Although usually numbered among the evangelicals, Bishop Potter in his latter years was sympathetic with certain aspects of Catholic ceremonial. He believed in the enrichment of the services of the Church by light, color, and symbolism, so far as might be consistent with the law of the Anglican communion in America. Dr. Lord belonged to the school of churchmanship which abhorred anything beyond the most severe simplicity in the services of the Church, and had a large contempt for the badges and symbols of ritualism.
On the festival of St. John the Baptist, in 1903, Bishop Potter and Dr. Lord were the chief figures at a service held in Christ Church to which the Masonic lodges of Cooperstown and vicinity were invited. Both the Bishop and Dr. Lord were thirty-third degree Masons. Dr. Lord, because of the infirmities of age, at that period seldom officiated in church, but for this occasion was to have a place of honor in the chancel, and to pronounce the benediction. Bishop Potter was to deliver the sermon.
Dr. Lord came early to the sacristy of the church, and, having vested in his long flowing surplice and black stole, seated himself to await service time. In conversation with the rector, Dr. Lord recalled the days when more of the clergy were simple in their apparel, and he deplored the tendency to adopt brilliant vestments, colored stoles, and academic hoods. A hood, said Dr. Lord, echoing the sentiments of a witty English prelate, was often a falsehood. Any man could wear a red bag dangling down his back, but nothing except sound scholarship could really make a Doctor of Divinity. For his part, said Dr. Lord, he was content to be a Doctor of Divinity, by virtue of scholastic learning, without wearing a hood to proclaim it.
At this moment the Bishop appeared, having walked from Fernleigh to the church fully arrayed in his vestments. He was a resplendent figure. In addition to the episcopal robes of his office, he wore an Oxford cap, and a hood of flaming crimson, which an expert in such matters would have identified as belonging to Union College, or Yale, or Harvard, or Oxford, or Cambridge, or St. Andrew's, all of which institutions of learning had conferred the doctorate on Bishop Potter.
It still lacked a few moments of service time, and when the Bishop was seated in the bright light of the sacristy, another feature of decoration in his dress appeared. Depending from a chain about the neck there glittered upon his breast what the Masons call a "jewel." To the non-Masonic eye it was more than a jewel. It suggested rather a shooting star, emitting a shower of scintillations from the facets of a hundred jewels. When the coruscations of this Masonic emblem caught the eye of Dr. Lord, he became uneasy, and began to finger an imaginary token of rank upon his own breast. "I ought to have a jewel to wear to-night," he said musingly, and muttered of the splendid jewel that he had forgotten to bring, given to him years before by the Grand Lodge. By this time the hour of service had come; the aproned Masons had marched to their seats in the nave of the church, and all available space was thronged by an expectant congregation. Nevertheless Dr. Lord requested the rector to go forth from the sacristy, and ask the master of the Lodge whether any of the brethren present had a jewel to lend for the occasion. This was done, but no jewel was forthcoming. The Bishop seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.
The choir and clergy entered the chancel, and the service began. Dr. Lord had a seat of honor in the sanctuary at the right of the altar. When evensong was finished, Bishop Potter preached the sermon, after which he returned to the sanctuary, and stood at the left of the altar opposite to Dr. Lord. Just before the benediction, which Dr. Lord was to pronounce, the Bishop caught the rector's eye, and beckoned. When the rector came near, the Bishop removed the Masonic jewel, with its chain, and handed it to him.
"Put it around the old man's neck," the Bishop whispered.
This was done, and the venerable clergyman, decorated with the flashing symbol, seemed to grow in stature beyond his usual great height, as he ascended the steps of the altar, where he uplifted his hands, and in an age-worn but magnificent and sonorous voice pronounced the solemn blessing.
In the early autumn of 1904 the Rt. Hon. and Most Rev. Dr. Randall T. Davidson, Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of all England, the first occupant of the chair of St. Augustine to visit America, was a guest at Fernleigh. The Archbishop and Mrs. Davidson, with the Archbishop's two chaplains, were met at the station by Bishop Potter together with a delegation of Cooperstown citizens. The first carriage that left the station contained the English and American bishops; the second carried the two chaplains, escorted by the village rector. As this carriage left the station, David H. Gregory, the perennial wit of the summer colony, called out,
"Don't forget to show the gentlemen the Indian in the Cooper Grounds."