transcends George Eliot's friend : * Life is a bad business : but we must make the best of it.' And though he was made the Oxford Professor too late, and found that the work was harder than he had expected, yet that recognition which so de- lighted his friends was not without its charm to him. He was, indeed, terribly overworked. ' All last winter and spring he was feeling his work a terrible strain, and look- ing very ill and over-tired : but he kept up till he had finished the Erasmus book, and the other lectures he had set himself to do.' And he had ends in view at Oxford, of warm concern to himself, which will never be attained, now. But I dare not go on. I did not see him in death : it makes a great difference. All my remembrances, very many and very vivid, are so life-like, that even as the sun is fading out on this evening of the day he was laid to rest, things come back which tempt to a* smile. And one has no heart for that. But I recall words of solemn moral reprobation : which I confess it struck a chill to hear. He had not to learn it from Carlyle : it was his own : Any- thing like successful insincerity he could not abide. And he was a good hater of what he morally disapproved. He was speaking to me of an eminent ecclesiastic, an CONCLUSION 379 Archbishop of the Ancient Church : whose biography he had just been reading. ' That man was a humbug,' he said. I ventured to urge, ' Surely not a humbug : though there was a sad deal of humbug about him.' Froude went on : ' As far as I can make out, he believed nothing.' I replied that from all I read, and heard, I gathered that the articles of his creed tended to become fewer as he went on : and that in the latter days his faith was summed up greatly in devotion to the personal Saviour. The beautiful eyes looked at me intently, and shone with an alarming light, as Froude dismissed the subject in words I never have forgot : which I can quote, letter perfect. ' Ah, he thought highly of Christ, did he? I venture to doubt whether that favourable opinion was reciprocal.' The voice was low : the last word was given with extreme deliberation. He was on his feet. I see the large apart- ment in which we were together. One thought of his often-repeated saying, ' The Granite, the thing you can build upon, is : That there is an awful difference between Right and Wrong : and that you ought to do Right and not do Wrong.' Well, is not that taken for granted, all through the Sermon on the Mount ? It is the Granite of the moral universe. That Edinburgh visit comes back : it lasted ten days. His enthusiasm for the place was delightful to see. The first afternoon, my brother took us round the Queen's Drive in a lofty drag. ' Think of being able to come here after your work ! In London, you go and take a walk in the Park : what is that to this ? ' Holyrood : Queen Mary's 38o CONCLUSION rooms : the Calton Hill : the Castle and Mons Meg. Strange, Edinburgh reminded him of Toledo. Then St. Andrews. The Beach : the Links : Magus Muir : his Rectorial addresses : his talk, late into the night. All these things again : elsewhere : when time has gone over. Curi- ously, he liked not the Hierarchy. 'When a friend is made a Bishop, you lose your friend.' Long after : one of innumerable letters. ' I know you are quite happy, stay- ing with your Bishop, and having him for a great friend. Now I could not stand it. The position of a Bishop is so extraordinary. It is something midway between an angel and a spirit-rapper ! ' I must not go that way. The reader sees how I am tempted. Only one word more, to-day : and that in seri- ousness. It comes back, with inexpressible distinctness, the last time I parted from Froude. I never was able to get to him at Oxford, though often kindly asked : it was to have been, without fail, next summer. We had spent some hours together, in constant talk, and very cheerfully. First, a long time in his library : then walking about the green space before its windows : then, in London streets. But, going along crowded