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{April, 1865.) 

Most of our readers may liave seen the eCTeet of the stirring 
of some deep and stately stream by the sudden pouring into 
it on every side of tlie thousand freshets which have been 
awoke by an unwonted fall of rain. There is a rising up of 
dead and forgotten things from its tranquil depths which 
might stand for an acted parable of the great final awaken- 
ing of all departed words, and thoughts, and actions. The 
present aspect of religious thought amongst ourselves seems 
to have been subjected to some such law of disturbance. 
There is scarcely a question of criticism or 'interpretation — 
scarcely a faint struggle over a principle, a regulation, or a 
creed, however deep it may seem to have been buried, how- 
ever long the quiet waves have flowed over it, and babbled 
nothing of its presence — which is not being stirred up and 
brought to the surface of the present seething, eddying tide 
of theological thought. 

There are some who see in all this nothing else than the 
signs of present yitality and the promise of future progress. 
Such is Dean Stanley's view, in his paper read at the monthly 
meeting of the London clergy, at the Rectory of St, James, 
in which he seeks to fix the character of what he terms the 
theology of the nineteenth century; but which we should 

* Clerical Subscripiiou Commission ReporU 


rather call the Dean's school of opinion. Judging its pecu- 
liarity and its promise to consist, as plain people would 
gather from his words, mainly in the subjection of all objec- 
tive truth to speculation — ranging on its side not only its 
avowed supporters, but as * being penetrated to a consider- 
able degree with the modem spirit/ its most distinguished 
opponents, he finds seven distinct reasons for anticipating its 
final triumph, one of them being * the calmness of its advo- 
cates ' — a startling assertion to the readers of the debates in 
Convocation, unless the Dean's name has been inserted by a 
mistake for that of some fiery advocate of the other side, as 
the utterer of certain recent orations in the Jerusalem 

To others, the scene suggests very different impressions. 
They see little beside the muddy slime of the discoloured 
stream, the passionate whirlpools which disturb whilst they 
hasten its progress, and the froth and foam boiling around 
the strange collection of floating substances which for the 
most part deface the silvered surface that of old had given 
back the burnished rays of the sun, or mirro] ed in unbroken 
outline the encircling heavens. The truth probably lies be- 
tween these two views of the times in which we live. Such 
disturbances of long-settled currents of thought are no proof 
either of depth or of power. They may be accounted for by 
the sudden rising of what are, after all, but transitory land- 
springs. There is no proof in such swellings of Jordan that 
the great depths have been broken up to add new volume to 
the ancient river. They promise no very magnificent or per- 
manent results^ yet they, have in them nothing alarming 
(though the rising waters send abroad a few troublesome 
beasts of prey who had sheltered in their jungle), unless 
the river's banks are overhanging and unsound ; and they 
may even have their utility in sweeping away old accumu- 


lations and preparing the cleansed stream for another and a 
purer calm. 

One of these subjects which has now come again to the 
surfEice is that of Clerical Subscription. The question has 
recently been stirred somewhat roughly in the House of 
Commons. In July, 1863, Mr. Dodson called attention to a 
petition from certain members of the University of Oxford for 
the abolition of the requirement of subscription to formularies 
of Faith as a qualification for academical degrees ; and in 
March, 1864, he moved the second reading of a Bill for 
the abolition of Subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles 
and to the three articles of the 36th Canon, now required 
as necessary conditions for the degree of Master of Arts or of 
Doctor in any faculty. These debates travelled, as might be 
expected, over far wider grounds than the mere academical 
question, and brought more or less under review the whole 
question of subscription to any test as the rule of a national 

* The strife,' Mr. Buxton told the House, ' was between the principle of 
religious subjection and the principle of religious liberty. It was impos- 
sible to understand the meaning of these tests, or even to imagine any 
feasible plea for them, unless they were regarded as parts of a great 
system which emanated in days gone by from the idea that uniformity 
of belief was the first essential. . . . That idea 300 years ago led the Govern- 
ment of almost every land in Christendom to attempt the extermination, 
by fire and sword, of all who broke through the required uniformity of be- 
lief. This test was in fact nothing else but a miserable rag and tatter of 
the system which issued from the idea that uniformity of belief was 

essential Whilst he admitted the necessity of some such tests 

for the authorised teachers of a national Church, he strongly detested 
the tyrannical stringency of the existing subscriptions required of the 

The struggle which followed was severe, and the issue 
doubtful. In March the second reading of the Bill was car- 
ried by 211 ayes to 189 noes. On the next stage of the Bill 


in June, the going into Oommittee was carried in a much 
fuller House by a majority reduced from 22 to 10, the ayes 
being 286 to 226 noes ; on the 1st of July an amendment to 
postpone the third reading till this day six months was lost by 
10, the numbers being 140 to 150. On the same night, on 
the direct question of the third reading, the ayes and noes 
each reached 170, and the casting vote of the Speaker alone 
saved the Bill, which passed the same night through its 
last- ordeal, on the question that the Bill do pass, by 173 
to 171; 

It was plain, after these debates and divisions, that the 
question could not be quietly shelyed ; and Lord Palmerston's 
Gk)yemm^nt, already touched with the enfeebling hand of 
age, flew to the familiar resource of a troubled ministry. It ap- 
pointed a Boyal Commission to Inqtdre into the matter. The 
Commission, it was understood, was to consist of leading men 
of all schools and parties who were known to have taken in- 
terest in the subject, and who were not absolutely resolved 
either against all subscription or against all modification of 
ibat form of it which actually existed amongst ourselves. It 
required a long catalogue of names in any degree to exhaust 
such a list. The subject was one with which many men were 
officially, and some offioioudy connected ; and their various 
representatives reached (in the Commission), by various gra- 
duations, from the Archbishop of Canterbury to Lord Ebury ; 
from the Bishop of Oxford, Sir William Heathcote, and Sir 
John Coleridge, to Dr. Lushington, Mr. Napier, and Mr. 
Buxton ; and from Dean Milman to Mr. Venn. It might 
have been thought at first that anything like an unanimous 
decision would be impossible from twenty-seven such coun- 
sellors* on such a subject. 

* The entire list comprised the Archbishops of Canterbury, York, Armagh, and 
Dublin ; the Earls Stanhope and Harrowby ; th< Bishops of London, Winchester, 


For granting that some subscription was to be kept, yet 
how wide in their scope were the questions which remained 
behind, and invited diversity of judgment I Should subscrip- 
tion to the Thirty-nine Articles be still made obligatory on 
all clergymen ? Might it not be urged that such subscrip- 
tion was altogether unnecessary as the safeguard for the 
essential doctrines of Christianity, which might be more 
safely and fully protected by other means ; that it tended to 
create and keep alive, rather than to reconcile, religious 
differences ; that the Articles were framed in an atmosphere 
of fierce controversy ; that they treated of the most profound, 
abstruse, and agitated theological questions; that on these 
subjects, bristling with difficulties, they were throughout 
controversial — speaking, of necessity, the controversial lan- 
guage of their day — requiring very careful study and very 
wide knowledge of the disputes and opinions of the times in 
which they were composed, to be distinctly understood ; that 
the calm and deep examination of all the questions involved 
in such knowledge is not to be expected from young men on 
entering the Holy Ministry, for that the range of such ques- 
tions is immense, nay, almost infinite ; that even when the 
definitions of our Articles concern the fundamental truths of 
our faith, and are — as they are — at once exquisitely subtle, 
and yet, for their subject-matter, remarkably distinct and 
cleat, that still their dry logical form is the most unpropitious 
for teaching and avouching the doctrines they enunciate, but 
that, beside these fundamental truths, they branch out into 
profound subjects which modern wisdom has concluded to be 
beyond the verge of human thought, and the power of human 

St. David's, and Oxford ; Lords Lyttelton, Cranworth, and Ebury ; Mr. Bouvcrio ; 
Dr. Loshington ; Mr. Walpole ; Mr. Napier ; Sir John Coleridge ; Sir W. Heath- 
oote ; Mr. Buxton ; the Deans of St. Paul's, EIj, and Lincoln ; Archdeacon Saud- 
ford ; Dr. Jacobson ; Mr. Venn ; and Mr. Humphry. 



language ; that their declarations concerning the sacraments 
are flavoured rather with the polemics of past days than with 
the enduring spirit of devotion ; that thus they are poor 
teachers of the truth, and no bulwarks against new errors 
which have sprung up since their construction ; that this in« 
firmity has been reyealed, whenever their strength for such 
service has been tested in our Courts ; that they have noto^ 
riously failed to maintain uniformity of doctrine, since they 
have been subscribed, through successive generations, by men 
who are identified with all the different schools of religious 
opinion known amongst us.; whilst the uncertainty in which 
the question of how far the subscriber is bound to believe, and 
not merely to acquiesce, in what he subscribes, is an immoral 
trial of the conscience-r-leading ^en, on the one band, to 
tamper :with< sacred obligationsj and, on the other, to fall into 
the paralysing torture of doubt? As wide as this, it might 
assuredly have been expected that the controversy mufit 
have opened on the members of this Oommission. From its 
composition it could scarcely have been possible but that 
there were, amongst its members, those whose disapprobation 
of any subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles could not have 
fallen far short of such positions as we have noted above. 

In the Beport' of tl/e Commissioners there is no positive 
evidence of such difference of opinion having existed. A so- 
called religious newspaper, indeed, which throughout the 
sittings professed to have some interior sense of what was 
proceeding, was wont to whisper its suspicious notes of the 
internal discords of the Chamber ; and when the Beport ap- 
peared, with the signatures of all the Commissioners, it found, 
in the unreasoned but clearly-stated conclusions of which it 
consisted, a new evidence of the fierce dissensions which in 
their progress had burnt up all the surrounding verdure, and 
left the charred columns of the naked propositions alone as the 


surviviDg witnesses of past voloanic activity. But its infor- 
mation was questionable, and its instinct for suspecting 
notorious. Nothing has since appeared to justify its surmises. 
But we have had proof enough that, as might haye been sup- 
posed, all these views found their advocates in the wide circle 
to whom the question had been aubmitted. The speech of 
the Dean of St. Paul's, published in the last number of 
^Fraser's Magazine,' contains all the arguments which it 
appeared, to us might probably have been urged against sub- 
scription to the Thirty-nine Articles. Mr. Napier, in his 
* Answer,' whilst he admires the chivalry of * a Dean errant,' 
deals unsparingly with what he conceives to have been the 
unproved and mischievous propositions of the speech, which 
was meant to show that the required subscription to the 
Articles and the Prayer-book, taken together, was a very 
dangerous, a very objectionable, and a very immoral trial of 
the conscience.* * These,' says Mr. Napier, * are hard wonh ; 
but hard words are not a substitute for strong or sufficient 
reasons/ 1 Mr. Napier's reasons probably appeared to the 
Commission as they appear to tis, ^ strong and sufficient ' 
enough to overpower the Dean's words; whilst enough is 
known by all of us of Dr. Milman, to make us feel sure that 
in those secret discussions he had something more to urge 
than the mere element of wordy war. 

All of these opinions, then, had to be weighed and answered 
before any practical conclusions could be gained ; and yet 
answered doubtless they were with a very unusual complete- 
ness of reply ; since the signature of the author of the paper 
of objections,, whioh look startling and extreme even in tlie 
pages of our contemporary, is subscribed without note of 

* * Clerical Subscription CommissioOi Answer to the Speech of the Dean of St. 
Paal's, by the Right Hon. Jos. Napier, D.C.L.,' p. 21. 
t Mr. Napier's 'Answer,* p. 30. 


reserve to the recommendation of the very subscription they 

Nor would this be all. Very different estimates may un- 
doubtedly be formed as to the history of subscription amongst 
ourselves; and those different estimates would inevitably 
lead to very different practical conchisions as to the nature 
and even purpose of any changes which should be introduced 
into it. It might be treated as a set of props and buttresses, 
which the events of former times had shown to be necessary 
for the support of the ancient fabric, and which it would be the 
height of rashness to touch incautiously, or to remove with- 
out supplying everywhere their place with similar defences. 
On the other hand, it might be argued, that in the settlement 
of these questions we had inherited the records of a fierce 
struggle, the victors in which had been severe, and harsh, 
and unapproachable ; that our forms of subscription had been 
drawn up in that hour of bitter triumph, with a hard and 
ingenious exclusiveness, which it became us to sweep eagerly 
away to cover our fathers' shame and separate us from their 

The admirable paper of Mr. Walpole, which was printed in 
their Appendix by the Commissioners, and which we shall use 
freely in these pages, shows how thoroughly these questions 
were examined in the course of their inquiries. 

That they arrived (as the signatures of all the Commis- 
sioners to their common recommendations prove them to 
have done) at a unanimous conclusion, is another proof of the 
completeness of their sifting of the subject. Nothing short 
of this could have drawn one harmonious voice out of all the 
discordant utterances with which such discussions must have 
opened. What that conclusion was, we will presently set be- 
fore our readers ; but for the present it will suffice to say, that 
shpuld their recommendations be adopted, two considerable 


alterations of our present practice will have been effected* 
There will be first a great simplification and diminution in 
number of the oaths and declarations which are now binding 
on the clergy. This of itself will be a clear gain^ since all 
needless oaths and all unnecessary declarations are of course 
an evil in themselves. But, further, there will be a con- 
siderable relaxation in the stringency of the declarations. 
This, too, seems to us a clear gain. All excessive stringency 
in such subscriptions destroys its own efficiency. For the 
assertion of an absolute unity of view, which is really incom- 
patible with the inalienable freedom of the human mind, 
must introduce either conscious falsehood, which swallows the 
whole declaration at a gulp, or a latitude in the use of the 
common words, the limits of which, being left to the con- 
science of each individual, are practically wholly unre- 
stricted. The words of our existing declarations, though 
patient, no doubt, of reasonable explanation and defenc(% 
can hardly be cleared from the charge of tending towards 
this dangerous extreme. 

Of what uninspired book can it be safe to require of every 
beneficed clergyman (as we do in the case of the Book of 
Common Prayer) to declare that he gives his 'unfeigned 
assent and consent ' to all and everything contained and pre- 
scribed in and by it ? This form, the invention, be it re- 
membered, of Parliament, and not of the clergy, bears on its 
front the marks of the unhappy time when it was enacted. 
The acts of that era (1662) are often spoken of as if they 
embodied only the violence of the restored party, and many 
hard words have in consequence been uttered against the 
leading. Churchmen of that day. It is perfectly true that 
those were reactionary times, and that there was a hardness 
and violence in many towards the defeated faction which is 
worthy of all censure and regret But this is far from being 

VOL. II. c 


the >vbol6 statement of the case. Sach an enactment as this 
witnesses quite as much to the sin of the provokers of such 
violence, as to the existence of that which they evoked. All 
the violence and fraud, all the dishonesties and cant by which 
the Puritans had ejected Churchmen from their benefices, and 
through which they now sought to keep out from their rights 
the returning claimants, are written broad in these rigid 
letters. No doubt there was something of the insolence of 
present triumph in such a declaration, but there was also the 
desire to frame something which it should be impossible for 
the loosest Puritan to utter, and so retain the post to which 
possession of doubtful legality was the only plea against the 
claims of.returning and more rightful owners. This was, no 
doubt, the intention of Parliament in requiring so trenchant 
a declaration. But when the peculiar evils of the times 
which required, or seemed to require, such strait bonds to be 
laid upon all liberty of opinion, have passed away, it is surely 
desirable that this excessive strictness should be relaxed. 
Such has been the decision, and, we think, the wise decision, 
of the Commissioners. The case of this single declaration is 
a good example of the necessity of an accurate knowledge of 
the history of our existing forms of subscription as a prelimi- 
nary to forming any sound judgment on the degree in which 
they can be safely altered or relaxed ; and this history, at 
least in outline, it may be well, before going further into the 
question, to trace out. Two important facts appear distinctly 
in its course; first, that subscription marks a period of liberty; 
and secondly, that whenever it was strained to any extreme 
strictness, it was devised, not by the clergy, to coerce opinion 
amongst themselves, but by the laity, in their jealous care of 
the religious teaching of their established guides. 

Before the Reformation no subscription was required from 
the body of the clergy, as none was necessary. The Bishops 


at their consecration took an oath of obedience to the king, in 
which, besides promising subjection in matters temporal, they 
* utterly renounced and clearly forsook all such clauses, words, 
sentences, and grants, which they had, or should have, of the 
Pope's Holiness that in any wise was hurtful or prejudicial to 
His Highness or His Estate Boyal ; ' whilst to the Pope 
they bound themselves by oath to keep the rules of the 
Holy •Fathers, the decrees, ordinances, sentences, disposi- 
tions, reservations, provisions, and commandments Apostolic, 
and to their powers to cause them to be kept by others.* 
And as their command over their clergy was complete, and 
they could at once remove any who violated the estab- 
lished rule of opinion, no additional obligation or engage- 
ment from men under such strict discipline was requisite. 
The statement, therefore, that * the Roman Catliolic clern;v, 
and the clergy of the Eastern Church, neither formerly, nor 
now, were bound by any definite forms of subscription ; and 
that the unity of the Church is preserved there as the unity 
of the State is preserved everywhere, not by preliminary 
promises or oaths, but by the general laws of discipline and 
order ; t' though true to the letter, is really wholly untrue in 
its application to the argument concerning subscriptions. 
For it is to the total absence of liberty, and to the severity of 
* the general laws of discipline and order,' and not to a liberty 
greater than our own, that this absence of subscription is 


In point of fact, the requirement of subscription from the 
clergy was coeval with the up-growth of liberty of opinion ; 
whilst the circumstances of the English Eeformation of re- 
ligion made it essential to the success and the safety of that 
great movement. It was essential to its success ; for as it 

♦ Gibson's * Codex,* vol. i. pp. 116, 117. 
f * Letter to Bishop of London/ by A. P. Stanley, p. 36. 

c 2 


was accomplished mainly by a numerical minority, both of 
the clergy and laity of the land, there could be no other 
guarantee for its maintenance than the assurance that its 
doctrines would be honestly taught, and its ritual observed by 
by the whole body of the conforming clergy. 

Thus the Beformation subscriptions aimed at the preyen- 
tion of covert Popery, a danger to which the Reforming 
laity felt that they were exposed by the strong wishes of a 
majority of their own class ; by the undissembled bias of 
many of the parochial clergy ; and by the secret bias of 
some even of the bishops; whilst the diminution of their 
absolute control over the clergy lessened the power of enfor- 
cing the new opinions when the bishop was sincerely attached 
to them. 

. The first and essential requirement of this era was a hearty 
renunciation of the usurped jurisdiction of the Bishop of 
Borne within the realm. The intensity of the conviction 
i^hich then pervaded the Legislature of the greatness of this 
necessity may be measured by the extraordinary severity of 
the acts by which it was enjoined. The oath of the king's 
supremacy was passed, and it was made high treason for any 
ecclesiastical person to refuse to take it. This had been in- 
deed for generations before the Beformation the continual 
battle-field between England and Bome. The statute book 
bears iabundant witness to the vigorous struggles of the Plan- 
tagenets before the Beformation against the usurpations of 
the Boman Pontiff. It was but natural when the time of full 
emancipation came, that there should be a certain fierceness 
in assertion of the long-coveted independence. The feeling 
of the Puritan Bunyan to a great degree possessed the nation, 
and they triumphed over the * old giant' in his decay, who 
had kept in his strength so ruthless a court and such terrible 
dungeons ; though now, ' by reason of age, and also of the 


many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger days, 
he was grown so crazy and stiff in his joints that he could do 
little more than sit in his cave's mouth grinning at pilgrims 
as they go by, and biting his nails because he cannot get at 
them/ * Nor did the stem resolution to have no more of 
these old usurpations in any degree die out. The Statutes of 
Henry VIILf were indeed repealed in the reign of Philip and 
Mary; but amongst the first Acts of Elizabeth were those 
which restored to the Crown of England its ancient jurisdic- 
tions. Tlie very title is indicative of the spirit in which the 
claim was made. It was the assertion of an ancient nation- 
ality with which the foreign Bishop had dared to interfere 
by constitutinghimself the fountain of jurisdiction in matters 
spiritual, and exempting so far as he could from their sove- 
reign sway the persons and the causes of the clergy. The 
substitution of milder penalties in these Acts marked indeed 
that the time of spasm was passed, whilst they left no doubt 
as to the absolute determination of the framers of the Acts. 
The penalty for refusing to take the oath of supremacy was 
changed from high treason to the loss of promotion, benefice, 
and office 

The next great requirement of this lera was the use of the 
new ritual. There existed no doubt amongst many of the 
clergy a secret love for the old forms ; and as on this point a 
large number of the common people sympathised with them, 
the authority of the Bishops would not suffice to introduce 
generally the reformed ritual. This accordingly was enforced 
by the Acts of Edward t and Elizabeth ;§ and in the new 
ordinal the oath of the King's sovereignty was inserted with 
a view to bind by its obligation the consciences of all the 

♦ 'Pilgrim's Progress/ p. 78, ed. 1760. 
t 2S Henry VIII., c. 10, and 35 Henry VIII., c. 3. 
X 2&3 Edward VI., c. 1, and 5 & 6 Edward VI., c. 1. 
(ii 1 Elis., c. 2. 


clergy. Strictly speaking, this was at first their only subscrip- 
tion, so far as aetaal law, whether of canon or of statute, 
reached* The liberty of the clergy was not yet complete, 
and the authority of the Bishops was deemed sufficient to 
require and to obtain the public reading of a declaration of 
his faitH from every clergyman entering on his cure. For a 
time this authority sufficed; but growing freedom led to 
contentions between the clergy and their Bishops. The 
puritan element which was now beginning to work strongly 
in the House of Commons made it eager to enforce doctrinal 
subscriptions on the clergy, and in the 13th year of Elizabeth, 
when the violence of the Pope making her strong heart 
quail, she conceded something of her coveted religious inde- 
pendence of her Parliament, an Act was passed ' For the 
Ministers of the Church to be of Sound Religion,' requiring 
every minister under the degree of a bishop to declare his 
assent and subscribe to * AH the Articles of Religion which 
only concern the confession of the true Christian Faith and 
the doctrine of the Sacraments.' It has been ever since a 
moot point whether these words were intended to limit the 
subscription to certain of the Articles which concerned the 
fundamentals of the faith, or whether they were used as being 
at once a compendious description and a passing justification 
of the Articles. Selden said in his ' Table Talk,'* ' There is 
a secret concerning this. Of late ministers have subscribed 
to all of these, but by the Act of Parliament that confirmed 
them they ought only to subscribe to those Articles which 
contain matters of faith and the doctrine of the Sacraments.' 
The contrary practice, however, prevailed ; mainly it seems 
through the vigorous sway of Archbishop Whitgift, whose 
i Articles,' issued in 1583-4, required subscription from all 
preachers and licensed ministers to the three Articles which 

* Title * Articled/ pp. 3 aud 4, quoted by Mr. Walpolo in his paper. 


are embodied in the 36th canoD, and which distinctly name 
the whole Thirty-nine Articles as those to which subscription 
18 made.* 

This use of Subscription well illustrates our position, that 
its strength increased with the growth of clerical liberty. 
That liberty was already expanding into a licence which the 
heavy Jiand of authority — ^aud few hands were heavier than 
those of Queen Elizabeth — could scarcely curb. The feeble 
fingers and semi-Puritan inclinations of Archbishop Grindal 
had sown the wind, and Archbishops Parker, Whitgift, and 
Bancroft had to reap the whirlwind. That in the long and 
often irritating strife which followed, in an age to which the 
first principles of religious liberty were strange, they were 
never betrayed into words or acts of imnecessary severity, it 
is not necessary to assert. The very features of men who are 
breasting with determined contention the blast of a hurricane 
assume, unawares to themselves, something of unnatural 
severity; but this may safely be asserted, that whenever 
their opponents gained a temporary superiority they mani- 
fested a far greater violence. Whitgift did but enforce 
strictly a solemnly-adopted ritual ; but the Presbyterians, 
even after the return of Charles II., sought to prohibit its 
use, even in the King's chapel, urging him, when they found 
him obstinate, at least ^ to concede that he would not use it 
entirely, but only have some parts of it read, with mixture of 
of other good prayers ; * t and Prynne, in his old age, reflect- 
ing probably on his own share in the treatment of Laud, 
admitted that if, when the Star Chamber, on Chief Justice 
Finch's motion, sentenced him to lose his ears, it had taken 

* Those who wish to go further into the matter may refer to Gibson's * Codex,* 
Tol.i.821. See also < Hist, of the Puritans/ vol. i. pp. 175, 299, and 345; Fuller's 
'Church Hist.,' hook ix.; Hallatn's *Constitut. Hist.,' vol. ii. 191, 192; Hard- 
wicke's * History of Articles,' p. 277. 

t Clarendon's * Rebellion,' vii. 502. 


off his head at once, it would not bare exceeded his deserts. 
' Haying seen/ says Echard, ' a thousand unexpected calami- 
ties, and growing weary of himself, when he had in a manner 
no enemies to engage him, he began to look at and to repent 
of his former career, wishing that when they had cut off his 
ears they had cut off his head.' * On all sides the storm of 
these angry passions was now gathering blackly round The 
removal of the old restraints of episcopal power bred a love 
of self-assertion in the clergy, which exactly accorded with 
the growing Puritanism of the time ; and the latter part of 
Elizabeth's reign was disturbed by the contests to winch this 
gave rise, and often by the victory of the insurgent clergy 
over all authority. *The Brethren f (for so did they now 
style themselves), in their churches and charges would neither 
pray nor say service, nor baptise nor celebrate the Lord's 
Supper, nor do any other ecclesiastical duty, according to 
law, but after their own devices.' In this many of the 
Bishops, hopeless of success in resisting the rising tide, and 
shrinking from the annoyances to which Whitgift had been 
subjected, yielded a reluctant acquiescence. 
In A.D. 1593 Bishop Bancroft wrote : — 

* How carelessly subscription is executed in England I am ashamed to 
report. Such is the retchlessness of many of our Bishops on the one side, 
and their desire to be at ease and quietness over their owu afifairs ; and on 
the other side such is the obstinacy and intolerable pride of that factious 
sort, as that betwixt both sides, subscription is not at all required, or if it 
be, the Bishops admit them so to qualify that it were better to bo omitted 
altogether.' X 

Nor was this the complaint of an episcopal pen alone. Sir 
Walter Baleigh,in a passage § Mr. Walpole has quoted in his 

* Lawsbn's * Life and Times of Archbishop Laud/ vol. ii. 184. 

t * Rogers on the XXXIX. Articles/ p. 10, reprinted by the I'arker Society — 
quoted by Mr. Walpole. 

X * Kogei-s on Articles/ ut supra — quoted by Mr. Walpole. 
§ * First Part of the History of the World/ ch. v. sec. 1. 


draft report, speak? quite as severely of the present, and with 
as much alarm for the future. Speaking of the Tabernacle 
and the Ark, he says : — 

* The indastry used in the framing thereof, and every and the least part 
thereof, the curious workmanship thereon bestowed, the exceeding charge 
and expense in the provisions, the dutiful observance in the laying up and 
preserving the Holy vessels, the solemn removing thereof, the vigilant 
attendance thereon, and the provident defence of the same, which all ages 
have in some degree imitated, is now so forgotten and cast away in this 
BUperfiue age by those of the family, by the Anabaptist, Brown ist, and other 
sectaries ; as all cost and care bestowed and had of the Church, wherein 
God is to be served and worshipped, is accounted a kind of popery, and as 
proceeding from an idolatrous disi^osition ; insomuch as time would soon 
bring to pass (if it were not resisted) that God would be turned out of 
Churches into barns, and from thence again into the fields and mountains, 
and under the hedges ; and the oflicers of the ministry (robbed of all dignity 
and respect) be as contemptible as these places. All order, discipline, and 
church government left to newness of opinion and men's fancies ; yea, and 
noon after, as many kinds of religion would spring up as there are parish 
churches within England ; every contentious and ignorant i)erson clothing 
his fancy with the Spirit of God, and his imagination with the gift of 
revelation ; inasmuch as when the truth, which is but one, shall a])pear to 
the simple multitude no less variable than contrary to itself, the faith of 
men will soon after die away by degrees, and all religion be held in scorn 
and contempt.' 

With the Queen's life expired even the shadowy authority of 
the Canons for Subscription, which, unconfirmed either by 
Convocation or ParJiament, rested altogether on the sauctiou 
of the Bishops and the Crown. It was not too much to fear 
that universal anarchy was at hand. 

In such heavy clouds, angry with the prophecy of future 
conflict, set the once proud light of the imperious Elizabeth. 
Nor did the immediate succession of the Crown promise any 
great improvement. It was not even clear that the new 
King might not bring with liim from his northern Dominion 
a strong taint of its Presbyterian leaven, which might lift the 
Puritan section into the supremacy for which it thirsted, and 


enable it to vent all its animosity alike on Prelacy and Popery. 
These apprehensions, however,. were speedily set at rest; and 
it was clear that, whatever might be the treatment of the 
Church of England by the Eoyal pedant who had mounted 
the throne, it would not be in favour of Puritanism that his 
influence would be exerted. The Eing's language and de- 
meanour at the Hampton Court Conference must have vio- 
lently dashed to the ground any hopes they had entertained 
from his Presbyterian nurture, the only eflfect of which from 
the unsparing rod of Buchanan in his boyhood down to the 
privileged invectives of the pulpit in his manhood, had evi- 
dently been to exasperate to the utmost pitch of undignifiod 
irritation his narrow and selfish nature. Even in the Con- 
ference he broke out into language unsuitable, in most 
men's judgment, for Boyal lips. Mr. Walpole quotes from 
Neale's 'Puritans,' vol. i., 441, ed. 1857, the following choice 
morsel : — 

•If you aim at a Scotch Presbytery, it agreeth as well with monarchy as 
God and the devil. Then Jack, and Tom, and Will, and Dick, shall meet 
and censure me and my Council. Therefore I reiterate my former speech 
Le Roy s'avisera : Stay, I pray, for one seven years, before you demand, 
and then if you find roe grow puny and fat, I may perchance hearken 
unto you, for that government will keep me in breath, and give me work 

The concluding words of his address to the Puritan ministers 
present at the Conference, as Neale records them, were no 
less vehement: — ''If that be all your party hath to say I 
will make them conform themselves, or else I will harry 
them out of the land, or else do worse— only hang them — 
that's all.' t 

In this temper the King was little disposed to see the 

♦ Fuller's * Church Hi8t./B. x. 18; Neale's * Puritans,' vol. i. p. 441, edit. 1857. 
t Ncale's * History of the Puritans,* vol. ii. p. 14, edit. 1822, 


troubles which were evidently gathering in the days of the 
late Queen's decline, come unresisted to an head; and as it 
was impossible to restore to the Bishops their old autocratic 
authority over the clergy, he turned at once to the instrument 
of Subscription for the maintenance of uniformity of doc- 
trine. Convocation was called together. At its meeting it 
revised the Canons of the Church and passed amongst them 
the three articles of Archbishop Whitgift. These were 
thereupon published with the sanction of the Royal Letters 
Patent ; and, so far as the law spiritual is concerned, have 
from that time governed the subscription of the clergy as to 
the doctrines which they undertake to teach. The first of 
these three celebrated articles asserts the supremacy of the 
English Crown in moderate and well-weighed language ; and 
whilst dropping the obnoxious title of head of the Church, it 
declares that the King*s Majesty is, under God, the supreme 
governor of the realm, as well in all spiritual or ecclesiastical 
things or causes as temporal, and denies all jurisdiction 
within it to any foreign potentate or power. The second 
article declares that the Book of Common Prayer contains in 
it nothing contrary to the Word of God, and may lawfully be 
used; and the third allows the Thirty-nine Articles to be 
agreeable to the Word of God. 

On this basis, matters continued until the proscription of 
the Church of England under the Commonwealth. Then all 
the forebodings of the sagacious Baleigh, and all the fears of 
the pedant James, had been abundantly fulfilled. Crown 
and Altar, Prelate and Prince, had gone down in the common 
storm. Mr. Walpole quotes two striking passages, one fr(jm 
the Churchman Evelyn, one from the Presbyterian Edwards, 
describing the miserable results of the religious lawlessness 
which, to so great a degi'ce, caused, and so surely accom- 
panied the turbulent swellings of the great Rebellion. 


* Things/ writes £<1 wards,* 'every day grow worse and woisc; yon can 
hardly imagine them so bad as they are ; no kind of blasphemy, heresy, 
disorder, and confusion but it is found amoug us, or is coming in upon us. 
For we, instead of rerormation, are grown from one extreme to another ; 
fallen from 8cylla to Chary bdis ; from Popish usurpations, superstitions, 
and prelatical tyranny to damnable heresies, horrid blasphemies, libertinism, 
and fearful anarchy. Our evils are not removed and cured, but only 
changed ; one disease and devil hath left us, aud another as bad is come in 
the room ; many of the sects and sectaries in our days deny all principle of 
religion, are enemies to all holy duties, order, learning, overthrowing all ; 
being vertiginosi spiritus, whirligig spirits. And the great opinion of an 
universal toleration tends to the laying all waste, and the dissolution of all 
religion and good manners.* 

Instead of obtaining licence to act as the public teachers 
of the faith on the easy condition of subscribing their assent 
to certain carefully-constructed fundamental propositions, on 
which their general acceptance by the Church had already 
fixed a definite meaning, men had to satisfy the independent 
^Triers/ judges marked by the grossest ignorance and the 
most unscrupulous dishonesty. The most learned divines 
were now ousted from their posts, to make room for some 
unlettered friend of the Triers or their party, on the plea of 
ignorance, by m^n who were innocent of all knowledge alike 
of the Greek of the New Testament, of the history of the 
Church, and of the writings of the Fathers. The use of the 
i3ook of Common Prayer was forbidden, under heavy penal- 
ties. Here then, again, in spite of the loud professions of 
republican liberty, it was indeed a time of tyranny which put 
an end to Subscription. 

With the liberty which the restoration of the monarch 
restored subscription revived, but, as we have said already, 
with some new and marked features of severity. The Savoy 
Conference failed wholly to reconcile the conflicting parties, 
and the Church of England resumed her legal status, no 

* Gangrun, * Epis. Dcd.' 


change having been introduced into her doctrine, her dis- 
cipline, or her formularies, from the hope of comprehending 
objectors; and with no presence in her own body either of 
Presbyterians or Independents. The clergy would, it seems, 
have been content with the old and moderate canonical sub- 
scriptions. But the reactionary temper of the Parliament 
Was violent and harsh. The members had suffered too mucli 
too recently from tho sourness of Puritanical bigotry, to 
maintain a calm and judicial temper ; and they resolved to 
leave no door open through which its preachers could, 
without renouncing their peculiarities, creep into the 
National Establishment. The Act of Uniformity bristh^s 
with such provisions. Its requirement of a declaration of 
unfeigned assent and consent to all and everything con- 
tained and prescribed in and by the Book of Cuninioii 
Prayer, itself stringent enough, was backed up by clauses 
specially aimed at the Puritan lecturers, who had estab- 
lished themselves in many churches, and who were now 
subjected to a far severer rule than that which governed 
the parochial clergy. They were to read over the whole 
Thirty-nine Articles aloud in the Bishop's presence before 
being licensed, and were never to preach unless they had 
just read, or at the least been present at the reading of 
the public oflBce in the Prayer Book which belonged to 
that time of day. 

All this extreme stringency was of lay devising; and so 
determined was it, that when the House of Lords, in which 
the Spiritualty was represented by the Bishops, desired to 
mitigate the severity of the declaration of * assent and con- 
sent* to all and everything in the Book of Common Prayer, 
by interpreting it as applying only to the use, and not to the 
actual correctness of the book, the Commons, with a some- 
what unwonted heat, declared at a conference that such a 


course had in it ' neither justice nor prudence/ and unceremo- 
niously rejected the proposal.* 

Thus, then, the present state of subscription amongst us 
has been .reached, and it bears marks on every side of the 
accidental and transitory character of the influences by which 
it has been shaped. Though the Church of England and 
Ireland is by law united, different subscriptions and declara^ 
'tions are taken in the two Islands. Amongst other differ- 
ences, a special renunciation of transubstantiation,! and an 
oath to keep a school for teaching English,| are still exacted 
of the Irish clergy ; whilst both in England and Ireland, 
besides the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, and the oaths 
of canonical obedience and against simony on being licensed 
to a curacy or instituted to a living ; separate and distinct 
declarations of conformity to the Liturgy and Articles are 
required by the Canonii of the Church and the Statutes of 
the realm. 

As to all of these, the Commissioners recommend that the 
subscriptions and declarations should be the same in England 
and Ireland ; that the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, as 
being out of keeping with a devotional office, should be taken 
before and not during the Ordination and Consecration 
services; that a declaration should be substituted for the 
oath against simony ; that the oath of canonical obedience 
should be retained ; that the provisions of the acts of uni- 
formity which specially affect ' Lecturers,* should be repealed ; 
and that on every occasion on which a Subscription or 
Declaration sh^ be required to be made in England or 
Ireland, with reference to the Articles of Religion, or the 
Book of Common Prayer, the following form be used : — 

♦ * Lords' Journals,' vol. ii. pp. 553-557 j • Commons' Journals,' vol. viii. p. 555. 
t 3 William and Mary, c. 2, § 5. 
X 28 Henry VIII., c. 16 (Irish). 


' I, A, B^ do solemnly make the following declaration : — 
' I assent to the Thirty-nine Articles of Religion, and to the Book of 
Common Prayer, and of Ordering of Bishops, Priests, and Deacons: I 
believe the doctrine of the United Church of England and Ireland, as therein 
set forth, to be agreeable to the Word of God : and in Public Prayer and 
Administration of the Sacraments I will use the form in the said Book 
prescribed, and none other, except so far as shall be ordered by lawful 

As to most of these recommendations the Commissioners 
may expect perfect unanimity of opinion. No one would 
desire to maintain the peculiar Irish declarations, or to 
interrupt our most solemn services with semi-political oaths ; 
and every one must agree that, as to such an offence as 
simony, which is so difficult legally to define, the greatest 
authorities not unfrequently differ whether a peculiar act is 
or is not simoniacal, it is most unwise to exact a general 
disavowal upon oath — a course little likely to restrain the 
corrupt, and almost certain to entangle tender consciences in 
distressing perplexities. 

The reqommendation which will be most eagerly canvassed 
is that which substitutes the new form for those already in 
use. On the point involved in this decision several courses, 
were open to them. They might have recommended the 
abolition of all Subscription, as tending to fetter the freedom 
of thought ; or even if, with some of the Swiss and German 
sects, they retained the transitory shadow of its principle, 
they might have required a mere engagement that the 
clergy would faithfully teach their flocks out of the Word of 
God; or if they had been in love with feeble ambiguity they 
might have adopted Archbishop Tillotson's suggested form : 
* I, A. B., do submit to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of 
the Church of England as it shall be established by law and 
promise to teach and practice accordingly ;'* or they might 

♦ Birch's * Life of Tillotson,* p. 169. 


have fallen back upon the form contained in the 36th 
canon of 1603, and recommended the abolition or the alte- 
ration of the offensive 'assent and consent' of the Act of 

A good deal is to be said for this last scheme. Amongst 
other recommendations of it is the fact that it was suggested 
in January, 1864, by a Committee of the Lower House of 
the Convocation of Canterbury, who recommended that no 
alteration should be made in the subscription required by the 
36th Canon : * a form,' say the Committee, * which commends 
itself by the wisdom and moderation of its language ;' whilst 
as to the Declaration in the Act of Uniformity, the Lower 
House Committee recommended a substitution of ' a consent 
to the use of all and everything contained in and by the 
Book of Common Prayer for an unfeigned assent and consent 
to every part of it.' But, with all that there was to recom- 
mend this form, we are of opinion that the substitution of one 
wholly new is, on the whole, a wise suggestion. The old 
form newly adopted would, in effect, have been a fresh one so 
far as regards the force and effect of every word and expres- 
sion contained in it. This would have made some change 
almost inevitable. After the quibbles of Mr. Wilson,* it 
would, for instance, have been impossible to leave the words 
'he alloweth the Book of Articles;' and the old declaration, 
taken simply as it stood, and merely re-enacted, might have 
seemed to favour the notion of there being some difference in 
the authority of the Articles and the Book of Common 
Prayer. Some change, therefore, there must have been, yet 
every change, because it was a change, would have assumed 
a disproportionate importance. A new form, therefore, was 
to b€f preferred ; and if a new form was to be devised, it is 
not probable that one less open to exception could have been 

* * Letter to Bishop of I^ndon,' p. 12. Ibid., p. 13. 


framed. It binds the subscriber to a simple assent to the 
Articles and Book of Common Prayer, to a belief in the 
agreement of the doctrine set forth in them with the Word 
of God, and to an obedient use of the prescribed Bitual. 
More than this — if this is honestly declared — subscription 
cannot effect: less than this would make it an unmeaning 

This, of course, will not satisfy those whose real object is 
to abolish subscription altogether; who wish to leave tlie 
public teachers of a set of fixed doctrines free, not only to 
change their opinions on these points, but, having changed 
them, still to hold their preferment. Hitherto the almost 
unanimous voice of the laity has been clear against granting 
any such allowance to their teachers. Their English honesty 
and clear common sense has seen through the flimsy fallacy 
so often put forward, that subscription is a sore injury to men 
of high qualities and endowments ; that it is constituting one 
set of subjects on which they are forbidden liberty, not of 
speech only or of action, but of thought. They know that 
there is no such tyranny — no such suffering; that, on the 
other hand, there is amongst us not permitted only, but 
encouraged, the largest allowance of free thought which is 
compatible with teaching honestly, not as an inquiring philo- 
sophy, but as revealed truth, any positive set of doctrines ; 
and they have no wish that the clergy of their church should 
be at liberty to retain their office as its public teachers, if 
their absolute free thoughts have led them to conclusions at 
variance on material points with her doctrines. It has, indeed, 
been asserted both that many who have subscribed are groan- 
ing under thefar fetters, and that the known necessity of wear- 
ing them has prevented many young men, with deep yearn- 
ings for truth, from entering a ministry which would compel 
them to submit their necks to such a yoke. No proof of 
these confident assertions has ever been attempted ; and we 

VOL. 11. ^ 


think with Dr. Hawtdns, whose * Sermon ' and * Notes/ * are 
marked throughout with his wonted, calm, and convincing 
accuracy, that 'the supposed restraints upon free and full 
inquiry into all religious questions within the Church of Eng- 
land are greatly exaggerated, and that generous spirits and 
intellects of the highest order have no just cause ta refrain 
from entering into her service, from any dread of an undue 
restriction upon their private judgments.' 

Nothing is more common than these * exaggerations.' One 
favourite form of them is to represent the exceeding greatness 
of the difficulty which the very nature of the documents to 
be subscribed presents to their subscription. * They consist,' 
Dean Stanley tells us, ' of a number of complicated proposi- 
tions on many intricate and difficult questions — propositions 
discussed by men who lived three hundred years ago in the 
heat of vehement struggles which have long since passed 
away.* They contain, he tells us again — ^to aggravate the 
hardship of subscription — ' at least six hundred propositions 
on the most intricate and complex subjects that can engage 
the human mind.' 

No one can have dipped into the current literature upon 
this subject without being perfectly familiar with such 
charges as these, brought by men who, like the Dean of 
Westminster, draw one of their auguries for the success of 
their own party from' the extreme calmness of its advocates. 
* Men must^' we are told, * either consciously say what they 
do not mean, or submit to have their individual intellects and 
spirits so deadened and utterly enslaved, as to bind themselves 
to assent and consent unfeignedly to everything contained and 
prescribed in and by a book which contains thousands of pro- 
positions on the most solemn subjects of thought and belief 
which is inconsistent with itself which is 

♦ *The liberty of Private Judgment in the Church of England. A Sermon by 
the Rev. £. Hawkins, D.D.' — * Notes upon Subscription.' By the Same. 


notoriously a compromise the chief merit of which 

is thought by many to be in its inconsistency,' &c.* And yet 
what language can be more exaggerated than all this ? The 
first great fallacy on which it rests has been admirably brought 
out by Dr. Hawkins in liis ' Notes on Subscription/ in which 
he shows how distinctly, whilst requiring a real assent to 
both, the Church of England plainly distinguishes between 
propositions which express the essential truths of the creeds, 
tlie true Catholic faith, and those truths in a lower subject 
matter which are what Bishop Bramhall calls ' pious opinions, 
fitted for the preservation of unity.' Nor does he deal less 
ably with the second fallacy, which asserts that by subscrip- 
tion men bind themselves never more to enquire into truth 
or to modify their present views, showing that as ' to pro- 
mises of future belief we have absolutely none,' and tlmt 
all we have is that to which no honest man who is above 
casuistry can object, namely, a pledge that men will not, 
after ' material changes in their opinions, retain any position 
in which they have been plctced upon the faith of their 

Again, as to the multitude of the propositions to which it 
is asserted that our subscription extends, some of them, it is 
ui^ed, notoriously contrary to fact, as, for instance, that the 
creed which bears his name was composed by St. Atlia- 
nasius, or that the quotation in the 29th Article is rightly 
attributed to St. Augustine, Dr. Hawkins excellentTy well 
lemarksy * We do not subscribe to the correctness of the quo- 
tation, but to the truth of the article ;' and these alleged 
mistakes, if they proved anything, would supply reasons not 
for altering subscription, but for correcting the articles. We 
do not subscribe to statements metaphysical, historical, poli- 
tical, or expository, although they may be incidentally and 

♦ * Letter to Bishop of Undon,' by Rev. H. Highton, Ute Principal of Chelten- 
ham College, pp. 12, 13. 

D 2 


indirectly involved in the statements of the articles, bnt 
solely to those points which they directly propose for onr 
assent, in order to * the avoiding of diversities of opinion, and 
the establishing of consent tauAinff true rdigian.' 

But after all| the main objection to subscription, which 
underlies all these minor difficulties, is that which addresses 
itself to requiring from men a distinct declaration of their 
belief in the great doctrines of the Christian faith. It is, and 
always has been, a restless anxiety to be free from the obli- 
gation to believe on these great matter^^, which leads to the 
assault upon the practice of subscription. The Feathers 
Tavern petition, in 1772, in a few homely words, put forth the 
real claim ; * The undoubted right, as Protestants, of inter- 
preting Scripture for themselves, without being bound by any 
human explications thereof, or required to acknowledge by 
subscription or declaration the truth of any formulary of reli- 
gious faith and doctrine whatsoever, save Holy Scripture 
itself; • 

Here is the real objection. Nor would we deny that such 
difficulties, from the nature of the case, must exist as to the 
mysterious truths of the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the 
like ; though, as Dr. Hawkins well reminds us, these diffi- 
culties are not in themselves greater or more difficult than 
some of those which belong to the truths of natural religion. 
We hiftve the deepest sympathy with all who are tried by 
such difficulties ; and we fear that there has been of late much 
to increase if not to cause such trials in 'vague floating 
notions of morality, to be taught apart from religion; of 
doctrines to be cherished as sentiments, not embodied in 
statements; of exalted ideas of our own faculties as being 
such as would constitute us fit judges of what revelation 
ought to be ;• in the whole teaching, in fact, of the half- 

♦ See a full account in Dr. Ogilvie's •Subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles/ 
1865, pp. 3, 4, &c. 


uubelieviug, halfHsentimental, school which seeks to arrogate 
to itself the exclusive possession of breadth of view. But such 
difficulties are not caused by subscription and would not be 
lessened by its removal. This side of the question has been 
Iiandled in a most remarkable pamphlet by the Bev. J. B. 

' It appears to me a point which has Dot been sufiBciently attended to in 
our oontroTersies on the subject of Subscription, that where the language 
of a doctrinal formulary and the language of the Bible are the same, what- 
ever explanation we give, in case there is a difficulty, of the language of the 
Bible, is applicable to the language of the formulary as well ; and that, 
therefore, in such a case, the statement in the formulary is no fresh diffi- 
cnlty, bat only one which we have already surmounted in accepting the 
same statement in the Bible. In such a case the formulary is not, iu 
tmth, responsible for the apparently obnoxious nature of the assertion it 
makes ; nor does a person who has already assented to the same declaration 
in Scripture incur any new responsibility when he assents to the formulary. 
lliis appears to be a very simple and natural rule, and yet it is one which 
a great poany serious and most intelligent persons never thiuk of applying 
when they encounter difficulties in our formularies. Their minds are in a 
different state and attitude when they read the Bible and when thoy read 
a doctrinal formnlary. I do not mean simply that they know the Bible 
to be inspired, and the other document not^ but that, as readers, they are 
freer, more natural, more liberal in interpreting the meaning of Scripture 
than they are in interpreting the meaning of a formulary, even when it is 
exactly the same language which is used in both. They come with the 
expectation of finding ugly and repulsive matter in the human document ; 
and when, therefore, they do find what at first sight is such, they fasten 
upon it that prima /cieie meaning as the true and real meaning of the 
fonnulary,and will not let it go. No; that ia its meaning, and that shall 
be its meaning, and nobody shall persuade them that it is not. Whereas, 
when they came across the very same statement in the Bible, they ac- 
cepted it with a natural and obvious qualification. 

* To take the commonly-quoted instance of the damnatory clauses, as 
they are called, in the Athanasian Greed, which assert of the "Catholic 
faith " that ''except a man believe it faithfully he cannot be saved.** The 
difficulty which is felt about this assertion in the Athanasian Creed does not 
at ill relate to the nature of the credendum^ or subject-matter of belief— the 
doctrine of the 1*rinity-*but to condemnation on account of simple belief. 
Yet this point of condemnation on account of belief is stated in Scripture 
as strongly as in this Creed. It is asserted in terms, absolutely aud i)os>i- 



tively, « He tiMt bdiaveth ud is UptiMd diall be MTed; but hetUt 
beUereth iwt iImU be dunned.* Bow u it, tban, tlutt when thoee who 
object to the stiUement of oondemnatioa on aoooont of belief, whenthey 
meet it in the AtfaenesiMi Creed, did not object to the same statement 
when they encoontered it in Seriptore ? The reason is obrions— that when 
th^ met this statement in Soriptnn they gave it the benefit of a Uberal 
mterpietation. They did not sappoae for an instant that this text could 
mean that God, who is jost and mereifiil, wonld condemn a man simply 
on aeooont of his not beUoTing certain truths, qiart from all oonsidemtion 
of disadvantages of edncation, eariy prejudices, and want of opportunities 
and means of enlightment They therefore regarded it immediately, I 
might say nnooosciously, as oontaioiog the unexpressed condition of moral 
«««Pon8ibility, and understood the condemnation only to apply to such as 
did not bdiere in cntseqnenee of bulla of their own. But if they gave the 
assertion this Uboal interpretation when they met it in the Bible, why 
cannot they give it the same interpretation when they meet it in the Atha^ 
ii«mn Creed? And if they do, this assertion in the Creed can be no 
bmto to them; it. only asserts what Scripture asserts.and need only mean 
what Senptore means. 

• The Uteral meaning is just the very opposite to that which it especiafly 
^!^^'\ "^•'"^•^'"•"'"e. It U an «,n.tur.l meaning. It U 
Mtifiaal. when we know-know by familiar and practical experience-that 
l««g«age u a system of undentamding,. as well as of exprution,, to insist, 
« ne^ npon the bare expression or the naked letter as ito adequate 

And again, in answering the objection that the language of 
Holy Scripture on these mysterious subjects is, at all events. 
more simple, Mr. Motley well asks :— 

wuT^^^..^ *»aeribed m the page of Scriptmo?-a scheme 
^J^T^^f^""^ depmraticn of our nature, as mysteri- 

f~^J^ r^.«'^ • •*^«^» «d *»«» «««? I take Sexual 
i3^,f .*^ 8.hK M it meet, my ey^ and I say. it is not simpirtaJ- 
SSkL or""^*:^ ''"«~«^ I' » ^«^ "Wch expLees a 

l^^SLl^*""^; "mettingontof orderin naturewhich 
^2«^!lIl!^*'"''*T*™'"'~»- AndS.P*nldi«do«»ahmnan 
i^.3^"* •" *r.»«««y«' W^ tmth, and illnminitcs 

Z^ r^ And are there not oppositions which can onlylw har- 
mooMsd by mterpwtatwn in that Volume, which ex,«,ses doctrinal truth 


by statement aod counter-statement, but not always by simplicity and 
unity of statement? * 

* It appears to me, then, that whatever became of the Articles, the self- 
same difficulties, and the self-same way of meeting them, would go on 
amongst us ; that we should still accept a complicated mass of statement, 
and that we should accept that mass of statement in a variety of senses 
according to the particular school to which we belong. The Articles, are, 
many of them, but a reflection of Scripture, and their interpretation but 
the reflection of -the interpretation of Scripture. Were the representative 
docmneQt to go, the original document itself would still remain to be the 
subject-matter of conflicting explanations, to be language accepted by all 
alike and understood by different sections differently, and to be the basis of 
doctrinal variety under the form of one and the same subscription.' 

The following is Mr. Mozley's conclusion from the whole : 

' The conclusion which I arrive at, then, is that, over the ground on 
which I have been travelling relief from subscription is not wanted. We 
may, I think, be quite sure, that a very large amount of forbearance will 
always be secured for the results of individual speculation by the natural 
operation of reasonable feelings in the members of the Church, without 
insUtuting any organic change. Our system is one which raises the 
greatest possible difficulties in the way of prosecution of individuals — not 
only formal difficulties, but difficulties of feeling. Ours is a system which 
encourages inquiry and sets minds to work. When, then, we have sanc- 
tioned an active principle of examination at the outset, and when we have 
lived side by side with the gradual growth of individual thought, in the 
same institution, under the same roof, the sanction of the process must, to a 
certain extent, affect us even in dealing with its results, when they arc 
erroneous, and must operate as a great practical check upon the temper in 
which we condemn them. A limit, of course, there must be to freedom of 
opinion within a communion which professes a definite creed.' 

Mr. Mozley's conclusion accords exactly with our view. 
There miist he some limit to freedom of opinion within a 
communion which professes a definite creed. That limit may 
be fixed either by the severity of a penal system, which marks 

^ Th« Bishop of Oxford, speaking of our Formularies, says, *Such a stntc uf 
things is rather a combination than a compromise. And this is the special cha- 
racter of Catholic Truth. For all revealed religion rests upon certain great prin- 
ciples, which the human mind can hold together in what it knows to be a true 
concord, whilst yet it cannot always by its intellectual processes limit, define, nn^l 
reconcile what its higher gift of intuition can harmonise.' — Charge, I860. 


instantly and chastises mercilessly every defection from the 
living tradition of belief; or by the mild and self-adjusting 
action of a reasonable system of subscription. It is precisely 
for this reason that the existence of such a system is at once 
a proof and a preservation of liberty. In the interests, there- 
fore, both of liberty and of truth, it is of the utmost moment 
that our existing system should be preserved. Never, per- 
haps, was it for each of these high interests more essential 
than at the present moment. For there is, at this time, a 
strong current setting on towards unlimited speculation as to 
all revelation, which would, unchecked, soon bear us on to 
the boundless sea of unbelief. As this danger increases, 
there must always be the risk of devout minds seeking by 
some sacrifice of lawful liberty to save that possession of 
truth, which, almost alone, is better even than liberty itself. 
By such a reaction the libeily we have so long enjoyed 
might be dangerously menaced. But the more immediate 
and certain danger is undoubtedly on the other side. The 
volume lately published on the ' Ecclesiastical Judgments of 
the Privy Council,' under the sanction of the Bishop of 
London, little as it really answers the often-urged objections 
that the present supreme Court of Ecclesiastical Appeal has 
really drifted wide of the great appeal statutes of tlie Befor- 
mation era, tends certainly to discourage any tendency to 
appeal to our Courts, as they are now constituted, for the 
maintenance of the necessary limits of belief. We had 
better, perhaps, explain rather more fully our meaning. 
The great point on which the writers of this volume rely for 
the justification of the present Court, is the allegation that 
the actual composition of the old Court of Delegates gives no 
* sanction to the theory that Ecclesiastical laws should be 
administered exclusively by Ecclesiastical persons.'* 'The 
authority usually quoted,' we are told, ' is that of Bishop 

♦ •Ecclesiastical Judgments/ &c., Introduction, p. xlvii. 


Gibson/ who states that' in fact there are no footsteps of any 
of the Nobility or Common Law Judges in Commissions till 
the year 1 604 (t. e, for seventy years after the erection of the 
Court), nor from IHOl have they been joined in above one 
Commission in forty till tlie year 1634, from whence (i» e 
from the downfall of the Bishops and their Jurisdictions 
which ensued) we may date the present nde of mixtures in 
that Court'* 

The writer's object is to destroy the authority of this asser- 
tion. For this purpose he divides the whole time over 
which Bishop Gibson's statement ranges into three distinct 
periods ; that from the foundation of the Court to 1604 : from 
1604 to 1640, and the time subsequent to the Beformation. 

As to the third period, which is unimportant for the argu* 
ment, he allows the correctness of the Bishop's statement ; 
but as to the second period, his statement is asserted to be 
* absolutely contrary to the fact ; whilst, as to the first, the 
evidence which exists is against him/ These are grave 
charges ; very grave to be adopted and made public by a 
Bishop of London against one of the greatest, the most 
learned, and, as till this day the world has believed, the 
most accurate of his predecessors in that chair of dignity. 
How, then, is the demolishing charge established ? First, 
there is something rather too like a quibble in a half-ven- 
tured suggestion that the presence of civilians, t. e. ecclesias- 
tical lawyers not in holy orders, on these Commissions, was 
not a fulfilment of Gibson's statement. , ' Civilians, therefore, 
we are told, were not excluded, even according to the state- 
ment of BiAop CHbion ; and civilians were oi'ten laymen, 
even in the time of Henry VIII.* Of couree they were not 
excluded ; but how does this touch the argument, or tend to 
invalidate the authority of Gibson, who laid down the rule 
that ecclesiastical laws were to be administered, not exchi- 

* 'Ecclesiastical Judgments/ &c., Introductiou, p. xviii. 


sively by persons iu holy orders, which no one has ever, so 
far as we are aware, advanced ; but by ecclesiastical pei-sons. 
For civilians, were, in every legal sense of the word, such 
ecclesiastical persons. They are the legal advisers of Convo- 
cation, as the judges are of the House of Lords. They were 
admitted to their office by rescript from the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, addressed to his official principal, who was also 
Dean of tlie Arches; after taking a solemn oath of alle- 
giance to the Church of England, and being admitted to 
plead in virtue of their fealty to her. 

But the main proof of the alleged falsehood of the Bishop's 
statement is said to be drawn from the last twenty years of 
the second period. Of it> the repertory book of the Court of 
Delegates gives full information. * During those twenty years 
there were 1000 appeals in ecclesiastical causes. The Court 
was composed, in 872 cases, of civilians only ; in 2 casos, 
of Bishops only ; in 24 cases, of Bishops and civilians to- 
gether, without nobility or Common Law Judges. On the 
other hand, in 110 of the Commissions, Judges alone are 
named with the civilians ; in 59, Judges with Bishops and 
civilians; and in 13, temporal peers are found with the 
civilians, and with either Judges or Bishops. In the place, 
therefore, of Bishop Gibson's assertion, that the nobility or 
Common Law Judges were present in no more than 1 Com- 
mission out of 40, we have the fact that they were present 
in 182 Commissions out of 1080, being rather more than 
1 in 6, and in more than 1 out of 10, they formed the only 
element in the Court besides the civilians.' 

Having, as he conceives, proved this gross misstatement as 
to the second period, the writer thinks himself entitled to 
assume the probable presence of like errors as to the first ; 
thougli the actual records of the Delegates are too scanty to 
allow of such proof as he tenders with regard to the former 


But how, when it is closely scrutinised, does this showy 
list of causes justify so grave censure? To answer this 
question we must remember the constitution of the Spiritual 
Courts at that time. The Dean 6f the Arches received, ond 
now receives, a merely nominal payment ; and therefore to feed 
this high office it was held with the Judgeship of the Prero- 
gative Court In this latter Court, for reasons which we do 
not now stop to set out in detail, were tried all the most 
important testamentary causes originating in the province of 
Canterbury. In the Arches Court — so as has been stated — 
united with the Prerogative or Testamentary Court, were 
tried by appeal all the most important matrimonial causes in 
the same province. Thus there came before these Courts a 
multitude of causes which, though technically spiritual, yet 
really involved no point of the doctrine of the Church. 
Now, the whole question stripped of its ambiguities is, Iiow 
many of these alleged 182 Commissions were really engaged 
with cases involving doctrinal decisions of any kind ? For 
unless some real point of the Ohurbh's doctrines or discipline 
were involved, it would not be too much to anticipate that 
the Bishops would not sit, but would leave to the civilians, or 
others, the entire handling of the Commission. Before Bishops 
Gibson's assertion is so summarily disposed of, it should have 
been shown how many of these 182 Commissions which are 
quoted with such triumph, did indeed involve the settlement 
of any such spiritual question whatever. Such an investiga- 
tion has been made, and it turns out that between the years 
■1603 and 1823, there liave actually been only four spiritual 
causes, properly so called, tried before the Delegates : — 

1. The Bishop of St. David's v. Lucy, 13th March, 1691). 

2. Salter v. Davis, 10th November, 1691. 

3. Polling V. Dr, Bettesworth, 16th May, 1713. 

4. Havard v. Evanson, 27th June, 1775. 

In the first case aix Bishops sat. In the second three. In 
the third Jive. In the fourth none, as a technical point o( 


law nlune was decided, and the merits were not lieiird. 
While on the other hand, as late as the year 1777, three 
Prehites were sammoned as Delegates on an important 
cause of Nullity of Marriage. We have thought this matter 
so important that we have appended to this article a careful 
note of the names and professions of the Judges and Dele- 
gates in each of these cases. It is also to be observed that 
in these four cases, during an interval of more than two 
centuries, are included all the appeals from the province of 
York, and we believe from the Ecclesiastical Courts of Ireland 
until 1783, and the passing of the Act 23 Geo. III. c. 28. 

So far for ^ Bishop Gibson's misapprehension of the facts.'* 
It is surely a matter to be much regretted, that such an 
attack on the veracity or accuracy of a Bishop of London so 
justly honoured as Gibson — ^ Clarutn et veuerabile nomen' — 
should have received sanction and endorsement from Fulham 
Palace on such evanescent evidence. 

But if this volume fails thus utterly in disproving the 
assertion that the principle of the Beformation statutes, and 
the practice of earlier times, committed to ecclesiastical per- 
sons the hearing of ecclesiastical appeals, it certainly contains 
a dreary record of cases which must tend strongly to increase 
the prevalent disinclination to seek, by legal censures, to pre- 
serve the purity of doctrine. It would almost seem that, as 
if by some hidden law of necessary acting, every such attempt 
must, in some shape or other, recoil upon the promoter of 
the suit Certainly until some great reform has been 
wrought in the composition and the conduct of these Courts, 
it must be a most anxious question to every one required by 
the duties of his o£Sce to maintain the legal standard of 
doctrine, whether he will not rather imperil than protect the 
truth, by bringing it, even in the last extremity, before such 
a tribunal. We have already statedf our own desire to see 
some great reform in this particular. The course of every 

* *' Ecclesiastical Judgments,* Preface, p. zy. f Vol. t. p. 275. 


Rnch trial since we wrote has, we feel assured, widened \\u\ 
conviction of the necessity of change, and so prepared the 
way for some reform. But such a time of uncertainty and 
doubt is the very last in which the old defences of subscrip- 
tion should be abandoned. The counsel, therefore, of the 
late Commission seems to us to be wise and salutary ; for, 
whilst it maintains in effect the old defences, it removrs 
objectionable phrases, which gave no security, whilst they 
provoked attack. The Government who issued the Commis- 
sion, cannot, of course, trifle with the question they have 
raised, and raised so far with a success greater even tlian 
could have been anticipated. They have now a clear course 
before them. *To carry,* say the Commissionei-s, * these 
recommendations into effect, some alterations must be mixdo 
in the Canons of the Church, and some in the Statutes of tho 
realm. We trust that our proposals will be willingly acce|>te(l 
both by the Church and by the State.* There is every 
reason to believe that, if the subject is properly introduced 
to Parliament and Convocation, it will meet with the readiest 
and the most respectful attention. Parliament has already 
shown itself anxious to obtain such mitigations as are here 
proposed, and the Convocation of Canterbury has even out- 
stripped Parliament, in having suggested direct alterations of 
the existing law. Both, we doubt not, will legislate in the 
same spirit, and with the desire to perfect what both honestly 
desire to retain. 

Upon this question the weighty words of Mr. Burke have 
been often quoted; but coming as they do amongst our 
present strifes from the calm repose of that honoured tomb 
where from Burke's 

* sepulchral urn, 
To Fancy's eye the lamp of truth 8hall burn ; 
Q'hither late times shall turn their reverent eyes, 
Led by his light, and by his wisdom wise;* 

we will once more set them before our readers. In opposing 
the prayer of the Feathers Tavern petitioners, he says : — 


' A church, in any legal scDse, is only a certain system of religious 
doctrines and practices fixed and sanctioned by some law, and the establish- 
ment is a tax laid by the same sovereign authority for payment of those 
who so teach and practise. For no Legislature was ever so absunl as to tax 
its people to support men for teaching and acting as they please but by 

some prescribed rule The matter does not concern toleration, but 

establishment, ... If you will have religion publicly practised and 
publicly taught, you must have a power to say what that religion shall be 

which we will protect and encourage The petitioners are so sensible 

of the force of these argumenU that they do admit of one subscription, that 
is, to the Scripture. I shall not consider how forcibly their arguments 
militate with their whole principle against subscription. . . . The sub- 
scription to Scripture is the most astonishing idea I ever heard, and will 
amount to just nothing at all. Gentlemen so acute have not, that I have 
heard, even thought of answering a plain obvious question, what is that 
Scripture to which they are content to subscribe?. . . . Therefore, to 
ascertain Scripture you must have one article more, and you must define 
what that Scripture is which you mean to teach, ITiere are I believe very 
few, when Scripture is so ascertained, who do not see the absolute necessity 
of knowing what general doctrine a man draws from it; before he is sent 
down authorised by the State to teach as pure doctrine. . . . Jf we do not 
get some security for the doctrine which a man draws from Scripture, we 
not only permit, but we actually i>ay for, all the dangerous fanaticism 
which can be produced to corrupt our people, and to derange the public 
worship of the country.'* 

Pabtioulabs of Appeals in Spiritual Causes brought before the Court of 
Delegates, a.d. 1609-1823, with the names of the persons sitting on each 
Commission^ distinguishing the Judges who were present when the sentence 
was pronounced, and those who were nominated on each Commission. 

The attendance of the general body of delegates was not expected save at 
the opening of the Appeal, at the hearing of the case, and the delivery of 
the sentence. 

No. 526. Bishop of 8. David's v. Lttot (2 Appeals). 

OflBoe of Judge promoted by Lucy for simoniacally collating his nephew 
to the Archdeaconry of S. David's. 

Delegates named in the Commissions of Appeal: 

I. Dated 13th March, 1699, on the II. Dated 19th August, 1699, on the 
Appeal a graoamine. Appeal from the Final Sentence. 

John, Earl of Bridgwater. John, Earl of Bridgwater. 

Thomas, Earl of Stamford. Thomas, Earl of Stamford. 

Charles, Earl of Manchester. ♦John, Earl of Marlborough. 

• * Speech of Mr, Burke on Act of Uniformity,* vol. x. pp. 11-20, ed. 1818. 


*John, Earl of Marlborough. Ford, Earl of Tankerville. 

Ford, EarV of Tankerville. Zetcw, Lord Rockingham. 

♦Humphrey, Biahop of Bangor. ♦Humphrey, Bishop of Bangor. 

Simon, Bishop of Ely. Simon, Bishop of Ely. 

John, Bishop of Oxford, John, Bishop of Norwich. 

♦John, BUhop of Norwich. John, Bishop of Bristol. 

* Richard^ Bishop of Peturboroifgh. James, Bishop of Lincoln. 

John, Bishop of Chichester. 

Sir George Treby, C. J. of King's Bench. Sir George Treby. 

♦Sir Edward Ward, C. B. of Exchequer. Sir Edward Ward. 

Sir John Powell, J. of King's Bench. Sir John Powell. 

Sir Littleton Powys, B. of Exchequer. Sir Littleton Powys 

Sir Henry Hatsell, B. of Exchequer. Sir Henry Hatsell, &c. 

Sir Charles Hedges, Judge of High Sir Charles Hedges. 

Court of Admiralty. *John Edisbury. 
♦John Edisbury, LLD. Master in Chan- Willinm King. 

eery. ♦John Bndges. 
William King, LL.D. Owen Wynne, &c. 

John Bridges, LL.D. 
Owen Wynne, LL.D. 

The names of .those Delegates who on either Appeal were not present when 
Sentence was pronounced, are marked with an asterisk^. 

The names of those who were nominated on one only of the two Commissions nre 
printed in italics. 

No. 626. Salteb v. Davis. 

Oflfioe of Judge promoted by Salter against Davia, Vicar of Penn, for 
omitting to read the 39 Articles, for preaching in favour of Popery, for 
neglecting cure of souls, with other offences. 

Deiegates nvned in Commissim of Appeal, dated lOth December, 1691 .* — 

Henry, Bishop of London ; Gilbert, Bishop of Salisbury ; Edward, Bishop of 

Sir William Holben, Justice of Common Pleas; Sir Thomas Rokeby, Justice of 

King's Bench ; Sir John Powell, Baron of Exchequer. 

Hedges, Master Edisbury, Littleton, Bramston. — Civilians. 

None but the Civilian Members of the Commission were present at the 
Prooeodings in this Case; but it did not come on for hearing. 

No. 788, Felling v. Dr. Betteswobth (Dean of the Arches). 

(Dr. Winston's Case). 

L Delegates named in the Commissium of Appeal, dated 16M May, 1713 : — 

Jonathan, Bishop of Winchester ; George, Bishop of Bath and Wells ; William, 
Bishop of Chester;* Philip, Bishop of Hereford; Adam, Bishop of St. 

Thomas Lord Trevor, C. J. of Common Pleas; Robert Tracy, Esq., Justice of 
Queen's Bench ; Robert Price, Esq., lUron of Exchequer. 

Wood, Pinfold, Parke, Phipps, Strahan. — Civilians, 


On the Ist of July, 1713, when all the above-named Delegates, except 
the Bishop of Chester, were present, sentence was pronounced in favour of 
the Appeal, and a Citation decreed for Whiston to appear before the Court, 
which then proceeded to hear the Caase on the merits. 

II. Onihelth July, 1715, a * Commiuion of Ad^wnctz* iiwsd, which indudMi aU the 
Delegates above-waned {amongst whom was now the AroMdshop of York, lately 
Bishop of Okester), 

and in addition 

John, Bishop of Bangor ; William, Bishop of Lincoln ; Charles, Bishop of 


Sir Peter King, 0. J. of Common Pleas (Lord Trevor having been removed on 
the accession of George I.) ; Sir Samuel Dodd, C. B. of Exchequer. 

Of these Delegates there were present on the first day when the Commis- 
sion of Adjuncts sat (7th July, 1716). 

The Archbishop of York. 

Bishop of Winchester, bishop of Bath and Wells, Bishop of St. David's. 

Sir Samuel Dodd, Robert Tracy, Esq., Robert Price, Esq., &c. 


Pinfold, Parkes (or Paske), Phipps, Strahan.— Cto»/uiiM. 

Bnt the case did not come to a Judgment. 

[Appeals from the Ecclesiastical Courts in Ireland came before the High 
Court of Delegates in England apparently until 1783-:-in which year the 
Act 23 Qeo. III. c. 28— declared that no Writ of Error or Appeal should 
be received or adjudged .... in any of His Majesty's Courts in this 
kingdom, in any Action or Suit at Law, or in Equity, instituted in any of 
His Majesty's Courts in Ireland. 

This Ck>urt was appointed under 28 Hen. YHL c. 6.] 

No. 1240. Havabd (of Tewkesbury) v. Rev. Edwabd Evanson 

(Vicar of Tewkesbury, &c.). 


Office of Judge promoted inter alia for maintaining Doctrines repugnant 
to the 39 Articles. 

Delegates named in the Comnnssion of Appeal, dtted 27th June, 1775. 

Sir William Henry Ashhnrst, J. of King's Bench ; Sir William Blackstone, 
J. of Common Pleas; Sir John Burland, B. of Exchequer. 

