Mr. Gladstone

What little I kneAV of Mr. Gladstone was brought about in a somewhat curious way. I knew that he had read “Ecce Deus” because he had written to me kindly about that work. I ventured on the strength of his letter to ask whether he would give me a card of admission to the House of Commons on the occasion of a debate on the Irish Church, and to my surprise he arranged for my occupation of a seat which seemed to be on the floor of the House itself. On that occasion I heard Mr. Gladstone for the first time. For him the subject was a difficult one, because his statesmanship and Churchmanship seemed to be in some degree mutually opposed. Long after this I published a booklet entitled “Job’s Comforters; or, Scientific Sympathy,” — the object of the Ijooklet being to show what science, when it strictly confines itself within the four corners of its own books, has to say to a man like the Job of the Bible. My remarks took the form of a satire. I describe a modern Job and his modern environment, and I send to him Huxley the Moleculite, John Stuart the Millite, and Tyndall the Sadducee, to comfort him out of their books. As the first edition had been practically exhausted, I wrapped a newspaper label round the booklet and addressed it to Mr. Gladstone, simply thinking that if it caught his eye well and good, but if not no harm would be done. To my surprise the publishers received a postcard within a day or two asking the price of tAventy-five copies of “Job’s Comforters.” On the card being handed to me, I at once directed that twenty-five copies should be sent as a present to the great statesman. That was the beginning of our closer intimacy. I do not remember ever meeting Mr. Gladstone without his referring in agreeable terms to that little book. When Henry Ward Beecher was my guest, Mr. Gladstone, who was then Prime Minister, wrote me a note asking that Mr. Beechor and myself would take l)reakfast with him at Downing Street.

The illustrious preacher was only too glad, as was I myself, to have an opportunity of thus meeting the greatest man of England at close quarters. I can never forget the reception which Mr. Gladstone gave to his visitors, who mustered in considerable numbers, and represented considerable variety of religious and political opinion. Judging by his manner, one would think that he had no experience of care or anxiety or worry of any kind. The impression produced upon us was that he was a man of leisure, and in fact that he was rather looking round for some kind of pleasurable occupation. Yet on the very night of that day he and his Cabinet placed their resignation in the hands of the Queen.

During the conversation which took place at the breakfast-table Mr. Gladstone said, inter jectionally rather than deliberately, “By the way, a prayer has been printed and sent to me, praying not only for my removal from ofSce, but for my personal destruction, certainly in this world if not in the World to come.” Mr. Gladstone then handed the prayer round, with the remark that it could not be fitly read aloud. When the prayer had gone the round of the table, Mr. Gladstone added, “I have no idea who can have written such a prayer.” In a few moments I ventured to say that I knew the writer of the prayer, and that he might have the name if he wished it. By a curious relation of circumstances I had come to know the author of what I cannot but regard less as a prayer than as a blasphemy. In a moment Mr. Gladstone’s great eyes were upon me in a distinctly interrogative attitude. I then gave him the name, and instantly he exclaimed: “I can quite believe it! And the writer would be perfectly honest and sincere. She would mean every word of this awful petition. Her hatred of popery was simply a fanaticism. I can never forget into what horror she was thrown when, at one of our Thursday morning breakfasts, I appointed her to sit by the side of a Jesuit priest.” This is a happy illustration of the spirit of the man. Instead of denouncing the writer, he recognised her sincerity and good faith, though he was evidently comfortable under the conviction that such a prayer would not go higher than the ceiling of the room in which it was written. There was no sign of anger, no hint of even momentary annoyance; on the contrary, there was a desire to explain the profanity on grounds favourable to the fanatical and misguided suppliant.