Piccadilly, the time came to part : most likely for a long time. I call a year a long time. Froude talked more and more rapidly : and glanced from subject to subject : till we reached a certain corner. Then he suddenly held out his hand, with a very wistful face : exactly like two of the best which are published this week. He stood silent for a minute. Then, ' I don't like to say good-bye, old friend ' : and the next moment he CONCLUSION 381 was lost in the crowd. That was our last parting. But the letters were life-like. He thought to see St. Andrews again : and Edinburgh. He expected that Skelton and I should be with him at Oxford : he brightly described what was to be there. We had not lost him, till now. I never saw Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes but once. He had written to me for thirty-four years. And con- sidering how busy a man he was, it is wonderful what long letters he wrote. I have remarked that many men who write for the press are plainly indisposed to write any- thing which is not to be printed. It was not so with the Autocrat. One thought, reading the great pages, written with beautiful clearness, of a dear young friend who writes me long and ever-welcome letters, receiving but brief replies ; but who tells me that the mechanical work of writing is a real enjoyment to him. I was not quite Half- Way, when Dr. Holmes first wrote to me : and it was received as the most delightful of possible compliments when he said, in the old Fraser days, that reading certain passages in the present writer's essays, he felt that he must have written them himself The assurance was all the more welcome because (though I would not have dared to say so) when I first read TJie Autocrat of the Breakfast- Table, I came upon various pages which I quite recognised as my own, though I could not remember when I had written them. I state the fact : as well aware that only a special measure of that for which the Weaver of Kilwin- ning prayed could have led me to so vain an illusion. 382 CONCLUSION From the day on which the grand edition of The Autocrat came (it came October i, 1861) 'with the kindest regards of Oliver Wendell Holmes,' Dr. Holmes sent me nearly every volume he published, both in prose and verse. They make a long line. And they are set hard by the shelf which bears everything that ever came from the pen of Sir Arthur Helps. In a little he sent his portrait : very pleasing and life-like. I have told elsewhere ' how I met him : and found him exactly what the author of his books should be. It was pleasant, reading a bright account of an interview with the cheerful patriarch who was beloved wherever our language is read, an interview within the last year of his life, to find it recorded that among eight or ten volumes placed close by his writing-table, within reach of his hand, were these two. He had told me that, latterly, he would not read any article bearing to be wholly about himself. But if he found kindly reference to himself in a chapter treating another subject, he liked it. What mortal could write otherwise than kindly of the lovable and helpful Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes ? He did not care to be called a Unitarian in the English sense. ' An American Unitarian was rather like an Anglican Broad Church man.' Yet I remember when a worthy and orthodox preacher from the United States would not enter into St. Bernard's Church because Dr. Holmes had done me the great honour of saying that I was his friend. ' I was a Socinian.' But indeed it is true that a devout and learned Parsee from Bombay came to service in the parish church of St. ' Twenty-Five Years of St. Andrews: Vol. II. pp. 231 sq. CONCLUSION 383 Andrews : and declared that he heard no word in which he could not agree. I had not looked for this. But I had seen him before worship began, and I remember well how touching a thing it seemed to me, to mark in the midst of a great multitude of professed Christian people, the dark worshipper of another land and