Lighter Moments from the Notebook of Bishop Walsham How

An Englishman was driving through a beautiful glen in county Wicklow, and asked the driver the name of the valley, to which he replied, "Sure, and it's the divil's glen, yer honour." A little further on the stranger again asked, and the driver said, "Sure, and it's still the divil's glen, yer honour." They afterwards drove through another valley, and the stranger said, "And pray what do you call this?" "It's the divil's kitchen, yer honour," was the reply. The stranger then remarked, "He seems to have a good deal of property in these parts." "Indade, yer honour, he has," said the driver, "but he's mostly an absentee, and lives in London."

An Irish professor created a laugh, when called upon to speak at the Birmingham Church Congress, by beginning, with a rich brogue, "Before I begin to speak, let me say – " No one heard any more of the sentence.

At Bishop Lonsdale's first Ordination at his palace at Eccleshall there were a large number of young men, and at dinner a young Irish deacon called out from the other end of the table to the Bishop, "Me Lord, do you happen to have read my sermon on Justification by Faith?" "No," said the Bishop, "I don't happen to have met with it; but surely, Mr. – , you have chosen rather a difficult subject." "Not at all, me Lord," the young deacon called out, "and when you've read my sermon you'll find no difficulty in the subject at all!"

A former Dean (an Irishman) in one of his sermons, speaking, as he often did, disparagingly of the Fathers of the early Church, said, "As for unanimity, there was no unanimity in any one of them." In another sermon the same dignitary spoke about "Standing on the seashore and watching the ever-receding horizon." Again, in another he urged his hearers to "take their immovable stand on the onward path of progress."

An Irishman of a certain church in Shrewsbury spoke one day of "the narrow way in which there was only room for one to walk abreast."

A certain clergyman, who was preaching a sermon on behalf of a new burial ground in a large parish, spoke of the sad condition of a population of thirty thousand souls living without Christian burial.

I was driving in a car from Glengariff to Killarney with a friend, and, on starting, a ragged boy on an old white horse rode by our side joking with the driver. My friend spoke to the boy, and said, "Are you the boots at the inn at Glengariff?" To which the boy answered instantly with a grin, "Did yer honour pay the boots? For, if you didn't, I am."

This ready reply is matched by the following story which again shows the readiness to seize an opportunity of personal advantage.

Bishop Wigram of Rochester insisted on his clergy shaving, and when his successor, Bishop Claughton, came to confirm in Oswestry he sat at luncheon opposite to an Irish curate who had a large beard. The bishop, as a joke, looked across the table and said, "You know, Mr. – , if you came into my diocese you would have to shave off your beard." To which came the instant reply, "Me Lord, I accept the condition!"

At a Retreat which I conducted in 1894 one of the services was given out to be held a quarter of an hour earlier than on the printed time-table. An elderly clergyman had not heard this and came in at the printed hour, and found us singing a hymn. He found a seat and then whispered to his neighbour with a strong brogue, "Is this the end of the last service, or the beginning of the next?"

I once heard an Irish clergyman preaching at Barmouth, in recounting the mercies for which we ought to be thankful, speak of "deliverance from savage wild beasts and noxious insects of the night."

An instance of an Irish bull, which was of so natural a kind that it might have been made by any one, occurred when the Bishop and some of his sons were waiting at Athenry Station. Two farmers were overheard talking, and one said, "Will you be going by the first train to-morrow" To which came the reply, "There's no first train from here at all!"

There are in the note-book a large number of entries under the heading of "Taurology," but most of the stories are already well known. One or two only need be quoted.

Two sisters whom I knew, Miss B – s, received a letter from a brother in Australia, and one read it aloud to the other and then began reading it to herself. The other said, "You might let me have a look at it," whereupon the first cried out, "I call that selfish: didn't I read it all aloud to you before I'd seen a word of it meself?"

I asked a Mr. B – whom I met in July 1896 whether he was any relation to another Mr. B – , a friend of mine, to which he replied, "No: I have no relations of my own. My father was the last of his race."

An Irish footman brought for his master to put on two boots for the same foot. He was sent to rectify the mistake, but returned with the same two boots, saying, "Indeed, yer honour, it wasn't my fault, the other pair's just the same."

