WHITHER THOU WOULDEST NOT.

37

the celebrant. 'I thought we should have the Archbishop's blessing this morning,' I said quite innocently. That is only when he takes a part in the service,' he replied. 'Otherwise his presence is not recognised.' I observed that I had been at services unconscious of the presence of a bishop, and only made aware of it by his giving the parting benediction. They do that,' he said; 'but it's quite wrong.' A rigid High Church friend of mine in the diocese goes beyond even the Powderham use. He has several times turned me bodily out of his chancel because I had not a surplice on, and I think him quite capable of turning out an archbishop too.

The Archbishop was taken to visit the House of Mercy at Bovey Tracy, an institution conducted on High Church principles. I believe I was asked to join the party, but I could not have stood a drive of twenty miles or more in an open carriage in cold weather.

Hard as I know myself to be, I should indeed have been hard not to be moved by the spectacle now for days before me. Here was a man who had attained the highest elevation possible to an English subject, only to feel the more acutely the most cruel blows of common affliction. A whole troop of little ones, his eldest son, his wife, and now the best part of his own powers and his confidence in them, had been taken away; and, while charged with a high office and a mighty work, he had to feel that his part in it must be economised down to the strength of a child.

The Canterbury succession contributes its full share to the lessons which chide ambition; but for that

protracted death to the world, which to those who bear it meekly is a living martyrdom, no example could beat this. I could not help being reminded of his Grace's great competitor in life's race-alas, poor Yorick - the late Bishop of Winchester. When Tait declined York, S. Wilberforce observed that no Scotchman was ever known to take the road to Scotland. It would now be an interesting theme to compare their respective fortunes. S. Wilberforce was suddenly laid low, but was thereby spared a long agony, a tedious decay, and a memory charged with old and new, and still newer, sorrows. He left sons

to sustain his honours, and to fight for his memory with all the pugnacity of the parent.

Once again did I see the Archbishop, and that was in his own grounds, at a garden reception at Lambeth, calm, collected, and reserving his strength. I cannot remember whether it was then, or at our parting at Powderham Castle, that he alluded playfully to my day-dream of a new philosophy.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LATE PRIMATE'S LAST WORDS.

AFTER this account of my very recent and very interesting personal acquaintance with the Archbishop, I need scarcely describe-indeed, I could hardly describe how I felt his exceedingly kind notice of my book in 'Macmillan's Magazine.' He had bestowed

EVANGELICALS.

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on it almost the last of his strength. I have myself always found writing rather hard work, and I feared that even the fourteen columns he had given me might have contributed too much to the drain on his ebbing powers. The editor prefixed a note, which was unhappily rather out of date by the time most readers, including myself, could see it: The following article was written very shortly before the beginning of the serious illness from which the Archbishop is now happily recovering.'

In the first week of October it was already known. that the Archbishop's recovery would be slow, and was still doubtful. It was known too that he must spare himself and be spared. For some days I debated within myself whether I should write to his Grace, acknowledging his great kindness, and accepting, as I had every wish to do, and now solemnly do, his gentle rebuke for the asperity or rather exaggeration of my tone on the Evangelical party as I had known it sixty years ago. In my book I have spoken with affection, or respect, of many Evangelical clergymen, numbering some of them among my dearest friends; but I confess to an expression here and there of the sort that is apt to disfigure reminiscences and make them sour reading. But if I had written to the Archbishop at all I should certainly have felt myself obliged to respond to one particular passage, which I, and I suppose most people, regarded as the very point of the article. It had evidently been written carefully, and in full view of some chapters in my book which I had myself felt to require apology. I could not infer that the Archbishop agreed with me;

but, taking me at the worst, it was plain that he was prepared to claim toleration for me. The passage in

'Macmillan' to which I refer is as follows:

But meanwhile, throughout the length and breadth of England, what is the view of Christianity which is welcomed by the great mass of intelligent, religious men? It is often said that Arnold is the father of the scepticism which unfortunately prevails so largely in much of our periodical literature, and those whom it leads. No statement can be more utterly untrue. Men point to the much loved character of Arthur Clough, and the way in which his faith seemed shaken from its foundations; but his case was most peculiar-exposed to the overwhelming influence of two contending torrents, one leading him to Rome, the other to the fathomless abyss of an unknown scepticism. It is not fair to argue from isolated and extraordinary examples. I repeat my opinion, that the life and letters of Dr. Arnold, and the last two volumes of his sermons, set forth that view of a comprehensive, loving, yet zealous Christian teaching, which approves itself to the conscience, and seeks to be embodied in the lives, of the vast majority of intelligent persons throughout the kingdom. There is no talk here of high, or low, or broad. I believe that the best men of the time have a dislike of all 'schools of theology.' They desire a religion which shall save them and their neighbours in life and in death, without tying them up to unnatural phrases, or locking up their feet whether they will or no in the stocks of some antiquated system of discipline. Christ and God ever present, the Holy Spirit blowing where He listeth, the regularly ordained and familiar ordinances of the Church, are far more to them than any technical definitions or strict orders of the schools (p. 422).

The whole article, and this paragraph in particular, became immediately the subject of excited and not quite respectful comment. It was described as 'superficial,' as indicating mental decay, and as something like a scandal, proceeding as it did from the pen of an Anglican Primate. Had I then ventured to make any

acknowledgment, public or private, I had to consider well what I should say. This was a matter beset with difficulties, among which my own prejudices were not the least. I could not easily, or rightly, detach the consummation here desired from Arnold's teaching, and I know little or nothing of his later sermons and their final development. From the date of his unfortunate article on the 'Oxford Malignants' to his death, I had been in Salisbury Plain, seeing no new publications except those sent to me. I shared the universal shock of the news of his sudden death.

There reached me various reports of his softening of character, and his tenderness towards Newman. These reports, as it appears, multiplied the fact in my apprehension, for I am told that on his coming up to read his Lectures he met Newman only once, and could have but a short talk with him. Anyhow, I find myself incapable of discussing Arnold's opinions or wishes, and I must be content to leave them out of account.

The matter seemed to lie between the Archbishop and myself, and I felt I could not address him without seeming to ask for some sifting of words and comparison of ideas, either binding him to what he had said, or suggesting qualifications. I must not be in a hurry. Who would extract further admissions, or seek controversy, with a man on a sick bed? At all events he would wait there for me. Soon one heard of the fatal relapse, and, after a long hanging between life and death, all was over.

The words remain, and it would argue strange insensibility, and a still worse indifference, to a great