faith. Perhaps there was a thought for him, that day. I do not mean in the sup- pression of doctrine : nobody but a very stupid or very unscrupulous mortal will call me * a Socinian.' And a man who has published fourteen volumes of sermons might surely have been found out. But I think the sun- worshipper heard, in the first lesson, the magnificent ' The sun shall be no more thy light by day': 'Thy sun shall no more go down.' And he stood up amid a congregation singing well-known verses which begin ' Sun of my soul.' I am perfectly certain that in the better place where One is the Light concerning Whom neither believed as I do, there will be kindest welcome for the devout Parscc, and for the beloved Oliver Wendell Holmes. This is Monday morning. It is sunshiny and blue, though it is the twenty-ninth of October, and all the earth is saturated with yesterday's drenching rain. The green grass on which I look smiles cheerfully, and the two younn- oaks are verdurous and thick. Last night, in dismal black- ness and downpour, I went through deserted streets to minister in the great parish church : making sure that the congregation must needs be a small one. But it was specially cheering to find a great mass of bright attentive faces, wherever one looked through vistas between the 384 CONCLUSION great pillars : heart-warming to hear the audible hush with which they listened to the exhortation : most uplifting to join in praise for which Liddon would have thanked God : the inspired Magnificat, the Psalms for the evening antiphonally chanted, a touching anthem which did not overtask the voices which brightly rendered it, and divers plain hymns, loud as from numbers not very easily numbered : then the lessons in the fresh loud voice of a youth from famous Thrums. When I think how many who started with me are gone, or are laid aside from duty, I am deeply thankful that I am still fairly equal to that appointed to me. If I am permitted to complete thirty years in this charge, — which I shall do if I see September in next year, — I may yet be able to tell the story, a simple but pathetic story, of the years since the Twenty-five. PRINTED BV SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARB LONDON H Clas8ific& Catalooue OF WORKS IX GENERAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. E.G. . AND 15 EAST i6th street, NEW YORK. 1894. t'nge 2. »3 , INDEX OF AUTHORS. Abbou (Evelyn) - -— (T. K.)- — (E. A.>- - Acland (A. II. n.) * " (Kliza) Ids lam (W.) - (F.) - - hancs le ■ rong (H.) - (G. F. Savage) (K.J.) - Arnold (Sir Ktlwin) (Dr. T.) \shlev (VV. J.) - - 12 »--\l.J.)- - - 15 Ju Lys (Author of) 20 /Vi^c .Mt (Walter) 5, .:-Aoll (K.) 3ain (.Mexander)- Jakc.'' (James) (Sir S. \V.) - Jail (J. T.) - JarinR-Gould (S.) }arnt;it (S. A. and Mrs.) Jaltve (.Aubyn Trevor) ■■ s (T. S.) - ■ ^ricld (Earl of ) - t (Duke oO I Prof.) - ::s. Hu.,'h)- 1 . Theodore) (Walter) - n(B.) - C. W.) - '(B.) - - V (Guv) - \K. H.) - 5,; (Lady) - Td) - . and Mrs.) J. F.) - . (H. A.) - H. T.) - Dent (C. T.) . De Salis (Mrs.) - 10 : De Tocqueville (.^.) 2 I Devas (C. S.) 21 J Dougall (L.)- 13 I Dowell (S.) - - 14, 22 I Dovie (A. Conan) 15 Ew'ald (H.) - 13 I Falkener (H.) 10 F.nrnell (G. S.) - 2 Farrar (Archdeacon) - 14 I Fitzpatrick (W. J.) 5, 14, 22 : Fil^wvsram Sir F. 6, 14, 20 Ford (H.) Forster (F.) - Fowler (J . K.) - Francis (Francis) Francis (H. R.) - 5, 101 Freeman (Edward A.) - r, 22 Froude (James A.) 3 2 1 Furneau.x (W.) 10 I Gardiner (Samuel R.) - 15 i Gilkes (.v. H.) 6. 8 I Gleis; (G. R.) 2 j Goethe - - - - 22 j Graham (G. F.) - 12 Granville (I!.. Countess) 5 22 ! Graves (R. P.) - - 5 22 1 Green (T. Hill) - - 10 i5|Greville(C. C. F.) - 3 8 i Grey (Mrs. W.) - - 20 13 I IlaK^ard (H. Rider) - 16, 20 14 I Halliwill-Hhillipps (J.) 5 6 Harrison (lane L.) 2|Hart (A. B'.)- 14 I Harte (Bret) 3 i Hartv.i^' (G.) II I Hassall (A.) . 6 Hawker (Col. I'eter) , 24 I Hearn (W. E.) 15 12 16 2 9 13 12, 16 3 7 9 i6 9; 9; 17 3 16, 6 14 Lees (J. A.) - ! Leonard (A. G.) - , Leslie (T. E. C.) - ; Lewes (G. H.) - Levton (F.) - Lod.,'e (H, C.) Loftie (W. J.) Longman (C. ].