When we left Downing Street Mr. Beecher said to me, “None of our great men could have done what Mr. Gladstone has done this morning.” Nor did I wonder that Mr. Beecher should pronounce such a judgment when I recalled the scope, the variety, the importance of all the topics upon which Mr. Gladstone had touched — arguing the question of Home Rule, explaining difficult verses in a Greek drama, descanting upon American politics, analysing the figures of an election which had just taken place, and making many a playul reference to current events. When I said to Mr. Beecher, “How would Mr. Gladstone be received in America r” Mr. Beecher at once replied, “He would never be able to get into the United States.” I inquii-ed why. Mr. Beecher answered, “Because there would be so many people down to meet the ship that it would be impossible for him to land; it would be quite possible that the crowd would stretch from New York to Chicago.” Then Mr. Beecher added, “Not C^ueen Victoria herself would meet with a warmer reception in my country.”

Two or three little anecdotes illustrative of Mr. Gladstone’s powers and methods came under my personal notice. Sir Hugh Owen, when chief clerk of the Poor Law Board, told me that he once had occasion to spend two days with Mr. Gladstone, and that Mr. Gladstone would never take a single reckoning as correct until he had gone through the whole calculation himself. He took nothing for granted. He examined and cross-examined the chief clerk so pointedly and thoroughly that at the close of the two days’ intercourse Mr. Gladstone, according to Sir Hugh Owen’s own statement, knew more about the Poor Law of England and its practical working than Sir Hugh himself knew. Thoroughness was the characteristic of Mr. Gladstone’s work. He never touched a subject on the edges. An American friend of mine spent an evening with him and told me afterwards that one would have supposed that Mr. Gladstone had no interest outside American politics. That same American friend began the study of Dante, and it so happened that he met Mr. Gladstone in Paris at the time when he was carrying under his arm the works of the Italian poet. Mr. Gladstone noticed the large volume, and, on finding out what it was, said to my friend, “Work at it until you know it thoroughly, and until you are able to talk about it to the Italians in their own language.”

On one occasion I crossed the Atlantic with a fellow passenger who had been Mr. Gladstone’s private secretary. I do not know how far it is true that a man cannot be a hero to his valet, but certainly Mr. Gladstone was a hero to his ex-secretary. I learned from my fellow passenger that two or three men in positions similar to his own were in the habit of taking breakfast with Mr. Gladstone once a week. Their habit was to read uj) certain subjects and to question Mr. Gladstone upon them. They, of course, were well prepared, whilst Mr, Gladstone was taken at unawares. On one occasion the subject was the round churches of Ireland, but they soon found that Mr. Gladstone knew more about the round churches than they did. On another occasion the subject was the culture of roses, their varieties, the environment suited to each, and other relative questions; but here again the young fellows found that Mr. Gladstone could instruct them upon the cultivation of their favourite flower. Mr. Gladstone took the chair at a lecture upon the history and the manufacture of china, and at the close of the lecture he corrected every statement of the lecturer, and gave the lecturer information of a valuable kind upon the ceramic art. Truly Mr. Gladstone was a dangerous man to contradict. You had to be very sure of your facts before submitting them to his scrutiny. It was an awful moment when Mr. Gladstone put on his spectacles and took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and a still more awful moment when Mr. Gladstone called for a volume of Hansard while some opponent was speaking in the House of Commons. I can never forget how he once told Lord Randolph Churchill that in future the noble lord had better confine himself to opinions rather than enter into the sphere of facts. The advice was undoubtedly bitter, but it was given A ith an illuminating and paternal smile.

I remember once walking with him in the grounds of Dollis Hill. He was talking to my wife and telling her the story of Jack Sheppard, and giving her a skeleton history of the times in which he lived. “I think,” said Mr. Gladstone, “that people would never have caught Jack if he had not ventured out to attend the funeral of his mother.” He then said to her, “By the way, there is a curious book which I daresay may not have come under your attention; it is entitled, ‘The Female Spy; or. The Jesuit in the Family.’” My wife said she had read the book, whereupon Mr. Gladstone expressed his surprise and his pleasure, and went over the principal points of the book as if he had committed it to memory.

