“What part of your dress resembles two popular preachers in the Church of England?”
“Give it up?”
“Hook and I.”
The Chancellor of the Cathedral, I think it was, spoke of Wilberforce’s power of adapting himself to people whom he met. He liked to know beforehand who he was to see. Introduced to a Yorkshire-man, he began to talk in the county dialect. Visiting a screw manufactory, he won the confidence of workmen by showing some knowledge of their business. Once at the Earl of Derby’s (grandfather of the present Lord) he met gentlemen of the turf, and surprised them by giving the pedigree of a celebrated racehorse. On being asked how he came to be “well up” on such a subject, he said he had gleaned knowledge of that kind as a boy, in the stables of a trainer, near his father’s house. He scarcely ever forgot anything he had heard.
The Dean was an early riser; and retired early to bed. We had family prayer in the library about nine o’clock, the family and the guests standing and kneeling together. He read the Psalms for the day, and used parts of the Morning and Evening Service. Once, about half-past ten in the evening, I said to Mrs. Hook—a charming woman, “light of the dwelling”—“I must bid the Dean good-night. Where is he?”
“In bed and asleep the last hour,” she gently answered.
He told me that early rising had been his habit during his residence at Leeds, and was so still; that demands on his time, from forenoon to night, were such at Leeds as would have prevented all literary work, had he not secured hours for study before breakfast. Then it was he wrote his books. He worked hard all day when vicar, and adopted unusual methods of usefulness, holding something like Methodist class-meetings, which took strong hold on his Yorkshire parishioners. Familiar devotional gatherings he kept up at Chichester; and a poor old woman was so delighted with them, that, by an odd association of ideas, she compared them to feasting on “lamb and salad.” These meetings he would humorously call by that name. I had a good deal of talk with my kind hostess about clerical incomes, and the demands made on them; and so I became disabused of false notions common amongst outsiders. From what I heard of large outgoings, payments on promotion, and so on, I am able to form a more correct estimate of pecuniary affairs in the Establishment, than I could before.
Considerable correspondence passed between us. A friendly intercourse was also maintained by subsequent visits. In a letter dated June 4th, 1867, he says:—
“I like a companion who will look out for points of agreement, and then coze upon them. I never court the society of those who love an argument, and look out for topics on which we disagree. You will, perhaps, infer from this, that I want vigour of mind; but I really believe that many minds are drawn out and strengthened by cozing instead of arguing, and I am sure that this conduces to brotherly affection. My wife and I after many years of hard work—and what is worse than work, worry—came here to retire from the world. We see little of general society, and confine ourselves to pleasant cozy intercourse, with our large and united family, and old friends. We cannot, therefore, offer you any gaiety when you come amongst us, but if you take us as we are, we shall hope to have some pleasant cozes.”