James Marriott, Andrew Cotton Ducave), William Macham, Francis Simpson, 
William Compton. — Doctors of Law, 

Havard appealed against the decision of the Court of Arches, which 


refused to admit certain Depositions — the Court of Delegates confirmed their 
suppression, but instead of confirming the acquittal of Evanson retained the 
cause for further hearing. Havard finding it impossible to obtain success 
without these Depositions abandoned the Appeal. The Court did not sit 
on its merits. 

Ko. 1252. Uarfobd v. Morris (a Case of Nullity of Marriage). 

Delegates named in Chmmisshn of Appeal, dated I9th April, 1777 {ttpo years after 

the preceding case). 

Lord Hillsborough and two other Peers ; Archbishop of York and two other 
Bishops ; three Common Law Judges ; five Ciyilians. 

The last cause in which Bisliops were summoned or sat. 




iOcUAer, 1865.) 

A FULL and really philosophical estimate of wliat have 
been for centuries the effects on England and France as to 
character, morals, and religion, of the mutual relations of the 
two nations to each other would be a work which could 
scarcely be exceeded in interest. In war it is plain at once 
that the one has ever been the whetstone of the other's chi- 
valry. Pre-eminently is this true of England, whose insular 
security and large commerce might by degrees have sunk it 
into Dutch habits of unwarlikeness, if it had not been for the 
perpetual stirring by our fiery neighbours of the stagnating 
streams which are wont to sleep in the level lands of in- 
creasing national wealth. Every attack on England, every 
returning invasion of France, kept alive the martial spirit 
which might otherwise have slumbered to the death. For 
the temper which had been bred in those who fought at 
Agincourt and Cressy spread with the returning army 
through the island. So Shakespeare describes the return of 
Henry the Fifth :— 

' Athwart the sea : hehold the English beach 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys. 
Whose shouts and claps oat-voice the deep-mouthed sea.* 

Act y, Scetie 1. 

In manners too, and even in religion, the same influence, 
though far more subtle in its action, may undoubtedly be 
traced. And as to all of these England has for the most part 
in times past, in spite of occasional outbreaks of Anglomania, 

♦ 1. « Le Maudit.' Par I/AbW • ♦ ». Cinqui^me Edition. Pari*, 1864. 

2. « La Religiewe.' Par UAbbe ♦ ♦ » Dixi^rae Edition. Pari*, 1864. 

3. « Le Jebuite.' Par L'AbW » » ♦. Paris, 1865. 


been the receiving and France the imparting people. The 
history of dress may prove and illustrate this. How invariably 
has Paris reproduced itself in London. What a confirmation 
of it would our milliners' shop-windows exhibit ; what proofs 
would be furnished by the confidential communications, if 
they could possibly be published in a Blue Book, which take 
place between the leaders of fashion and the accomplished 
artists who execute and guide their capricious will ! And this 
sparkling foam upon the wave's crest tells accurately enough 
which way the deeper currents are sweeping. 

But though this is true of the past> it seems probable that, 
except, we trust, so far as regards military rivalry, it will be 
unspeakably more true of the future. For good or for evil 
the intercourse which now exists and daily increases between 
France and England is such as would never have been 
dreamed of by our fathers. The commercial treaty which has 
done so much to augment this intercourse is as much a result 
as a cause of this new unity between the nations. The in- 
flnence of no single person can for an instant compare with 
that of the present Emperor in having brought about this 
result. Having seen with his wonted sagacity that the in- 
terests of France would be largely promoted by the upgrowth 
of kindly o£Sces and increased intercourse between her and 
ourselves, he has, ever since his reign began, promoted its 
increase with a steady farsightedness of action possible only 
in one who combines his deep silent insight into affairs with 
his resolute and unaltering determination to see at last 
effected whatever he has once designed. 

Every year of his reign has increased, and probably will 
increase, the straitness of our union ; and though at first 
sight it might seem as if the religious separation of our 
people from all visible communion with the Church of the 
West would forbid, as to that subject matter, any influence 
of France upon us, yet a deeper investigation of the case 

E 2 


would ahow the poverty and lack of insight betrayed in such 
a oonclocdon. The lower tier of clouds, which to unen- 
lightened eyes usurp the whole heavens, are themselves 
acted on and swayed by the higher currents which sweep 
unseen through the firmament; and tempers of unbelief and 
of devotion difiuse themselves with a wonderful equality of 
flow like atmospheric influences, ever present and prevailing, 
around outward institutions the roost various in form and 
appearance. Separated, therefore, even as we are from 
others, we cannot safely disregard the ebbs and flows of reli- 
gious belief on the other side of the Channel. It may be 
that there is before us the prospect here too of an increased 
union. Many pregnant signs suggest the possibility of the 
Empire leading the way to the establishment of a church far 
more really national than France has ever yet seen ; such an 
one as floated in idea before the eager gaze of the youthful 
Bossuet ; such an one as England's contemporary Archbishop 
was sanguine enough to believe might one day, when more 
perfectly reformed, be knit by open bonds of spiritual 
alliance to the Island Church. 

At such a time it must be a matter of more than common 
interest to English Churchmen, especially, to know the real 
state and temper of religion in France. This the three 
notable sets of volumes which we have named at the head of 
this article are intended to set forth. Their author is a dis- 
tinguished French Abbd, mixing with the religious and liter- 
ary society of Paris, and who, though well known as the writer 
of these obnoxious volumes, has never afforded in his faith or 
conduct any mark at which the keen eye of religious jealousy 
could aim, so as to secure his long-coveted suspension from 
the ministry. For in France it would answer many a page of 
argument, if the ultramontane scribe could but indite against 
the reasoner, •C'est un interdit.' The three works, taken 
together, explain the whole question ; and the briefest way 


in which it can be set before our readers is by following the 

lead of the three works themselves, in the order of their 

appearance. They bear the questionable shape of novels — a 

reproach repeatedly flung in the face of their author. He 

has as constantly replied, that he has adopted that form only 

because the novel is the most popular literature of the day, 

and his desire is to be read. He quotes, in self-defence, other 

great ecclesiastics to justify bis form of publication. 'Le 

pretre * (he says) * qui a 6crit " Le Maudit " a fait comme le 

Cardinal Wiseman, comme Fen^lon, comme Camus/ * Ho 

says, and says it with perfect truth, that the story is in his 

hands the simple thread upon which his facts are strung. No 

one, indeed, could mistake him for a novelist ; for from the 

merits and the defects of that peculiar form of literature, ho 

is almost equally free. There is no sensational writing in any 

page of these volumes ; and there is, on the other hand, very 

little story. It is not with him, as it is with Dr. Mason Neale, 

that the intensity of his religious convictions hardly keeps 

down the natural genius of a master of fiction ; he has no 

such struggle : he labours with his story to make it hold his 

facts and reasonings ; and it does that, and does no more. 

From the beginning the most inexpert tyro in novel reading 

can see what the end is to be, and he is never deceived in 

the unwinding of the thread. If there is any surprise anywhere, 

it is evidently quite as great a one to the author, as it is to 

the reader. All this, which would take utterly away any 

claim that ho might put forth to high place amongst the 

writers of fiction, only adds to the value of his volumes as a 

statement of the facts which constitute the spiritual life of 

which he is recording the history. There is no story the 

interest of which must be kept alive by humouring these 

facts; there is no evidence of lively imagination, which 

might lead unawares to their being invested with a colour of 

• * Le Maudit,' p. 2. 


his own. Any careful student of history, who has followed 
closely Lord Macaulay's treatment of Sir Elijah Impey, or 
the Duke of Marlborough, will distrust all his other portraits, 
because he will know that it is the habit of the artist's mind 
to form for himself the countenance he is about to depict ; 
but the purchaser of the work of the dullest photographer 
knows that he is at least free from these misleading freaks of 
the imagination. That security the reader of these volumes 

Not that the Ahh6 M. is by any means a dull man ; but he 
manifests no such gifts of imagination as would lead us in any 
degree to distrust his facts. * Le Maudit^' which first created 
the author's reputation, and of which many large editions 
have been sold, opens with the history of a young priest in 
the south of France, well-bom, well-nurtured, and endowed 
with unusual gifts of intellect — Julio de la Claviere — who, 
with his (supposed) sister, Louise de la Claviere, had been 
brought up by an aunt, who had adopted the orphan 
children and been to them all that a mother could have 

The opening chapters depict the dealings of the Jesuit 
Fathers withthe ladies of the family. Madame de la Claviere 
was rich, and her nephew and niece her natural heirs. She 
had yielded herself to the guidance of a Jesuit confessor, and 
he, at the bidding of the Company, was bent on securing for 
it the worldly substance of the devoted trembling aunt To 
secure this the niece was to be persuaded to enter a convent, 
and the nephew to become a priest In these vocations a small 
pension would be all that either would require, and the Com- 
pany might win the inheritance. These plans are first 
thwarted by the niece's doubts about her vocation, which, 
under an attachment she forms for a young friend of her 
brother's, preparing at first with him for the priesthood, but 
led by doubts and inquiry to abandon that intention and 


become an advocate, deepen rapidly into an absolute rejec- 
tion of the state for which she had been designed. This pro- 
voking mischance is traced, in great measure by the sharp- 
sighted Fathers to the influence of her brother, who himself 
has ready and has encouraged her in reading, many works 
which have carried her thougbtsi and interests, and aspira- 
tions, far outside the narrow ^here to which her spiritual 
guides would have restricted them. Thus he becomes early 
an object of suspicion and dislike to the * Reverend Fathers.' 
They were at this time only feeling their way in tlie provin- 
cial town of T. ; and it was esteemed by them essential to 
their success that they should obtain funds sufficient to enable 
them to raise buildings commensurate with the importance of 
the Society. France was the country for the support of 
which they were by far the most anxious. In their estimate, 
* Borne est aujourd'hui dans la decrepitude senile : la vie ne 
part pas de la, pas plus pour la religion que pour le reste. 
La France c'est le pays de vie exubdrante.' 

To secure the funds needful for erecting these buildings, 
all their spiritual powers are unscrupulously exerted. We 
are led by the Abb^ into the dark conclave in which business 
of this delicate kind is conducted : — 

'The provincial Father had convoked a secret council. When darkness 
reignod in every corridor, and the dead silence of the huilding showed that 
all the other Fathers bad retired into their cells, seven old men entered the 
(xmvent hall. A single lamp lighted that hall, casting a pale and lurid 
ray upon the walls. Here and there hung engraviugs of St. Ignatius, of 
St. Francis Xavicr, of the martyrdom of the brethren in Jajian and China, 

and of the Sacred Heart of Mary A table covered with green clotli, 

and chairs for the assemblod Fathers, completed the furniture of the room. 
.... The Reverend Father Provincial, having deposited on the table a 
large portfolio, knelt down and repeated in a slow and subdued tone tlic 
Yen! Sancte and Ave Maria, the other Fathers joining. Thdy then rose 
and seated themselves. All eyes were fixed u(X)n the ground as the Pro- 
vincial began by opening his portfolio and stating, '* I have received from 
our very Reverend Father General authority to build at T. a house for our 
order.'' ' 


He proceeds to state that three million francs must be 
raised for the building, and raised from local resources. A 
subdued smile course^ oyer some of those aged lips, as- the 
question is put from whence the needful funds are to come. 
It appears that all their means of every kind reach to little 
more than half what they require, and so the several Fathers 
who act as confessors are stirred up to use more energetically 
their power over those whom they direct. Whilst each one 
details his own failures or successes in the common cause, the 
Father BrifTard, with whom we are specially concerned, 
called upon by the Provincial Father to state his success, 
produces with a smile of satisfaction, which plays over his 
lips, the will of Madame de la Claviere, by which, securing 
pensions of a thousand francs to her nephew and her niece 
respectively, and on.e of three hundred to a favourite servant, 
ahe leaves all her estate to a M. Tournichon, the safe crea- 
ture of the Company, 'And to what,' the Provincial asks, 
' does this amount ? ' ' It is valued,' is the reply, * at four 
hundred and fifty thousand francs.' ' And will the donor die 
soon ? ' he responds, and receives the gratifying assurance that 
she has scarcely a breath of life left in her. The Virgin is 
thanked in concluding prayers for these special favours, and 
tho commencement of the building is determined on. 

It bad not been without a struggle that the aged aunt had 
handed over the orphans* fortune to these grasping hands. 
/Remorse,' she had avowed to her confessor, 'and deep di»> 
quietude possess me ! Louise and her brother are directly 
my heirs. Can I in conscience disinherit these cliildren of 
my own and of their uncle's fortune ? ' ' Yes,' is the answer ; 
' I have certain means of knowing that the imcle's fortune 
was amassed . by usury.^ ' But how ? his reputation for 
honesty was perfect.' 'What matters that; for his unjust 
gains he is^ now burning in Purgatory, and your only mode 
of giving peace to his soul, and saving your own, is by thus 


making restitution.' 'Ah, but those poor children!' The 
sacrifice is urged upon her as most acceptable to God ; the 
fainting heart of the old devotee yields with difficulty ; but 
the will is extorted from her. 

Here is laid the foundation of a lifelong persecution of 
Julio de la Olavi^re, who at first suspects, and afterwards 
opposes to the utmost, though in vain, in the courts of law 
his own aud his sister's spoliation. The Cardinal Archbisho[) 
FlamarenSy one of the best drawn portraits in the book, 
touched with a play of hiunour which is the Abba's forte, 
gives the true solution of all the life that is to follow, in the 
few words with which he replies to the objections taken to 
the ordination ot Julio: 'I understand it all; they have 
robbed him of his fortune, and now they persecute him/ 

The persecution begins with the endeavour to prevent by 
secret slander his admission to the priesthood: next it seeks 
to prevent his appointment by the Archbishop, who is capti- 
vated with his whole manner and attainments^ to the office of 
diocesan secretary. The Archbishop, however, is firm, and 
the entrance of the young man on his new office introduces a 
capitally executed passage describing the daily budget of a 
French Archbishop's letters from his diocese, and the treat- 
ment by a kind and skilful, though perhaps a slightly 
worldly hand, of the various cases of his clergy. This 
chapter might be read with great advantage by many be- 
sides French Archbishops. It exhibits with the utmost skill 
how much acute discernment, mixed with hearty kindness, 
may do to quiet extremes without the scandal of a scene, to 
forestall coming evils in their bud, and to stir up slee{>y 
respectability to exertions of which it had never dreamed. 
At this time the young Abbe seems to triumph, and the 
astute Fathers to have failed. He is called upon to preach 
in the Cathedral, and acquits himself so admirably, that at the 
request of the Chapter he is nominated by the Archbishop 


an honorary canon of tho church. But the Jesuits never 
leave the prey they once have tracked. They stir up a cry 
of heresy against the young canon's sermon, and they play 
off against the Archbishop his chaplain, and above all, his 
sister who lives with him, and on whom he is dependent for 
his family and social life; a scene of unusual altercation 
disturbs his dinner-table ; he retires to his room, to be fol- 
lowed by a fierce letter of denunciation, which he traces to 
the Jesuits, and is seized in his overwrought condition with a 
fit of apoplexy under which he sinks. Before his death he 
sends for Julio, to receive his confession, and in the clear 
atmosphere of those last hours, when one by one the busy 
illusions of life have all but passed away, the spirit of the 
dying man rises to the perception of the greatness of the 
Church's vocation and his own, and he deHvers to the young 
Abb^ what is appropriately termed his 'spiritual testa- 
ment * : — 

*Idio in the bosom of the Catholic Church Apostolical and Roman, 
of which 1 have been Priest, Bishop, and Cardinal : about to appear before 
Him who is the immutable truth, I declare that it has been against the 
dictates of my own heart, and with an extreme repugnance, that for more 
than forty years of my life as priest and bishop I have followed the ^leiilous 
crew which now guides the Catholic Church. I have been forced to repress 
all the holiest instincts of my soul .... and to this I have owed my 
rapid advance in honours. I saw that I must choose between the dignities 
which flattered my ambition and an agitated, even ])ersecuted, life. I was 
ieeble, and I shrank back from the glory and the sufferings of the new 
apostolate. I preferred the vain glory of the purple : to reach it I betrayed 
and slew the truth.* 

He sees how the Ultramontane party, directed by the 
Jesuits, and in everything exalting the Papacy above the 
Scriptures, the Ci^eds, and tho Church, is destroying all 
possibility of a religious future for the French people ; and 
he dies penitent for his own share in the mighty evil which has 
been already wrought. He charges Julio to make his retrac- 
tations known : gives him as a perpetual pledge his CardinaFs 


ring, and dies with the adieu of a father leaving his troubled 
inheritance to a beloved son. 

To prevent the publication of this last ' testament ' of the 

Archbishop, which Julio at once sets about preparing, is the 

first care of the reverend Fathers. AH direct threats and 

cajolery having failed utterly, they turn, according to their 

wont, to female aid, and bring his aged aunt and his adored 

sister to persuade him to abandon his intention of making 

public the revelation to which he had pledged himself to the 

dying Archbishop. All that can be won from him is that it 

is published without his name by his friend the advocate N. 

Verdelon. The sale of the brochure is immense, and the 

anger of the Jesuits proportionate to the injury they perceive 

that it will do them. Meanwhile the new Archbishop, Mons. 

Paul le Cricq, appears on the stage, and Julio soon feels tlio 

effect of the loss of his former patron. Tlie new Archbishop, 

indeed, hates and fears the Jesuits ; but fearing even more 

than he hates, he serves them with the grudged but thorough 

service which fear can extract from an ignoble spirit. His 

object is to gain the purple as well as the archiepiscopal 

mitre of his predecessor. To obtain this he must secure two 

separate influences which it is not easy for him to combine. 

He must have the support of the French Government and 

the nomination of the Pope, and this latter cannot be won 

unless with the assistance of the Jesuits. Side by side with 

the lofty throne of the successor of St. Peter is erected the 

chair of office of the General of the Jesuits. 

•There are two kings in the Catholic monarchy One is the kin^ 

in appearance, and is named the Po^)e: he is enthroned at the Vatican, 
with cardinals, chamberlains, prelates, guards. . . . The other is the actunl 
king ; his seat is at the Gesu ; he is styled '* the General of the Jesuits.'* 
He is at the head of the most compact, active, and powerful association of 
men which the genius of man has ever framed. You address the first of 
these great men as •* your Holiness,'* the seconil as " your Ueverencc.*' When 
you arc admitted to an audience with the Pope, you meet, in the ante- 


chamber of the hall (not to be reached till after three separate genuflcxioDB) 
in which the Vicar of Christ will present to you his ring and his slipper to 
kiss, four or five young prelates in violet cassocks and gently swelling 
rochets, who relieve with their easy conversation the ennui of the cere- 
monial. When you have passed the Testibule of the Ges&, and approach 
the presence of the General, you pass through a hall in which forty secre- 
ttirics are writing in every known language, and you will present yourself 
to one who is charged with immense interests, and who will make you sit 
and converse with him. The one is the Richelieu of Catholicism; the 
other is its Louis XIIL* 

Here, as everywhere else, the power is with the worker ; 
and the Supreme Pontiff himself, as well as all his Arch- 
bishops and bishops, must bow at last the gemmed tiara 
before the hard rule of the Iron Sceptre. It was a diflBcuIt 
task for Monsignor Le Cricq, for Julio had influential friends ; 
the story of the spiritual testament of Monsignor Flamarens 
had obtained a wide circulation ; great interest was felt about 
him, and he was a man whom it was scarcely safe openly to 
persecute ; yet the needful Jesuit support could not be had 
without the persecution of the obnoxious Abb6. The nomi- 
nation of the French Government would be lost, if, in gaining 
that support, he involved himself in a scandal or awakened a 
cry ; on the other hand, the Pope would not venture to act if 
the Gesu frowned on the proposal. On the whole the difficult 
problem was dexterously worked out Julio was first deprived 
of his office of Secretary. This could cause no reproach, as 
it was natural for the Archbishop to desire to see a friend in 
an office of such confidence ; and yet it was indicative and 
intelligible enough. It was an instalment of the sacrifices to 
be made to the Jesuits, and as an instalment it was received ; 
but as an instalment only. Next Julio is appointed fifth 
curate to the Vicar of T., — a terrible descent on the ladder 
of ecclesiastical promotion. Simply and earnestly the young 
man sets himself to his work, and he is soon appreciated and 
beloved. He is most earnest in enforcing Christianity in its 
creed, its motives, and its conduct ; but he has a detestable 


habit of preferring these to the advancement of any fomi of 
priestcraft. He makes the powerful Carmelites his enemies 
by counselling the postponement of the irrevocable vow for a 
young child whose feelings and whose vanity had been 
worked on to give herself up to the austerities of that severe 
Order. He ofiends even more grossly the conventional 
notions of the modern religionists by exalting before the 
young the ennobling and purifying character of married love. 
This last offence is appreciated with peculiar sensitiveness by 
the Archbishop, and Julio is at once subjected to an honour- 
able banishment from the seats of ecclesiastical influence. 
The cure of St. Aventin, in the valley of TArboust, was 
vacanty and to it the Archbishop sends him to preach ideal 
love to the shepherds of the mountains. 

The news of his intended banishment flew round the town 
of T., and whilst the Jesuits triumphed, many of the safest 
and holiest of the flock mourned for the loss of a pastor wlio 
had elevated all their views and lived before them the life of 
an evangelist. One of the most distinguished professors in 
the town wrote to * beseech him, before departing for his 
mountain exile, to examine seriously whether he ought thus 
to yield to his mortal enemies ; whether this was not a sign 
from Providence which called him to higher destinies, and 
summoned him to another sphere, in which, supported by 
men who yet had faith in the future of Catholicism, he might 
still labour at his great work of reconciling it with the re- 
quirements of the present time. To bury himself in an 
obscure ministry, amongst a few poor mountaineers, in a 
region blocked up for eight months of the year with snow, 
was truly to abandon the mighty task he had so fully con- 
templated, and the outline of which he had laid down in his 
sermon at the Cathedral and in all his addresses at T.' 

Julio's answer protests that in no degree does he shrink 
from the hard apostleship to which he has been called ; that 


he is conscious of needing work and study to fit him to fulfil 
it ; moreover, that the time of action is not come for him : 
that Borne, trusting altogether to its expiring earthly sove- 
reignty, unable to comprehend the march of the human 
mind, and to fit the instruments by which it conveyed 
eternal truths to the wants of the present time, would regard 
as treason all efforts at reform ; that for one, therefore, whose 
calling was not the demolition of the present, but its future 
reconstruction, when ruder hands had accomplished their 
vocation of destruction, the present was a time of waiting, 
not of active labour, and that in such a temper he devoted 
himself to his mountain cure. 

To it he therefore betook himself; and here he read, 
studied the physical geography of the mountains, acquainted 
himself intimately with the face of nature round him, and 
above all laboured with his whole heart to humanise and 
christianise his mountain flock. In this he is sorely hin- 
dered, not only by the grossness of their habits, but even 
more by the superstitious system of the Church in which he 
ministers. First, he is withstood by a Pharisaic devotee, 
introduced under the indicative name of * La Mere Judas,' 
whose claims to extreme sanctity and spirituality he judi- 
ciously but firmly resists, and who becomes forthwith his 
enemy ; then, by the clerical encouragement of pretended 
visions and heavenly visitations amongst the young and 
enthusiastic females of his fiock, and at length by the dis- 
turbing labours of a Capucin, who is sent to conduct a 
mission in his parish : a great eater, a deep drinker, and a 
noisy preacher, described by the Abb4 with the most pleasur- 
able humour, who utterly deranges the whole plan of the 
young Cur6*8 ministry. Here, then, too, in his mountain 
seclusion as much as in the town, the whole tone of the 
existing Church is against him. 
But he is not left to the isolation and rest of his mountain 


home. His aunt dies, and he resolves on challenging the 
iniquitous will which had been the handiwork of the Fere 
Briffard. M. Yerdelon the advocate, his own friend in 
youth, and now the lover of LouisOi undertakes the conduct 
of the suiti and speaks with all the ardour of a lover, and all 
the force of one maintaining the highest principles. At fii*8t 
it seems that the Jesuits will be foiled. M. Tourniehon, to 
whom, on their behalf, to avoid the laws against captation, 
the inheritance had been bequeathed, had been so unwary as 
to allot far less than she conceived to be her share of the 
prey to the favourite attendant of Madame de la Claviero, 
whom he had been forced from the influence she possesse<l 
over the mind of her mistress to admit into his secret councils. 
Disappointed of her reward, the inflammable Pyrenneian is 
at once smitten with horror at the injustice done in disin- 
heriting the niece and nephew, and she mokes revelations on 
which M. Verdelon relies. The aunt had shrunk from 
the injustice she was being compelled to perpetrate. She 
had even summoned a notary to alter her will, but had 
yielded at last in her feebleness, to the spiritual terrors 
brought to bear upon her; had postponed the projected 
alteration, and died before it was accomplished. Such 
evidence would have destroyed the yalidity of the will ; but 
the witness is at length, by flattery and gifts, prevailed upon 
to declare that her first assertions were the result of irritation, 
and not warranted by fact. Unsupported by this evidence. 
M. Verdelon's eloquence fails to convince the court, and 
the inheritance is given to M. Tournichon, the nominee 
(and as the Provincial Master complains bitterly when lio 
receives the account of his expenses, the spoiler) of tlu^ 
Jesuits. But Julio will not so yield up his cause, and if he 
cannot gain the verdict of the court, he resolves to gain that 
of France to his side. He sets himself accordingly about the 
preparation of a memoir of the whole transaction. The eflect 


of such a statement from his pen is so greatly dreaded by the 
reverend Fathers, that every attempt is made to persuade 
him to suppress it» In the armoury of the Gesu are weapons 
of every shape and kind, and the one drawn forth on this 
emergency illustrates some of the chief peculiarities of the 
Society. A reverend Father, who is supposed to possess the 
special gift of affecting the female heart rather than any 
peculiar attribute of sanctity, is sent down into the province 
to stir up the Marchioness of * * * to undertake the task of 
preveuting, through the influence of Louise, the publication 
of the dreaded memoir. . 

The Marchioness had been an early friend of the late 
mother of Louise, and through the fond remembrances of the 
daughter's heart, soon won her confidence. Louise was now 
living with her brother at his remote cure, and they were 
everything to each other. She had passed through the great 
trial of finding that with the loss of her dower she had lost 
her lover, who, with ambitious views filling his mind, could 
not bring himself to wed the disinherited damsel. On her 
fears the Marchioness works through the sole earthly avenue 
remaining open in her heart She shows her that Julio will 
certainly incur an interdict, that he will be lost here and 
hereafter, and that she piust be his saviour from the misery 
before him. But Julio will not yield, and under the crafty 
guidance of the Marchioness, Louise is to try the effect of 
withdrawing herself for a time from him, and extorting as 
the condition of her return, his withdrawal of all future 
resistance of the reverend Fathers. Meanwhile other in- 
fluences were brought to l)ear on Julio. The General of the 
Jesuits wrote to the Archbishop, in terms which showed that 
he would endure no longer trifling. Either Julio must be 
silenced, or the dreaded interdict must issue, or the Cardinal's 
hat must evaporate in disappointment. So imperative was 
the summon?, that the Archbishop would probably have 


yielded, had not a most unlooked-for incident protected 
Julio. A priest named Loubaire, whom, when vicar of a 
parish near St. Aventin, Julio had saved from death and dis- 
honour, was devoted to him with all the burning ardour of 
his Southern blood. Of a not unspotted life himself, he had 
seen and venerated the saintly character of the young Abbe, 
and now formed the insane resolution of saving the innocent 
martyr from archiepiscopal persecution by the threat of 
assassination. He insinuates himself into the palace and 
presence of the Archbishop in his hour of perfect solitude, 
and obtains, by the threat of instant death, an oath that Julio 
shall not be made a victim, and then attempts, and almost 
executes before the face of the prelate, his own destruction. 
The eflfect produced on the Archbishop's mind is terrible, 
and it is whilst it is at its full that the irresistible Society 
requires the sacrifice of its victim. To combine a regard to 
his oath with a performance of the mandate of the General 
was not easy, but it was eflfected by the Archbishop. A letter 
of unwonted kindliness brings Julio to the Prelate, who dis- 
courses with him in the most affable terms, laments the 
hard necessities which surrounded him, and have made him 
seem unkind to one he so highly values. 

* There is so luucb to manage — all is so far from being rosy around the 
Episcopate. Oh! how much happier, oh! how much more peaceable is 
the condition of a good pastor in his parish. Still, one must bear one's 
crofis. But to come to the point. My dear Abbd, you arc attacking an 
Order venerated in the Churcli ; you remember the words of your Breviary 
— **an Order cstabUshed by Gtd in the last tinjcs for the conflict with 
heresy . . . ." and how have you attacked it? Terribly, bccaui^o with 

such moderation Meanwhile, all the world is against you. i lanr 

from Rome that you are in The Itidix, What would you have me doV 
You have set the Jesuits at my heels ; they will give me no repose. Do 
you know that the good Fathers comprehend no raillery, and that they 
wiU abuse an Archbishop of T. quite as readily, and with as little remorse, 

as a vicar of Aventin ! I know them well But I would prove to 

you my love : 1 will not be the executioner of their hatred : only deal 
kindly by me. You can live honourably on the annuity secured to you : 



abandon the ministry for two or three years. .... Alas I my dear Abbd, 
who knows what in three or four years may have become of Borne or of 
the Jesuits? Events pass so fast now a days. Do kindly what I ask ; 
resign this vicarage of 8t Avehtin .... take an " Exeat pro quAcumque 
dicecesi." When calm has been restored, when events are more advanced, 
when perhaps Garibaldi and his cAamMss rougen have had their way with 
Rome, and the Index, and the Jesuits, you will come back to some goud 
post in the diocese.* 

The Ahh6 yields to this gentle handling, takes his Exeat, 
returns to St. Aventin to prepare for bis departure, and finds 
Louise gone, and no trace of her to be discovered. 

Then follows wkat the Abb^ M * * * has entitled the 
Odyss^e of Julio. He sets out to find his sister, whom the 
Marchioness had carried off and got safely conveyed to a 
remote convent in Italy. Julio's search for her exhibits 
many other traits of Jesuit power and management. He is 
perpetually dogged by one who enacts the character of a 
free thinking and free living Abb4, himself a victim of the 
Jesuits, but who is in reality their spy, set to watch Julio, 
and if possible to beguile him to Rome, and the yet remain- 
ing prison of the Inquisition. In the course of this search he 
at last discovers Louise, rescues her by a sudden abduction 
from the church in the services of which she is taking part, 
carries her safely to the mountains, there is parted from her, 
and wounded by banditti, and is rescued by the Jesuit guard, 
to be consigned safely to the cells of the Holy 0£Sce at 
Bome. Thence all efforts made by the French Government 
and by private friends, stimulated by the efforts of Louise, 
who had reached Paris in safety, alike failed to relieve him, 
until Loubaire reappears on the stage, and, with the aid of 
some mountaineers, delivers him by force from the prison of 
the Inquisition. As soon as he had effected this, Loubaire 
hastens back to his moimtain charge. But he is not allowed 
to resume it. His letters to Louise, whilst at Home he was 
seeking to effect the liberation of his friend, had all been 


intercepted. He had been delated to the Archbishop of 
Chamb^ry, as the enemy of the Society of Jesuits and of the 
Papal Chair. On reaching his cure of Lans-le-Bourg he 
meets the news : ' You are summoned before the Archbishop 
at Ghamb^ry ; you are no more vicar of Lans-le-Bourg, your 
successor is appointed.' He obeys the summons to Chamb6ry, 
and is told that his powers to execute the functions of the 
priesthood in that diocese are removed, but that he will be 
granted an Exeat, but unaccompanied with a recommenda- 
tion, without which he would in fact be admitted into no 
other diocese. He breaks away with the natural impetuosity 
of his character with the last words, 'It is a sentence of 
death, Monseigneur.' 'It is all that I can do for you/ 
replies the complacent prelate. 

He betakes himself to Paris, where, as he says to his 
friend, *If your shoulders will bear them, you may carry 
burdens, or accustom your hands to break stones for the 
macadamized streets of Paris.' We will not interrupt here 
our outline of the story, but we shall have hereafter to return 
for a little to this subject. 

Loubaire finds work at a printing establishment, and to 
Paris in due time comes the Abbe Julio. Louise had met 
with noble and distinguished friends of her aunt's, and for a 
time had been admitted to their society. But even here 
Jesuit intrigue and influence bad followed her, and forced 
upon her reluctant friends the breaking up of their old 
alliance. On reaching Paris Julio sought for employment 
as a priest in that Church which possessed all his affections 
and his trust, and for the reform of which, in its temper and 
administration, he longed so ardently. Through all his 
disasters he had retained the warm affections of one en- 
lightened prelate, the Bishop of A. ; and armed with his 
recommendation, he applied to the Archbishop for employ- 
ment. The Jesuits at once seek to bar the entrance to all 

F 2 


sacerdotal work against the doomed man. At all hazards, 
with his oratorical powers, every pulpit must be closed 
against him. But at first they fail. They dared not ap- 
proach directly the Cardinal Archbishop. It is not every 
Bishop, especially when the Cardinal's hat has been already 
won, who will suffer the reverend Fathers to govern his 
diocese for him; and his Eminence was known to be 
rigorously just as well as full of kindness ; so they first try 
to reach him through M. le Promoteur, an official charged 
with the immediate discipline of the diocese — one who in 
Paris has need to be of the acutest intelligence, and endued 
with all the skill of the ablest member of the detective 
police; one who can deal with all the false Bishops from the 
East, who with long beards and most doubtful pretensions 
come to collect in Paris alms for the poor Christians of 
Lebanon, or for the erection of a Carmel amongst the rocks 
of Mount Tabor. 

This office, so little likely in its administration to breed 
charity in any spirit, was held at the time by the Abbe 
Baraminos (known among the young and gay curates of the 
metropolis by the sobriquet of M. Gare*a-Minos), a priest 
large in stature, dry and sharp of aspect, and of very un- 
certain temper. The supplest of the reverend Fathers 
lodged, during the familiar intercourse of the salon of the 
Duchess de Chantenay, in the faubourg Saint-Germain, in 
the mind of M. Baraminos the most violent prejudice against 
Julio de la Clavifere. But the commendation of the Bishop 
of A. prevailed for the time with the Archbishop against 
M. le Promoteur ; he received the Abbe with kindness and 
attention, and appointed him at once as second Almoner of 
the Lyc^e of St. Louis. But his Eminence lacked the 
firmness needful to maintain his appointment. The busy 
tongues of a multitude of well-trained instruments assailed 
the name of Julio with every conceivable calumny ; and at 


length in full council M. Baraminos ventured to express the 
general feeling of horror with which the appointment of 
Julio to 80 distinguished a post had been received. ' But 
what am I to do with him ?* asked the Cardinal, * for there 
is really nothing against him as a priest/ 'Surely,' replies 
the ready M. le Promotenr, ' he would be well placed as 
diaere d^offiee in a parish church.* 

Now this is an office which the ritual of Kome and the 
luxurious habile of fashionable life have combined to create 
as it exists in Paris. You go into St. Eoch or the Madeleine 
and see the gorgeous rites of the high mass proceeding in 
their splendour. You see the cur6 officiating between two 
priests with white hair, clothed with dalmatics as stiff and 
splendid with their gold lace as the chasuble of the Vicar 
himself. You suppose that the first pastor of a great Church 
is there in the exercise of his sublime function, surrounded 
by two high dignitaries, his clerical equals. But you are 
mistaken. They are two unhappy priests who are retained 
for this special office — and who must not eat anything till 
the late mass — at one perhaps on Sundays, at noon on 
ordinary days — has been concluded. These men are often . 
poor priests, exiled it may be from Poland for their religious 
opinions^ or hunted down by the hatred of the Jesuits ; 
they are men without a future: the least distinguished 
candidate for the priesthood may rise to any height in his 
profession, but the wretched dia4}re d' office can only sink 
lower as he grows older. From the splendours of the Made- 
leine or Sainte Clotilde he falls to La Villette, to Crenelle, 
even to Montrouge, and at last his bones are sent witli those 
of the lowest of the populace to the common trench at Ivry 
or Clichy la Garenne. 

A curt announcement from M. de Baraminos informs 
Julio that to this hapless office, in the little church of Notre 
Dame des Champs, he is degraded, and that even from this 


on the first complaint he might reckon on being removed. 
Julio received the blow with calmness, Louise with tears. 
She would have had him refuse the offered post His reply 
reveals his heart ' The house of Christ at Nazareth was 
less distinguished; Pope, Archbishpp, or Diacre d'Office, 
what matters it in Gh)d'8 eyes ? It is to fill a function of His 
priesthood. • • • Beloved sister, you are a tempter to your 
brother.' With a suppressed sob she answered, * You are 
right, I spoke as a woman : it is great to make yourself 

But Julio had still friends with some influence, and 
through one of these he is appointed to preach a Lenten 
sermon at St Eustache. The whole Jesuit class was con- 
vulsed by this announcement. It was what above all they 
dreaded, and what before eveiything they must prevent. They 
besiege the Archbishop, but he stands firm in protecting the 
Vicars of Paris in their right to choose their own Lenten 
preachers, and it is plain that the pulpit must be open to 
Julio, and the sect is driven to its last and lowest machina- 
tions. The old Jesuit spy who had haunted him as an ever 
present imp through Italy is employed to assemble a 
crowd of the charitable dependents of the body to fill the 
church, and, as Julio mounts the pulpit, to raise a riot 
within it which shall not only prevent the sermon being 
preached, but suffice to warn every other Vicar in Paris of 
the danger of allowing such a firebrand to climb the steps 
of his pulpit. The plan succeeds perfectly, and the orator's 
voice is drowned utterly in the disgraceful noise of the 

Julio now turns to the attempt to utter through the press 
that voice which he is prevented speaking from the pulpit. 
The most triumphant success attends a religious journal 
which he edits, and in which contending earnestly for all 
the truths of the Church Catholic, he temperately combats 


the extreme Views of the ultramontane section. This com- 
pletes the measure of his crimes. An immediate ostracism 
of his sister and himself from all religious and from the 
higher social circles is his first visitation ; his next the with- 
drawal of his powers to officiate in Paris, with a recommen- 
dation that he should return to his old diocese. Hardly 
through the strong influence of powerful patrons is the Arch- 
bishop of T. persuaded to restore him to a small country cure. 
There for a short time he labours with his former success, 
though haunted by a new and terrible anguish which we 
purposely pass over. Then he loses his sister, whose delicate 
frame could no longer support all the exposure, privation 
and anxiety of the lot which the sharing her brother's sor- 
rows had made her portion. Whilst he is in this last anguish 
the ambitious views of M. le Cricq approach their highest 
fnlfilment>. He had sheltered Julio from the open attack of 
a certain bigoted prelate in a counsel at Limoux, and this 
incident had been so well used by his friends at Paris that 
the French ambassador was instructed to ask for the liberal 
Archbishop the coveted Cardinal's hat The application was 
received with favour, when the Pope was assailed by the 
head of the Jesuit Society for intending such an honour to 
one who had sheltered so notorious an offender as Julio. 
When the Archbishop next saw the Holy Father it was evi- 
dent that a storm had swept over the heavens of the Vatican. 
The Archbishop's discerning agent at the Boman Court soon 
learned the cause, and suggested with admirable dexterity 
the only remedy. The Archbishop retires into a 'retreat,' 
to be accomplished at the Gesu, and to perfect his good work 
consents to place Julio under an interdict He wins his hat ; 
and Julio, suspended from his ministry, degraded, in fact, 
from his orders, broken in body, and worn out in spirit, retires 
to the southern slopes of the mountains to die in the Hospice 
de Bigorre, ministered to in his last moments by a friendlv 


stranger priest, whom the hand of persevering bigotry strives 
in vain to banish from his dying chamber. 

We have traced the first of these stories thus at length 
because without doing so it was not possible to display, with 
any clearness, the lesson it is framed to teach. We need 
not enter with the same fulness on the remaining volumes. 
Their plan is the same as that on which * Le Maudit ' is con- 
structed. The first of them relates the story of a woman 
given up to a life of charity and devotion ; in the present 
state of the Church of France she is passed from religious 
house to house, and from order to order, to find the same 
repulsive features perpetually reproduced in every society 
she joins. Pettiness, intrigue, jealousy, and debasing super- 
stition mar at every turn the fair professions of a ^ religious 
life,' until she is driven from it to spend her fortune and 
her powers in organising for the girls of France a system 
of education, which, by setting them free from the present 
dominant priestcraft, shall fit them to be wives and mothers, 
instead of breeding them up in ignorance of themselves and 
of the world round them, to become hereafter either free- 
thinkers or devotees. The third story is Jntended to reveal, 
by similar processes, the interior life of those terrible Jesuit 
priests — the Praetorian Guard of the Papacy, at once its de- 
fenders and its dread — of whose work the history of Julio is 
a specimen. 

We should in a great degree repeat what we have already 
said if we followed out this story in detail, and we shall not, 
therefore, do so, but we are tempted to lay before our readers 
one passage from it, because it is pleasantly characteristic of 
a vein of genuine humour which is continually reappearing 
amidst the deep convictions, profound sadnesses, and high 
hopes, which fill the volumes. The hero of these volumes 
is the younger of two sons of a father of high birth and 
large fortune, who would himself have given them a liberal 


education based on the idea of what, as an emigrant to our 
shores, be had seen as an English education. The mother, 
under Jesuit directions, opposes with all a woman's power 
the father's resolution. After incessant conflicts the matter 
is adjusted by the elder son going to the University, and the 
younger beihg handed over to the teaching of the * Reverend 
Fathers.' The mother suffers in after years a bitter punish- 
ment for this early victory. The elder son dies in conse- 
quence of an accident, and she is then bent upon the younger 
taking his brother's place, and continuing the ancient line of 
his noble family. But the Jesuit yoke to which she had 
herself submitted him was not thu? to be broken from his 
neck. As a rule the Jesuits, far less than any other order, 
seek to make their pupils renounce the active world and 
choose the ' religious * life. Their long-sightedness enables 
them to see that their power will be increased by their pupils 
holding high places in the world, and providing a new gene- 
ration of youth for them to train. But there are exceptions 
to this rule. There are some whom they are most anxious 
to secure ; and from three descriptions of men, when they 
can, they always seek to replenish their numbers : these are 
the nobly born, through whom they hope to spread their 
ramifications amidst the higher ranks of society ; the rich, 
because better than any other they know the value of pos- 
sessing largely the sinews of war ; and the men of intellec- 
tual power, through whom they can act upon every rank and 
class of society. 

Our hero combined these three advantages, and they early 
marked him for their own, and held him with an iron grasp 
in spite of bis dying father's sobs and his broken-hearted 
motber^s shrieks. Thit!, however, was at the close of his 
training. The incident to which we refer belonged to his 
boyish days in the Jesuit seminary. He is visited in the 
seminary of Saint-Acheul by his father's friend, the great 


advocate, M. Dupin. The young Jesuit ^l^ve had himself 
already learned to entertain so doubtful a regard for the 
distinguished friend of his father as an enemy of the Com- 
pany, that when he has to tell the Reverend Pbre who it is 
that has come to see him, he makes the reluctant confession 
' rougissant jusqu'aux oreilles/ But the Jesuit Fathers 
manifested their wonted discretion. As soon as they had 
learned who their visitor was, the ordinary Father who was 
in attendance on the young pupil was at once withdrawn, 
and the distinguished rector of the seminary substituted for 
him. Then begins the play between the two men. M. Dupin 
had recently uttered, in defending the * Constitutionnel/ the 
stinging mot, ' I'lnstitut de Loyola est une 6pee dont la 
poign^ est k Home, et dont la pointe est partout.' In the 
midst of their conversation he is playfully reminded of his 
mot by the courteous Father, who, when the utterer would 
apologise for it as the trip of an extemporaneous speaker, 
defends and justifies it as being no more than a declaration 
of the universal watchfulness of the Company over the cause 
of truth. Their converse is followed by a dinner, in which 
the best seasoned viands and the richest wines are bestowed 
upon the honoured guest ; pleasant and seemingly impromptu 
honours are paid to his eloquence and fame ; until at length, 
at the close of a religious service in their chapel, he is won 
to carry a wax taper in their procession, and to utter a com- 
plimentary oration* 

After the oration in praise of his eloquence he is fairly 
conquered : . 

' Ce fut 1^ le bouquet. Or leg flatteries du recteur, lea vins fins, les 
chants religieux de la cbapelle, le sermon, peut-6tre les cordons du dais, 
et I'improvisation du rh^toricien, produisirent un tel effet que M. Dupin, 
transport^, ^mu, prit cong4 des P^res par un petit discours, oh lui ausai 
prodigua Tenoens, mais sans h moindre melange ^pigrammatique.' 

And so the purposes of the wily rector were accomplished. 



Perhaps the great advocate had been in some degree taken 
captive by the Order ; perhaps that stinging to!)gue would 
be found sweetened when the next great call elicited one of 
his forensic triumphs ; but however that might be, Samson 
was exhibited to France as just released from the arms of 
the Philistine idolatress : * Le lendemain vingt lettres appre- 
naient a Paris, que M. Dupin avait dtn6 chez les Jesuites a 
Saint-Acheul, et porte les cordons du dais ; les lettres mo- 
queuses jetirent un ridicule sur Tavocat/ 

This is a fair specimen of one of the humorous descrip- 
tions of the Abb6 M. But it is not on these lighter trait:^ 
that the volumes depend for their interest. They are, in- 
deed, full of manifold and curious instruction. They exhibit, 
we believe, with studied fairness, the strange working of 
religious opinion and principle, under the perplexing action 
of the present wide-spread unbelief on the one side, and 
of a bigoted maintenance of the most extreme tenets of the 
Papacy on the other. 

Their testimony upon one point which has recently been 
discussed somewhat largely amongst ourselves is not a little 
curious. When the unhappy Our£ Loubaire is driven for 
his support to undertake some lay pursuit at Paris, he is 
represented as taking no peculiar or unusual step, but that 
for which the French clerical mind was thoroughly pre- 
pared, and with the sight of which the Parisian world was 
perfectly familiar. He hibours as a journeyman printer, and 
finds around him a multitude to whom similar causes had 
prescribed like employments. A. recent statement in the 
Convocation of the Province of Canterbury that such things 
prevailed in Paris, woke up an angry rejoinder from a cer- 
tain French Ahh6, and appeared to mttny of our journalists 
to be probably exaggerated. The Abb4 M****s volumes 
would prepare us to believe in its entire accuracy, and to 
think that it probably rather understated than exaggerated 


the truth ; for we s^e hero the absolute dependence of the 
priests upon the mere will of their bishops: we become 
acquainted with the many just grounds, and the far more 
numerous personal and party motives, which must multiply 
such interdicts. We see, too, that the interdicted priest has 
commonly no other resource by which to gain a livelihood 
than Paris and its nienial occupations. Drawn as the French 
priesthood is almost universally at the present time from the 
lowest grade of social life, there is in it nothing so terrible 
as there would be in such a descent amongst ourselves. The 
French priest is almost always the child of some labouring 
man. If not raised by the school and the seminary to the 
priesthood, he would, like his father, have supported himself 
by the labour of his hands. When he falls from the priest- 
hood there is no intermediate point at which he can stop. 
He is again, and naturally, an cyuvrier ; and as naturally it is 
in the great city that he seeks his bread. There he is un- 
known, and escapes the shame of being seen to fall ; there 
he escapes the enforced celibacy which, wherever he is known, 
the law of France binds upon him as the remaining burden 
of his priesthood ; there he is sure to find a company of like 
spiritual lepers, to receive him gladly into their disowned 
.sodality of priestly Bohemians. We should therefore be 
prepared to expect what w^e think this recent controversy 
has proved even to demonstration. The matter socially and 
religiously is of so much moment that we will place on our 
pages a concise statement of the question, abridged from a 
long r&ume written by one thoroughly acquainted with the 

The discussion originated in a statement made by the 
Bishop of Oxford, on the authority of a friend, at a meeting 
of Convocation, with reference to the number of interdicted 
priests living in Paris, and pursuing all sorts of manual and 
menial occupations. The Bishop's statement was however 


misreported in the ^ Times/ He was made to say that there 
were 800 interdicted priests iu Paris employed in driving 
cabsy whereas wliat he really did say was that there were 
800 priests so interdicted in Faris^ and pursuing secular and 
menial occupations, some of whom were engaged in cab-driv- 
ing. The mistake afforded Abb6 Bogerson, who calls him- 
self * Chaplain to the English Catholics at Paris/ an oppor- 
tunity to step forward and engage in a little controversy with 
the Bishop of Oxford, who contented himself by informing 
Mr. Bogerson that the statement actually made in Convoca- 
tion, or something very much like it, had already appeared 
in print, and by referring him to an article published in the 
'Christian Bemembrancer,' a year and a half previously. In 
this article it was alleged, on high Boman Catholic and 
Parisian authority, that there were no less than * 600 priests 
serving as coachmen, or connected with the public convey- 
ances, or playing street organs, or serving as porters, or 
begging.' The Bishop however added that the estimate 
supplied to him, apparently by the reviewer in the * Chris- 
tian Bemembrancer,* made these amount to some 750. The 
Abbe was not however yet satisfied, and he went on writing. 
In the mean time an able Parisian Boman Catholic perio- 
dical, the ' Observateur Catholique,' edited by a committee of 
learned clergymen and laymen of the Gallican school, pub- 
lished a short article on the controversy, charging Mr. Ro^^or- 
son with slandering the Bishop of Oxford, and terminating 
thus : — 

'II est bien certain que )cs pr^tres interdits se refugient en grand nombrc :\ 
Paris de tons les dioceses de France. Le nombre fix^ par I'^vCque d'Oxford est 
plutot affatbli qu^xagerS. Tons ces prctres sont coclicrs de fiacre, cochcrs 
ou conducteurs d*omnibus, cabaretiors, vitriers ambulnnts, i^c. SI TAbbe' 
Kogerson coanaissait un pea mieux Tdtat oti se trouvent les malhciireux 
prdtres interditset leur nombre, il ne lui aurait pas pris fantaisie de contrc- 
dire M. TfivSque d'Oxford.* 

Forth again came Mr. Bogerson, as well as * the knightly 


papal champion of all BDgland/ Sir George Bowyer, both of 
whom addressed letters to the ' Times,' Sir George described 
the * Observateur Catholique ' as a ' newspaper/ and its edi- 
tor, the learned Abb^ Gaett^e, as himself an interdicted 
priest, and as one who had < joined the schismatical Greek 
Church/ and whose testimony was therefore unworthy of 
credit. He also stated that he had been * informed by a 
dignitary of the French church that the whole number of 
interdicted priests in France is under 100/ 

But Sir George Bowyer and the Abb^ Bogerson called forth 
a formidable opponent in the person of the Abb^ Guettto 
himself. In a memorable article in the * Observateur Catho- 
lique, which is reprinted in full in the 'Christian Bemem- 
brancer/ be answers his assailants for himself, and inflicts a 
well-deseryed castigation upon these 'neophytes anglais de 
fratche date/ He denies haying ever been interdicted, and 
says with reference to his own theological principles : — 

* Si le Sieur Bowyer avait lu dos ouvrages, il saurait que nous avons 6X6 
oonstamment et que nous sommes encore Catholique, et que nous ne faisons 
la guerre h la papaut^ qu'en nous pla^ant sur le terrain catholique, c*e8t-k- 
dire, en eoseignant la doctrine formula dans les actes des conscils oecum^- 
niques et dans les ^rits dcs Saints P^res. 11 paratt qu*en bon papiste, le 
Sieur Bowyer met la parole du Pape au-dessus de la toiz traditionnelle de 
ritglise. Ceci le regarde, naais du moins qu*il ne traite pas de fcAtsma- 
tiqves ceux qui sont avec la tradition catholique, et qu*il garde cette qualifi- 
cation pour le Pape et ses fiddles qui bouleversent toute la doctrine de 
r£glise, qui fabriquent de nouveaux dogmes, et qui sont assez impies pour 
attribuer k Disu les fantaisies de lour pauvre intelligence.' 

The committee of the 'Observateur Catholique/ so far 
from considering the number given by the Anglican Prelate 
exaggerated, affirm that it is under the mark. Cavour, in a 
speech in the Italian Parliament, estimated the number of 
the Paris ^ unfortunates ' at 800 ; and so do other authorities 
given by the * Christian Bemembrancer/ The learned Abb^ 
Guett^e, who has resided many years in Paris, and who must 
be well informed, estimates them at some 1400 : ' Nous savoos 


de iouree eertaine que le nombre des pretres inteitiits, exer- 
9ant d'infimes professions a Paris, s'^I^ye 2t environ 1400. 
Les Bowyer et les Rogerson pourront nier, tant qu'ils vou- 
dront, et tout ce qu^Is voudront ; notre affirmation n'en sera 
pas moins d'une parfaite exactitude.' The celebrated Abb6 
Migne, who is at the head of an immense printing establish- 
ment in Paris, and who publishes for a large number of French 
Bishops, calculates that there are at least 800 of the fallen 
priests in Paris, and he affirms that many hundreds have ap- 
plied to him at diflferent times for work. The Abbe Rogei'son 
asserted that he had been informed by ' the chief of the bureau 
which charges itself with what concerns street conveyances,' 
that ' for the last eight years he had not known more than 
three cabmen that were in priest's orders.* We now have it 
from an official source that not fewer than eighty-one have 
acknowledged that they belonged to the priesthood ; but how 
many more are there who have not acknowledged ? 

It would, indeed, be easy to quote a whole list of distin- 
guished names which would establish the unsparing tyranny 
with which priests of even the highest character and standing 
are at once placed under interdict if they resist the dominant 
superstition which is defacing their Church. All the priests 
who exposed the miserable imposture of Salette were marked 
out for persecution. The Abb6 Guettee has shared it with 
the most ignorant member of the priesthood; the Abbe 
Prompsault and a host of others are witnesses to the same 
eviL * We ourselves,' writes a well-known clergyman in a 
recent article, ' are personally acquainted with an excellent 
clergyman, formerly a vicaire of one of the most important 
churches of Paris, who \ias Buspected by the last Archbisliop 
of reading the '* Observateur Catholique," and who was inter- 
dicted in consequence, and is now living on the alms of his 
friends in a wretched garret.' * 

• 'Christian Remembrancer,' No, cxxii. p, 33G. 


It is only as one of the signs of the whole state of religion 
in France that this particular question is of much moment. 
But it is important as being one amongst a multitude of 
symptoms that the deadly influence of ultramontane poison 
is everywhere threatening the very life of the faith. The 
same insane jealousy of all freedom has prevented any 
attempt to give a really liberal education to the French 
clergy. The spirit which has shown itself amongst ourselves 
when it was proposed to give our Eoman Catholics access 
to a college of their own in our University of Oxford — the 
spirit which has succeeded hitherto in thwarting every such 
attempt, even when advocated by Dr. Newman, which sup- 
pressed, by Papal command, the one periodical organ of 
Boman Catholicism in England which possessed any claim to 
intellectual merit — * The Home and Foreign Be view * — and 
which we fear will only be strengthened by the appointment 
of Dr. Wiseman's successor, has triumphed absolutely in 
France. What has been the consequence may be read in 
the calm words of DoUinger, certainly no willing witness 
against, if not a biassed witness in favour of Bomanism. 
In his speech on * The Past and Present of Catholic Theo- 
. logy,' he says : — 

' Better things, much better things may fortunately be said of France 
[than of Italy]. There we find above all what is entirely wanting in Italy, 
a courageous, vigorous, and well chosen band of learned laymen who defend 
the cause of the faith and the Church in litemture with emphasis, dignity, 
spirit, and ability. And as for the clergy, 1 need only pronounce the 
names of Gerbet, Maret, Lacordaire, Gratry, Bantain, Dupanloup, Ravi- 
gnan, F^lix, and it will be admitted that there are men in the ranks of the 
French clergy who understand the wants of their age and nation, who know 
how to animate intellectually and to pcnetmte into the spirit of the doc- 
trine which has been delivered to them by their school, and by that means 
to act mightily and successfully on the religious and moral feelings of 
their fellow countrymen. But if wc ask, is there no Dalberg there? where 
are there in France the true theologians, the equals and followers of Petau 
and 13ossuet and Amauld? where the men of fundamental and comprchen- 


Rive learning ? There is no answer. France ha» no theologiann becauso 
she has no high school of thelogy, not one school even which teaches the 
theological sciences. She has only eighty or eighty-five seminaries, whicli 
may be very good, even excellent, as pastoral educational establishments, 
but which, to Gennan ideas, at leasts can scarcely count as scientific insti- 
tutes, and which furnish such scanty primary instruction that for the 
greater majority of their pupils it is quite impossible at a later time to 
rear the solid edifice of thorough and comprehensive theological learning 
on such a frail and faulty foundation. I do not know what reasons hnve 
deterred the French Church during the last fifty years from making any 
attempt at founding a common and central school for theology and the 
kindred branches of science. One main difficulty, which no means have 
been found for o.bviating, may be the state of the institutions for the educa- 
tion of the lower and middle classes, as indeed it was lately found when the 
Catholic University of Dublin was established that in the absence of good 
intermediate schools a University is like a ship without water. But things 
will not remain thus much longer. There is increasing anxiety tlmt the 
French clergy will be driven more and more out of the bosom of society juui 
national life, will be forced more and more into an isolated and caste-like 
position, and will forfeit more and more its influence on the ntalc jtarts uf 
the population which has already been so muoh weakened. Looking at 
such a state of things, we Germans have every reason to be thankful that 
Uniyersities still exist among us, and that theology is represented at them.' 

This is the terrible alternative, we believe, before tliat 
nation. The great Church of France is being so weakened 
by the spread of this subtle poison of ultramontane principles 
that she can no longer witness for the truth of Kevelatiou 
with her ancient power, before her sharp-witted and busy 
people. It needs long and careful thought to estimate th<^ 
wonderful change which has passed over her before those 
spiritual heavens in which the Eagle of Meaux soared witli 
so majestic a flight could be overshadowed by such dark 
clouds as those which hang so thick around us everywhc^n^ 
now. We have ourselves, when arguing with a distinguished 
French ecclesiastic, been met, when we quoted Bossuet, by a 
shrug of the shoulders, and an assurance that the great cham- 
pion of their fiEtith himself was ' Vraiment presque h^r^tique.' 
At such a time it is well to be reminded what those Gallican 
Liberties were for which lie strove. 



He had just been promoted after the termination of tho 
Dauphin's education to the see of Meaux when lie preached 
the opening sermon at the assembly of the clergy of Fiance 
in 1682. The sermon was an omen of whnt followed, for it 
claimed the primacy for St. Peter, with an accompanying 
caution as to the humility with which the exercise of such a 
power should be accompanied. Under Bossuet's influence 
the assembly of the clergy passed the four celebrated propo- 
sitions which are the basis of that claim for limiting the 
assumptions of Home, which is so well known under the 
name of the Gallican Liberties. The first declares that the 
Papal power extends only to things spiritual which concern 
eternal salyation. The second, that it in no wav dero^rates 
from the authority of the decisions of the Council of Con- 
stance, in its fourth and fifth Decrees on tlie authority of 
General Councils. The third, that it should be limited by 
the Canon, and by the rules and usages adopted by different 
National Churches, and so amongst othei's by the Church of 
France. The fourth, that though the Pope is expected to 
decide questions of the faith for all Churches, yet that his 
decisions can be revoked so long as they have not been 
sanctioned by the consent of the Church, 

Innocent XI. utterly repudiated these propositions, and 
demanded of Louis XIV. their formal disavowal. His 
response, characteristic of the man, was to order by an edict 
that they should be registered by all the Parliaments and 
Universities and theological faculties, and that none should 
be made licentiate or doctor till he had maintained a thesis 
in support of them.* 

Throughout the Pontificate of Innocent XI. there was no 
adjustment of the conflict. The short Pontificate of Alex- 
ander succeeded. On the 4tli of August, 1690, he passed a 
Constitution, annulling all that had been done in the 

♦ SUmondi, * Histoire de la Franco,' xviii. 25-28. (1842.) 


assembly of 1682. lint he did not venture to publish the 
bull till the 30th of January, 1691, the eve of his death. The 
.informal bull was simply overlooked by Louis. Caidinal 
Pignatelli, who succeeded as Innocent XII., was supposed to 
be far more favourable to France. But the conflict between 
the ££gale and the Poutificale still continued. The new 
Pope, like his predecessors, refused bulls for the consecration 
of thirty-seven Bishops unless the king yielded. The neces- 
sities of Louis forced him to a certain amount of concession 
in the year 1693. Bossuet, the greiat author of the })roposi- 
tions, repaired to Rome, and, after three successive attempts, 
a form of so-called retractation was adopted, with whicli the 
Pope was satisfied. Each one of the Bishops-designate wrot«^ 
severally to the Poi)c the stipulated letter, in which h«» 
declared that he regarded all that was determined or onhncd 
in the proscribed assembly with regard to the ecclesiastical 
power or action of the Pontiff as if it had not been onlered, 
and they bound themselves to . deliberate no more on what 
had been by him held to be contrary to the interest of the 
Church.* The King suspended his order. With this llome 
professed itself satisfied ; though the claims to liberty which 
the French Church had always maintained, and which the 
four celebrated propositions only embody with greater dis- 
tinctness, were never really disavowed, and were energeti- 
cally repeated in the letter of Louis to the Cardinal d(i la 

Treraoil, in 1713.t 

How different is this aspect of the great French Church 
from that which it exhibits now. Then the Episcopate, 
headed by Bossuet as its chosen chief, was doing nobh» 
battle for the freedom of their own communion. The same 
body is now seen bowing abjectly before the whisper of the 
Vatican, trembling before the secret threats of the General 

* SismoDili, * Histoirc de la Kruncc/ xviii. 183. 

f See * Histoire de Bossuet,' jmr 1«; Cardinal «K' Bousset, 298-,S(rj. 

«; 2 


of the Jesuits, or flocking obediently to Home to take their 
humble part in registering the infallible decrees of the 
occupant of the Chair of St Peter in favour of the Immacu- 
late Conception in 1854; submitting to have, by simple 
Papal power, a disputed opinion — ^against which none had 
stood more firmly than their own fathers — ^turned into an 
article of the faith; or declaring, in 1862, the absolute 
necessity of the temporal sovereignty of the Supreme 

All this, moreover, is in exact accordance with every 
other change in this once famous Church ; with the surrender 
of its ancient liturgy and the adoption of the Koman in its 
place ; and lastly — though not least — with tlie new extrava- 
gance of its-Mariolatry. It is most painful to see the growth 
of this terrible development. It possesses not only the 
frivolous and weak, but seems to subdue to itself all the 
most robust spirits of the existing French Church. How 
fearful is it to read that almost the last words of such a man 
as the Abb6 Desgenettes were, 'La devotion an saint et 
immacule Coeur de Marie est le principe et le centre de toute 
devotion!'* But so it is: this is the natural development of 
the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, and it is stamp- 
ing its revolting features on the literature, the devotion, and 
the art of Roman Catholic France. Dr. Wordsworth, in his 
' Tour in Italy * f notes one instance of this which is too 
remarkable not to be repeated. The favourite Boman 
defence for the whole system of Alariolatry is, that it is 
nothing more than a high honour paid to the great doctrine 
of the Incarnation ; that the Blessed Virgin is, as it were, the 
nimbus surrounding the humanity of the Eternal Son ; that 
she is never contemplated in the acts which we condemn as 
separate from Him, but always as the shrine wherein HE 

* * Vie de I'AbW Desgenettes,' par M. Desfosse's. 
t Vol. ii. pp. 286, 287. 


dwelt when He deigned for our sakes to become man ; tliat 
in this sense * the Glories of Mary * and such offices, with 
which we reproach the present Church, would, if our minds 
were duly filled as theirs are with the great mystery of the 
Incarnation, be more fitly termed the Glories of her Incarnate 
Son. All men whose minds are properly endued with Christian 
charity will delight to believe that so indeed it has been 
with many devout souls who seem to those without to have 
drawn i^erilously near to creature-worship. Such an idea 
seems to be stamped upon many of the great creations of the 
ancient painters' genius. In these the Virgin — beautiful 
and royal as she is in her simplicity — is felt to be tlie adjunct 
of the Divine Babe. Wonderfully is this expressed in 
Raphael's noble picture in the Dresden Gallery. Even in 
that blaze of glory, the countenance of the Infant speaks of 
commanding majesty, that of the Virgin of faitli and suppli- 
cation. But it is not only in such vast creations of matchless 
genius that tliis subordination of the Mother to the Child is 
expressed: it is the traditional rule of all the earlier 
Christian painters. Let any one cast his eye over the walls 
of our own National Gallery, and he will mark everywhere 
the same feature, running through every school, and more or 
less distinctly impressed on every picture. He will find it 
preeminent in Pietro Perugino, Francia, and Domenico 
Ghirlandajo ; but he may trace it as essentially present in 
the Madonnas of Filippo and Filippino Lippi, of Pinturicchio, 
of Marco Basante, of Battista Cima, of Mantegna of Paduu, 
and of Garofalo. It was, in short, then the rule which 
religion had imprinted upon art. *But now,' Dr. Words- 
worth tells us, his friend, * a distinguished French layman, a 
member of the Instihd,' said to him, * now, you see, they 
have taken away the Divine Child from His mothers arms, 
and they exhibit the Blessed Virgin standing as a goddess on 
the altars of our churches, with her hands outstretched 


towards the people, as if she alone were the Arbitress or the 
Dispenser of all graces and favour to man," — " comme dis- 
I^ensatrice de toutes les graces," were his words. ' I observed 
this attitude/ says Dr. Wordsworth, * also in the Maison Were 
of the " Sisters of Charity," in the Rue du Bac, No. 140. 
This change has been introduced since my former visit in 

What will be the end of this new course on which the 
Gallicon Church has entered it is most difficult to forecast. 
Its immediate effect, beyond all question, has been to alienate 
from her, to a fearful degree, the whole educated and mascu- 
line mind of the nation. Who can calculate what might not 
have been the return to faith and worship in that people, on 
whose whole character of old the lines of religious belief and 
devout action were so deeply marked, if, in the first great 
reaction from the horrors of their infidel Kevolution, the 
Church of their fathers had stood before them in the sim- 
plicity and love of the Gospel ; if she, with God's words and 
the ancient creeds on her lips, had shown them how to 
reconcile reason and Revelation, true liberty and ardent 
Faith ? That opportunity has been let slip ; and let slip in 
spite of all the efforts of some of her noblest sons. Eve:n of 
her Bishops, some foresaw the evils which this blind exalta- 
tion of the Papacy was bringing on her ; none, perhaps, with 
greater clearness than Monseigneur Claude-Hippoly te Clausel 
de Mentals, the able and venerable Bishop of Chartres, and 
cousin of the eloquent and noble-hearted Frayssinous, Bishop 
of Hermopolis. It is touching to find the old man in almost 
his latest publication mourning over the depressed and 
divided condition of the Church which he had done so much 
to restore from its ruins ; whilst it is not a little instructive 
to find him attribute all these evils to the spread of the 
ultramontane cabal, *cabale,* us he calls it, *nombreuse, 

♦ Dr. Wordsworth's 'Tour in Italy,' vol. ii. p. 287. 


pleine d'^prete et de violence, qui s'est ^tablie a Rome et qui 
a un grand norabre d'associ& r&idant en France et en 
Italie/* Such words may seem strong, but in his long life 
he bad seen enough to justify their use. Who can say how 
far even the overthrow of the throne of Louis Philippe was 
not, in a great measure, to be traced to the intrigues of tliat 
ultra section ? We cannot forget the strange sight exhibited 
by HO many of the high French ecclesiastics at that troubled 
time. Amongst the turbulent utterances of these friends of 
revolution, no voice was clearer in its note than that of tlio 
then Archbishop of Lyons (De Bonald), himself intimately 
connected with the Jesuits, who promised to the clergy, as 
tlie result of the Revolution, the liberty for which they had 
so often thirsted when they contemplated its enjoyment by 
their North American brethren. Surely burning words may 
be excused from one who liad seen the acting of the * cabalc ' 
under so many phrases. And how sadly are all liis auguricfc' 
of evil being even now fulfilled! The men of France — ami 
especially the thinking men, who ultimately set the general 
tone of opinion — ^are, as a rule, severed from, if not hostile to 
the Church. If any one doubts this, let him go, as we have 
gone, in the early Sunday morning to the Churches of the 
Madeleine or St. Roch in Paris, and stay there till the 
midday mass, and note the propoilion between the men and 
the women who have attended the various services. With all 
our own dangers — and we have shown repeatedly that we are 
not disposed to undervalue them — the difference in this 
respect between the congregations in the great Parisian 
churches we have named and those which assemble evi^iv 
Sunday morning in St. James's and St. George's, London, is 
most marked. Everywhere are tokens of the same fact. 
The whole tone of French literature exhibits a like divorce 

♦ *Cou|) d'ceil sur la Constitution <k' la Religion Catholique, ot siir I'ttat pro'scnt 
Av tctte Kdigiou dans notro Kiaiui'.' \i. .'>. 


between literature and religion. As a rule, all that is fresh, 
vigorous, and jwwerful is unchristian ; that which professes to 
be religious is trashy, meretricious, and effeminate. Here 
again the difference between the two countries is remarkable. 
There is, as we sadly know, sweeping over us too a wave of 
unbelief; the vial poured upon the air has tainted our own 
atmosphere ; we have philosophers ^ho sneer and even 
divines who cavil at eternal truths. But, with all this, there 
never was a time in our literary history when the best and 
strongest writers were more honestly pervaded by an out- 
spoken faith in the Christian revelation. Only let any one 
compare the answers which have been drawn forth in the two 
countries by the recent assaults upon the Faith, and he will 
be able to estimate the marvellous difference which exists 
between them. 

What then is to be the future of the Church so circum- 
stanced? More and more alienated from all the commanding 
thought of the nation; more and more leaning, first upon 
the immediate physical support of the Imperial Government 
(which, however, is now markedly averse to her ultramontane 
tendencies), and secondly upon Rome, which is carrying on 
daily her favourite work of denationalising the vassal com- 
munion ; becoming more and more a mere parasite of the 
Papacy — that Papacy itself to all appearance in the spasms 
which, whilst they lend it for the moment a preternatural 
and shocking strength, show like the surest tokens and the 
most immediate forerunner of a coming dissolution — what, 
we ask, is to be its end ? Will it once again be swept away 
by some terrible storm of unbelief? Are all these evil 
symptoms signs of the approach of that day of which it is 
written, ' When the Son of Man cometh shall He find faith 
on the earth ?' Or is there yet before it the jwssibility of a 
mighty reaction ? May it be, as wo have hinted above, that 
Imperialism will yet restore the nationality of this once 


noble Church? If Dr. Wordsworth be right, Imperiah'sm 
owes to it this retribution. He traces much of the ultra- 
Roman tendency of the present Gallican Communion to — 

' the inquisitorial interference of the State in religions matters, such as the 
erection of churches, which are dealt with in the same way as hotels dc 

ville, bridges, prisons, and railway-stations This patronage of the 

Government, which dates from the days of the Organic Articles and Laws 
of 1802, has estranged the affections of the Church from the Goverament, 
and has placed the Church in an extra-national and anti-national attitude. 
It has made it auti-Gallican and ultramontane. It has produced a result 
which was never anticii)ated by Napoleon I., who framed the Orgjinic 
Articles, nor by Louis Philipi^e, whose policy in Church matters was in 
accordance with their spirit. It has given a predominant influence to the 
Papacy over the French Church, It has done more for the extension and 
triumph of Ultramontanism than could have been effected by Ilildcbrand 
himself.' • 

There are not lacking signs which seem to show that amongst 
the deep purposes revolving in the mind of the present 
Emperor have been some which would indeed redress this 
wrong by reanimating the national character of the Uallican 
Communion. But we anxiously ask, Can even he effect this 
mighty change ? Can he roll back the wrongs of years ? 
Can he arouse the French clergy to see that such a coui-s® 
would indeed secure, not as they now speak, their * servitudes/ 
but their truest liberties ? Can it be that future Bossuets 
shall arise within her, not as now to be frowned coldly down 
or persecuted even to the death, but to form, and guide, and 
enlighten the mind of her own people ; to reform her develop- 
ments and abuses ; to give back, as he would fain have done, 
the communion in both kinds to the worshipper, and a 
reasonable Faith to the inquirer; and to stretch out the 
hand of welcome to every effort for the re-union of Christen- 
dom ? Is there such a day in store for her ? God grant that 
it may be so, and that we may share the benefit : that with 
the two Iteforuied Churches, linked in loving alliance, France 

* I>r. W..r,lworlh's *Tour,' vol. ii. p. 2'J4. 


and England, the great twin arbiters of the world's destinies, 
may contend together against the Common Enemy, and 
maintain the Common Tmth. 