Mr. Gladstone was twice my guest: once in the City Temple, and once in my house in Hampstead. In 1877 he delivered from the platform of the City Temple an address on the subject of Preaching. That address was a precious treasure for memory and heart. It was a classic delight in its composition and its language. It was an anthem in prose. In the course of his brilliant address Mr. Gladstone gave sketches of great parliamentary speakers and pulpit orators, such as Richard Lalor Shell, Henry Melvill, Dr. Chalmers, Newman, and others; each was sketched with the hand of a master. His knowledge of the subjects connected with preaching simply astonished all experts in that art. Mr. Gladstone spoke about preaching as if he had never spoken on any other subject. When he sat down he whispered to me that he had an appointment in the House of Commons, and reminded me that I had promised to send him there. That promise I had not, of course, forgotten. When he went down to the carriage which was awaiting him at my vestry door, he spoke so kindly to some poor people who were waiting for him that they were quite fascinated by his most gracious recognition of their presence. I could not but wonder why he was going to the House of Commons at that early hour, and I learned from the journals of the next morning that Mr. Gladstone had at that very hour received a deputation upon some matters connected with the protection of Plumstead Common! At eight o’clock the same night (if I remember rightly) Mr. Gladstone presided over a lecture on the Tomb of Agamemnon, by Dr. Schliemann. Other men may have been able to speak upon preaching, to advise about Plumstead Common, to say something pertinent on the subject of the tomb; but where was the man who could talk upon all these subjects with the same wealth of knowledge and the same mastery of circumstances?

I can never forget the solemnity of Mr.

Gladstone’s manner when I called upon him in Harley Street to ask him to come to the City Temple and take part in the Conference on Preaching. I wanted to say to him bluntly, “Now, Mr. Gladstone, clearly understand that you must keep this promise at all risks and costs,” but of course such a speech was impossible, yet in some hesitant and baffling- way I gave him to understand that everything depended upon his being there; whereupon, in a solemn and judicial tone, as if he was sentencing me to be hanged, he said, “Nothing that is not of an inevitable character shall prevent my being there.” And there he was! “When he came into the vestry, one or two of us were waiting for him. He put his elbow upon the marble mantelpiece and at once began to say that the Eastern question, in its then state, was “the biggest thing” that had happened in our day. He spoke about the Eastern question immediately before going into the church to speak upon Preaching, as if the Eastern question were the only subject in which he took any interest.

The second time Mr. Gladstone was my guest he came to Hampstead to address a meetiiifi of Nonconformists on the then aspect of the Home Rule question. We knew by the cheers of the outside crowd that Mr. Gladstone had arrived, and Ave hastened to give him a cordial welcome to our little house. He noticed everything as he came along the passage and into the reception-room. He pronounced an opinion upon the marble bust which my friends had presented to me. He inquired who painted the portrait of my wife which hung in the dining-room, and then he said to my wife and her venerable father, “I was saying as I came along from Dollis Hill, ‘Job’s Comforters ’ is a satire which Dean Swift would have admired.” All this as if he were simply paying a morning call! Then the guests were introduced to him one by one, and to the gentle and tender-hearted Mrs. Gladstone. Afterwards we adjourned to a marquee which had been erected in the garden for the occasion. At the close of the luncheon Mr. Gladstone spoke in his most fluent and most graphic style for more than an hour. I believe the speech occupied more than two columns in the morning newspapers. Not one bitter word did he say. During the luncheon my wife had remarked how sorry she was that Mr. Bright had taken the course which he had adopted. “Well,” said Mr. Gladstone, “we must think of all the great things he has done for the country.” No recrimination, no attempt to reduce Mr. Bright’s status or influence! That was the real Mr. Gladstone, — the great-hearted, ever charitable chief of statesmen.

On going out of the dining-room, my wife gave Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone a cup of coffee out of Irish china. We can never forget the smile with which he said, “What hope would be given to the Irish people, even in the direction of their manufactures, if they were under Home Rule!”