\ - | Longman (F. W.) Lubbock (Sir John) Lyall (Edna) ' Lytton (Earl of) - Macaulay (Lord) - 4, Macdonald (George) - Macfarren (Sir G. A.) - Mackail (J. W.) . Macleod (H. D.) - Macpherson (H. A.) - Maher (M.) - Marbot (Baron de) \tarshman (J. C.) Martin (A. P.) Martineau (James) Maskclyne (J.N.) •3 3 16 17. 18 5 9 2, 8, 12 6 Heathcote(J.M.&C. G.) 8 Helrnholtz (Hermann von) 18 >3 ■ (Montagu) ■ iscount - - 8 !•: . A.i - - 17 •muel) - - 22 11- Walker (A.)- 9 ndeley-PennelI(H.) 8 ,3 K. F.) - - „ 1. T.) - - M l-.dward) - uck (W. J.) ;L. N.) - !•■ (A.) - ''n (John) .ire(W.J.)How J.T.) - rding) \. D.) 'n (Bishop) iI.B.) - iHon. G. N.) L.) on (W. L.) e la Saussave (C.) eland (Mrs.) 8 >9 2.3 10, 22 5 16 7 7 23 Hodgson (Shad. H.) Hooper (G.) - , Hornung (R. W.) 2 Howard (B. D.) 21 Howitt (William) Hullah (John) Hume (iJavid) Hunt (W.) . . . r^ Hutchinson (Horace G.) 8 Huth (A. H.) - - 13 Ingelow (Jean) - 14, 19, 20 James (C, A.) - - 23 efferies (Richard) -21,23 Johnson (J. & J. H.) - 23 Johnstone (L.) - - 10 Jones (E. E. C.) - - 10 Jordan (W. L.) - - 12 Joyce (P. W.) - - 3 Justinian - - - 10 Kalisch (M. M.) - - 24 Kant (I.) ... 10 Kendall (May) - - 14 Killick(A. H.) - - 10 Kitchin (G. W.) - - 3 Knight (E. F.) - - 7, 21 Ladd (G. T.) - - n 3 Lang (Andrew) '4 3. 8. 13. 14. l6, 19. 23 10, 12 Lascelles (Hon. G.) - 8, 9 24 Lear (H. L. Sidney) - 22 15, 20 Lecky (W. E. H.) - 3, 14 ^^•lunder (S.) Max Mijller (F.) - 11, May (Sir T. Erskine) - Meade (L. T.) Melville (G. J. Whyte) Mendelssohn (Felix) - Merivale (Dean) - Mill (James) I (John Stuart) Milner (G.) - ' Molesworth (Mrs.) Monck (W. H. S.) Montague (C.) Montagu (F. C.) - Murdoch (W. G. Burn) Nansen (F.) - . . ' Nesbit (E.) - 1 O'Brien (W.) ! Oliphant (Mrs.) - I Osbourne (L) Parr (Mrs.) - , Payn (James) Pavne-Gallwey (Sir R.) Pearv (J. andR.) - Perring (Sir P.) - Phillipps-Wollev (C.) - Piatt (S.& J.J.) - : Plato - - - Pole (W.) - Pollock (W. H.) - Poole (W.H. and Mrs.) Prendergast (J. P.) Pritchett (R. T.) - Proctor (R. A.) - 9, Raine (James) Ransome (C)Til) - Rhoades (J.) - 13, Rich (A.) Richardson (Sir B. W.) Rickaby (John) - — (Joseph) Rilev (J. W.) Rockhill (W. W.) Roget (Peter M.) - Romanes (G. J.) - Roberts (C. G. D.) Ronalds (A.) Roosevelt (T.) Rossetti (M. F.) Page - 7, 21 Saintsbuiy (G.) - 23 i Scott-Montagu (J.) 12 Secbohm (F.) II , Sewell (Eliz. M.) - 14 Shakespeare 3 Shand(A. J. L) - 3 Sharpe (R. R.) - S, 9, 23 Shearman (M.) - 9 Sheppard (Edgar) 13 Shirres (L. P.) 16 ; Sidgwick (Alfred) 15 ' Sinclair (A.)- 15, 21 Smith (R. Bosworth) - 24 , (W. P. Haskett) - 23 Sophocles . . . 13 Southey (R.) 12, 21 i Stanley (Bishop) - 9 I Steel (A. G.) n; O'-H.) - 5 Stephen (Sir James) - 5 Stephens (H. Morse) - 6 ; Stevenson (R. L.) 15, 24 I Stock (St. George) 9 I ' Stonehenge' 19 Sluart-Wortley (.\. J.) 12, 24 I Stubbs (J. W.) - 4 I Sturgis (J.) - 19 I Suffolk and Berkshire 16 I (Earl of) 23 Sullivan (Sir E.) - 4 Sully (James) II , Sutherland (A. and G.) II, 12 , Suttner (B. von) - 23 I Swinburne (A. J.) 20 j Symes (J. E.) II I Theocritus - 7 I Thomson (Archbishop) 4 1 Todd (A.) Page 9 9 4.5 17 5. 15 9 4 8 4 6 4 17, 20 I I . -. 7|Toynbee(A.) 7 ( Trevelyan (Sir G. O.) - 15 ] Trollopc (Anthony) 4 Tyrrell (R. Y.) - 16 I Verncv (Francis P.) - 17 1 Virgil - . . . 16 I Von Hohnel (L.) - 16 Wakeman (H. O.) 8, 9 ! Walford (Mrs.) - 7 I Wallaschek (R.) - 23 Walker (Jane H.) 8, 16 Walpole (Spencer) 15 VValsingham (Lord) - 13 Walter (J.) - 9 Watson (A. E. T.) 8 Webb (S. and B.) 22 Webb (T. E.) 4 Weir(R.) _ West (B. B.) - - I 18,23 (C.) 3 Weyman (Stanley) Whately (Archbishop)- (E. J.) - Whishaw(F. J.) 15. 16 »3 23 II II 15 7 12, 19 13 15 9 3 21, 23 Wilcocks (J. C.) - Wilkins (G.)- Willich (C. M.) - Wilson (A. J.) Wishart (G.) Wolff (H.W.) - Woodgate (W. B.) Wood (J. G.) Wylie (J. H.) - Youatt (W.) - Zeller (E.) - 5 12 5 17 13 6 13 7 5 6,17 23 22 5 8 6 8.9 12 II 8 7.23 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. CONTENTS. 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