One conclusion, where so much is doubtful, seems, how- 
ever, inevitable, and it is this : that those amongst ourselves 
who are lured away from their Fathers* Church by the 
boasted profession that they will thus leave discord for unity, 
are the victims of the very shallowest of impositions. The 
differences which exist within the English Church, and 
which aU wise and good men will ever seek to reduce in 
their proportions and to clear of their bitterness, are the expres- 
sion of differences in the mind of man, and must be found 
wherever all liberty of thought is not absolutely stamped 
out by the foot of arrogant assumption. The deep policy of 
Rome may throw around these differences such a veil of 
authority, and such a halo of devotion, that they seem to 
have disappeared; but they are just as certainly present 
beneath the veil, and the stumbling steps of him who enters 
ignorantly into the folds of that mist will soon strike heavily 
against them. He who quits the liberty of the English com- 
munion in order to find in that of Rome a perfect and un- 
questioning rest for his weary spirit will, unless he is essentially 
servile in his nature, meet undoubtedly with the heaviest 
disappointment. He will find that the concealed acting of 
old perplexities is more entangling than ever was their 
avowed presence, and that he has but increased the diffi. 
culties of believing when he has substituted for the Scriptures 
and tho Creeds of the Univei*sal Church the^ voice of an 
ultramontane director, requiring him to view with equal faith 
the impostures of La Salette and the Miracles of Christ ; or 
the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin and the Intima- 
tion of the Lord. He will have sheltered himself from the 


wind, but he will have fallen into tho jaws of tho whirlwind; 
or rather, to express it in the Prophet's words, it will be to 


him ' as if a man did flee from a lion, and a bear met hini^ or 
went into the house and leaned his band on the wall, and a 
serpent bit him ;' the end, we fear, of many a wearied spirit, 
which for very hopeless weariness stays in the disappointin^i; 
shelter it chose so blindly from its own perplexities. 



(Jtt/y, 1867.) 

Whatever other results may follow from the importaut 
change now passing over our great National Representative 
Assembly, one, if we may judge from the experience of the 
past, is sure to follow — that many, if not all, of our noblest 
institutions will be tested anew by searching popular inquiry. 
The waves drive inward from the ocean storm, and as their 
swell reaches the shallows, it is lifted into more threatening 
crests, and runs in amcmg tiie creeks and gullies of the 
coast with whitening breakers and thundering voices. 
Whether the old cliffs will stand unmoved, and rampart- 
like beat back the billows, must depend upon the state in 
which the attack finds them. If their foundations are solid 
and their front compact, the heaviest surf will play idly 
round them, and thev will hold their own amidst * the Hell 
of waters.' But if there be rifts and cracks along their line, 
and over-toppling crags weighing unequally their brow, 
there may be many falls and much loss of precious ground. 

At such a breathing time then as the present, it is well 
to look to our state of preparation, and guard by groins and 
jetties the line of coast which is sure ere long to be tested by 
the wild break of the untamable waters. 

Now amongst the institutions which must be thus tried, 

* 1. *The Position and ProspccU of Stiiiendiary Curates: a l*a|)er i)ubU&hc<l by 
order of the Provisional Council of the Curates' Augmentation Fund, setting forth 
a Plan for the Improvement of the Position ami Pro.s|K>cts of Stipendiary Curates, 
with certain Objections to the Fund considered.' Third Edition. London, Oxford, 
and Cambridge, 1867. 

2. * Rei)ort of the Society for Promoting the Employment of Additional Curates 
in populous Places.' 1866. 

3. * Report of the Church Pa^toraI Aid Stuiety/ 18(30. 

4. < Sons of the Clergy Rci»orl.' 1807. 

5. ' KcjH)rt of the Bi>hop (.f Loudon's Kuud.' 1800-07. 


our EstabHshed Church stands perhaps in the fore-front. 
Our readers know that we look with anxiety on some of the 
conditions of its internal state, and are not altogether 
satisfied that the best of all defences against any external 
violencei a thorough well compacted inward coherence, is as 
fully maintained amongst us as it might be. But to that 
subject we have no intention of returning at present. It is 
to other aspects of our great Established Church that we 
wish in a few words to call the serious attention of onr 

It is then against our Church as an establishment that we 
expect this first storm to break. So it was after the passing 
of the first Reform Bill. Hardly ha<l the passionate cries 
amidst which that bloodless revolution was acconiplish(;d 
died upon the ear, when new voices awoke on cvury side 
clamouring, some for the reform, some for the remodelling, 
some for the abolition, of our National Church Establi8h- 

It argues surely not a little for the strength of the old 
walls, and on the whole for the instinctive prudence with 
which their defence was conducted, that in those turbulent 
times they were not dismantled but restored, and that the 
too eager utterers of the opprobrious invective * Down with 
the old hag,' awoke in the public mind not the Divine 
Rage they hoped to excite against their victim, but a deep 
disgUHt against themselves and a settled opposition to their 

Something of the same sort is pretty sure to follow our 
new political reformation. An electric condition of the air 
quickens into a very troublesome activity all the lower forms 
of animal life ; and speculators, and nostrum-mongers, and 
men of one idea, are always excited by a thundery state of 
the political and social atmosphere. Societies for the 
Revision of the Prayer l^ook, and Anti-State Church 


Soci,etie8, and Liberation Societies, and the like, feel that 
their time is come, and begin buzzing about amidst the 
larger and more highly animated organisations which they so 
pertinaciously infest, and stinging or irritating all whom 
they can reach. Any one who has noted the degree to 
which the scarcely visible insects which haunt the gem-like 
islands of the Lake of Killarney can at such time madden 
the old boat-men, whose tawny skins look utterly midge 
proof, can in some degree understand the annoyance whicli 
these congeneric swarms are ready to inflict in such 
paroxysms of their vitality on the defender? of our p;reat 

The first attack will probably, for many reasons, be made 
upon the Irish Establishment, and if that was our subject wo 
could be somewhat largely if not always very pleasantly 
didactic as to what it should do to prepare itself for the evil 
day. It is not improbable that the assailants of the English 
Establishment may postpone their more open assaults on it^ 
existence till they have played out their Irish game. This 
is at the present moment the plan of their campaign. There 
is, we have every reason to believe, very little genuine Irish 
hostility to the Irish Church Establishment There is 
indeed a band of Irish patriots who hate it in common with 
the Imperial Parliament and the Imperial Grown, as a badge 
of the long-continued servitude of Erin. But though on 
occasion a somewhat noisy, these are not a veiy powerful 
body. They are indeed always ready to break a few heads 
at a fair, but they have no serious thoughts even of capturing 
Chester Castle, still less of demolishing the Tower of London, 
or destroying the Irish Church Establishment. The lec- 
turers and speakers against it arc, for the most part, paid 
agents of the English Liberation Society, who on Irish soil 
are opening their first trenches, and constructing their 
earliest parallels for the breaching of what they think the 


most assailable point of the common fortifications of the two 
conjoined establishments. The 'centres' who direct these 
secret movements are likely to delay their assault upon the 
home-camp till they are reinforced by the strength which 
any successful action against these more distant bands wouhl 
assuredly give them. 

But though the main attack may be delayed, there will 
probably be a good deal of useless preliminary firing. As 
we run our eye over the not very enticing bill of literal y 
fare which the 'Liberation Society ' now hangs out to tempt 
us, we can anticipate tolerably well of what the banquet will 
consist. Thus we are invited to hear * The Rev. Daniel 
Kattern refute the objections to organisation for Anti-State 
Church purposes.' We are bidden * to examine ' with ]\rr. 
WiaXl, * the title-deeds of the Church of England to her 
parochial endowments;' to accept Mr. Hinton's view of tlu» 
question, 'Church property, whose is it? or to receive the 
dictum of Mr, Eagle, ^ Barrister-at-law* (a vulturino ap- 
pellation very strange to us in the reports of our Law Courts), 
that * Tithes are the property of the public and the poor.' 
These are the heavy joints ; but more appetising fare in the 
way of entremets are not excluded from the feast, and so 
we are treated to a set of two dozen tracts on 'Bishops and 
their Salaries/ showing the sums ' squandered on the wearers 
of lawn-sleeves,' * Archdeacons and their Incomes,' — how 
nice and delicate the distinction!— as to whom we are told 
that * no class of dignitaries exhibit the mal-administration 
of the Church in a stronger light ;'— perhaps because they 
work harder and for less pay than almost any other opera- 
tives. VVe have again ' Our Cathedral Bodies, and what 
they Cost,* wherein we learn that their revenues are worse 
than lost; that the Cathedral towns are nests of immorality, 
the worshippers petrifactions, the Cathedral Close 'the 
valley of the shadow of death ;' and we whid up all with the 


* incomes of the working classes :' and * The Curate's com- 
plaint/ We have no doubt that ' tears of compassion tremble 
on the eyelids * of the writer of this jeremiad * ready to fall 
when he has told his pitiful story.' How near also may be 
the 'kicking of the spiritless outcast/ who will not join 
in overturning the Church of which he is a minister it might 
be rash to prognosticate. These straws show which way the 
wind is setting, and where the storm is likely to burst, and 
we think it well that before its arrival every possible provision 
should have been made to prevent mischief. 

Now, all attacks of this character rest for their basis on two 
propositions ; one of which is absolutely false, and the other 
most exactly and painfully true. The first proposition, 
repeated over and over again under every form of false state- 
ment, is ' that the Established Church is immensely rich, by 
far the most richly endowed Church in Christendom, with a 
vast revenue ; it may be stated at ten millions sterling per 
annum,' &e.* 

We shall not waste time and words in confuting these mon- 
strous assertions. They are made in the very teeth of statis- 
tical inquiries most wide in their extent and most searching 
in their minuteness, the result of which shows that the 
Church of England, instead of suffering under this plethora 
of means, could not secure a moderate competence for all 
her working clergy if every reservoir were broken down and 
all her resources poured into a common fund for after sub- 

It may suffice for our purpose to quote the general result 
to be extracted from the Tables compiled in 1835 by the 
Commissioners appointed by His then Majesty to inquire into 
the Ecclesiastical revenues of England and Wales. From 
these it appears that the whole net income of the Established 
Church, including the revenues of the archiepiseopal and 

♦ » Church Property, Whose is it ?' By the Rev. J. H. Hinton. 


episcopal sees, the cathedral and collegiate churches, the 
several dignities and benefices, amounts to 6,495,218/. ; 
which if divided amongst the 25,000 clergy of England and 
Wales, would give to each about 259/. a year. 

But false as is the first of these propositions, the second is 
unhappily too true, and that is that the great body of the 
English cletgy are shamefully underpaid. Without commit- 
ting ourselves to such highly-coloured statements as those put 
forth by the * Poor Clergy Relief Society,' which represent 
^hundreds, literally hundreds,' of the clergy 'with their 
families as struggling in rags and penury, and many actually 
dying of cold and hunger,' and allowing for the great in- 
crease in the income of the poorest benefices which the judi- 
cious management of their resources have enabled, and aro 
year by year enabling, the Ecclesiastical Commission to 
effect, it still remains true that the great bulk of the Eng- 
lish clergy are most meanly remunerated for their labouis. 
By whatever test we try the amount of the remuneration 
they receive, the conclusion is the same. If, for instance, wo. 
estimate the capital laid out in fitting an ordinary English 
clergyman for his work and compare it with what he can 
hope to earn in his profession, the result is most startling. 
We say nothing of the • literates,' — who are still in well-regu- 
lated dioceses received as aindidates for Orders only in rare 
and exceptional cases, and with regard to whom it is almost 
as impossible to calculate the cost of production as it is that 
of the wares of the 'cheap Johns' of other trades ; — but as to 
those who have passed through the regular school and a(\a- 
demic courses, we cannot estimate the outlay of cnpital 
under the most favourable circumstances at loss than a 
thousand pounds sterling. How many parents, and those? 
not rich ones, would gladly compound the actual expense 
incurred for that sum ! And what, so fur as this world's 
<yood8 are concerned, is the* return? There is, first, what 

VOL. IT. >» 


may be called the apprenticeship time of the young curate, 
when he receives any sum for his labours varying from 
nothing to 501. a year. How long this period may be ex- 
tended in any given case it is impossible to say. But when 
it is passed, and the young man has learned his business, 
and too often married a wife and begun to furnish a nursery, 
it is no great increase to which he can look fof ward. His 
salary may be raised perhaps to lOOZ. or 120Z. a year ; it is but 
seldom, since pluralities were happily abolished, that a house is 
provided for him ; or if it is, the estimated rent is deducted 
from his small salary, and on that miserable pittance he may 
continue to exist for an unlimited time, possibly for his whole 
lifoi though his labours may be honestly and ungrudgingly 
given to the work of his high office. Many are those to 
whom preferment never does nor can come. That to which 
the poor hardworking curate may most hopefully look, the 
preferment administered by his bishop, is utterly insufficient 
to supply such claims; for the benefices iu England, to 
which the Bishops appoint, form but a very small number in 
the list of livings. Whether, on the whole, this is an ad- 
vantage or a. disadvantage to the Ciuirch is a question on 
which we will not enter here. Its settlement would involve 
many most conflicting considerations, but this inevitably 
results from it, that, even where the Episcopal patronage is 
most fairly administered (and we know cases in which none 
but curates of the diocese are admitted to share in it), a very 
smalt proportion of the curates can ever obtain preferment 
from its resources. Many, therefore, unless they have claims 
on private or political patrons, must, in spite of the real 
service of years, live and die as curates. 

But this is not all. Even if they do obtain after years of 
work a benefice, they are often little better, and not unfre- 
quently are worse off than they were before. Even the 
better endowed livings commonly do little more than pay 


their expenses, and by far the greater proportion of Eng- 
lish benefices fall far beyond this level. Perhaps the curate 
of twenty years' service succeeds at last to a living of 300Z. or 
even 4U0t a year. But with it come a multitude of new 
expenses which often make the poor man wish himself back 
again in his less dignified position. The direct claims of 
charity multiply upon him. The maintenance of the parish- 
school rests in ordinary cases mainly upon him ; the par- 
sonage is to be kept, too often to be put, in decent repair, 
whilst it may be (for the entail of such poverty is very 
widely spread) there are no assets in the hands of the widow 
of the dead incumbent, to meet that most sickening of all 
charges under such circumstances, the claim for dilapidations. 
Then for the rector there are new social claims and new con- 
tingencies. He has now a certain position to maintain ; Ik* 
cannot wholly abdicate it without greatly diminishing Iiis 
usefulness and probably incurring reproach. He finds him- 
self commonly in that poorest of all positions in a very 
wealthy society, — that of a poor gentleman. He mixes in 
society, bound to conceal the secret grief which is preying 
on him and to wear a look of complacency over a heart 
heavy with anxiety. 

How, under i^uch difficulties, the English clergy live, 
bring up their ,children, give, as they do give, largely to all 
calls of charity, and still retain their position as members 
of the gentler classes of society, is at first sight a matter <>f 
marvel. We believe the true solution to be this, that as u 
body they bring to their profession very far more than thoy 
receive from it. Here, then, undoubtedly, is a miserable 
earthly return for the money laid out in the training of the 
English clergymen. 

But to estimate the whole question fully we must weigh 
the relative as well as the positive returns of their calling as 
a profession. Ilow utterly insignificant these are whon com- 

H 2 


pared, to name no other, with what business, commerce, or 
the bar yield to the manufacturer, the banker, the merchant, 
or the lawyer, any one who has the smallest knowledge 
of the subject can settle for himself. Suppose for a 
moment that the number of failures in the three pursuits 
were equal, what possible approach to equality exists between 
their successes ? The small successes of trade, or of the bar, 
would be absolute wealth to the poor incumbent, and these 
small successes abound and multiply. Every moyement of 
the social machine creates a new set of profitable places for 
the barrister of six years' standing, whilst the salaries of the 
leading clerkships in the house of the successful man of 
business might endow a dozen archdeaconries. Yet these 
are but the rank and file of the worldly professions. All 
professions are more or less filled upon the lottery principle, 
but the inducements which a lottery i)arades to lead men to 
venture with it depend far more on the number of the sub- 
stantial prizes than upon the compensation given to the multi- 
tude of blank ticket-holders. Now the great prizes of tiio 
clerical profession are at the present time so few as to be 
almost beyond hope, except to the very sanguine mother, who 
expects, as a matter of course, that her young ofispring will 
become Archbishop of Canterbury ; whilst the magniKcence 
of the prizes of the other professions rises with the increase 
of wealth, of property, and of commercial activity. Only let 
any man run his eye over the column in the * Illustrated 
London News' which delights to record the bequests of the 
wealthy, and he may see what are in number and amount 
. the prizes now obtainable with any moderate share of ability, 
character, and good fortune, in the fertile fields of English 
business and merchandise. And yet these tens and hundreds 
of thousands of bequeathed pounds sterling, which make so 
many mouths water, themselves represent but a snuill part 
of the whole accumulations of our successful traders. For it 


is distiuctively an EDglish habit that the prosperous mer- 
chant or man of business seeks at once to become a land- 
owner, so that his money capital represents rather the stock- 
in-trade with which he works his business than his whole 

Nor is even this all. The vast increase of wealth and, as 
its sure accompaniment, the growth of more expensive habits, 
tends continually to lower relatively the social position of the 
clergy. For whilst the incomes of others increase, theirs, in 
the great number of instances, must stand still, if not decrease. 
The commutation of tithes, however necessary it may have 
been, tends strongly in this direction. Of old the clergy had, 
through the tithes, their share in all the increased produc- 
tiveness of the land. But not only is this share absolutely 
given up under the commutation system, but the increiise of 
productiveness, as it tends directly to augment the supply 
of the different kinds of grain (on the price of which the 
clergyman's income depends), and so to lower their market 
value, tends also to lower the standard measure of clerical 

The evil of this low standard of clerical remuneration 
extends far beyond the class which is directly affected by it. 
It is a matter of the gravest concern to every Christian 
people that tbe payment of its clergy should be large and 
liberal, and to none, from various causes, is this more important 
than to the English people. Hitherto England has drawn 
her clergy from all classes of society. There have been paths 
open through which the child of the poor man, if he had 
character and talents, might rise to the very highest places 
in the Establishment. But at the same time the ranks have 
been equally filled by the sons not only of her ancient gentry 
but of her highest nobles. The Army, the Navy, and the 
Church, as it was called, were indeed the only professions 
entirely open, until wilhiii tliese few years, to these last. 


Any change in the social position of the clergy, which altered 
largely this state of things, would be most injurious to the 
nation. Even if it were possible to give the very best and 
highest clerical education to the children of the lower orders, 
and then to invest tliem with the ministerial oflSce, the loss 
incurred by drawing the clergy from them alone would be 
incalculable. The injury to the higher classes of society 
would be immediate. It would not be easy to estimate the 
degree in which, in that rank of society, the presence of the 
clerical sou or brother, or even equal, tends to keep evil out 
and to bring in good. The whole tone of white society in 
our West India islands was, we are told, in a short time 
altered by the sending out of bishops who took an equal 
social standing with the highest members of the community 
The real object, of maintaining the equal place of the mitre 
with the coronet is not thereby to exalt the spirituality but 
to leaven the teraporalty. Nor would the loss of any change 
in this condition of the clergy be confined to these classes. 
The poor would suffer perhaps more than the rich. It is 
sometimes asserted that the poorer classes supply the best 
clergy for the poor. Bat all experience proves the contrary. 
There is under a rough exterior a vast deal of high sensitive- 
ness in the English poor ; and, after truth and reality in the 
directly religious and moral character, there is nothing 
which they more appreciate in their pastor than the character 
of an English gentlemen. They feel safe with such an one. 
There is no fear of his prying into their family secrets, or 
revealing the whereabouts of the skeleton which is as often 
hid away in the house of the poor man as of the rich. There 
is a natural sympathy and kindness in a well-bred clergyman 
which the poor instantly appreciate, and which wins to him 
their confidence. As a class, a clergy drawn mainly from the 
gentler classes are naturally removed further from that 
terrible i)icturo drawn by the wise man of one of the chiefest 


evils of the earth — ' A poor man that oppresseth the poor is 
like a sweeping rain which leaveth no food.' *• 

It is one of the main impediments t6 the working of tho 
French clergy at this time that this social change has been 
entailed on them by the Eevolution, and that they are almost 
universally drawn from the lower orders of the .nation. This 
has thrown them out from literature and society, and more 
than anything else has tended to lower the tone and in- 
fluence of the great Church of Bossuet and of Tillemont. 
Yet the French people are far from being as aristocratic 
in their temper as the English ; and the injury, therefore^ 
which would be done to us would be far greater than that 
which this change has inflicted upon them. 

This tendency to deterioration in the social standing of the 
clergy has moreover developed itself at the very time when 
it was most desirable to raise, instead of reducing, their 
position. Never was there a crisis when it was more needful 
in the interests of this people to take every lawful means to 
strengthen and develope the soeicd potoer of its clergy. On 
the one hand the wide*spread intellectual activity of the day, 
and its habit of questioning everything ; with the ready ten- 
dency of activity to become restlessness, and of questioning 
to lapse into scepticism, call for a thoughtful, highly educated, 
intellectual clergy. If the clergy do not continue to be, as 
hitherto to so gi-eat a degree they have been, the guides of 
thought ; if they lag behind their age, degenerate in scholar- 
ship, eschew science, grow meagre in philosophy, and 
unfurnished in historical lore, the defence of Christianity 
against its strengthening enemies will have passed into hands 
fearfully inadequate for the strife. On another side, too, tho 
circumstances of the present time make this need equally 
pressing. The accumulation of a multitude of men into a 
confined and insuflicient compass, tends as much as desert 

♦ Prn verbs xxviii. 3. 


loneliness to produce amongst them a fierce and dangerous 
barbarousness. •This overcrowding produces a more intense 
form of separation between each one and his fellows in aU the 
deeper interchanges of human communion than the mere 
physical difficnlties of distance can do. There is, too, the 
same difficulty of enforcing law amidst the dense crowd as in 
the dangerous desert; there is the same power of conceal- 
ment amongst numbers as there would be in the forest or the 
waste ; there is the same Arab-like freemasonry of oflfenders 
and marauders against the laws and usages of civilised 
society. It is a pregnant sentence in which a most intelli- 
gent American witness before the Boyal Commission now 
inquiring into Trades Unions, states one cause which has 
kept from such associations in the United States some oT the 
evils which have beset them here, * You know that we have 
no such dense population as you have here.'* 

Nothing but a vigorous spirit of Christianity can thoroughly 
leaven such masses as these. How little, even as things are, 
we have succeeded in so leavening these populations, the 
terrible revelations of this Commission may teach us. Such 
a state of feeling as they bring to light with regard to des- 
troying property, maiming limbs, breaking hearts and 
violently taking away life, could not possibly exist where 
there was any dominant belief in a God or a future judg- 

Now, there never was a time when our clergy as a body 
were for their numbers as thoroughly efficient as they are 
now. There is a far higher standard both of personal life 
and of official labour than was ever common heretofore. 
Any marked lack of zeal, piety, laboriousness, and intelli- 
gence, are the exceptions, and not the rule. The prevalence 
of these great social evils and national dangers is the result 
not of the negligence of the clergy, but of their absolute 

♦ Minutes of Evidence^ answer of Mr. Abram S. Hewitt. — Ques. 3743. 


insufficiency in number to deal with them. A handful of 

heroes could not long occupy a plain against a host of 
enemies. Briareus himself could not with his hundred hands 
weed out the noxious growth of a million of acres. The 
clergy are utterly underhanded. They cannot reach the mul- 
titude who are nominally committed to them. How can one 
pastor really deal with the spiritual necessities of ten thousand 
souls ? And yet^ at the rate at which our population multi- 
pliesy this evil must increase a thousandfold, unless some 
efficient measures be adopted to increase the number of our 
clergy, whilst, as we have seen, the whole present tendency 
of existing influences is to lower their social position, and so 
to reduce their actual numbers and degrade the sources from 
which hitherto they have been drawn. That this must in 
the long run be the consequence of underpaying the clergy, a 
very little thought may convince any one. For there are 
few fallacies more transparent than the argument that, as no 
clergyman is really worth having who works for the temporal 
l*ewards of his profession, we may safely lower down those 
rewards^ trusting that we shall thus secure the services of the 
more earnest-minded, and only bolt, through the shaking of 
our sieve of misery, the worldly-minded, the ambitious, and 
the secular. It is, indeed, true that men who become and 
continue clergymen for the sake of these temporal provisions 
are, as to their highest function, little worth having : but it 
IS not the less true that without the temporal provision you 
will get few of the better men. After all, the clergy aro 
men, and must, if they are to live, have the means of living. 
Then in this country we very wisely encourage a married 
clergy ; and this entails the further necessity of having that 
on which the wife and family (for where he is poor there 
always is a family) of the clergyman, as well as the clergy- 
man himself, can live. Then, again, though an overwhelming 
love for the highest duties of his spiritual office may lead 


many a clergyman to labour on in poverty with unrewarded 
zeal and unacknowledged devotion, and though these are the 
very kernels and living centres of the clerical body, yet we 
must not reckon on securing these unless we make a suitable 
provision for our clergy. For fathers and mothers will not 
bring up their children for the ministry, unless they see 
before them a reasonable hope of that ministry duly support- 
ing its members : and how commonly is the ultimate choice 
of a profession biassed by these early and imperceptible 
influences of the parents' will I 

This is then a great national question. So long, indeed, 
ago as in the time of Lord Bacon distant threatenings of the 
future evil presented themselves to the long presages of his 
sagacious mind. He lamented the poverty which even then 
was in some cases pressing on the clergy. 

* As for the benefices and pastors' places,' he says, * it is manifest that 
very many of them are very weak and penurious. They who gave away 
impropriations from the Church seem to me to stand in a sort obnojcious 
and obliged to God in conscience to do somewhat for the Church, to reduce 
the patrimony thereof to a competency. For since they have debarred 
Christ^s wife of a great part of her dowry, it were reason they made her a 
competent jointure.' * 

There is little hope of much redress from the remedy to 
which he points. Well as every patriot must wish it, no 
great results we fear will be obtained from the labours of 
the society which seeks to regain for the ministry the tithes 
which lay impropriators have abstracted. 

The temper of the times is decidedly, and not altogether 
unreasonably, against any general or large increase of endow- 
ments. This is one evil which has waited upon the startling 
interference, whether necessary or not, with the intention of 
founders which the present age has witnessed. Men do not 
feel anything like the confidence of other days that there 
will be any very long-continued respect for their desires if 

* Lord Biicon*s « Works/ vol. ii. 549. £d. 1803. 


they found institutions or endow livings. And beyond this 
there is far too much in the present day of the spirit em- 
bodied in the well-known adage, ' Why should I do anything 
for posterity when posterity has done nothing for me?* 
Such a temper is altogether hostile to the creation of endow- 
ments. They are indeed a growth which, as a general rule, 
seems to belong far more to the youth than to the maturity 
of states. From this source, therefore, comparatively speak- 
ing, but little is to be obtained. 

The temper of charity at present is far more to relieve 
present wants and supply immediately pressing necessities. 
This has given birth to various Societies which seek to do 
what they can to supply the lack of endowments. These are 
principally connected with diocesan exertions. Sometliing 
they have done and are doinpr, aided as they have most 
materially been by the excellent measures of the eccle- 
siastical commissioners, both for the management of the 
estates which haye come into their hands and for drawing 
forth private charity to meet their grants. Two other 
Societies, both inadequately supported, collect funds for 
relieving in a different way the pressure of this great neces- 
sity. The 'Additional Curates' Society' supplies to the 
incumbents of poor parishes, and mainly those which contain 
large populations, funds to enable them to secure the added 
labours of a curate. This Society has the high merit of 
being colourless as to any peculiarity of doctrine within the 
Church of England. For it leaves the incumbents to select 
and the bishops of the dioceses to approve of the curates 
whom it maintains, without endeavouring to enforce upon 
the holders of benefices whom it assists any. peculiar shade 
of religious opinion in their fellow-workers. 

The 'Church Pastoral Aid Society/ on the contrary, 
which arose in what is termed the 'Evangelical' School, 
watches jealously over the party character of every curate 


which it pays, and sabjects them to the inyestigation of a 
Board of * Tryew/ who, if half that is reported of them be 
true, would not be unworthy of the most imlmy days of 
Puritanism under Oromwell and Barebones. 

Another and a still younger Society— the 'Curates* Aug- 
mentation Fund ' — working in a kindred field of labour, has 
undertaken more immediately the Christian task of raising 
the condition of the curates and supplying a sort of endow- 
ment for these unendowed labourers in the vineyard. The 
design is altogether excellent, and none deserve more richly 
such assistance than those on behalf of whom it has entered 
on its wide field of charity. 

There are at this time about five thousand curates in 
active employment in the Church of England. The position 
of such men is not too darkly coloured in * The Position and 
Prospects of Stipendiary Curates,' as stated in the prospectus 
of this new Society : — 

'In the diocese of Exeter,* from exact returns kindly furnished hy 
Archdeacon Freeman, it appears that there are no less than sixty-eight 
clergymen who, after from fifteen to fifty years* service, remain assistant- 
curates, with professional incomes scarcely averaging 1002. a year, being 
less than is earned by a skilled artisan, or by a junior clerk in a bank. 

' It has been argued that a clergyman is both able and willing to live on 
a smaller income than his contemporaries in any other profession, and that, 
as a rule, to '* live of the gospel " implies to him, not affluence, but an 
adequate sufficiency for the requirements of his position. Be that so : 
but the real question now raised is, whether for a large body of ber 
ministers, the Church does provide even this sufficiency ? Let us see how 
far 100/. a year will go. Call it 2/. a week. Out of this the curate has 
to provide a home, the cost of which, under the most favourable circum- 
stances, cannot, considering the position which he has to keep up, fall 
much below 60Z. a year, leaving him 1/. per week for dotbing, main- 
tenance, medical attendance, personal exi)cnses, books, parochial and other 
claims. In populous districts, where rent and taxes are high, and all the 

* It is a significant fact, and one which should appeal strongly to the laity of 
England, that in the same diocese the tithes held by lay impropriators amount to 
upwards of 160,000/. a year.-' See * Exeter Diocesan Calendar.' 


necessaries of life dear, it is very difBci^t for a single man, and imposnible 
for a married man, even with the greatest economy and self-denial, to live 
on this income. 

* Compare the cttrate*s stipend in the manufacturing districts, where the 
services of our ahlest men are most needed, with the lahourer's wages. A 
skilled artisan will earn from 6». Qd. to 8«. 6d,, and an under-agent from 
12s. 6d. to 21«. per day, and yet the curate, with a stipend equal to only 
five shillings and sixpenoe per diem, is expected, and justly so, from his 
saored office, to make a better appearance, and to give more liberally 
towards the support of every charitable work, than either of these. 

' It would cheer many an anxious heart, even in prospect, and eventually 
fill many a poverty-stricken home with thankful gladness, could such a 
provision by any possibility be made a thing that could be fairly reckoned 
on. It would meet, pro tanto, the exact difficulty of an unbene6ced 
clergy, which is to hold, in matters temporal and social, the social status 
which the Church assumes that they do maintain ; the Ordination Service 
assumes that they are, as a rule, householders. The world exiiects them 
to keep for themselves and others the rank and the education of gentle- 

Nor can the often sinking hearts of men of education and 
sensibility, tried often, how severely God only knows, by the 
various di£Biculties of such a position, be upheld by the last 
comfort of the desolate ; for Hope visits them rarely, and 
with the slenderest imaginings of better days. Again we 
quote from the * Position and Frosi)ects ': — 

* The prospect of preferment open to curates may be thus estimated : 
*Out of about 12,870 livings, there are only 7010 of 200?. a year and 
upwards. To supply the vacancies for promotion which occur in these 
7010 livings, the selection must be made among the following, viz., 5860 
incumbents of smaller livings, 6000 curates, and about 4000 clergy, who, 
though not engaged in parochial work, are fur the most part seeking pre- 
ferment It will be seen at ouce that, even if Church patronage were 
jidminiatered solely with regard to meritorious service, the chances of a 
man obtaining a fair income, in early or middle life, would be much less 
tban in any other profession. But when it is remembered that perhaps 
the majority of those who are promoted are young men, and so hold their 
livings for a lifdime, and that they often owe their promotion either to 
their having a ** family living," or to influential friends, or to their possess- 
ing the means of purchasing preferment, it is evident that the chances of 
a man without interest are infinitesimally small. It is arithmetically im- 
po»ible that the existing incumbencies can afford maintenance within a 


reasonable time for more than one-tbird of the clergy ordained, there being 
21,000 clergy, and only 7010 liyings of 2002. a year and upwards. 

' With such a remote probability of preferment, even after many years' 
ienrice, a prudent man, without interest, must necessarily, on entering 
Holy Orders, contemplate the possibility of remaining a curate all his life, 
and if possessed of average abilities, may fairly require some guarantee that 
in that case he will be able to reckon upon his income ultimately increas- 
ing to at least 200^. a year. It is simply impossible for incumbents to 
comply with this just requirement ; they cannot, tbat is, unless assisted ly 
the laity t comply with the law of supply and demand.' 

It is, moreover, well worthy of notice, that this hopeless 
view of prefennent is to a very great degree a recent aggra- 
vation of the evils of the curate's position : — 

' Formerly every curate looked forward to obtain, aud generally did 
obtain from a very early period of his ministry, a sole charge. Ue lived 
in the parsonage house, and, if possessed of even very limited private 
means, held an independent and fairly good position. From many circum- 
stances he was much less liable to be displaced, often serving in the same 
Cure for a lifetime, generally for a much longer period than is usual now ; 
whilst in the event of his being obliged, after some years' service, to seek a 
new sphere of duty, bis advanced age was no disqualification in the eyes of 
an incumbent who was himself permanently non-resident. The curate of 
former days was, therefore, comparatively free from the disappointments, 
anxieties, and expenses which are inseparable from the wandering aud 
unsettled life of the curate of the present day.' 

To understand fully the extent of this aggravation of the 
curate's difficulties, the actual statistics of residence and non- 
residence, as they represent the present and the past, mu8t 
be before us : — 

'In the year 1810, it appears from Parliamentary returns that the clei^ 
who were non-resident actually constituted a majority of the incumbents 
in England and Wales. The figures are thus given : — There were 10,159 
livings, held by 9754 incumbents ; of the latter number 4359 only resided 
in their own parishes, 5395 being non-resident, and for the most part leav- 
ing a curate in sole charge. There is no return showing the exact number 
of curates serving in this way as quasi-incumbents, but there were certainly 
as many as 5000. 

' After the passing of the Pluralities Act in the year 1810, owing partly 
to the removal of incumbents who, before that time, had held two or more 



liYings together, and partly to increased power being given to the bishops 
to enforoe residence, this state of things gradually changed ; until, in the 
year 1838, only 3078 curates acted for non-resident incumbents ; and in 
1864, only 955 were so employed.' 

The immediate design of the Society is to relieve the 
amount of distress which is of necessity involved in these 
conditions of the curate's office, by a plan which is thus 
briefly described :-^ 

' At a meeting recently held at Lambeth Palace a Provisional Council 
was appointed to carry forward the work of establishing a Curates' Aug- 
mentation Fund. The object of the fund is briefly this— to give to the 
working curate, while at work, an augmentation or additional stipend of, 
if possible, lOOf. per annum over and above the stipend which he receives 
from other sources. This augmentation will not he given as an eleemosy- 
nary payment, hut in recognition of services, for which the present scale </ 
curates* stipends, taken together with the insufficient prospect of preferment, 
is acknowledged on all liands to he utterly inadequate compensation. It is 
proposed, in the first instance, that every curate of fifteen years' standing 
or upwards, being in the hond fide receipt of a clerical income of at least 
100{. a year, or 80^. a year and a house, shall be eligible for a grant.' 

The special feature of the plan is its non-eleemosynary 
character. The grants of the Society are to be good-service 
pensions, £airly won in the field and earned by long service, 
not the doles of charity. This is of the utmost moment. 
We haye already too many charitable^ institutions for the 
clergy, with all their degrading accidents of canvassing cards 
and the laying bare of family necessities. It is impossible 
that such Societies should not lower the clerical character 
in the eyes of others, whilst they must infallibly injure still 
more deeply the unhappy men who, bred to better things, are 
thus thrust into habits of mendicancy. As avoiding this great 
stumbling-block especially, the path marked out by this new 
Society is safe and honourable. 

The various objections which ingenuity can urge against 
other- parts of the plan are convincingly met in the pages of 
this pamphlet, which will well repay a careful perusal. It is 


greatly to be desired that the scheme it sets forth, and 
which has met at its coromencement with much valuable 
support, should enlist on its behalf the general interest of 
the laity. It is, in fact, in no common degree a layman's 
question. The proposal is, practically, that our generation, 
the laity especially, should do in their day, for the assistant* 
curates, what our fathers did for the clergy in theirs, when 
they endowed them with the tithes of the land. It will be a 
fiind for the quasi-endowment of assistant-curates. That the 
creating such an endowment belongs to the laity and not to the 
clergy follows from the present status of the curates as a body. 
They it will be seen from what has been said above are not 
now a luxury for idle, or even a substitute for infirm, incum- 
bents. If they were, there might be some justice in leaving 
the better supply of their necessities to those by whom they 
are employed. But there can be no such justice now, when 
for the most part the curate exists not for the assistance of 
the incumbent, but to supply those spiritual services to the 
population at large which the endowments of the Church, 
reduced by the drain of impropriations, are wholly unable to 
supply. The majority of curates at present are engaged in 
discharging duties and supplying services which cannot 
legally be demanded of the incumbent^ but which the great 
increase of the population requires, and which the vastly- 
increased zeal, of the clergy leads them, at every personal 
sacrifice, to seek to supply. It is well urged that — 

* As a general rule, it is only a oonscicutious feeling on the part of the 
incumbent which induces him to pay any part of his curate's stipend, sup* 
posing, of course, that he is able and willing to perform the duties himself 
fur which the endowment was originally intended to provide. And yet the 
beneficed clergy, whose average income is only 2461. a year, contribute no 
less than 600,000/. a year, or, deducting the amount they receive from 
societies and other sources, 400,000/, a year, for the maintenance of 
assistant-curates. On every principle of justice the laity, as representing 
the increased population, ought to bear the greater part of this burden. 
They could certainly better affonl to bear the whole of it; and yet how few 


even of our leading laymen are there who^ ont of their vast inoomse, con- 
tribute 1001., or 50?., or even 102. a-year towards the support of an assistant- 
curate I How many of the clergy, with no more legal liability in the 
matter than the laity, out of their straitened means pay a curate's whole 
stipend themselves !' 

8uch a claim as this cannot be neglected in an Established 
Church such as that of this land without causing great 
injury to all. The first effect of such . neglect must be to 
diminish^ the number and lower the character of those who 
give themselves to this most necessary work. 

' I^ under the old system of pluralities, the stipends given by incum- 
bents, coupled with the prospect of advancement which the ministry of 
the Church, r^rded in a professional point of view, held out, had not 
been sufficient, incumbents would have been obliged to give more, or accept 
the alternative of performing their own duties. In the present day, how- 
ever, if iucumbents, after taxing themselves to the utmost, cannot afford 
to give stipends which, taken together with the existing proepect of pre' 
fermeiUf adequately represent, by comparison with the emohiments of 
oUmt piofesdons, the value of services rendered, the action of the law of 
vupply and demanji is virtually suspended, and the coi^sequence is that the 
work which the curate should do must be left undone, or be done by 
inferior men; t6 whom other professions do not pieseilt a better proepect. 
In other words, there must eneue a d^fieieney in ihe eupply of eandidates 
far Bdy Orden^ and the proportion qf men qf high attainments entering 
the ministry with a view to engaging in parochial work must decrease* 

That this great evil has already appeared amongst us is 
asserted upon very high authority. 

'Parents, especially professional men and others who cannot give to 
their sons an independent income, feel a growing disinclination to incur the 
great ttqpense requisite to give them a suitable education to enable them to 
take Holy Orders. Even the clergy themselves take this view of the mat- 
ter in the case of their own sons. Though they feel that they can themselves 
bear hardships, privations, and disappointments, they shrink from subject- 
ing their children to trials of such severity. 

*That these results of the suspension of the law of supply and demand 
are already being experienced to a very great extent, there is unhappily 
abundant evidence. The Archbishop of Oanterbury, in his primary charge 
(1864), says, ** It is certain, from correct statistical returns, that the number 



of candidates ordained oa deaoooa has diminished in the last ten years on an 
average of sixty*fiye per year.*^ 

' In a pamphlet entitled ** Promotion by Merit Essential to the Progress 
of the Church,** the author, the Rev. E. Bartrum, after entering very fully 
into the statistics of the subject, and carrying them on from the date of the 
archbishop's charge, thus states the conclusion at which he arrives:—'* It 
appears, then, that the number of clergymen ordained is not only 
decreasing, but in an inereoMing ra<»d, while the proportion of University 

men is decliniug and of literates increasing The calibre of those 

entering the ministry of late years has been gradually deteriorating, and we 
are threatened with one of the greatest misfortunes that can befall a nation 
— a clergy who in intellect are not superior to the people they profess to 
teach." * 

If this be true, and there is no reason to doubt that it is, 
the matter is indeed of most serious moment The evidence 
taken before the Commission now inquiring into Trades 
UnionSi to which we have already referred^ shows the 
danger to which not morals only, or individual life, but even 
all skilled industry in this land, and with it Iter wealth and 
greatness amongst the nations, are at this time exposed, 
mainly from the degree to which those working classes who 
are the very bone and muscle of our population have been 
left untrained in all religious habits. In the great centres 
of population this evil exists and spreads. All the efforts of 
Christian charity have failed as yet to keep pace with the in- 
crease of the population. Especially is this the case in London 
itself, the very head and centre of this land, with its court, 
and its aristocracy, and its great mercliant princes, and its 
vast hives of hoarded wealth. The estimate of deficiency 
of spiritual supply given in the statistics ascertained by 
inquiry in connection with the Bishop of London's Fund is 
really appalling. Here are one or two extracts from it : — 

' Two standards have been adopted as necessary for the efficient working 
of the parochial system. 

. * The falling off in the number of candidates from the Universities of Oxford 
and Cambridge during the same decade, appears, from the tables given by the 
Archbishop, to have been of above eighty a year. 


*In the first place, we assume that oae clergyman cannot efficiently 
minister to a population of more than 2000 souls, and in this number we 
snppose to be included an average proportion of Dissenters, Roman 
Catholics, and othera. 

' In the second place we assume, as a basis of calculation, that if the 
population generally were in the habit of attending public worship, the 
Church of England would be responsible for providing accommodation for 
at least 25 percent, or one in four of the population, after making allowance 
for the efforts of all other religious bodies. 

' This second standard we have adopted in accordance with the principles 
laid down in the Report on the Religious Condition of the Population, 
prepared by Mr. Horace Mann for the Registrar-General, in connection with 
the Census of 1851. Mr. Mann there assumes, and apparently with good 
reason, after making due allowance for the aged, the infirm, and the young, 
as well as for those who from various causes might be unable to attend 
divine worship, that about 58 per cent, of the whole population might attend 
If they were willing, either in churches or chapeU, according to the religious 
bodies to which they belonged, and that therefore accommodation ought to 
be provided by the Church and by Dissenters for this number. It appears, 
however, that in the diocese of London little more than half this provision 
is made, or about 29 per cent, being furnished by the Church, and 11 per 
cent by Dissenters of various denominations. Supposing, then, that the 
whole required accommodation, that is for 58 per cent, of the population, 
were to be furnished in the same proportion, it is evident that about 36 per 
cent, ought to be provided by the Church of Englandi and about 22 per 
cent, by Dissenters of a.11 kinds. Instead of 36 per centi, we have adopted 
the standard of 25 per cent, or 1 in 4 ; ihat is, nearly a third less than the 
proportion calculated by Mr. Mann as the minimum amount of Church 
accommodation which ought in due time to be provided by the Church 
of England. In making this deduction we have been iufluenced by the 
dedre to put forward as moderate and practical a view as possible of the 
wants of the diocese ; and we would again repeat that it is adopted, after 
due allowance has been made for the estimated proportion of Dissenters, 
Roman Catholics, Jews, &c., as well as for the aged, the infirm, and the 

' These standards then being adopted, we have now to state the result 
ofour inquiries into the present religious condition of the diocese of London. 

*From the returns obtained at this time, and from other sources, it 

appears that out of all the parishes and districts included in the diocese 

(amounting to about 450), about 239 are already provided up to the 

measure of the standards here adopted. They will, therefore, for the 

present be left out of consideration in estimating the wants of the diocese. 

The remaining 211 parishes have been classed as follows, according to the 

amount of their deficiency : — 

I 2 



' 1. As regards Deficiency of Clergy : 


Oiw ClergyiUAii only Population. 

ClaM I. for 8,000 and upwards .. 11 parishes .. 228»000 

II. „ from 6,000 to 8,000 .. ..* U „ ., 171,400 

III.,, „ 4,000 to 6,000 .. ..59 „ .. 757,500 

IV. „ „ 2,000 U 4,000 .. ..110 „ .. 919,300 

Not deficient in clergy, but in churchl ^„ ^^ gQQ 

room / 

211 Totrtl .. 2,150,000 
• 2. As regards Deficiency of Church-room : 

▲ooommodation for less than PopnlaUon. 

Class I linlO 58 parishes .. 744,000 

n linS 27 „ .. 324,400 

III 1 in 6 42 „ .. 412,900 

IV Iin4 71 „ .. 609,800 

Not deficient in church-room, but in^ «q ea aaq 

clergy / " " * 

211 Total .. 2,150,000 

' The total population of these 211 deficient parishes is about 2,150,000, 
the number of clergy is 582. But this number of clergy on the standard 
assumed is sufficient for the supervision of 1,164,000 only (making allow* 
ance, as we have done, for the labours of other religious bodies) ; there 
remains, therefore, a population of very nearly 1,000,000 persons for whom 
a further provision of 500 clergy would be required according to the stan- 
dard assumed of one clergyman for every 2000 of the population. We 
would again call attention to the extreme importance of maintaining this 
standard, especially with a view to the necessity for personal visitation as 
the chief means by which it can he hoped to make any impression upon 
those who are careless about spiritual things. 

' Again, in these 211 perishes, with their population of 2,150,000, there 
is accommodation of all kinds provided by the Church of England for 
298,000. Of this accommodation about 155,000 sittings, or about one- 
half, are described as free, besides about 19,000, or more than six per cent, 
of the whole, provided in school-rooms, miitsion-chapels, &c But, accord- 
ing to the standard of 1 in 4, this total provision is no more than the 
Church of England ought to make for 1,192,000, leaving therefore about 
900,000, or nearly 1,000,000 persons in those 211 parishes, for whom, upon 
the standard assumed, the Church of England ought eventually to provide, 
either in churches or mission-rooms, 250,000 additional sittings. 



In these estimates a large margia is left for the efforts 
made by bodies not connected with the Established Church 
to supply these spiritual necessities. We haye another state- 
ment which appears to have been carefully prepared, and 
whichy dealing more exactly with these extraneous supplies, 
giyes a picture of the spiritual provision, which does not 
materially differ from the estimate already given : — 
Plaoes or WoBSHip IN London and their Aooommodation. 

Number of 

of Wonhlp. 


P. pulation. 





698,549 2,362,236 
917,895 3,015,494 


per cent of 






* There has thus been an increase of accommodation in fourteen years of 
about 31 per cent Had the increase been threefold, it would only have 
sufficed to meet the increase of population. Taking 52 'per cent., Mr. 
Mann*s estimate, as the maximum number to be provided for, the follow^ 
ing result is obtained : — 


Number of persons unprovided for in London in 1851 .. 669,514 
Ditto in 1865 831,387 

Increased deficiency 161,873 

' It would thus appear, that if all the persons in London who are not 
phjsioally disqualified, or for any legitimate reasons, were to attend church 
or chapel at the same time, 52 per cent., or more than one-balf the popula- 
tion, would be shut out for want of room. But a worse feature of the case 
Is, that 161,878 more persons would now be excluded, notwithstanding the 
oooaiderable augmentation of places of worship, than in 1851. Therefore, 
alihongh the percentage of sittings as compared with population has 
slightly improved, the actual deficiency has increased. It is estimated, as 
we have already said, that 45,000 souls are annually added to the popula- 
tion of London. To meet only this increase would require some forty-five 
new aad oommodious churches every year ; whilst the average accretion 
yearly since 1851 of jdaces of worship of all sizes has been no more than 
sixteen.' • 

* * Religion in London,' p. 13. 


To conscientious members of the Church by law estab- 
lished the case is of course far stronger than this. In the 
estimate just quoted every conceivable form of itnperfec^t or 
mischievous teaching is included und^r the head of provision 
for the spiritual necessities, of the population. The wide meshes 
here spread of what by established courtesy are called * reli- 
gious denominations/ include Church of England, Church of 
Scotland, English Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Baptists, 
Wesleyans, United Methodist Free Churches, Primitive 
Methodists, Plymouth Brethren, Friends, Countess of Hun- 
tingdon's Connexion, Calvinistic Methodists, Mixed and Un- 
defined, Roman Catholics, Latter Day Saints, Jews, Bible 
Christians, Methodist New Connexion, Unitarians, German 
Protestants, Catholic and Apostolic Church, Swedish Lu- 
therans, Moravians, Greek Church, French Protestants, 
Dutch Reformed, German Catholics, Sandemanians, South- 
cottians, Freethinking Christians, Italian Roman Catholics, 
Welsh Calvinistic Methodists, Free Church of England, New 
Church, and Christian Disciples. Now, admitting fully that 
any form whatever of religious faith raises the man whom it 
possesses above him who has none, yet who that believes 
in the mission of our Church, or knows what her work is upon 
any population on which she has really taken hold, would be 
willing to substitute for her spiritual guidance of the people 
these discordant voices of a mixed multitude of sects, some 
old, some middle-aged, some so young as hardly yet to have 
assumed a distinctive appellation ? Yet if all these together 
fall far below the number necessary for grappling with the 
annual increase of our people, how far more must the clergy 
of the Church of England alone be inadequate to deal with 
them. And yet if the clergy are to be increased in number, 
and the endowments or quasi-endowments of the Church are 
to remain stationary, the clerical order will be still more de- 
pressed, and the augmented number more and more recruited 


from the lower classes of the Gommunity. This is well put 
forwiard by the founders of the new association : — 

' One more strong incentive to hearty and united action in the matter 
moat be mentioned. A large increase in the existing number of the paro- 
chial clergy ia imperatively called for. Asauming that ten years ago the 
supply of the clergy was adequate to the spiritual wants of the country — 
and the assumption' is wholly unwarrantable — we have still to make up 
the deficiency in the supply of candidates for Holy Orders which has taken 
place during this period, and to overtake the increase > of the population 
during the same time — an increase which cannot be computed at less than 
2,500,000 — before we begin to make provision for a prospective increase, 
estimated at 245,000 a year. 

*lt will not require an abstruse calculation to enable us to compute the 
additional number of clergy which will thus be required, if the Church of 
England is to continue to do her proper work as the Established Church of 
the land. Allowing one clergyman for every 2000 of increased population, 
according to the scale adopted by the Bishop of London, and granting that 
the influence of the Church at different times will vary, other conditions 
being the same, according to the proportion which the numbers of the 
cleigy bear to the sum total of the population, we see that^ to enable the 
Church to exercise the same influence in 1876 which she did in 1856. no 
fower.than 4950 more clergy must be ordained in tl)|B4ft^ teaf )rears than 
were ordained in the last. The most aangoine will;bid!]^ ^ti|ie to anti- 
cipate that this increase can really take plfkM|.ftM<.)il^,6.^m|xwaft&^ that 
any inerecue at all can take place wUhoui making (he propped open to 
dipmidiaryewraUe more dUeauraginff, and the necessity for the present 
moTement even greater than at present. Looked at from this point of 
view it will be seen that the present movement is not merely a measure of 
justice to stipendiary curates, but is a^ effort imperatively required for the 
good of the Church at large. So universal is the application of the prin- 
ciple, *' if one member suffer, all the members suffer with it.'* ' * 

These are, indeed, weighty words. Never had the Charch 
o£«England a greater work to do than at the present time. 
Never Was she more thoroughly bent on doing it, or better 
equipped for its performance. It is not merely against 
the weight of numbers sudh as our forefathers never strove 
• with, that she has now to labour. The wide spread of super- 
ficial education leads all men to talk about religion, and 
numbers to believe most unreasonably that they think about 

* ■* Religion in London/ p. 9. 


it also. Opinions are formed rapidly, and disseminated also 
miraculously. Every man reads bis newspaper ; and, how- 
ever unconsciously, most men, to avoid the trouble of thinking, 
take up with what is therein day by day repeated to them and 
asserted for them. Every stratum of the population has its 
own purveyors of this daily literature. The time is passed 
even for * the leading jourpal ' to pervade all classes of 
society. Almost all are able to read, and all are supplied on 
the cheapest terms with materials for reading of some quality 
or other. At the top of almost every Hansom-cab, when our 
fickle weather permits it, you may see the newspaper spread 
out for study in the intervals of business ; even the half- 
naked figures stretched at their length on the grass in pur 
Parks often hold in their soiled hands some utterances from 
the all-pervading printing-office. The influences which 
spring from such a state of things are strengthened by a 
multitude of other circumstances. The unmistakable de- 
scent of political power from the more educated and better 
furnished to the less educated and poorer classes; the 
weakening of parental — that real source of all secondary — 
authority ; the carrying out of this principle to the old sway 
of masters and employers ; the claim of all to think and to 
act for themselves ; all mark the onward progress of a vast 
ctvofUa. The sanguine see in this lawlessness the bright 
morning of a day of perfect liberty of recognised opinions, 
and of a peaceful contentedness, which shall be a law unto 
itself. Less hopeful spirits doubt the mid-day prospect of so 
garish a dawn. They cannot see in the whole system and 
temper of the times that law of self-restraint under the rule 
of moral obligation, and of self-sacrifice for the maintenance 
of great principles which they believe to be essential to the 
real well-doing of individuals or society. Above all, they 
look at the growing tendency to treat all religious truth as 
matter of opinion with many fears for the incoming genera- 


tion. At such a time it is all important that the national 
clergy shoald be not only religions men, but also men of 
thought and education. After the want of a hearty belief in 
what they teach, no sign could possibly be worse for our 
commonwealth than that the priests of the Established faith 
should be behind their age in the cultiyation of their in- 
tellects or in the true breadth of their view, especially as to 
all moral and spiritual subjects. If the clergy appeared to 
the laity — ^instead of being men of more divine knowledge 
than themselyeSy of a deeper philosophy which combines 
boldness with sobriety and thought with reverence — to be 
ignorant or superstitious, too weak or too indolent to grapple 
with real difficulties, averse to progress and fearful of the 
light, it is not difficult to see what the end would be. 
Happily the very opposite is the fact: never were the 
clergy more earnest, and never, as a class, more enlightened 
than now. The very troubles of the age attest it. The 
questions which are vexing the Church, on the one hand as 
to what appears to us the trivialities of external ceremo- 
nialism, and as to the all-important verities of doctrine on 
the other, alike bear witness to the intense earnestness both 
of the clergy and of the laity whom they influence. The 
old sluggard slumberers of the last generation, with their 
strong port, large pluralities, closed volumes, and neglected 
parishes, are nowhere. For good or for evil, all are awake ; 
all are hard at work ; all are labouring for progress. New 
churches, new parishes, new schools, new institutions, cover 
the land. The press, if it labours with the utterances of the 
doubters and the unbelievers, groans under the issue of 
sermons, pamphlets, and volumes which speak of the spiritual 
zeal and mental activity of the clergy; whilst in every 
department of literature they occupy at this time a leading 
place. Nor is even this the greatest part of the strength of 
our clergy for the discharge of their great work. They 


pervade the land with a leavening presence of immeasurable 
power. From how many, a parsonage-house, whose inmates 
assert for themselves no high literary claims, is there per- 
petuaUy flowing forth a stream of civilising elevating in- 
fluence, which blesses all within its reach, and the wide- 
spread existence of which constitutes in a very high degree 
the strongest might of the national clergy ! In the glowing 
words of Dr. Chalmers as to the parochial clergyman : — 

' All his spontaneous services bear upon them the UDequivocal aspect of 
pure and disinterested zeal. And this in the midst of a people to whom 
he is every day more endeared by the kind notices and cordialities of his 
growing acquaintanceship, gives to all the forthgoings of an earnest parish 
minister a power over the hearts and habits of families which cannot be 
realised by any other individual in the commonwealth.' 

What may be before us, God knows ; but if the Church of 
England as an establishment be about, as some forebode, to 
enter on a fierce struggle for her very being, she will at least 
enter on it at a moment when her labours are greater, more 
varied, and more successful than they have ever been, and 
with a body of clergy serving in her parishes, such as for 
hearty zeal, for firm faith, for varied erudition, and for self- 
denying toil, probably no Church before her could at any one 
time have marshalled for her duties in the day of service, or 
for her safeguard in the hour of peril — 

' Si Pergama dextrft 
Defendi possent: etiam hlo defensa fuissent.' 



(October, 18G7, awcf January, 1868.) 

It is scarcely possible to couceive a work less likely to entice 
any one to the cares of royal authorship than the * Catalogue ' 
of Horace Walpole, with its scanty praise and its abundance 
of carping criticism. 

* Frederick, Prince of Wales/ he teUs us, * wrote French 
songs in imitation of the Begent,t and did not miscarry 
solely by writing iu. a language not his own.' $ Three 
letters of James II., which were published at his command 
by W. Fuller, gentleman, led the unhappy agent into being 
voted by the House of Commons a notorious cheat ; into his 
being prosecuted by the Attorney-General, and whipped and 
pilloried. § Charles I. wrote * most uncouth and inharmo- 
nious poetry/ The merit of James L's oompositions is ex- 
pressed in the caustic assertion that * Bishop Montagu trans- 
lated all his Majesty's works into Latin. A man of so much 
patience was well worthy of favour.' || Henry YIII. himself 
comes off very little better, with the suggestion as to the great 
work which earned for the wearer of the English crown the 
title of Defender of the Faith (of which Walpole most charac- 
teristically says, ' it seemed peculiarly adapted to the weak 
head of the high church, Anne,' ) IF that ' a little scepticism 
on his talents for such a performance, mean as U is, might 
make us question whether he did not write the defence of the 
Sacraments against Luther, as one of bis successors ** is sup- 

* * The Early Years of His Royal Highness the Prince Consort. Compiletl under 
the Direction of Her Majesty the Queen.' By Lieut.-General the Hon. Charles Grej. 
Undon, 1867. 

t Philip Duke of Orleans. X Page 278. 4to. of 1798. 

§ Ibid. II P. 266, 275. 5 P. 246. •♦ Charlci. 1. 



posed to have written the Euci^v BcuriXitciiy that is, with the 
pen. of some Court prelate/ * With the same suggestion of 
assisted authorship he sweeps away the claim of Edward XL 
to the composition of the poem attributed to him, beUeying 
that * this melody of a dying monarch is about as authentic 
as that of the old poetic warbler the swan/ f 

The only royal pen to which he allows any real merit is 
that of Queen Elizabeth, who, * in the days when/ as Camden 
says, * King Edward was wont to call her his sweet sister Tern- 
jferanee, applied much to literature/ 1 

Such galling criticisms may be sufficient to repress all 
ordinary royal authorship, but they could not touch the high 
motives or sacred feeling which have led to the newest ex- 
ample of such a production. For, we say it advisedly, the 
work, the title of which is prefixed to this article, is, in truth, 
the produce of another royal hand, and that» like Elizabeth's, 
the hand of a female sovereign. 

It is true that, in exact contradiction to what Walpole sug- 
gested to have been the course of Henry and of Charles in 
giving a royal sponsorship to works wrought for them by 
others, here another name is given to what is essentially a 
royal work. For the volume professes to bo * the early jekn 
of the Prince Consctrt, compiled under the direction of her 
Majesty the Queen, by Lieut.-General the Hon. C. Grey,' and 
in many places the mask of authorship is not ungracefully 
assumed by the gallant General. But every reader of the 
volume will feel that its real interest is derived from the 
writing of another ; whose presence is never more perceived 
than when it seems most to be withholden. General Grey's 
share in the work is indeed very creditably performed.§ He 

* p. 256. Saunders and Bellarmine ascribed the defence of the Sacraments 
against Lather to Bishop Fisher, others to Sir Thomas More. 

t P. 255. X P. 266. 

§ In a second edition the date of the death of the Princess Charlotte should be 
corrected. It vtas Nov. 1817, not 1818. 


lias threaded well together the pearls intrusted to him ; but 
though the threading is his, the pearls are the gift to us of a 
higher hand. 

This is essential to noticey because it is this which gives 
its real interest to the work. No affected pedantry, no frigid 
loye of conceits, no desire of display, no longing to be en- 
rolled in the catalogue of authors, have led to the writing of 
this volume. It is a genuine and unmistakable offering of 
love. It is the fruit of that desire of sympathy which is ever 
strongest in the tenderest and most human hearts. It is one 
of those pleas, which when, as here, they are put forth simply 
and naturally, are absolutely irresistible. It is the Sovereign 
casting herself in her speechless grief upon the sympathy of 
her people. 

The volume which this represents was first printed only 
for private circulation in the family and amongst the closest 
friends of the Queen. But, once in print, when it might 
possibly be pirated, and when, far more, the certain effect of 
a wider circulation could be better calculated from what had 
been the effect of the smaller, then a loving zeal for the 
Prince's honour, and a noble claim on a nation's truth, over- 
came all di£Sculties, and gave it to the world. 

The mere fact of such an appeal is a declaration of what 
he was whose memory lives so fresh in the widow's heart, an 
appeal the truth and eloquence of which can scarcely be ex- 
ceeded by any articulate utterance. But, if anything could 
be added, it is surely to be found in these pages, through 
which we must hastily carry our readers. 

Besides the history of the early days and first married year 
of Prince Albert's life, the volume contains in the Appendix 
a most remarkable paper, entitled ' Beminiscences of the 
King of the Belgians.' It is full of all that long-sighted 
clearness of vision, which, to an extent rarely equalled, was 
the faculty of King Leopold. It throws no little light upon 


much of our contemporary history, and supplies some remark- 
able facts as to the secret course of matters in the highest 

The troubled waters of the Regency and early reign of 
George IV., after this lapse of years, show strangely when 
they are contrasted with the calm and high tone to which 
the Court of Queen Victoria has made Great Britain accus- 
tomed. We can scarcely believe that of a time so near our 
own, and of our own Royal Family, we can read such an 
entry as this : — 

* The Regent was not kind to his brother. At every instant something 
or other of an unpleasant, nature arose.' 

' 1820. — Prince Leopold was at Lord Cravens, when the news arrived 
that a cold which the Duke' [of Kent] < got at Salisbury, visiting the Cathe- 
dral, had become alarming. Soon after the Prince's arrival the Duke 
breathed his last. 

* The Duchess, who lost a most amiable and devoted husband, was in a 
state of the greatest distress. It was fortunate Prince Leopold bad not 
been out of the country, as the poor Duke had left his family deprived of 
all means of existence.' 

It is strange to read such extract?, and then, whilst their 
memory is fresh with up, to look at the liistory of the same 
Royal Family for the last twenty-seven years. In one thing 
only was the history of that time and this sadly alike; 
though now it is the wife, and then it was the husband, upon 
whom the blow has fallen. But sovereigns have no exemp- 
tion, God knows, from the sorrows of their subjects. Chang- 
ing the persons, the griefs of 1861 may be read in the records 
of 1817:— 

•Nov.— Saw the ruin of this happy home, and the destruction at one 
blow of every hope and happiness of Prince Leoix)ld. He has never 
recovered the feeling of happiness which had blessed his short married 

But to return from the Appendix to the text. 
Prince Albert of Snxe-Coburg was born at the Grand 
Ducal Castle of llosenau, on the 26th of August, 1819, three 


months after the birth of the Princess Victoria, to whom (the 
Duchess of Kent being sister of the Grand Duke of Cobarg) 
he was first cousin. 

There is depicted in this volume an intertwining of the 
early threads of these two lives, which more resembles the 
beautiful fEibles of the 'Arabian Nights' Entertainments' 
than the hard realities of modem life. Some of these 
passages sound like the records of the sport of one of the 
Genii (for, pace Mr. Lane, we cannot give up for his Jins 
those genial companions of our boyhood, the Genii), who 
carries the beautiful young princess off and sets her beside 
the young prince, whose after-life is restless and homeless, 
till he can recover the bright vision which once flashed so 
strangely upon his youth. Mademoiselle Siebold is the first 
link in the Genii chain, officiating at both these auspicious 
births. She is called at Bosenau, where the murmuring 
waters inspire rest and sleep, * at three, and at six the little 
one gives his first cry in this world, and looks about like a 
little squirrel, with a pair of large black eyes ' — though from 
a Koyal correction we know that they were really * blue ' — 
and at the very same time * she cannot sufficiently describe 
what a dear little love is the May Flower ' (the Princess 
Victoria, born May 24). Again, the good grandmother, who 
comes in throughout all these pages as the beneficent fairy 
godmother^ in the midst of wise words concerning the early 
training of the young Prince and his brother, breaks off, as 
if some golden thread already linked them to each other, into 
council concerning the young Princess, and prays the anxious 
mother ' not yet to tease her little puss with learning — ^she is 
so young still.' And again she says, * Bold Albertchen drags 
Leopold constantly about by the hand. The little fellow is 
the pendant to the pretty cousin, very handsome, but too 
slight for a boy ; lively, very funny, all good nature and full 
of mischief.' Visions indeed of what the distant future was 


to fulfil visited the foreboding thoughts of this lady, of whom 
we read: — 

' The Queen remembers her dear grandmother perfectly well. She was 
a most remarkable woman»with a most powerful, energetic, almost mascu- 
line mind, accompanied with great tenderness of heart and extreme love 
for nature.' • • . ' A most distinguished person, the King of the Belgians 
calls her in his Reminiscences.' . . . ' She told the Queen that she had 
wished earnestly that be should marry the Queen.' 

We must add here, for their intriDsic beauty, a few words 
more, written in a similar strain by the good Duchess, the 
year before her death, to her daughter, the again widowed 
mother of a daughter of so great a future, May, 1830 : — 

' My blessings, and good wishes for the day which gave you the sweet 
Blossom t>f May 1 May God preserve and protect the valuable life of that 
lovely, flower from all the dangers which wiU beset her mind and heart. 
The rays of the sun are soorohing at the height to which she may one day 
attain. It is only by the blesung of Qod that all the fine qualities He -has 
put into that young soul can be kept pure and untarnished.' 

And so passes away from our pages the figure of this good 
and remarkable woman. There is an exquisite plaintiveness 
in the tone in which the last adieu is uttered in these pages 
by her Royal granddaughter : — 

' She had already, at a very early period, formed the ardent wish that a 
marriage should one day take place between her beloved grandchild Albert 
and the *' Flower of May," as she loved to call the little Princess Victoris. 
How would her kind, loving heart have rejoiced, could she have lived to 
see the perfect consummation of her wishes in the happiness, too soon, 
alas I to be cut short 1 that followed this auspicious union.' 


The early years of the Prince were marked with many in- 
dications of unusual truthfulness, aiTeotion, and intelligence ; 
whilst his childlike ways and looks (a beautiful record of 
which adorns the title-page of this volume) attracted to him 
early notice and fayour. We read such records as these: 
* Little Albertcheui with his large blue eyes and dimpled 
cheeks, is bewitching, forward, and quick as a weazeL' * He 


18 much smaller than his brother and lovely as a little angel^ 
with his fair curls.' As early as when not yet four he 
was transferred from the tutelage of women to that of Herr 
Florschutz, of Coburg, a tutor who knew how to deal with 
the precious charge committed to him. ' I entered/ he says, 
' upon the discharge of my important charge with enthusiasm. 
Every grace had been showered by nature on this charming 
boy — every eye rested on him with delight, and his look won 
the hearts of all.' Herr Florschiitz had, and deserved to 
have, the sole direction of the education of the two youug 
Princes until, fifteen years later, they left the University of 
Bonn. For his faithful and kindly services the Prince ever 
entertained the warmest gratitude. 

The boyish years of the young men were distinguished by 
no remarkable events, but of none was it more eminently 
true than of Prince Albert, that * the boy was father of the 
man.' The winning childhood passed by natural gradation 
into a youth not less attractive after its kind. 'He was 
always,' says his tutor, ' singularly easy to instruct.' ' To do 
something was with him a necessity.' * He was rather 
delicate than robust, though already remarkable for his 
powers of perseverance and. endurance. The same ardent 
and energetic spirit, which manifested itself in his studies, 
was shown in the sports of his boyhood ; and' in these his 
was the directing mind.' .... * He was always,' says King 
Leopold, * an intelligent child, and held a certain sway over 
his elder brother, who rather kindly submitted to it.' 

The * submission,' however, was not always yielded without 
a struggle, and (to maintain his pre-eminence) the native 
vigour of his character had sometimes to show itself in some- 
thing more than the assertion of mere moral power; for 
though he was the younger, the smaller, and the more 
delicate boy, we read such entries as these from a journal 
remarkable for its simple truthfulness of delineation, when 



he was not yet six years old : * April 9. I got up well and 
happy ; afterwards I had a fight with my brother.* . . . 
' April 10. I had another fight with iny brother ; that was 
not right.' 

This early mx>ral handling of his tendency to assert too 
absolutely his own will seeros to have lasted through his 
youth. * With his brother/ says the good Florsohutz, * the 
Prince showed rather too strong a will of his own ; and this 
disposition came out at times even in later years. Surpas- 
sing his brother in thoughtful earnestness, in calm reflection, 
and self-command, and eyincing at the same time more 
prudence in action, it was only natural that his will should 
prevail, and when compliance with it was not voluntarily 
yielded, he was sometimes disposed to haye recourse to com- 
pulsion. But,' he adds, 'the distinguishing characteristics 
of the Prince's disposition were his winning cheerfulness and 
his endearing amiability.' How successful he was in enforc- 
ing on himself this difficult rule of self-constraint in conscious 
superiority, is abundantly proved by the intense affection of 
the brothers to each other. Their lives were spent absolutely 
together, until the elder brother was twenty, the younger 
nineteen years of age. Then first they were parted — Prince 
Ernest joining the Saxon army at Dresden, and Prince 
Albert commencing a tour through Italy. The relations of 
their lives may be read in the touching words of the younger 
brother. * Ernest/ he writes to Prince William of Lowen- 
stein, * is now going to Dresden. I shall shortly begin my 
Italian travels. I shall not set out till Ernest also launches 
his vessel, so that he may not be left behind alone. The 
separation will be frightfully painful to us. Up to this 
moment we have never, as long as we can recollect^ been a 
single day away from each other. I cannot bear to think of 
that moment' And, after the separation, he writes again : 
* Now I am quite alone. Ernest is gone off, and I am left 


behind Now Ernest has slept through his first night 

at Dresden. Tliis day will also bring to him the feeling 
that something is wanting.' Soon after he adds, what would 
sound strangely philosophic from the pen of any ordinary 
young man of nineteen, but which, from its depth of thought 
and simple practicalness, seems to us eminently characteristic 
of the writer : ' I must now give up the custom of saying we, 
and use the I, which sounds so egotistic and cold. In we 
everything sounded much softer, for the we expresses the 
harmony between different souls, the I rather the resistance 
of the individual against outward forces, though also con- 
fidence in its own strength.' 

But we must return to those earlier days from which this 
single feature of character has led us away. * Albert,' is the 
recollection of Count Mensdorff, who had been his intimate 
companion from his earliest youth, ' never was noisy or wild. 
He was always very fond of Natural History and more serious 
studies, and many a happy hour we spent in the Ehrenburg 
(the palace at Goburg) arranging and dusting the collections 
our cousins had themselves made and kept there. Fi*om his 
earliest infancy he was distinguished for perfect moral purity 
both in word and deed, and to this he owed the sweetness of 
disposition so much admired by every one.' From his fourth 
to his nineteenth year his education under Mr. Florschiitz, 
was conducted during the winter months at Ooburg or Gotha, 
and during the rest of the year for the most part at the 
pleasant country palaces of Bosenau and Beinhardsbrunn, 
with occasional excursions in Germany or to his uncle's 
capital, Brussels, or, in 1836, when he was seventeen 
years old, to England. It was in the course of this visit 
that he first met his Boyal cousin, the Princess Victoria ; 
and there are unquestionable indications that from this time 
his thoughts turned often to ' the Flower of May,' for whom, as 
we have seen, the good old Duchess had so long since destined 

K 2 


hiro. Throughout these years the character he was gradually 
and firmly forming exhibits every where the same features. 
A genuine love of nature, a keen relish for natural history, 
an ever increasing earnestness in study, a growing acquaint- 
ance with and value for art, entire moral purity and deep 
conscientiousness, appear at every turn. The * recollections' 
of his tutor preserve some interesting features of his life : — 

• In hU early youth Prince Albert was very aby, and be bad long to 
struggle against this feeling. He disliked visiu from strangers.' 