About Mr. Gladstone’s learning there can hardly be two opinions, though some purists — perhaps they ought to be called pedants — have not left the supremacy altogether unchallenged. Though I am without the slightest claim to be heard on such a question, I may give it as my opinion, from what I have heard of Mr. Gladstone’s conversation, that throughout his erudition there seemed to run a strong seam of what I may call commercial or political sagacity. He was a scholar amongst scholars, yet with a difference. Whewell and. JoM’ett, Lightfoot and Pusey, Newman and Stanley, represent quite another aspect of pure letters. These great scholars seemed to stand far back from the common turnpike utilised by the world’s traffic. They lived on the highway, and yet their houses stood well back from its noise and dust. When you met Dean Stanley you fancied he had just, for an ill-spared moment, hurried away from the cloister, and that the sooner he got back to monastic solitude the more thoroughly satisfied he would be. It was otherwise with the illustrious statesman. Whenever I chanced to meet Mr. Gladstone he seemed to be on his way to the House of Commons. If he had Homer in one pocket, he was sure to have a Blue-book in the other, and somehow it seemed difficult for him to keep the classics thoroughly distinct from the politics. Probably it was this urgent air of his that suggested to Mr. Disraeli a characterisation of Mr. Gladstone which was very pertinent and strikingly comprehensive. On one occasion when Mr. Gladstone hurriedly passed Mr. Disraeli on the stairs of the House of Commons the observant Jew said under his breath, referring to Mr. Gladstone in his rush to the House, “Ardent creature!”

That was the man in two words! That was the man both as a politician and as a scholar. When I read his Homer I feel that he longs to be in the House of Commons, and that his Homeric work is merely recreative and interstitial. At his own breakfast-table I have heard him make references to ^Eschj’liis which were curiously, but most characteristically, mixed up with an analysis of certain election returns which had just been published. ^Escliylus was only an “aside “in an urgent political calculation. The distinct impression left upon my mind was that if ^schylus and an election agent were both announced as visitors, the election agent w*ould be nominated as the first to be heard. Mr. Gladstone does, indeed, acknowledge in the third volume and last page of his Homer that” to pass from the study of Homer to the ordinary business of the world is to step out of a palace of enchantment into the cold grey light of a Polar day.” No doubt of it; yet it would be a larger and better defended palace than any that has yet been built that would keep Mr. Gladstone out of the “cold grey light “of the House of Commons. I do not wond’ —” at his partiality for Homer, because Hr^^nt was the poet of action. Where so nn-O^io said about battles and races, cities and politics, Mr. Gladstone was sure to be at home. I have read all his criticism, and I have been amazed at the number and variety of his allusions and quotations within the whole range of classical learning; yet I never could get away from the impression that he was very anxious to see how things were going on at the House, and that he would have had no hesitation, had circumstances suggested or permitted it, to make an election speech on the steepest slopes of Olympus. Mr. Gladstone saw the political aspects of life everywhere. In the Greek Army he saw the State in uniform, and in the kingdom of Priam he found a congenial field for political analysis and criticism. In estimating Mr. Gladstone’s scholarship it must never be forgotten that it was extensive as well as intensive; in a certain sense we might go further and say that it was extensive rather than intensive. What Mr. Gla,dstone did in Homer he could have done in Dante, in Virgil, in Goethe, and in Racine.

^I have often been struck with Mr. ’ und?,stone’s peculiar power of speech. I in his pt refer to what may be called the higher aspects of his oratory, but to some minor aspects which have come under my own observation. I have counted fourteen lines in one sentence — fourteen lines of the parliamentary type used by The Times. His answers to questions were studies in eloquent verbosity. A favourite text of mine is, “I will appear unto thee in a thick cloud.” This very well represented Mr. Gladstone’s policy in answering a certain class of parliamentary questions. In a lecture upon Mr. Gladstone I ventured to paraphrase one of his replies. The simple question was, “When will the right honourable gentleman lay these papers on the table?” And my paraphrase ran thus:

The right honourable gentleman inquires when the papers will be laid on the table of the House, and I have to assure him that, according to the best of my belief, should circumstances so combine as to favour the policy Aviiich we have in view, the probability is, unless something wholly unforeseen should occur, and I can imagine nothing that can possibly take place, unless it be the unlooked-for incident of a European war, or such a commotion of the celestial bodies as will shake the thrones of civilisation — the probability is (I dare not use a stronger word) that the papers will be laid upon the table of the House precisely when it suits the convenience of the Government.

