I had a ticket for St. George’s Chapel when William IV. was interred. The interior of the building was dark, except as illumined by torches in the hands of soldiers who lined the nave, and by numerous lights within the choir. When the procession drew up about nine o’clock, at the south entrance, the blaze of outside torches was seen through the stained windows; then the appearance of heralds in their tabards followed: next the slow march of mourners close to the coffin, the Duke of Sussex being most conspicuous; afterwards a funeral dirge echoed from the fretted roof. The silence was further broken by the Burial Service and the repetition of royal titles. “Sic transit gloria mundi” came last, and left an ineffaceable impression.
I was further favoured with a ticket to see the coronation in Westminster Abbey. When the procession entered the nave, officers of state and foreign ambassadors appeared in rich costume. Diamond-decked coats and rich mantles made a grand show, yet they chiefly served to set off the simple dignity of the queen in her early girlhood, whilst a spell of loyalty touched spectators looking down from lofty galleries. The coronation shout of “God save the Queen” needed to be heard that it might be fully understood. Afterwards, a stream of dignified personages, with mantles and coronets, issued from the choir and covered the nave with a tesselated pattern of rich colours.
To the coronation succeeded the royal marriage, honoured at Windsor by extraordinary festivities; and at night the cortége of the bride and bridegroom, on their way to the castle through decorated and illuminated streets, evoked a rapturous welcome from assembled thousands. But what above all other incidents of that occasion lives in my memory at the present moment is the sudden view which I caught a day or two afterwards of the wedded pair in a pony carriage, driven by the bridegroom as his bride nestled beside him, under his wing, with simplicity which gave exquisite finish to the chief pictures which passed before me that summer.
Another incident may be mentioned. At a town meeting it was proposed that an address of congratulation should be presented to Her Majesty by the mayor and others. The presentation followed at a levée. It was interesting to see notabilities assembled in St. James’s Palace at the first public reception by Her Majesty after the royal marriage. Amongst a crowd of noblemen in the ante-room were pointed out, in particular, Dr. Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter, with an eagle eye indicative of his intellect, and Joseph Hume, the sturdy economist; both of them much talked of at that period. Others I have forgotten. After waiting we were ushered into the presence, the Queen, with Prince Albert at her side, occupying a place near a window not far from the entrance door. Since that I have knelt before Her Majesty more than once, but how great the difference between the first and last occasions—the girl become a matron, the sparkling bride a sorrowful widow, and the newly-married wife a mother with sons and daughters standing round in reverence and affection.
If I may here anticipate a Windsor ceremonial of later date, let me mention the royal presentation of colours to a regiment of Highlanders to which I acted as chaplain. The colours were bestowed in the quadrangle of the castle on the day when the christening of the Prince of Wales took place. The Prince Consort, the King of Prussia, and the Duke of Wellington, with several other grandees, formed a group under the shadow of the castle porch. As chaplain to the regiment I was allowed to stand near, and was struck with the Prince’s German accent, which he seemed to conquer in later life, when he spoke almost like a born Englishman. The Duke addressed the soldiers in his accustomed plain style, giving them very good advice. Preparations for the banquet in St. George’s Hall, which a number of people were allowed to see, were very magnificent, tables being covered with gold and silver plate. Some antique pieces brought from the Tower were of special interest. In the evening I joined the non-commissioned officers, to whom a dinner was given, and I was glad of an opportunity to recall to their minds the Duke’s address. This Highland regiment while in Windsor attended worship in our chapel, when the band accompanied the singing, and Highland bonnets hung round, outside the galleries. I visited the barracks, conversed and prayed with the sick, and baptised the children. My relations with the colonel and the officers were pleasant during the whole time that the Scotch remained in Windsor.