• He was always fond of natural bistory, and lost no opportunity of 
collecting specimens.' 

' Tbe active life wbicb be led in the open air strengthened alike the 
mind and tbe body. His thirst for knowledge was kept alive and in- 
dulged; while under the influence of bis bodily exercises be grew up into 
an active and healthy boy.' 


* He was subject to alarming attacks of croup. At such times the cha- 
racteristic qualities of his mind displayed themselves very remarkably. I 
shall never forget the gentle goodness, the affectionate patience, he showed. 
His heart seemed then to open to the whole world. He would form the 
most noble projects for execution after his recovery, and, though apparently 
not satisfied with himself, he displayed a temper and disposition which I 
may characterise as being in thought and in deed perfectly angelic I 
cannot recal these recollections even now without the deepest emotions.' 

* Two virtues were conspicuous even in his boyhood, winning for him 
the love and respect of all. Growing with his growth, these virtues gained 
strength with years : one was his eager desira to do good and to assist 
others; the other, the grateful feeling which never allowed him to forget 
all acts of kindness, however trifling, to himself.' 

These high moral qualities were grounded, Mr. Florschiitz 
teUs us, on the only firm basis of religion. The youth of 
Protestant Germany are not commonly admitted to the rite 
of confirmation until they have reached their seventeenth 
year; but, in consequence of 'the singularly earnest and 
thoughtful nature ' of the Prince, it was determined not to 
separate him in that declaration of his faith from the brother 
whose close companionship he shared; on the elder, there- 


fore, 'attaining the due age, the younger was suffered to 
accompany him; and *on Palm Sunday, 1836, the young 
Princes were accordingly confirmed. Mr. Florsohiitz speaks 
warmly of the earnestness with which Prince Albert pre- 
pared himself for the solemn ceremony, and of the deep 
feelings of religion with which he engaged in it.' 

In April, 1837, the scene of the Prince's life changes, for 
the next year and a half, to the University of Bonn. ' Here,' 
says Mr. Florschutz, who continued with his Princes through- 
out this residence, * he maintained the early promise of his 
youth by the eagerness with which he applied himself to Iiis 
work, and by the rapid progress which he made, especially 
in the natural sciences, in political economy, and in philo- 
sophy. Music, also, of which he was passionately fond, was 
not neglected ; and he had already shown considerable talent 
as a composer.* The Prince describes * the chief subjects of 
his studies' in a letter to his father in November, 1837, as 
* Roman law, State right, and political economy, and the princi- 
ples of finance. We also attended two courses of historical 
lectures by Lobell and A. W. von Schlegel, and a philoso- 
phical lecture (anthropology and philosophy) by Fichte. At 
the same time we shall not fail to give attention to the study 
of modern languages.' 

The enlargement of mind, which was tlie result of con- 
scientious labour under the quickening influence of men of 
sucb various intellectual power as the Bonn professors, could 
be traced throughout his after life. But the picture of this 
course at Bonn would be very incomplete, without the liglits 
thrown into it by the friend of his youth. Prince William of 
Lowenstein. With his equals in age, indeed, as with his 
elders, there was a continual desire to learn all that was to 
be learned. * He liked, above all things, to discuss questions 
of public law and metaphysics, and constantly, amongst our 
evening walks, juridical principles and philosophical doctrines 


were thoroughly discussed/ But with these more serious 
tastes mingled freely < a lively sense of the ridiculous— a great 
talent for mimicking, and drawing caricatures, in which he 
perpetuated the scenes of his University life. He excelled 
most of his contemporaries in the use of intellectual weapons, 
in the art of convincing, in strictly logical argument ; so he 
was distinguished also in all kinds of bodily exercise ; in 
fencing and the practice of the broadsword he was very 
skilful. Attempts were made at dramatic improvising. 
Prince Albert was always the life and soul of them, and 
acted the principal parts; he entered with the greatest 
eagerness into every study, whether belonging to science or 
art. He spared no exertion of mind or body; on the 
contrary, be rather sought difficulties, in order to overcome 

There was one other power which his letters reveal 9l^ 
acting on his young life — ^a power hidden, it seems, alto- 
gether from the most intimate of his contemporaries ; hardly, 
perhaps, avowed fully to himself — which may yet have aided 
in the highest measure that beautiful development of 
character, to which he was by such first steps gradually 
attaining. For no power, which is of this world, is so strong 
in all its iufluences for good upon such a youthful spirit as 
his, as the power of an early attachment. Nothing more 
purifies the blood of youth, nothing spurs it on more certainly 
to seek in all things to excel, than the presence of such an 
elevating, inspiriting, and refining influence. And that this 
was acting on the Prince, his letters very plainly suggest. 
He had not looked unmoved, in his visit to England, on the 
fair 'Flower of May.' There is just that refined half- 
expressed allusion to such a passion, which would be its 
natural expression from such a man. He communicates to 
bis father, in June, 1838, as he is bidden, a letter from 
^ our. cousin,' and mentions 'a second and still kinder letter 


from ** my '' couain ' (the our to which he was accustomed 
drops unintentionally into the my) : adding, ' you may easily 
imagine that both these letters gave me the greatest 
pleasure.' Under the reserve of the following letter of con- 
gratulation on the Queen's accession, a letter eminently 
characteristic of the writer, with its simple unflattering truth- 
fulness and its calm deep estimate of life by its responsibili- 
ties and duties — so rare in youth — we can trace the same 
secret impulses of affection : — 

'Mt Dearest Cousin, — I must write you a few lines to present you 
my sincerest felicitations on that great change which has taken place in 
your life. 

* Now you are Queen of the mightiest land of Europe ; in your hand 
lies the happiness of millions. May Heaven assist you and strengthen you 
with its strength in that high but diflicult task ! 

* I hope that your reign may be long, happy, and 'glorious, and that 
your efforts may be rewarded by the thankfulness and love of your 

'May I pray you to think likewise sometimes of your cousins in 
Bonn, and to continue to them that kindness you favoured them with 

till DOW ?* 

Just at this time he makes a tour in Switzerland ; and, 
with his passionate love of scenery, is * quite intoxicated 
by all * he * has seen.' Under these electric currents the 
vision of his life, true to the laws of every high aflPection, 
is lighted up with fresh hues, and he sends * to my cousin' a 
small book containing views of the places he had visited : — 

* From one of these, the top of the Bighi, he sent her a dried " rose des 
Alpes,** and from the other, Voltaire's house at Pemey, which he visitetl 
from Geneva, a scrap of Voltaire's handwriting, which he obtained from 
his old servant " The whole of these," the Queen adds, " were placed in 
a small album, with the dates at which each place was visited, in the 
Prince's handwriting," and this album the Queen now considers one of her 
greatest treasures, and never goes anywhere without it. Nothing had at 
this time passed between the Queen and the Prince; but this gift 
shows that the latter in the midst of his travels often thought of his 
young cousin.' 


Doubtless be did; and who can estimate, in the pure 
and high character which was so early maturing, what may 
not have been the value of those 'often thoughts of his young 
cousin ' ? 

At the close of the summer term of 1838, the Prince 
quitted Bonn, and, after a short stay at Coburg, proceeded to 
visit Italy, where he remained till the following May. With 
his residence at Bonn had terminated the charge of the now 
Councillor Florschutz, though his affection to such a pupil 
never varied. Such words as he wrote after the Prince's 
death are at once a lively exhibition of his own faithful 
heart, and a grand tribute to the pupil of his love — ' I stand 
daily before the valued picture which but a short time 
before his death he sent me, to weep for my beloved pupil 
and friend.' 

It is one of the rewards of such a character as we have 
been examining, that it does secure such affection from such 
men. So it was to an eminent degree with the Prince; 
and, though he now lost the company of his old friend, 
another was found willing to accompany him in his Italian 
tour, even more fitted from his wide acquaintance with life 
for such an office, and worthy in every respect to be the com- 
panion, and the friend of such a Prince. Baron Stockmar 
had known him from infancy, and had watched, with the 
delight which only such fidelity as his could feel, the gradual 
unfolding of that noble character, which, in his secret 
thoughts, he had for many years hoped to see supporting in 
her arduous duties the future Queen of England. 

We shall only follow the leading of * the Queen's volume,' 
if we pause for a moment upon the beautiful episode which 
embalms the memory of Baron Stockmar. A native of 
Coburg — ^lie was early attached to the person of Prince 
Leopold ; accompanied him to England, on his marriage ; 
lived with him at Claremont, and was actually present at the 


death ot the Princess Charlotte. To him it was given to 
prolong for the next generation, and to receive back from it, 
the affection which had first clung to his own. Indeed he 
loved the Prince Albert as with a father s love, and watched 
him with a closeness of observation which gave him, from 
the Prince's boyhood onward, an almost prophetic insight into 
his future. 

Thus, in 1844, speaking to one with whom he conversed 
most familiarly of the value of the Prince's life to this 
country, he said, in words which throughout those days of 
anxious watching which preceded the Prince's death were 
ringing in the ears of him who had heard them almost as a 
knell, 'If ever he falls sick of a low fever, you will lose him !' 
After the marriage of Prince Albert, the English Court was 
the Baron's chief residence, until the advancing infirmities 
of age led him reluctantly, and amidst the loving regrets 
of all, to return to spend at Coburg the * aliquid intervalli ' 
between his life*long service and the grave. All who 
knew revered him. We must quote without omission the 
golden words, which record the feelings of his royal 
* friend :' — 

* The Queen, looking back with gratitude and affection to the friend of 
their early married life, can ne^er forget the assistance given by the Baron 
to the young couple in regulating their movements and general mode of 
life, and in directing the education of their children. Lord Melbourne had 
the greatest regard and affection for, and most unbounded confidence in 
him. At the commencement of the Queen's reign, the Baron was of 
invaluable assistance to Lord Melbourne. Lord Aberdeen also, speaking 
of him to the Queen, said, — *' I have known men as clever, as discreet, as 
good, and with as much judgment : but 1 never knew any one who united 
all these qualities as he did. He is a most remarkable man.*' The Baron 
liad the greatest regard in return for ** My good Aberdeen,** as he calluii 

Grolden words from such a pen! but words altogether de- 
served. Baron Stockmar was the very pattern of fidelity ; 
for which in its perfoctness what various qualities, and those 


the highest both of heart and mind, are essential ! There 
must be the hearty affection, which is as jealous of any 
defect as a loTer of the honour of his mistref^s, and yet 
which cannot take, and so can hardly give, offence ; there 
must be courage, to speak the least welcome truths, and to 
reprove unsparingly any attempt in others, be they who they 
may, to flatter or deceive; there must be calm, cool, far- 
sighted judgment to advise; there must, above all, be 
absolute disinterestedness, the perfect freedom from one aim 
of personal ambition, not only in its ordinary vulgar gross- 
ness, but in its more refined acting of loving to advise, and 
to feel the possession of influence. Bare indeed, as his wide 
experience of men had taught Lord Aberdeen, is such a 
combination. In the Baron it was so grandly exhibited, 
that no deficiency on any side made itself visible to the 
closest gaze of the keenest eye. Twice after his retirement 
to Goburg from the Court of Victoria and Albert their long- 
united pathways again crossed each other: once in I860, 
when the Queen and Prince visited Coburg in great part to 
see again their old and long-tried friend ; and once again in 
1862, when alas! the form of Hhe crushed and broken- 
hearted widow ' alone trod the lately rejoicing path. When 
she was speaking to him of their beloved Prince, and showing 
him the pictures and photographs of him whidi covered the 
table, the Baron exclaimed, 'My dear, good Prince, how 
happy I shall be to see him again ! and it will not be long/ 
It was not long. On the Oth of July, 1863, the faithful 
friend closed his eyes to this earth and all its cares. 

But we must return to the Prince. His tour took him first 
to Florence, where he rejoiced in the vast stores of art which 
were there gathered, as well as in the beauty of the surround- 
ing scenery. ' I am often/ he says, * quite intoxicated with 
delight when I come out of one of the galleries.* Here, on 
principle, and much against his natural inclination, he aban- 


doned himself to the necessary impertinences of ordinary 
social life : — 

* I have,* he tells his friend Prince LSwenstein, ' lately thrown myself 
entirely into the whirl of society. 1 have danced, dined, supped, and paid 
compliments ; have heen introduced to people, and had people introduced 
to me ; have spoken French and English, exhausted all remarks ahout the 
weather; have played the amiable, and, in short, have made "bonne mine 
k mauvais jeu.** Tou know my pcusion for such things, and must there- 
fore admire my strength of character that I have never excused myself, 
never returned home till five in the morning, that I have emptied the 
carnival cup to the dregs.' 

How much he would have preferred other pursuits may be 
gathered from a remark of the Grand Duke Leopold at this 
very time, who, seeing him kept from the gaieties of the 
ball-room by an animated discussion with the blind Marquis 
Apponi, one of the most eminent members of the Tuscan 
aristocracy, said to Lady Augusta Fox, ' Voila un prince dont 
nous pouTons dtre fiers. La belle danseuse I'attend, le savant 

From Florence he went on to Bome, and thence to Naples, 
returning homewards by Pisa, Genoa, Milan, and Como. At 
Bome he found the only ceremony which did not disappoint 
him, * the Pope's blessing the people, assembled before the 
Vatican, from the balcony, amidst the ringing of bells, firing 
of cannon, and military music' ' It was really a most im- 
posing scene, though what followed was tedious, and savoured 
strongly of idolatry/ He had, too, the * honour of an inter- 
view with his Holiness,' whom he found * kind and civil/ ' I 
remained with him nearly half an hour. Shut up in a small 
room, we conversed, in Italian, on the influence the Egyptians 
had on Greek art, and that again on Boman art. The Pope 
asserted that the Greeks had taken their models from the 
Etruscans. In spite of his infallibility, I ventured to 
assert that they had derived their lessons in art from the 


He himself reviews, in a letter to Prince Lowenstein, in 
June, 1839, when he had returned to Coburg, the effect of 
this Italian tour upon him. 'It was/ he says, *of great 
advantage to me. It has made an impression on me, not so 
much by its peculiar incidents as by its general character. 
My sphere of observation has been doubled, and my power 
of forming a right judgment will be much increased by my 
having seen for myself. On the whole, my life was very 
pleasant. The society of such a man as Baron Stockmar 
was most precious and valuable to me.' 

The great crisis of his life was now approaching. * When 
he was a child of three years old, his nurse always told him 
that he should marry the Queen, and when he first thought 
of marrying at all, he always thought of her.' After the 
first visit to Kensington in 1836, these floating images of a 
possible future gathered themselves up, we believe, in his 
mind, under the influence of early affection, into a . more 
definite shape; and though 'nothing had passed between 
him and the Queen,' the future to which his heart now pointed 
was very different from the shadowy dreamland of his early 

But now difficulties seemed to intervene. King William 
IV., with that kindly but bustling interference with every- 
thing he could touch, which was one of his most marked 
characteristics, had set himself against the Coburg alliance, 
and contemplated one of five other marriages for the Prin- 
cess. He had, therefore, opposed the Duke of Coburg's visit 
to England in 1836. Who can say how all that has since 
passed might have been marred had that visit not have 
taken place in spite of his opposition ? This difficulty was 
now remoTed, and the sagacious mind of the King of the 
Belgians, apprehending all the advantages of such an alliance, 
used his great influence to promote it. In the early part of 
1838 he obtained the Queen's sanction to his opening the 


matter as one of possible arrangement with the Prince. 
* He looks/ the King writes to Baron Stockmar, * at the 
question from its most elevated and honourable point of 

view I have told him that his great youth would 

make it necessary to postpone the marriage for a few years. 

• * I am ready/ he said, * to submit to this delay, if 

I have only some certain assurance to go upon. But if after 
waiting, perhaps for three years, I should find that the 
Queen no longer desired the marriage, it would place me in 

a very ridiculous position * This was now the only 

remaining difSculty. 

The visit of 1836 had favourably impressed the mind of 
the young Princess. ' The Prince was at that time much 
shorter than his brother, already very handsome, but very 
stout, which he entirely grew out of afterwards. He was 
most amiable, natural, unaffected, and merry, full of interest 
in everything, — playing on the piano with the Princess his 
cousin, drawing, in short, constantly occupied. He always 
paid the greatest attention to all he saw ; and the Queen 
remembers well how intently he listened to the sermon 
preached in St. Paul's.' This notice of the former visit, the 
effect of which on the Prince we have already traced, shows 
that the impression made by it on the other side also was 
real — strong enough, probably, to make the idea of an alli- 
ance at some future time not unacceptable, but not strong 
enough to lead to the desire of an immediate marriage. On 
the other hand, the Prince's father objected to any uncertain 
delay, and the wise Leopold acknowledged the truth of the 
objection, 'If Albert waits till he is in his twenty-first, 
twenty-second, or twenty-third year, it will be impossible for 
him to begin any new career, and his whole life would be 
marred if the Queen should change her mind.' 

In October, 1839, the two brothers came to England on a 
visit to the Queen ; Prince Albert intending to tell her ' that 


he could not now wait for a deoision, as he had done, at a 
fonner period when this marriage was first talked about** 
The natural progress of events soon made any such declara- 
tion wholly superfluous. King Leopold remarks to Baron 
Stockmar on the great improvement in Albert : * He looks so 
much more manly, and from his toumure one might easily 
take him to be twenty-two or twenty-three/ Those who 
remember him at that time well know bow well this praise 
was merited. Barely have the rich gifts of mind and soul 
with which he was endowed been enshrined in an outer 
casket of more beseeming comeliness. His countenance 
bespoke the rare union of strength, sweetness, and intelli- 
gence, which existed within. He was, too, as that keen 
observer, the King of the Belgians, writes, * a very agreeable 
companion. His manners are so gentle and harmonious, that 
one likes to have him near one's self, I have always found 
him so when I had him with me, and I think his travels have 
still improved him. He is full of talent and fun.' All this, 
too, was accompanied by that secret power over other hearts 
which accompanied the unbroken inward reign of spotless 
purity and stainless truth. It was most natural that the 
afTection of such a Prince should be speedily returned ; and, 
whatever were before the obstacles which produced a dis- 
inclination to an immediate marriage, five days of familiar 
intercourse sufficed to break them down. Every heart, we 
think, must thrill under the power of these woixis, which 
record the retrospect cast in later years on this inclination to 
delay : — 

'The Queen cannot think without indignation against herself of her 
wish to keep the Prince waiting for probably three or four years, at the 
risk of ruining aU his prospects for life, until she might feel inclined to 
marry. . . . The only excuse the Queen can make for herself is in the 
fact that the sudden change from the secluded life at Kensington to the 
independence of her position as Queen Regnant at the age of eighteen, put 
■all ideas of marriage out of her mind, which she now most bitterly repents. 


' A worse gchool for a young girl, or one more detrimental to all natural 
feelings and affections, cannot well be imagined than the position of a 
Queen at eighteen without experience, and without a husband to guide and 
support hor. This the Queen can state from painful experience, and she 
thanks God that none of her dear daughters are exposed to such dangers.* 

There was, however, not one day's needless trifling with 
the Prince's feelings. On the 15th of October the Queen 
sent for him, and made the communication which (as he 
writes the same day to the faithful Stockmar, sending him 
'the most welcome news possible*) made it *one of the 
happiest days in his life.' The letter is all that any one 
would wish to find it ; it proceeds : * Victoria is so good and 
kind to me, that I am often at a loss to believe that such 
affection should be shown to me. I know the great interest 
you take in my happiness, and therefore pour out my heart 
to you. • . . More, or more seriously, I cannot write to you, 
for at this moment I am too bewildered. 

' Das Auge sieht den Himmel offen, 
£s schwimmt das Herz in Seligkeit.* * 

' Heaven open wide the glad eye sees. 
The heart is bathed in perfect peace.* 

The entry in the Queen's journal of the day, which we are 
permitted to see, is not a little remarkable, ^ How I will 
strive to make him feel as little as possible the great sacrifice 
he has made ! I told him it was a great sacrifice on his 
party but he would not allow it. . . . I then told him to 
fetch Ernest. ... He told me how perfect his brother was.' 

All now marched with steps of joy. The announcement 
was received with universal satisfaction both at home and 
abroarl. * Nothing,' wrote the King of the Belgians to the 
Queen, 'could have given me greater pleasure than your 
dear letter. I had, when I learnt your decision, almost the 
feeling of old Simeon, '' Now lettest thou thy servant depart 

* Schiller'i * Lied Ton der Glocke/ always a special favourite with the Prince. 


in peace." Tour choice has been for these last years my 
conviction of what might and would be best for your happi- 

Throughout the English nation there was the same full 
approval of the step the Queen was taking. On the 23id , of 
November the intended marriage was announced by the 
Queen with admirable self-possession to eighty-three mem- 
bers of the Privy Council, and the preliminary arrangements 
immediately succeeded. Parliament was opened on the 16th 
of January, 1840, and the Queen was never cheered more 
loudly than as she drove down to the Palace of Westminster 
to announce to the descendants of the ancient Barons of 
England, and the assembled representatives of her people, 
her intended marriage. In Parliament itself, though there 
was the same consentient approval of her marriage, yet 
matters did not proceed altogether smoothly. On the 
Prince's Annuity Bill, and on the Naturalisation Bill, the 
two great parties of the State were brought into active 
opposition. In the first, the sum proposed by the Govern- 
ment, 50,000Z. a year, was opposed as excessive, and an 
amendment of 30,000Z. a year was carried. In the second, it 
was proposed to enable the Queen to affix to the future 
Consort any precedence she chose. This was objected to, on 
family grounds, by certain members of the Boyal family, and 
as unconstitutional by the Duke of Wellington; and the 
proposition was dropped. It would scarcely be worth while 
reviving now the memory of these long-past discussions, were 
it not to point out the singular fairness with which they are 
recorded in the Prince's memoir, and the nobleness of 
character in him which they accidentally elicited. *The 
mortification which the refused vote was calculated to occa- 
sion to the Queen might,* it is justly admitted, 'have been 
avoided by proper communications beforehand between Lord 
Melbourne and the leaders of the Opposition.' *If, on the 


one side, the opposition to the proposed vote may be traced, 
in part at least, to disappointed hope of office, the nuconcilia- 
tory course piirsned on the other may have been influenced 
by the hope not acknowledged, perhaps, to themselves, of 
indisposing the young Prince on his first arrival to their 
opponents, and of seeing the breach widened which already 
existed between them and the Queen.* 

The admission here made is one which marks the singular 
fairness of the mind which looks back with so mild and equal 
a judgment upon what at the time was a great annoyance, 
and was studiously represented as an intended insult. If 
such a plan was devised, it certainly failed altogether with 
regard to the Prince. The refusal, of course, pained him at 
the time ; but witli that impartial judgment of others, whicli 
his own consciousness of perfect fairness taught him, and 
with his quick and intelligent perception of the bearing of 
political questions in our land, he at once saw that no dis- 
loyalty to the Queen or disaffection to himself had dictated 
the opposition ; and he never showed in his treatment of the 
Conservative party any grudging or ill will for what he 
doubted not was on their part a course dictated by nothing 
else than a conscientious sense of duty. 

No other difficulty of any sort was interposed ; and when 
the Prince, after a visit of leave-taking to his native land, 
which drew forth the strongest expressions of the love for 
him with which he Imd inspired his own countrymen, re- 
turned again to England, the marriage was at once celebrated. 
The Prince landed at Dover on Thursday, the 6th of Febru- 
ary, and on Monday, the 10th, he was married at the Chapel 
Boyal, St. James's Palace. 

Here, by the ordinary rules of romance — and it is a true 
romance which is pictured in the earlier portion of the 
volume — ^the narrative should have closed. But it is, indeed, 
well that it did not. To do any justice to the great character 

VOL. II. li 


portrayed, it was necessary to join his manhood visibly to his 
youth, to show in the first years of his new life what was the 
fruit of the diligent self-training which had preceded it, and 
how completely the dcTeloped manhood was the bright 
flower into which the conscientious boyhood had all along, 
promised to burst forth. 

The forecasting mind of King Leopold had long perceived 
the difficulties through which the Queen's husband must 
pass before he could occupy his true place in the Court and 
nation. *His position/ he wrote, October, 1839, to the 
Queen, 'will be a difficult one; but much, I may say aU^ 
will depend on your affection for him/ How completely he 
had that support, and how wisely he used it, these pages 
show. Lord Melbourne has been often blamed for not 
having taken more trouble in making a position for the 
Consort of the Queen. That he did not attempt to do so is 
certain. But the reason of his conduct was not what his 
characteristic way of meeting the reproach would seem at 
first sight to imply. For, instead of being the careless man 
he liked to appear, he was, in truth, most painstaking and 
laborious. His unfeigned attachment also to the Queen 
would have made him exert all his power to secure her this 
comfort if he had deemed it possible. But his answer, 
* What would be the good of making him a position ? if he is 
a fool he will lose it, and if he is a wise man he wiU make it 
for himself,' expressed in his own phraseology the conviction 
that the position must be made by the Prince himself. No 
one rejoiced mpre at witnessing the perfect success with 
which the Prince's high qualities enabled him to make it. 
When the Eegency Bill passed, in August, 1840, through 
both Houses of Parliament without one voice of opposition. 
Lord Melbourne said to the Queen, ' Three months ago they 
would not have done it for him ;' adding with tears in his 
eyes, ' It is entirely his own character.' 



And well did he make for himself the fitting position ; and 
yet not witliont opposition. The first difficulty was in the 
Royal Household itself. This is touched on in a very few 
but very telling words in a letter of May, 1840, to Prince 
Lowenstein, in which the Prince says, * I am very happy 
and contented ; but the difficulty in filling my place with the 
proper dignity is, that 1 am only the husband, not the master 
in the house.* Fortunately, however, for the country, and 
still more fortunately for the happiness of the Royal couple 
themselves, things did not long remain in this condition. 
Thanks to the firmness, but at the same time gentleness, with 
which the Prince insisted on filling his proper position as head 
of the family — thanks also to the clear judgment and right 
feeling of the Queen, as well as to her singularly honest and 
straightforward nature — but thanks, more than all, to the 
mutual love and perfect confidence which bound the Queen 
and Prince to each other, it was impossible to keep up any 
separation or difference of interests or duties between them. 
To those who would urge upon the Queen that, as Sovereign, 
she must be the head of the house and the family, as well as 
of the State, and that her husband was, after all, but one of 
her subjects, Her Majesty would reply, that she had solemnly 
^iigAg^ &t the altar to * obey ' as well as to 'love and honour;' 
and this sacred obligation she could consent neither to limit 
nor refine away. 

A calm unruffled temper, the greatest quickness of percep- 
tion, a strong will, and a head of singular sagacity, with the 
unbounded affection of the Royal Mistress of the Palace, 
soon scattered these difficulties, and enabled the Prince to 
effect what he had set before himself as one of his special 
functions — the raising to the highest level the character of 
the Court. He rested this endeavour on the only true 
foundation. At the first Easter after the marriage the 

L 2 


Qaeen and Prince received the Holy Communion together in 
in 8t George's Chapel, Windsor. *The Prince/ says the 
Queen's * Memorandum/ 'had a very strong feeling about 
the solemnity of this act, and did not like to appear in com- 
pany either the evening before or the day on which he took 
it, and he and the Queen almost always dined alone on these 
occasions.' Having thus begun with consecrating his life by 
the highest acts of religion, he Maid down' for himself, we 
are told, 'from the first, strict, not to say severe, rules for 
his own guidance. He imposed a degree of restraint and 
self-denial upon his own movements which could not but 
have been irksome.' 

How true such conduct, — ^which forbad one painful feeling 
over troubling the Boyal lady whom be had married, — was 
to his own feelings of manly affection for his wife the nation 
may now read in the ' Memorandum ' by the Queen. ' During 
the time the Queen was laid up (after the birth of the Princess 
Boyal) his care and devotion were quite beyond expression.' 
He refused to go to the play, or anywhere else, generally 
dining alone with the Duchess of Kent, till the Queen was 
able to join them, and was always at hand to do anything in 
his power for her comfort. He was content to sit by her in 
a darkened room, and to read to her or write for her. ' No 
one but himself ever lifted her from her bed to her sofa. . . • 
As years went on, and he became overwhelmed with work, 
this was often done at much inconvenience to himself; but 
he ever came with a sweet smile on his face. In short,' the 
Queen adds, ' his care of me was like that of a mother, nor 
could there be a kinder, wiser, or more judicious nurse.' 
How successful his conduct was, is proved by the fact that 
Scandal never dared in her most malignant mood to asso- 
ciate his name with the lightest hint of any possible suspicion. 
He might, indeed, have been far more popular during the 
first years of his married life if he had not imposed upon 


himself this rule— not only of avoiding evil, but of raising a 
tone of higher purity in the society in which he moved by a 
stem rejection and rebuke of every possible approach to 
levity of conduct. 

It was less difficult for such a man to assume his true 
place in the political world. In spite of the ridiculous 
jealousy of some feeble minds, who would even have ex- 
cluded him from ' driving with the Queen in the state car- 
riage, or sitting next to her in the House of Lords/ Lord 
Melbourne, and his successors in the Premiership, were from 
the first anxious ^ that the Queen should tell him and show 
him everything connected with public affairs.' The noble 
spirit in which he entered on this delicate relation to a re- 
sponsible Ministry prevented the rise of those difficulties wliich 
would have sprung up as thistles before a vain, or selfish, or 
intriguing man. From the time of his first contemplation of 
his future duties, this breathes everywhere in all his commu- 
nications. He was resolved, not to be useful or powerful, but 
to be of such a character that such usefulness should flow 
naturally forth from what he was in his own inner being. ^ I 
havelaid to heart,' he tells Baron Stockmar in November, 1838, 
* the friendly advice of your good will as to the true founda- 
tion on which my future happiness must rest, and it agrees 
entirely with the principles of action which I had already in 
my own reflections framed for mys(ilf: an individuality 
{Persanliehkeit), a character, which shall win the respect, the 
love, and the confidence of the Queen and of the nation, must 
be the ground-work of my position. This individuality gives 
security for the disposition which prompts the actions ; aiul 
even should mistakes {Missgriffe) occur, they will be more 
easily pardoned on account of that personal character : while 
even the most noble and beautiful undertakings fail in pro- 
curing support to a man who is not capable of inspiring that 


* If, therefore, I prove a ** noble " Prince {ein edler Fiird), 
in the true sense of the word, as you eall upon me to be, wise 
and prudent conduct will become easier to me, and its results 
more rich in blessings. I will not let my courage fail. With 
firm resolution and true aeal on my part I cannot fail to con- 
tinue noble, manly, and princely in all things.' Bemarkable 
words surely for a young man of twenty, in the contempla- 
tion of such a life as lay before him ; words which, in fact, 
reveal the secret of the marvellous success which he achieved. 
For what he thus nobly designed he grandly executed. 
When, eleven years afterwards, that great man the Duke of 
Wellington proposed a scheme which was to issue in the 
Prince Consort succeeding himself as the Commander-in- 
Chief of the British Army, the Prince could look undazzled 
on the glittering offer, and subject it, without one thought of 
personal distinction, to tlie calm decision of the most search- 
ing judgment, as if he had been dealing with a question 
which affected another, because he was the inwardly noble 
man he aspired to be. 

* Whilst a female sovereign,' he writes in reply to the Duke of Wellington, 
' has a great many disadvantages in comparison with a King^ yet, if she is 
married, and her husband understands and does his duty, her position on 
the other hand has many compensating advantages, and, in the long run, 
will bo found to be even stronger than that of a male sovereign. But this 
requires that the husband should entirely sink his otvn individual exist- 
ence in that of his wife, that ho should aim at no power by himself or for 
himself, should shun all ostentation, assume no separate responsibility 
before the public ; but make his position entirely a part of hers, fill up 
every gap which, as a woman, she would naturally leave in the exercise of 
her regal functions, continually and anxiously watch every part of the 
public business, in order to be able to advise and assist her at any 
moment in any of the multifarious and diflScult questions or duties 
brought before her, sometimes international, sometimes political, or social, 
or personal. 

• As the natural head of her family, superintendent of her household, 
manager of her private affairs, sole confidential adviser in politics, an^ only 
assistant in her communications with the officers of the government, he is 



besides the husband of the Queen, the tutor of the Royal children, the 
private secretary of the sovereign and her permanent minister.* 


And so he discarded the tempting idea of being placed in 
command of the British Army. 

It was this magnanimous resolve * entirely to sink his own 
individual existence in that of his wife ' — thus aiming at no 
power by himself or for himself, thus shunning all ostenta- 
tion — which by degrees allayed the suspicions which the 
English jealousy of foreigners, the anomalous nature of his 
position, and even the perception of his great powers of mind, 
had excited, and gave him, without his seeking it, such an 
authority in the realm, as a wise, good, and powerful monarch 
might have rejoiced to possess. 

The entire, and if such a word may be used in such a con- 
nection, the dutiful love of the Lady of the Land, which 
every year increased, was the basis on which all this influence 
ultimately rested. One main interest of this remarkable 
volume is the ever-recurring proof of the greatness of the 
wedded love — that rare inheritance, alas ! of crowned heads 
—which for once invested with its sacred brightness the 
throne of England. It is easy for inferior minds and vulgar 
natures to question the propriety of such a revelation of the 
Sovereign's inner life. We believe the deeper and truer 
view of the effects it will produce is that which has led the 
illustrious Lady it concerns to sanction its being made. 
True, deep, earnest love is a great and not a little thing. 
It elevates every character which it does truly possess. Its 
real greatness may easily be put out of sight by the petti- 
nesses of a too demonstrative fondness. Such feeble adjuncts 
of the noble passion should of course be treated as human 
weaknesses over which the veil of utter secrecy cannot be too 
closely drawn. But the sight of the majesty of deep affection 

♦ Letter to Duke of Wellington, April 8th, lb5o. WiiuUoi Cai>tlc. •8pecchc^ 
and Addresses ol'thc Priucc (.'misort,' pp. 70-78. 


is always ennobling. And there are many circumstances 
connected with the preceding occupants of the British throne, 
as well as with these times themselves, which make it wise, 
because profitable for the nation, to let the veil be somewhat 
lifted, and the throne be seen to have been the central point 
of that true, pure, loving, family life which has ever been so 
dear to the heart of England. 

All this is to be seen in these pages not so much in direct 
expressions of happy love — though these are not few — as in 
the delight with which tlie Prince's influence for good on her 
who loved him best is acknowledged with a simple absence 
of all self-consciousness which would bo charming fi*om any 
pen in any rank of life, and which is more memorable still 

iroin the pen which traced such lines as these : — 

* The time spent at Olaremont was always a very happj one ; the Priooe 

and Qu^D, heing able to take charming walks in the pTetiy grounds^ and 

neighhour^iood I told Albert that formerly I was too happy to go 

to London and wretched to leave it, and how since the blessed hour of my 

marriage, and still more since the summer, I dislike and am unhappy to 

leave the country, and could be content and happy never to go to town. 

This pleased him. The solid pleasures of peaceful, quiet, yet merry life in 

the country, with, my inestimable husband and friend, my all-in-all, are 

far more desirable than the amusements of London, though we don't 

despise or dislike these sometimes.*.. 

^ The Prince constantly said on arriving at Osborne and Balmoral, and 

on leaving London, — *'llpw sweet it smells! liuw delicious the air isl 

One begins to breathe again T' And how he delighted in the song of birds, 

and especially of nightingales ! listening for them in the happy, peaceful 

woods at Osborne, and whistling to them in their own peculiar long note, 

which they invariably answer 1 The Queen cannot hear this note without 

fancying she hears him, and withput the deepest, saddest emotion. At 

night he would stand on the balcony at Osborne in May listening to the 


How strong these tastes were, and how they mingled them- 
selves with the happiness of that family life which was the 
admiration of all who really witnessed it, may be read in yet 
one more extract given us from the * Queen's Journal ' of 


Balmoral of October 13, 1856 : — * Every year my heart be- 
comes more fixed in this dear paradise, and so much more so 
now that aU has become my dearest Albert's oum creation, 
own work, own building, own laying out, as at Osborne, that 
his great taste and the impress of his dear hand Iiave been 
stamped everywhere/ 

Yet with this complete appreciation of nature and the 
country, the same wise and wholesome influence was em- 
ployed to prevent the delights of retirement and family life 
interfering with the duties imposed by her position upon the 
wearer of the crown. ' The Prince/ we are told, ' thougli 
never losing the smallest particle of that intense enjoyment 
of the country wliich used to burst forth in such expressions 
as "Now I am free; now I can breathe;" yet was always 
anxious that the Queen should spend as much of her time as 
she could in London.' 

The same influence was most usefully exerted in yet higher 
departments of the duties of the Crown. The Queen has 
allowed it to be recorded, that ' up to the period of her 
marriage she had indulged strong feelings of political parti- 
sanship/ There were not wanting events in the early days of 
the marriage which might easily have stamped a like political 
bias on any one of less robust mental and moral Iiabits than 
the Prince. * At Aix-la-Chapelle, on his journey to England, 
for the marriage, the Prince heard the news of the rejection 
of the proposed grant of 50,000Z., which nuule a disagreeable 
impression on him.' The difUcuIties raised in Parliament to 
granting him the desired precedence shortly followed. It can 
cause no matter of surprise that ' the Queen was, as she her- 
self says, most indignant at what had occurred, or that the 
first impression made on the young Prince's mind by the pro- 
ceedings in both Houses should have been a painful one/ 
But his mind had been early made up that to discharge his 
duties to the nation and the Queen he must stand entirely 



apart from mere political party. There is an admirable 
statement of this principle in one of his early letters to the 
Queen (Dec. 10, 1889), concerning the choice of his future 
household : — * I should wish/ he says, * particularly that the 
selection should be made without regard to politics ; for if I 
am really to keep myself free from all parties, my people 
must not belong exclusiyely to one side. Above all, these 
appointments should not be made mere party rewards. .... 
It is very necessary that they should be chosen from both 
sides.' To this principle he faithfully adhered. He under- 
stood almost intuitively the relations of our political parties ; 
and be cast aside, as their natural result, and springing from 
no want of loyalty to the Queen or regard to himself, the 
early vexations which might have eaten deep into the heart 
of a feebler man. His relation from the first with the leaders 
of both the great parties in the State was that of amicable 
fidelity ; and all the leading men of the nation soon trusted 
him implicitly. The chief peril of a female reign was thus 
happily averted, and the party ^ feelings by which the Queen 
so candidly admits that she was herself biassed at the time 
of her marriage soon ceased to show themselves under the 
influence of his judicious counsels.' Thus was prevented 
what might else have grown into no slight danger to the 
realm. For, as Lord. Bacon has recorded — ^^When princes 
that ought to be common parents make themselves as a 
party, and lean to a side, it is as a boat that is overthrown 
by uneven weight on the one side.'* 

Such was the Prince whom we have had, and whom in the 
inscrutable providence of Gk)d, except in the good which he 
has done, and the example he has left, we have lost. In 
these pages it has been our endeavour to make his own acts, 
words, and letters as much as possible record his character. 
And after such a record few sentences of mere formal 

* Loixl Bncou's Works, vol. ii. p. 284. 


description can, we tbinky be needful. Of a noble and dis- 
tinguished lineage amongst our German kinsmen, he was 
trained in all the highest excellencies of their best education. 
In person he was remarkable for a manly beauty in which 
the presence of intellect made itself felt like strongly-marked 
features of scenery through the more ordinary graces of a 
finished landscape. His intellectual gifts were of the highest 
order. With a keen relish for knowledge of every kind, and 
great exactness in acquiring and retaining It, — of history, of 
art, of philosophy, of science, and of nature, he bad the 
master power of casting all acquired facts into such a philo- 
sophical order that he was never oppressed by the multitude 
of his attainments. The higher accomplishments of a 
liberal education were also his; he was a painter and a 
musician of no ordinary merit. He possessed the power of 
reasoning to an eminent degree. In argument on any topic, 
no man was readier in the use of every lawful weapon of 
fence. Humour, illustration, repartee, and the strong grasp 
of vigorous contradiction, all lay hid under that mild and 
calm exterior. His affections, too, though their outward 
demonstrations were repressed on principle into a settled 
sobriety of expression, were quick and strong. How did he 
return the almost worship of the aged Duchess of Gotha! 
how did he love his Queen, his brother, and his friends! 
Here is one instance of the latter too striking not to be 
inserted, and one which illustrates also the great fairness of 
his character. When Mr. G. E. Anson was first appointed 
to be his private secretary, the arrangement was reluctantly 
acquiesced in by him, because he feared that Mr. Anson's 
former connection with Lord Melbourne, as private secretary, 
would give a political colour to the appointment. The 
objection was, however overruled; and the Prince soon 
found that he had a tlioroughly honest, fearless, and attached 
servant in Mr. Anson. These were qualities which his truth- 


ful and noble nature thoroughly appreciated ; and he soon 
gave to Mr. Anson, not only confidence, but an affection 
which ripened early, to be early broken in upon by the 
sudden death of his confidential servant * The Prince was 
deeply affected when the news of Mr. Anson s sudden death 
arrived, and said to the Queen, *^ He was my only intimate 
friend. We went through everything together since I came 
here. He was almost like a brother to me." ' 

But the pre-eminent feature, after all, in the. character 
of the Prince was his noble estimate of duty. This was not 
in him the dull and formal performance, however precise, 
of a set of external acts ; it was the outcoming of his life, 
and so, like other true comings forth of life, was at once real, 
vigorous, genial, and perpetual. This was his aim, — not 
merely to do with any amount of exactness external duties, 
but to be such that the external performance would be the 
natural expression of the inward man. ^ If I prove,' they 
are his own grand words, * a ** noble " prince in the true sense 
of the word, wise and prudent conduct will become easier to 
me.' And all this was founded on a true principle of religion 
which had kept his youth spotlessly pure. We believe that 
the words in which she who knew him best gives utterance 
to her estimate of his goodness are no exaggeration, when 
she says, 'God knows vice itself would ever have recoiled 
from the look alone of one who wore " the lily of a blameless 
life." ' It is not easy to over-estimate the influence for good 
on our Court and people of such a life as this, placed beside 
the throne of a young female sovereign. The Queen's words, 
which we have before quoted, express her estimate of what 
the gain was in the highest quarter. But it did not stop 
there; through the Court, and by a thousand channels 
through the nation, that .life daily distilled its purifying, 
elevating influences. What England might now have been 
if that young Court had been led astray by the union of such 


abOities as those possessed by the Prince to such a character 
as Charles II/s ; what it might have been if the Lady of the 
land had wedded a mere dall, clownish lout h'ke the husband 
of Queen Anne, who amongst us can say ? Where do we 
not meet now with the marks of what he did, who has been 
taken from us in presence, but who is still with us in the 
virtues of the Court, in the growth of art, in the elevation 
of science, and in many beneficent institutions for raising 
the character and increasing the comforts of servants and of 
poor children, and for securing to the labourer's family a 
home in which the practice of virtue is rendered possible 
because its life can be led with decency ? 

*How this early promise of distinction was fulfilled,' tlic Queen says in 
the Memorandum from which this extract is taken, * liow immeasurably 
all the most sanguine exi^ectations were surpassed, how King Lcoi^old's 
fondest hopes were realised ten thousand fold, and how the fearful blow 
which took him from us put an end to all this happiness, and cut short his 
brilliant and useful career, we all know 1* 

It was one consequence of the line which he marked out 
for himself, of ^sinking his own individual exbtence in that 
of his wife,' that all this should at the time be unperceived. 
During the earlier years, accordingly, of his married life he 
was comparatively speaking unknown. English jealousy of 
foreign interferences in some quarters, resentment in others 
at the high tone of virtue which he was felt to enforce, 
ignorance of what he was in almost all, created and kept 
alive respecting him misjudgment, with its consequent dis- 
affection. By little and little the truth, as it always will, 
oozed out. The speeches which from time to time he de- 
livered excited first attention and then astonishment. They 
were so full of genius, and they were so evidently his own, 
whilst they announced such high principles in such clear 
language; they so plainly met some great practical need 
in so straightforward a manner, and they were so quickly 


followed by oorresponding acts, that bis real character and 
greatness began to be uniyersally appreciated. Men felt in 
his growing influence, and saw in his perpetual labours, the 
truth of t^e words of the great philosophic statesman: 
' Princes are like to heavenly bodies which cause good of 
evil times ; and which have much veneration but no rest/* 
And then, almost before his sun had risen to its mid-day 
height^ it sunk suddenly, and men found out what they had 
possessed by the sad process of losing it. 

What he would yet more and more, as years passed on, 
have become to England and to Europe, and so to the whole 
civilised world, if that large intellect, that calm unerring 
judgment, and that truthfulness, purity, and justice of 
character which already had done so much, had been left to 
expand itself to its full proportions and assert in the sight of 
all men its real greatness, it is impossible to speculate. But 
that future was not allowed him ; he had already done his 
work and he has entered on his rest. 

To such an one we may apply the words in which the 
great philosophical historian of Bome comments upon the 
death of Julius Agricola, with an appropriateness which no 
heathen writer could reach — * Si quis piorum Mauibus locus, 
si, ut sapientibus placet, non cum corpore exstingnuntur 
magnaa animte, placide quiescas ; nosque, domum tuam, ab 
infirmo desiderio ... ad contemplationem virtutum tuarum 
voces, quas neque lugeri neque plangi fas est . . . Is verus 
honos, ea conjunctissimi cujusque pietas. Id filice qiioque 
uxorique proeceperim, sic patris, sic raariti memoriam vene- 
rari, ut omnia facta dictaque ejus secum revolvant't 

Such was Prince Albert to the land of his adoption. What 
he was within the closer precincts of family life these pages 
may make any careful reader know. The subject is still too 
sacred for any more detailed handling than we have ventured 

♦ Bacou's Essays, ♦Of Empire.' t *C. Corndii Taciti Jul, Agricol.,' c. 46. 


to use. Bat if there ever was a call upon all that is good 
and true in this nation for a lifelong sympathy, it is the voice 
of the Wife, the Mother, and the Queen, as it sounds from 
this volume. ^ I am very glad of it,' was Lord Melbourne's 
reply to the announcement of the first engagement, adding, 
with his wonted shrewdness, in quite a paternal tone, ^ you 
will be much more comfortable, for a woman cannot stand 
alone for any time in whatever position she may be.' Let 
Her children, let Her people never forget that God's wise 
though mysterious providence has so ordered Her life, that 
* The Queen cannot forbear from adding, ^* Alas 1 alas ! the 
poor Queen now stands in that painful position." ' 


The work of which we give the title below* must be con- 
sidered as the supplement of that volume of royal authorship 
which we recently brought before our readers. It is a record 
of that daily life to which the former book so touchingly 
alluded; and whatever of direct biography future volumes 
may yet give us, and however skilfully Mr. Theodore Martin 
may execute his task, nothing from another hand can have 
the interest which this possesses, nor can any retrospect be 
animated with the living power which belongs to notes such 
as these of the days which are passed — jotted down at the 
time with no thought of publication, but only as the out- 
pouring of a happy heart, fixing in an enduring record the 
thoughts, feelings, and impressions with which^ in a sunshine 
life spent in high moral and intellectual companionship, it 
was being daily ennobled. The volume consists of journals 
written by the Queen during excursions in England, Scot- 

• < Leaves from the Journal of Our Life in the Highlands, from 1848 to 18G1/ 
Edited hv Arthur Helps*. London, 1868. 


land, and Ireland. They have the charm which perfect 
naturalness combined with exquisite gracefulness might give 
to another writer ; but from their actual writer they have a 
far higher interest They serve, as nothing which was written 
for the purpose of doing it could serve, to set before her 
people the real tone of the life which their Queen has been 
for so many years continually leading; its simplicity, its 
truthfulness, its high family affectionateness, its thorough 
sympathy with all around the royal persons who form the 
centre of the group, and who, even in hours of unusual rest 
from public business, are still engaged in discharging family 
duties with a care and kindness which few households could 
equal, and perhaps none surpass. 

But though this insight into the Royal Family is the main 
interest of this volume, to which we must return, and of 
which we must give some exhibition in the way of extracts 
from these pages, there is about such a volume as this 
another interest besides this which is so directly personal. 

The elements of future history are stored in such a narra- 
tive. What would we not give to have such a diary of 
Henry VII.. when, after having won his throne, he was 
endeavouring to conciliate the subjects amongst whom he 
made his carefully-planned progresses ? or such journals from 
the pen of Elizabeth, the sovereign who, of all who have sat 
upon our ancient throne, was the most given to excursions 
through all her dominions ? Tiic short fragmentary notices 
which we do possess of such royal tours of old, only make us 
feel the more acutely how precious such relics would be. 
We have one such record of the first progress made. by 
Henry VII., when the storms through which his succession to 
the Crown was effected had been sufficiently calmed to allow 
of his coronation, and he set out in 1486 to show himself as 
King throughout his wide dominion. We shall preserve the 
irregular and capricious spelling of the old Cotton MSS., 


and give it exactly as it may yet be read in the British 
Musenm, from what terms itself ^ A short and brief Memory 
by license and correcyon of the first Progress of our Sove- 
raigne Lorde King Henry the VII. After his noble Corona- 
tion, Gristemas, and Parlement, hoi den at his Paleys at 
Westmr. towards the north parties :' — 

' In the. . . dayeof March he rode bis Hors well and nobly accompanyed, 
at Segnt Johns of London, and rode to Waltbam, and from thens the high- 
way to Cambrige where his Grace was honourably receyvcdo both of the 
tJniversite and of the Towne. And from- thence he rode by Huntingdon, 
Stamforde, and toLincolne, and then his Grace kepte right devoutly tlic 
Holy Fest of Ester ; and full like a Christen Prynce harde his dyvine 
servyce in the Cathedral Churche and in no pryve Chapell : and on 
Shere* tbursday he had in the Bysshoppes Halle xxix pore men to whom 
he humbly and cristenly for Crysten love with his noble handes did washc 
ther fete, and gave as grcte almes like as other hys noble Progenitors 
Kynges of England have been accustomed aforetyme : and also on Good 
Friday after all his offering and cbservances of halowing of Uyngcsf after 
dyner gave marvelous grcte sunics of money in grotes to i)oore {Msoplc, 
besides grete alms to poor Frears, Prysoners, and Layars house of that 
countrey : and on Sheer Thursilay, Good Fry day, Ester Even and Ester 
day. the Bysshop of that See dyd the Dyvyne Servyce, and the Kynge 
hemself kept every day thus . . . and that same weke ho removed unto 
Nottingham.' % 

How charming would it be to have Henry's own record of 
this ' riding forth on his Hors/ well and nobly accompanied ; 
to know what he really felt towards the University of Cam- 
bridge ; how its high authorities received hira ; what he ato 
and drank ; and how he fared in the High Halls at Stamford 
and in the grand old Palace, which at Lincoln looked out 
over the wide-spread champaign of Lincolnshire. 

But of all our sovereigns perhaps Elizabeth, as we have 
said, took the greatest pleasure in royal progresses, and cer- 
tainly none could have yielded incidents which it would be 

* Shere or l^eer Thursday, so called from the preparation made by shaving and 
cotting the hair for Easter, 
t For medical use against epilepsy, &i\ 
X El lib. Cottiin, .lulius Xil., fol. 504. 

Vol. ir. m 


more delightful to follow closely from the hand of the royal 
pen than those which must have befallen her. We do not 
believe in the deep State motives which have been suggested 
for these frequent pilgrimages, as having been undertaken in 
order to reduce the power of some whom she suspected, by 
the expense which they inflicted on her hosts. She seems to 
have wished to see things with her own eyes ; moreover, she 
evidently enjoyed not a little the incense so freely burned 
before her in the great provincial houses where she halted. 
There was, too, apparently about her a certain restlessness of 
temper, which was perhaps bred partly from the unsettled- 
ness of her early years and partly from the strange and 
unhappy circumstances of her unmarried condition after she 
became Queen, From her accession, accordingly, almost to 
the epd of her days, she was a great traveller through Eng- 
land, visiting in succession most parts of Surrey, Hampshire, 
Berkshire, Kent, Sussex, Hertfordshire, Warwickshire, Wor- 
cestershire, Essex, Suffolk, Wiltshire. These migrations 
were continued till 1602, within a few weeks of her death. 

In the days of her early troubles, Elizabeth had known 
other progresses than these to which after her coming to the 
throne she was so much devoted. After Sir Thomas Wyatt's 
rebellion (1554), which she lay under some suspicion of 
favouring, when, at the end of May, she was delivered from 
close imprisonment in the Tower, she was sent under the 
command of Sir Henry Bedingfield and Lord Williams of 
Thame,* to the Boyal manor of Woodstock. The first night 
of her journey she lay at Bichmond, where — being watched 
all night by the soldiers, and all access of her own private 
attendants utterly prohibited — she began to be convinced 
that orders had been given to put her privately to death. 
The next day she reached Windsor, where she was lodged in 
the Dean's house. She then passed to Lord Williams' seat at 

* Nichols' * Progresses of Elizabeth/ i. 7, 


Kioot^ ia Oxfordshire, where, to Bedingfield*8 great disgust, 
she *wa8 verie princelie entertained/ Arriving at Wood- 
stock she was kept in the Gate House of the Palace, and her 
expectations and feelings may be gathered from three lines 
which Holinshed records her to have written with a diamond 
on her chamber window : — 

' Much 8usi)ected, by* me 
Nothing proved can be, 

Quoth Elizabeth prisouer.* 

Having after many months obtained her release, she set 
out on her first day's journey from Woodstock to Ricot in 
such tempestuous weather that * her hood and the attire of 
her head were twice or thrice blown oflT' — disarrangements 
of her dress which she was compelled to remedy under a 
hedge near the road, as Bedingfield would not suffer her to 
make use of a neighbouring gentleman's house for the pur- 
pose. Perhaps the remembrance of these early trials made 
her love to haunt the same places when at the noonday of 
her power she could visit them in the pride of her sove- 
reignty ; for Woodstock and ^ Bycort ' are amongst the most 
frequent of her progresses, and are the scenes of some of her 
grandest receptions. Thus, in 1592, having been ^enter- 
tained magnifically ' by the Lady Russell at Bissam, and the 
Lord Ghandos at Sudley, where she was welcomed as the 
* Qneene of this island, the wonder of the world and Nature's 
glory,' she passed on to Ricorte, where on Sunday, being 
received in the garden with ' sweete musicke of sundry sorts, 
she is presented with gifts which purport to come from all 
quarters : an ** Irish lacque," bringing her a Darte of gold 
set with diamonds, with this motto in Irish, I fly onely for 
my sovereign ; a shipper from Flanders delivered a key of 
golde set with diamonds, with this motto in Dutch, I onlie 
open to you ; a French page brings a sword of golde set with 

• Bt/j in the old sense of agaitist. 

M 2 


diamonds and mbyies, with this motto in French, Drawen 
only in your defence; and a truncheon set with diamonds, 
with, the motto in Spanish, I do not commando but under 
you.' * 

In these progresses she sometimes threw off her state, as 
when after visiting Kenil worth Castle in 1572, she returned 
very late at night to Warwick, and * because she woold see 
what chore my Lady of Warwick marie, she sodenly went ^ 
into Mr. Thomas Fisher's house, and there fynding them at 
supper, satt downe awhile, and after a little repast rose 
agayne, leaving the rest at supper, and went to visite the 
good man of the house, Thomas Fisher, who at that tyme 
was grevously vexed with the gowt.' t 

Yery different then was an excursion, even through these 
home counties, for anything we know : we may form some 
idea of the change by comparing our own experience of a 
journey from London to Edinburgh with that accomplished 
at the death of Elizabeth by a ' hasty Hudson ' of that day. 
Instead of being whirled along by the easy speed of an 
express train, when Sir Robert Carey reached Edinburgh to 
bring to James I. the news of his succession to the throne 
he was * admitted to the King bebloodied with great falles 
and bruises ' as the consequences and witnesses of his speed.'} 
The Queen's temporary absence from the capital, even in 
one of the midland counties, in those days difficult of travel* 
led to such provisions being made as would not a little 
astonish the magnates of the city of London if they were 
thought needful upon the starting of the royal train for dis' 
tant Balmoral. Thus when she set forth on her progress of 
1572 she wrote first to the Lord Mayor that she had ap- 
pointed for his assistance * during this time of our progress 

♦ * Progresses,* &c., 1592. Quoted by Nichols, vol. ii. p. 592. 
t From a MS. called the * Black Book,' belonging to the Coriwration of Warwick, 
fol. 65—70. Quoted by Nichols. 

X * Millingtou's True Narration,* given in Ni<:hoU' 3rd volume. 


and absence in remote jmrts from thence, the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, the Bishop of London, and others .... that 
tliey shall join with you to devise .... for quiet order to be 
continued in our said city/ 

Future generations will turn to the 'Leaves from the 
Journal of our Life,' of Queen Victoria, with the same 
historical interest with which we gaze into the comparatively 
unpersonal records of the progresses of Elizabeth. But with 
this difference : that instead of seeing a brocaded figure re- 
ceiving the incense of an antique and almost barbarous 
flattery, or toying with Leicester, or simulating a romantic 
passion for the Duke of Anjou at the very moment when she 
is frigidly rejecting his proposals — whilst the whole mystery 
of her remarkable life, her real relations with Leicester and 
Essex, with Burleigh and Cecil, are almost hidden from us — 
our descendants will have the great figures of the historical 
portrait set before them with a minuteness of description, a 
completeness of detail, and a delicacy of touch, which will, 
after any lapse of time, reproduce before them tlie real life of 
the present century in its best proportions. 

This is in truth the master interest of this volume. Mr. 
Arthur Helps, who at the Queen's command has edited it, 
gives a clear and concise account both of the original compo- 
sition of the volume and of the circumstances which led to 
its publication : 

' During one of the Editor's official visits to Balmoral, Her Majesty very 
kindly allowed him to neo several extracts from licr jourual relating to 
excursions in the Highlands of Scotland, and afterward to progresses in 
England, Ireland, and the Channel Islands. He was much interested by 
them; and expressed the interest which he felt. It then occurred to Her 
Majesty that these extracts, referring, as they did, to some of the happiest 
hours of her life, might be made into a book, to bo printed privately, for 
presentation to members of the Uoyal Family and Her Majesty's intimate 
friends; especially to those who had accompanied and attended her in these 


' it was then suggested to Her Majesty by soniu persons, among tiieni a 


near and dear relative of the Queen, and afterwards by the Editor, that 
this work, if made known to others, would be verj interesting to them as 
well as to the Royal Family and to Her Majesty's intimate friends. The 
Qneen, however, said that she had no skill whatever in authorship ; that 
these were, for the most part, mere homely accounts of excursions near 
home; and that she felt extremely reluctant to publish anything written 
by herself. 

* To this the Editor respectfully replied, that, if printed at all, however 
limited the impression, and however careful the selection of persons to 
whom copies might be given, some portions of the volume, or quite as pro- 
bably incorrect representations of its contents, might find their way into 
the public journals. It would, therefore, he thouglit, be better at once to 
place the volume within the reach of Her Majesty's subjects, who would, 
no doubt, derive from it pleasure similar to that which it had afforded to 
the Editor himself. Moreover, it would be very gratifying to her subjects 
— who had always shown a sincere and ready sympathy with the personal 
joys and sorrows of their Sovereign — to be allowed to know how her rare 
moments of leisure were passed in her Highland home, when every joy was 
heightened, and every care and sorrow diminished, by the loving com- 
panionship of the Prince Consort With his memory the scenes to which 
this volume refers would always be associated. 

' Upon these considerations Her Majesty eventually consented to its pub- 

The editor proceeds to describe the volume as con- 
taining — 

' A record of the impressions received by the Royal Author in the course 
of these journeys, as might hereafter serve to recall to her own mind the 
scenes and circumstances which had been the source of so much pleasure. 
All references to political questions, or to the affairs of Government, have, 
for obvious reasons, been studiously omitted. The book is mainly confined 
to the natural expressions of a mind rejoicing in the beauties of nature, 
and throwing itself, with a delight rendered keener by the mrity of its 
opportunities, into the enjoyment of a life removed, for the moment, from 
the pressure of public cares.' 

The practised hand of Mr. Helps supplies us further 
with some of the literary characteristics of the volume : he 
notices — 

' The picturesque descriptions of scenery in which the work abounds ; 
the simplicity of diction throughout it; and the |)crfoct faithfulness of 
narration which is one of its chief characteristics ; for in every page the 


writer describes what sho thinks and feds, ratlier than what she might be 
expected to think and feel. 

Every one who readts the book, and no book will be more 
widely read, must feel the truth of these descriptions of its 
style and composition. The excursions in England and the 
Channel Islands which are recorded in this volume, were 
made in the summer and autumn of 1846, and consisted of 
a yacht visit to Devonshire, Cornwall, and Guernsey and 
Jersey. One or two extracts will do more than any descrip- 
tion to bring the passing scenes of such record before the 
reader's eye : — 

• On hoard tie Victoria and Albert, Dartmouth, Thursday, August 20, 
184G. — We steamed past the vanous places on the beautiful coast of 
Devonshire which we had i^assed three years ago till we came to Babbi- 
oonibc, a small bay, where we remained an hour. It is a beautiful s(K)t, 
which before we had only passed at a distance. Red cliiTs and rocks with 
wooded hills, like Italy, and reminding one of a ballet or play where 
nymphs are to appear — such rocks and grottoes, with the deeixist sea, on 
which there was not a ripple. Wo intended to disembark and walk up the 
hill ; but it came on to rain very much, and we could not do so. We tried 
to sketch the part looking towards Torbay. I never saw our good children 
looking better, or in higher spirits. I contrived to give Vicky* a little 
lesson by making her read in her English history.' 

Two days later the Journal, dated Plymouth, Saturday, 
August 22, says : — 

' Albert was up at six o'clock, as he was to go to Dartmoor Forest. At 
ten I went in the barge with the two children, the ladies, Baron Stockmar, 
and Lord Alfred Paget, and landed at Mount Edgcumbe .... There were 
crowds where we landed, and I feel ao shy and put out without AlU^t 
.... A little after twelve we returned to the yacht, which had l)cen beset 
with boats ever since six in the morning. Albert returned safely to me at 
one o'clock, much pleased with his trip, and said that Dartmoor Forest was 
like Scotland .... Poor Lord Mount Edgcumbe is in such a sad, helpless 
state ; but so patient and cheerful.' 

* In Ou€}'n9ey Bay, off St. Pierre, Guernsey, Sunday, August 23.— On 
waking, the morning was so lovely that we could not help regretting that 

♦ The Princess Uoyul. 


we oould not delay our trip a little, by one day at least, as the Council 
which was to have been on the 2oth is now on the 29th. Albert thonght 
we uight perhaps manage to see one of the Channel Islands, and accord- 
ingly it was settled that we should go to Guernsey, which delighted me, as 
I had so long wished to see it The day splendid .... The sea the 
whole way was as calm as it was in '43 .... As we approached we were 
struck by the beauty of the Guernsey coast, in which there are several 
rocky bays, and the town of St. Pierre is very picturesquely built, down to 
the vrater's edge .... We anchored at seven, immediately opposite St. 
Pierre, and with the two islands on the other side of us.' 

* Augtut 24.— This island with its bold point, and the little one of Comet 
with a sort of castle on it (close to which we were anchored), and the three 
islands of Herm, Jethou, and Sark, with innumerable rocks, are really very 
fine and peculiar, especially as they then were in bright sunlight. AVc 
both sketched, and at a quarter to nine got into our barge with our ladies. 
l*he pier and shore were lined with crowds of people, and with ladies 
dressed in white, singing ** God save the Queen,'* and strewing the ground 
with flowers. We walked to our carriage, preceded by General Napier, 
brother to Sir Charles (in Scinde), a very singular-looking old man, tall 
and thin, with an aquiline nose, piercing eyes, and white moustaches and 
liair. The people were extremely well-behaved and friendly, and received 
us very warmly as we drove through the narrow streets, which were 
decorated with flowers and flags, and lined with the Guernsey militia, 
2000 strong, with their several bands. Some of the militia were mounted. 

* The vegetation beyond the town is exceedingly fine ; and the evergreens 
and flowers most abundant. The streets and hills steep, and the view from 
the fort, which is very high (and where General Napier presented me with 
the keys), is extremely beautiful. You look over the bay of Guernsey, 
and see opposite to you the islands of Herm, Jethou, and Sark ; with 
Alderney, and the coast of France, Cape de la Hague, to the left in the 
distance, and to the right in the distance, Jersey .... They belonged to 
the Duchy of Normandy, and have been in our possession ever since 
William the Conqueror's time. King John was the last of their sovereigns 
who visited them. We drove along the pier, and then embarked amidst great 
cheering. It was all admirably managed ; the people are extremely loyal.' 

After the interruption of the Council the excnrsion was re- 
sumedy and the Journal thus records its course : — 

• On board the Victoria and Albert, off St, Ileliers, Jersey, Wednesday, 
September 2, 1846. — At a quarter past seven o'clock wc setoff with Vicky, 
Bertie,* Lady Jooelyn, Miss Kerr, Mdlle. Gruner, Lord Silencer, Lord 

The Prince of Wales. 


Palmenton, and Sir James Clark, and embarked at Osborne pier. There 
was a good deal of swell. It was fine, but very cold at first. At twelve 
we saw Alderney, and between two and three got into the Alderney Kace, 
where there was a p;reat deal of rolling, but not for long. We passed 
between Alderney and the French Coast — Cape de la Hague — and saw the 
other side of Alderney ; and then, later, Sark, Guernsey, and the other 
islands. After passing the Alderney Race it became quite smooth ; and 
then Bertie put on his sailor's dress, which was beautifully made by the 
man on board who makes for our sailors. When he appeared, the officers 
and sailors, who were all assembled on deck to see him, cheered, and seemed 
delighted with him. 

* llie coast of Jersey is very beautiful, and we had to go. nearly all round 
in order to get to St. Heliers .... The red clifiis and rocks, with the 
setting sun gilding and lighting them all up, were beautiful At last, at a 
quarter to seven, we arrived iu this fine large bay of St. Aubin, in which 
lies St Heliers ; and after dinner we went on deck to sec the illumination 
and the bonfires.' 

* Off St. JMiers, Thursday, September 3. — A splendid day. I never 
saw a more beautiful deep blue sea, quite like Naples ; and Albert s:iid 
that this fine bay of St. Aubin, in which we lie, really is like Nai)les. 
Noirmont Point terminates in a low tower to our left, with St. Aubin and 
a tower on a rock in front of it ; farther in, and to our right, Elizabeth 
Castle, a picturesque fort on a rock, with the town of St. Heliers behind it. 

* The colouring and the effect of light were indescribably beautiful. . . . 
We landed at the stairs of the Victoria Harbour, amid the cheers of the 
numberless crowds, guns firing, and bands playing ; were received, as at 
Guernsey, by all the ladies of the town, very gaily dressed, who, strewing 
flowers on our way, conducted us to a canopy, where I received the address 
of the States and of the militia. 

* We then got into our carriage and drove along the pier ; Colonel Lc 
Couteur, my militia aide-de-camp, riding by my side, with other oflicers, 
and by Albert's side Colonel Le Breton, commanding the militia, who, 5000 
strong, lined the streets, and were stationed along the pier. The States 
walking in front. The crowds were immense, but everything in excellent 
order, and the people most enthusiastic; the decorations and arches of 
flowers were really beautifully done, and there were numberless kind in- 

* We then proceeded .... through the interior of the island, which is 
extremely pretty and very green— orchards without end, as at Mayenco. 
We passed the curious old tower of La Hougue Bie, of very ancient date, 
and went to the castle of Mont Orgeuil, in Grouville Bay, very beautifully 
situated, completely overhanging the sea, and where Robert, Duke of Nor- 
mandy, sou of William the Conqueror, is said to have lived.* 


The home voyage was propitious. The eyeniug at Fal- 

' beautiful, and the sea as smooth as glass, and without even a ripple. The 
calmest night possible, witli a beautiful moon, when we went on deck ; 
every now and then the splashing of oars and the hum of voices were 
heanl ; but they were the only sounds, unlike the constant ilwhing of the 
sea against the vessel, which we heard all the time we were at Jersey.' 

The next day they anchor off Penzance amidst a * crowd of 

* Mount*8 Batff Comivall, Sutai'day^ September 5. — Numbers of Cornish 
pilcher fishermen, in their curious large boats, kept going round and round, 
and then anchored, besides many other boats full of ]ieoplc. They arc a 
very noisy, talkative race, and speak a kind of English hardly to be under- 

' During our voyage I was able to give Vicky her lessons.' 

Soon after the Corporation of Penryn come on board — 

* Very anxious to sec ** the Duke of Gomwall," so I stepped out of the 
liavilion on deck with Bertie, and Lord Palmcrston told them that that 
was " the Duke of Cornwall ;** and the old mayor of Penryn said that " he 
ho|xxl he would grow up a blessing to his parents and to his country.*' ' 

There were other manifestations of Cornish interest in the 
Duke : — 

* Just below Truro the whole population poured out on foot and in carts, 
&C., along the banks, and cheered, and were enchanted when Bertie was 
hold up for them to see. It was a yory pretty, gratifying sight. 

* We went straiglit on to Swan Pool, outside Pendennis Castle, where we 
got into the barge, and rowed near to the shore to see a net drawn.' 

On the 9th of September the excursion ended at Osborne. 

There are journals of two visits to Ireland, the first in 1844 
and the second in 1861. The first commences with Cork, 
which is pronounced to be — 

' Not at all like an English town, and looking rather foreign. The crowd 
is a noisy, excitable, but very good-humoured one, running and pushing 
about, and laughing, talking, and shrieking. The beauty of the women is 
very remarkable, and struck us much ; such beautiful dark eyes and hair, 
and such fine teeth ; almost every third woman was pretty, and some rc- 


markably sa They wear no bonnets, and generally long blue cloaks ; the 
men arc very poorly, often raggedly dressed ; and many wear blue coats and 
short breeches with blue stockings.* 

The Boyal party, after visiting Dublin, come in for some 
characteristic rejoicings at Castors, the seat of the Duke of 

* One of the kindest and best of men. After luncheon we walked out 
and saw some of the country people dance jigs, which was very amusing. 
It is quite different from the Scotch reel ; not so animated, and the 8lci« 
different, bat very droll. The people were very poorly dressed in tliick 
coats, and the women in shawls. There was one man who was a regular 
specimen of an Irishman, with his hat on one ear. Others in blue coats, 
with short breeches and blue stockings. There were three old and tattered 
pipers playing. The Irish pi^^o is very different to the Scotch ; it is very 
weak, and they don't blow into it, but merely have small bellows wliich 
they move with the arm.* 

The tour takes them on to Belfast, and thence by a stormy 
passage to Scotland. 

The main part of the volume, as the title intimates, con- 
sists of journals which record the daily life of the Boyal party 
in their Highland home. This is preceded by notes of three 
visits which preceded their settlement at Balmoral in 1848. 
The first visit was in 1842, which took them in succession to 
Dalkeith, Dalmeny, Dupplin, Scone, Dunkeld^ Taymouth, 
Drummond Castle, and gave them a good introduction to the 
northern kingdom. During this visit the Prince had his first 
experience of deer-stalking, which the need of exertion of 
every sort> both of mind and body^ at once recommended 
strongly to him. He gives his first impression of it in a 
letter to the late Prince of Leiningen : — 

' Without doubt deer-stalking is one of the most fatiguing, but it is also 
one of the most interesting of pursuits. There is not a tree or a bush 
behind which you can hide yourself. . . . One has, therefore, to be con- 
stantly on the alert in order to circumvent them, and to keep under the 
hill out of their wind, crawling on hands and knees, and dressed entirely in 


The journal marks in the entry of September 14th the 
affection to her northern dominion already created in the 
Queen's mind by a first visit to it : 

* This 18 our last day in Scotland ; it is really a delightful country, and 
1 am very sorry to leave it.* 

In 1844 a visit follows to Blair A thole, and in 1847 a tour 
succeeds round the West coast Throughout these Journals 
there are many of those natural touches which constitute one 
especial charm of the whole volume. Here are one or two 
examples : — 

' About three miles beyond Dundee we stop^x^d at the gate of Lord 
Camperdowo*^ place : here a triumpluil arch had been erected, and Lady 
Camperdown and Lady Duncan and her little boy, with others, were all 
waiting to welcome us, and were very civil and kind. The little buy, 
beautifully dressed in the Highland dress, was carried to Vicky, and gave 
her a basket with fruit and flowers. I said to Albert I could hardly believe 
that our child was travelling with us — it put me so in mind of myself 
when I was the " little Princess." Albert observed that it was always said 
that parents lived their lives over i^in in their children, which is a very 
pleasant feeling. 