I have heard Mr. Gladstone once when it seemed to me utterly impossible that he could emerge out of the confusion of his sequence of relatives and antecedents, yet in every instance he has finished his paragraphs with the precision of a perfect sculptor. I have always recommended young speakers to use sentences of which they could see the end from the beginning, and I would repeat that advice, except in the case of the Gladstones who are sufficiently gifted to find a way into daylight through the most tangled verbal forests. I have sometimes contrasted Mr. Bright and Mr. Gladstone in this matter of rhetorical involution. Mr. Gladstone was the creator of parentheses and qualifications innumerable, whereas Mr. Bright went in the straightest possible way to the point he was aiming at. Mr. Bright himself said that the difference between Mr. Gladstone and himself was that Mr, Gladstone went to the port he was aiming at by calling at every bay and creek on the road, whereas he (Mr. Bright) went direct from one headland to anothei;/^ When I heard Mr. Bright at a great meeting in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester, I reported to a friend who asked me what I thought of the speech that to my mind Mr. Bright was not eloquent, he was embodied Eloquence itself. When I heard Mr. Gladstone I thought of him as incarnate Power, the very spirit and force of Intellect.

The only time when (if I may be allowed the expression) I trembled for Mr. Gladstone as an orator was when he had to propose to the House of Commons the erection of a national monument to Lord Beaconsfield. I found myself utterly unal)le to imagine how such a task could l)c done by such a man. I remembered that Gladstone and Beaconsfield were lifelong opponents. They looked at all political questions from diametrically opposite standpoints. They faced one another night after night and year after year as determined political enemies. No sooner was the one elected to power than the other tried, might and main, to throw him down and to throw him out. Yet the one had to propose the erection of a national monument to the other. How could it be done? If Mr. Gladstone had been

A PREACHER’S IJFE

called upon to pronounce a malediction upon Disraeli the course would have been clear. But by the exigencies of office and its natural responsibilities, he was actually called upon to propose that a national honour be accorded to his most illustrious and most determined antagonist. The next morning after the proposal I eagerly scanned the proceedings of the House of Commons. Mr. Gladstone’s speech occupied (to the best of my recollection) most of two columns of The Times. What the speech was may be gathered from the first sentence of the seconder of the resolution. That seconder was none other than Sir Staiford Northcote, the leader of the Opposition, a Conservative of whom any country might be proud. We may be sure that Sir Stafford listened with the utmost sensitiveness of attention. How the speech of the great Premier affected him is made clear by his first sentence: “Mr. Speaker, the monument has been already erected.” A finer compliment was never paid to this species of parliamentary eloquence.

“We ne’er shall see his like again.” English politics have not been the same since the removal of the immortal statesman. What is the matter with the political life of England? The grimness of the answer is in its bitter accuracy. English political life is irreligious, — that is the solemn and awful reply. Mr. Gladstone was religious, Bismarck was religious, and their religion was the secret of their power. By religious I do not mean anything of the nature of cant, sentiment, or superstition; but a sound, honest, glowing faith in the personal sovereignty of God. I distinguish between theology and religion as I distinguish between the changeable and the unchangeable. Have our statesmen a God? Are they men of prayer? Do they walk by faith and not by sight? Are they students of the inspired Word? To say “Yes” to such inquiries would be not only to ignore the plainest of facts, but to ignore facts which some of the statesmen have themselves avowed. Taking Eront- Bench Liberals of to-day, is there a single name which carries moral weight in the country as a whole? There are scholars, able managers, experienced wire-pullers, honest patriots, and expert fence-sitters; there are even churchgoers, and early communicants, and anti-ritualists, — but where are the Cromwells who trusted God, the Gladstones who reverenced His name, and the Brights who steeped their speeches in the very spirit of the Bible?

