Owing to the still quieter life which, during his very latest years, he was obliged to lead through broken health, advancing age, and the partial loneliness caused by the passing hence of his two eldest brothers, one of his children, and nearly all his most intimate friends, he was nearly forgotten by the public, or at any rate by that vastly preponderating younger portion of it, which rarely studies “the history of our own times,” or is only dimly aware that Rowland Hill had “done something to the Post Office.” Many people believed him to be dead, others that he was living in a retirement not altogether voluntary. Thus one day he was greatly amused while reading his morning paper, to learn that at a spiritualist meeting his wraith had been summoned from the vasty deep, and asked to give its opinion on the then management of the Post Office. The helm at that time was in the hands of one of the bitterest of his old opponents, and sundry things had lately taken place—notably, if memory serves me aright, in the way of extravagant telegraphs purchase—of which he strongly disapproved. But that fact by no means prevented the spirit from expressing entire satisfaction with everything and everybody at St Martin's-le-Grand, or from singling out for particular commendation the then novel invention of halfpenny postcards. These the living man cordially detested as being, to his thinking, a mischievous departure from his principle of uniformity of rate.[233] Later, he so far conformed to the growing partiality for postcards as to keep a packet or two on hand, but they diminished in number very slowly, and he was ever wont to find fault with the unfastidious taste of that large portion of mankind which writes descriptions of its maladies, details of its private affairs, and moral reflections on the foibles of its family or friends, so that all who run, or, at any rate, sort and deliver, may read.
During the quarter-century which elapsed between Rowland Hill's appointment to the Treasury and his resignation of the chief secretaryship to the Post Office, many generous tributes were paid him by the public in acknowledgment of the good accomplished by the postal reform.
The year after the establishment of penny postage, Wolverhampton, Liverpool, and Glasgow, each sent him a handsome piece of plate, the Liverpool gift, a silver salver, being accompanied by a letter from Mr Egerton Smith, the editor of the local Mercury. Mr Smith told my father that the salver had been purchased with the pence contributed by several thousands of his fellow-townsmen, and that Mr Mayer, in whose works it had been made, and by whom it was delivered into the postal reformer's hands, had waived all considerations of profit, and worked out of pure gratitude. The other pieces of plate were also accompanied by addresses couched in the kindliest of terms.
From Cupar Fife came a beautiful edition of the complete works of Sir Walter Scott—ninety-eight volumes in all. In each is a fly-leaf stating for whom and for what services this unique edition was prepared, the inscription being as complimentary as were the inscriptions accompanying the other testimonials. My father was a lifelong admirer of Scott; and when the Cupar Fife Testimonial Committee wrote to ask what form their tribute should take, he was unfeignedly glad to please his Scots admirers by choosing the works of their most honoured author, and, at the same time, by possessing them, to realise a very many years long dream of his own. As young men, he and his brothers had always welcomed each successive work as it fell from pen and press, duly receiving their copy direct from the publishers, and straightway devouring it. Younger generations have decided that Scott is “dry.” Had they lived in those dark, early decades of the nineteenth century, when literature was perhaps at its poorest level, they also might have greeted with enthusiasm the creations of “the Great Unknown,” and wondered who could be their author.[234] My father set so high a value on these beautiful presentation volumes that, from the first, he laid down a stringent rule that not one of them should leave the house, no matter who might wish to borrow it.
The National Testimonial—to which allusion has already been made—was raised about three years after Rowland Hill's dismissal from the Treasury, and before his restoration to office by Lord John Russell's Administration, by which time the country had given the new postal system a trial, and found out its merits. In 1845 Sir George Larpent, in the name of the Mercantile Committee, sent my father a copy of its Resolutions, together with a cheque for £10,000, the final presentation being deferred till the accounts should be made up. This was done in June 1846, on the occasion of a public dinner at which were assembled Rowland Hill's aged father, his only son—then a lad of fourteen—and his brothers, in addition to many of those good friends who had done yeoman service for the reform. The idea of the testimonial originated with Mr John Estlin,[235] an eminent surgeon of Bristol, and was speedily taken up in London by The Inquirer, the article advocating it being written by the editor, the Rev. Wm. Hinks. The appeal once started was responded to by the country cordially and generously.
Many pleasant little anecdotes show how heartily the poorer classes appreciated both reform and reformer. Being, in 1853, on a tour in Scotland, my father one day employed a poor journeyman tailor of Dunoon to mend a torn coat. Somehow the old man found out who was its wearer, and no amount of persuasion would induce him to accept payment for the rent he so skilfully made good. A similar case occurred somewhat earlier, when we were staying at Beaumaris; while a “humble admirer” who gave no name wrote, a few years later than the presentation of the National Testimonial, to say that at the time he had been too poor to subscribe, but now sent a donation, which he begged my father to accept. His identity was never revealed. Another man wrote a letter of thanks from a distant colony, and not knowing the right address, inscribed the cover “To him who gave us all the Penny Post.” Even M. Grasset, when in a similar difficulty, directed his envelope from Paris to “Rowland Hill—where he is.” That these apologies for addresses can be reproduced is proof that the missives reached their destination.[236]
It would be easy to add to these stories; their name is legion.
Tributes like these touched my father even more deeply than the bestowal of public honours, although he also prized these as showing that his work was appreciated in all grades of life. Moreover, in those now far-off days, “honours” were bestowed more sparingly and with greater discrimination than later came to be the case; and merit was considered of more account than money-bags. Thus in 1860 Rowland Hill was made a K.C.B., the suggestion of that step being understood to lie with Lords Palmerston and Elgin (the then Postmaster-General), for the recipient had not been previously sounded, and the gift came as a surprise.
After my father's retirement, the bestowal of honours recommenced, though he did not assume the title of “Lord Queen's head,” as Mr Punch suggested he should do were a peerage offered to him—which was not at all likely to be done. At Oxford he received the honorary degree of D.C.L.,[237] and a little later was presented by the then Prince of Wales with the first Albert Gold Medal issued by the Society of Arts. The following year, when Rowland Hill was dining at Marlborough House, the Prince reminded him of the presentation. Upon which the guest told his host a little story which was news to H.R.H., and greatly amused him. The successive blows required for obtaining high relief on the medal had shattered the die before the work was completed. There was not time to make another die, as it was found impossible to postpone the ceremony. At the moment of presentation, however, the recipient only, and not the donor, was aware that it was an empty box which, with much interchange of compliments, passed from the royal hands into those of the commoner.
From Longton, in the Staffordshire Potteries, came a pair of very handsome vases. When the workmen engaged in making them learned for whom they were intended, they bargained that, by way of contribution to the present, they should give their labour gratuitously.