CHAPTER II.
He Mends Some Of His Ways.
About the middle of April he came to London for three weeks' holidays. He calls it "a smoky odious place," and says that entering it makes him "miserable." He is soon immersed in the customs of his society in the metropolis, and his feeling of uneasiness wears off. His little experience in parish work brings a great many things to his knowledge, of which he had not the slightest idea before. He is at a great loss, also, how to meet the difficulties he encounters, and doubts whether his proceedings in what he considered his duty have been quite right. Dr. Blomfield had always been a kind of spiritual director to Mr. Spencer: to him he goes now for a thorough investigation of his principles and even doctrines. Extempore praying was a thing Dr. Blomfield never liked, and its adoption by Mr. Spencer shows a leaning to Evangelical if not Methodistic spirituality. Whether it was this point, or another of the many things upon which clergymen of the Establishment agree to differ, that they discussed, we cannot say; but the result was far from consoling to either. He says: "I want some setting to rights in point of orthodoxy I find. I only hope that my decision in regard to my conduct may not be influenced by ambition or worldliness on the one hand, nor by spiritual pride on the other." Here may be seen that real sincerity and disinterestedness which guided his every step through life. If we analyze the sentence, it looks as if the arguments of his adviser are taken in part from the sources which Mr. Spencer hopes will not influence his decision; and this conclusion is borne out by a letter which will be given further on, when his confidence in the Church of England became thoroughly shaken. It must not be supposed from this that Dr. Blomfield was guided himself by these motives, though hints to that effect were often rife in his lifetime; but it is natural enough that the doctor should propose family considerations among his other arguments, especially if he thought those not quite persuasive.
Mr. Spencer goes to the theatre, and it was the last time in his life. His account of how that change was wrought in him, gives us one of those peculiar instances in which ridicule proved to be more powerful than logic or decorum. He attended Drury Lane Theatre with one or two friends, and in some part of the performance a parson was fearfully caricatured, and drew bursts of laughter and applause from the audience. This touched him sorely; eyes were pointed towards him; his friends laughed the more, in proportion to the efforts considerations for him made them use, in suppressing their feelings. He went forth from the theatre thoroughly vexed, and vowed he would never go to a theatre again. The Journal does not give a solitary instance in which this resolve was deviated from afterwards. This incident had also the effect of making him consider the propriety of several other unclerical pursuits, which he followed, as much since his ordination as he did before. It was not, however, till towards the end of this year that he began to retrench them, and a little of the same power of ridicule came to his assistance then also.
His great concern was the union of all the sects in his parish. He knew very well that our Lord gave but one system of Christianity, and that yea and no upon any important point could not proceed from His lips or be parts of His doctrine. He thought conciliatory measures the best to effect his purpose, and he even adopted some of the ways of Dissenters in order to be all to all towards them. On this he seems to have been lectured by Dr. Blomfield with some profit, for, on his return home, he says: "Whit-Sunday. I gave a strong sermon against the Dissenters, founded on Whit-Sunday," In a few days he pays "an unsatisfactory visit" to one family, and says: "They are the hardest schismatics I've got; children unbaptized, &c." This seems High Church language, and his feeling of opposition to Evangelicals, which finds expression in a few places, now makes one suppose he was "a proper High Church man." He labours hard for several weeks to prepare children for confirmation. He has 80 of them ready, and was so pleased with the whole affair, that he moved the printing of the bishop's charge, as he proposed his lordship's health in a speech after the dinner. The Sunday after he goes round to every house, and gives final admonitions to those on whom the bishop imposed hands a few days before.
To help him in his incipient dislike of Methodism he has a very curious conversation with a great "professor" of that persuasion. This was an old woman whom he was in the habit of visiting whenever he made his rounds where she lived. On his entrance, they both knelt down and prayed alternately for some time, each, out loud and extempore, for the edification of the other. When this rubric was carried out, they talked at full length and breadth on the unconverted and the elect, with sundries other kindred subjects, and this he used to style "comfortable conversation." Sometimes the tone of conversation would vary, and once it ran upon the line of self-accusation. The old lady very humbly accused herself of a great many faults in general, and signified to Mr. Spencer that she would be very much obliged to any one who would point out her particular faults, and help her in correcting them. Emboldened by this, he ventured, after a long preamble, to suggest that there was one thing he would like to see corrected in her, as it seemed to be the only speck on the lustre of her godliness. "What is that?" asked she, rather curiously and impatiently. "Well, it is that you are rather fond of contradicting people." "No, I am not," was the reply. "You have just contradicted me now." "No, I haven't." "Well, you have repeated the same fault." "I've done no such thing," was the petulant rejoinder. Of course, he saw it was useless to proceed further, and his visits became fewer for some time. This anecdote he used to relate with peculiar tact and a most graphic imitation of the old lady's manner.