Going back a few years, let me notice “Eton Montem,” then witnessed in all its splendour. Approaches to the college were guarded by boys in fancy costumes: coloured velvet coats, yellow boots, caps decorated with graceful plumes, appeared on the scene. The youngsters levied a tax on all comers, calling it “salt,” which they deposited in bags suspended from their necks. As royal carriages swept across Windsor bridge, picturesque sentinels received handsome donations from royal hands. The gifts, together with a large number of others, formed a fund for the captain of the school to defray his expenses at Cambridge, whither he was sent in prospect of a fellowship. The procession of boys to Salt Hill, where the captain waved a flag after a prescribed fashion, excited immense interest, and was witnessed by multitudes. The sight in the college gardens as the day closed, afforded perhaps the best of the pageant, for these lads, attired in Turkish, Greek, Italian, and other showy garbs, mixed with their friends so as to form a picture of animated life, with old trees and old buildings for a background.
I had not been long in the town before I became intimately connected with the British and Foreign Bible Society, which laid a strong hold on my affections as a boy, and to which I firmly adhered, after I became a man. Our auxiliary was a flourishing one. Some relatives of Lord Bexley, president of the parent society, lived in our neighbourhood, and used to come over to our annual gatherings in the Town Hall. One of them, the Rev. Mr. Neal, of Taplow, was a constant visitor. He typified a class of men now almost extinct. They loved the Establishment, and, judging of it by its formularies, identified it with the cause of evangelical religion. They knew much less of Anglo-Catholic theology than of Puritanical works. Owen and Baxter occupied a conspicuous place on their literary shelves, by the side of Latimer and Calvin. The Evangelicals were nevertheless faithful to their own ecclesiastical order, preferring episcopacy to any other form of government. Not on social or literary grounds had they sympathy with Dissenters, or from what is now recognised as “breadth of opinion,” but they cultivated union, on purely evangelical grounds.
At our Bible Meeting, with good old Mr. Neale, other evangelical clergymen were present, also one of our borough members, Mr. Ramsbottom, M.P. (who always took the chair), and Sir John Chapman, a strong conservative Churchman, was sure to be on the platform. I cannot say that the speeches were brilliant, though the deputation from London interested us much. First came Mr. Dudley, who had been a Quaker, but was then an Episcopalian; and, to the facts he detailed, there were added peculiarities of utterance, which gave a flavour to what he said. He slightly stuttered; and once, as he described how the blind were taught to read with their fingers the pages of embossed Bibles, he said it reminded him of the words, “That they should seek the Lord, if haply, they might feel after Him and find Him.” Hesitation of speech made the quotation increasingly effective. After him came Mr. Bourne, who had, I believe, been formerly a stipendiary magistrate in the West Indies; and he had a singular click in his voice. He told a story of some ladies who had coloured their maps so as to distinguish, by a pink colour, the countries where the Bible was circulated—thus “pinking the world for Christ.” The good man’s click told curiously on his pronunciation of words; and I used, sometimes, to make my Bible Society friends smile, by inquiring whether they offered a premium for agents with a “diversity of tongues.” The Rev. Sydney Godolphin Osborne—the famous “S. G. O.” of The Times newspaper—had at that period a living near Windsor, and took great interest in our auxiliary. He was a fine, tall, aristocratic young man, of straightforward character, strong common sense, and a racy style of utterance. He made capital speeches, and in many ways helped on our work; in one way especially, which deserves distinct mention. He thought it would be a good thing to obtain royal patronage for our auxiliary, though Her Majesty’s name was not identified with the parent society. He wrote to Lord John Russell, then a Cabinet Minister (whose brother, Lord Wriothesley Russell, after he became Canon of Windsor, lovingly supported our cause). When Lord John laid the request before Her Majesty, she graciously gave her name as local patroness, and sent a donation of twenty guineas. It is worth mentioning that this occurred at a time when party politics were running high. Two letters communicating the Queen’s kindness may be here inserted.
The first was addressed to the Honourable Godolphin Osborne.
“Sir,
“I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter respecting ‘The Windsor Auxiliary Bible Society,’ on which the Queen was last year pleased to bestow her patronage, which I have submitted to the Queen, and though Her Majesty does not usually grant a donation to those institutions to which Her Majesty’s patronage only has been given, yet, the Queen, taking into her consideration that the establishment in question is in the immediate neighbourhood of Windsor Castle, has been pleased to direct me to forward twenty guineas as a donation. I beg to enclose a draft for that sum, and request you will have the goodness to acknowledge its receipt.