Liberalism cannot live apart from high moral conceptions; apart, indeed, from distinct and aggressive religious convictions. Liberalism can no longer live when it has cut itself off from conscience, or when it has abandoned the practice of prayer. Of course all this will be laughed at and bitterly derided. That, however, shall not deter mc from the expression of my opinion. Statesmanship is not a game of dice. Nor is it a banquet of many and costly wines. Nor is it a clever bid for place and pelf. It is an aspect of the kingdom of God, — a supreme act of religion working in a political and patriotic direction. Shoot an eagle, stuff him with feathers, replace his eyes with glass and his beak with putty, if you would see an image of politics divorced from faith. Mr. Gladstone was a man of prayer. Through and through Mr. Gladstone was intensely religious. His mind jWas capacious, his learning was large, his ’ eloquence was unsurpassed; yet he would i never have been the man he was but for his steadfast and glowing faith in God.

I may here present an extract from my diary in which Mr. Gladstone’s name occurs in another relation, and because several names occur which I cannot otherwise classify:

By the special favour of the Prime Minister I was permitted to occupy a seat in the House of Commons on Tuesday evening, May 9th, 1871. I was glad of the opportunity on several grounds. Pirst of all, a resolution upon Disestablishment was to be moved, and of course there was an almost certainty that some of our principal parliamentary speakers would figure on the occasion. The scene was certainly full of interest. Facing each other sat hundreds of Conservatives and Liberals, all excited by the question of the hour and all prepared for the tug-of-war. Sitting quietly in my corner under the Speaker’s gallery, trying to find out which were Conservatives and which Liberals, I had great difficulty in doing so. In general appearance they were very like each other. They looked about equal in station and intelligence. Surely “they were all honourable men,” — all. From their appearance no one could tell which were Conservatives and which Liberals. All men are Conservatives when they are asleep, and probably it is the same when they are silent. “Presently,” said I, “some one will speak, and his speech will to a large extent classify the whole House.” So it was. Mr.

MiALL responded to his name, and then I saw pretty clearly who was who. One thing surprised me — viz., the considerable sprinkling of young men on the Conservative side. It is generally understood that all Conservatives are more than fifty years of age, and that they have some difiiculty in moving themselves from one place to another. This impression was entirely removed from my mind on May 9th. Many of the Conservatives are young, strong men, active in limb and clear in voice, and gifted with rare power in the matter of saying “No, no,” to any doctrine which they disbelieve. But Mr. Miall is speaking. I do not know Mr. Miall except as a public man. I never spoke to him. What I say, therefore, is said without prejudice either favourable or unfavourable on merely personal grounds. Mr. Miall’s speech was, in my opinion, excellent in spirit, chaste in expression, but here and there misdirected in argument. Had the question been, “Shall we now establish any denominational form of religion in England?” many of his pleas would have had decisive weight; but he did not sufficiently grapple with the fact that all history brings with it a peculiar set of difficulties, and that in some cases, as in the Estal)lished Church, those difficulties may assume all the impressiveness and authority of a moral argument. So far as Mr. Miall’s argument was abstract, it was in nearly every respect (except in its illustrations) invincible. The comparison, for example, between an Establishment of Science and an Establishment of Religion was, in my judgment, unworthy of the general substance of the speech. Science claims no authoritative Revelation. Science is at best but an Inquiry; Religion claims, at least, to be a Law. Mr. Miall may be perfectly right in contending that Religion should not be established by Act of Parliament, but we fail to see that his reasoning is as sound as his conclusion. Moreover, the illustration was beside the mark, because the question was not, Shall we establish a Church? but. Shall we c?isestablish one? And it was not shown by his illustration that it must be right to destroy one thing because it would be manifestly unwise to create another. The debate on May 9th showed clearly to my mind that in the House of Commons the question of disestablishment must not be argued on religious or metaphysical grounds.