' Nothing could be quieter than our journey, and the scenery is so beau- 
tiful ! It is very different from England : all the houses built of stuuc ; 
the people so different — sandy hair, high cheek-bones ; children with long 
shaggy hair and bare logs and feet ; little boys in kilts. Near Dunkcld, 
and also as you get more into the Highlands, there are prettier faces. 
Those jackets whicli the girls wear arc so pretty ; all the men and women, 
as well as the children, look very licalthy. We saw Biruam Wood and Sir 
W. Stewart's place in that fine valley on the opposite side of the river. 
All along such splendid scenery, and Albert enjoyed it so much — rejoicing 
in the beauties of nature, the sight of mountains, and the pure air. 

' We gut out at au inn (which was small, but very clean) at Dunkeld. 
Such a charming view from the window ! Vicky stuod and bowed to the 
people out of the window. There never was such a good traveller as she 
is, sleeping in the carriage at her usual times, not put out, not frightened at 
noise or crowds, but pleased and amused.* 

* Blair Vasile, Blair Alhde, Thursday, September 12.— We took a de- 
lightful walk of two hours. We went through the wood, along a steep 
winding path over-hanging the rapid stream. These Scotch streams, full 
of stones, and clear as glass, are most beautiful ; the jxicps between the 
treett, the depth of the shadows, the mossy stones, mixeil with slate, &c.. 


wbich cover the bunks, are lovely ; at every turn you have a picture. Wc 
were up high, but could not get to the top ; Albert in such delight ; it is a 
happiness to see him, he is in such spirits. 

' He said that the chief beauty of mountain scenery consisted in its 
frequent changes. 

* As we left the wood wc came uix)n such a lovely view — Ben-y-Ghlo 
straight before U8*-and under these high hills the river Tilt gushing and 
winding over stones and slates, and the hills and mountains skirted at the 
bottom with beautiful trees ; the whole lit up by the sun, and the air so 
pure and fine; but no description can at all do it justice, or give an idea of 
what this drive was. 

' Oh ! what can equal the beauties of nature ! What enjoyment there is 
in them I Albert enjoys it so much ; he is in ecstasies here. Ho has in- 
herited this love for nature from his dear father.' 

Here is the first account of one of those half-accompanied 
deer-stalks which allow of ladies sharing in the wild pleasures 
of the Highlands : — 

* Wo stopped at the top of the Chrianan, whence you look down an 
immense height. Here the eagles sometimes sit. Albert looked about in 
great ailmiration. \Ve then went nearly to the top of Cairn Clilaniain, and 
here we separate, Albert going off with Peter, Lawley, and two otiior 
keepers, to got a " quiet shot," as they call it ; and Lady Canning, Lord 
Glenlyon, and I went up quite to the top, which is deep in muss. Here 
we sat down and stayed some time sketching the ponies below — I^rd 
Glenlyon ami Sandy remaining near us. The view was quite be«uitiful, 
nothing but mountains all around us, and the solitude, the complete soli- 
tude, very impressive. We descended this highest pinnacle, and proceeded 
on a level to meet Albert. We met him shortly after ; he had had bad 
luck, I am sorry to say. We then sat down on the grass and had some 
luncheon ; then I walked a little with Albert and we got on our ponies. 
As we went on towards home some deer were seen in Glen Chroime, which 
is called the *' Sanctum ; " where it is supposed that there are a great 
many. Albert went off soon after this, and we remained on Sron a Ciiro 
for an hour, I am sure, as Lord Glenlyon said by so doing we should turn 
the deer to Albert, whereas if we went on we should disturb and s{)oil the 
whole thing. So we submitted. Albert looked like a little st)eck creeping 
about on an opposite hill. We saw four herds of deer, two of them close 
to us. It was a beautiful sight. 

* As the sun went down the scenery became more and more beautiful, 
the sky crimson, golden-rod and blue, and the hills looking purple and 
lilac, most cx<|uisitc, till at length it set, and the hues grew softer in tho 


sky and the outlines of tho hills sharper. I never saw anything so fine. 
It soon, howeyer, grew ycry dark. 

' At length Albert met us. He bad been very unlucky, and had lost 
his S|x>rt, for the rifle would not go off just when he could have shot some 
fine harts ; yet he was as merry and cheerful as if nothing had bapfiened 
to disappoint him. 

* We saw a flight of ptarmigan, with their white wings, on the top of 
Sron a Chro ; also plovers, grouse, and pheasants.' 

ThiB was the last day of the visit to Blair Athole : — 

* I rode back ou ** Arghait Bhean *** for the last time, and took a sad 
leave of him and of faithful Sandy McAra.* 

' Lord Aberdeen was quite touched when I told him I was so attached to 
the dear, dear Highlands, and missed the fine hills so much. There in a 
great peculiarity about the Highlands and Highlanders ; and they are such 
a chivalrous, fine, active people. Our stay among them was so delightful. 
Independently of the beautiful scenery^ there was a quiet, a retirement, a 
wildness, a liberty, and a solitude that had such a charm for us.' 

This affection for the 

' Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. 
Land of the mountain and the flood/ 

was not a little increased by the succeeding visit to the West 
of Scotland, and led before long to the purchase of Balmoral 
as what it is so desirable that the Queen of Great Britain 
should possess — a really Highland home. Here is the record 
of its * first impressions :' — 

' Balmoral^ Friday, September 8, 1848.— We arrived at Balmoral at a 
quarter to three. It is a pretty little castle in the old Scottish style. 
There is a picturesque tower and garden in front, with a high wooded hill : 
at the back there is wood down to the Dee ; and the hills rise all around. 
At half-past four we walked out, and went up to the top of the wooded 
hill opiMsite our windows, where there is a cairn, and up which there is a 
pretty winding path. The view from here, looking down upon the house, 
is charming. To the left you look towards the beautiful hills surrounding 
Loch-na-Gar, and to the right, towards Ballatcr, to the glen (or valley) 
along which the Dee winds, with beautiful wooded hills, which reminded 
us very much of tho Thiiringerwald. It was so calm, and so solitary, it 

* * This pony was given to me by the Duke uf Athole in 1847, and is now alive 
at Osborne.* 


iliil one good as one gazed around ; and the pure mountain air was most 
refreshing. All seemed to breathe freedom and pence, and to make one 
for<:;et the world and its sad turmoils. 

' The scenery is wild, and yet not desolate. Then the soil is delightfully 
dry. We walked beside the Dee, a beautiful, rapid stream, which is close 
behind the house. The view of the hills towards Invercauld is exceedingly 

ExcarsioQSy driyep, deer-stalking, incognito journeys, with 
some of the incidents which in Eastern garb delighted the 
great Haroun Alraschid, soon followed. To a few of these 
we shall treat our readers. Here is the first ascent of Loch- 
na-Gar : — 

' Saturday, Septembei\ 16, 1848. — At half-past nine o'clock Albert and 
I set off in a postchaise, and drove to the bridge in the wood of Balloch 
Buie, about five miles from Balmoral, where our ponies and ])eoplo were. 
Here we mounted, and were attended by a kccixjr of Mr. Farquharson's as 
guide, Macdonald* — who, with his shooting jacket, and in his kilt, Ux)kcd 
a picture — Orantf on a pony, with our luncheon in two baskets, and Bat- 
terburyt on another pony. We went through that beautiful wooil for 
about a mile, and then turned and began to ascend gradually, the view 
getting finer and finer ; no road, but not bad ground — moss, heather, and 
stones. Albert saw some deer when we had been out about three-quarters 
of an hour, and ran oiT to stalk them, while I rested ; but he arrived just 

* ' A J&ger of the Prince's, who came from Fort Augustus in the west ; he was 
remarkably tall and handsome. The poor man died of consumption at Windsor, 
in May, 1S60. His eldest son w<is attach^ to the British Legation in Jaixin. He 
died in 1866. The third son, Archie, is Jager to the Prince of Wales, and was fur 
a year with the beloved Prince.' 

t * Head-keeper. He had been nearly twenty years with Sir Robert Gordon, nine 
as keeper; he was born in Braemar in the year 1810. He is an excellent man, 
most trustworthy, of singular shrewdness and discretion, and most devotedly at- 
tached to the Prince and myself. He has a fine intelligent countenance. The 
Prince was very fond of him. He has six sons-^the second, Alick, is wardrobe-man 
to our son Leopold : all are good, well-disposed lads, and getting on well in their 
different occupations. His mother, a fine, hale, old woman of eighty years, ' stops ' 
in a small cottage which the Prince built for her in our village. He, himself, lives 
in a pretty Lodge called Croft, a mile from Balmoral, which the Prince built for 


\ *■ A groom (now dead some years) who followed me in his ordinary dress, with 
thin lM>ot.s and gaiters, and seemed anything but happy. He was replaceil by a 


a minnte too Ute. He waited for me oa the other side of a stony little 
bam, which I crossed od my pony, after oar faithful Highlanders had 
moTed some stones and made it easier. We then went on a little way, 
and I got off and walked a bit, and afterwards remounted, Macdooald 
leading my pony. The view of Ben-na-fihonrd, and indeed of all aroand, 
was yery beautiful ; bat as we rose higher we saw mist over Loch-na-Gar. 
Albert left me to go after ptarmigan, and went on with Grant, while the 
others remained with mc, taking the greatest care of me. Maodonald is a 
good honest man, and was indefatigable, and poor Batterbury was very 
anxious also.* 

This last extract introduoes us to what is one of the most 
noticeable features of this life in the Highland home — the 
relations between the Qneen and Prince and their Scotch 
servants. These were of the roost friendly nature ; and eyi- 
dently one great charm of days spent so much in the open 
air and in absolate dependence on the care, skill, and con- 
dact of their attendants, was that the peculiarities of the 
Highland character made such intimacy possible without any 
loss of that perfect respect which prevented its ever tend- 
ing towards familiarity or rudeness. The establishment of 
such relations fell in exactly with the character both of the 
Qneen and of the Prince. Not the least remarkable amongst 
those * Speeches ' which first acquainted the people of Eng- 
land generally with the nobleness of the Prince's nature, was 
that which he delivered in May, 1849, on the foundation of 
the Servants' Provident Society. How beautiful is the lan- 
guage in which he sketches out what ought in a Christian 
household to be the relation between the masters and the 
servants : — 

* Who wonld not feel the deepest interest in the welfare of their domes- 
tic servants? Whose heart wonld fail to sympathise with those who 
minister to ns in all the wants of daily life, attend us in sickness, 
receive ns npon our first appearance in this world, and even extend their 
cares to our mortal remains ; who live under one roof, form one household, 
and are part of one family ?* * 

* * Speeches and A<Ulresscs uf the Prince Consort,' p. 96. 


What a noble utterance it is ! and how specially needful 
for these times, when all such bonds as these seem to be too 
generally relaxing under the influence of a subtle selfishness 
which conceals its hateful acting under the garb of non- 
interference on the one side, and independence on the other! 
How is service elevated from servitude when it is thus bap- 
tised with the spirit of mntual regard, of offices rendered 
with love and received with gratitude, when the personality 
neither of the master nor the servant is destroyed by their 
official relations. 

No less accordant with the Sovereign's own character is this 
loftier view of these family relations. Mr. Helps has well 
remarked on this feature in his introduction, when he notices 

* The Patriarchal feeling (if one may apply such a word as" patriarchal " 
to a lady) which is so strong in the present occupant of the throne. Per- 
haps there is no person in these realms who takes a more deep and abiding 
interest in the welfare of the household committed to his charge than our 
Gracious Queen does in hers, or who feels more keenly what are the re- 
ciprocal duties of masters and servants. 

* Nor does any one wish more ardently than Her Majesty does, that 
there should be no abrupt severance of class from class, but rather a 
gradual blending together of all classes — cajosed by a full community of 
interests, a constant interchange of good offices, and a kindly respect felt 
and expressed by each class to all its brethren in the great brotherhood 
that forms a nation. 

* Those whose duty it has been to attend upon the Queen in matters of 
business must have noticed that her Majesty, as a person well versed in 
the conduct of affairs, is wont to keep closely to the point at issue, and to 
8|Xiak of nothing but what is directly connected with the matter before 
her. But whenever there is an exception to this nile, it arises from Her 
Blajesty's anxious desire to make some inquiry about the welfare of her 
subjects — to express her sympathy with this man's sorrow, or on that 
man's bereavement— to ask what is the latest intelligence about this 
disaster, or that suffering, and what can be done to remedy or assuage it — 
thus showing, unconsciously, that she is, indeed, the Mother of her People, 
taking the dee^iest interest in all that concerns them, without respect of 
persons, from the highest to the lowest.' 

With personal nttendants, as we commonly find them in 



England, such intimacy is scarcely possible ; and to minds 
longing to substitute for the wretched hollowness of mere paid 
seryices this acceptance, with honour on the one side and love 
on the other, of the conditions of domestic life, the power of 
resuming * patriarchal ' relations was evidently most grateful. 
Instances of it, and of the degree in which every particular 
of the life and family of such attendants became matter of 
kindly interest to their royal masters, are perpetually re- 
appearing in this volume. They are such as these :— ^ 

' Wo then came to a place which U always wet, but which was particu- 
larly bad after the late rain and snow. There was do pouy for me to get 
on; and as I wished not to get my feet wet by walking through the long 
grass, Albert proposed I should, be carried over in a plaid ; and Lenchen* 
was first carried over; bat it was held too low, and her feet dangled; so 
Albert suggested the plaid should be put round tha men's shoulders, and 
that 1 should sit upon it. Brown and Duncan, the two strongest and 
handiest, were the two who noderlook it, and I sat safely enough with an 
arm on each man*s shoulder, and was carried successfully over. All the 
Highlanders are so amusing, and really pleasant and instructive to talk to 
-r-women as well as men — and the latter so gentlemanlike. As we went 
along I talked frequently with good Grant.' 

' We saw where the Dee rises between the mountains, and such magnifi- 
cent wild rocks, precipices, and corries. It had a sublime and solemn effect ; 
so wild, so solitary — no one but ourselves and our little party there. 

'Albert went on further with the children, but I returned with Grant 
to my seat on the cairn, as I could not scramble about well. I and Alice 
rode part of the way, walking wherever it was very steep. Albert and 
Bertie walked the whole time, Albert, talking so gaily with Grant. Upon 
which Brown observed to me in simple Highland phrase, " It's very plea- 
sant to walk with a person who is always 'content.' " Yesterday, in speak- 
ing of dearest Albert's sport, when I observed he never was cross after bad 
luck. Brown said, " Every one on the estate says there never was so kind 
a master ; I am sure our only wish is to give satisfaction." I said they 
certainly did.'t 

How well founded was this belief in the Prince's thought- 

♦ Princess Helena. 

t 'We were always iu the habit of conversing with the Highlanders — with 
whom one comes so much in contact in the Highlands. The Prince highly appre- 
ciated the good-breeding, simplicity, and intelligence, which malce it so pleasant, 
i^nd even instructive to tallc to them.' 


ful kindness towards his attendants comes weU out in niich a 
notice as this : — 

' At the bridge at Mar Lodge, Brown lit the lanterns. Wo gave him 
and Grant uur plaids to put on, as we always do when thoy have walked 
a long way with us and drive afterwards.' 

* Old John (jordon amused Albert by saying, in speaking of the bad road 
we had gone, 'Mt*8 something steep and something rough," and " this is 
the only best," meaning that it was very bad — which was a characteristic 

Here is another instance of the pergonal interest of the 
Queen and Prince in aU that belonged to their attendants : — 

* September 16, 1850. — We reached the hut on Loch Muich at three 
o'clock. At half-past four we walked down to the loch, and got into the 
boat with our i)eople ;• Duncan Brown,* P. Cotes, and Leys rowing. They 
rowed mostly towards the opposite side, which is very fine indeed, and 
deeply furrowed by the torrents, which form glens and corries where birch 
and alder trees grow close to the water's edge. 

* The moon rose, and was beautifully reflected on the lake, which, with 
its steep green hills, looked lovely. To add to the beauty, i)oetry, and 
wildnesB of the scene. Cotes f played in the boat ; the men, who row very 
quickly and well now, giving an occasional shout when he played a reel. 
It reminded me of Sir Walter Scott's lines in the ' Lady of the Lake' : 

* * The same who, in 1858, became my regular attendant out of doors every- 
where in the Highlands; who commenced as gillie in 1849, and was selected by 
Albert and me to go with ray carriage. In 1851 he entered our service perma- 
nently, and began in that year leading ray pony, and advanced step by step by his 
good conduct and intelligence. His attention, care, and faithfulness cannot be ex- 
ceeded ; and the state of my health, which of late yesirs hns been sorely tried and 
weakened, renders such qualifications most valuable, and indeed most needful, in a 
constant attendant u|K>n all occasionff. He has since most de^rvedly been pro- 
moted to be an upper servant, and my permanent personal attendant. (December, 
1865.) He has all the independence and elevated feelings peculiar to the High- 
land race, and is singularly straightforward, simple-minded, kind-hearted, and dis- 
interested ; always ready to oblige ; and of a discretion rarely to be met with. He 
is DOW in his fortieth year. His father was a small farmer, who lived at the Bush 
on the opposite side to Balmoral. He is the second of nine brothers— three of 
whom have died — ^two are in Australia and New Zealand, two are living in the 
neighbourhood of Balmoral ; and the youngest, Archie ( Archiebald) is valet to our 
son Leopold, and is an excellent, trustworthy young man.' 

t »Now, since some years, piper to Farquharson of Invercauld.* 

N !> 


** Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And loader rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sound, by disUnoe tame. 
Mellowed along the waters came. 
And, lingering long by cape and bay, 
Wail'd every harsher note away." 

We were home at a little pnst seven ; and it was so still and pretty as we 
entered the wood, and saw the light flickering from our humble little 

' September 12, 1850.— We went witli the children and all our party to 
the Gathering at the Castle of Braemar; as we did last year. There were 
the usual games of •• putting the stone,** " throwing the hnmrner,** and 
** caber," and racing up the hill of Craig Cheunnich, which was accom- 
plished in less than six minutes and a half; and we were all much 
pleased to see our gillie Duncan,* who is an active, good-looking young 
man, win. He was far before the others the whole way. It is a fearful 
exertion. Mr. Parquharson brought him up to me afterwards.' 

'Duncan, in spite of all his exertions yesterday, and having besides 
walked to and from the Gathering, was the whole time in the water.' 

Here is an incident of the same temper with the Duke of 
Athole : 

• Where the road for carriages ends, and the glen widens, were our 
ponies. There we saw old Peter Frazcr, the former head-keei«r there, 
now walking with the aid of two sticks ! 

• We started on our ponies, the Duke and his men (twe« ve altogether) on 
foot— Sandy McAra, now head-keeper, grown old and grey, and two pilars, 
preceded us ; the two latter pUying alternately the whole time, which had 
a most cheerful effect. The wild strains sounded so softly amid those 
noble hills ; and our caravan winding along-our people and the Duke's, 
all m kilts, and the ponies made altogether a most picturesque scene. 

• One of the Duke's keepers, Donald Macbeatb, is a guardsman, and was 
m the Cnmea. He is a celebrated marksman, and a fine-looking man, as all 
the Duke's men are. For some little time it was easy riding, but soon we 
came to a rougher path, more on the " brae " of the hill, where the pony 

• *One of our keeper, since 1851 : «d eicellent, intelligent man, much liked by 

t n T' u •• "^* °*""^ •'*'•"' '^^ ^^"^ ^^' ^"°"»°« ^he race up that ateep 
hill in thia ahort apace of time, and he ha. never been .o atrong .ince. The run- 
nmg up hiU haa in consequence been dUcontinued. He live, in a cottage at the 
back of Craig Gowan (commanding a beautiful view) called Robrech, which the 
rnnoe built for him. 


required to be led, which I always have done, either when it id at all 
rough or had, or when the pony has to be got on faster. 

' The Duke walked near me the greater part of the time ; Rmusiogly 
saying, in reference to former times, that he did not offer to lead me, as he 
knew I had no confidence in him. I replied, laughingly, '* Oh, no, only I 
like best being led by the person I am accustomed to.** 

* . . . . Lunched at a place called Dalcronachie, looking up a glen 
towards Loch Loch — on a high bank overhanging tlie Tilt A few minutes 
brought us to the celebrated ford of the TarfiT (Poll Tar£r it is called), which 
is very deep^ and after heavy rain almost impassable. The Duke offered 
to lead the pony on one side, and talked of Sandy for the other side, 
but I asked for Brown (whom I have far the most conBdence in) to lead 
the pony, the Duke taking hold of it (as he did frequently) on the 
other side. Sandy McAra, the guide, and the two pipers went first, 
playing all the time. To all appearance the ford of the Tarff was not 
deeper than the other fords, but once in it the men were above their knees 
— and suddenly in the middle, where the current, from the fine, high, full 
falls, is very strong, it was nearly up to the men's waists. Here Sandy 
returned, and I said to the Duke (which he afterwards joked with Samly 
about) that I thought he (Sandy) had better take the Duke's place ; he did 
so, and we came very well through, all the others following, the men 
chiefly wading — Albert (close behind me) and the others riding through.* 

Nor was this interest in their attendants confined to, 
though it was so eminently drawn forth by, the Highlanders. 
Here is a note of the first stay at Alt-na-Giuthasach : — 

* Margaret French, my maid Caroline's maid, Lohlein,* Albert's valet, a 
cook, Shackle,t and Macdonald, are the only persons with us in the house, 
old John Gordon and his wife excepted.' 

' The scenery is beautiful here, so wild and grand — real severe Highland 
scenery, with trees in the hollow. We had various scrambles in and out 
of the boat and along the shore, and saw three hawks and caui^ht seventy 
trout. I wish an artist could have l)een thure to sketch tlic scene ; it was ru 
picturesque— the boat, the net, and the people in their kilts in the water 
and on the shore. In going back Albert rowed and Macdonald steered : 
and the lights were beautiful. 

* * This faithful and trusty valet nursed his dear master most devotedly through 
his sad illness in December, 1861, and is now always with roe as my personal 
groom of the chambers or valet. I gave him a house near Windsor Castle, where 
he resides when the Court are there. He is a native of Coburg. His father has 
been for fifty years Forster at Fiilbach, close to Coburg.* 

f * Who was very active and efficient. He is now a Page' 


• After dinner we walked round the little garden. The ailence and aoli- 
tude, only interrupted hy the waving of the fir-trees, were very solemn 
and striking.' 

Such natural kindness must indeel have won the hearts of 
a people so constitutionally loyal as the Highlanders, and 
throw back a stream of sunshine on the daily life of those 
whose height of station too commonly robs them of the richer . 
colouring which belongs to the lower valleys ; neither was it 
confined to the immediate members of the Eoyal household. 
Here is to us a delightful entry : — 

• Saturday, September 26, 1857.— Albert went out with Alfred for the 
day, and I walked out with the two girls and Lady Churchill, stopped at 
the shop and made some purchases for poor people and others ; drove a 
little way, got out and walked up the hill to Balnacroft, Mrs. P. Farquhar- 
8on*s, and she walked round with us to some of the cottages to show me 
where the poor people lived and to tell them who I was. Before we went 
into any we met an old woman, who, Mrs. Farquharson said, was very 
poor, eighty-eight years old, and mother to the former distiller. I gave her a 
warm petticoat, and the tears rolled down her old cheeks, and she shook 
my hands and prayed God to bless me : it was very touching. 

• I went into a small cabin of old Kitty Kear's, who is eighty -six years 
uM^^uite erect, and who welcomed us with a great air of dignity. She sat 
down and spun. I gave her also a warm petticoat. She said, *' May the 
Lord ever attend ye and yours, here and hereafter ; and may the Lord be 
a guide to ye, and keep ye from all harm." She was quite surprised at 
Vicky's height ; great interest is taken in her. We went on to a cottage 
(formerly Jean Gordon's), to visit old widow Syroons, who is ** past four- 
score,'* with a nice rosy face, but was bent quite double ; she was most 
friendly, shaking hands with us all, asking which was I, and repeating many 
kind blessings : *' May the Lord attend ye with mirth and with joy ; may 
He ever be with ye in this world, and wlien ye leave it" To Vicky, when 
told she was going to be married, she said, ** May the Lord be a guide to 
ye in your future, and may every happiness attend ye." She was very 
talkative ; and when I said I hoped to see her again, she expressed an 
expectation that ** she should be called any day," and so did Kitty Kear.* 

• We went into three other cottages : to Mrs. Symons's (daughter-in- 
law to the old widow living next door), who had an " unwell boy ;" then 
across a little burn to another otd woman's ; and afterwards (iccpcd into 

♦ » She died in Jan. 1865.* 


Blair, the fiddler's. We drove back and got out again to visit old Mrs. 
Grant (Grant's mother), who is so tidy and clean, and to whom I gave a 
dress and handkerchief, and she said, " You're too kind to me, you're over 
kind to me, ye give me more every year, and I get older every year." 
After talking some time with her, she said, " I am happy to see ye looking 
so nice." She had tears in her eyes, and speaking of Vicky's going, said, 
^ I am very sorry, and I think she is sorry hersel' ;" and, having said she 
feared she would not see her (the Princess) again, said : '* I am very sorry 
I said that, but I meant no harm ; I always say just what I think, not 
what is fut " (fit). Dear old lady ; she is such a pleasant person. 

' Really the affection of these good people, who are so hearty and so 
happy to see you, taking interest in everything, is. very touching and 

Here, to vary the scene, comes in what cannot fail to 
interest all our lady readers : the very form and words of 
that utterance at all times, even to Koyal lips, most difficult 
to frame — a proposal : — 

* September 29, 1855. — Our dear Victoria was this day engaged to Prince 
Frederick William of Prussia, who had been on a visit to us since the 14tli. 
lie had already spoken to us, on the 20tb, of his wishes ; but we were un- 
certain, on account of her extreme youth, whether he should speak to her 
himself^ or wait till he came back again. However, we felt it was better 
he should do so ; and during our ride up Craig-ua-Ban this afternoon, he 
picked a piece of white heather (the emblem of " good luck "), which he 
gave to her ; and this enabled him to make an allusion to his hopes and 
wishes, as they rode down Glen Gimoch, which led to this happy 

Here are some of their healthy amusements, some of them 
requiring spirit enough to enter into them. Many a fine lady, 
we suspect, would shrink from taking the Queen's share in a 
' drive ' in the Balloch Buie : — 

* Seplemher 18, 1848. — We mounted our ponies, Bertie riding Grant's 
pony on the deer-saddle, and being led by a gillie. Grant walking by his 
side. Macdonald and several gillies were with us, and we were preceded 
by Bowman and old Arthur Farquharson, a deerstalker of Invtrcauld's. 
They took us up a beautiful path winding through the trees and heather 
in the Balloch Buie ; but when we had got about a mile or more they dis- 
covered deer. A " council of war " was held in a whisper, and we turned 
back and wi-nt the whole way down aj^ain, and rode along to tlic keeper's 


lodge, where we turned up the glen inunediately helow Craig Daign, 
through a hcautifnl part of the wood, and went on along the track till we 
came to the foot of the craig, where wo all dismounted. 

* We Bcramhled up an almost perpendicular place to where there was a 
little box^ made of hurdles and interwoven with hranches of fir and heather, 
ahout five feet in height, 'inhere we seated ourselves with Bertie, 
Macdonald lying in the heather near us, watching and quite concealed ; 
some had gone round to beat, and others again were at a little distance. 
We sat quite still, and sketched a little ; I doing the landscape and some 
trees, Albert drawing Macdonald as he lay there. This lasted for nearly 
an houri when Albert fancied he beard a distant sound, and, in a few 
minutes, Macdonald whispered that he saw stags, and that Albert should 
wait and take a steady aim. We then heard them coming past. Albert 
did not look over the box, but through it, and fired through the branches, 
and then again over the box. The deer retreated ; but Albert felt certain 
he bad hit a stag. He ran up to the keepers, and at that moment they 
called from below that they *" had got him," and Albert ran on to see. I 
waited for a bit ; but soon scrambled on with Bertie and Maodooald's help ; 
and Albert joined me directly, and we all went down and saw a magnifi- 
cent stag, •* a royal,** which had dropped, soon after Albert had hit him, at 
one of the men's feet. The sport was successful, and every one was 
delighted— Macdonald and the keepers io particular ;— the former saying, 
" that it was her Majesty's coming out that had brouj^ht the good luck." I 
was supposed to have " a lucky foot," of which the Highlanders « think a 
great deal." We walked down to the place we last came up, got into the 
carriage, and were home by half-past two o'clock.' 

Some of the most enjoyable days recorded in the Journal 
were those on which, all state having been thrown aside, ex- 
cursions were made under a strict incognito. Here are one 
or two extracts, put together from different trips of this 
character : — 

* A few seconds brought uIb over to the road, where there were two 
shabby vehicles, one a kind of barouche, into which Albert and I got. Lady 
Churchill and General Grey into the other— a break; each with a pair of 
small and rather miserable horses, driven by a man from the box. Grant 
was on our carriage, and Brown on the other. We had gone so far forty 
miles, at least twenty on horseback. We had decided to call ourselves 
Lord and Lady Churchill and party. Lady Churchill passing as Miis 
Spencer, and General Grey as Dr, Grey! Brown once forgot this, and 
called nic " Your Majesty " as 1 was getting into the carriage ; and Gront on 


the box onoe called Albert "Your Royal Highness;" which set us off 
laughing, but no one observed it 
' We bad a long three hours* drive. 

'Most striking was the utter, and to me very refreshing, solitude. 
Hardly a habitation I and hardly meeting a soul ! It gradually grew dark. 
We stopped at a small half-way house for the horses to take some 
water; and the few people about stared vacantly at the two simple 

'The mountains gradually disappeared— the evening was mild, with a 
few drops of rain. On and on we went, till at length wo saw lights, and 
drove through a long and straggling " toun,** and turned down a small 
court to the door of the inn. Hero we got out quickly — f^ady Churchill 
and Greneral Grey not waiting for us. We went up a small staircase, and 
were shown to our bed-room at the top of it — very small, but clean — with 
a large four-(K)st bed which nearly filled the whole room. Opposite was 
the drawing and dining-room in one — very tidy and well-sized. Then 
came the room where Albert dressed, which was very small. The two 
inaida (Jane Shackle * was with me) had driven over by another road in 
the waggonette, Stewart driving them. Made ourselves '* clean and tidy/* 
and then sat down to our dinner. Grant and Brown were to have waited 
on us, but were " bashful " and did not. A ringlettcd woman did every- 
thing : and, when dinner was over, removed the cloth and placed the 
bottle of wine (our own which we had brought) on the table with the 
glasses, which was the old English fashion. The dinner was very fair, 
and all very clean.' 

* Wtdne9day^ September 5. — A misty, rainy morning. Had not slept 
very soundly. We got up rather early, and sat working and reading in 
the drawing-room till the breakfast was ready, for which wo had to wait 
some little time. Good tea and bread and butter, and some excellent 
porridge. Jane Shackle (who was very useful and attentive) said that 
they had all supped together, namely, the two maids, and Grant, Brown, 
Stewart, and Walker (who was still there), and were very merry in the 
"commercial room." The people were very amusing about us. The 
woman came in while they were at dinner, and said to Grant, " Dr. Grey 
wants you," which nearly upset the gravity of all the others : then they 
told Jane, "Your lady gives no trouble;" and Grant in the morning 
called up to Jane, " Does his lordship want me ?" One could look on the 
street, which is a very long wide one, with detached houses, from our 
window. It was perfectly quiet, no one stirring, except here and there 
a man driving a cart, or a boy going along on his errand. General Grey 
bought himself a watch in a shop for 2L ! 

* * One of my wardrobe-maids, and daughter to the Page mentioned earlier.* 


'At length, at about ten minutes to ten o'clock, we started in the same 

carriages and the same way as yesterday, and drove to Tomantoul 

the most tumble*down, poor-looking place I ever saw. 

' We mounted our ponies a short way out of the town. We came upon 
a beautiful view, looking down upon the Avon and up a fine glen. There 
we rested and took luncheon. While Brown was unpacking and arrang- 
ing our things, I spoke to him and to Grant, who was helping, about not 
having wait^ on us, as they ought to have done, at dinner last night and 
at breakfast, as we had wished ; and Brown answered, he was afraid be 
should not do it rightly ; I replied we did not wish to have a stranger in 
the room, and they must do so another time. 

' In order to get on, as it was late, and we had eight miles to 

ride, our men — ^at least Brown and two of the others — walked before us at 
a fearful pace, so that we had to trot to keep up at all. Grant rode fre- 
quently on the deer pony ; the others seemed, however, a good deal tired 
with the two long days' journey, and were glad to get on Albert's or the 
Generars pony to give Uiemselves a lift ; but their willingness, readiness, 
cheerfulness, indefatigableness, are vimry admirable, and make them most 
delightful servants. As for Grant and Brown they are perfect^discreet, 
careful, intelligent, attentive, ever ready to do what is wanted ; and the 
latter, particularly, is haudy and willing to do everything and anything, 
and to overcome every difficulty, which makes him one of my best servants 

* What a delightful, successful expedition 1 .... To my dear Albert do 
we owe it, for he always thought it would be delightful, having gone on 
many similar expeditions in former days himself. Ue enjoyed it very 

Here is a second excursion : — 

' At a quarter past seven o'clock we reached the small quiet town, or 
rather village, of Fettercairn, for it was very small — not a creature stirring, 
and we got out at the quiet little inn *' Ramsey Arms,** quite unobserved, and 
went at once upstairs. There was a very nice drawing-room, and next to 
it a dining-room, both very clean and tidy — then to the left our bed-room, 
which was excessively small, but also very clean and neat, and much 
better furnished than at Graotown. Alice had a nice room, the same size 
as ours ; then came a mere morsel of one (with a " press bed "), in which 
Albert dressed ; and then came Lady GburchilPs bed-room just beyond. 
Louis and General Grey had rooms in an hotel, called "The Temperance 
Hotel," opposite. We dined at eight, a very nice, clean, good dinner. 
Grant and Brown waited. They were rather nervous, but General Grey 
and Lady Churchill carved, and they had only to change the plates, which 
Brown soon got into the way of doing. A little girl of the house came in 


to help-^but Grant turned her round to prevent her looking at us 1 The 
landlord and landlady knew who we were, but no <me else except the 
coachman, and they kept the secret admirably. 

* The evening being bright and moonlight and very still, we all went out, 

and walked through the whole village, wliere not a creature moved, 

hearing nothing whatever — not a leaf moving — but the distant barking of 
a dog! Suddenly we heard a drum and fifes! We were greatly alarmed, 
fearing we had been recognised ; but Louis and Greneral Grey, who went 
back, saw nothing whatever. Still, as we walked slowly back, we heard 
the noise from time to time — and when we reached the inn door we 
stopped, and saw six men march up with fifes and a drum (not a creature 
taking any notice of them), go down the street, and back again. Grant 
and Brown were out, but had no idea what it could be. Albert asked the 
little maid, and the answer was, " It*s just a band," and that it walked 
about in this way twice a week. How odd ! It went on playing some 
time after we got home. We sat till half-past ten working, and Albert 
reading — and then retired to rest* 

' Saturday, September 21. — Got to sleep after two or three o'clock. The 
morning was dull and close, and misty, with a little rain ; hardly any one 
stirring ; but a few people at their work. A traveller had arrived at night, 
and wanted to come up into the dining-room, which is the "commercial 
travellers* room ;" and they had difficulty in telling him he could not stop 
there. He joined Grant and Brown at their tea, and on his asking 
" What's the matter here ?** Grant answered, *' It's a wedding party from 
Aberdeen." At " The Temperance Hotel " they were very anxious to 
know whom they had got. All, except General Grey, breakfasted a little 
before nine. Brown acted as my servant, brushing my skirt and boots, and 
taking any message, and Grant as Albert's valet. 

' At a quarter to ten we started the same way as before.' 

' At Kingussie there was a small, curious, chattering crowd of jieople — 
who, however, did not really make us out, but evidently suspected who wo 
were. Grant and Brown kept them off the carriages, and gave them 
evasive answers, directing them to the wrong carriage, which was most 
amusing. One old gentleman, with a high wide-awake, was especially 

' We started again, and went on and on, passing through the village of 
Newton of Benchar, where the footman McDonald * comes from.' 

In the midst of these scenes of family affection, amuse- 
ment, and repose, the distant sounds of the great world, of 

* *Hc died at Abcrgeldie, last year, of consumptiou; and his widow, an excel* 
lent perM)ti, daughter of Mitrholl, the blacksmith, at Balmoral, is now my ward- 
robe maid.' 


which those withdrawn persons were yet the living heart, 
come upon our ears with a solemnity and strangeness of in- 
trusion. Here is one of rejoicing : — 

• Sejttember 10, 1855.— All were in constant expectation of more tele- 
graphic de8[jatche8. At half-past ten o'clock two arrived^one for me, and 
one for Lord Granville. I Ixsgan reading mine, which was from Lord 
Clarendon, with details from Marshal Pdlissier, of the further destruction 
of the Russian ships ; and Lord Granville said, " I have still better news ;" 
on which he read, •• From General Simpson — Sevastopol is in the hands of 
the Allies.** God be praised for it 1 * 

Here is a second instance, in another tone ; one which will 
be read with interest wherever the English tongue or any 
translation of it can be read : — 

' AU-na-Oiuthatach^ Thursday^ September 16, 1852.— We were startled 
this morning at seven o'clock, by a letter from Ck>lonel Phipps, enclosing 
a telegraphic despatch with the report from the sixth edition of the ^ Sun,'* 
of the Duke of Wellington's death the day before yesterday, which report, 
however, we did not at all believe. Would to God that we had been 
right ; and that this day had not been cruelly saddened in the afternoon. 

' We walked a long way on the top of the very steep hills overhanging 

the loch Hero I suddenly missed my watch, which the dear old 

Duke had given me ; and, not being certain whether I had put it on or not, 
I asked Mackenzie* to go back and inquire. We walked on imtil wc 
reached the higher part of the Glassalt. . . . 

* Then we began the descent of the Ghissalt. 

'We got off our ^x^nies, and I bad just sat down to sketch, when 
Mackenzie returned, saying my watch was safe at home, and bringing 
letters : amongst them there was one from Lord Derby, which 1 tore open, 
and alas 1 it contained the confirmation of the fatal news, that England's, 
or rather Britain's pride, her glory, her hero, the greatest man she ever had 
produced, was no more. Sad day ! Great and irreparable national loss! 

' Lord Derby enclosed a few lines from Lord Charles Wellesley, saying 
that his dear great father had died on Tuesday at throe o'clock, after a few 
hours' illness and no suffering. God's will be done ! The day must have 
come; the Duke was eighty-three. It is well for him that he has been 
taken when still in the possession of his great mind, and without a long 
illness, — but what a hes ! One cannot think of this country without ** the 
Duke,"— our immortal hero I 

* *0ne of our keei>er8, and a very good man; he liye» at A]t*na-Giuthasach.' 


'In him centred almost every earthly honour a subject could ix)ssc8!>. 
His position was the highest a subject ever bad, — above party, — looked up 
to by all, — revered by the whole nation, — the friend' of the Sovereign. And 
haw simply he carried these honours! With what singleness of pur- 
pose, what straightforwardness, what courage, were all the motives of his 
actions guided. The Crown never posHcsscd — and I fear never will — so 
devoUdf loyal, and faithful a subject, so staunch a supporter I To ua (who, 
alas! have lost now so many of our valued and experienced friends), his 
loss is irrtparahUe^ for his readiness to aid and advise, if it could be of use 
to us, and to overcome any and every difficulty, wns unequalled. To 
Albert he showed the greatest kindness and the utmost confidence. His 
experience and his knowledge of the past were so great too ; he was a link 
which connected us with bygone times, with the last century. Not an 
eye will be dry in the whole country. 

• We hastened down on foot to the head of Loch Mulch ; and then rode 
home, in a heavy shower, to Alt-na-Qiuthasach. Our whole enjoyment 
wns spoilt; a gloom overhung all of us. 

• We wrote to Lord Derby and Lord Charles Wellesley.* 

Amidst aU the utterances of politicians, historians, and 
poetSy there is to our mind a grandeur of its own in the sim- 
plicity of these words of sorrow from the throne of England. 

It is easy, even without knowing the weight of those 
golden chains of reserve and ceremony with which kings are 
fettered, to imagine the enjoyments which such an interlude 
in Boyai life as Balmoral afforded when its halls were lighted 
with that brightness of family affection which played so 
continually there. For, amidst all the keen relish for nature 
and for freedom which these pages betray, still tlie one ever 
prevailing sentiment of every page of the Journal is the love 
of the appreciating wife for the grand husband whom Provi- 
dence bad given her. Always this is re-appearing. Tiie 
Move for Balmoral' itself based itself on this far deeper 
affection : — 

• October 13, 1856. — Every year my heart becomes more fixed in this 
dear Paradise, and so much more so now, that all has become my donr«%t 
Albert's own creation, own work, own buildin<;, own laying out, as at 
Osborne ; and his great taste, and the impress of his dear hand, have been 
stamped everywhere. He was very busy to-day, settling and arranging 
many things for next year.* 


There is' a continual perception of his love of learning 
everything >vhich was to be learned : — 

' We rode the whole way, and Albert only walked the last two miles. 
He took a Gaelic lesson during oar ride, asking Macdonald, who speaks it 
with great purity, many words, and making him talk to Jcmmie Gimtts. 
Albert has already picked up many words.* 

His shortest absence clouded all the scene : — 

* September 14, 1859. — I felt very low-spirited at my dearest Albert 
having to leave at one o'clock fur Aberdeen, to preside at t!»e meeting of 
the Briti-sh Association.' 

' So sad not to find my darling husband at home.* 

We can conceive some critics finding fault with such 
revelations as these. But we believe them to be entirely 
wrong in their estimate of man's nature, and we are confident 
that the general assent of all deeper minds will reverse their 

To numbers amongst her subjects these unintentional 
delineations of the character and mode of life of the highest 
persons in the realm — thorough sun-pictures as they are, 
catching the passing emotions of the hour, and writing them 
down with a passionless exactness — will be not a little 
welcome. Their effect must be to quicken the emotions of 
that loyalty which at this nioment, more than almost any 
other, is of such value to this nation. For they substitute 
for the lifeless names of king and queen the living queenly 
Person to whom the abstract theory of loyalty must, unless it 
is a very cold abstraction indeed, be able to attach itself. 
They show her as the mistress of her household, entering 
with a most unusual affectionateness of care into the indivi- 
dual welfare of every attendant on her person ; as, even in 
the disturbances of a tour, herself teaching her Boyal 
children ; as mingling, by a most natural transition, with 
these domestic duties the cares of the Head of the larger 


family of the State ; above all, they show her as a loviDg 
wife, delighting iii her husband's companionship ; proud, as 
a wife should be, of his grace and intellect; admiring his 
noble person ; entering with intense zest into all his suc- 
cesses, from the triumph of the successful deer-stalk to his 
winning the applauses of the gathered scientific sages : — 

• September 15, 1859. — 1 hoard by telegram last night that Albert's 
reception was admirable, and that all was going off as well as possible. 
Thank God.' 

• All the gentlemen spoke in very high terms of my beloved Albert's 
admirable speech, the good it had done, and the general satisfaction it had 

And alas ! — we must say it — for this land, and alas ! for 
that true mother, wife, and queen, they shew her — when the 
blow had fallen and the pall was drawn over that life of love, 
— suffering as none can suffer but one in tliat height of 
station which for the most part is barren of such happiness as 
she knew, and which by its very exaltation leaves her now 
with a consciousness of loneliness which not even such a 
bereavement would bring upon the humblest of her subjects. 
How touching is such an entry as this I — 

• Grant told me in May, 1862, that, when the Prince stopped behind 
with him, looking at the Ghoils which he intended as a deer-forest for the 
Prince of Wales, and giving his directions as to the planting in Glen 
Muich, be said to Grant, ** You and I may be dead and gone before that." 
In less than three months, alas ! his words were verified as regards him- 
self! He was ever cheerful, but ever ready and prepared.' 

The heart of any man must be judicially hardened who 
can read without emotion the last entry of the last High- 
land excursion : — 


' We went back on our side of the river; and if we had been a little 
earlier Albert might have got a stag, but it was too late. The moon rose 
and shone most beautifully, and we returned at twenty minutes to seven 
o'clock, much pleased and interested with this delightful exiiedition. Alas! 
I fear our last great one ! (/< was our last one ! — 18G7.') 


The only words which can follow this entry are those in 
which the royal writer pours forth in the dedication of the 
volume the whole of her heart : — 

' To the dear memory of him wlo made the life of the writer bright and 
happy, theae simple records are lovingly and gratefully inscribed/ 


/6c^ • 




(October, 1868.) 

The two last volumes of the Dean of Chichester's * Lives of 
the Archbishops/ beginning with the archiepiscopate of 
Warham, and ending with the death of Cranmer, contain 
the records pf the great crisis of the English Reformation. 
The work has from the first steadily increased in interest. 
Not only has the Dean's hand become readier in the per- 
formance of its task, but the subjects of his pen liave been 
connected with greater national events, and far richer 
original matter has been open to his examination. The 
battles of the Kites and Crows have passed on through the 
demigod period, and become the contentions of men in cir- 
cumstances somewhat like our own, and with objects at least 
analogous to those for which we are striving. 

This new interest rises to its height in these last two 
volumes. The Reformation period must always rivet the 
attention of Englishmen. For then, whatever evils were in- 
separable from it, was the birth-time of their liberties both 
in Church and State. Its long sufferings were but travail 
pangs, and though many of the attendant operations were 
rudely managed, with no little loss of vital energy and 
threatenings of still greater evils, yet was the birth at last 
gracious, and on those who were the instruments of its 
accomplishment must always rest with tlie deepest interest 
the enquiring gaze of after generations. 

♦ 'Lives of the Archbisliops of Canterbury.' By Walter Farquhar Hook, D.D., 
F,R.S., Dean of Chichester. Vols. VI. and VI I. New .Series. Reformation Period. 
2 rols. London, 1808. 

vol.. IT, O 


Never, perhaps, was this more the case than at the present 
time, when we are passing again through many struggles 
both of religious thouglit and of national policy not unlike 
those with which our fathers grappled. For the great 
questions which stirred so deeply the souls of our Reformers, 
that they were ready to burn and to be burnt at a thousand 
stakes to procure their settlement, seem, after a torpor of 
three hundred years, to have suddenly reawoke amongst us, 
and we have almost each one of us again to examine the 
Pope's claim to supremacy and infallibility with all the train 
of teaching which is involved in such an admission: — the 
necessity of auricular confession ; the celibacy of the clergy ; 
the maiming, for the laity, of the great Sacrament of the 
Eucharist ; the cultus of the blessed Virgin Mary ; the offer- 
ing of masses for the quick and dead ; and purgatory with 
its pains, its indulgences, and its corresponding pecuniary 
advantages. Questions of public policy, too, which were 
then in course of settlement, and the settlement of which has 
been thenceforward interwoven with the very warp of our 
national life, are all suddenly re-opened. 'J'he existence of 
a Church really national — the only bulwark as our fathers 
believed, and as our children may find to their cost, against 
the arrogance and the usurpations of Bome — is suddenly 
threatened. For if England and Ireland be one united 
kingdom, with one Established Church, and not two sepa- 
rate monarchies loosely allied by the overshadowing of two 
Crowns Imperial resting for the time upon one brow, the 
destruction of the Church's nationality in one island must 
logically imply its destruction as a national Church in both, 
although it may still survive as an anomaly in one. To 
build this up, which it is now so lightly proposed to pull 
down, was, in fact, the master aim of the great Beformation 
statesmen. Thus, in the grand old English of the Statute of 
Appeals, it was declared that : — 


'By divers sundry old authentic histories and chronicles it is manifestly 
declared and exposited that this realm of England is an empire and hath so 
been accepted in the world; governed by one supreme head and king, 
having the dignity and royal estate of the imperial crown of the same ; 
unto whom a body iwlitic compact of all sorts and degrees of i)eopley 
divided in terms by names of spiritualty and temporalty, be bound, and 
ought to bear next to God a natural and humble obedience. . . . the body 
spiritual whereof having power when any cause of the law divine happened 
to come in question, or of spiritual, having declared, interpret, and shewed 
by that i^art of the body politic called the spiritualty, now usually called 
the English Church, which also hath been reported and also found of that 
sort, that both for knowledge, integrity and sufficiency of numbers it hath 
been always thought to be, and is also at this hour, sufficient and meet of 
itself without the interfering of any exterior person or persons, to declare 
and determine all such doubts, and to administer all such offices and duties 
as to their room spiritual doth appertain.* 

It was on this foundation of the unquestioned existence of 
a national Church of the empire, as a body spiritual, that 
the usurped claim of the Bishop of Rome to interfere with 
this kingdom was by enactment fully and for ever excluded, 
and all attempts to re-introduce his jurisdiction was branded 
with the guilt of treason against the high reserved nationality 
of tlie realm which centered in the Crown of England. How 
well that bulwark was conceived, how straight its lines were 
devised and drawn across the main stream and flow of Papal 
aggression, how deeply laid were its foundations, how well 
compacted were its stones, has been shown beyond the pos- 
sibility of question-by all succeeding events: by its standing, 
under Henry VIII. and Edward VI., the firet bufiFet of those 
proud waves, by its speedy restoration from the demolition 
attempted under Philip and Mary, and by its continuance 
from Elizabeth to Victoria as the very breakwater of our 
nationality against whatever storms have burst from time to 
time upon us from the dark and turbulent depths of that 
spiritual Black Sea, which has never ceased to rage against 
our borders. This it is now proposed to raze, because its 
existence proclaiming of necessity the incorporation of Ireland 

o 2 


with Great Britaia is a standing insult to those who are thus 
reminded that they are no longer what their fathers were, an 
independent kingdom, entitled to an independent spiritaalty. 
When such proposals are made, there must, for all thought- 
ful men, be a peculiar interest in studying anew the history 
of that time when these defences were erected. Then, too, 
it must be the course of wisdom to see why our forefathers 
toiled so hard to raise them, and what may be our condition 
when we have agreed to their demolition. 

It may be presumed that it would be by alleging the ex- 
ceeding importance of the era described in these two volumes 
that the publisher (for it is not credible that their respected 
author had anything to do with it) has called them a * new 
series.' Bat the idea of a * new series' is really at variance 
with the whole aim and purpose of these volumes and of 
every line in them from their first beginning. For one 
leading object of the Dean has evidently been to show the 
unbrokenness of this Church of England from the beginning 
until now ; to exhibit it one and the same body from the 
mission of Augustine to the present hour ; to show it protest- 
ing against the rising aggressions of Bome under the Planta- 
genets, and completing and enforcing the protest with the 
brave hearts and strong hands of the Tudor kings. 

'When we speak,' be says, 'of the continuity and perpetuity of the 
English Church, we only affirm an historical fact By both Church and 
State measures bad been adopted to annihilate the Papal authority in 
England, long before any notion was entertained of dealing with any points 
of doctrine. In the twenty-eighth year of Henry*8 reign, when King and 
Parliament and Church were vehement in their opposition to Protestantism, 
some of the chief Acts against the Pope and his pretensions were passed in 
Parliament .... The Church of England was anti-papal before it was 
reformed ; at the commencement of the dispute between the Church of 
England and the Court of Bome, in the sixteenth century, the State 
accepted as a fact what the Church affirmed, that the work to be done by 
the co-operation of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities in England was 
not the displacing of the old Church and the supplanting of it by some 


new «cct, but the gradual reformation of that old Catholic Church, which 
had been established here io the first instance by the joint labour and 
devotion of Augustine the first Archbishop of Canterbury, and Ethelbert 
King of Kent, the Bretwalda.* 

One chief merit of these volumes may be traced to the dis- 
tinctness with which their author has throughout realised 
this unbroken continuity of the Church of England. For it 
has saved him from .the necessity of considering Cranmer as 
in any real sense the founder of a new Communion, and so has 
made it easy for him to draw his character with absolute im- 
partiality. The Bomanist who charges him with the crime of 
founding, instead of the old Catholic Church of England, the 
new schismatic body which has replaced it, and the ultra-Pro- 
testant who believes that he and his fellows founded a new 
Church at the Reformation, are alike incapable of such im- 
partiality : to the one he is from first to last an apostate and 
a traitor; to the other he is, with the like universal applause, 
a saint and a martyr. In tliese pages he is one in a long line 
of Archbishops of Canterbury. He is distinguishable from 
others especially by the circumstances of his episcopate. His 
days are cast when a mighty change was passing over the 
minds of his countrymen ; in that change he himself largely 
participated, and few were themselves borne along by the 
current more' palpably and completely. Something he con- 
tributed towards the change ; he is to be tried, like other 
men, by what he was, by what he aflfected, by what he let 
slip. There is here no temptation to exaggerate either his 
excellences or his defects. He was neither a demigod whose 
personality is lost on the rise of a new empire, nor a convicted 
villain who treasonably overturned a well-balanced kingdom. 
Viewed as he was, and not through these distorting media, he 
appears to be rather an ordinary man : affectionate, forgiving, 
gentle, caring for and making good provision for his family, 
very fond of field sports, physically brave, but morally not 


over oourageoos, sincerely religious, a great master of Eng- 
lish, a diligent student of his Bible, and, though not eager for 
intellectual or spiritual discoveries, with a mind slowly but 
surely receptive of increased measui-es of truth as they were 
presented to him. 

But this is by no means the only advantage which the clear 
mastery of this truth has given to the writer of these volumes. 
It has aided him as an historian as well as a biographer. It 
has kept him dear from the strange confusion which repre- 
sents the Church of England before the Reformation as 
having been a spiritual body almost independent of the State, 
and since the Beformation as an Act of Parliament establish- 
ment which has consciously renounced its claims to an inde- 
pendent spiritual personality. In truth, before the Beforma- 
tion, as well as since the Beformation, the Church of England 
was, on one side, aQ Act of Parliament Church. It was a 
branch of the one Holy Apostolical Church, settled within 
this realm, welcomed by the realm, honoured, endowed, esta- 
blished ; and so exercising upon certain honourable condi- 
tions its spiritual functions in the land. What the Crown, 
the Parliament, and the people claimed was not to have 
created the ispiritual body, with its creeds, doctrines, ministry 
and sacramental life ; but to have created, and so to have 
the right to enforce, and if need were to modify, the condi- 
tions under which that life and ministry were exercised. All 
the struggles of the Acts of Provisors and the like were the 
exercise of this power of the realm over the external condi- 
tions through which the spiritual power acted. At the time 
of the Beformation this stmggle reached its most critical 
point. The State, and to a great degree the national clergy 
also, felt that the original conditions of acknowledged 
nationality under which the spiritual body ought to act bad 
been infringed. The nation rose in all ranks and orders to 
rectify these broken conditions. The strife at its beginning 


was limited to this. But, as soon as it broke out, it became 
evident that the violation of these more outward conditions 
was itself an effect of yet higher obligations, and that the 
great deposit of religious truth itself had been corrupted by 
its guardians. The second wave broke upon the crest of the 
first, and the reh'gious reformation rolled in upon the eccle- 
siastical. The Church, which had been the subject of old 
Acts of Parliaments, became the subject of new Acts, which 
aimed at restoring the old compact between the spirituality 
and the temporally to their original conditions, and guarding 
for the future against the evils of the past. But whilst as an 
establishment the Church was brought, as the consequence 
and punishment of former Popish insolence, under straiter 
bonds, there was no leaven of real Erastianism in the change. 
Prom first to last the spiritual power, and the ecclesiastical 
conditions under which it was to be exercised in England, 
♦ are kept wholly distinct in the Acts of Henry VIII. * The 
Institution of a Christian Man ' laid clearly down this prin- 
ciple. ' Christ and his Apostles did institute and ordain in 
the New Testament, besides the civil powers and governance 
of kings and princes, that there should also be continually in 
the Church militant certain other ministers and officers, who 
should have special power, authority, and commission under 
Christ to preach and teach the word of God to His people, to 
dispense and administer the sacraments of God unto them, 
and by the same to confer and give the graces of the Holy 
Ghost.' * This office, this power, this authority was com- 
mitted and given by Christ and his apostles to certain persons 
only : that is to say, to priests or bishops, whom they did 
elect, call, and admit thereunto by their prayers and imposi- 
tion of hands.' * The English language is scarcely capable 
of being made to express a declaration more at variance than 

♦ * Formularies of Faith/ 101-104, quoted in 'Lives of ArchbishopB,' vol. ii. pp. 
164, 105. 


this with what we read in the Erastian press of the day as 
the result of the change intended and wrought by the Befor- 
mation on the old English Church and its pretensions. 

The Dean's treatment of his subject has risen with its 
requirements; and these two volumes, though marked 
throughout with the strongest family resemblance to those 
before them, are in every respect far the best of the series. 
There is more study of original documents, more grasp of 
character, a bolder announcement of principles, and a broader 
and more philosophic estimate of the flow of the events 
which he describes, both in their causes and in their conse- 
quences. The story, moreover, turns itself more naturally 
round the two Archbishops, and there is more power shown of 
seizing upon and delineating character. 

This, indeed, is one of the Dean's strongest points. There 
is a vein of humour peeping out through the whole narra- 
tive, giving to it a deep human interest for the reader. 
Without such a vein of humour in the depictor, all delinea- 
tions of character must be utterly tame and lifeless. A man 
must have lived amongst his fellows, must have read their 
characters, must have seen their weaknesses, sympathised 
with them in their struggles, and admired their great 
qualities, before the history of the past will give up to him 
living men and women, instead of mere names or stiff bro- 
caded figures. There is, of course, a danger attending such a 
power. From more than one popular writer of history it is 
not difficult to extract the secret of his success in painting 
the broad panorama of history. He selects a picturesque 
period, in which many actors appear naturally on the scene. 
It may be a rebellion, a conspiracy, or a council. He 
analyses their characters, settles in his own mind from the 
hints dropped concerning them their resemblance to still 
living men, whom he can study in their actual woi-ds and 
deeds ; and he then proceeds to paint, under the old dress 


and label, with the old name, one or other of the men who 
move and act around him according to what he has assumed 
to be their similitude to the dead. This produces, no doubt, 
a life-like and interesting narratiye ; but it is a work of fancy, 
not of history. Such historical portraits may be speaking 
likenesses of the living men actually drawn, but they are no 
more real historical characters than was the hero of the 
sermon of the young dissenting preacher who moved his 
audience to tears by the touching portrait which he drew from 
the text, * Tekel, thou art weighed in the balances and art 
found wanting.' The Tekel of the moving discourse was 
quite as real a man as are the heroes of some of our recent 
popular historians. Strong conscientiousness and sterling 
good sense keep the Dean from such slips ; and where he sees 
these parallels, instead of substituting the living analogue for 
the dead man, or playing, with a sort of literary ventriloquism, 
the trick which is attributed to St. Dunstan, and speaking 
himself through silent lips, he points out — dangerously 
sometimes to gravity — with his humorous pen, the repro- 
duction of the present in the past. 

We have already said that these volumes rise above the 
level of the earlier narrative. They are thoroughly readable, 
afid will amply repay careful reading, not only from the 
great events they so faithfully chronicle, but also from the 
mode in which the narrative is put together. That same 
quaint humour of which we have spoken knits into a pleasant 
unity the present and the past. Thus, * in most monasteries,' 
he tells us, * there arose two sets ; what would now be called 
''tho fast set" would bring against the ''strict set" the 
accusation so easy to make, and so difficult to disprove — of 
hypocrisy.' So with a sly glance at certain modern practices 
of Lenten obligations, he records of Warham's day, that, 
' although men ate and drank to repletion, and some of the 
feasters were obliged in retirement to rehabilitate their 


constitutions by submitting to a coarse of physic and blood- 
letting, still the dietary consisted exclusively of fish. The 
taste of the piscivorous multitude may not have been dis- 
criminating when regaling on well*concocted conger, and 
ling, and halibut, disguised under various condiments and 
sauces, ... on which the genius of the artist who presided 
over the culinary department must have been called into full 
play, . . . they may have thought the difference slight between 
fish and flesh.' He finds, too, when noting the applause which 
followed a singularly dull speech of the good Archbisliop, with 
a glance all our readers will appreciate, the opportunity of 
suggesting that its enthusiastic reception only proved ' that 
Warham was endued with sweetness of voice and a natural 
eloquence, such as we ourselves occasionally witness in 
preachers who, inferior in point of ability, are surrounded by 
attentive, applauding, and enthusiastic auditors.' Does the 
living experience of a Dean of Chichester force itself to light 
under the statement concerning Collet, that the Dean found 
it more difficult to contend with the Cretan bellies of the 
underlings of his Church than to struggle against the Boeo- 
tian intellects of his opponents at Oxford ? Nor are the laity 
altogether spared. It would not require lilr. Croker's inge- 
nuity in suggestion to piece a living name to the remark 
apropos to some overbearing men in the day of Warham, that 
' many a lordly persecutor assumes to be, and has the character 
of being, a philanthropist.* It is difficult not to believe that 
the paper of the day had just been thrown down upon the 
study-table of the Deanery at Chichester, when the sentence 
concerning the Parliament of 1529 was penned, and the then 
* Lords Spiritual were ' pronounced * guilty of the unpardon- 
able fault of despairing of the fortunes of the Spiritual 

One danger must beset such a writer ; he is in danger of 
forgetting that he is a Church historian, as well as a bio- 


grapher, and so of indulging in colloquial expressions, which 
the grave rouse of history can scarcely endure : we allude to 
such expressions, to give but a single instance, as ' the old 
Duchess who appears to have been folly itself.' 

One other suggestion we would make for the after volumes 
and the reprints of them — the insertion of a running date in 
the margin of each page. This would not only be a great 
assistance to the reader, but it would force upon the writer a 
stricter observance of chronological order in his narrative, 
and prevent the tendency to repetition, of which there is 
room for occasional complaint 

A valuable introductory chapter opens the first of these 
volumea In this are well laid down the broad general prin- 
ciples on which all ecclesiastical history must be written and 
read, if ^by history we mean anything more than annals or a 
dry statement of facts — a corpse without a soul/ 

In this too are contained discussions (after the manner of 
dissertations) of subjects which could neither be passed over 
without manifest incompleteness or introduced into the text 
of the narrative without a perpetual interruption of its flow. 
Thus in this chapter, amongst other matter, three important 
dissertations will be found: one on the identity of the 
Reformed with the Early Church of England ; one on 
the supremacy of the Crown ; and one on the character of 
Crumwell (the spelling which the Dean adopts to keep clear 
the distinction between the Minister of Henry VIIL and the 
usurping Protector) and his suppression of the monasteries. 
Each of these is very ably written, and of great importance 
to all who would understand the Ecclesiastical history of the 
time. We have already quoted from the first : in the second 
it is distinctly shown that the assertion of the supremacy of 
the Crown was no new pretension, first urged at the sera of 
the Reformation, but had been from time immemorial ^he 
claim of the English Crown, enforced or sufTered to sleep 


aooordiog to the strength of the monarch on the throne ; but 
always reasserted and perpetually re-enfoiced by statutory 
enactments. Forgotten as this is by numbers, no fact in 
history is more certain. Sir Edward Coke's reports on the 
case of Caudrey, to which the Dean refers, prove conclusiyely 
that Henry YIII.'s statute on the supremacy of the Crown 
was but the giving the authority of a declaratory Act to the 
old common law of the land. Professor Brewer, in his pre- 
face to the * Letters and Papers of Henry VIII.' (vol. ii.), 
well sums up the whole argument in these words: 'As a 
right, though not always as fact, the supremacy of the King 
bad continued immemorial ; the usurpations upon that right 
were resisted and modified by the energy and will of the 

There never was a time when it was more important to 
make this truth universally known and recognised. For, on 
the one hand, there is a party — ably represented by the 
ingenious writer of what we must term the Bomance of the 
Beign of Henry VIII., under the title of a * History of 
England, from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth * 
— who delight to speak of the Beformation changes as being 
an abandonment on the part of the Church of England of 
her claim to be an integral part of the Church Catholic — a 
spiritual body, with spiritual power given by our Lord 
through His apostles — and an acceptance of a new position 
as holding from the will of the Stato alone her authority and 
position as a religious body ; whilst on the other side there 
are those who groan over the utter loss of spiritual liberty at 
the Beformation, and who, under the garb of a spurious 
Catholicism, preach disaffection to their fathers' Church. 
These last conveniently forget that, antecedently to the 
Beformation, Convocation could pass no canons without the 
King's consent ; that no bull or ecclesiastical constitution 
could, be published in this kingdom without his sanction ; 


that the bishoprics of England, being of royal foundation, 
were filled by the Crown as donatives before it granted to 
the Chapters the modified rights conferred by the allowance 
of the Cong4 d'Elire ; and that under the Cong6 d'Elire the 
Soyereign still so effectually selected the Bishop to be elected 
that Warham could write in 1522 to Cardinal Wolsey, 
* Whereas I am informed that it hath pleased the King's 
most noble Grace to name to the bishopric of London 
Master Cuthbert Tonstall, Master of the Bolls, at your 
Grace's special recommendation, furtherance, and promotion, 
I thank your^Grace, therefore, as heartily as I can.* Equally 
oblivious, in their longing for reunion with Borne, are men 
of this school of the troubles which long before the Befor- 
mation embittered the relations of this land witli the Papal 
communion ; nor do they seem to have heard that though 
the Pope continually renewed his efforts to obtain the 
recognition of his claim to be the fountain-head of ecclesias- 
tical jurisdiction before the Beforination quite as earnestly as 
after it, these efforts were resisted and put down by the Crown 
and by the law of England. These great principles were in- 
deed endangered, as the Dean points out, amidst the various 
struggles of the Beformation and the Laudian period: — 

' The distinction between the royal and the sacerdotal powers was totally 
disregarded by Crumwell and the unprincipled men who formed the Govern- 
ment of Edward Vf . ; and the royal supremacy was too often permitted to 
encroach on the sacerdotal powers through the weakness, the servility, and 
want of fixed principles on the part of Archbishop Cranmer. Much injury 
was done to the cause of the Church through the mistaken policy of our 
leading ecclesiastics under the unfortunate dynasty of the Stuarts. To 
strengthen their position against the Roman non-conformists on the one 
hand, and the Puritan non-conformists on the other, they exaggerated the 
royal perogaiive.* 

But, in spite of these accidental perversions, the doctrine 
of the Church of England was at all times essentially tliat 
which the Convocation declared in 1534, and which Parlia- 


ment subsequently ratified ; that * the Pope of Borne hath no 
greater jurisdiction conferred upon him by God in Holy 
Scripture in this kingdom of England than any other foreign 
Bishop.' * The Dean quotes at length from Mr. Gladstone's 
remarks on the Koyal supremacy, the clear and memorable 
statements which set so courageously forward the true posi- 
tion of spiritual freedom, secured alike by law and practice 
to the Church of England. If the truth on this subject were 
more generally borne in mind, we should be delivered from 
those Erastian claims on the one hand, and from those dis- 
loyal diatribes on the other, with whicli exti*eme men create, 
renew, prolong, and embitter those dissensions and disputes 
which so grievously injure the Church's power, and at times 
threaten even to rend her asunder. 

The great figures on the canvas of these volumes are 
the two Archbishops, Henry YIII., Crumwell, and Cardinal 
Wolsey. They are all carefully and conscientiously drawn, 
with alleged warrants for the actions from which their cha- 
racters are inferred, and with many a Hans Holbein feature, 
with his lifelike reproduction of the past, and his tender, dis- 
criminating touch, as they pass before us. 

With no s|)ecific attempt to give a character of Henry VIII., 
we know not any pages in which he so continually reveals 
himself. Without at all subscribing to the truth of that 
recent portraiture, in which he is drawn as the model of self- 
sacrifice — divorcing Catherine, putting to death her successor, 
marrying Jane Seymour before the block was dry on which 
Anne Boleyn suffered, all against his own instincts, for the 
sake of his people — ^we think there is ample evidence that 
the opposite view, which represents him as a barbarous 
tyrant, who never spared man in his anger or woman in his 
lust, is, to say the least, almost as far from the truth. There 
were many noble traits marked upon his strong masculine 

♦ Wilkes, iii. 767. 


character. In an age of almost universal licentiousness, 
scandal never fixed a charge upon him, save in the case of the 
intrigue with the daughter of Sir John Blunt, to whicli the 
young Duke of Bichmond owed his birth. He was loved as 
well as feared by all who came into close relation to him. 
He thoroughly appreciated truth and manliness in others. 
His relations with Cranmer have often a touching tenderness 
about them. He believed in his people, and estimated 
thoroughly the sterling worth and strength of nature which 
belonged to them. England never stood more alone and yet 
never held a higher tone than under him. The estimation 
in which in return the English people manifestly held him 
is alone sufficient to show the injustice of the utterly black 
character which is commonly attributed to him. It is quite 
clear that their loyalty to him living, and their deep regret 
for him when dead, rested not so much on a nice calculation 
of the evils which a disputed succession might inflict upon 
the land, as upon their recognising in him the true kingly 
embodiment of their own national character. They honoured 
the intense strength of his will, die geniality which ever lit 
up those burly features and threw a halo even over acts of 
violence and bloodshed, his strong and capacious intellect, his 
large attainments, and the general wisdom which was stamped 
upon his counsels. Cranmer's affection for him, and his re- 
gard for Cranmer, both witness to this character in Henry. 
The Dean more than once attributes to him an inclination 
for having his views combated, so long as he knew that he 
could at the last enforce them as he would. This hardly 
does justice to the real forbearance and geniality of the man. 
There were times when Cranmer opposed him on matters as 
to which any opposition must have touched him to the quick. 
Such were the Archbishop's letter as to the innocence of 
Anne Boleyn ; such his interference when the Earl of Essex 
fell. And yet on these, as on all other occasions, he treated 


Cranmer with unyarying kindness and manifest considera- 
tion. These are great qualities for a king — for a Tudor. 

In these Lives it is with Henry's connexion with the Church 
of England that we are most concerned. Any attempt to 
represent him as what is commonly meant by a Protestant is 
simply absurd. He began, as every one knows, by being a 
bigoted Papist ; he prided himself on his refutation of the 
early Reformed doctrines. The imputation that he ' first saw 
Gospel light in Boleyn's eyes' is in one sense, no doubt, 
literally true. No doubt it was the almost unrivalled deceit- 
fulness of Clement, the long delays, the inexhaustible treachery 
of the old man, his incessant trimming between his fear on the 
one hand of losing England and on the other of provoking 
the Emperor, which opened Henry's eyes — as nothing could 
have opened them which did not closely touch himself — to 
the vast evils of the Pope's usurped supremacy. Thus he 
was led to take up the old English quarrel of preceding 
generations. So far as directly regarded the other points in 
discussion between the Reformers and their opponenti^, Henry 
was to the end a maintainor of the old learning. The Act of 
the Six Articles was specially his own, enacted against the 
the will of Crumwell, then his First Minister, and in spite of 
the public opposition of Cranmer. Political necessity made 
him at one time court the alliance of the German Powers, 
but he had no real sympathy from first to last with them or 
with their views. The effect of these peculiarities of Henry's 
character upon the process of the English Reformation cannot 
be over-rated. This gave to it, in its first ebullition, its dis- 
tinctive character of being mainly and pre-eminently a 
restoration of the independence of the English Church. It 
steadied and delayed the movement, and it kept the agents 
close, as no other Reformers were kept, to the old faith, 
wherever it had not been hopelessly corrupted. 