Before giving his own account of the rise and fall of his High Church notions, it may be well to mention another incident that occurred about this time, towards the end of 1823. He determines to give up shooting and dancing. He told an anecdote about how the first of these sports fell into disfavour with him. There was a shooting party in Althorp on a certain day, and George was in the very thick of it. So anxious was he to distinguish himself in bringing down game, that he would run to take position for a shot with his double-barrel gun loaded, and a cartridge stuck in either corner of his mouth, ready for action, so as not to lose a minute in charging. He did great execution that day, and bagged probably more braces than any other. In the evening one of the company showed great anxiety to get possession of something, and eventually succeeded; whereupon, one present said, with a waggish look at George, "You've made a parson's shot at it." This struck him very forcibly, and suggested the resolution, which he finally came to and kept, of giving up shooting. There is no particular anecdote about his abstinence from dancing, we only know that at this time he refuses to go to a ball, makes his pastoral visits instead, and declares that he feels far more comfortable after this than when he has been "pleasuring."
The following is taken from a letter published by Father Ignatius in the Catholic Standard in December, 1853:—
... "When I was ordained deacon in the Church of England at Christmas, 1822, I had, I may say, all my religious ideas and principles to form. I do not so well know how far this is a common case now. I have reason to think it was a very common one then. My mind was possessed with a decided intention of doing good, and I was delighted with the calling and life of a clergyman; but my ideas were very vague indeed as to what a clergyman was meant for or had to do. Very naturally, however, on becoming acquainted with my parishioners, among whom the Wesleyan Methodists, the Baptists, and the Independents had been gaining ground for some time previously, I concluded that I had to oppose their progress, and to draw back those who had joined them. This disposition in me was highly gratifying to some of the elder clergy in my neighbourhood, who came to make acquaintance with me as a new neighbour, especially to one old man, an ardent lover of High Church principles, who, to confirm me in them, gave me a book to read entitled 'Daubeny's Guide to the Church,' in which the divine authority of the Church, the importance of Apostolical succession, of episcopal government, the evil and sin of schism, and other ecclesiastical principles, were most lucidly and learnedly demonstrated. So I thought then; and, as far as my recollection goes, I should say now that I thought rightly. I was exceedingly captivated by these principles, which were to me quite new, and I found myself now ready to carry on my arguments with dissenters as a warrior armed; whereas in the beginning I had nothing but zeal in my cause to help me. I did not gain upon them; but this new light was so bright in my own mind, that I had no doubt of prevailing in time. But there was one weak point in the system I was defending which I had overlooked. It was after a time pointed out to me, and my fabric of High Churchism fell flat at once, like a child's castle of cards.
"I was at this time living at Althorp, my father's principal residence in the country, serving as a curate to the parish to which it was attached, though the park itself is extra-parochial. Among the visitors who resorted there, was one of the most distinguished scholars of the day, to whom, as to many more of the Anglican Church, I owe a debt of gratitude for the interest which he took in me, and to the help I actually received from him in the course of inquiry, which has happily terminated in the haven of the true Church. I should like to make a grateful and honourable mention of his name, but as this has been found fault with, I forbear. I was one day explaining to him with earnestness the line of argument which I was pursuing with dissenters, and my hopes from it; I suppose I expected encouragement, such as I had received from many others. But he simply and candidly said, 'These would be very convenient doctrines, if we could make use of them, but they are available only for Roman Catholics; they will not serve us.' I saw in a moment the truth of his remark, and his character and position gave it additional weight. I did not answer him; but as a soldier who has received what he feels to be a mortal wound, will suddenly stand still, and then quietly retire out of the mêlée, and seek a quiet spot to die in, so I went away with my High Churchism mortally wounded in the very prime of its vigour and youth, to die for ever to the character of an Anglican High Churchman. Why did not this open my eyes, you will say, to the truth of Catholicity? I answer, simply because my early prejudices were too strong. The unanswerable remark of my friend was like a reductio ad absurdum of all High Church ideas. If they were true, the Catholic would be so: which is absurd, as I remember Euclid would say. 'Therefore,' &c. The grand support of the High Church system, church authority, having been thus overthrown, it was an easy though gradual work to get out of my mind all its minor details and accompaniments, one after another; such as regard for holy places, for holy days, for consecrated persons, for ecclesiastical writers; finally, almost all definite dogmatic notions. It would seem that all was slipping away, when, coming to the conviction of the truth of Catholicity some years after, it was with extraordinary delight I found myself picking up again the shattered dispersed pieces of the beautiful fabric, and placing them now in better order on the right foundation, solid and firm, no longer exposed to such a catastrophe as had upset my card-castle of Anglican churchmanship. This little passage in my ancient religious history is so sweetly interesting to me in the remembrance, that I have looked into an old diary which I used to keep at the time, to make out the dates, and I find by this that the duration of my High Church ideas was shorter than I should have imagined; but it was a period crowded with new, bright ideas, and naturally seems longer than it is. I will, to please myself, perhaps, more than my readers, give the dates. I note that, Dec. 24, 1823, the great scholar of whom I have spoken came to Althorp; Jan. 23, 1824, he goes away. This was his last visit, for he died the summer following, as I find it was on the 28th of June, 1824, that, in passing by Oxford with my eldest brother, we called at the Hall of which he was superior, to inquire how he was. He was sick—then on his death-bed." [Footnote 6]
[Footnote 6: The name of the gentleman referred to above was Dr. Elmesly.]