Three things must be proved: (1) that the nation has outgrown established Churches; (2) that established Churches have failed to do the work to which they are specially devoted; and (3) that they can be disestablished without endangering any interest which afPects the security and progress of the nation. Prove these three things, and there will be no occasion to go into collateral matters; prove anything else, and the political citadel will be left untouched.

Sir RouNDELL Palmer’s speech was a charming jiiece of practical blundering and logical fallacy. Had I known nothing about the question but what I heard from Sir RouNDELL, I should have concluded (1) that somebody proposed to destroy a great Christian institution; (2) that it was proposed to silence every preacher in the Episcopal Church, to exile every clergyman from the country, and to jiaralyse a vast system of beneficent activity; and (3) that the religious life of England was being threatened by some murderous hand. It may be said that this would be the effect of disestablishment; but Sir RouNDELL declared that if the Church were disestablished she would put forth greater efforts than ever. So she would. She is more than a political engine. She is a great Christian institution, and as such she would survive all changes of her merely political condition. Sir Roundell drew a flattering picture of a country parson. Well, who wants to injure a hair of his head? Mr, Miall did not propose to kill the clergy, but to liberate them. Sir RouNDELL said that the Church has done a great deal of good. Well, who denies it? Mr. Miall would rejoice to see the Church doing good on a still larger scale. Sir RoTJNDELL said that the Church had stimulated Dissenters to do much good. True; and is it not also true that Dissenters have stimulated the Church to attempt great Christian enterprises? Sir Roundell never grappled with the real question. His speech was neither an argument nor an answer, it was merely a piece of fancy-work very nicely done. There was, however, something pitiful in the fact that so able and so sincere a man failed so utterly to see the merits of the greatest question in politics.

Mr. Disraeli slioAved how possible it is to talk well without reasoning well, and what fine exercise it is to aim at nothing and hit it. Without laying down any great principle, or suggesting a solitary argument in defence of the political supremacy of the Established Church, he contrived to entertain and enliven the House. He made, however, one important admission — viz., that if logic governed the Commons it was very probable that the motion would be regarded as a necessary supplement to the Act affecting the Church in Ireland. There he was unquestionably right. In the long run logic gets its way. Rhetoric is a pretty toy, but logic is the staff of life. Mr. Disraeli is not a logician, yet even he can understand that every addition made to the strength of Nonconformity hastens the liberation of Christ’s Church from State patronage and control.

Mr. Gladstone was not himself. There was something in his mouth which impaired his emphasis. His vision, too, was out of order; he looked at the question through a cloud, and mistook shadows for mountains. On this subject his moral instincts will eventually get the better of his political prejudices, and he will gird himself to the crowning work of his marvellous and most beneficent career. Mr. Gladstone is pre-eminently the man to deal with the political bearings of all Church questions. His heart is sound through and through, and his courage is equal to his most urgent imjuilses. He said nearly everything worth saying on the subject in one sentence: Before parliament can be persuaded the country must be converted. Every chapel built helps the end, so does every member added to the Churches of the Nonconformists, so does every penny given by the heart of grateful love. Nonconformists have their work clearly marked out, — it is pre-eminently a religions work. It must be admitted, however, that the debate in Parliament did great good. It gave importance to the political aspects of the question. It tested the sincerity of many professed Nonconformists. It gave unwilling listeners an opportunity of hearing some unjjleasant, but most impressive and telling truths; and it gave politicians to understand that when they renew their appeals to the electors they will, in many instances, have to jirepare an answer upon the question of Church establishments.

Churchmen and Nonconformists are now rapidly understanding each other better than they have ever done. They mingle with each other in social circles; they read each other’s literature; they inquire about each other’sAvork; — this must tend to the development and appreciation of a noble yet uncompromising charity. I am well aware that these lines will go into the study of many a clergyman of the Established Church, and I am confident that they will be understood as the expression of a sincere desire for the continued strengthening and success of all that is truly Christian and useful within the boundaries of the Established Church. Since coming to London I have had much reason to speak highly of clergymen. They have most cordially sustained me in my public work, and in many Ways have shown a spirit which proves their preparedness to sympathise with movements Avliich are conducted beyond the orbit of the Establishment. In these incidental ways men approach each other, and become disarmed of unreasonable and mischievous prejudices. They will yet get much nearer, and one day they will emulate each other in saying, “One is our Master and all Ave are brethren.”