No part of these volumes has been prepared with more 


diligence and care, or executed with more success, than that 
which exhibits the character, principles, and actions of 
Crumwell. The figure stands life-like on the canvas before 
us, from his strange wandering and doubtful youth, through 
his ambitious, busy, unprincipled, merciless successes, down 
to the sudden and overwhelming ruin which in a few short 
hours buried all his greatness. The Dean has bayond a 
doubt truly and successfully sketched the strange career, 
and estimated the character of this man. Trained, after the 
wild experiences of his youth, under Wolsey, he had acquired 
the lore which made him in that troubled time — when 
Francis of France and Charles V. of Spain and Germany 
had to be played against each other — a great foreign minister. 
His connexion with the fallen Cardinal seemed at first to 
threaten, but did indeed beyond anything else build up, his 
fortunes. Shakespeare's unequalled drama, and the common- 
place repetition of moralists on history, have tended to create 
an impression that his fidelity to his ruined master indicated 
some noble unselfishness in his own mind. We see no trace 
of such a contradiction, for so it assuredly would be, of every 
after exhibition of his character. It is true that to a certain 
degree he clung to the fallen Cardinal ; but it was only as 
the ivy clings to the fallen trunk until it has found another 
stem around which to entwine itself. Crumwell had no other 
patron to whom at once to turn, and therefore he adhered to 
Wolsey. He was far too shrewd an observer of men, and too 
good a judge of character, to fear provoking any anger of the 
King by such a short-lived fidelity. Probably he had countc<l 
carefully all chances, and was convinced that the King, wlio 
would need some one to fill the place which Wolsey had 
occupied, would be won to regard him favourably by some 
exhibition of his allegiance to his old patron. It is clear 
that he was at this time intriguing to be taken into the 
King's service, for he writes to Cavendish : — * 1 intend, God 



wiUing, this afternoon when my Lord hath dined, to ride to 
liOndon, and so on to the Court, where I will either make or 
mar ere I come again.' If he did, as we think, reckon upon 
this display of fidelity to Wolsey as likely to recommend him 
to the King, the result fully justifies his sagacity, for Henry 
at once adopted the services he offered, and with a most 
pliant alacrity he transferred his fidelity from the fallen 
Minister to his new master. The Dean suggests, with' great 
reason, that Wolsey's real estimate of Crumwell's character 
was that of a clever selfish roan : — 

' I have come to the coQclasion that Wolsny had no confidence in Criim- 
weirs sincerity, and that Crumwcll did not treat his fallen master witli 
coDsideration and kindness. He was obliged to defend him, for he had no 
other course to pursue; but he was in a state of the greatest alarm for his 
own safety. . . The Cardinal in one letter entreats him as one who had 
neglected to come to him, when he had been expected to repair to him ** as 
soon ss Parliament was broken up.** He entices him to come, by saying 
that he has things to aay to him concerning his own self— -as if he knew 
the selfishness of the man.* 

The same conviction, combined with a high estimate of 
CramweU's great powers, and his special aptitude from 
charms of manners for obtaining influence, led the haughty 
Cardinal to fawn upon the servant in whose fidelity he could 
scarcely believe. * My own entirely-beloved Cruoiwell,* he 
writes. * My own aider in this my intolerable anxiety and 
heaviness.' 'My own trusted and most assured refuge in 
this my calamity.' * My only refuge and aid.' The Dean 
finds no ground for believing that these were the utterances 
of a true affection, but bespoke the Cardinal's earnest desire 
to retain the services of a sagacious man whom he suspected 
but wished to employ. 

As soon as he was transferred to the King's service he 
showed himself to be a thoroughly reliable tool in Henry's 
hand. Throughout he acted on the principles he avowed in 
that conversation with Reginald Pole (for questioning the 


veracity of which the Dean says forcibly * no reason can be 
alleged except the principle of rejecting every historical iiact 
which does not agree with onr pre-conceived opinions'), in 
which he recommended Machiavelli to him as his teacher, 
and avowed for himself the intention of ' first discovering 
what are the secret wishes of the King, and then, in carry- 
ing them into effect, making them appear by special argn- 
ments to be consistent with the dictates and requirements of 
morality and religion. 

All Cmmwell's after-life justified this low opinion which 

his first patron formed of his moral character. His religion 

was from first to last dictated by the exigencies of political 

party, or the claims of his own selfish interest. He threw in 

his lot with the lleformers, and has been lauded as a saint 

and * man of God ' by the inaccurate and inveracious Foxe ; 

but neither his character nor his conduct exhibit any marks 

of piety save that of standing by his faction, and providing 

for himself. He was greedy of gain, and so rapacious in 

seizing on and amassing it, that, though utterly profuse and 

prodigal in spending money, he died possessed of immense 

wealth. No one trusted him, unlesj^, which is far from 

certain, the rugged, humorous, quaint Hugh Latimer did so. 

If Latimer really had any faith in him, it may have been 

the same defects of his own character which made him 

offensively facetious and flippant in his letter to Crumwell 

when appointed to preach at the burning of poor Forest, and 

* unhandsomely merry ' at the condemnation of Sir Thomas 

More, or possibly, as we would hope of one who died so 

bravely for his faith, from the greatness of his own sincerity, 

which made him unable to suspect or detect the duplicity of 

the wily statesman to whom the support of such a man was 

as invaluable as in the present day the support of a great 

religious leader might be to the irreligious and even ]»rofli- 

gate head of a political party. Certainly Crumweirs course 

p 2 


was not calculated to inspire such trust. He was a zealous 
supporter of the Reformers when advancing their cause 
enabled him to suppress the religious houses and enrich 
himself and his dependants out of their spoils ; but when the 
imperious will of Henry required the enactment of the * Act 
of Six Articles, or, as the Puritans, who liked to give hard 
names to hard acts, called it, the whip with six strings,' 
Crumwell acquiesced (for his name stands on the list of the 
committee from which in fact it emanated): although it 
declared the truth of transubstantiation, justified the receiv- 
ing the Communion in one kind, prohibited the marriage of 
the clergy, and continued private masses, vows of chastity, 
and the retention of auricular confession. In like manner, 
zealous as he was against the chantries, or at least against 
their endowments, yet, as the Dean points out, — 

' At a time when he was at the head of the ultra-Protestant party [June, 
1529], he leaves twenty shillings to each of the five orders of Friars within 
the City of London, to pay for his soul. He directs his executor *' to 
engage a priest to sing for his soul three years next after his death, and to 
pay him for the same twenty pounds/* Five or six years afterwards he 
had occasion to correct his will, when the bequests for prayers to be made 
for his soul were retained ; and it is proved that this was not an oversight, 
for, as regarded the priest who was to pray for the dead, he desired him to 
continue his services for seven years, and he increased his stipend from 
201, to 402. 128, Qd, What religion he had would appear to be superstition ; 
and the superstition of an irreligious man induces him to seek the odyan- 
tages whilst he avoids the resjionsibilities of religion.* 

We differ from the Dean's suggestion that the fall of 
Crumwell was unconnected with the disgust which Henry 
entertained to Anne of Cleves. It is almost certain that 
Crumwell had taken a leading part in promoting that mar- 
riage. It was a supreme part of his foreign policy to en- 
courage every alliance between Henry and the Protestant 
Powers of Germany. Crumweirs personal interests were too 
deeply involved in this, not to make him thoroughly in 


earnest in securing it. Ho had offended the Papal party 
beyond all possibility of forgiveness. He bad to bow bis 
bead to tbe beavy storm of tbe Six Articles, wbicb were 
designed rather to prevent the Protestant party from wrang- 
ling against the six poinls, than to enforce the six points 
themselves as matters of necessary dogmatic belief; but if 
the Roman party regained their power he would too probably 
have, not merely to bow his head to such an Act of Parlia- 
ment, but to lose it on the block, a contingency which few 
men were less ready to court than Tiiomas Crura well. Now 
past experience had shown him how greatly the King's mode 
of viewing questions was affected by his domestic relations ; 
and Anne of Cleves might be able to effect what the shame- 
ful fall of Anne Boleyn had prevented his accom[)li.shinj^^ 
He was, therefore, bent upon promoting this match. Partly 
because he wished well to the lleforniers, but more espe- 
cially because he wished for security for himself. The Dean 
suggests that Anne of Cleves could not have been the 
occasion of Crumwell's disgrace, because the King ' instead 
of venting his anger u])on Crumwell, confided to him his 
disappointment, and consulted him as to the means by which 
he might extricate himself from his contract.' 

* Besides,' he adds, * it was after her arrival that Crumwell 
received his earldom.' A study of the original documents 
not only brings us to an opposite conclusion, but reconciles 
these facts with it. The King's personal disgust with his 
contracted Queen was intense ; he found too that the poli- 
tical object he had in view in the alliance was not likely to 
be secured; he regarded the whole matter as Crum well's 
arrangement; he had suggested it, he had obtained the 
flattering pictures and reports of the Queen's beauty which 
her actual appearance so rudely contradicted, he had even 
endeavoured to lessen the King's disappointment 'by suggest- 
ing'that she had a queenly manner.' If she had been a subject 


of the realra, the King would do doubt have takeu at once 
his course in his own high handed manner. But he feared 
embroiling the nation at the same time with the Emperor, 
the King of France, and the German Princes ; the threads of 
the whole mesh-work of foreign politics were in Orumwell's 
hands, and the King called on him to find a remedy, which 
would at once set him free from the marriage he hated, and 
prevent the mischief which, if it were abruptly broken oflF, he 
apprehended to the realm, and gave him his earldom to 
strengthen his hands for the necessary negotiation. It was 
only when he proved resourceless that expectation turned in 
the King's mind into disgust; and then the destruction of 
the lately powerful minister was sudden, not, as we think, 
because 'Henry delighted to raise his favourites to a giddy 
eminence of greatness, that their fall might be the heayier 
when in his caprices or his vengeance he thought fit to hurl 
them to the bottom of the pit,' but because there had been 
accumulating against the day of his disgrace innumerable 
causes and instruments of his destruction. ' Grumwell had 
failed in every promise he had made the King.' As the 
fruit of his foreign policy the Crown was wholly without 
allies, the Pope was hostile to the death, the Emperor 
alienated, Francis was unwon, the German Princes stood 
suspiciously aloof; at home religious animosities, always 
peculiarly distasteful to Henry, were embittering the divi- 
sions of the lieges; even the dissolution of the monasteries, 
the only matter in which the great Malleus Monachorum had 
succeeded thoroughly, had been a disappointment. Their 
wealth, which was to have enabled Henry to govern without 
a Parliament, had slipped like water through his fingers; his 
share had gone in gambling and magnificences ; a few of his 
nobles had been greatly enriched, no one more so than 
Grumwell himself, but the common people, whom the reli- 
gious houses had supported, were ready to revolt; the 


friends of the monasteries were made his enemies ; Crum- 
well's boasted Government had been on all sides a failure, 
and as the crown of all it had fettered the King with a 
marriage engagement which he abhorred, and from which 
Crumwell could not or would not help to free him. The 
course of the minister, a bad, bold, hypocritical, unscrupu- 
lous, venal man in the day of his elation, was crowded with 
acts of cruelty, licence, violence, lawlessness, venality, which 
could not bear examination. For such a man there could be 
no intermediate condition between eminence of power which 
was above punishment, and an immediate certainty of 
destruction. He stumbled, and the darkening wings of the 
vultures crowded round him. He fell ; and he fell irre- 
trievably and abjectly: pleading for life, the late haughty, 
overbearing minister ended his supplication to the King 
with the cry * Written at the Tower with the heavy heart 
and trembling hand of your Highness's most miserable 
prisoner and poor slave. I cry for mercy — mercy — mercy !* 

The universal rejoicing at his fall throughout all classes 
attests the harshness of his rule ; the insolence of his con- 
duct in prosperity, and the want of dignity in his evil day. 
That its immediate cause should have been the King's 
disgust at the newly contracted marriage, and at his minister 
fur having arranged it, is a remarkable instance of Nemesis. 
Crumwell, a secret Iloinanist, had for lucre and power put 
himself at the head of the Protestants ; and by success in 
negotiating (as a zealous Reformer) this Protestant alliance, 
he lost his power, his honour, and his life. 

lu bis judgment on the suppression of the monasteries, 
the Dean holds the scale with the even hand and entire fair- 
ness which is so honourably conspicuous in his pages. He 
shows that it had at all times belonged to the King of right 
to visit all collegiate and monastic institutions ; that eighty- 
one alien priories, that is, priories in England affiliated to 


religions booses abroad, bad been sequestered by King Jobn ; 
that thirty more bad been sequestered by Edward III., re- 
stored in the first year of Henry IV., but again suspended in 
bis sixth year ; that Henry V. had by Act of Parliament 
suppressed the alien priories and vested their estates in the 
Crown; that throughout the middle ages, and before the 
Beformation was thought of, the creators of colleges, such as 
Walter de Merton, and William of Wykeham, had found the 
means of endowing their great foundations from similar 
sources ; that many of these monasteries were no longer the 
homes of industry, holy living and devotion, but centres of 
idleness and moral corruption ; that the distinction, more- 
over, between Church property and monastic property was 
most marked, and that no notion of peculiar sacredness then 
attached to the holdings of the monasteries ; that they were 
institutions to be judged of simply by their results ; and that 
they had long ceased to effect in any real degree the useful 
purposes for which they had at first been founded. They no 
longer sustained either religion or learning, whilst their 
inmates had for a long period given no eminent person either 
to the Church or State. *The secular clergy maintained 
their position throughout the reign of Henry VII., and with 
Wolsey at their head through the early . part of his son's 
reign the Regulars had forfeited the respect and esteem of 
the public* 

The Dean has therefore no professional censures for the 
resumption by the State of property of which it might justly 
regard itself as the trustee, provided only that the mode of 
resumption was fitting, and the uses to which the resumed 
property was put were of the nature of a cy-pres redistribu- 
tion. Under Crumweirs influence he shows that neither of 
these necessary conditions were observed. Instead of a care- 
iul examination of the separate cases of the religious houses, 
the idlest tales were judged sufficient to justify the disbolu- 


lion of venerable societies ; whilst the rack and other instru- 
meiits of torture were freely used under the direct persona 
superintendence of Crumwell, to extort from an unwilling 
witness or too retentive culprit the secrets they were supposed 
to hide. Mr. Tytler, as quoted in these pages, does not 
scruple after examining the original documents to say, that 
<they exhibit Crumwell as equally tyrannical and unjust, 
despising the authority of the law, and unscrupulous in the 
use of torture.' At the same time he used without scruple 
every other instrument to obtain his ends, stirring up the 
populace against all religion by having Hhe ordinances of 
the Church burlesqued, and things most sacred turned into 
ridicule by divers fresh and quick wits, by whose industry 
the country was inundated with pictures, jests, songs, and 
interludes.' The property of the monasteries having by 
such means got into CrumwelVs hands, the purposes for 
which these estates ought to have been reserved were almost 
entirely forgotten, and what might have made provision for 
sound instruction and increased means of public worship was 
lost in gambling and dissipation, or basely given over to the 
hangers-on of Crumwell and the Court, to build up private 
fortunes out of public spoils. 

It is well that at the present time the warning which this 
appropriation of the confiscated estates of the religious 
hi)uses suggests should be with all distinctness repeated. 
All experience teaches us that whether or no other curses 
attend upon such confiscation, the curse of misappropriation 
has attached itself with unvarying fixedness to all such acts. 

The regular series of history in these volumes contains 
the lives of William Warham and Thomas Cranmer. War- 
ham was Archbishop from 1503 to 1532. He was educated 
at Winchester and New College, and after leaving Oxford 
first practised as a lawyer in the Court of Arches : there he 
attracted the attention of Archbishop Morton, was brought 


under the keen eye of Henry YII., and accoi-ding to the 
ciutom of that day was sent, then it seems in Holy Orders, 
as legal adviser to Sir Henry Poynings on his embassy to 
detach the Duke of Burgundy from the side of Perkin War- 
beck. He soon after became precentor of Wells, Master of 
the Bfills, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, and Principal of a 
Hall (St. Edward's) at Oxford, whilst he was actively en- 
gaged in the foreign affairs of the English Government, and 
sent frequently abroad to discharge the duties of a diploma- 
list. In 1501 he was on the King's appointment elected 
Bishop of London, though not consecrated, in consequence as 
it seems of being on one of his continental embassies, for 
more than a year aftei'wards. Warimm was one of those 
men whom Henry VII. loved to promote. Able, wary, and 
moderate, untroubled with any genius, and with whom con- 
scientious principle never knotted itself into a crotchet or 
subsided into impracticable obstinacy. In 1502 he resigned 
the Mastership of the Rolls ; but could not escape from the 
trammels of his lay dignity, as before tlie year was out he 
was appointed Lord Keeper of the Great Seal ; and within 
another six months was transhited to the Archie])iscopal See 
of Canterbury and appointed Lord Chancellor, the pay of 
which high office when he received it was only 100 marks 
raised for him afterwards to 200/., and garnished with such 
moderate perquisites only as a common velvet bag for the 
Great Seal, value 15«. ; for winter robes to enable him to sit 
in Court in December, 26/. 13s. 4(2., with certain tuns of 
Gascon wine. How must the record of such stinted pay- 
ments stir the virtuous wrath and kindle the love of such 
happy times of frugality in the souls of our great Manchester 
economists. Warham remained Chancellor through the reign 
of Henry YII., and in spite of many attempts to resign it 
earlier, it was not until the year 1515 he succeeded in getting 
fr^e by handing it over to the keeping of Wolsey. Between 


Wolsey and himself there existed to his death the relations 
natural to a wise and wary, though somewhat timid states- 
man, who held the higher ecclesiastical position, with a 
minister of master intellect, of uncontrollable ambition, and 
unwearied administrative vigour. 

Warham was a reformer before the Reformation. He was 
the intimate friend of Erasmus; and from an expression in 
one of Erasmus's letters which has been supposed to bo 
addressed to Warham, the Dean raises the question, Was 
Warham a married man ? It is rather difficult to gather to 
which side the balance inclines as one weighs the evidence in 
the judgment of the impartial Dean. The expression of 
Erasmus is unequivocal— 'Bene vale cum dulcissima conju- 
gali liberisque dulcissimis/ Jortin supposes that thorc is an 
error in the heading of the epistle, which should have been 
addressed to Lord Moiintjoy, We have no doubt that tliis 
or some such solution is the truth. The Dean is quite riglit 
in the estimate which he forms of the moral results of en- 
forced celibacy amongst the clergy. * Only persons,' he says, 
• of very strict religious principles objected to the residence 
of a concubine in the house of a clergyman.' ... If the 
parties were secretly married *the marriage was voidable, 
but [not] void, and if the marriage were proved the legiti- 
macy of the children was not disputed.' Still a clergyman 
by marriage 'violated the canons of the Church or tlie 
Statutes of the land, hence the marriage was generally clan- 
destine/ • Wolsey was himself a concubinary priest.' The 
Dean seems on the whole to favour the idea of Warham's 
secret marriage as accounting for Wolsey's * despotic influence 
over his mind.' But this is at once accounted for by the 
accustomed yielding of the gentle and less vigorous, to the 
more energetic will and mind; and for ourselves we dismiss 
the suggestion as wholly incompatible with the records of 
Warham's character and conduct, ^>(> far from living, as it 


has been asserted, merely to support his Order, Warham had 
himself attempted a reform of the ecclesiastical courts, the 
great abuse of the day, and had begun a visitation of the 
jnonasteries. But he found the sons of Zeruiah too strong 
for his trembling or aged hand ; and acquiei^ced in the desire 
of Henry YIII. for Wolsey's cardinalate and legantiue 
powers, mainly as it seems in the hope that the red hat and 
the weight of a hgattM a latere might make another power- 
ful enough to enforce the reforms which were beyond hi» own 
strength and which yet he saw to be essential to the safety 
of the Church. Wolsey was not generous in his use of the 
superior powers which this higher authority conferred upon 
him, and Warham sometimes meekly resisted' but more 
frequently patiently resigned himself to the assumptions of 
the power he had by acquiescence inyoked. For the same 
reason he seems to have withdrawn himself from public life. 
The Dean quotes Sebastian Giustiniani as asserting that 
Warham the peace-loving minister of Henry Yll. could not 
acquiesce in the ambitious projects of Wolsey 's war policy, 
and so absented himself from the Council when it was re- 
solved to assist the Emperor against the King of France. 
And this is by no means an improbable solution of his 
retirement In domestic politics Warham and Wolsey were 
a.t one : save that Warham somewhat inactively desired the 
reforms which Wolsey vehemently effected. More than 
fourscore years pressed upon the venerable head of the 
Primate, and it was but natural that he should to a great 
degree withdraw himself from political life, and retire into 
the learned leisure he so dearly loved. This he shared freely 
with many of the leaders of the * new learning.' What he 
was amongst them, some beautiful sentences of Erasmus 
have recorded. 

' Now Erasmus is almost transformed into an Englishman/ he writes to 
Abbot St. Bertin. * Of those who are kind to mc, I place in the first place 


Warliam, Archbisliop of Canterbury, What genius ! Wliat copiousness ! 
What vivacity 1 What facility in the most complicated discussion ! Wliat 
erudition I What politeness ! From Warham, who is truly royal, none 
ever parted in sorrow ! With all these qualities, how great is Warham's 
huniility, how edifying his modesty. He alone is ignorant of his eminence ; 
no one is more faithful or more constant in friendship.' * 

So wrote Erasmus of Warham : we, of the present century, 
might almost fancy that these were Bunsen's words, and that 
he wrote them concerning Archbishop Howley. 

But more than one important matter was yet to trouble 
Warham's age. First, the question of the King's marriage 
with Catherine pressed heavily upon him. He took indeed 
no le&ding part in helping forward the divorce, yet he leaned 
strongly to the King's side, and the King would have been 
well content if the Pope would have committed to him the 
determination of his matrimonial suit. * Thcr canne,' Henry 
urged to Clement, ^be no person in Ohristendome more in- 
differente, more miet, apt, and convenient than the sayd 
Archbishop, who hath lernyng, excellent high and long experi- 
ence, a man ever of a singular zele to justice.' It could not 
suit the crafty policy of the dissimulating Clement to com- 
mit the judgment of the King's cause to such a man. But it 
is a strong argument in favour of Henry's motives, and of the 
real justice of liis cause, that such a man as Warham adhered 
to him in it till the end. 

The other matter which troubled the close of Warliam's 
life was the Act for the Submission of the Clergy. Wolsey 
had fallen ; and in falling drew down upon the clergy the 
charge of treason for their admission of his legantinc powers. 
They were proceeded against under the pra3mnniro statuti^ 
and had to purchase their forgiveness by a large benevolence. 
The King required, for the future safeguard of the supre- 
macy of his Crown, that the clergy should bind themselves 

* Kra.Mni Kpist, to t)»c Abbot of St. Bortin. 


to make no canons in their convocations without the Eing*8 
sanction. This was no sacrifice of any spiritual power which 
was really theirs. It was altogether in the spirit of the 
ancient Church constitution of the land. It conceded no 
lawful power of the spirituality. In making this concession 
the spirituality did not profess to receive from the State the 
power of making canons or constitutions. On the contrary, 
it assumed that the power of making such rules rested of 
necessity with the body spiritual, but that it was according 
to the word of Christ and the teaching of the Apostle that she 
should not exercise her power within a Christian kingdom, 
save by a licence from the anointed King. To this Warham 
counselled the clergy voluntarily to submit; and after a long 
straggle, the course of which may be read at length in the 
Dean's biography, the concession was agreed to in verba 

It was almost the last act of Warham. Between the hours 
of two and three on the 22nd day of August, 1532, William 
Warham was at rest There does not appear to be the 
slightest foundation for the assertion that ' he withdrew him- 
self heartbroken into his palace at Lambeth.' * Such men 
do not die heartbroken, and there had been nothing, if it had 
been otherwise, to break his heait. The Dean's conception 
of his character is the true one. He was a reformer, but a 
conscientious and a cautious reformer. He saw his primacy 
drawing to its close, marked, with his entire concurrence, by 
the re-assertion of the Crown's supremacy and the submission 
of the clergy to it; he feared that after he was gone these 
admissions might be so enlarged as to sacrifice what he could 
not have yielded. Against such a course, which might be 
f to the hurt, prejudice, or limitation of the powers of tlie 
Church, or to the subverting, enervating, derogating from or 
diminishing the laws, customs, privileges, prerogatives, pre- 

^ Froiide, i. p. 369, 


eminence, or liberties of onr metropolitan Church of Canter- 
bury/ he, on his dying bed, signed before the notary his pro- 
test, declaring that such in all he had agreed to, he did 
* neither will, nor intend, nor with clear conscience was able 
to consent to the same/* And so, consenting to a lawful re- 
form, and protesting against what he deemed the licence into 
which it might be lengthened out, he calmly yielded from his 
dying hand the crozier he had borne peacefully and with 
honour through so many a stormy year. Any one who re- 
members the portrait of him, painted by Hans Holbein, 
which appeared some two or three years back in the Exhibi- 
tion at Kensington, will feel how truly the countenance of the 
man expressed his character. The intellectual, gentle, disci- 
plined face, the refined and well-proportioned features, and 
the light subdued by quietness which overspread them, well 
represented the churchman with whom Erasmus loved to 
converse, and whom Holbein deliglited to draw. 

Rumour had already fixed on Stephen Gardyner, Bishop 
of Winchester, as the successor of Warham ; but the King 
bad other views, and Cranmer^ who had done good ser- 
vice in promoting the divorce from Catherine, was selected 
for the post, and duly elected and consecrated with the as- 
sent of the Papal authorities. The Dean triumphantly vin- 
dicates him from the vulgar charge of having sought and 
accepted the office, whilst he disbelieved in the doctrines 
which its acceptance implied him to hold. He did not seek, 
but shrank from the primacy, and delayed as long as he could 
venture, after the King's nomination, to return and take 
possession of it He was singularly unambitious; his desires 
pointed to literary ease amidst family life. As he returned 
to England he married, as a second wife, a niece of his friend 
Osiander. He would not have contracted this second mar- 
riage if he had in any degree looked to the primacy. It is 

* Burnet's * Collectanon.' 



' extreme injustioe to represent him as a Protestant in dis- 
guise daring the reign of Henry.' He * was not a Protestant 
before the commencement of the reign of Edward VI./ even 
if, * in the modern acceptance of the term, a Protestant he 
ever became.' * The real work of the Reformation was the 
changing of the mass into a communioni and this involved 
the dogma of transubstantiation, . . . Henry VIII. was dead 
before Cranmer renounced transubstantiation, and until he 
did that it is a mistake to speak of him as a Protestant.' The 
Dean, in clearing him from this imputation, gnards himself 
from being supposed to have any * inclination to vindicate the 
character of Cranmer.' We entirely acquit him of such a 
charge. Though ready generously to find any possible excuse 
for many of his faults, he sometimes, we think, judges him 
too severely. An instance of what we mean occurs in the 
narrative of one of the earliest and most painful acts of 
Cranmer's archiepiscopate — the pronouncing sentence of 
nullity on the supposed maniage between Henry and 
Catherine, where he is spoken of as 'simulating the cha- 
racter of a just judge, when he had deliberately come to 
deliver an iniquitous judgment. But he never seems to 
have been conscience-striken for his conduct on this occa- 
sion.' Now why is it to be supposed that the judgment 
Cranmer delivered was in any sense * iniquitous ' ? In 
the expressed convictions of many of the best and wisest 
men of the day, the dispensation granted by Julius 11. for 
Henry's marriage was, as dispensing with a law of God, 
utterly void and of no eflPect. If this were so, the marriage 
had never really existed ; it was voidable, and it was his 
bounden duty, on complaint, to declare it void. That this 
was Cranmer's conscientious and delibemte conviction is 
well-nigh certain. No man had more deeply studied the 
whole question. No man had more opportunity of know- 
ing that, even at Rome itself, this was the opinion of the 


Canonists. He may probably have known what Paolo Sarpi 
records, that when the Pope delegated the cause to the 
Cardinal Campeggio and the Cardinal of York, in order 

' to fadlitate the resolution that the solemnities of the judgment might not 
draw the cause io length, a brefe was framed, in which he was declared 
free from that marriage with the most ample clauses that ever were put 
into any Pope*s Bull, and a Cardinal sent into England with order to present 
it after some few proofes were passed, which he was sure would easily 
be made. And this happened in the yeere 1524. But Clement judging it 
fitter for compassing his designs upon Florence ... to joyne himself with 
the Emperour than to continue in the friendship of France^and England, in 
the year 1529, he sent Francis' Campana unto Campeggio with order to 
bume the brefe and proceed slowly in the cause.' * 

There seems to us no reason for doubting that with what- 
ever painful sympathy for Catherine, Cranmer must have felt 
bound as an honest man to give this judgment, and if so to 
give it clearly and speedily. 

The further progress of the reformation of religion is 
traced in the following pages with a master's hand. The 
Dean shows that 

* Neither Henry nor* Cranmer was a theorist They had no particular 
schemes of their own to carry. They found the Church of England bowed 
dovoi by the galling tyranny of Rome, through powers gradually usurped. 
When they had asserted the freedom of the National Church, and declared 
the King to be ** in all causes and over all persons civil and ecclesiastical 
within his dominions supreme," they had to legislate not with a view to 
further their preconceived opinions, but simply to meet the difiQculties 
arislDg from the circumstances in which they were placed. In an age of 
inquiry they soon discovered that the Catholic Faith, though always pre- 
served in the three Creeds, had been obscured by superincumbent super- 
stitions ; and they sought, as they were discovered one by one, to remove 

In this work throughout Henry's reign, he and the Arch- 
bishop worked in the main steadily together, though 

' Henry was of a conservative temper and would move slowly, whilst 
Cranmer, though slow to receive a truth, kboured eagerly when he had 

♦ * History of Council of Trent/ lib. i. p. 68. N. Brett's translation, edit. 3. 
VOL. 11. Q 


Mcepted It for its promnlgation. Both were frequently iuoonsistent: the 
one urged ou hy hie pajwions, the other retarded by Ids weakness.' 

It was of God*8 great mercy to this Church and nation, 
firsty that two men of these opposite temperaments were acting 
together, one from the throne of England, the other from the 
marble chair of Canterbury, to guide the coming changes; 
and next, that the changes themselves were but remedies for 
immediate practical evils. There was in the nation a wide- 
spread dissatisfaction with the whole body of Papal corrup- 
tions. If the first attack on these had been conducted by 
one who had once been what Luther describes himself to have 
been, a * most mad Papist,' and who in his first intoxication 
from newly discovered truth had appealed to that feeling, 
and had found the strength with which to carry his reforms 
in the .passions of the populace, England's Church might 
have become what the religious systems of Saxony, of Geneva, 
and Scotland have been. But the first energy of the English 
Beformation was spent in demolishing the master evil of the 
Pope's usurped supremacfy, and denying its sister vice of his 
infallibility. Slowly, cautiously, and like an ebbing tide 
rather than with the violence of a cataract, with reluctant 
pauses and seeming returns, the stream of feeling turned 
against those distinctly doctrinal errors which had affected 
the great mysteries of the Christian Church ; and this branch 
of the Beformation was in consequence approached calmly 
and dealt with moderately, so that the evil parasites were 
removed without shaking the truth round which they had 
wound themselves, and to which they clung. The final sepa- 
ration by sy nodical act of the English Church from the 
Boinan obedience, was the cx>nsequence of the strong reac- 
tion of English feeling, when the Pope reversed the Primate's 
judgment, and required Henry, under pain of excomrauliica- 
tion, to put away his new Queen. Then, on the 7th of April, 
1534, it was declared in the English Convocation that * the 


Bishop of Borne hath no greater jurisdiction given him iu 
this realm of England than any other foreign Bishop ;'* and 
so was finally asserted by England's clergy that separation 
from the Papacy, which the sealing of the Act of the King's 
Supremacy with the blood of Fisher and Sir lliomas More 
proclaimed with so terrible an energy for the Laity. Other 
reformations panted and paused in their course. It was 
three years later before the joint influence of Cranmer and 
Cromwell obtained a license from the King permitting the 
Bible, then called Matthew's Bible, to be freely bought and 
sold, and a command that a copy of it should be set up in 
every church. Strype records t that the Archbishop rejoiced 
on that day more ' than had there been given him a thousand 
pounds,' with him rejoiced a multitude as at the free open- 
ing in the desert of the springs of water. * With what joy,' 
says Strype, * that version of the Bible was received, not only 
amongst the learneder sort and those that were noted for 
lovers of the Beformation, but generally all England over, 
amongst all the vulgar and common people/ This version, 
revised by Oranmer, was reprinted in the four following 
years under the title of *The Great or Cranmer's Bible.' 
The same year witnessed the publication of the ' Bishop's 
book,' the * Institution of a Christian man,* which dealt 
freely with many points of Eoman error. This has been 
fixed upon by Professor Blunt as the highest point reached 
by the tide of reform in the reign of Henry. 

The following year, 1539, saw the enactment of the Six 
Articles, supported by the King, and bravely opposed in the 
House of Lords by Cranmer. The Doan considers these 
articles as a measure of policy and not of religion. The 
King perceived the danger which was accruing to the realm 
from the spread of religious dissension, and this Act was 
passed not against a wrong belief on the six points, but 

* WilkiM's * Council/ iii. 769. f Strype's * Cranmer/ p. 64. 

Q 2 



against an open contradiction of the still received opinion. 
In common with Dr. Maitland the Dean believes that * it was 
meant to intimidate rather than to hnrt.* It was beyond all 
qnestiony so far as the immediate prospect of the Beformation 
was concerned, a distinctly reactionary measure* It had one 
effect which greatly disturbed the comfort of the Archbishop. 
For it compelled him to send back his wife to her German 
relations. The enactment which made it felony for a clergy- 
man to live with his wife was mainly aimed at Granmer, and 
may account in some measure for the boldness with which at 
first he opposed the Bill. The Dean's pages contain some 
amusing traits of poor Mrs. Granmer's sufferings during her 
life of semi-concealed matrimony, especially Sanders* story 
of her misfortunes when travelling with the Archbishop, but 
packed away for safety in a chests His enemies tried hard to 
wound him from this side. But in this, as in so many other 
matters, Granmer had the hearty support of the King. There 
is nothing which redounds more to Henry's credit than his 
relations with Granmer from first to last. Surrounded as 
Henry was with utterly selfish, unprincipled men, he seems 
to have delighted in the singleheartedness of the Primate. 
It was the King who detected the plots formed against the 
Ajrchbishop, and the King who defeated them. Opposition 
could not alienate him from Granmer, and so it was till the 
unlooked-for end, Mfhen having sent for the Archbishop for 
the last offices of religion, he died wringing hard the Arch- 
bishop's hand in token * that he put his trust in God through 
Jesus Ghrist.' 

There is no little light thrown back on Granmer himself 
from this unalterable affection of such a man as Henrv. 
Pi*om first to last his character appears to us transparently 
clear. He was thoroughly honest; devoid of any gifts of 
genius ; patient, laborious, and religious ; true to his convic- 
tions, but liable to have those convictions varied by the force 


of circumstances or the arguments of others ; he was true to 
his friends and forgiving to his enemies ; with some spasmodic 
exertions of vigour he was deficient in strength of cha- 
racter; he was easily governed by women — Anne Boleyn 
and Catherine Howard seem equally to have practised on his 
simplicity ; and he became himself the husband of two 
women, neither of whom leave upon our mind an impress of 
notable worthiness. * Black Joan' of the 'Dolphin' may 
have abused his inexperienced youth ; but the second Mrs. 
Cranmer seems in his life to have manifested little delicacy, and 
when he was dead to have been voracious of after marriages. 
But for Henry's constant fidelity and friendly care, Cranmer 
would hardly have kept his footing in that slippery Court ; 
and after Henry's death it was not long before troubles 
began to entangle him. Left by Henry's will at the head of 
the Council of Regency, he soon became almost a cypher in 
its deliberations. He did, indeed, resist the precipitate haste 
with which, for purely worldly motives, the Protector sought 
to carry forward religious changes for which Cranmer was 
unprepared. For at this time 'he did not hesitate to offer 
masses for the repose of Henry YIII. and of Francis L' 
Accordingly * the foreign reformers of the Calvinistic School 
complained of Cranmer that he was lethargic and lukewarm, 
unworthy to carry out the Reformation to its full extent even 
'when the cards were in his hands.' One of the reasons 
assigned by the Duke of Northumberland, in 1552, for desir- 
ing the preferment of John Enox, or as his Grace writes it, 
BIr. Knocks, to the Bishopric of Rochester, was that he would 
be * a whetstone to quicken and sharpen the Bishop of Canter- 
bury, whereof he hath need.' The Dean shows conclusively 
the falsehood of this charge. He traces the gradual en- 
lightenment of Cranmer's mind as to the doctrine of tran- 
sttbstautiation with the legislation to which it led ; he shows 
the revisions rendered necessary by these changes in the 


MiaBal^ and gives a succinct and valuable review of our 
Liturgical oflSces from Augustine to Osmund, from Osmund 
to Cranmer, and from Grann^er to Juxon. 

The Archbishop was far more at home in these pursuits 
than in the perplexing public affairs in which the sudden 
decay of young Edward VL and the Northumberland con- 
spiracy soon involved him. Here all the peculiar traits of 
his character come out. His honest reluctance to signing 
Edward's unjust and unconstitutional will— the overbearing 
of his judgment by the signature of all the Judges except 
Hales, and of his convictions by his tenderness to the young 
King in his agony, and the fatal signature— all are in keep- 
ing with CranmerV character from first to last. The scene 
is well drawn by the Dean in a few vigorous words :— 
* Oranmer stood at the side of the couch to receive the last 
request of one whom he revered as a dying saint. •* I hope," 
said Edward, « I hope that you will not stand out, and not 
be more repugnant to my will than aU the rest of the Council. 
The Judges have informed me that I may lawfully bequeath 
my Crown to the Lady Jane, and that my subjects may 
lawfully receive her as Queen, notwithstanding the oatli 
which they took under my iiather's wiU." The King had 
learned his lesson well. Oranmer stiU hesitated. He quitted 
the royal presence, he consulted the Judges who were in 
attendance, he returned to the sick chamber, he took a last 
look at his godson, and he signed the fatal document This, 
considering the light in which Cranmer had i-egaixied the 
subject, was an awful fall He fell ; but it was not from fear 
of death— he feU because he would not hurt the feelings of 
the dying youth.' Yet to his honour it should be remem- 
bered that of the twenty-three names pledged to maintain 
Edward's device, one name only was withheld from im- 
mediate allegiance to Mary when her cause was triumphant, 
and that was the name of the uncertain but honest Oranmer.' 


On Mary's accession his long concluding troubles broke at 
once upon him. He might have fled the kingdom; but 
deeming it his duty to remain, and over-estimating his 
strength of purpose, he stood to his post. He was soon im- 
prisoned in the Tower, where he * found his friends Kidley 
and Bradford ; and five days after in came a venerable octo- 
genarian — as light-hearted, as hard-headed, and as strong- 
minded as ever — Bishop Latimer. The friends availed 
themselves of the opportunity to read over the New Testa- 
ment ** with great delectation and peaceful study." ' But this 
was not long to last His trial and condemnation for treason ; 
his removal to Oxford; his distant view of the glorious 
martyrdom of Bidley and Latimer ; his condemnation ; his 
degradation by the Pope through the triumphant hands of 
Bonner ; followed one another in a rapid succession. Then 
came the cunning tampering with his weakness of those 
saddest days of Cranmer*s life — the genial dinners, the 
pleasant games at bowles, the deferential arguments, and all 
the other crafty wiles of the enemy — and then came their 
fruit — the first scarcely-extoi'ted and scanty recantation — its 
aggravated repetition — still, as it seems to us, ever turning 
in Cranmer's mind on a half-equivocation ; on rejecting all 
heresies and adhering constantly to one holy and Catholic 
Church ; and then, according to the certain course of every 
man who once allows himself to palter with the simple truth, 
the utter fall and the shameless degradation. A terrible sad- 
ness it was to all true-hearted men — a fearful triumph for 
the children of lies. We would not by any word of ours 
lessen all its evil. And yet we cannot but feel an indigna- 
tion, deep as our sad sympathy for him, with the shallow- 
hearted critics who — never having known the uttermost 
bitterness of that storm which was passing over him — the 
mingled addresses of softness and severity which tried every 
weak part of his great soul, and who themselves would 


probably in a less tempest make, if it were possible, a yet 
completer shipwreck — can find an evil pleasure in insulting 
and defaming the fallen man. 

Better far is it to gather up the lights of his last revival, 
to remember his bold confession, his patient endurance of 
every godless violence, his self-revenge upon his traitorous 
right hand, to see him 

" Outstretching flame- ward his upbraided hand, 

« • • • • 

Amid the shudd'ring throng doth Granmer stand, 
Firm as the stake to which with iron band 
His frame is tied ; from the naked feet 
To the head, the victory complete/ * 

So Oranmer passes from our view, kindly in character from 
first to last» persecuting not as Bonner persecuted, from a 
boisterous cruelty; not as Crumwell persecuted, from the 
dictates of policy, or for the satisfactign of his greed of gold 
and selfish lust of power ; but reluctantly, on the constraint 
of principles then universally held to be indisputable, and 
with perpetual endeavours to save the victims whom ' he 
thought himself compelled to sacrifice. He believed as all 
then believed, that it was as much a duty to condemn to 
death the convicted murderer of souls as the convicted mur- 
derer of bodies. In common with* the other Reformers of 
that day, he was ready to put men and women to death, not 
for holding, but for teaching, false doctrines ; not for being 
heretics, but for being heresiarchs. He had not the power 
of mind or spirit which could raise him so far above the age 
in which he lived, that he could take a broader view of the 
great question with which circumstances compelled him to 

That the English Reformation was wrought by men of this 
calibre is perhaps its most notable characteristic. Un- 

* ( 

Eccles. Sonnet^/ by W. Woi-dswoith, 27, p. 394. 


doobtedly it is to this fact that the Church of England owes 
its absolutely single and separate character amidst all the 
reformed communions. It bears the mark and impress of 
the intellectual or spiritual peculiarities of no single man. 
Herein at once it is marked off from the Lutheran, the Cal- 
yinist^ the Zuinglian, and other smaller bodie& On each one 
of them lay, as the shadow on the sleeping water, the uu- 
brokea image of some master mind or imperial soul. The 
mind of that founder of the new faith, his mode of thought 
and argument, bis religious principles, and his great defects 
were reproduced in the body which he had formed, and which 
by a natural instinct appropriated and handed on his name. 
And so it might have been with us too, had there been 
amongst the English Beformers such a leader. If WyclifTe 
— the great forerunner of the Keformation, whose austere 
figure stands out above the crowd of notables in English 
history* — if Wycliffe had lived a hundred and thirty years 
later than he did, his commanding intellect and character 
might then have stamped upon the religion of England the 
essential characteristic of a sect. But from this the goodness 
of God preserved the Church of this land. Like the birth 
of the beautiful islands of the great Pacific Ocean, the 
foundations of the new convictions which were so greatly to 
modify and purify the mediaeval faith were laid slowly, 
unseen, unsuspected, by ten thousand souls, who laboured, 
they knew not for what, save to accomplish the necessities 
of their own spiritual belief. The mighty convulsion which 
suddenly cast up the submarine foundations into peak and 
mountain, and crevasse, and lake, and plain, came not from 
man's devising, and obeyed not man's rule. Influences of 
the heaven above, and of the daily surrounding atmosphere, 
wrought their will upon the new-born islands. Fresh con- 
vulsions changed, modified, and completed their shape, aud 

* * Froudc/ vol. ii. p. 13. 


80 the new and the old were blended together into an 
harmony which no skill of roan cbnld have devised. The 
English Reformers did not attempt to develope a creed or a 
community ont of their own internal consciousness. Their 
highest aim was only to come back to what had been before. 
They had not the gifts which created in others the ambition 
to be the foanders of a new system. They did not even set 
about their task with any fixed plan or organised set of doc- 
trines. Their inconsistencies, their variations, their internal 
differences, their very retractations witness to the gradualness 
with which the new light dawned upon them, and dispelled 
the old darkness. The charges of hypocrisy and time- 
serving which have been made so wantonly against Cranmer 
and his brethren, are all honourably interpreted by the real 
changes which took place in their own opinions. The patient, 
loving, accurate, . study of Holy Scripture was an eminent 
characteristic of all these men. Thus the opinions they 
were receiving from others who had advanced far before 
them in the new faith were continually modified by this con- 
tinual voice of God's Word sounding in their ears, and by 
corresponding changes in their own views. Thus they were 
enabled by Grod's grace, out of the utter disintegration round 
them, to restore in its primitive proportions the ancient 
Church of Englana. 

Surely, in bringing to an end this review of their great 
enterprise, we may well say with the late Professor Blunt, — 

* God grant that a Church which has now for nearly three centuries, 
amidst every extravagance of doctrine and discipline which has spent itself 
around her, still carried herself as the mediator, chastening the zealot by 
words of soberness, and animating the lukewarm by words that bum — 
that a Church which has been found on experience to have successfully 
promoted a quiet and unobtrusive and practical piety amongst the people 
such as comes not of observation, but is seen in the conscientious 'discharge 
of all those duties of imperfect obligation .... which laws cannot reach 
— that such a Church may live through these troublous times to train 


up our children in the fear of God when we are in our graves — and that 
no strong delusion sent amongst us may prevail to her overthrow to 
the eventual discomfiture (as they would find, too late, to their cost) of 
many who have thoughtlessly and ungratefully lifted up their heel against 
her.* ♦ 

* Professor Blunt's * History of the Reformation/ pp. 233-4. 




{July, 1869.) 

Biography is often spoken of as if it was a peculiar depart- 
ment of literature, and was to be judged of by rules of its 
own. To a certain degree, of course, this is true ; but it is 
true only when taken with very marked exceptions and very 
wide allowances. For biography absolutely changes its cha- 
racter with the varying circumstances of its subject. If the 
man whose life is recorded is himself in his idiosyncrasy the 
really interesting matter, then the writing of that life may 
be a simple biography — a monograph, as the naturalist would 
call it But if that which is noteworthy is not so much what 
the man was, as what the man did, then the biographer 
becomes in great measure an historian. Whatever was the 
field in which his subject lived and laboured, — political life, 
military afiiurs, science, art, literature, or even opinion, — ^the 
history of the times in which he acted, discovered, worked, 
wrote, or thought, become an essential element in the story 
of his life ; and must be known, understood, and handled, if 
the biography is to have any high merit. Moreover the men 
he lived with, those who helped, and those who hindered 
him ; those whom he influenced, and those who influenced 


him ; must all be called up before the reader to make the 
scene in any degree complete. It is this which makes the 
task of a biographer, except in the case of the mere writer of 
a monograph, so difficult ; it might almost be said so impos- 
possible. If indeed the intention of the ' Life ' is merely to 
reproduce the man whose life is written; and if that life, as is 
often the case, was one of great-sameness, and little else than 

* < A Memoir of the Rer. John Keble, M.A.* By the Right Hon. Sir. J. T. 
Coleridge. Second Edition. London, 1860. 


the repetition of a single idea, then there is no great difficulty 
in writing it, jost as it requires no great artistic skill to pro- 
duce a tame portrait of an inexpressive face ; but then the 
consequence in both works of art is the same — that you have 
a dull result Ton get a sort of sign-post face, very interest- 
ing, no doubt, to weary travellers who are looking out for it 
as connected with their own coming personal comforts, but of 
no other use whatever to man or beast. A great part of the 
extant religious biography is of this chai*aeter. A dull por- 
traying of dull men who had received certain ascertained 
formularies of thought, and reproduced them in their lives ; 
very much as parish schoolboys, with a great amount of 
creaking of pencils and rubbing of fingers, reproduce, with 
an average inaccuracy, poor copies set them on shallow 
scratched slates. If the man whose character is to be de- 
picted were indeed a typical man, even the monograph 
writer has his . own difficulties ; just as from the same cause 
it requires a consummate artist to paint faces, which have in 
them that infinite amount of different powers, and those ever- 
varying expressions of countenance which belong to genius. 
But if to this difficulty be added those which result from the 
necessity of painting great events in which the man to be 
represented took part, and a number of other men with whom 
he mingled, the demands of the work upon the powers of the 
artist are almost infinitely increased. 

It is not very easy to say what is the proper time after the 
closing of such a life for reproducing it in a biography. If 
that time be delayed until prejudice has died away, until the 
mob of little things has perished, and only the great events 
or features remain, you may succeed in securing a sort of 
stern truthfulness for the picture, but it is at the expense of 
losing all the delicate lights and passing shadows on which 
the beauty and, to a great degree, the value of the work 
depends. On the other hand, if the work be that of a 


cpntemponuy, it is almost impossible bat that the figare of 
the narrator, and not that of his subject, will be the main 
feature of the picture. You will find tiie peculiar views and 
feelings of the writer flayouring everywhere the cliaracter of 
him whom he is seeking to reproduce. Almost the only con- 
temporary writer who has altogether escaped this danger is 
Boswell ; and it is this, above everything, which is the charm 
of the * Life of Johnson.' It is Johnson everywhere, Boswell 
nowhere. He is a mere mirror, without a wave in the glass 
to distort, without a hue to colour the image of the great, 
nigged, wise, affectionate, inoonsistent sage on whom you are 
never tired of gazing. But then the biographer must possess 
Bosw^ll's extraordinary deficiencies as well as his remarkable 
powers, before he can ever hope to copy such a model. There 
must be not only the power of appreciating and reverencing 
his great subject, but there must be the same utter want of 
self-appreciation and self-respect which possessed the * jackal 
who led the lion Johnson forth,' and then painted him in his 
prowlings, before we can ever have again a * BoswelPs Life of 

A biography lately noticed in these pages illustrates all 
that has been said. The * Lives of Lord Lyndhurst and Lord 
Brougham ' are really the narrative of the impressions made 
on a self-conscious, ambitious, remarkably coarse, and not 
over-scrupulous rival, by the sayings and doings of two great 
competitors for power and &me, who had, as he thought, 
overshadowed his own career. The biography he professes to 
have supplied does not really contain the lives of Copley and 
Brougham, but the history of how Copley ond Brougham sur- 
passed Campbell, and the attempt to prove how mistaken the 
world was in allowing them to have done so. 

Professed autobiography does not escape this difficulty, 
because as to the writer. himself it is commonly not the re- 
cord of what he was, or even suspected that he was, but of 


what he wished himself pre-eminently, and his readers in their 
measure to believe him to have been ; whilst as to others, it 
is too often the history only of the writer's mind in relation to 
those he lived with, not the real portraiture of the men them- 
selves. So Burnet, in his 'Life and Times/ lightens or 
.darkens the shadows on the figures round him, just as they 
satisfied or crossed his ever-bristling personal vanity ; so that 
a courtier, who had unluckily disturbed the studied pose of 
the legs on whose proportions he prided himself, appears in 
his pages as a rogue entirely wanting in all moral principle. 
If the ' Life of John Eeble ' be tested by the application of 
these principles, it must be pronounced to be one which com- 
bined for its writer almost all the difficulties which have been 
glanced at. It was, as Sir John Coleridge warns his readers 
in his deprecatory introduction, one which could furnish only 
* a most uneventful story.' * Few persons have lived so long, 
and achieved so great a name, about whom there is so little of 
change or incident to record. His life was passed in his father's 
house, in his college-rooms, in his curacies or in his rectory, 
in occasional long vacation rambles, in visits to the sea-side, 
in the alleviation of sickness. He earnestly avoided publicity.' 
This might be the outline life of many another English 
clergyman. The filling in, which makes it Eeble's life, is 
the showing how it came to pass that such a man was the 
author of a volume of religious poetry, by far the most 
remarkable and popular in our language; whilst he himself, 
in spite of his ever shunning publicity, became one main- 
spring of a great religious movement, which is still more 
than any other affecting for good, or for evil, or for both, the 
present and future tone of the Church of England. Now, a 
biography which is rightly to tell this story, must be full of 
the man himself whose life is being written ; it must espe- 
cially catch and fix the finer, and therefore the more evan- 
escent features of his genius, his spiritual being, his moral, 


his £Eimily, and his social life. ltd writer, if he. is to discharge 
perfecilj his work, must ever reproduce Eeble, and not 
himself) and Eeble not as he seemed to himself to be> but 
as he was. This last would be especially needful. For in 
such a character, the divergence between the true man and 
the self-contemplated ideal would necessarily be as wide as 
possible. He would ever view himself through a diminish- 
ing, and often through a discolouring medium. Great 
humility — ^and Keble was full of the deepest humility — ^is 
almost as certain a misrepresenter of a man to himself as 
vanity or self-asdertion. The best, perhaps the only method, 
by which to succeed in writing such a life as this, would be 
by letting the man portray himself through his letters and 
his conversation. This Sir John Coleridge has endeavoured 
to do, and a large and a most interesting portion of his 
volume is made up of letters, interwoven into what aims at 
being a sort of connected narrative. But there is one strik- 
ing fault in this portion of the work. A mind so sensitive 
and affections so warm as Keble's, assumed to a great 
degree with friends whom he highly regarded, the character 
of him with whom he was conversing. This was probably 
the cause of what his biographer very happily notices as 
being the special characteristic of his * Lyra Innocentium,' 
which is very rightly described as a book not for children, 
but oiotrf children. 

* It follows them,' says Sir John, * through their cradle life and infancy, 
their childhood sports, troubles and encouragements, and warnings ; it 
unfolds the lessons which Nature and the lessons which Grace teaches 
them ; it dwells on their sicknesses, their deaths. No one perhaps but a 
parent can fully enter into all parts of it, and yet he who wrote it did not 
marry young, and never was a father. It is matter of wonder how one so 
circumstanced could ever have known enough of children from infancy to 
have written such a volume, yet I am persuaded that the more one has 
seen of them, the more will the life-like truth of the painting strike one. 
It will naturally be asked where and how did he acquire his knowledge. 
First, and above all, I think, in his feeling about tbem, in which the 


heartiest tcuderncas was mingled wilh something amounting alniost to 

This is no doubt the true solution of the question. In 
writing about cliildren, he set himself beside them, and 
became one of them. He evidently possessed this almost 
UDConsoious dramatic power, which most of those who have 
high gifts of genius do possess, in an eminent degree. But 
this solution reaches beyond the particular question of his 
knowledge of children. It is the key to a groat deal more in 
Eeble's mind ; it made him somewhat unable to appreciate 
excellence in those of whom he strongly disapproved, 
morally or religiously. It made him apt to exaggerate to 
himself the intellectual qualities of those whose spiritual 
attainments he venerated. As a mere critic — 

*He never could,' says ]iis biographer, * separate the work from tho 
author ; and to a great extent they arc inseparable ; but tlierc is danger of 
disparaging good poetry on account of a 8upix)scd bad writer of it, and 
oven more, perhaps, of overrating an indiflcrent work, from a liking and 
high estimation of the author. I do not think Keble entirely cscaikhI 
either danger.' 

The effect of this seems to have been that, as certain 
animals unconsciously assume the colours of their food and 
surroundings, so his mind assimilated itself to the intellectual 
hue of the friend with whom he was for the time in close and 
intimate communication. Consequently, a correct estimate 
of his mind could be formed only from his communication 
with many different frienda As in matters of mere intellect, 
he sank to a lower as easily as he rose to a higher note, his 
communications with a friend whose moral qualities ho 
thoroughly respected, but who was greatly his own intellec- 
tual inferior, would quite unconsciously fall to a pitch far 
below his own, and exhibit also from their unintended 
artificiality a certain monotony, which would really bo 
foreign to his nature. A selection from liiB letters to men of 



many different minds alone conld correct this, and was 
therefore most desirable. But unhappily the letters in this 
book are almost all written to the author of the * Life.' He 
himself regrets this^ though not exactly for the reason just 
stated. But it is the more deeply to be lamented, because 
the reason alleged for the non-insertion of other letters 
seems to be so remarkably insufficient : — 

' It may be said,' is Sir John Coleridge's statement, * that I might have 
added .... much to the interest of my memoir if I had made more use 
of his letters to other friends, and less of those to myself. There is much 
truth in this remark, and I have done what I could to comply with it. But 
it is not every possessor of his letters to whom I could properly api^ly.* 

Now if it appeared that all which could be done had been 
done, though the result would still have been unfortunate, 
there could have been no ground for complaint. But this 
does not appear to have been at all universally the case. 
EfibrtSy we are told in the first edition, were made, and 
failed to obtain a series of letters addressed to the late Mr. 
Hurrell Fronde. Since the publication of the first edition a 
packet of these letters has been found, and some extracts 
from them appear in the second edition. Whether greater 
pains might not have earlier obtained these we cannot say, 
but as to two other sets which would have been, at leasts of 
equal importance, no such attempt, it is avowed, was ever 
made, and the reason given for not making them is not only 
entirely insufficient, but may have led to the same result in 
any other number of instances. It is that, in the writer's 
opinion, the possessors of letters should have volunteered to 
supply them unasked : — 

* I suppose Br. Pusey possesses large numbers of important and interest- 
ing letters. He had always been so kind to me, that I should be ungrate- 
ful if I doubted his readiness to help me— indeed to volunteer his help-- 

wherever he felt he could do so properly / have ther^ore never 

applied to him ; and for reasons not exactly the same, but of the same kind, 
I have pursued the same course with Dr. Newman. The work, no doubt, 
suffers in consequence." 


Most assuredly it does^ and to a degree >vhich its \7riter 
can scarcely appreciate. He shrank from this repetition of 
quotations from one series only of letters with characteristic 
modesty, through fear of * lying open to the imputation of 
bringing my own name too forward.' No one who knows 
the accomplished author could possibly admit the correct- 
ness of such an imputation. Bat the damage to the work 
reaches far beyond this. It imparts to Mr. Keble through- 
out these pages a monotony of thought, feeling, expression, 
and view, which is the inevitable consequence of giving, as 
the reach and compass of his intellectual life, the expression 
of that life to one single friend whom he knew thoroughly, 
and to whose pitch of mind he for very love, when in direct 
communication with him, always attuned his own. The con- 
sequence is, that we have a perpetual repetition of Keble a la 
Coleridge, and a great lack of Keble au naturel, A single pho- 
tograph of Eeble would give an utterly different impression 
of what his countenance really expressed from that which ]\lr. 
Btchmond's admirable portrait conveys. The features were in 
themselves poor ; from his exceeding gentleness and touching 
modesty there not unfrequently lay upon them an expression 
almost of feebleness ; but as affection, humour, imagination, 
earnestness, severity, tenderness, or intellectual excitement 
stirred them, they'varied, and brightened, and glowed until the 
light of genius darted from them. All this the single photo- 
graph would miss — all this the magic pencil of Mr. Richmond, 
recording in one master sketch the manifoldness of his subject, 
has most happily preserved. It is so with this biography. Tt 
could not but be intensely interesting ; for any one comploto 
view of such a man must rivet the attention. But still it is 
unhappily one view ; and the result is, that there is left upon 
the reader's mind a certain impression of intellectual feeble- 
ness in its subject which is altogether incompatible with 
what the friends of Keble know, and his writings prove that 

R 2 


he indeed was. The extracts from the recently-discovered 
, packet of Eeble's letters to Harrell Froude abundantly con- 
firtn this view. They are, indeed, very scanty in bulk, only 
reaching to four that we can discover ; yet these four give a 
view of Keble's character which no part of the correspon- 
dence with Sir John Coleridge at all exhibits. They show a 
readiness and depth of sympathy with a far younger man 
which is eminei^tly touching; whil^ they disclose, besides 
certain touches of humour, some veins both of difBculty and 
resource in his own mind, which set him before us in quite a 
new light. Some of these will be found in our later pages, 
and without them we think that the character of the writer 
would have be^n Y^ry inadequately portrayed. What we 
have occasion .to notice as to these makes us only the more 
earnestly desire that Sir John Coleridge had drawn hi& 
general picture from a more diversified collection of details. 

Another blemish in the volume may probably be traced 
to the same cause. There is a continually recurring tone of 
apology for the introduction of extracts from letters and the 
like, which most certainly ought not to have been omitted. 
But as these, from the singleness of the quarry which Sir 
John Coleridge has worked, have continually, directly or 
indirectly, some refereuQe to.himself, his own mpdesty leads 
to their being introduced with such weakening sentences 
as::— 'These are, it may be,. little facts ; but I do not like to 
pass them over in silence.' ' It seemed to me right to state 
the simple truth regarding it' * He wrote to me a letter, 
much of it on the same subject, but I do not like to omit 
other parts so full of affection.' ' I cannot believe I do 
wrong in publishing these passages.' 

Whilst we are expressing our partial agreement with Sir 
John Coleridge's most . modest depreciation of his work, we 
must point out two other defects, the amendment of which, 
if possible, in some future edition, would, we think, add very 


greatly to the valae of the volumes. The first is, that from 
anxiety to follow out a subject on which lie bas entered to its 
conclusion, the biographer has so often rendered intricate the 
chronology of the * Life ' as efiSectually to puzzle the reader's 
enquiries when it was that any particular line of thought 
predominated in KeUe's mind, or when it was that he adopted 
any special course of action. Now, in his ' Life,' this is a 
peculiar defect ; for, as we are told, very considerable changes 
even on the most important subjects and on those to which 
he was whcUy devoted did so pass over him ; and it is there- 
fore a matter of special interest to know when and under 
what external.influence of circumstances or of persons these 
changes occurred — a set of enquiries which the mode pursued 
in this narrative renders it almost impossible to pursue with 
any hope of reaching a satisfactory conclusion. 

Another defect we venture to point out to the distinguished 
author is a certain carelessness of composition which suggests 
the sense of a lack of that classical execution which ought to 
find its place in the biography of so ripe a scholar as Eeble. 
One or two instances — by no means the most striking which 
might be quoted, though the first which come to hand — will 
sufiSce to illustrate the sort of writing referred to. Speaking 
of the choice of a college for his son by Mr. Eeble's father, 
we read : — 

* Mr. Keble bad been bimself a scholar and Fellow of Corpus Christi 
Collie, and it was natural tbat be sbould desire to place bis sons at tbo 
same college; I dare say, too, tbat the value of the scbolarsbip [wliat 
scbolarsbip?], it* certainly leading to a fellowsbip, and tbe good proferment 
wbicb tbo college offered [to wbomV] were not without their weigbt in 
determining bis oboice.' 

Again, speaking of a Yolume of sermons and poems by 
Eeble's early friend, 6. Cornish, we read : — 

* I do not tbink tbat I am in error wben I say tbat tbey are so tdste/id 1 
and finisbod in composition .... tbat tbey would give pleasure to a lai-ger 


circle if ihey were more generally known. I do not wholly despair that 
thi$ may yet be done.* 

And again, speaking critically of a tract which he attributes 
to Keble, Sir John writes : — 

* Yet I will own U haa interested me in reading it over again ; and it can 
never be out of season, I suppose, to road tvhat tends to elevate and sanctify 
that which the Church calls the state of holy matrimony.' 

What would not the late Mr. Cobbett have given for such 
sentences when ho was in one of his tearing uiopds for sacri- 
ficing men in high place, who were troubled with a loose 
slip-slop style of English composition? 

To one other liberty which Sir John Coleridge has allowed 
himself there is even a deeper objection. It can scarcely by 
any latitude of allowance fall within the license of a bio- 
grapher to make the narrative of a friend's life the occasion 
for endeavouring to controvert his strongest and most deli- 
berate opinions. In one signal instance, at least, these pages 
exhibit such an attempt. On few subjects were Keble's 
opinions more deliberately formed or more constantly main- 
tained than on the union which he believed should be 
maintained between the University of Oxford and the 
Church of England. This union he considered to be directly 
threatened by the Oxford University Reform Bill of 1854. 
What his opinions were on this subject Sir John well knew, 
from free intercourse with him on that subject both by letter 
and in person. To such argumentations Keble probably re- 
ferred when he said, with one of his peculiar smiles, to Miss 
Wilbraham, ' Some of my friends don't agree with me, but I 
can't always, you know, look at things from the legal point 
of view.' * What Keble thought. Sir John, of course, tells 
us fairly and plainly. The language of the letters which he 
prints is, for Keble, unusually strong. He was, he writes 
(February 2(3, 1854, p. 370)— 

♦ Kecollections of llursley, 'Monthly racket,' part xlii. p. 570. 


* Regularly scared at the draft of the bill. I much fear that it will 
make a sadder disruption of parties than ever. The constitution it enforces 
will leave us ... . entirely at the mercy of the tutors and professors, the 
latter a completely new sort of folk to be as such an organic part of the 
body. • . . Then the plan is expressly anti-collegiate, it goes on the prin- 
ciple that it is actually good ccBteris parituB to have a lot of students who 
are not alumni of some old founder, but disciples of Arnold, or Marriott, 
or Newman, or whoever he may be, as if this was not the immediate way 
to encourage party of all sorts, &c. With the colleges it deals raMer less 
radically, but all through with a notion that examination and talent are 
everything; and with another notion, which I deprecate from my very 
heart, that natural preference, for homo and kindred, &c., are not to bo 
allowed in eleemosynary endowments. I think it is an indication of a 
certain hard priggishness which I fear is getting to be characteristic of this 
generation. But, Okkjam satis, especially as I know that on this subject 
if I were to write for a year I should only make my heart and wrists ache 
for nothing.* 

Again he writes, after the appointment of Sir John as one 
of the Commissioners under the Bill, 'I trust that, if it 
please Grod, you will be enabled to do a good deal towards 
drawing the sting of it ; that a sting it has, and a snake's 
forked one, I wish I could doubt/ &o. There can be no 
doubt^ after reading such sentences as these — and there are 
many more like them — ^that Sir John does not say at all too 
much when he concludes that ' the strong opinion of Keble*8 
mind was obviously to preserve Oxford, so far at least as 
regarded resident students, to members of the Established 
Church.' Now, there is no reason why his biographer should 
agree with him in this judgment ; though it is intimated that 
there was a time when they did agree, and that the bio- 
grapher^s reaching a different view yysB accomplished * by 
slow steps, not very willingly taken.' But it is surely 
scarcely consistent with the just limits of biographical liberty 
that there should follow such statements as these a long 
essay to justify the biographer's own last conclusions,, and 
suggest that Eeble's 'opinions' may be regarded ',as out of 
date.' Such ' digressions,' as the author himself terms them, 


seem remarkably out of place, break the harmony of the 
narrative, and tend to obscure, if not to misrepresent, the 
character tlie volumes are intended to exhibit. 

Yet, with all these deductions which we are forced by a 
sense of justice to make, we have to thank Sir John Coleridge 
for a most interesting and instructive contribution to our 
biographical literature. If it does not exhibit Keble's great 
intellectual power — and our main disappointment in the 
volume is its seeming to do the opposite of this — it shows us 
a singularly pure, bright, and holy character, as it is unfolded 
in letters to one he valued highly and dearly loved, whose 
own and whose family life gave many opportunities for calling 
out all the sympathy and tenderness, and beauty, of a most 
]Oving and unselfish nature. 

John Eeble was bom on St. Mark's Day, April 25, 1792, 

at Fairford, in Gloucestershire. His father, of , the same 

name, was Vicar of Coin St. Aldwin's ; the vicarage of which 

being a mere cottage, he lived at Fairford, about three miles 

distant, in a house of his own, till his ninetieth year, and 

took a part in the service of his church till within a very few 

months of his death. Here ho himself trained and taught 

his children. He was a scholar and a Tory, and he bred up 

his son under his own hand, and with his own traditions. Of 

the boyhood of the younger John Keble no anecdotes have 

been preserved, except his bearing, at the neighbouring house 

of his godfather, the soubriquet of John the Good. He won 

a Scholarship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in December, 

1806, when he was only fourteen years and eight months old. 

'Ihe memory of this first launch into the world abode fresh 

with him till old age. Here is an instance of this, in one of 

those pictures which perhaps only a woman's hand can draw, 

and which greatly relieve the gravity of Judicial Biography : — 

* III 1859, I had a imssin*; jiliinpsc of Iluralcy vicarage and ita dear trio 
— Mr, Keble aud his two wives (as in a note he playfully calleil then))* 


Miss Keblc, whom I then saw for the last time, looked frailer, and slighter, 
and more traosparent, but cheerful, and full of quiet observing interest in 
all home events, as well as in those Church questions which so ailocteil her 
brother. My last and most vivid remembrance of her is as she stood by 
Mr. Keble's chaur, with one pale little hand on his shoulder, and the '' sot t 
smiling eyes " beaming with amusement. He gave an animated account 
of that memorable first journey to Oxford, in 1806, with his father, when 
he was a " raw lad " of fourteen and a half, and tried for a scholarship, and 
won it. His descriptions of various dignitaries, to whom his father thought 
it well to introduce him, and of the awe they inspired him with (Dr. Routh 
of Magdalen amongst others .... an elderly man even then), were ex- 
ceedingly entertaining. His gentle sister grew quite eager on the subject, 
and reminded him of trifling circumstances he had forgotten, and added 
pretty touches of her own to the narrative.* * 

He went at once to reside, and joined at Corpus Christi a 
small, select, and remarkable society. Edward Gopleston, 
afterwards Provost of Oriel and Bishop of LlandafT, had 
come to it, like himself, from the home tuition of a country 
parsonage; and whilst Keble remained at the college its 
numbers were augmented by Sir John Coleridge himself, by 
Thomas Arnold, George J. Ooruish, Noel T. £llison, Charles 
Dyson, and others. It was a remarkable sodality. No 
wonder that one of its surviving members, glancing after the 
lapse of years at their activity in the studies of the place, at 
the simplicity and ease of their social intercourse, at the 
delights of their walks, and the intellectual interest of their 
earnest talks together, should see everything 'distance- 
mellowed and softened, perhaps glorified.' 

The impre^ss of these days was deeply marked upon the 
young student. ' Keble's character through life,' we read, 
* was but a strict development of his character in youth, and 
his early friendships were among the more powerful agents 
in its formation. His disposition was social, his affections 
very warm.' 

In 1810, being then only in his nineteenth year, Keble 

* ( 

Monthly Packet/ part xlii. p. 5(55. 


was placed at the pablic examination in the first class of 
both the Classical and Mathematical Schools — a distinction 
never before gained except by the late Sir Ilobert Peel. On 
the 20th of April of the following year, being then not 
nineteen, he was elected to a fellowship at Oriel — the blue 
ribband of the University. Tlie late Archbishop Whately 
was elected at the same time, and Copleston and Davison 
were leading members of the common room, in which, whilst 
yet a lad, Keble took his place. The society of that com- 
mon room was marked by the highest intellectual power. 
Whately was fond of startling it with strange propositions, 
which he maintained with a somewhat biting sharpness of 
argument. Copleston's mind was more of the judicial cast, 
and at that time was by no means wanting in elasticity and 
play. But he was not rapid enough in his movements to 
escape his younger assailant. Davison stood plainly in 
intellectual power, and in vast and accurate erudition, at the 
head of the society. Years afterwards it was almost with a 
feeling of remaining awe that he was spoken of by his con- 

Into this society the young fellow was launched, and with 

all his deep humility and reserve he well held his own in it. 

His succeeding University distinctions soon justified his 

election into that high company. 
- It is interesting, as fixing the point which his intellectual 

and poetic powers had reached, to see how he expressed at 

this age his feelings on the first sight of the sea. Here are 

some of the lines : — 

' Visions of vAstucss and of beauty ! long, 
Too long have I neglected yc : content 
Kor to have soothed my soul to rest among 
Your evening lullaby of breeze and wave, 
Whilst the low sun retiring glowed from far, 
Like I'illarcd gold upon a marble plain ; 
Nor yet, wild waked from that deceitful sleep, 


When tho storm waved bis giant scourge and rode 

Upon the rising billow, have I sate 

Listening with fearful joy and pulse that throbbed 

In unison with every bursting wave. 

Yet the strong passion slept within my soul 

Like an unwakened sense, e*en as the blind 

Mingles in one dear dream, all softest sounds, 

All smoothest surfaces, and calls it light. 

Such lovely formless visions late were mine, 

Dear to remembrance yet, but far more dear 

The present glories of this world of waves.* 

— Keble^s Poems, p. 17G. 

The very next year he won — then an unprecedented feat 
— both the Bachelor prizes. 

In 1813 he took a party of pupils to read with him in the 
long vacation to a picturesque cottage at Sidmouth, the pro- 
perty of the father of his old college friend G. Cornish. The 
Sidmouth of that day was widely different from the Sidmouth 
of the present But it had its gaieties, and into these tho 
young tutor entered, we are told, with * a quick relish.' ' No 
one was better received, and no one seemed to enjoy more 
heartily the morning or evening parties, the concerts and 
dances which were frequent; the scenes and the society both 
found him impressionable.' This impressionableness seems 
to have given birth to some beautiful lines, which Sir John 
Coleridge says might have been a love song. Love verses 
from the author of the 'Christian Year' and the 'Lyra Iimo- 
centium,' of any quality, may be perhaps a surprise to some, 
even though his 'Love Song,' as Sir John reminds us, ' be- 
came, in his way of dealing with it, elevated ' (perhaps, says 
Sir John, too elevated), — [We cannot help asking, Why too 
elevated?] — *and holy from the perpetual holiness and 
elevation of all his serious thoughts.' Our readers shall 
judge of this for themselves by its first stanza : — 

* How can I leave thcc all unsung 
' While my heart owns thy sweet controli 


And heaven.and love have o*cr tbeo filing 

The softest moonlight of the soul ? 

