The year 1871 was marked by an educational measure, opening Oxford to all denominations more fully than it had been. The Bill met with opposition from the Marquis of Salisbury and his friends. Some time before I had been requested by Lord Ebury to draw up for the Ritual Commission an account of Nonconformist modes of communion. The account is printed in the Report for 1870 (p. 139). Now I received a note from the Marquis, who had obtained a committee for collecting information, asking me to give evidence with regard to matters referred to them. Accordingly I attended. After listening to what Dr. Jowett, Master of Balliol, had to say, I took my seat, to answer their Lordships’ queries. [184] I had looked forward to examination as somewhat formidable, but found it far otherwise. It turned out to be a pleasant conversation.
When the Bill came under discussion in the House of Lords, I felt an interest in the debate, and consequently attended as a listener. After Lord Carnarvon had spoken, he stepped over to the spot where I stood, saying that his desire had been not to say anything discourteous to Dissenters. I received from him afterwards a note, written in the same spirit, and expressing a desire for the maintenance of friendly relations. About the same time it happened that a course of lectures was given on “Christian Evidences,” in which bishops and other clergymen took part with Dissenting ministers.
The British and Foreign Bible Society is a bond of social, as well as religious, union. A dinner at Mr. George Moore’s house, Palace Gardens, was, at that time, an annual institution, and after the Exeter Hall meeting in May, the committee, speakers, and other friends, met under his hospitable roof. The host appeared at his very best, frank, generous, and kind—no affectation, no assumption; only a rich vein of English geniality. On his right hand at such occasions, usually sat Lord Shaftesbury, on the left perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury. Without flattery, but in homely ways of recognising service, the master of the table would call up one after another of his guests, and after we left the dining-room, we had family prayer together, a bishop and a Dissenter taking part in conducting the worship.
In 1871 the Dean of Canterbury was suddenly taken to his rest. The tidings gave great sorrow; and I felt it was due to his memory that some Dissenting brethren should attend the funeral. Harrison, Baldwin Brown, Newman Hall, and others did so; I was invited by the family to be one of the pall bearers. Dr. Stanley, Dr. Merivale, Dean of Ely, and others, met in the good man’s library, where his picture of St. Michael’s Mount,—on which he had spent some of his last hours—stood upon the easel, and Walton’s Polyglot lay open at the Book of Exodus, where Dr. Alford had been reading just before his death. Slowly and sadly we walked into the cloisters, where places were assigned us, and the procession moved into the cathedral. There Mrs. Alford, with wonderful composure, joined in the solemn service. Shops were shut, and the streets lined with people, as we were conveyed to St. Martin’s Churchyard, where we joined in singing one of his hymns, “Ten thousand times ten thousand,” etc. He had expressed a wish to be interred there, and wrote the following memorandum: “When I am gone, and a tomb is to be put up, let there be, besides any indication of who is sleeping below, these words only: Deversorium viatoris Hierosolymam proficiscentis—i.e., the inn of a traveller who is on his way to Jerusalem.”
In a letter which I received from Canon Robertson, he said, in reference to this inscription: “Perhaps Mr. Bullock may be able to tell you, that some one has discovered the source of the words engraved at the bottom of the tombstone. My own inquiries have been fruitless.” I have not been able to ascertain their origin.
A committee was formed to raise some testimonial to the Dean’s worth, and they invited me to join them. They acted in correspondence with the Chapter, and it was determined that a painted window should be placed in the cathedral, and that it should contain symbols of the evangelists, and the scenes of our Lord’s Temptation, in the larger circles; whilst the four smaller ones around, were to contain subjects showing that He exercised miraculous power of the same kinds, in which He refused to exert it, at the Tempter’s suggestion.
In the following year I lost a valued friend, member of our Kensington church, Sir Donald F. Macleod, C.B., K.C.S.I. He had occupied the position of Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjaub, and met his death from a railway accident in December, 1872. He possessed a rare gift for putting himself into kindly fellowship with those he ruled, whether rich or poor, entering into their feelings and cultivating their regard so that he acquired a widespread influence in the Indian province, which might be called the country of his adoption. All the people loved him as a friend and father; hence it was said, that if the natives had to choose a prince, he would be their choice. In a leading journal, the remark of an Indian gentleman was preserved to the effect, that, “If all Christians were like Sir Donald, there would be no Mahomedans or Hindoos.” His private life was of a piece with his public career. He had the power of making numerous friendships through the happy blending of religion with an affectionate disposition. “Wherever he went,” said a relative, “his presence was like sunshine, and the sunshine was the reflection of another presence, even of Him of whom it is said, ‘In Thy presence is fulness of joy.’” As he communed with us at Kensington, and was a personal friend, I can bear testimony to his cheerful manners in company. His tall, commanding figure attracted attention, and his calm, pleasant utterances won all hearts, especially those of the young, who would gather round him, attracted by the magic of his sympathy. This Indian gentleman visited the Cripples’ Home; this Oriental scholar addressed a class in the East of London; this ruler, who might have died a rich nabob, gave away the surplus of his income in acts of charity.
In 1872 an incident occurred of an amusing description, which, as it has some significancy, is worthy of notice. A paragraph appeared in a religious newspaper to the following effect: “The Revs. Dr. Binney, Dr. Allon, and Dr. Stoughton have been, it seems, presented to His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth Palace, by that consistent advocate of comprehension, Dr. Stanley, Dean of Westminster. It remains to be seen whether the Archbishop will invite either of the Doctors to preach in any of the Metropolitan churches, if not in the Abbey, or in the Cathedral. The Act of Uniformity will have to be repealed.” If anybody who read this announcement had been acquainted with the circumstances, he would have seen its absurdity. The visit arose from an informal invitation to a party at Lambeth—from Dr. Tait, who was well acquainted with all the three persons. They needed no “presentation,” such as the newspaper imagined. It is a curious fact, that, while some people complain of Dissenters being ignored or repulsed by the upper classes, when, instead of it, there is friendly recognition, the complainants imagine that, if the two classes do meet, there must be obsequiousness on the one side, and patronage on the other. It is supposed an impossible thing, for a Dignitary and a Dissenter to meet as gentlemen, without any professional design; on the occasion referred to, ecclesiastical objects no more entered the head of the host, as he welcomed us with cordiality, than it entered the heads of his guests. It was an affair of social courtesy, in which politeness on the one side, I hope, was returned on the other. By the way, at a Lambeth reception, after mingling with friends whom I had known for some years, I heard Mr. Binney say to Bishop Wilberforce: “Are you not surprised to see us here?”
“Surprised! Why, if you were not here, who should be here?”
This rejoinder puzzled my friend, when I ventured to add, “I understand your compliment, my lord, but at least you will acknowledge, it is something new.”