In many respects the most imjiressivc and memorable public ceremony I ever attended was the funeral of Mr, Gladstone. As all the world knows, that funeral took 2)lace in Westminster Abbey; indeed, in an evident sense, all the world took part in that solemn function. The occasion which brings together both Houses of Parliament, the literature, the science, the music, and the commerce of the world, and which constitutes into one community for the time being all classes of society, could not be other than historical, highly licturesque, and nationally significant. The occasion has been described with such minuteness of detail that it is not necessary for me to attempt any sketch of the whole proceeding. On two points, however, I may permit myself to make an appreciative remark. The first point is that no Nonconformist took any part in the national function. Archbishop, bishops, deans, rectors, vicars, and clergymen of every degree were properly there in great numbers. Hoav could any Nonconformist be present in such an assembly? Think of the highly exalted company, — the ^Vrchbisliop, the Prime Minister, the Lord Chancellor, the Speaker, her Majesty’s judges, and her Majesty’s family; — hoAV could any Dissenting minister expect to ho officially associated with such ecclesiastical dignity and splendour? By right of what wedding garment could a Dissenting minister have put in an appearance? But is it true that no Nonconformist took public part in that grand festival of appreciation and sorrow? On reflection I correct myself. A Nonconformist took one of the most impressive parts in the solemn ritual. I am not sure that his name was given on the programme, hut the fact of his anonymousness does not deprive my memory of one of its most thrilling recollections. The Archbishop, the Prime Minister, the Lord Chancellor, the Speaker, the leader of the House of Commons, the leader of the Opposition, her Majesty’s judges, and her Majesty’s family, together with ten thousand others, sang, as if with one voice, to the accompaniment of organ thunder,

“Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for yeiirs to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.”

Right nobly and gloriously did the grand hymn sound and resound in that echoing and re-echoing Abbey; and that hymn is by a Nonconformist, none other than Dr. Isaac Watts, one of the foremost Nonconformists known to history. There is no denominationalism in such a psalm:

“A thousand ages in Thy sight
Ai-e like an evening gone,
Short as the watch that ends the niglil
Before the rising sun.”

No man was conscious of ecclesiastical division and contention as he took part in the singing of that elevating hymn. All felt the grandeur, the brevity of time, and the solemnity of life.

“Time, Uke an ever-rolUng stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.”

When I recall the singing of that hymn by all classes and conditions of men, and remember that that hymn was composed by the most eminent Nonconformist minister of his day, I must recall the remark that no Nonconformist took public part in the interment of the illustrious statesman.

The other point which I can never dismiss from the recollection of my heart was the coming and going of the venerable and venerated Mrs. Gladstone. I saw the whole action to the best advantage. I saw the lady advance with a springing step,” as if making haste to join the bridegroom at the altar. The impression which she conveyed by the very energy of her step was that she was afraid she might keep the bridegroom standing there too long, when her loving heart was eager to stand by his side. In a feAV minutes the scene changed. The veneral)le lady returned, and I had a full view of her benignant and chastened and beautiful countenance. Oh, the peace oT it! Oh, the shining of those grey blue eyes as she lifted them up towards the sky! In returning from the grave she was no longer young — a very Anna in years; she went, a bride; she returned, a widoAV, — a widow full fourscore ears — a bride and a widow in one! She ]^ft the great man yonder, knowing that th’i’e was a written vow between them tha where he lay she would one day also le. So long as I rememlier that one spe’-acle of mingled grieP, resignation, and trJiiiph, I shall retain a memory which will’^’T’Ve me alike from loneliness and design ‘’^t- (1 th. th?Q,.