Oh, I have longed for thee to cull 

Soft echo from the West Wind's Hall, 

Some notes as wildly blythc to seek 

As the wild music of thy voice, 

As the wild roses that rejoice 

In thine eye's suushine on thy glowing cheek.' — p. 52. 

On liis return to Oxford he was appointed Public Examiner, 
and the year following was ordained on Trinity Sunday, 1815, 
u deacon ; and on Trinity Sunday, 1816, a priest. How 
deeply lie felt that solemn dedication, may be gathered from 
a letter dated eleven years later, in whirh he says, * To-day I 
have been to an ordination for the first time since I was 
ordained myself, and I have almost made a vow to be present 
at one every year. I think it would do one a great deal of 
good, like going hack to one's native air after long intervals* 

He began his pastoral career by taking charge, during six 
weeks of the long vacation, of two small contiguous parislies 
near to his fathe/s residence. 

His heart was at once in his parish work. How highly he 
rated the nobleness of his office his own words shall tell. 
* Can there be, even among the angels, a higher privilege 
that we can form an idea of, than the power of contributing 
to the everlasting happiness of our neighbours to be specially 
delegated and assigned to us by Almighty God ?* And whilst 
he thus estimated the office, his warm affections were drawn 
strongly forth by the needs and troubles and cares of every 
parishioner. He was not, however, at present able to con- 
tinue this parochial charge. As a fellow of Oriel he felt 
bound, in 1817-18, to accept the College Tutorship which he 
was called upon to hold. He returned accordingly to resi* 
dence at Oxford, and remained there until 1823. 

Oriel was then beyond question the fii*st college in the 
University ; and no one diil more than Kcble to maintain its 


pre-eminence. He was not only great in the lecture-room, 
but — ^regarding 'tuition as a species of pastoral care, as 
otherwise' he would have deemed it ' questionable whether 
a clergyman ought to leave a cure of souls for it ' — he may be 
said to have begun in that generation the system of dealing 
individually with his pupils. Amongst these we find many 
known afterwards to fame. Of some of them he speaks in 
his letters; as of * Baring' [the second Lord Ashbui-ton] 
•and Fremantle' [since Sir Thomas] 'delightful fellows 
bothy who come to me as peculiar grinder (I must have a 
little slangy though Davison's face should glare on me from 
the opposite panel).' Sir.W. Heathcote, was another, and 
Isaac Williams, Archdeacon Eobert Wilberforce and Hnrrell 
Froude. In thes3 years the foundations of much of his great 
after influence were laid, * generavit patres.' He formed the 
charactei*s which were to form others, whilst his pei'sonal 
intercourse with them at the time their own characters were 
being moulded into their perrect shapes, gave him an in- 
fluence over them which neither time nor altered circum- 
stances could materially shake. . 

During this period his vacation rambles were his special 
delight, and there is strong internal evidence that we owe to 
them some of the most beautiful touches of the ' Christian 
Year,' which was now approaching to completioa Sir John 
Coleridge notices one of those instances, tracing up — 

* The fitful sweep 
or winds across the steep, 

Through withered bents— romantic note and clear, 
Meet for a hermit's ear '— 

to an evening which Eeble describes at Malvern, July 7, 1822, 
where he says, ' What a delightful feel it is to sit under ono 
of the rocks here, and hear the winds sweeping with that 
peculiar kind of strong moaning sigh, which it practises on 
the bent grass. I never was so much struck with it as this 


evening.' All this time he was adding, as bis soul welled 
forth in them, to the collection of poems which gradually 
formed the * Christian Year.' 

His natural tastes led him to store up abundantly such 
materials. * What a quick eye/ says Miss Wilbrabam, * he 
bad for anything great or small of natural beauty ! A thorn- 
tree covered with green mistletoe, another tree leafless and 
blighted, but clothed with a lichen that looked like frosted 
silver. Nothing was lost upon him.' * From youth to age, 
without being in any sense a naturalist, he delighted in the 
life of Nature round him ; watching it with a reverend spirit, 
and reading and storing up its manifold symbols of the 
higher life. Miss Wilbraham has fixed for us the sketchy 
outlines of one of his ' frequent talks about Natural History.' 
* He spoke of the nightingale's fearlessness, singing by the 
highway side ; of the same bird's harsh scolding note when 
disturbed or quarrelling ; and then the mystery of its winter 
haunts unsolved at present, since we could hardly suppose 
the nightingales heard by Dr. Hooker in the Himalayas, in 
November, to be our summer visitors. He delighted, too, in 
an immense colony of sand martins that had established 
themselves not far from Hursley.' t These familiar thoughts 
again we may trace, repeating themselves in many instances, 
throughout the * Christian Year.' Here is an example ; for 
the verses for the first Sunday after Epiphany link themselves 
naturally with this conversation : — 

* By the dusty wayside drear, 
Nightingales with joyous chcor 
Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
Ghidlier than in cultured grove. 

Christian Vear: — * ist Sunday after Epiphany' 

By 1823 he was evidently getting somewhat weary of 
Oxford, where he writes, * We go on much as usual, criticis- 

♦ * Monthly Packet,* part xlii. p. 541>. f Ibul., part xlii. p. 562. 


ing sermons, eating dinners, and laughing at Bnckland and 

Shuttleworth.* The death of his mother in the May of this 

year brought his college residence somewhat suddenly to a 

close. He returned to the service of his two old curacies and 

to residence at Fairford with his father, whom, with one 

scarcely-effected exception, he never left again until the 

death of the aged man in 1835 broke up the family. The 

influence of his father's character and opinions may be traced 

everywhere in Eeble. His political opinions, and in a great 

measure the character of his religious life, were impressed 

upon his early boyhood, and the lines were gradually deepened 

through these years of filial duty. He was full of natural 

affection ; and during this reach of his life many family 

sorrows opened all the fountains of his heart. His mother's 

death in 1823 was followed in 1826 by that of a favourite 

sister. This at ouce brought him back to comfort his father 

and surviving sister, from the curacy of Hursley, upon which 

he had entered a few months before. They had been months 

of great happiness to him. The neighbourhood of Hursley 

Park and of Winchester gave him the society he needed. 

Parish work was always dear to him. He loved the country 

round him. His father and his sisters had been domesticated 

with him, and old friends had visited his first independent 

home. * You may imagine,' he says, ' the pleasure it is to 

have my father and sisters here.' His brotherly love for 

each, with its distinctly individual tone, comes out in anotlier 

letter, in which he distinguishes the elder, * Not my wife 

Elizabeth,' from * My sweetheart Mary Anne,' the younger. 

Amongst other friends, * Tom Arnold,' he says, then school- 
keeping at Laleham, ' ran down here like a good neighbour, 
and surveyed the premises and the neighbourhood presently 
after Christmas. How very unaltered he is, and how very 
comfortable and contented ; he is one of the persons whom 
it does me good to think of when I am in a grumbling vein.' 


How [ileasant to read from Eeble's pen such words as these 
before the bitterness of party conflict had cloudei over tvith 
something of a morose severity the earlier geniality of 
Arnold's spirit. It seems as if there was some working 
already of what afterwards declared itself, since Eeble adds of 
a review on schools and universities which Arnold brought 
with him, * The covering of the jar is so very sweet and 
luscious, that I suspect there must be something terribly 
bitter below ; but he only cackles and crows at anything 
anybody can say to him.' 

This pleasant interlude was brought sadly to an end by 
the sudden death of his younger sister, Mary Anne, the very 
sunbeam of the family. At once he returned to Fairford to 
share and lighten his father's sorrows. It was a heavy blow, 
but borne with Christian submission. ^My brother and 
Bessie,' he writes from the house of mourning, ' are with ns, 
and are the greatest support to one another, and to us ; and 
the baby is like a little angel sent among us to shine in an 
overclouded place. Then we have our bibles and prayer- 
books at hand, and are sure of the aflectionate sympathy of 
many dear friends.' 

Tlie poem in the * Lyra Apostolica,' No. 50, on the burial- 
service, is the precious gum which this wound distilled from 
his soul. We read the very murmur of his own spirit in the 
lines — 

^ * The deep knell dyinj» down, the mourners \w\sc. 
Waiting ihcir Saviour's welcome at the gate, 
Sure witli the words of heaven 
Thy Spirit met us there.' 

The 'Christian Year' was published the year following. 
Its poems bad been long preparing. His father, whose 
wishes in his present grief were now more than ever a law to 
his son, pressed their publication. Eeble himself would 
have delayed it until his own death. He himself had 


formed a low estimate of the real worth of his poems. Thus, 
in 1825, he writes to Froude concerning them : — 

• These are to thank you for the trcuble you have taken about tliem — 
these things of mine — and still more for your telling me exactly what you 
think about them ; for which I shall hold you in greater honour as long as 
I live. For, to say the truth, I look upon thorough honesty in this kind 
to be a rare thing in Critic-land. I am not so partial to my own crockery 
as not to be myself aware of the want of poetical depth and fervour which 
disqualifies many or roost of them from being of use to imaginative people ; 
bat if they only serve as helps to the memory of plain, good sort of people, 
that is, in my mind, use enough, provided they do no harm by being 
untrue or obtrusive-— of which last I am a little afraid.' 

But besides his keen sense of their faults a far deeper feeling 
than an author's sensitive modesty lay at the root of thi;^ 
desire of postponement. He saw that the author and tlie 
poems must be identified in the reader's mind, and with tlie 
truest Christian humility he shrank from thus claiming 
inferentially the possession of a higher measure of tlie 
spiritual life than he believed himself to have attained. In 
this spirit he attempted to keep the authorship of the book 
a secret, and when, as soon happened, it transpired, he 
expressed deep pain at any commendations which the book 
brought him. This and the strong expressions of self-depre- 
ciation in which it found utterance, are a great trouble to his 
biographer, who seems almost unable to understand such 
feelings, and to fear lest Keble's character should suffer from 
their being known. But they were in, exact keeping with 
the reality and entire humbleness, of his spirit, to which they 
acted as a safeguard against the temptation of the sudden 
and unexpected popularity of his work. Not only was he 
himself quite unprepared for this, but it was almost as un- 
looked for by his friends. One of the ablest. of them, an- 
nouncing the publication to a relative then travelling on the 
Continent, added that a few persons would value the poems 
highly, but that they never could be generally popular ; yet 

VOL. II. s 


by Januaty, 1854, 108,000 copie? had been sold, and the 
same rate of sale lias been amply maintained since both in 
England and America. They appealed to the religious 
heart of the nation, and at once won their way, not only 
with the different schools of thought within the English 
Church, but also with the leading sectarian bodies. The 
evening hymn, * Sun of my soul,* is heard as often in the 
meeting-house as in the parish church, and is as dear to the 
worshipper in the one as in the other. 

Whilst the * Christian Year,' even as a literary work, 
stands plainly at the head of the religious poetry of the day, 
it is, in point of execution, of very unequal merit. The old 
jest, which designated it * the Sunday puzzle,' pointed at a 
real fault. There is much obscurity which more labour 
might have removed. To the same cause is to be traced an 
occasional lack of melody, which is only the more striking 
from its contrast to the exquisite sweetness of so many of its 
notes. Yet what poems in the English language can com- 
pare with it for general popularity ; what poems have ever 
influenced so widely and so deeply the religious mind of 
England ? In forming an estimate of their merit, it is of the 
first importance to remember what these poems are. They 
are not hymns, and they do not owe their popularity to the 
same source to which hymns appeal. It is not as chants for 
united voices, or as common utterances of religions fervour, 
quickened in each by the sympathy of all, as it is with many 
of C. Wesley's, of TopladyV, and other hymns, that the poems 
in the 'Christian Year' have won the love of so manv 
hearts. They are more nearly, perhaps, lyrical effusions 
than anything else. Occasionally, indeed, they rise into high 
flights of lyrical genius, as, for instance, in the description of 
Balaam : — 

' for a sculi»tor*8 liaiul, 
'i'hat thou miglit'tft take thy stand, 


Thy wild Imii* floating on the eastern brci^ze, 

Thy tranc'd yet open gaze 

Fixed on the desert haze. 
As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees. 

In outline dim and vast 

Their peaceful shadows cast 

The giant forms of empires, on their way 

To ruin y one by one 

They tower and they are gone, 
Yet in the Prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay.' 

— Second Sunday after Easter. 

The faults which may be founl in them are, to a great 
degree, to be traced to the attempt to make them fit exactly 
into the course of the Christian year. The great bulk of 
the poems were the spontaneous outpouring of the writer's 
soul. They were composed through a long series of years, 
for some were shown to his most intimate friends as early as 
1819. We can trace him in them as he rode along the 
hedge-side to his distant church, or, as in his long vacation 
rambles, he mused by the sea-shore or climbed the hill-side ; 
or as he played in his friend's house with the. children in 
whom he delighted ; or as some passage in . Grod's Word 
flashed out to his own spirit its more inward meaning ; and 
in these poems there is often scarcely a word to wish altered. 
They flow on in one unbroken gush of melody, idea following 
idea like sunlit waves chasing each other under the breath of 
the breeze of heaven across the bosom of a lake. How 
clearlv, to give but one instance, can we trace the record of 
an excursion amongst the mountains, in the beautiful verses 
for the 20th Sunday after Trinity : — 

* Where is thy favoured liaunt, Eternal Voice, 
The region of thy choice ? 
Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul . 
Owns thy entire control ? 
Tis on the mountain's summit dark and liigh, 
When storms are hurrying by ; 

S 2 


'TU mid the strong foundations of the earth 

Where torrents have their birth. 

No sounds of worldly toil ascending there 

Mar the full burst of prayer ; 

Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe, 

And round us and beneath 

Are heard her sacred tones — the fitful sweep 

Of winds across the steo.p, 

Through withered bents — romantic note and clear, 

Meet for a hermit's ear — 

The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry. 

And, scarcely heard so high. 

The dashing water?, when the air is still 

From many a torrent rill 

That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell 

Track'd by the blue mist well ; 

Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart 

For thought to do her part 

'Tis then we hear the voice of God within. 

Pleading with care and sin.' 

— Ttventitth Sunday after Tritiity, 

Here there is Dot a word to change. We can see him on the 
mountain-top awed into a silence, in which all these sounds 
sank into his soul to murmur forth at another time their 
most musical echoes. But when the whole set were to be 
gathered into a volume, which was to run parallel with every 
Sunday and Saints' day of the year, and to apply also to the 
occasional oflSces of the Prayer-book, it became necessary to 
add others : in these are the blemishes of which we have 
spoken, and which mark them as having been composed to 
meet a necessity, instead of having flowed, like the rest, 
limpid, clear, and complete, from the deep springs of their 
writer's being. It is to these last that we always revert with 
unflagging delight. In them may be traced the great charm 
of the volume. Their perfect naturalness, full as it is at 
every turn of a deep humanity, and so speaking home to 
every other human heart, combined, first, with a most 
unusual knowledge of Holy Scripture, and, next, with a 


marvellous appreciation of the beauties of the natural world, 
and a keen insight into its symbolical meaning, derived in a 
great measure from the writer's eyes being opened by bis 
whole soul being full of true Christian doctrine — these seem 
to be, if we subject them to analysis, the main causes of the 
popularity of the volume. This is why men of different 
temperaments, of different schools, and already of at least 
two generations, class it apart from other books with the 
inner sacred few with which in their best hours of solitary 
musing they most love to commune. This it is which, so 
long as the English tongue continues what it now is, will 
maintain for it an undying value. 

Sir John Coleridge enters with some warmth into tlie 
vexed question of the alteration made after Keble's death in 
the verses for * Gunpowder Treason.' In the original edition 
the passage stood : — 

' come to our communion feast, 

There present in the heart ; 
Not in the hands the Eternal Priest 
Will his true self impart.* 

But in the first edition published after the death of Keble, 
the ' noty at the commencement of line 3, was, without note 
or comment to the text itself, changed into 'as.' With a 
high chivalry Sir John Coleridge defends the * widow and the 
nephew,' and, so far as we understand, justifies, though he 
* cannot approve ' of the change. We cannot assent to the 
justification he pleads. Even if Eeble had been in the full 
vigour of his bodily health, and in the strength of his intel- 
lectual power, we think that no such alteration ought so to 
have been made. Sir John argues that no real variation in 
their real doctrinal value was imparted to the verses by. the 
substitution of * as ' for * not.* Again we dissent. It cer- 
tainly seems to us that the doctrinal significance of the lines 
is largely varied. What change, indeed, could be more 


complete ? The predicating of a local presence of * the Eternal 
Priest ' is surely in this matter a distinction between the Be- 
formed Church and the Unrefof med. The Church of England 
asserts as strongly, we believe with more consistent strength 
than the Cliurch of Rome, the reality of the presence. Her 
words admit of no possible doubt when she defines the * thing 
signified ' to be * the body and blood of Christ, which are 
verily and indeed taken and received by the faithful in the 
Lord s Supper.' But whilst with primitive antiquity she is 
perfectly clear upon this point, she is no less distinct in ex- 
cluding all carnality of presence. In that sense she declares 
the body of the Lord to be in heaven. It is of a spiritual 
presence, a sacramental, a superlocal presence that she 
speaks ; a presence * not in the hand,' because in the hand 
there can be only a local presence. The change, therefore, 
of ' not ' into ^ as ' seems to us nothing less logically than a 
change of the whole doctrinal aspect of the passage. We do 
not believe that Mr. Keble held this other doctrine : and wo 
do not believe that in the full vigour of his intellect he would 
have sanctioned the alteration. But we must say further, if 
no such change was intended, why were the verses altered at 
all ? iSir John gives as the reason that ^ a Bight Reverend 
Bishop, citing the verse to grace the peroration of a speech, 
certainly was in fact the immediate occasion of the altera- 
tion.' We find, in *The Chronicle of Convocation' for 
February 9, 1806, that the late Bishop of Peterborough is 
the prelate referred to, who, certainly, not as 'gracing u 
peroration,' but as pointing a main argument of his speech, 
referred to the authority of * an honoured man, Mr. Keble,' 
as supporting in this passage his own views. We are not 
careful to settle what might be the amoimt of their difference 
on this point. No doubt it was not inconsiderable. Sir Jolin 
says that the interpretation thus put on the words was at 
variance with what Keble originally meant to express and 

— 1 


was known to hold, and he quotes the following words, from 
a letter writen by Keble in 1863, as * setting the matter at 
rest.' ' In a note to the preface of the second edition of a 
book of mine, which nobody reads, on '* Eucharistical Adora- 
tion," I have given my own commentary on it : that it is to 
be understood '* not in the hands onltff' as against a carnal 
presence, — vide St. John vi. 63/ Now, without entering at 
greater length upon this difficult and mysterious subject, we 
must say that these words by no means ^ set tlie question at 
rest.' On the contrary, they leave us quite at sea as to what 
Keble did mean to lay down on the subject Indeed, the 
whole volume on * Eucharistic Adoration ' (the least success- 
ful prose production, we think, of its author's pen) leaves the 
reader in very much the same perplexity as to what he is or 
is not to believe on the subjeirt. All that seems clear is that the 
alteration was intended to teach some doctrine concerning the 
Real Presence different from that which all the world, in 
common with the Bishop of Peterborough, had gathered from 
the verses as they stood in all the multiplied editions of the 
'Christian Year.' Now, our complaint is, that such a change 
should be made with nothing more than an appended note of 
explanation at the end of the volume, in a book of a large 
established circulation. Of course an author has a perfect 
right to change his opinion on any matter, and to express 
that altered opinion in a new edition of his works; still 
more, if his opinion has been mistaken, has he a right to 
remove any ambiguity of diction which has led to the 
misapprehension ; but, in a matter of this moment, he has 
not a right to make the change almost svb silentio. He 
entera into a sort of alliance with the public; and if, when 
his work has obtained a vast stereotyped currency, and is 
admitted freely into a multitude of families, its teaching 
tone is without some very demonstrative notice of the 
change materially altered, a breach of the tacit compact on 


which it is received has surely been committed. But, if this 
be so as to the author himself, it seems to us still less admis- 
sible tliat others after his death should consider themselves 
at liberty to make such a change in order to carry out his 
supposed wishes. 

It was in these years, from 1826 to 1835, at Fairford, that 
Keble's pen was the most active. In them the * Christian 
Year' was finally completed and given to the world ; in them 
his prelections as Professor of Poetry in the University of 
Oxford were composed and published. In them, too, he 
edited his edition of the works of Hooker. This edition of 
Hooker occupied him five years, from 1831 to 1836. Of all 
his prose works the introduction to this edition seems to us 
far the ablest. It shows great critical power both in the 
minuter questions which concern the authenticity of certain 
portions of the ecclesiastical policy, and in the broader sub- 
ject of what Hooker's real opinions were upon the turning 
points of the long controversy he held with the puritan 
writers, and what the influences were by which they were 
shaped. This was a work to which his whole heart was 
given. For though he would call no man master, not even 
Bichard Hooker, and where they differed stated with all 
boldness and sincerity the difference and its cause, yet he 
could not but perceive in Hooker's times of opposition and 
reproach that which shadowed forth to his inner consciousness 
the likeness of his own work in his own generation. This 
consciousness often re-appears in his pages, and adds a most 
life-like reality to them. Thus, when he is summing up the 
difficulties of Hooker and his associates in ' conducting the 
controversy with Puritanism on the side of the existing 
Church down to the middle of Elizabeth's reign,' he names 
with an evident pang of self appropriation * the certainty. . . . 
that whatever they said and did would be tainted with the 
name and suspicion of Papistry ; so easily affixed and so 


hard to shake off whenever men demur to the extreme of 
what are denominated Protestant opinions.' * He suggests, 
too> in several remarkable passages, the tendency of old error 
to reproduce itself under new circumstances, and the value, 
therefore, of a deep study of such times and such struggles as 
Hooker's for those whom the providence of God has set in 
our own day to guide the fortunes of His Church. 

Another work of these years, his contributions to the 
* Tracts for the Times,' leads us into one of the most inte- 
resting chapters of Keble's life — his connection with that 
deep internal movement in the Church of England whicli has 
so greatly shaped, and must continue to shape, the fortunes 
of that most important of all our great national institutions. 
Dr. Newman has told us that he ever kept the day of the 
publication of a sermon on National Apostacy, preaclied by 
Keble at Oxford on occasion of the summer assize of 1833, as 
the commencement of this religious movement. Undoubtedly 
that sermon well represents the tone of its first originators. 
Nothing could be less intentionally dohnected with any 
Roman tendency than its earliest stages; it was half a 
political, half a religious movenient. Keble himself, born 
and bred in a country parsonage, the tone of which in 
matters political was almost nonjuring, grew up with a feeling 
towards the whole Whig party, which was as near hatred as 
his tender spirit rendered possible. There was far more than 
a mere outbreak of fun in his writing to an intimate friend of 
the word * delegates * as being * a most disagreeable word, it 
puts one in mind of eveiything that is Whiggish and dis- 
agreeable.' This keen dislike for every thiug * Whiggish' had 
been sharpened by the recent measures of the Whig Govern- 
ment affecting the Established Churcli. Lord Grey's advice 
to the English Bishops to put their house in order, coupled 
with what Keble termed * the suppression * of ten Irish 

* Editor's preface to * Hooker's Work,' p. Iviii. 


Bishoprics^ sounded to him like the voice of the trumpet 
summoning every churchman to do battle for what was the 
dearest to him. Hurrell Froude, who had been his pupil, 
and in some respects his favourite pupil, exerted a strong 
influence on him in the same direction. Froude was a man 
of rare ability. Although he had not the well-grown strength 
of Davison, or the logical sharpness of Whately, or the con- 
centrated power of Newman, yet amongst all the great intel- 
lects then gathered at Oxford, his genius was — to use the 
word in the strictest sense — the most vivid. From a boy he 
had lived, as is the wont of such spirits, in a world of his own, 
nursing his high thoughts, speculating upon life, and correct- 
ing few of his ardent imaginings by converse with others. To 
Keble he submitted himself as to a saint, with a deep reverence 
for his moral intuition. Keble's inbred Toryism delighted 
the more impetuous nature of the younger man, who acted 
back again upon his old tutor, to a greater degree probably 
than either of them at the time knew. Eeble was fired by 
Fronde's enthusiasm, and Froude regarded the flights to which 
his temper and imagination exalted him as the sober certainty 
of truth when he saw them adopted by Keble. In Fi-oude, 
hatred to the Whigs and to *\Vhiggism' in every form was 
a passion. The heading, invented by him to describe the 
Whigs, for some of the poems which were afterwards gathered 
into the * Lyra Apostolica,' as they appeared in the * British 
Magazine,' speaks the whole man : Tlepi rrj^ ^arp-ov ardaeuy:. 
• He did not confine his hatred under the veil of a Greek 
motto. The strongest words of the vernacular tongue gnspeil 
to express the strength of his political animosity. Thus he 
says : — * If it was not for a personal hatred of the Whigs, I 
should care comparatively little for the Beform Bill ' 
(' Itemuins,* vol. i. p. 250). And again he thus expresses his 
sentiments: — *How Whiggery has by degrees taken up all 
the filth that has been secreted in the fermentation of 


human thought. Puritanism, Latitudinarianisui, Popery, 
Infidelity, they have it all now, and good luck to them ' 
(' Remains/ vol. i. 340). 

From this mighty fervent of spirit sprang the Oxford 
Church movement of 1833. Looking forward then to the 
probable separation of Church and State, with which the lan- 
guage of the Whig Prime Minister intentionally threatened 
the body in which that movement took its rise, they saw 
the absolute necessity of turning the thoughts and trust 
of churchmen from that connection with the State, on whicli 
in the long spiritual deaduess and apathy of a hundred and 
fifty years they had learned too exclusively to lean, to the 
internal and independent strength of the Catholic character 
and constitution of their Church. Of this attempt Keble 
was in a great degree the immediate author : — 

' What think you/ he writes in August, 1833, ' of a kind of associatiun 
(as quiet and unpretending as may be, if possible, without a name) for the 
promotion of these two objects: first, the circulation of primitive notions 
regarding the apostolical succession, &c. ; and, secondly, the protection of 
the Prayer-book against profane innovation ? We have, as yet^only written 
round to a few very intimate friends — Davison, Ogilvie, Tom (Keble) — and, 
as far as they have answered me yet, they seem to think it may do good. 
To give you a notion of the kind of thing, the first tract we propose to 
print will be a Penny Account of the Martynlom of St. Ignatius, with 
extracts from his Epistles. Fray do not blow on it as being all ultra,* 

From this small fountain-head sprang the ' Tracts for the 
Times/ and all their still advancing consequences. Keblo 
himself contributed some of the earlier tracts, but his genius 
lay in a direction wholly different from such compositions, 
and they are by no means the hajipiest efforts of his pen. 
Those only who are old enough to remember the effect 
produced by the first numbers of the Tracts amongst the 
parochial clergy, can duly estimate the change which has 
since been wrought upon the clerical body. As a rule, with 
some exceptions great at once through their individual 


excellence and through their rarity, all earnestness in their 
spiritual wofk had been long well-nigh confined to that branch 
of the clergy which had acquiesced, not of late without some 
pharisaic self-complacency, in the title of evangelical. They, 
top, were beginning to pass from the pure zeal of their youth 
into a new phase of unreality and religious wordliness. To 
both parties the claims of their Church as a leading member 
of the great Catholic body were substantially unknown. 
Amongst the orthodox the existence of such claims was still 
held as a respectable tradition, dormant under the spell of 
worldly-inindedness, and without any living power ; amongst 
the Evangelicals they were generally unknown and regarded 
as hindrances to that inner individual spiritual life which it 
had been the glory of their party to revive, and the great 
truths of which their, younger generations were growing to 
treat rather as the flags of the battle-field than as the re- 
productive principles of an ever-germinating vitality. In 
many instances the earliest tracts met with a warmer recep- 
tion from the latter .class than from the former, because 
whilst the remaining receptiveness of life was most awake 
amongst the younger Evangelicals, the older and more 
lethargic party feared even a threatening external change 
less than an internal awakening. Accordingly, many of 
those who most eagerly received the new enthusiasm, had 
been bred up in the Evangelical camp. Foremost amongst 
these was John Henry Newman, the man to whom a later 
age will point as the chiefest agent in the whole developed 
movement. ' Newman and Eeble had been brought together 
for the first time by Hurrell Froude. He was wont, accord- 
ing to his manner, to speak of the accomplishment of this 
reunion as the great action of his life. 

At this stage of the movement it had developed no Home- 
ward tenancy. Hurrell Froude, whose impetuous ardour 
might have driven him from the inevitable tain^ness of an 

KEBLE'S biography; 261 

Established Church, was even vehemently anti-Boman. And 
when the search for health had driven him into countries 
under the Boman obedience, all that he savir and heard and 
observed, deepened and strengthened his hatred to the 
system, . claims, and practice of the Papacy. Thus, in the 
course of an argument, when a friend remarked that the 
Romanists were schismatics in England, but Catholics 
abroad, he replied — 'No, they are wretched Tridentines 
everywhere,' vol, i. 434. And he writes home from abroad: — 

* These Catholic countries seem in an especial manner KaT€xtiv r^i/ aKr,- 
B€uaf iv dduci^, and the priesthood are themselves so sensible of the hollow 
basis upon which their power rests, that they dare not resist the most atrocious 
encroachments of the State upon their privileges. ... I have seen priests 
laughing when at the confessional ; and indeed it is plain that unless they 
habitually made light of very gross immorality, three- fourths of the popula- 
tion of Naples would be excommunicated. The Church of England has 
(alien low, and will probably be worse before it is better ; but let the 
'Whigs do their worst, they cannot sink us so deep as these people have 
allowed themselves to fall while retaining all the superficials of a religious 
country.'— i^VwKic's BemainSy vol. i. p. 293-4. 

' . . . . 

And, as the climax of his condemnation, he writes again, 
* Since I have been out h^re (Naples) I have got a worse 
notion of the Boman Catholics than I had. I really do 
think them idolaters' (Pref. p. xiii.). 

Keble judged Borne in a gentler spirit, and expressed 
himself about ' our sister's fall.' more calmly, but >^ ith no less 
distinctness pf. condemnation. All his traditions and convic- 
tions were eminently anti-Boman, and such they continued 
to the end. Thus, in 1841, he writes to Coleridge — * I 
cannot go to Borne till Bome be much changed indeed.' 
And again, * As to Bome, I thought I had said in my letters 
to you that come what will it would be impossible [twice 
underscored] for me to join it until it is other than it is at 

With Keble's own views so distinctly anti-Boman, it may 


well be asked how could it happen that in a body in which 
his influence was so great there could be developed so strong 
a Bomeward tendency amongst members of the tractarian 
party. To no small degree the evil inclinations to which 
these extracts point may account for many of the perversions. 
Some fell through unreality, more through impatience and 
temper. A very large proportion of the leading perverts had 
been bred up in the Evangelical school, and the vision of which 
Eeble speaks of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church had 
dawned upon them with all tl)e startling grandeur of a new 
discovery. Intoxicated with this glory, they were unable to 
bear any delay of their longings or any contradiction of their 
theories ; and as ihe Sorceress of the Seven Hills promised 
thdm the instiantfulfllment of tlieir dreams, they drank of the 
cup of her enchantments, and some at least shared the fate of 
those who quaffed of old the draught of Circe. Amongst the 
higher spirits who passed from the Evangelical school to the 
Church of Borne may be mentioned such leading names as 
those of J. H. Newman, R I, and H. W. Wilberforce, H. E. 
Manning, Mr. Dodsworth, Faber, and Anderdon. 

But another powerful influence in the same direction was 
early at work, and it was one against which, from certain 
peculiarities in his own character, Eeble was ill fitted to 
strive. The strong master mind of the whole movement was 
that of J. H. Newman. Upon that mind, in spite of pas- 
sionate efforts of his own to counteract it, the bias early 
passed^ This bias, which even his most devoted followers 
ootild then perceive to be really that of his own mind, he 
read as an impulse providentially imparted to the whole 
movement, and therefore to be yielded to without resistance 
as coming from God. In him too, alas ! contradiction, mis- 
understanding, loneliness, did their work. With a mind 
naturally impatient of that external rule which belief 
implies^ he reached a point when either the rule must be 


absolute or belief would become impossible; and then at 
last, with a reluctance hardly to be overborne, he took the 
fatal step. Tliose whose minds he had thoroughly mastered, 
cue after another followed him. Early in the movement, if 
Keble had placed himself determinately on the opposite side, 
much of this might have been prevented. But he was of 
too loving a nature to do what such a course implied. When, 
with much real ground for censure, Tract XC. and its author 
were made the objects of mi.'jrepresontation aud persecution, 
it was not possible for Keble to forsake his friend. Tender- 
ness to the man modified his language towards the doctrine, 
and the opportunity was lost : and so the bias of that firm 
will and vast capacity crossed the movement and passed for 
a season upon its whole flow. From time to time, as we have 
shown, so lung as he lived, Keble*s influence was used to quiet 
uneasy minds and to prevent the spread of perversion. But 
it was nuw too late to prevent a certtiin Eomeward inclina- 
tion being imparted to the whole course of the current. 
Upon the present aspect of the movement it is not necessiiry 
to enter in dealing with the life of Keble. It has been 
enough here to trace the connexion of Keble with the pub- 
lication of the 'Tracts for tlie Times' and with the religious 
movement of which Dr. Newman holds him to have been 
indeed the author. 

This reach of his life was ended by the death in January, 
1 835y of his aged father. Until this happened, he declined 
everything which would have taken him from soothing, with 
all a son's piety, those declining years. His father's death 
broke up the scheme of his life. He and his surviving sister 
were left alone in the world and had to choose a new iiome. 
From his people at Coin St. Aldwin, and from the scenery 
which he had learned to love, he could not hii torn without u 
pang. There was indeed nothing romantic about it, but the 
willowy stream of the Ct)ln had charms for him. Sir Jolin 


Coleridge, in one of his least felicitous phrases says, 'he 
had a sort of filial fondness for this river,' and quotes to prove 
it words which would have been almost the last in the lan- 
guage in which such reverend love would have been expressed 
by Eeble. * I got to Bibury about half-past six and walked 
leisurely home, and really some of the spots which I passed 
on our jolly river Coin are quite beautiful enough to recom- 
pense one for a much longer walk.' 

At the very time when he was thus cut loose from Fair- 
ford, the vicarage of Hursley was again oflered to him. He 
was, too, engaged to be married ; an engagement the fulfll- 
ment of which for sometime past had only waited the re- 
lease of his life from the care of his father. He announced, 
says Sir John, this engagement to his nearest friends in 
letters which seemed to be but the prose version of those 
beautiful lines : — 

* But there*8 a sweeter flower than e'er 

Blushed on the rose's spray, 
A brighter star, a richer bloom 
Then e'er did western heaven illume 

At close of summer day. 
Tis love, the last best gift of heaven. 

Love, gentle, holy, pure ; 
But, tenderer than a dove's soft eye. 
The searching sun, the open sky, 

8he never could endure.' 

— Christian Year : ^th Sunday afttr Lent. 

He was married October, 1836, to Miss Charlotte Clarke, 
and took possession of Hursley Vicarage in January, 1836, 
It was in all respects the residence for him. The beauty of 
the country, the neighbourhood of Sir William Heathcote, 
than whom he had no dearer or more valued friend ; the 
vicinity of Winchester ; all made it in outward circumstance 
such a home as those who loved him best would have chosen 
for him. Sir John Coleridge well sums up some other of the 
smiling features of his life :— 


• There were bis brother's nursery, the children at the Park ; the large 
fine family of bis neighbour, Dr. Moberly ; his own school, where he was a 
very frequent teacher ; his cottage visits ; tlie numberless opportunities 
which presented themselves to him in his rambles from hamlet to hamlet ; 
and all these presented to that receptive spirit and faithful memory insepa- 
rable from the true poetic nature.' 

Such Hursley was to him. There he lived for thirty years, 
and, in spite of many recurring anxieties, enjoyed a large 
share of calm happiness. His wife's very feeble health lead- 
ing latterly to long enforced absences from home, and the 
troubles of the Church round him were his main trials. But 
these were borne with a gentle submission which turned them 
into blessings to his own spirit. His letters picture forth this 
life in touching sentences, like the following : * Jly wife, I am 
thankful to say, continues on the whole a little stronjjer than 
she used to be at Cirencester ; but the autumn makes itself 
felt a little both by her and the trees, gently as it is coining 

In his parish he was a most diligent, loving, and wise pastor ; 
using every effort to win the young especially to him. Ho 
himself taught diligently in his Sunday school. He sought 
to use the help of the teaching of ladies, believing it to be 
* often the most effective with boys, because it roused the dor- 
mant chivalry in them.** Perhaps the most distinctive fea- 
ture of his ministry was the degree in which he ever sought 
to deal with those committed to bis care as individual souls 
who could be reached only by the direct influence of a per- 
sonal ministry. It was perhaps, as Sir John suggests, owing 
to his longing more effectually to prosecute such a course 
with them, and to the difficulties which his exceeding 
modesty threw in his way, and which his self-depreciation 
magnified, that he somewhat overlooked the terrible evils of 
the confessional, and at times longed to be able to employ 

♦ ' Monthly Packet/ i»art. xlii. p. :»56. 


more freely what he terras * the arm of confession.' It does 
not indeed appear that he ever desired to restore compulsory 
or formal confession after the Boman model, but rather to 
encourage those who were conscious of sin to return to the 
more frequent voluntary use of such an aid. We may, it 
seems, conclude that he probably meant to express no more 
than his longing for the existence of a fuller spiritual confi- 
dence than his great reserve on the deepest matters rendered 
easy between himself and those committed to his oversight. 
Such seems to be the meaning of such words as these : * In 
short our one great grievance is the neglect of confession. 
Until we can begin to revive that, we shall not have the due 
severity of our religion, and without a severe religion I fear 
our Church will practically fail.' 

In his parochial charge, besides care for the living Church, 
Keble was a great benefactor to his parish in its materitil 
arrangements, fle built, or procured the building, not only 
of schools but of churches and parsonages, at Otterbume, and 
Ampfieldi the two larger dependent hamlets of Hursley, and 
of a school and chapel at a third and smaller hamlet ; and he 
turned the parish church, from being a most debased speci- 
men of George III. architecture, into as beautiful a building 
as any country parish can exhibit. Such a work, defrayed as 
it was out of the profits which came to him from the ' Chris- 
tian Year,' was surely a most appropriate destination of funds 
so raised. 

His pen was ever busy during these years. We have in 
the appendix to the second edition an interesting glimpse of 
him in the process of composition : — 

* He liked Mrs. Keble to play to him while he was writing . ... he 
said it helped him. He was very fond of bits from " Acis and Galatiea " 

and other works of Handel He hardly ever used his study for writing 

of any sort, but carried his pftpera and books into the drawing-room, setting 
himself between the window and the door, which in summer were usually 
both open ; there he seemed to hear everything tbat went on without being 


tlistnrbed by it; even reading aloud he liked whilst he was writing, occa- 
sionally taking the book from the reader and going on himself for a little 
while, making quaint remarks as he read, and then returning to his work. 
..... His book on Eucharistic Adoration was entirely written on scraps of 
paper and backs of envelo^jes, and was afterwaixis fairly copied out from 
these by Mrs. Keble. He seemed unable to write about what he felt most 
deeply, except in this way and at odd times.' * 

In 1839 he published the least successful of his works — 
though one which had cost him great labour — a metrical 
* Version of the Psalms.' Parental fondness did not blind 
him to the real quality of this one of his literary offspring. 
In the preface to it he says, * The Version was undertaken, in 
the first instance, with a serious apprehension, which has 
since grown into a full conviction, that the thing attempted 
is strictly speaking impossible^ — a conclusion adopted and 
happily expressed by Archbishop Howley in the words, * Mr. 
Keble's work has demonstrated the truth of his position.* 
The shades of Tate and Biady may rest in peace. After 
John Eeble*8 ill-success let us trust that no one else will 
attempt to invade their undisputed supremacy in having dis- 
figured and debased the Boyal Psalmist's inspired utterances. 
Further he took an active part in the library of the Fathers 
*— published a volume of sermons ; a volume on Eucharistic 
Adoration; a Life of Bishop Wilson, besides pamphlets, 
some of them of great merit, on the passing events of the 
ecclesiastical world. 

In 1846 he published — a dangerous act for the author of 
the * Christian Year' — another volume of poetry under tlie 
title of *Lyra Innocentium.' Sir John Coleridge does not 
expect, he tells us, a general agreement in his own judgment 
of it, which is * that if not equal to the ** Christian Year " as 
a wliole, it is at least more than equal in some parts.' We 
are amongst those who fulfil the expectation here expressed. 
Certainly the judgment of his countrymen is plain from the 

♦ * Monthly Packet/ xlli. p. G02. 

T 2 


difference in the circulation of the two volumes, as to their 
respective merits. Who does not tin*n again and again to the 
' Christian Year ' ? How few comparatively know the exact 
place on their library shelves of the * Lyra Innocentium * ? 
There are many beautiful lines in the volume — many deeply 
touching, many ennobling thoughts beautifully expressed. 
How could there fail of being such in anything written by 
John Keble ? But on the whole, in our judgment the ex- 
cellencies do not equal those of the * Christian Year,' whilst 
the blemishes of the former volume are more frequent and 
more marked in the latter. The verses seem less commonly 
than of old to be the unbidden outpourings of the poet's 

The great sadnesses of his later life were all more or less 
directly connected with the trials and prospects of the 
Church whom he served with such unswerving fidelity and 
unfaltering love. Sir John Coleridge has stated Keble's 
position as to this, in words which it does not seem possible 
to improve: — 

* All his associations, ciirly aud late, were with the Church of his fathers 
— the loyal and affectionate language in respect of her to he found every- 
where in ** The Christian Year *' was not merely poetical, it was sincere. But 
he bad grown up in the High Church school, and as a High Churchman 
naturally will do, he looked upwards thxx>ugh the Reformation to the 
Primitive and the Undivided Church. He loved his own Church as on the 
whole a faithful representative on earth of that Church ; the more truly 
and exactly she represented it, the more did he think her excellent and to be 
beloved ; the more she admitted what he called puritanical doctrine or prac- 
tice, the less loyal and dutiful could he be. Coin aud his father on the one 
hand, Fairford and its incumbent on the other, were ever in his recollection.' 

The principles in which he believed ever intertwined 
themselves in him, as they do more or less in all entirely 
real and affectionate men, with the persons whom he loved. 
For this reason, the secession of such a friend as John Henry 
Newman from his fathers' Church cut Keble to the heart. 


The shadow of the coining evil had lain broad and heavy on 
the very spring of his life from the time when liis first appre- 
hension of it rose. He had done all in his power to prevent 
the step ; he did not undervalue its too probable conse- 
quences upon others ; but his first grief was for the dishonour 
to his Church, and for the evil to his friend. With his 
habitual self-restraint in the use of language, he speaks of it 
as * the desolating anxiety of the last two years ;' and long 
after the event, he pointed out to a friend a chalk-pit which 
they were passing as connected with perhaps the saddest 
event of his life, which he afterwards explained by saying 
that it was there, after carrying it with him all day, afraid 
to open it, that he had at last oi)ened and read the letter 
which announced to him that his friend was lost to him. 
They met again but once. Within a few months of his 
death at his vicarage at Hursley, were gathered the three — 
himself, Dr. Pusey, and Dr. Newman— who had in earlier 
years lived in such unbroken communion and almost un- 
equalled intimacy. It is hardly possible to contemplate that 
meeting, and read the then aged man's account of it 
unmoved : — 

*E. B, P. and J. H. N. met here tlie very day after my wife's attack. 
Trying as it all was, 1 was very glad to have them here, and to sit by them 
and listen ; but I cannot write more of it now/ 

Hardly less moving is the account given by the other long 
separated friend. Newman writes : — 

* I made my appearance at Hursley without being cx^jocted. Kcblc was 
at bis door speaking to a friend. He did not know mc, and asked my name. 
What was more wonderful, since I had come purposely to his house, I did 
not know him, and I feared to ask who it was. I jjave him my card with- 
out speaking. When at length we found out each other, he said with that 
tender flurry of manner which I recollected so well, that his wife had been 
seized with an attack that morning, and that he could not receive me as he 
should have wisheil to do ; nor indeed had he exiKJCtcd me; for" Pusey," 
he whisiHjred, ** is in the house as you are aware." Then he brouj^ht mc 


into his study and embraced mc affectionately, and said he would go and 
prepare Pu«ey, and send him to me. I think I got there in the forenoon, 
and remained with him four or five hours, dining at one or two. I recollect 
▼ery little of the conversation that passed at dinner. . , . Mr. Gladstone's 
rejection at Oxford was talked of, and I said that I really thought that had 
I been still a member of the University, I must have voted against him, 
because he was giving up the Irish Efttablishment. On this Keble g»ve me 
one of his remarkable looks, so earnest and so sweet, came close to me and 
whispered in my ear (I cannot remember the exact words, but I took them 

to be), *' And is not that ju»t ?" Just before my time for going 

... I was left in the open air with Keble by himself. .... We walked 
a little way, and stood looking in silence at the church and churchyard so 
beautiful and calm. Then he began to converse with me in more than 
[query ' of ' ?] his old tone of intimacy, as if we bad never been ^lartcd ; and 
soon I was obliged to go.* 

What a meetings and what a parting ! The three men ; 
the dying wife ; the calm churchyard ; the deep life-long 
sorrow ; the impassable separation ; the parting, to meet 
again only before the great white throne when the shadows 
shall have fled away. 

More than once after this first great loss, Eeble had to 
suffer again, in its measure, the same smai't. And even in 
instances which happily did not reach to final secession, much 
of the burden and sadness of the times fell on him. He was 
referred to, consulted, leant upon by all who were in doubt 
or trouble. A great portion of his time was spent in allaying 
such doubts. He could not enter coldly into such cases; 
they ate into his very heart, whilst the management of them 
consumed large portions of his time. The more he saw of 
such cases, the more he felt the danger of unsettling souls 
by changes in the order or constitution of the Church, so 
that he became painfully alive to the evil which was threat- 
ened by every one of these shoclcs. Every trouble, therefore, 
which passed over the Church through his remaining years, 
touched Keble to the quick. The alteration of the law of 
divorce was one of these which he felt most deeply : and he 



published on the occasion two pamphlets against repealing 
the lawSy which treat the nuptial bond as indissoluble. 

Aoy assault upon the purity and sharpness of the Church's 
doctrine moved him most, and after that any such alteration 
in her constitution as seemed to him to lessen her power of 
resisting future inroads on her dogmatic teaching. On this 
account, * the decision/ says Sir John Coleridge, * in what is 
known as the '* Essays and Reviews " case, gave him in 
all its circumstances, as well as the decision itself, great 

Yet with all this distinctiveness as to doctrine, and with 
his inherited Toryism, Keble thought and acted for himself. 
Two instances may suffice to show how resolutely he did so. 
The first is, his unvarying and zealous support of Mr. Glad- 
stone as the Member for the University of Oxford, down to 
the very last time when he contested that seat in 1865 ; the 
second, the way in which he speaks of the temper and of 
some of the tenets of those who doubtless consider them- 
selves to be the legitimate successors of the writers of the 
* Tracts for the Times.' 

Speaking of the attempts made to restore a higher form of 
service in our churches, he says : — 

' The success will be more complete, and the satisfaction more perfect, 
when those who have the work at heart shall have ceased to indulge them- 
selves in invidious comparisons and scornful criticisms on such amongst 
their brethren as do not yet see their way to it, and when on certain 
kindred subjects they have learned to make candid allowance for the diffe- 
rence between our circumstances and those with a view to which the primi- 
tive canons were framed. I allude particularly to the disparaging tone 
sometimes used in speaking of mid-day communions. . . . Again, I cannot 
but doubt the wisdom of urging all men indiscriminately to be present at 
the Holy Mysteries, a matter left open so far as I can see by the Prayer- 
book, and in the ordering of which it may seem most natural to abide by 
the spirit of the ancient Constitutions which did not willingly permit even 
the presence of any but communicants, ... the rather that there appears 
some danger of the idea gaining ground which meets one so often in Roman 
Catholic books of devotion of some special scmi-sacrumcutal grace connected 


with simply assfsting devoutly at mass over and above that promised to 
all earnest and faithful prayer.' 

Would that such candid, charitable, moderate, and anti- 
Roman yiews were more widely spread amongst those who, 
setting themselves up as the great lights of the Church, now- 
a-days, consider themselves qualified to revile our reformers, 
contemn our offices, and lampoon our bishops. Such was 
not John Keble's temper; no trait of all his character was 
more remarkable than his humility, and it increased even to 
the end. This was evermore re-appearing. 'One of us,' 
Miss Wilbraham records, * alluded to Easter Eve as " her 
favourite day in the whole year, though a Fast." " I love 
that day best too,'* Mr. Eeble answered ; then, after a pause, 
he added, with indescribable sweetness of look and tone, 
** perhaps because it is a Fast ; the days of humiliation seem 
to suit one best as long as one is here." ' * What again can 
be more instructive than to hear the writer of the * Christian 
Year ' speaking of himself as at the time of writing it not 
having * understood the doctrine of Repentance, or that of 
the Holy Eucharist, or that of Justification ?' It was in great 
measure this deep humility, and the tenderness which grew 
out of it, which gave so unspeakable a charm to his society. 
Yet he had enough of human applause to have endangered 
that great virtue. One of the troubles of his latter years was 
the perpetual influx of strangers, who came as on pilgrimage 
to Hursley ; and this, not from England only, but also from 
America, where the * Christian Year * has reached a circula- 
tion little less than it has attained in England. 

Sir John Coleridge mentions one characteristic instance of 
such an American worshipper who, as they were leaving the 
ivy-clothed porch, drew him apart, and asked if Mr Keble 
would take it amiss if he begged of him a branch of the ivy 
cut with his own hand. Ue received the coveted gift, and 

» Monthly Packet/ xlii. p. 657. 


said, as they walked away, * You may smile at my request, 
but I could name persons at home who would give me (I am 
afraid to mention the sum) for every leaf I have in my hand. 
So it was alike from young and old, at home and abroad. 
Tlie homage due to genius, love, and saintliness, was tendered 
to him abundantly. One of Mr. Forbes's children records 
in simple words what all who came near him felt : ' He is old 
and short, with white hair, and rather plain features ; but he 
has such a sweet, heavenly expression. His voice is rather 
low, we cannot hear him unless he is close to us. He is so 
kind, and takes such interest in the little ones ; aunt calls 
him her good angel.' Latterly Mrs. Keble's health required 
him to be much at Penzance ; he occupied a house * in the 
very best positiim for seeing the whole of Mounts Bay, and 
hearing all that the wild waves had to tell us.' Here he 
met his usual welcome, and to his joy found clergy with 
whom he could entirely sympathise, and for whom he was 
always ready to preach. He asked to have a district as- 
signed for his visiting, only covenanting, that it might bo 
entirely amongst the poor. Mr. Tyacke, one of these clergy, 
has well caught and happily expressed some features of his 
character, when he speaks of * his humbling humility and 
kindliness, especially respecting the Dissenters.' A letter to 
the other clergyman, Mr. Hedgeland, is a beautiful instance 
of the way in which Mr. Keble received such acts of kind- 
ness: *One word of thanks for you and your parishioners' 
very great kindness to us. Such it was as must make the 
very bends and turnings of the streets — let alone the mount 
and the bay, and the lanes, and flowers, and moors, and 
cairns, and crosses — most pleasant to think of 

One effect of Mrs. Keble's increasing weakness was tliat 
his residence at Hursley became necessarily shorter, until he 
proposed resigning the vicarage, and being * summer curate,' 
so as still to minister to tho. flock he loved. Meanwhile his 

274 KEBLE*S biography: 

care and tendemefis towards the fragile inyalid were un- 
wearied. How deeply her illness told upon him all his 
letters te8tify» and yet he was ever oheerful, ever ready to 
rejoice with those that did rejoice, Mrs. Keble otice gave the 
history of his cheerful placidity in these remarkable words : 
* He lays aside his anxieties with his prayers. He does what 
he can; the issue is with (xod, with whom he- is content to 
leave it ; therefore he is still, and sleeps like a child.' Here 
is a glimpse at one of their evening readings at Penzance : — 

' What a beautiful and comfortable circumstance it is of this great 
development of our missions, that quiet people are come naturally and 
without writing in a tone to pour out their hearts mutually to those 
whom they suppose to be like ni^inded, from the other side of the world. 
Just as the old folks did in the very old centuries^St. Qyprian e,g^ not to 
me&Uon St PauL I say this apropos to the South Pacific and South 
African letters, which have been so much our reading of late. It really 
does seem to help one in a very special way, to realise the communion of 
saints, and to feel (D.Y.) one, not only with the distant living, but with 
the holy dead.* 

This was with him one of those favourite subjects of 
thought on which, with subdued voice and a fixed intensity 
of eye, he would from time to time open with those who 
loyed him best. Miss Wilbraham, after the death of his 
second sister, thus beautifully records his state. After speak- 
ing of Mrs. Keble, she continues : — 

* Mr. Keble was aged and shaken ; yet there was a wonderful peace and 
elevation of feeling, mingled with their sense of loss, as though they had 
gone down to the very brink of the dark river with their sister, and been 
granted a glimpse of the pleasant land beyond. Mr. Keble more Umn once 
condescended to share these thoughts with mc, and to speak of that inter- 
mediate state as one of loving, waiting, resting, and prayer — sprayer for the 
speedy coming of His kingdom ; prayer, too, for those on earth for whom 
when with us, they used to pray ; we have no hint given us, ho thought, 
that they discontinued that.* * 

For the fulness of this communion he was manifestly 
ripening. To those who loved him best, and witnessed his 

* 'MoQthly Pai^ket,' part xlii. p. 564. 


evident drawing nearer to bis rest, 'the thought brought 
no bitterness with it. Wbo would not wish the golden grain 
to be housed when it is ripe? Who that had witnessed 
Mr. Eeble's deep delight in tbe promise, ** A.nd sorrow and 
sigbing shall flee away," as sung by sweet treble voices in 
Wincbester Cathedral, could wish to keep him back from the 
Presence in which alone that hope can be realised ? ' * 

The end was not long delayed. In the midst of his 
ministering to Mrs. Eeble, he was himself struck down by 
paralysis ; and, though he recovered to a certain extent, yet 
his active powers were much diminished. He was unable to 
attend the last confirmation at Hursley ; but wrote a touch- 
ing letter to tbe newly-conGrmed, closiug with words almost 
prophetic of his own coming end. * So doing you will abide 
in Christ, and be sure He will abide in you. There may be 
sorrow on the road, but all will go right in the end, for you 
will see His face with joy,' 

So doubtless it was with him ; on the 29th of March, 180(3, 
he fell asleep; on the llth of May his wife followed him. 
Their graves are in that quiet churchyard at Hursley, which 
looked 'so beautiful and calm * to Dr. Newman as he gazed 
on it with Eeble but a few months before. In the Church of 
England, we cannot write it without shame, he was but the 
Vicar of Hursley. Once only by any patron was there 
offered to the author of the * Christian Year ' one distant 
dignity, the Archdeaconry of Barbadoes, which he could not 
forsake his father to accept His only Church preferment 
was the gift of a lay friend, upon whose tomb — may it be 
years before it can be written — amongst many honourable 
memories not far from the highest might well be graven, 
* The sole patron of John Eeble.' 

Such he was : so he lived amongst us : so he passed away 
from us. Never aiming at acquiring influence, he exerted it in 

♦ * Monthly Packet/ part xlii. p. 57G. 


its highest measures on everyone who came within his reach, 
and widely beyond his immediate sphere upon the Ohnrch 
at large. He took a resolute part in all the most stirring 
controversies of his time ; and yet no one could ever point to a 
word of hiS| written or spoken, which had inflicted one needless 
wound upon any one opposed to him. He gave England's 
sacred literature the high boon of *The Christian Year.* 
He gave England's Church the learning of a deep divine, 
the love and trust of a loyal son, the labours of a devoted 
priest, and the pattern of a saint ; and he died, as he had 
lived, the Vicar of Hursley. 

^/^C€^^\J/L^*.^^^ " 




{Octi^btr, 1872.) 

There is a peculiar propriety in the time at which the dis- 
covery of Dr. Livingstone has been accomplished. Lost as 
he has been to the civilized world for these past years, as 
completely as the arrow shot into the darkness, the weight of 
his authority against tHe maintenance of the East African 
slave-trade was beginning to diminish. There was a percep- 
tible slackening of general interest even as to the great 
geographical problems, to settle which it seemed but too 
probable that he had sacrificed his life. Another buried in 
those sands! Another lost in those swamps! Another 
stricken down by the irresistible fever ! Another victim to 
Arab treachery ! till the heart of England somewliat sick- 
ened at the mention of the subject, and ftiany were ready to 
acquiesce in the great traveller's own account of the African 
estimate of his researches, and to say, with those wEose 
answers to his eager questions concerning the fountains of 
the Nile he reports, as ' We drink our fill of the river, and 
let the rest run by;' delivered with a look which meant 
* This poor White is afflicted with hydrocephalus.' 

But the voice of the living man sounds again in our ears. 
Mr. Stanley's courage and perseverance have enabled him 

* 1. * Report from the Select Committee of the House of Commons ou the Slave- 
trade on the East Coast of Africa, 1871.' 

2. ' Despatches addressed by Dr. Livingstone to Her Majesty's Secretary of State 
for Foreign Affairs, 1870, 1871, and 1872/ 

3. *The East African Slave-trade, &c, as viewed by Residents in Zanzibar, &c.' 

4. 'A Letter to the Select Committee of the House of Commons.' By H. A. 

5. ' The Slave-trade in Africa.' By £tienne-Fe1ix Berliouz, Professor pf History 
in the Lyceum of Lyons. 


to renew the long-iraspended commuDications, and Dilyid 
LiviDgstoae speaks to us out of Central Africa from the 
seven hundred miles of the great river^s watershed, a * bird's- 
eye yiew of which resembles the frost vegetation on window 
panes/ and trusts, by the sacrifice of one year more, to verify 
the assertion of old Herodotus as to the fonntain-heads of the 
mysterious stream. It was in the temple of Minerva, at Sais, 
the old historian says, that he was told by the Steward of the 
Sacred Things, that from between two mountains, rising each 
to a peak, bearing the names of Crophi and Mophi, rise froip 
unfathomable depths the sources of the river. Herodotus 
throws in the dotibt whether the Steward of the Sacred 
Things was not laughing at him in his narrative. If perse- 
verance can accomplish the object, Livingstone will be the 
revealer of the long hidden mystery. 

All this is of deep interest in the cause of scientific Geo- 
graphy ; but for a yet higher cause we deem the sounding of 
this voice in our ears to be, at the present moment, singularly 
apposite. The mind of the nation is just beginning to awaken 
to a sense of its duty in relation to the East African slave- 
trade. In both Houses of Parliament attention has been 
called to it. In the Lower House a most valuable Report of 
a highly intelligent and diligent Committee was printed in 
August, 1871 ; and in the House of Lords, after waiting till 
July for the papers on the subject,, which are annually laid 
before Parliament, an Address to the Queen upon the subject 
was moved by Lord Campbell, and seconded by the Bishop 
of Winchester. The debate upon this motion led to an 
emphatic declaration from Lord Granville of the interest felt 
Jn the subject at our Foreign Office, and a declaration that 
most of the measures suggested by the Bishop of Winchester 
were, or would be, adopted by the Foreign Office, so far as 
that office could secure the co-operation of the Administra* 
tion — declarations which were well followed bv the notice of 


the subject in the Speech put, at the close of the Session, 
into the mouth of the Queen, which committed the whole 
Government to exertion in this cause. ' My Goyernment has 
taken steps intended to prepare the way for dealing more 
effectually with the slave-trade on the East Coast of Africa.'* 

Happily these exertions are not confronted — as those were 
by which, after so fierce a conflict, the West African slave- 
trade was abolished through the labours of Wilberforce, 
Clarkson, and their allies-— by any great domestic interest. 
Though, as we shall have to . show, there is too much reason 
to fear that British capital does surreptitiously aid in main- 
taining this detestable traffic, yet it can no more openly 
para'le the injury which it will sufier. Lord Brougham's 
Bill of 5 Geo. IV. c. 113, has made it felony for any subject 
of Great Britain openly or secretly to take part in the vile 
trade in the bodies of men. This difficulty, therefore, is 
gone. But still no Government, even if it were united and 
determined in the cause, could, without national support, 
incur the expenses of bringing to a successful issue a conten- 
tion like this: waged at a distance from home, entangled 
with many conflicting interests, and liable to be represented 
as one not immediately concerning our own national obli- 
gations, and so to incur the easily-whispered reproach of 
being a busy and unnecessary interference with others, 
suggested to unpractical minds by a dreamy and sentimental 

The necessity of counteracting this inevitable tendency by 
engaging in the great cause the heai-ty interest of all who 
will attend to the claims of justice and mercy, must be our 
excuse for stating plainly, in the first place, the actual evils of 
the existing trade ; we shall then show our readers how we 
are nationally connected with it, and end by suggesting the 
best modes which present themselves to us for relieving 

* QueeD*s Speech, August 10, 1872. 



hamanity frptai this acourge^ and setting free legitimate com- 
mezce from all the evils which are iuflicted on it by such a 
horrible rivalry. 

The trade in negroes from the East Coast of Africa is, so 
far as export goes, now almost confined to the different ports 
within the dominions of the Sultan of Zanzibar. There is an 
internal traffic along the coast-line from Zanzibar, but by for 
the greater portion of the traffic is with the Coast of Arabia, 
a certain amount with Persia, and a yet smaller with Mada- 
gascar. The Zanzibar dominions extend along the East 
Coast of Africa, from the Equator to ten degrees South 
Latitude, about 350 miles, and include the islands of Momfia, 
Pemba, and Zanzibar; this last being. the seat of Govern- 
mentt separated from the mainland, by. a cha.nnel about 
twenty-five miles wide — about five miles farther than the 
distance of Calais from Dover. 

A port named Eilwa, almost at tlie southern border of the 
Zanzibar dominion, is the place at which nearly all the slave 
caravans arrive from the interior, and where the victims of 
the traffic are put on board the dhows which are to convey 
them to the slave-market at Zanzibar. 

Leaving then, for the present, the slaves who reach the 
Zanzibar slave-market, let us travel ba(^ with them from 
their native territory, and glance at the horrors of their 
capture and their transit The mode by which the. slaves 
are obtained is described in an official communication from 
Brigadier Coghlan to the Chief Secretary of Government at 
Bombay ; quoting the words of the eminent African mis- 
sionary. Dr. Krap^ he says : — 

'To the South of Ftogani, u the territory of the heathen Wasegoa 
trihe and the great ceatxe (in 1860) of the slave-trade. The Aiabs of 
Zanzibar come here, and promise the Wasegua Chiefs a number of muskets 
and shot for a certain number of slaves : so, when a chief has entered into 
the contract he suddenly falls on a hostile village, sets it on fire, and carries 
off the inhabitants; among these tribes the slave-trade has hitherto 


flourished to a frightful extent, chiefly owing to the encouragement of the 
Aral)s of Zanzibar. From 10,000 to 12,000 slaves are said to pass yearly 
through Eilwa on their way to the various ports of the Sowahili coast and 
to Arabia, and we saw many gangs of from six to ten slaves chained to 
each other, and obliged to carry burdens on their heads.* — Appendix to 
HovLK of Commons Beport, p. 115. 

Again, Colonel Bigby, her Majesty's Consul at Zanzibar, 
says, — 

* The Arabs go into the interior with large numbers of armed followers 
ou purpose to procure slaves, and whole districts are systematically hunted 
to procure them ; the cupidity of the native chiefs being excited by the 
muskets, gunpowder, and cotton cloth they reaive from the Arabs in 
payment.' — App,, p. 116. 

The Eev, Horace Waller gives the same evidence : — 

' I can speak distinctly to the fact of its being the chief aim of the slave- 
traders to set one tribe against another, in order that they may bring on 
war and the consequent destruction of the country, wliich produces just 
the state of things which makes slaves cheaper.' — App,^ p. 87. 

Mr. AUington, one of the witnesses, gave an instance which 
fell within his own experience, when he was residing with 
Bishop Tozer in the neighbourhood of Lake Nyassa, of one of 
these acts of violence : — 

* I remember going into a native village near Mount Mollumbala. 1*he 
slavers were there just before we got there, and on our approach they fired 
some shots and took to their heels, carrying away with them some men 
out of the village. When 1 got to the village there was an old chief hiding 
in the bush, afraid to come back to the village on account of these slavers. 
I have not the slightest doubt that whilst 1 was there parties of slavers 
attacked villages with the view of obtaining slaves.' — Ans, 1326, 1327. 

Again, the Rev, Horace Waller gives the evidence of an 
eye-witness : — 

* I have seen as many as three villages burning in one morning within 
two hours, and I have seen hundreds of captives carried away from those 
villages. The villages are set on fire, and in the confusion the men, women, 
and children are captured.*— -4ns. 946, 946. 

All this is abundantly confirmed by the fell seal of 
VOL. II. u 


depopolatioa and destruction ifhioh has been set by these, 
deeds o^ iniquity upon populous and thriving districts. Here 
is an offidal report to Lord Clarendon : — 

^ On arriTing at'tfae scene of their operations, they incite and sometinies 
help tbe natives of one tribe to make war npon another. Their assistance 
almost invariably secures victory to the^side which they support, and the 
captives become their property, either by right or purchase. In the course 
of these operations thousands are killed, or die subsequently of their wounds 
or of starvation ; villages are burnt, and the women and children are carried 
away as slaves. The complete depopulation of the country between the 
coast and the present field of the slave-traders* operations attests the fearful 
character of these raids.' — B^rt of Houu of Commonif 1871, p. iv. 

This utter depopulation, as if fire had passed over the 
land, is made the more horrible bv the contrast which it^ 
presents to all that was going on in the same district before 
the ravages of the slave-trader swept it with the besom of 
destruction. It is thus that Dr. Livingstone describes the 
aspect of the country before the advent of the man-stealer. 
' We crossed Eirk's Range, and got amongst Manganja in 
the primitive state, working in irons and spinning buaze, and 
sowing grain extensively.' ' Buaze,' adds Mr. Waller, ' is a 
fibre used for nets. Dr. Livingstone is speaking here of a 
population which had not been visited by slave-traders.' * 

There is the like testimony from every quarter. * The 
land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them 
a desolate wilderness.' The evidence of Major-General 
Bigby (who was Consul at Zanzibar and Political Agent of 
the Lidian Government from 1858 to the end of 1861) before 
.t|ie;Cp]^inittee of the House of Commons, may be considered 
as settling this question for ever : — 

* The vast and rich country,' he says» ' from Lake Nyassa to the south is 
becoming depopulated. Banians who have been for years at Zansibar have 
told me that they remember, when tliey first csme to the coast, the whole 
country wss densely populated down to the sea-coast, and now you have to 

• ( 

House of Commoni Report/ Ans, 1352. 


go eighteen days' journey inland before yon come upon a village almost. That 
is fully confirmed by Baron Von der Decken and Dr. Rosher, who travelled 
that route. Baron Von der Decken talks of miles and miles of ruined towns 
aLd villages ; the whole way up to Lake Nyassa, where there is now no 
popnlation at all. . . . Dr. Livingstone recently travelled through the 
Manganja country, where the whole population was engaged in the 
cultivation and working up of cotton, and be said that he had never seen 
such a wonderful cotton country in his life, or such a fertile country. A 
year or two afterwards, he went through the same country, and found it 
entirely depopulated, nil the huts being full of dead bodies. The children 
had been carried away, and most of the adults slain. That is one of the 
worst features of the slave-trade in that countiy. . . . The slave-traders 
kill all the men and women, and bum the villages, and carry off the 
children, who are driven more easily .... the men they lose more by 
desertion on the way.' — House of Commons Beportf p. 48, Ans. 611. 

Here, then, is the curse with which Central Africa is 
cursed by the slave-trade. Intestine wars created, pronaoted, 
aggravated ; scenes of peaceful, useful and active industry 
broken in on rudely by the cupidity of the man-stealers ; 
whole villages burnt to the ground, whole districts depopu- 
lated ; and, by this terrible whirlwind of physical suffering 
sweeping oyer the land, all possibility of the increase of civi- 
lization, and, even more, of the spread of a better religion, 
rendered absolutely impossible. 

From year to year, moreover, these terrible evils are 
extending themselves further into the land. Through the 
depopulated country the slave-trader has to press on for his 
victims to a further tract of land, which is as yet prosperous 
and peopled, because the curse has not yet reached to them. 
•Every year,' says General Rigby, 'this slave-trade is ex- 
tending further and further inland. A great number of the 
slaves are now brought from the western side of the Lake 
Nyassa; the Arabs have got dhows in the lake on purpose 
to convey their slaves across.' * Here is the completion of 

• » Report,' p. 48. 

U 2 


this portion of the picture. This march of death is perpe- 
tually advancing onward. The ring of fire is widening its 
aircuoiferencey and gathering within its folds of destruction 
more and more of the doomed land. Districts rich in all 
manner of natural fertility, in iron, in cotton (so abandant that 
all the people of both sexes are busily employed in spinning 
and weaving), in all sorts of grains and vegetables, in sugar, 
in dyes, in the Sim-Sim tree — from which most of our finest 
olive-oil is made, which goes very largely to Marseilles — in 
gold and in copper, — ^this land is being reduced to barrenness 
and utter desolatioo. * It was formerly so thickly populated 
that you might have travelled for seventy or eighty miles 
and have ooiQie to a village at every half-mile — thoroughly 
well-watered; a flourii^ing cotton-growing country. Two 

• • • . 

years pass over it, and yoii may cross a tract of 120 miles 
and not find a human being of any kind; and all this 
damage and misery caused by the slave-trade.'* 

But there is another sad chapter of this misery into which 
we must pray our readers to have the courage to look a 
little with us. We ask them to follow with us the caravan 
of misery, the collecting of which brings this utter destruc- 
tion upon so wide a district of God's earth. It is indeed a 
march of death, the horrors of which every successful raid 
increases by prolonging the distance over which the captives 
have to be conveyed before they reach the sea-shore, whence 
they are embarked for the slave-market at Zanzibar. When 
the emigration towards the coast begins, 'the slaves are 
marched^. in gangs, the males with their necks yoked in 
heavy . forkejd sticks, which at night are fastened to the 
ground or lashed together so as to make escape impossible. 
The women and children are bound with thongs: any 
attempt at escape, or to untie the bonds, or any wavering' or 
lagging on the journey, has but one punishment — immediate 

* * Report of House of Commons,' Ans. 947-950. 


death. The sick are left behind and the route of a slave 
caravan can be tracked by the dying and the dead.' * Thus 
they have, now that the nian«stealers' huntipg-ground has 
been forced by depopulation further back from the coast, to 
traverse a distance estimated as 500 miles, occupying three 
mouths of almost unequalled misery. We will not shock 
our readers by the detail of horrors which they may find in 
the answers of the witness before the House of Commons 
Committee. The imagination can supply, it cannot exag- 
gerate, the actual scene of cruelty and blood. The earth 
cries aloud to Heaven against it. ' The road between Nyassa 
and the coast is strewn with the bones of slaves that have 
been killed or abandoned on the road ; and for every slave 
brought to Kilv/a there is a loss of four or five addi- 
tional lives ;'t or, as it is estimated by Dr. LiviDgstone, 
not unfrequently of ten, for every victim who roaches 
the coast 

When the diminished remains of the caravan reach the 
sea-coiEkst of Zanzibar, at the Fort of Eilwa, they are em- 
barked in Arab dhows, and the greater number are trans* 
ported to Zanzibar, to be sold either in the open market 
or to private dealers. On this voyage, though the special 
character of their sufieriugs is changed, it would be difiScult 
to say that they were diminished. In the words of the 
Beport of the House of Commons, ' The sea passage exposes 
the slave to much sulfering, and, in addition, to the danger 
from overcrowding and insu£Scient food. . . . Between Kilwa 
and Zanzibar a dhow lately lost a third of the slaves ; there 
were ninety thrown overboard dead, or dying, many of them 
in a terribly emaciated state.' X Here is a picture of this 
voyage from the hand of an Officer in Her Majesty's Navy 

* Report to I«^i*l of Clarendon, quoted in * House of Commons Report of 1871/ 

p. 5. 

t < House of Commons Report/ pp. 287, 288. J * Report/ p. iv. 


who has beea himself engaged in the naval preyention of the 
trade :— 

* Tbe dhows or yeneb generally used by the Arabs for the transport of 
■laves Tary in sisa horn 80 or 40 to 120 tons, and carry from 100 to 250 
slaves. Tbey are for the most part mote or less nnseawortby, and badly 
fitted and equipped. The slaves are packed literally like herrings in a 
barrel. In one dhow of 87 tons captured by me, I found 160 slaves, of 
which number four were dead — ^the dead being pecked in tightly with the 
living. Several more died within a few days from the effects of previous 
starvation and ill-usage, many of the poor creatures suffering from frightful 
sores and uloen, caused by the abrasion occasioned by slave-irons. 

