After leaving Florence, we visited the Waldensian valleys, of which I have given some account in my “Footprints of Italian Reformers,” and I may here add, that I agree fully with Professor Comba in his opinion, that the Waldenses, properly speaking, do not appear in history earlier than the twelfth century, and then they are seen scattered over the South of France at Metz, and in the Netherlands—their origin being ascribed by their enemies to Peter Waldo of Lyons, who does not appear to have visited the valleys. I found the good people in the valleys opposed to the results of Professor Comba’s researches. An intelligent daughter of a Waldensian minister said, “We do not believe in them at all here.” After studying the subject, let me add, I do.
In 1881 my dear friend Dr. Stanley died, after so short an illness that I had no opportunity of seeing him in his last hours. His funeral was an event of national interest.
He had much of the mind which distinguished “that disciple whom Jesus loved.” His singular sweetness of disposition was partly natural, for he was a gentle, quiet boy, winning many hearts; but it was gracious and spiritual also, a result of sincere discipleship to the Divine Master. I often felt surprised at his extraordinary amount of forbearance under most unjust and cruel attacks. I once alluded to the need of patience amidst such trials, instancing Archbishop Tillotson, who left behind him a bundle of scurrilous letters, labelled with the words, “May God forgive the writers as I do.” I learned from my friend that once he was accused of infidelity by an anonymous correspondent; and on another occasion, after the figures of Moses, David, Paul, and Peter had been placed in the choir of the Abbey, he received a note beginning with a charge of idolatry. Our Broad Church Dean, and the prelate of the Revolution were ecclesiastically and socially much alike. As to theology the former told me there is much in the teaching of Scripture which transcends human conception, much which, running along lines of mystery, he felt himself unable to follow; but, at the same time, he would remark, there is much more that is plain, which “a wayfaring man, though a fool,” may receive and “not err therein.” To these plain things, he said, he desired to cleave; these plain things he endeavoured to preach. The main difference between others and himself was that certain Evangelical principles were plainer to them than to him.
His interest in Bible study was intense, especially with regard to historical and biographical subjects; and it was well said, that whilst some critics seemed to delight in destroying certain parts, his delight was to build them up into a grand whole. His habit was to maintain truth, so far as he saw it, rather than to attack and overthrow error; and his gift of felicitously adapting events and passages of Holy Writ to passing incidents and characters, was truly wonderful; especially when an opportunity occurred for weaving sacred associations round the walls of his beloved Abbey. Nor did he fail to turn his skill in this respect to admirable account, when preaching in America.
Dr. Stanley’s amiableness never betrayed a suspicion of weakness in his character. Indeed he had a side almost stern in some of its appearances; and he fought against what he deemed evil, with great vehemence; and stood up very boldly, I know, against unprincipled people, declaring that he would not meet them, except in the presence of witnesses.
To see him at his best was to be with him alone, when he gave full sway to his thoughts and feelings, expressing them with greater freedom than I ever heard him do in company. The most enjoyable time was late in the evening, after guests had retired; especially when he conducted me to my bedroom, candlestick in hand, and tarried for a good while chatting about subjects and persons of interest to us both.
Not long before his death, I spent a night at Westminster, when we talked about Oliver Cromwell. With much pathos he read aloud Carlyle’s description of the Lord Protector’s last hours; and, some time before this, he told me that he had been engaged in endeavouring to ascertain what became of the hero’s remains after indignities done to them at the Restoration.
Soon after the Dean’s death, I received from Mrs. Drummond, his executrix, a note accompanied by the picture it referred to. “In a memorandum left by our dear Dean, he desired a photograph of him, which used to stand in the drawing-room, should be sent to you, in remembrance of a sincere friendship.”
With regard to the composition of historical works he was in the habit of employing such information as he could gather from friends.
Oxford men have told me, that he used to lay under contribution whatever he could learn from other people’s researches. For these, however, he was always ready to make ample returns.