Colenso had begun his criticisms of the Pentateuch in 1862, and had enraged the partisans of Verbal Inspiration. They could not deny that his conclusions were arithmetically right, and they did just what the Jesuits did in the days of Pascal and his Provinciales. In 1653 the Pope condemned some doctrines in a book, but mentioned the wrong book—the doctrines were not there. It was really no more than a slip of the pen; but, being in a Papal Bull, it could not be corrected. So the Jesuits cried “témérité” when anybody mentioned it, just as people like this doctor cried “impiety.” These people vindicated Moses as strenuously as Strabo vindicated Homer. They had no suspicion of misreadings in the Hebrew or the Greek, or mistranslations in the English version: they just adopted Burgon’s view, “every book, every chapter, every verse, every word, every syllable, every letter, was the direct utterance of the Most High.” In other words, the Most High would not merely send a message off, but would see that it got through.
Now-a-days superior persons scoff at these benighted folk, but very often seem to be astray in just as dark a night themselves. When I hear dignitaries talking of the Filioque Clause, I sometimes wonder if they know how Shu “proceeded” from Neb-er-Tcher, when that deity transformed himself into a Trinity by the emanation of Tefnut and Shu. The legend is recorded (in Egyptian hieratic) in the papyrus of Nesi-Amsu, which is considerably earlier than the Christian Era. And anyone who wants to know it, will find it printed and translated in Archæologia, vol. LII.
For many years there was a steady sale of Questions on Church History by my mother’s sister, Emma King, written in 1848 when she was twenty-seven. It begins with the church in Jerusalem, and deals with persecutions, councils, doctrines, heresies, schisms, sects, orders, missions, etc., ending with the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829; and every question is answered with brevity and precision and strictly in accordance with the Thirty Nine Articles. I have spoken of her water-colours in my former Small Talk; and she was well informed—knew Hebrew and Italian and many other things—but published no more books. She married a Fellow of Trinity, who accepted one of the College livings; and in that country Vicarage she spent the best part of her time in making garments for the poor. She did, however, find time to expurgate the Ingoldsby Legends, thus rendering them presentable at Penny Readings. I have her copy with her pencillings. ‘There’s a cry and a shout and a deuce of a rout’—for deuce of a read terrible. ‘The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw’—for The Devil read A Demon. And so on.
Like many books of that period, hers was “for Young Persons”. Others were “for Young Ladies,” not differing much from these except in the Use of the Globes, which was a subject for Young Ladies only. Few people realize how wide the subject was. ‘What is whalebone?’ ‘Who were the Sirens?’ ‘What are the properties of dogs?’ There are questions on Cetus, Eridanus and Canis on the celestial globe: pages 430, 431 in Butler’s Exercises on the Globes, 11th edition, 1827. On the terrestrial globe (page 40) it asks, ‘What is the difference of latitude between the places where Burns was born and Lazarus was raised from the dead?’
In my early years there were books “suitable for Sunday reading.” If the Young Persons’ books were milk for babes, these books were the slops. I have several that were given to me then; and with Sunday echoes in week-day hours there is a letter from the man who gave it. He said that he was sure I should enjoy it, as his own children had enjoyed it so very much indeed. After reading it, I wondered if they really had. Happily for me, my father said authoritatively that the Continental Bradshaw was a Sunday book, and so also Murray’s Guides. I thus had pleasant Sunday afternoons, travelling in my easy chair.
Two friends of my father’s bought Livings in the Church, and consulted him about the prices of the Next Presentations and Advowsons that were offered to them. Here is the offer of a parish adjoining this, 17 May 1853, “The sum asked is £2250, of which £1250 may remain on mortgage of the Advowson at 3½ per cent.... The present incumbent is in his 67th year.” These men were of a sort that any parish would be glad to get: kindly, courteous, generous, with considerable means and very considerable learning—one had taken a First in Greats and the other had been a Wrangler. They deserved the fattest of Livings, and yet they had to buy; and they never had any preferment, though Canonries were given to those two men who preached the sermons (that I have quoted) on dances and the opened Bible. Of course, the traffic in Livings is indefensible in theory, but in practice it may often lead to happier results than public or official patronage.
There were some letters here that I destroyed, as they mentioned many people’s names, and compromised them. Somebody wanted a seat in Parliament, and was prepared to pay for it, if he could get it cheap. (This was nearly seventy years ago.) Inquiries were made in various boroughs of bad repute, and the replies were pretty much the same. ‘Bribery and corruption are intolerable things, and ought to be put down; but, as men of the world, we have to take things as they are. The seat will certainly be sold, and may as well be sold to you as sold to anybody else. It probably will cost you so-and-so.’ The prices varied very much, not having an open market to control them.
The sale of seats was hindered by prospects of disfranchisement. These offers all stipulated that, whatever happened, there must be no petition. Things would come out on petition that would lead to a commission; and the commissioners would find out things enough to make disfranchisement a certainty. And that would be the death of the goose that laid those golden eggs.
After the general election of 1865 one of the commissioners was dining with us, and after dinner he told my father what he thought about it all: not in the measured terms of his report, but quite colloquially. I learnt a lot of practical politics that night before I was sent off to bed.
At the general election of 1868 the Liberal party was committed to disestablishing the Irish church; and many good Liberals disapproved of this, as they thought that disestablishment was not a matter for party politics at all. A county constituency (not very far from Devon) was in the hands of Liberals of that sort; and they refused strong candidates and picked out one who was so weak that he was sure to lose the seat. He lost it; and scrupulous people found fault with them for taking his money (£3000, I believe) when they knew quite well that he would be defeated.