* >Vhilst in these dhows they are given barely sufficient food to sustain 
life : a handful of —very often unbcnled— rice or sesamum and a cocoa-nut 
shall of water Ibrm their daily meal, and in consequence many of them 
appear )ike livinjp skeletons. Men, women, and little children (generally 
more of th^ latter) are huddled up together; women with infants tX their 
breasts, who from utter weakness and exhaustion are hardly able to stand 
upright when brought on the decks of a man-of-war. 

'The dhows for the most part generally skirt along the coasts and on 
. being chased by a man-of-war, or her boats, invariably try to run on shore, 
la this they very often succeed. Regardless of all risk, they deliberately 
run into the boiling surf, which in a few minutes reduces their vessel to a 
total wreck, and as may be expected, numbers of lives are lost I myself, 
on several occasions when landing to secure slaves, have seen the beach 
literally lined with the bodies of little children and women who perished 
miserably whilst trying to struggle with the terrible surf. The Arabs 
generally succeed in making their escape with the able-bodied men and 
women, but» as may be expected, the children and weaker women perish 
in great numbers. In many instances, from the nature of the ouimtry 
where they run on shor^ great numbers must ultimately die before the 
Arabs can reach any town or place of safety with them. On one occasion, 
when 1 vras fortunate to. capture 69 slaves, chiefly women or children^ out 
of sonbe 150^ after having pursued them five miles into the interior, I found 
that t|xe unfortunate creatures had then been two days without water ; and of 
oonrse the ones who escaped, some 60 or 70 more, must have been in the 
same plight They would have, at least, 80 miles to maroh before they 
could hope to rwh either food or water, so most of them must have left 
their bones on the road. 

*The Arabs, on being chased by a msn-of-war, invariably tell their 
wretched cargo that the English will out their throats and eat them, and 
by these means succeed in making tbem ruu away when tbe dhow is run 
on shore. The saddest of all sights is to see the bodies of the little 


children washing ahout in the surf. I have seen the rough Blue-jackets 
almost crying whilst picking up the bodies before burying them. 

* I have watched the slave-ships come into Zanzibar harbour, under the 
very gnns of the English men-of-war (which, in consequence of our treaty 
with the Saltan, were powerless to touch them), and discharge their 
wretched cargoes at the Custom-house. The vessels were brought as close 
to the shore as possible, generally grounding in four feet of water, and then 
the slaves shoved overboard and left to struggle on shore the best way they 
ooold. Many of the poor wretches were so utterly exhausted, that on 
reaching the shore they fell down on the sand, some of them never to rise 
again ; their masters looking on, affording them no help, and merely wait- 
ing to see whether it was worth while to pay the custom dues for them or 
not. If it appeared to them that their case was hopeless, they were left to 
die where they fell, or to be drowned by the incoming tide. All this I 
have seen myself, and on remonstrating with their owners and some of the 
Custom-house people, have been only laughed at for my pains. As long as 
the Government allow the Sultan to carry on the slave-trade such scenes 
will always exist.' — Pi-ivate Letter, 

Those who survive this voyage are sold either to private 
dealers or in the open market of Zanzibar. To describe this 
last abomination, what can be added to the words of the Hon. 
C. Vivian before the Committee of the House of Commons ? 
'I visited the slave-market here yesterday, and a more 
painful and disgusting sight I never saw. Hundreds of poor 
negroes of both sexes ranged about in all sorts of conditions, 
some living skeletons, others fat and well dressed, pulled 
about with a crook stick, and examined just like sheep or 
other animals in a market.'* From this market are dis- 
tributed first those who are needed to supply the internal 
wants of the dominions of the Sultan of Zanzibar. But these 
.form a small proportion of the whole number. Mr. Vivian, 
Sir Leopold Heath, and others, estimate the whole number of 
slaves annually exported from Zanzibar as amounting to 
20,000; whilst the number retained within the Zanzibar 
territory does not exceed 1700. Here, then, begins a new set 
of horrors for these miserable creatures. The export trade is 

* * Uou«e of Commons Report/ p. 13, Ans. 186. 


a violation of the treaty obligations of Zanzibar with Great 
Britain; and the cruisers of Her Majesty watch for the 
slave-dhows, and, if possible, capture them. This of necessity 
entails on the wretched Africans all the horrors of being the 
living subjects of a contraband trade — greater crowding on 
shipboard, less provisions taken, with the probable chance, if 
the slave-dhow is sighted by a British cruiser, that the slaves 
will be thrown overboard to prevent the condemnation of 
the vessel. Here we may end our inquiries into this dark 
history. With the after-expatriation and foreign servitude 
of those who reach the Arabian, Persian, and Muscat slave- 
markets we have not directly to do. It suffices for our 
purpose to have shown this accursed traffic devastating and 
depopulating Africa, making impossible its civilization or 
conversion, destroying the possibility of lawful commerce, 
and inflicting upon its immediate victims, in their convoy to 
the coast, in their voyage from Kilwa, and in their ultimate 
transportation to the shores of Asia, an amount of helpless, 
hopeless suffering, from the thought of which humanity 

But then arises the question. What have we to do with 
this system of iniquity ? When the eloquence of William 
Wilberforce awoke against the slave-trade from the Wjest 
Coast of Africa, it was against the crime of his own country- 
men thai he inveighed. It was to purge from this deep 
criminality the commerce of our own land that he devoted 
his life to the cause of abolition. This, it is urged, was our 
own concern.* But what right have we to constitute our- 
selves the curators of the purity of Arabian commerce, or to 
trouble ourselves as to the slave-trading iniquities of the 
Im&m of Muscat or the Sultan of Zanzibar ? There is some- 
thing plausible in the argument ; and addressing itself, as it 
does, to the practical mind of Englishmen, which, in spite of 
occasional paroxysms of enthusiasm, naturally revolts at all 


mere Quixotic undertakings, it is likely, if it is not answered, 
to bang as a drag upon any national efforts to put down this 
trade. Can it, then, be answered ? We have no doubt that 
it can, and will proceed to allege what seem to us convincing 
answers to it 

In the first place, we are nationally concerned in this trade. 
Dr, Livingstone — no slight authority upon the matter — asserts 
positively that the trade is absolutely maintained by the 
capital of our East Indian subjects. In one of his letters, 
just published by the Foreign Office, Livingstone says : — 

* The subject to which I beg to draw your attention, is the pari, which 
the Banians of Zanzibar, who are protected British subjects, play in carry- 
ing on the slave-trade in Central Africa. The Banian British subjects have 
long been, and are now, the chief proiMigators of the Zanzibar slave-trade ; 
their money, and often their muskets, gunpowder, balls, flints, beads, brass- 
wire, and calico, are annually advanced to the Arabs, at enormous interest, 
for the murderous work of slavery, of the nature of which every Banian is 
fully aware. Having mixed much with the Arabs in the interior, I soon 
learned the whole system that is called *' Gutchee,** or Banian trading, is 
simply marauding and murdering by^the Arabs, at the instigation and 
by the aid of our Indian fellow-subjects. The canny Indians secure 
nearly all the proOts of the caravans they send inland, and very adroitly 
let the odium of slavery rest on their Arab agents. As a rule, very few 
Arabs could proceed on a trading expedition unless supplied by the Banians 
with arms, ammunition, and goods. ... It strikes me that it is well I 
have been brought face to face with the Banian system, that inflicts enor- 
mous evils on Central Africa. Gentlemen in India who see only the wealth 
brought to Bombay and Cutch, and know that the religion of the Banians 
does not allow them to harm a fly, very naturally conclude that all Cutchecs 
may safely he intrusted with the possession of slaves, but I have been 
forced to see that those who shrink from killing a flea or a mosquito are 
virtually the tvorst cannibals in all Africa. The Manyema cannibals, 
amongit whom I spent nearly two years, are innocents compared with 
our protected Banian fellownsubjects. By their Arab agents, they compass 
the destruction of more human lives in one year than the Manyema do for 
their fleshpots in ten; and could the Indian gentlemen who oppose the 
anti'Slave trade policy of the Foreign Office but witness the horrid deeds 
done by the Banian agents they would be foremost in decreeing that every 
Cutchee found guilty of direct slavery should forthwith be shipped back 
to India, ifnot to the Andaman Islands.' — Liviny9totie*8 DupaUhcs, 


Now whilst it ia not entirely correct to dass^ as this letter 
doefl^ the inhabitants of Oatoh, who are not British subjects, 
but the subjects of a protected State, with our actual fellow- 
snbjeots in Bombayi yet the force of the argument that the 
orimioality of the trade is natioDa.lIy ours remams altogether 
unshaken, whilst Bombay merchants and Bombay capital are 
really maintaining these horrors in Central Africa. , And 
even as to the Cutchees themselves, the charge of moral 
oomplicity lies undoubtedly at our door ; for there can be no 
doubt whatever that we could at once, if we so desired, con* 
elude a treaty with the ruler of Cutch and the other protected 
States, which would bring their subjects under the operation 
of our own anti-slave-trade laws. Indeed the more accurately 


we estimate the full extent and character of this Banian 
trade, the more clear becomes the case by which our moral 
complicity with it is established. The Indian traders gene- 
rally known as * Banians ' are of several castes and classes. 
Some are Hindoos, of various sections of the great trading 
castes, who may be termed 'Banians' proper; others a)*e 
Mahomedans of various sects, generally reckoned heretical 
by the more orthodox, and retaining some rites and pecu- 
liarities which are accounted for by the tradition that their 
ancestors were Hindoo traders converted to Islam, many of 
whose old Hindoo customs they retain. But all these various 
sections of the'' Banian'' community have many points in 


The whole trade of the East African Coast passes through 
their hands. They are to be found, in greater or smaller 
numbers, at every port on the coast, as far south as Delagoa 
Bay ; numerous and influential in the ports under the Sultan 
of Zanzibar, more sparingly in the Portuguese ports. They 
collect from the native traders all the country produce for 
export, and prepare it by packing, sorting, &c., for sale to the 
European merchants on the coast, or for direct export to 


India, and other foreign parts. In like manner they are the 
immediate customers of the European or American importer 
of foreign produce, purchasing his goods wholesale, and pre- 
paring them for the native markets. There is very little 
trade between Europe, America, or Asia, with East Africa, 
which does not pass through the hands of some branch of the 
Banian community. From their knowledge of local customs 
and language they are on that coast necessary intermediaries 
in all commercial transactions between Africans and foreigners. 
They have long held this position. The oldest historical 
records relating to the East African Coast testify to their 
presence, and apparently to their monopoly of all foreign 
trade. When the Portuguese first doubled the Cape, they 
found Indian Banians established, and possessing all the 
trade — then very great — at every large port. It was they 
who taught Yasco de Gama and his successors the secret of 
the easy approach to India by the aid of the trade- winds. 

But, in spite of this long possession of the coast-trade, the 
head-quarters of all these trading communities are in India : 
thence their capital comes ; and thither the accounts of their 
trade are periodically transmitted. There reside all the 
heads of the firm ; almost without exception at some Indian 
emporium ; whilst the younger men, who are for the time 
resident on the Airiean Coast, are either British subjects, or 
are under some sort of British consular protection. This last 
element must be thoroughly apprehended, in order to estimate 
aright our moral responsibUity as to the slave-trade. What, 
then, we mean is this : the ofiScial aid of the British repre- 
sentative is continually needed by these traders. It can, too, 
be almost always secured. The different members of the 
'Banian* community are so closely connected, that almost 
every one has some unquestionably British subject with whom 
he is so identified in partnership or interest that, through him, 
the influence of the British official can be secured. Now, as 


all the strings of commerce — that of France, Germany, 
America^ as well as our own — pass through the hands of 
Banian traders, who lean continually not only along the 
African Coast, but through all parts of India nearer to their 
homes, on the goodwill and aid of British officials, we have, in 
£Etct, an overpowering hold upon the whole community, and 
cannot possibly escape the responsibility which the possession 
of this power involves as to all the trade which so greatly 
depends for its existence upon our protection. The argu- 
ment, then, that this Eastern slave-trade is no concern of 
ours, and that the zeal of England against the Western 
cannot properly bum as hotly against the Eastern, is abso- 
lutely false in its very first proposition. We are nationally 
engaged in the perpetration of these wrongs ; our own com- 
merce is defiled, and the moral purpose which extinguished 
the Western should never rest until it has swept away utterly 
from us the contamination of the Eastern trade. 

But further, we cannot, in other respects also, cast off 
the responsibility in this matter, which follows by necessary 
consequence from the maintenance of our Indian Empire. 
Paradoxical as it sounds, there is great truth in the assertion 
that the Queen of England rules over the greatest Mahome- 
dan kingdom on the earth. Whilst we continue to govern 
India the moral consequences of the acts which flow from the 
necessary effects of our maintaining that empire come back 
uith all their responsibility upon us. And as to the Eastern 
slave-trade, certain political conditions of our imperial rule 
bring this specially home to us. For this Indian dominion, 
as it has mixed us directly up with so many Oriental 
dynasties, so it haa specially connected us with the rulers of 
those states which form the basis of the internal African 
slave-trave, and from whose poi-ts the victims of the trade 
are shipped and re-shipped. We have long cultivated the 
friendship of the ruler of Muscat,— the superior State, of 


which Zanssibar was formerly a conquered dependency. The 
old Imam, Syud Saeed, father of the present sovereigns of 
Muscat and Zanzibar, was a special friend of ours ; faithful 
to usy and supported warmly by us. His death left an open 
question between his two sons Syud Thoweynee and Syud 
Majeed as to their succession to their father's sovereignty. 
War was imminent between the two chieftains. It has 
always been our policy to prevent such wars, which, besides 
their other necessary evils, have in those Eastern lands a 
constant tendency to degenerate into piracy, — the enemy of 
all commerce and civilization, which it has been a part of our 
special efforts to suppress. We accordingly intervened, 
suggesting that the two Princes, instead of settling their 
dispute by arms, should refer the question to the arbitration 
of the Governor-General of India. The arbitration was ac- 
cepted, and war between the two Princes prevented. The 
history of the conduct of this arbitration, the questions which 
it raised, and the mode of their settlement, is not only most 
interesting in itself, but some knowledge of it is almost 
essential to understanding the intricacy of our connection 
with the Oriental dynastic question, and so to our compre- 
hending our real responsibility as to all that flows from it. 
We will, then, give a slight sketch of the entanglement aiid 
its solution. 

The islands of Zanzibar, Mombasa, and Pemba, with Eilwa, 
and other places on the coast of Africa, were not originally 
part of the dominions of Omfin, but were taken from the 
Portuguese, between 1680 and 1698, by Syud bin Sultan, 
the Imfim of Muscat. The Imam was the chief of the Arab 
tribes of Omfin in Arabia, and, beyond his character of 
temporal ruler, was invested in their eyes with a certain 
sanctity, not indeed as possessing any direct religious autho- 
rity, but as having a religious fitness to rule over pious 
Moslems ; so that Im&m may not improperly be translated, 


as it i9 by Burton, ^ the Prinoe-Priest* SnccemTe Im&ms, 
in yirtue of their auocession to the rule of Om&o, were also 
the rulers of 2!anzibar and the other African settlements. 
The Im&m Syud Saeed, or as other writers Anglicize the 
Arab name, Sayyed Said, who. succeeded to the seat of 
empire early in this century, was a man of very superior 
abilities both in war and in civil administration. For his 
personal gallantry, in 1820-21, he received a sword of I 

honour from the Governor-General of India; whilst he 
refused in successiye years grants of money which we offered 
to him for the aid he gave us in the suppression of the slave- 
trade. By his force of character and by his success he both 
added to his African territories and consolidated greatly the 
dominion which he had inherited from his father, who, 
though he had nominally conquered the African provinces, 
had done little more for establishing his rule over them. He 
reigned for no less than fifty years. Though Muscat was the 
cradle and the head of his rule, yet, perceiving that Zanzibar 
was the living and flourishing part of his possessions, he, 
about 1840,* fixed his own residence there and made it the 
seat of government. By this step he greatly weakened his 
hold over the tribes of Om&n; but, on the whole, his ad- 
ministration was eminently successful, especially as regarded 
the African provinces. He induced many Arabs from Om&n 
to settle in them, and he promoted agriculture and com- 
merce; he broke down the monopoly which had crippled 
trade; concluded, in 18*35, a commercial treaty with the 
United States of America, which thus early discovered the 
riches of the country in ivory, copal, and hides ; four years 
later he received a British consul, and in 1844 concluded a 
treaty of commerce with the French,- and received a consul 
from that nation. 
The fruit of these enlightened views was seen at once in 

* Mr. Burton places thii as early m 1832. 


tlie growing prosperity of Zanzibar, which he found a mere 
line of huts and converted into a commercial town. So 
successful was he in this, that, whilst Zanzibar was described 
in 1884 as haying little or no trade, it possessed in 1859 a 
trade which was estimated at 1,664,5777. sterling, with a 
revenue increasing at a proportionate rate. With a view, 
doubtless, to retahiing the sovereignty in his own immediate 
family, he had in his lifetime appointed his second son 
Khaled — passing wholly over the eldest — to be Governor of 
the African provinces, and his third son, Thoweynee, to the 
government of Muscat On the death of Ehaled, in 1854, 
he placed a younger brother, Majeed, as his successor in the 
Government. In 1856 the wise old chief was gathered to 
his fathers in the odour of Mahomedan sanctity, bequeathing, 
in his last will and testament, * 500 dollars to whoever washes 
his body with the washing of the departed. Also 1000 
expiatory prayers, each expiatory prayer to be of the value 
of what will feed 60 poor people. Also remuneration to 
whosoever shall fast for him for the space of 50 months, in 
lieu of what was incumbent on himself for his transgression 
of the fast of the months of Bamadh&n. Also remuneration 
to whoever shall perform in his stead the pilgrimage of the 
Mussulmans to the Holy House of God, which is in the 
renowned Mecca, and shall visit in his stead the tomb of our 
prophet Mahommed, upon whom be peace. Written by the 
hand of the vile Saeed.' * 

When 'the hand of the vile Saeed,' as he describes it, 
rested -in his honoured tomb, his two sons — Thoweynee, the 
elder, and Majeed, the younger — were in possession of the 
governments respectively of Oman and of Zanzibar; and, 
according to the old man's desire, each after his death 
retained the governorship of his own province. At that time 
Syud Majeed paid to his brother Thoweynee 40,000 dollars : 

* 'House of Commons Report,' Appendix, 1S71. 


of brotherly affection and to equalize the inheritance, as he 
afterwards ayerred ; as a tribute from Zanzibar as dependent 
upon Hu8oat> as was alleged by Thoweynee. It was but for 
a very short time that a good understanding existed between 
the two brothers, for, as early as 1859, the British Resident 
learnt that Syud Thoweynee was preparing by force of arms 
to dispossess Majeed, and unite the Asiatic and African pro- 
vinces again into one dominion under his own rule. Accord- 
ing to what we have already said has always been a wise part 
of our policy, namely, the preyention of such wars, which not 
only disturb the surrounding tribes, but have also an inevi- 
table tendency to degenerate into piracy, and so, by a two- 
fold operation, to interfere with that, progress of commerce 
and ciyilization which it is our interest as well as our duty to 
promote,-^we set ourselyes to prevent this fraternal conflict. 
Propositions were accordingly made to both the brothers that 
the questions between. them should be submitted to the arbi* 
tration of the Gk>vemor-General of India instead of to the 
issue of arms. Both consented, and the inquiry into their 
claims began. In order to adjust them, it became necessary 
to decide whether the old chief had in fact devolved either 
sovereignty on his successor; whether, if he had, he was by 
the laws and customs of Om&n entitled to do so ; whether 
the elder prince had rights of primogeniture which he could 
claim ; whether Thoweynee ruled by election of the tribes of 
Om&n ; whether a like right of electing tlieir sovereign ruler 
had devolved upon the Arab tribes in Africa, and had been 
in like manner exercised in favour of Majeed ; and whether 
the 40,000 dollars were paid as tribute-money, or as an 
equalizing gift. On all these points papers, admirable for 
their learning and judgment, were supplied by Brigadier 
Coghlan and the Bev. P. Badger ; and the questions having 
travelled up through the Bombay Government to the Viceroy 
of India, were solemnly settled by Lord Canning, in a judg- 


ment to which both parties submitted, and which ruled that 
each should retain his own dominion, and ' that the annual 
payment of the 40,000 dollars should be continued by Syud 
Majeed to his brother of Muscat, not as a tribute from a 
dependent state, btit as an equitable adjustment of the un- 
equal value of their several inheritances. So far our inter- 
ference had adjusted these difficult relations. But one of 
those revolutions which belong to Oriental kingdoms threw 
all again into confusion. Syud Thowejmee was assassinated 
by his own son, who then usurped his father's dominion, but 
was soon driven out by a new pretender. Syud Majeed 
refused to pay the 40,000 dollars to the parricidal assassin 
of his brother, but paid it into the hands of the Bombay 
Goveniment; who, now that the second usurper had been 
dispossessed, and another son of our old ally, Syud Saeed 
seated on the throne, will doubtless hand over to him the 
stipulated sum which the ruler of Zan2;ibar paid the Im&m 
of Muscat 

No intermixture. with the affairs, of another people and 
government can be more, evident or closer than; < air this. 
And it is as a part of this ^stem of direct interference with 
the internal affairs of these governments that treaties were 
concluded with us which professed to limit the slave-trade of 
Zanzibar and to prohibit that of Muscat. The Sultan of 
Zanzibar bound himself to enforce, and to allow us to enforce, 
within his own .waters these limiting conditions of the trade. 
JFIere, then, we are met by facts which establish beyond all 
doubt our moral responsibility as to this detestable traffic. 
We have constituted ourselves in, the eyes of Heaven, and of 
the world, the protector of the Negro, and we cannot shake 
off at will the responsibility which such a protectorship 
involves. We are bound, if the treaties we have made are 
shamelessly evaded, or are ridiculously inadequt^te for their 
declared purpose, to reconsider and revise. them. Even 



farther than this, if these treaties haye been so eyaded as to 
allow of the oontinnanoe and eyen increase of the trade which 
ihey were intended at first to limits and ultimately to destroy, 
whilst we find by experience that they tend, through their 
recognition of the slaye-trade within certain prescribed boun- 
daries, to giye to it even the semblance of a legal character 
which it would not otherwise possess, we are absolutely bound 
by every principle of national obligation to insist upon so 
altering the treaties we have made as to prevent their 
sheltering the abominations they were intended to root out. 
So that here again we are brought back to the same conclu- 
sion: we are nationally bound to take in hand the just 
demands of our acknowledged clients, and, before we can be 
ourselves blameless in the matter, to do for them all that the 
acceptance of such dientship involves. The judgment which 
is formed by those upon the spot, even though their interest 
is at stake in the preservation of the trade, as given to us in 
the vigorous words of Admiral Cockbum, can scarcely be 
read without a blush. *I assure your Lordships it is a 
matter of sneer and jeer by the Arabs, our impotent attempts 
to stop that horrible abomination. Yes, my Lords, even the 
Sultan says the English will talk and bully, but can't, or 
won't, stop the trade,* * 

But we venture to say that there is an obligation upon us 
to root out this crying eVil from off the face of the earth, 
which rests upon foundations deeper, .we had almost said 
more awful, than any of those on which we have yet touched. 
It is with nations as it is with individuals. Great talents 
call for great achievements. There is a reckoning for their 
use to which He who entrusts them summons every one who 
receivies them at His hand. In one sense this is even more 
true and more apparent as to nations than as to indi- 
vidual men. For whilst there is a future retribution for the 

* * House of Commoni Report/ Evidence, Answer 176. 


indiyidaal, there can be no future life to nations, and so their 
retribution is hera Like almost all retribution^ it is slow 
but it is sure. The pages of history, which record the down- 
fiftll of once powerful peoples, is but the tracing out of the 
fulfilment of the doom — > 

* Raro snteoedentem Boelestum 
Deaeruit pede poBoa daudo.' 

Self-destroyed, out down by strokes of the axe of vengeance 
which their own hands ha?e edged and wielded, have the 
mighty ones of the forest^ whose shadow was cast over half a 
subject-world, one by one fallen and perished. Like the 
Jewish people, they ' knew not the day of their visitation/ 
They have ceased to fulfil the purpose for which they were 
raised up, and, even through their own instrumentality, the 
hand of Him that felleth has been lifted up against them. 
Pre-eminently has this been the case when nations have com- 
prehended their mission, have undertaken to discharge it, 
have gone some way in fulfilling it^ and then have fainted in 
their course. The Boman empire broke in pieces when the 
Boman people ceased to be the world's subduers for that 
world's natural regeneration ; when they fought their battles 
with hired soldiers and conquered only to fill Borne fuller 
with the vices of the vanquished and the luxury of the sub- 

And Great Britain has, before God and man, accepted the 
championship of the negro race, and taken up the man- 
stealer^s gauntlet, and borne it high on her helmet, with the 
declaration that the slave-trade shall be abolished. In ten 
thousand British hearts the accomplishment of ,this deliver- 
ance of humanity has been accepted as a religious duty ; it 
has mingled with their prayers, it has exalted their personal 
religion out of the selfishness with which, alas ! it too can be 
infected, into a noble and beneficent enthusiasm ; it has 

X 2 


elevated low and commonplace minds — as the possession of 
one grand idea acted on only can — to a nobleness of passion ; 
ajid it has diffused itself as an indwelling spirit through a 
generation. It raised Henry Brongham against precedent, 
and almost beyond belief^ to the representation of Yorkshire ; 
it lent a glory to the foreign administration of Lord Paltner- 
ston ; it did exalt the generation who accepted the charge, 
^d brought the charge they had accepted to a triumphant 
issue. The evil has broken out again ; the same evil, cursed 
with the same destruction of life, the same infliction of utter 
misery on its innocent victims, the same stem and heartless 
prohibition pf civilization and new life to the continent our 
fathers pledged themselves to deliver from, its abomination. 
Woe unto, us if we do not secure the fulfilment of their 
pledges and claim, the inheritance of their deeds of light ! 
The peculiar danger of a high and general civilization is, 
that selfishness should eat. out the\cement of society, whilst 
luxury, like some wasting rot, saps the strength of its foun- 
dation-stones. The presence of this insidious but mighty 
danger to the national life was no doubt what dictated to 
the prescient mind of Lord Bacon the statement that * in the 
growth of a state, arms do flourish ; in the middle of a state, 
learning ; and then both of them together for a time ; in the 
decline of a state, mechanical arts and merchandise/* 

Now, for a people who are, from the very fact of their 
great material prosperity, of necessity exposed to such a 
danger, there can be hardly any other safeguard equally sure 
apd ready as the taking up, with a thorough purpose of 
heart, soine cause which possesses strongly the character of 
unfiielfishnees, which embodies in itself some high principle 
of humanity, and which presents itself for accomplishment, 
not of a mere Quixotic seeking, but as the natural accom- 
paniment of its natural condition. Everything declares that 

* Bacon's < Essay on the Vicissitudes of Tilings.* 


from exactly such outward circumstances, under such condi- 
tions, is this cause offered to us : let us fear to turn aside 
from it, lest another take it, and we, with our own faint- 
hearted consent^ be put into the lower room. Let us under- 
take it as our predecessors undertook the like cjiarge when 
it was laid on them ; let us heartily resolve to take no rest 
until it is accomplished; and most surely it may well be for 
tlie lengthening of our prosperity that we have undertaken 
its charge. This is the conclusion reached by no sanguine 
and enthusiastic advocates of universal intervention in the 
cause of philanthropy, but by the calm wisdom of the 
Governor of Bombay, Sir G. Clerk, and his Council, who 
solemnly * resolved*: — ^*The Honourable the Governor in 
Council is certain that the details furnished by Brigadier 
Coghlan as to the extent to which the slave-trade is carried 
on on the East Coast of Africa, will convince the British 
Government, which has ever been the chief instrument by 
which Providence has curbed this inhuman traffic, that its 
work is not completed.'* 

It remains for lis but to indicate briefly what appear to us 
to be the instruments which we should use in carrying out 
this great crusade. 

Of these, the first appears to be that wo should indeed 
make it a true crusade. The purchasers of these slaves are 
now all of them Moslem. Yet whilst this is so, we are 
reminded, in the Translator's Preface to M. Berlioux's work, 
that the Mahomedan Faith, whilst it does not forbid slavery, 
gives no countenance to man-stealing. In the firman on tho 
Circassian slave-trade, in 1854, the Sultan, * so far from offer- 
ing any defence of slavery on the ground of the Ottoman 
Faith, uses these remarks on the religious bearing of ihc 
question: "Man is the most noble of all the creatures Goil 
has formed, in making him free ; selling people is contrary 

* MIousc of Coinraous Report,' p. 122. 


to the will of the Soyereign Oreator." ' The Pasha of Egypt 
spoke of slavery * as a horrible institutioii, inconsistent with 
civilization and humanityi and that, therefore, it most be 
abolished/ Whilst the Shah of Persia, who raised some 
religious objections to the abolition of the slave-trade, was 
met by the opinions obtained from six of his chief MooUahs, 
who declared * Selling male and female slaves is an abomina- 
tion according to the most noble Faith, ** the worst of men is 
the seller of men *'— tradition of Mahomet — God it is who 
knows.'* What then we have to do in this matter is to bring 
onr Moslem brethren up to the more humane standard even 
of their own Faith and to the tradition of their founder. 
What cause can be more worthy of the united action of 
Ohristendom, than the extirpation of this abominable wicked- 
ness ? To accomplish this end, we need not arms and vio* 
lence, like the Orusaders of old, but the noble warfare of 
bringing moral force to bear upon nations who are below us 
in religion, morality, and civilization. * Turkey,' says the 
Hon. 0. Vivian, in his evidence before the House of Com- 
mons, * is always ready to do what we ask her, when we show 
her the particular point.' t What more encouraging state of 
relations than this? Persia has shown herself even more 
ready to second our views in this matter. The Shah has 
issued two firmans, one to the Oovemor of Fars and another 
to the Oovemor of Ispahan and Persian Arabia, peremptorily 
forbidding the introduction of negroes by sea into Persia. 
The firman recites, that at the request of Great Britain, 
* with a view to preserve the existing friendship between the 
two exalted States, a decree should be issued from the Source 
of Magnificence, the Shah, that hereafter the importation of 
the negro tribes by sea should be forbidden, and this traffic 
be abolished.' Nor would the Government of the Shah allow 

• Ans. 167. 
t Preface to * Slave-trade in Africa/ by M. fierlionx, p. vi. 


any trifling with this abolition of the trade, for the firman 
continues : — 

' In oonaequenoe of thU it is ordered and ordained that, High«in-rank, 
after perusing this firman, which is equal to a decree of fate, will feel it 
incumbent on him to issue positiye and strict injunctions to the whole of 
the dealers in slaves who trade by sea, that henceforth by sea alone the 
importation and exportation of negroes into the Persian dominions is 
entirely forbidden, but not by land. Not a single individual will be 
permitted to bring negroes by sea without being subjected to. severe punish- 

* That High-in-rank must in this matter give peremptory orders through- 
out his Government, and not be remiss.' — Appendix to ffou$e of Commona 
Beport^ pp. 98, 99. 

Beyond this the Persian Government has testified in the 
highest degree its sincerity in the matter, by permitting 
British ships of war, in order to prevent the chance of negro 
slaves being imported, to search all Persian vessels which are 
not Government vessels, the Persian Government pledging 
itself that— 

* In no manner whatever shall any negro slave be imported in the vessels 
of the Persian Government. Treaties to the same effect have been con- 
cluded by our Government with many of the independent Arab chiefs, who 
have declared that the carrying off of slaves from the coast of Africa and 
elsewhere, and the transporting them in vessels is plunder and piracy, and 
the friendly Arabs shall do nothing of this nature.' 

Further, they have also conceded to us the right of search 
in the amplest manner, agreeing that if these vessels ' come 
under the suspicion of being employed in the stealing 
and embarkation of slaves,' they may be detained and 
searched whenever and wherever they may be fallen in with 
by the cruisers of the British Government, and upon its 
being ascertained ' that the crews have stolen and embarked 
slaves, these vessels shall be liable to seizure and confisca- 
tion by the said cruisers.' * 

In like manner the Queen of Madagascar binds herself in 

* * House of CommoDs Report/ App. p. 100. 


the strongeat maimer to do all in her power to prevent all 
traflSo in slayesi * being greatly desirous of effecting the total 
abolition of the trade/ * 

With the Im&m of Muscat and the Sultan of Zanzibar 
treaties or agreements have been made, with a view to 
restricting the internal slave-trade and extinguishing the 
foreign ; of the observance of these we must speak pre- 
sently, but, so far as a professed acquiescence in our views 
goes, tbey leave little to be desired as regards the export of 
slaves to Asia :-— 

* In deference to the wiiibes of her Majesty and the British nation • . . 
His HigbnesB the Saltan of Masoat engages to prohibit, under the severedt 
penalties, the export of slaves from his African dominions, and their import- 
ation from any pari of Africa into his provinces in Asia, and to use his 
influence with all the chiefs of Arabia, the Red Sea, and the Persian Gulf, 
in like manner to prevent the introduction of slaves from Africain to their 
respective territories.' — Ajfpetidix to Hau$e of CommonB Beport, p. 163. 

Finally, he permits the seizure and conflscation by our 
cruisers of all vessels bearing slaves, except between the 
allowed limits of the internal trade in the port of Lamoo to 
the north of Eeeluha or Eilwa to the south. 

The first instrument, then, we would see used is an agree- 
ment amongst all the maritime Christian powers to enforce, 
and where necessary to amend, these treaties. It is emi- 
nently the interest, as it is the duty, of the mercantile 
powers both of Europe and America to unite in this true 
crui>ade. * The natural products of Africa would enrich 
greatly the European and American markets. There is no 
limit to the increase of this trade, if only the slave-trade 
were abolished. Livingstone's last discoveries show us that 
there exist, outside that fire-line of death with which the 
raan-st'^aler marks his progress, tribes of a far higher physi- 
cjil and moral class than the more degnwled specimens along 

♦ * House of Commona Ufport/ App. p. 105. 


the coast-line whom we are accustomed to regard as the true 
specimeus of the Africau race. All of these are devoted to 
commerce/ and would welcome its legitimate develop- 
ment: — 

* Markets,* says LivingstoDe, ' are held at stated times, aod the women 
attend them in large numbers, dressed in their best. They are keen traders, 
and look on the market as a great institution ; to haggle, and joke, and 
laugh, and cheat, seem the enjoyments of life. I'he population^ especially 
west of the river, is prodigiously large.' — Despatches, p. 9. 

And again, speaking of the cannibal tribe of Manyema : — 

* The women never partake at a cannibal feast, and I am glad of it, for 
many of them far down Lualaba are very pretty ; they bathe three or four 
times a day, and are expert divers for oysters.' 

'The men smelt iron from the black oxide ore, and arc very good 
smiths ; they also smelt copper from the ore, and make largo ornaments 
very cheaply. They are generally fine, tall, strapping fellows, far supe- 
rior to the Zanzibar slaves ; and nothing of the West Coast negro, from 
whom our ideas of Africans are chiefly derived, appears amongst thcni ; 
no prognathous jaws, barn-door mouth, nor lank heels are to be seen. . . . 
They use long spears in the thick vegetation of their country with great 
dexterity, and they have told me frankly, what was self-evident, that but 
for the fire-arms, not one of the Zanzibar slaves or half-casts would ever 
leave their country. . • • The people are industrious, and most of them 
cultivate the soil Urgely, We found them everywhere honest.' — Ibid. 

Even with its present hindrances, the trade of England 
with Zanzibar is increasing every day. The Hamburg and 
French houses send their vessels direct to England, and im- 
port into Zanzibar British merchandise. In 18ti7-8 the returns 
from the Zanzibar customs amounted to 433,6937. A large 
trade exists between India and Zanzibar, where 3710 British 
Indians, and subjects of protected States now reside. These, 
however, represent only a very small part of the commercial 
houses which are engaged in the Zanzibar trade. Sir Bartle 
Frere, a witness of the highest order, well explained this to 
the Committee of the House of Commons : — 

' Almost all the banking business at the (torts at Zanzibar and Muscat is 
done by natives of India, who have their homes in Soindc, Kurrachco, 


Kntoh, KattewM and Bombay, and aome aa far aouth aa Gananore and 
Cochin. They never take their families to Africa. The head of the house 
of bosineM always remains in India, and their books are balanced periodi- 
cally in India. • . . When you haye that kind of network of indigenous 
activity existing aa a mercantile agency, it is impossible but that the 
traders will be as ready to push legitimate trade as they have proved 
themselves to be in India.* — Evidenee^ p. 453. 

From the same witness we learn that the German trade 
with that coast has become a matter of very great interest 
to all German mercantile men and political economists; 
whilst, until it was interrupted by the war, a large and in- 
creasing trade was maintained between this coast and 

Thus the interests of France, Germany and America coin- 
cide with our own in substituting for the robbery of man that 
legitimate traffic which, by God's appointment, not only 
enriches nations ^ith material prosperity, but bears in- 
evitably with it the seeds of civilization, and with them 
the yet higher blessing of the introduction of the Chris- 
tian Faith. A union of these Christian nations for the 
purpose of puttmg down the slave-trade would be irresis- 
tible. We rejoice, therefore, to gather from Lord Gran* 
ville's reply to the Bishop of Winchester, in the recent 
debate in the House of Lords, that he is bringing all his 
practised skill in diplomacy energetically to bear upon the 
accomplishment of this great result of gathering up the 
moral energies of Western Christendom and of America, to 
deliver Africa from its scourge. This clearly should be the 
first step in this great work. The jealousy of other Euro- 
pean nations, especially of the French, has been a serious 
impediment to our progress. A hearty unanimity amongst 
us would make a common failure impossible. We witness, 
therefore, with joy the stirring of the mind of educated 
France upon this matter. Sf • Berliouz, one of her distin- 
guished professora, has written not only the smaller work 


translated by Mr. Cooper, but a larger volume,* in which he 
thoroughly discusses the whole subject. Nothing can be 
more distinct than his conclusions : — 

' The Eastern slave-trade can no longer be tolerated. ... If Europe is 
earnest, . • • she will prevent the transport of all slaves, and will, as a 
consequence, destroy man-hunting. . . . The embarkations which take place 
at Zanzibar under pretext of furnishing the Sultan*s ships, will quickly bo 
suppressed when the British Government shall have renounced those 
unfortunate treaties.' *It is for Christian powers, forgetting their 
dififerences, putting aside their jealousies, . . . and engaging with firm- 
ness of purpose in the great work, to bring the force of a united public 
opinion to bear upon the gigantic evil, when, with the blessing of God, it 
will disappear from the earth.*t 

Amongst the Powers whose joint action should be secured, 
we have not named Portugal ; and yet surely we may hope 
that the time is come when Portugal also might be included in 
80 beneficent a Confederation. No country has so direct and 
vast an interest in stopping the East African slave-trade as 
Portugal. The enormous natural resources of her South 
African territories would be at once developed if the slave- 
trade were suppressedi and the restrictions on commerce, 
which are the evil legacy of her old slave-markets, were 
swept away. Her coal-mines alone would be an inexhaus- 
tible supply of national wealth. If the life of the late King 
had been prolonged, there can be no doubt that this would 
have been his action. And it is nqt too much to hope that 
with the general enlightenment of the nation, her Govern- 
ment may co-operate with Europe and America in substitut- 
ing a wholesome conmierce for this trade in degradation and 

Second only in importance to this, we hold the next step 
to be to enforce upon our own Indian subjects, and, by means 
of agreement, upon the subjects of the protected Indian 
States, an absolute separation of every kind and degree from 

* * Tlie Slave-trade/ &c. - f M. Berlioui, pp. 62-64. 


pariicipatioii in the trade. The Act 5 Geo. lY. a 118, gives 
to our Bombay Governinent all the power which it can need 
to enforce such an abstinence ; and perfect, uninistakeable 
separation of our own subjects from the trade must be the 
first step to convince the Arabs, under whose jeers we now 
rest, that we are in thorough earnest in the matter. Every 
British subject taking any part, direct or indirect, in the 
trade, is guilty of felony ; and if this is distinctly known, 
and it is known also that every effort will be made by our 
Bombay Government to trace home to the offender any such 
act, and if need be, to punish it with the utmost rigour of 
the law, we shall at once have done much to destroy the 
infamous traffic For Dr. Livingstone is no doubt perfectly 
right in saying that^ whilst the Arabs are ready enough to 
fiud the men who will conduct the actual risks of the trade, 
they have not the wealth necessary to advance the capital 

* It is well known,' he declares in a despatch to Lord Granville, received, 
on the 18th of August of this year, ' that the slave-trade in this country is 
carried on almost entirely with the money of Ludha Damji, the richest 
Hanian in Zanzibar, and that of other Banian British subjects. The Banians 
advance the goods required, and the Arabs proceed inland as their agents, 
lierform the trading or rather murder ; and when slaves and ivory are brought 
to the coast, the Arabs sell the slaves; the Banians pocket the price, aod 
adroitly let the odium rest on their agents.' — Detpaiehes^ p. 10. 

Moreover, as the Customs are farmed at Zanzibar by 
Banians, many of whom are British subjects, or living under 
British protection ; and as a very large proportion of these 
Customs is levied openly and avowedly from the duty on 
slaves here in another way, the subjects of the British 
Crown are mixed directly up with the forbidden trade in its 
most open manifestations. 

Diligence then, fearlessness and, if need be, severity, is 
what this country has an absolute right to demand in this 
matter from the Indian Government. 


A tbinl 'means to which we should have iminediate recourse 
is a revision of our treaty obligations, or agreements, or what- 
ever we may term them, with the rulei*s of Muscat and 
Zanzibar. The shameless violation of existing obligations 
by their subjects, even if not connived at by themselves, 
gives us most clearly this right To us it matters not 
whether the Sultans and their governments actually connive 
at the entire neglect by their subjects of the engagements 
which they have, contracted witli us, or whether it be that 
they are altogether powerless to repress what they have 
agreed with us to prevent. Probably both causes are at 
work. But the result is the same : that is not done which 
we have abundant treaty right to require shall be done. 
Lieutenant-Colonel Bigby doubtless does not overstate tho 
ease when he says, * Daily experience more and more con- 
vinces me of the utter impotence of the Sultan of Zanzibar 
to stop the trade, and that the treaties for its suppression 
entered into by the late Tmam and the British Government 
are now and always have been practically null and void.'* 

The way being thus cleared for new treaty engagements, 
the question is what should be the conditions they enforce. 
We have no hesitation in saying that their one leading 
feature should be the absolute prohibition of the slave-trade. 
This should include the abolition of all local slave-markets ; 
the absolute prohibition of the transport of any save domestic 
slaves, duly registered and certified as household servants of 
African or Arabian subjects; and the sweeping away of all 
customs and duties for the public revenue levied upon any 
sale of slaves whatever. We have a perfect right to insist 
upon this : not to dwell on treaty obligations, the shameless 
breach of which entitles us to demand compensation, the 
Westeni nations have abstractedly the right to insist on 
sweeping the abomination utterly away. This is no question 

* * House of Commons Report/ Appendix, p. 121. 


of the mere interoal nsages of another people ; if it were, 
however bad we thought them, we shoald transgress the law 
of national right if we oompulsorily changed them. But the 
Arab tribes of Muscat and Zanzibar can have no national 
right to enter countries outside their own dominions to 
kidnap men, women, and children, to bum and destroy 
peaceful villages. We have by solemn legal enactment, as 
well as in a multitude of treaties, declared the slave-trade to 
be piracy, and Christendom has added its seal to our award. 
We have ever held that eyery nation has a right to put 
down piracy in all waters, because piracy is the right of no 
nation, and is a deadly crime against all nationality. Why, 
as a matter of right» should the piracy of these Arab tribes 
bean exception to the universal treatment of the same offence 
elsewhere? Instead of being marked by any mitigating 
circumstances, this piracy is perhaps the rankest specimen of 
the foul brood to which it belongs. ltd area is the widest ; 
its destruction of all lawful commerce is the most complete ; 
the cruelty which is inseparable from it proves it to be the 
most horrible. We have seen what is its track of horror, 
from the capture to the sale in the slave-market of its raiser- 
able tortured victims. What is its climax in that market 
may be read in the words of a letter handed in to the 
Chairman of the House of Commons from Bishop Byan 
(late of Mauritius ) : — 

* They were as naked as un the day of their birth ; some of them with a 
long fork attached to their neck, so arranged that it was impossible for 
them to step forward. . • . Others were chained together in parcels of 
twenty. . . . The keeper of this den utters a hoarse cry : it is the order 
for the merchandise to stand up ; but many do not obey. The chains are 
too short ; the dead and the dying* prevent the living from rising, llie 
dead can say nothing, but what do the dying say ? They say that they are 
dying of hunger. Let us look at some of the details : who is the creature 
that holds tightly in her arms a shapeless object, covered with filthy leaves? 
On looking close, you see it is a woman, holding to her dried-up breast the 
child of which she has just been delivered. . . . And the man who is work- 


ing with his hands a piece of mud, which he is continually putting to his 
eye, what is the matter with him ? Our guide tells us " he is a t)x>uble- 
some fellow, who sets a bad example, by throwing himself at my feet this 
morning, and saying with a loud voice, * I am dying of hunger.* I gave 
him a blow which burst his eye; he is henceforth good for nothing; and,** 
he added with a sinister look, " he won't be hungry long.** * — Appendix to 
Sou§e of Commons Report^ p. 110. 

In the name of our common humanity we declare that this 
foulest form of piracy is an insult and injury to God and man ; 
and we claim for civilized Christendom the sacred right of 
taking its victims into her protection, and declaring the 
curse abolished. 

But not only have we the right, we have the power also so 
to do, and are therefore responsible for a gross neglect if we 
refuse to use it. The fiat of England, France, Germany, and 
America has but to be uttered to be obeyed. In fact, the 
Arab mind has for some time been appreliending such a 
result. Lord Falmerston's noble despatch has long since 
been translated into Arabic, and read repeatedly in the 
Durbar to the Sultan. In it the Arab chiefs were warned 
* that the traffic in slaves was doomed to destruction ; that 
Great Britain was the main instrument in the hand of 
Providence for the accomplishment of this object ; that it is 
useless to oppose what is written in the Book of Fate ; that 
the slave-trade shall stop, and that we will be the instruments 
in stopping it.'* 

Some have proposed that, either by purchase or by other 
meanSy we should annex Zanzibar to our dominion. Others 
less violently have proposed that we should free the Sultan 
of Zanzibar from his stipulated payment to the Imam of 
Muscat by taking it upon ourselves. To the first suggestion 
we altogether object. In our judgment the injustice of such 
an act would be as great as its impolicy. Nothing could be 
devised which would throw such a suspicious character over 

* * Houw of Commons Report,' Evidence, pp. 574-583. 


all oar attempts to extirpate the trade or alienate more 
hopelesBly from us those through whose instrumentality and 
aid we must act against it. . But though great names can be 
quoted in support of it, none greater for all reasons than that 
of Sir Bartle Frere^ yet neither do we assent to the second 
proposal ; for though the suppression of the man-stealing 
iniquity would, even for the increase of our lawful commerce, 
be cheaply purchased at the 8000Z. a year which this would 
cost the nation, and though our undertaking such a payment 
might at the first moment remove some difficulties, yet we 
hold that neither right nor necessity requires the sacrifice. 
That we are entitled to demand and not to purchase the 
abolition we haye already shown. And our demand would 
suffice to accomplish it without the addition of a bribe. . 
General Bigby is strongly of opinion that the acceptance of 
such a payment might greatly endanger the Sultan's life, 
lu truthi we have nothing to compound for. We should be 
conferring, in the very destruction of the traffic, an inesti- 
mable boon on Zanzibar. It is true that the head-money 
paid as tribute on each slave must be abandoned. But, 
instead of this, Zanzibar would receive the lawful profitM of 
honourable commerce , (already the customs yield to the 
Sultau 24,0002. a year more than they did twelve years ago), 
, whilst she would be delivered from that influx of the lawless 
northern Arabs whom the slave-trade draws into the country ; 
whose presence makes life uncertain, trade feeble, and the 
paralysing grasp of universal peculation irresistible. Believed 
from this, 'Zanzibar would become a second Singapore or 
Eurrachee for that part of the world.'* 

But, further, not only is the entire abolition of the trade 
the right, but it is the only course. The principles of 
righteousness on which we protest against this trade, make 
any connivance as to it, or any regulation of it, morally 

♦ * House of Commons Report,' Eyidence, p. 970. 


impossible. Aud even if this were not so, experience has 
convinced every one who has been engaged in the attempt to 
check it, that it is impossible to introduce any effective 
restraint upon it whilst its continuance in any shape is per- 
mitted. For, as the House of Commons Committee report^* 
* Any attempt to supply slaves for domestic use in 2ianzibar 
will always be a pretext and cloak for a foreign trade.* It 
must never be forgotten that the whole population, from the 
Sultan's highest ofScer down to the lowest Arab, are person- 
ally interested in defeating all attempts at enforcing any 
restrictive regulations; whilst the restless intriguing and 
treacherous nature of the Arab eminently fit him to succeed 
in such a course. 

Geographical peculiarities, moreover, enforce the conclusion, 
that whilst the trade may undoubtedly be stopped, it cannot 
be regulated. By our present treaty, slaves may be carried, 
without interference from our cruisers, between Eilwa, on 
the south (S. lat. 9^ 2'), and Lamoo, on the north (S. lat. r 57'), 
or along the whole extent of the African territory of Zanzibar. 
The vessels, therefore, which conduct the contraband trade 
can only be stopped after they have cleared out from Lamoo. 
But in these seas, with the help of the unvarying monsoon 
winds, it is, practically speaking, impossible that our cruisers 
should prevent the escape of dhows enough to pay, by the 
high price of the slaves landed on the other shore, for the 
loss of those whom we had captured, or whom, in even greater 
numbers than these, the fear of capture has caused to be 
thrown into the sea. The only way to make the sealing up 
of the coast possible is to allow the seizure of slave-dhows 
everywhere; and for this the trade must not be licensed 
within certain degrees of latitude, but absolutely forbidden 
everywhere. If only this absolute prohibition were required, 
and (Air cruisers were made somewhat more numerous, and 

♦ Page viii. 


were fitted with the steam launches which are essential for 
following the dhows into the creeks and bays in which 
they conceal themselves, the profits of the trade coald be at 
once reduced to a point at which it would no longer pay to 
retain it. 

We are brought to the same conclusion by the absolute 
necessity, of which we have spoken already, of wholly 
divorcing British capital and subjects from partaking in the 
trade. For when we attempt to do this, we are met at once 
by the extreme difficulty, from the indirectness of their con- 
nexion with the trade, of bringing home the offence to those 
who are subject to our laws. Against all avowed participa- 
tion the enactments are stringent and comprehensive enough 
— more stringent than is always convenient to those who, 
with the best intentions, meddle at all with the traffic. 
Captain Fraser furnishes us, in the Letter the title of which 
is prefixed to this article, with a good instance of tliis. He 
was one of a firm who, in 1864, set on foot the cultivation of 
the sugar-cane and the manuiacture of sugar by steam- 
machinery at Zanzibar. For this purpose the firm entered 
into partnership with the late Sultan Syud Majeed. The 
Sultan was to supply 500 unskilled labourers, aUowing, if 
he fell short in his supply, the firm to engage elsewhere the 
number of labourers necessary to complete the stipulated 
complement These labourers were of course, slaves, sent by 
their owner the Sultan, according to the use of Zanzibar, to 
labour for the firm in which he was a partner. This contract 
was certified by the British Consul and Besident, and was 
deolarad afterwards by the Law Officers of the Crown at 
home to have infringed none of our enactments against the 
slave-trade. The co-partnership, however, was by joint oon- 
seut terminated after a few months ; and the firm, havinsr 
obtained the requisite machinery at a large expense, looked 
about for another mode of employing it They first endea- 


voured to obtain free labourers from the Comoro Islands; 
but these would 'steal, and would not work. Then the firm 
fell back again upon the employment of slave labour. But 
this time they entered into a contract with the Arab owners 
of the gangs of porters who were to supply them with slaves 
bound to work for five years, after which they were to obtain 
their freedom. The firm had not perceived the difference 
between entering into partnership with a native who em- 
ployed his own slaves, and undertaking to receive the 
* transfer ' for five years of a gang of slaves to themselves : an 
operation decided by the Law Officers of the Crown to be a 
violation of the Act 5 of George IV. c. 113, Thus the firm 
had involved themselves unawares, and, as Captain Eraser 
argues, with most humane intentions, in a most serious 
violation of the law ; from the penalties of which they 
escaped only by the Sultan manumitting the slaves in ques- 
tion, in consequence of which no penalties were sued for 
against the firm. Captain Fraser casts his uttermost scorn 
on this act of manumission — most unfairly, as it seems to us ; 
and for himself and his firm most ungratefully, as that act of 
prerogative alone delivered them from the very serious com- 
plications in which they had become involved. 

But dangerous as it is for a British subject to connect 
himself in any way directly with the traffic in slaves, yet, to 
bring home the indirect traffic criminally to them is, whilst 
the trade is legal at all, well nigh impossible. The Consul at 
Zanzibar may easily prove that a Banian house there, itself 
a branch of another great house at Bombay, and both of 
them of the very highest commercial character, fitted out a 
caravan for a most respectable Arab merchant, with the 
cloths of Hamburg, or the beads and wire of England and 
America, to go into the interior and trade for ivory. Evil 
rumours may soon abound as to the conduct of the caravan ; 
that its conductors are stirring up wars amongst the inland 

Y 2 


tribes and practising the dave-trade with its most aggravated 
eoormities ; but the Consul is utterly powerless as to inter- 
fering with it After two years, perhaps, the Arab re- 
appears; slaves in numbers, as well as ivory, arrive; who 
are sold for the mainland, whilst some to go to Zanzibar^ 
some to Arabia. It is dear as the sun at noonday that all 
this is the direct fruit of the employment of British capital in 
the felonious trade ; but how can he bring home the guilty 
complicity ? How can he obtain evidence where the whole 
feeling of the place is against any inquiry ? 

Captain Fraser's own letter to the Select Committee of the 
House of Commons is a curious instance of the universality 
of this feeling amongst residents at Zanzibar, In the evi- 
dence given before the Committee, the Bev. Horace Waller 
had deposed that 'the fact of Captain Fraser employing 
slaves led to everlasting murmuring on the part of the 
natives.' 'One morning they would see us burning the 
dhows which were engaged in the slave-trade, and the next 
morning they would see an Englishman working factories 

and plantations with the slaves safely landed The 

poor slaves were hired in gangs from their Arab masters 

It was encouraging the slave-trade.' Our readers will re- 
member Captain Fraser's defence of the transaction. But 
Mr. Waller's evidence stings him to the quick, and he 
'protests against the injustice done him by receiving and 
placing on Parliamentary record such statements,' and claims 
earnestly 'the rehabilitation of his character for the great 
injury done to him/ Captain Fraser, therefore, considers, as 
most Englishmen would, that to be charged with having in 
any way promoted the slave-trade is a brand upon his 
(character. And yet even upon such a mind the effect of a 
residence in the midst of slavery can too plainly be traced in 
the picture which he draws of the slave's life on the planta- 
tions at Zanzibar. It is the old story with which all who 


remember the struggle with West Indian slavery were so 
familiar. The comfort of the slaves, their ease, and the like : 
with, however, incidentally, the terrible admission as to the 
most proliBc race in the world, that 'some children, not 
many, are to be seen amongst them.'* This is * the East 
African slave-trade and its results as viewed by residents in 
Zanzibar.* The vital difference between slavery and freedom, 
— ^the degradation of humanity which is involved in men and 
women being happy because, though the property of a master 
as much as any other of his chattelsi they have a 'good 
supply of poultry and perhaps a goat or two,' — seems almost 
to have faded away from the writer's view. If this is the 
effect of living in such a moral atmosphere upon a high- 
minded British merchant, we may conceive what it must be 
upon the natives of India and Arabia, who live by the 
abominations of the trade, and how impossible it would be 
for the most zealous consul to obtain, in such a state of 
Bociety, evidence which could lead to the conviction of the 
covert slave-trader. 

Only in the fewest instances would it be possible to prove 
the guilt which he knows to exist. Legal slave-trading must, 
whilst it exists, effectually shelter the felonious act, and only 
by the trade being declared universally unlawful, can any 
general attempts to punish British subjects be successful. 
We are brought to the inevitable conclusion: the Sultan 
must be induced to give up a partial protection of the trade. 

But if, without exception of any kind, the transport of 
slaves was absolutely forbidden, all these difficulties would 
cease. Nor would any evil accrue to Zanzibar. The British 
cruisers, acting in concert with the native Goveniment, 
could, without any difficulty, prevent the acts of violence 
which are sometimes apprehended as a consequence of 
abolition from the Northern Arabs. Nor need any difficulty 

* *The Kaat African S1hv« Trade.* &c., p. 17. 


arise as to the sapply of labour. The engagement for their 
manumission after a brief time of servicey made by Captain 
Fraser as to the negroes his firm proposed to hire, might be 
universalt and a term of apprenticeship might terminate in 
freedom. The abolition of slavery would of itself substitute 
the far more useful exertions of free for the proverbial 
idleness of slave-labour ; whilst, if in the Seychelles, at the 
Mauritius, and other places more remote from a labour- 
market, sugar and other exports ctfh be grown without slave- 
labour, far more certainly could they be at Zanzibar. 

When once this new condition of treaty obligation had 
been established, the Gk>Ternor^General of India could act 
upon the. whole Banian community in a way which is now 
. entirely impossible. If the Viceroy could notify, first, to the 
•vast Banian confederacy, some members of which are to be 
found at every emporium of trade in India, and then through 
their respective chieftains (such as the Bao of Cutch, the 
Nawab of Jiftfferabad, and others) that the British Govern- 
ment was in earnest in its intention of suppre&sing the slave- 
trade, and that it would exert its power of punishing any 
Indian subject who might be convicted of participating in 
the traffic, the effect would be seen in every branch of the 
great mercantile community. The effect of such notifications 
in India cannot be overlooked. As in the case of suttee, 
infanticide, and many other ; abominations, the clearly ex- 
pressed will of the Imperial power carries immense weight 
even into the family and counting-house of a Banian subject 
of an independent chief. 

One other suggestion, earnestly pressed by Dr. Livingstone, 
might, moreover, be most usefnlly adopted. He considers 
that the most beneficial measure which could be introduced 
into Eastern Africa would be the moral 'element which has 
done so much for suppressing the Western slave-trade, fie 
quotes the report made by Colonel Ord, and laid before 


Parliament in 1865, as establishing the fact that, whilst the 
presence of a naval squadron has had its share in the work, 
after all, the suppression of the trade around the English 
settlements on the West Coast is mainly due to the existence 
there of settlements of free Christian Negroes. If, he urges, 

' the native Christians of one or more of the English settlements on the 
West Coast, which have fully accomplished their object in suppressing the 
slave-trade, could be induced by voluntary emigration to move to some 
healthy spot on the East Coast, they would in time frown dovni the 
duplicity wliich prevails so much in all classes that no slave-trade treaty 
can bind them. Slaves purchase their liberty in Cuba, and return to un« 
healthy Lagos to settle as petty traders ; men of the same enterprising 
class who have been imbued with the moral atmosphere of our settlements 
would be of in valuable benefit in developing lawful commerce.* — DtspatcJies, 
p. 22. 

He suggests that the Sultan can, without interference with 
any native rights, give ground for such a settlement, and is 
quite ready to do so, on the mainland opposite to the island, 
\yhich in many places is perfectly healthy, and that all which 
our Government need do would be to proviile an able man to 
begin and lead the movement; or at most to transport 
existing officials in a man-of-war, and to advance on loan 
part of the passage-money, and give rations and house-rent 
for the earliest infancy of the settlement. In this view 
Mr. Churchill, who has resided between two and three years 
as Political Agent and Consul at Zanzibar, entirely agreed in 
his evidence before the House of Commons,* and recom- 
mended, as Livingstone does also, the island of Momfia to 
be acquired from the Sultan as the best place for such a 

The Bev. H. Badger, whose acquaintance with the whole 
subject makes his opinion worthy of the utmost weight, 
suggests Iniack island, in Delagoa Bay, with the surrounding 

♦ Pages 41 ♦5-420. 


countrj of TemM, undoubtedly British property, as the fittest 
for such a purpose. Iniack island, he urges/ 

' i< admirably adapted for trade, whilst the two navigable riven in its im- 
mediate neighbonrhood, the M apoota and Manice, are said to give access to 
the Zulu ooantry, and to the territories of the Transvaal Republic. Should 
the result be favourable, Iniack island would bid fair to become an import- 
ant commercial emporium, whilst the adjoining countrj of Temb^ also 
British territory, might afford an eligible settlement whereon to locate the 
slaves captured by our cruisers on the coast. In shcnrt, the healthiness of 
the climate once proved, a British station in Delagoa Bay might occupy, 
on this side of Africa, a position analogous to Sierra Leone on the Western 
Coast; and should the scheme proposed be found feasible, benevolent 
societies at home would not be backward to crown the humane efforts of 
the Government in behalf of the liberated Africans, by corresponding 
endeavours to impart to them the blessings of a Christian civilization.* 

Tet still, even when the assent of the Sultan of Zanzibar 
and of the Im&m of Muscat has been given to treaties which 
absolutely abolish the slave-trade, our work will not all be 
done. No great and long existing moral evil can ever be 
extirpated without testing, by the need of prolonged exertion, 
the real stead&stness of purpose with which it was assailed. 
How long and how exhausting was the struggle with the 
West India slave-trade ! It is of the nature of such evil that 
it lowers the general standard of opinion to its own level. So 
many are interested in maintaining ' the abuse, so few are 
willing or able to assist in its destruction, that even when 
suppressed it must for a time be liable, like a half-extin- 
guished fire, suddenly to blaze forth again with all its former 
intensity. For all this we must be prepared. We must 
maintain for a season our cruisers on the watch, and if only 
the Treasury will give them the support they must have, the 
authorities at the Admiralty know well how, and are 
thoroughly ready to do what is required of them. But, 
beyond the simply repressive powers of our naval force, we 
must be prepared for other exertions. Accurate information 

* ' Pall Mall Gnzette,* Aug. 13. 


and concentrated command are two of the most essential 
elements of success in our undertaking. For the first it is 
essential that our Consul at Zanzibar should have an able 
and thoroughly trusty agent, whose field of action should be 
between the sea-coast and the Lake of Nyassa. His actual 
location might be left to his own determination. But he 
should be where he could for himself observe, and so prevent, 
every attempt to renew the trade. The command of such 
means of information by our Oonsul is absolutely essential to 
any successful attempt to prevent the reviyal of the trade, 
even were it once destroyed. Until lawful commerce has 
established itself, and proved to the petty native chieftains 
how far better for them is honourable trade than felonious 
man-stealing, this watch must be kept ; and, to make it 
effectual, there must be concentration of command. In 
every cause which demands for success rapid and determined 
action, divided command is the sure secret for securing 
weakness in execution ; and these evils are increased when a 
wide distance is interposed between the different centres in 
which command is lodged. For this reason we hold it 
essential to our success in our great endeavour that the 
proposition of Sir George Clerk should be adopted, and all 
political and consular ofiScers from Zanzibar to the Persian 
Gulf be placed under the orders of the Governor of Aden, 
who should be invested with the authority now exercised 
through the Governor of Bombay by the Government of 
India, and be allowed to communicate directly with the 
Viceroy and with the Foreign and Indian Offices. This 
would at once put an end to the division of authority and 
responsibility between India and England which now para- 
lyses exertion, and causes interminable delays which make it 
impossible for the political agent at Zanzibar to know what 
instructions he may receive from Simla, Calcutta, or Bombay, 
till months after the duplicates of the despatches on which 


iDStractioiis are needed haye reached London. All these 
delays might be at once terminated by the political agents at 
Zanzibar, and along the coast to Muscat^ being instructed to 
correspond, through the political agent at Aden, with the 
Foreign and Indian offices ; whilst the Indian Ooyemment^ 
and the Government of Bombay, were instructed to abstain 
from giving orders to those authorities on matters relating to 
East Africa without previous reference to Her Majesty's 
Government in London. With this concentration of com- 
mand, and the now meditated line of postal steam-communi- 
cation between Aden and Zanzibar, and Zanzibar and Natal, 
the increased powers of our officers to check the slave-trade 
would be immeasurably increased. Of all the suggested 
means for putting an end to it, this would probably be 
ultimately the most effectual, whilst it would be the most 
easily carried to completion. All that would be necessary 
would be the early protection which the presence of a 
judicious British consular agent would afford to the rising 
settlement. A firman from the Sultan or native Prince on 
whose territories the settlement was effected would give it 
tho necessary status. Materials of increase would naturally 
gather round such a centre of protection, and, after its 
taking root, there need be no more outlay of British money 
or exertion of British power than in a l\irkish port in* the 

Another great and difficult question might thus at the 
same time find its solution. Perhaps the most anxious 
duty which our watching the Coast of Africa now imposes 
on us is the treatment of the slaves whom our cruisers cap- 
ture. The whole process of the capture is one of sorrow and 
perplexity. The slave-dhows when pursued and threatened 
with capture by our cruisers, begin, as we have seen, by 
throwing into the sea the least vigorous of the slaves, and 
often never cease their work of death till all are thrown over, 


or the dhow itself stranded upon the rocks. But, as to the 
comparatively few whom we do rescue, surely it is di£Scult to 
conceive more direct self-constituted responsibility than is 
ours towards these wretched creatures. 

It is impossible to deny that at present we have, with 

all our good intentions, but ill-discharged these duties. On 

this point the 'Resident at Zanzibar' speaks in terms of 

most unmeasured and not we fear wholly undeserved, 

severity :—* Up to this point I have confined my remarks to 

the Report of the Commission, but I would fain go beyond 

it, to record my feeble protest against the inhuman mid 

selfish policy that has throughout characterized the national 

effort to suppress the East African slave-trade.' Strong 

words, but not more so than justice demands. It is not the 

mere expenditure of a certain yearly sum, to support a 

squadron for the repression of the traffic, that will i*elieve 

the country from the reproach of acting selfishly, nor will 

the release of any number of slaves per annum save it from 

the stigma of inhumanity. Contrast the slave located in 

Zanzibar with the slaves liberated by Great Britain ! We 

have already quoted the description of the slaves located in 

Zanzibar : here is the contrast. ' Where shall we find the 

freed slave under the protection of Great Britain living in 

equal comfort? Where shall we look for any such evidence 

that he is well cared for and contented? Alas! we may 

search in vain: the prison islets of Aden, the stews of 

Bombay, the plantations of Mauritius and Seychelles, tell 

alike the same disgraceful tale. 

* There is no future provided for the " protected " freed 

slave, unless one infinitely more hopeless and brutalized 

than the lot from which he was forcibly torn. Is it for this 

so much treasure is lavished — so much innocent blood shed ?' * 

A free settlement of men of their own race and blood 

* * East African Blare Trade/ Ac, p. 18. 


would, under proper safeguards^ form the fittest home for 
at least a large proportion of the captives. The Church 
Missionary Society, which has long, so greatly to its 
honour, provided schools for training the children whom 
our energies have rescued, will, we may be sure, be repre- 
sented at such a new home of freedom ; and the more recent 
efforts which at Zanzibar itself have been made under the 
'superintendence of Bishop Tozer and the Central African 
Mission, might co-operate with it Dr. Christie bears some 
remarkable testimony as to the rapidity with which even 
adult slaves, into whose nature the curse of slavery had 
eaten deeply, might, by judicious kindness and regular 
employment^ be transformed into useful citizens of such a 
settlement : — 

' On my arrival/ be says, ^ I resided on the estate nearly two months. 

The negroes were exceedingly filthy in their habits Many of them 

came from the same place and belonged to the same tribe, but they seemed 
utterly indifferent regarding each other. I was not prepared to see this, as 
I thouji^ht that a common afiBiction, viz., Slavery, would have produced a 
common sympathy. . . . Since I first came to the place, there has been a 
great change for the better in the condition of the people in every respect. 
At the time of their manumission by the late Sultan, not one elected to 
leave the estate. . . . The progress made by these pei<ple in tlie short space 
of six years is wonderful, and Messrs. H. 0. Fraser and Co. have solved the 
problem completely as to what can be done with negroes in such a short 
space of time who have lived till the time of maturity in a savage state.' — 
Appendix to a Leittr, dc, p. 18. 

Here is well-grounded hope that, in a friendly free settle- 
ment, even the poor degraded beings who have been rescued 
from the slave- dhow may become happy and useful members 
of a society of industrious freemen. Such a settlement of 
free negroes would not only be the greatest direct barrier 
yet interposed in the path of the slave-trade, but it might 
also be a principal means of. opening these paths of honour- 
able commerce into the centre of Africa, to which we must 
mainly trust at last for destroying in its interior districts the 


tendency to steal and sell men. When the native chieftains 
find by experience that men are more lucratively valuable to 
them as the producers and exporters of articles of commerce 
than they are by being sold into a foreign slavery, the temp- 
tation to internal warfare, to slave*hunting, and to welcome 
the slave-dealer will have passed away. Africa may be at 
peace within herself, her vast resources may enrich the 
markets of the world, and her nbw miserable children may 
know the blessings of freedom, security, and abundance; 
whilst along the highway which Commerce shall have 
opened, Christianity may speed upon its higher errand yet, 
of gathering in the nations to the knowledge of their God. 

We trust that both the Indian and the Home Government 
will well weigh these suggestions, and will act with vigour in 
the matter. It is one which, from its own character and on 
account of the interest which will be raised concerning it in 
the country when the facts of the case are well known, will 
not brook listlessness and half-measures. 

There are, in the evidence taken before the Hduse of 
Commons and in the Beport of their Committee, allusions of 
a painful kind to differences between different departments 
of the Government as embarrassing our action, and so pre- 
venting our success, and making our present expenditure on 
the cause useless and ridiculous. This must not continue. It 
is a case in which half-economy is entire loss. There must be 
no squabbling between the Government of India and the 
Administration at home as to the payment of officers need- 
ful to promote the objects of both; no frustrating by the 
Treasury, in one of its parsimonious fits, the more states- 
man-like proposals of the Foreign Office ; no starving down 
of the squadron employed, so as to disgust its gallant com- 
manders and give the nation the cost of maintaining it, and 
yet, through a paltry economy, maintaining it in vain. * 
On this question any Government which would act with a 


generous vigour would have the whole conntry with it. It ia 
one as to which internal wrangling and the great waste of 
petty savinge may heap up against the sure day of reckoning, 
to the injury of any Administration, a large accumulation oi' 
reproaches. It is one from which rightly-handled resolution, 
skilly and diplomatic success may reap no little harvest of 
honourable estimation. Oreat as would be the merit of 
having solved by geographical discovery all the problems 
which yet perplex us as to the mysterious deserts and 
mighty rivers of Central Africa, how far grander would it be to 
.have delivered these even unknown tribes from this deadly 
and greatly aggravated curse of the slave*trade ! This is 
the great discoverer's own estimate of all his own labours. 
The noblest passage, as it seems to us, in his last despatches 
expresses, in his strong straightforward words, this as the 
utterance of his soul,^— ' Baker came further up the Nile than 
any other in modem times, but turned when between 600 and 
700 miles short of the OaptU NUi. He is now employed in 
a mord noble work tlian the discovery of Nile sources ; and 
if he succeeds in suppressing the Nile slave-trade, the boon 
he will bestow on humanity will l)e of fiftr higher value than 
all my sources together.' * 

* LiyiDgitone's Dwpatcheii, p. 8. 


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