The difference between Scotch and Irish character comes out clearly in these stories. Connected as they almost all are with matters ecclesiastical, it is not strange to find the strong Presbyterian dislike to Anglican ceremonial cropping up in the following stories about Scotsmen. But, apart from this, the wit is of a drier kind, and the sayings of a far more sanctimonious character. Here is one about an old forester with whom the Bishop made friends during several of his holidays. This man was invited by a certain duke, whose retainer he was, to pay a visit to his English seat. On the Sunday he was taken to church, and he said afterwards that when the choir came in he thought it was some daughters of the duke and other girls dressed up, and thought it all perfectly disgraceful and making a mock of religion. When the organ played they had to hold him to prevent his going out. "It was," he said, "sic a terrible noise." Other stories follow in the Bishop's own words:

The Duchess of B – had an old Presbyterian nurse, who was once persuaded to attend the beautiful church they had built. The Duchess afterwards asked her if it was not very beautiful, and she said, "Oh yes, very." "And the singing," said the Duchess, "was not that lovely?" "Yes, your Grace," she said, "it was lovely; but it's an awfu' way of spending the Sabbath."

A Scotch lady and her gardener used to worship together, not agreeing with any form of Church doctrine. A friend remonstrated with her and asked, "Do you really think you and your gardener are the only two real members of the true Church on earth?" To which she replied, "Weel, I'm nae sae sure o' John."

A Scotch minister from a large town once visited and preached in a rural parish, and was asked to pray for rain. He did so, and the rain came in floods and destroyed some of the crops; whereupon one elder remarked to another, "This comes o' entrusting sic a request to a meenister who isna acquentit wi' agriculture."

Bishop Wilberforce used to tell a story of a Scotch minister who always regulated his grace before meat by the prospect before him. If he saw a sumptuous table he began, "Bountiful Jehovah," but if the fare was less tempting he began, "Lord, we are not worthy of the least of Thy mercies."

Archbishop Tait when in Scotland had to sign the receipt for a registered letter before the postman, who, when he heard it was the Archbishop, looked at him and remarked, "Weel, I must say you look rather consequential about the legs."

One of the Bishop's sons was fond of sketching, and on one occasion brought back a story which the Bishop delighted in telling. This son and an artist friend arranged to go on a sketching expedition to the west coast of Scotland, and on arriving there the latter went to interview the minister of the little village which was to be their headquarters. In the course of conversation he asked the minister whether, if they attended his ministrations in the morning, he would be greatly scandalised if they did a little sketching on the Sunday afternoon, to which the good man replied, "Well, your business is to paint pictures and mine is to preach and pray. I preach and pray on the Sabbath, you paint pictures on other days. If you saw me preaching and praying on other days you would raise no objection, so I shall raise none if you paint pictures on the Sabbath." It was a curious argument, and probably it would be difficult to find another minister in all Scotland who would agree with him.

A number of stories relating to sermons have already been given, but a large part of the Bishop's notebook which relates to them has not yet been touched. There are some sermons given almost in extenso, and to these it is only possible to refer briefly. The longest report of a sermon is of one that was printed after it had been delivered by an old gentleman who married his cook and thought that it was necessary to justify his action to his parishioners. He described his bride as "one of plebeian birth and the superintendent of my establishment." He based his explanation on the fact that he himself was of such extraordinarily high birth that, in order to make his hearers comprehend how utterly incapable he was of appreciating the little social distinctions which existed in that parish he would tell them that he could no more appreciate such distinctions than, standing upon a mountain, he could judge of the heights, as compared with each other, of the mole-hills lying scattered around its base. Where, therefore, was he to a find a woman, and moreover a woman willing to take charge of a gouty old gentleman like himself, whose birth in comparison with his own was not plebeian? In the matter of his wife's little peculiarities of pronunciation, &c., he would just remind any satirists that their tenements were constructed of a material certainly not iron, and that to such persons the throwing of stones was a proverbially dangerous practice. He announced in conclusion that all these things were of small importance, as he and his wife had resolved to lead a life of almost absolute seclusion, devoting themselves entirely to her improvement, to the duties of their station, and to the preparation of their souls for heaven.

 

Another long extract is given from a sermon preached at Llanymawddy. The original is said to be in the British Museum, and the copy made by Dr. Griffith of Merthyn. The sermon is headed "A funeral sermon for a dead body," and is a wonderful example of "English as she is spoke" by the Welshman. It begins with these words: "Good people of Llanymawddy. My dearly beloved brethren, we are met together here to-day for a great preachment for a dead body, the body of good Squire Thomas, the squire of our parish. We did all love him, though he has scolded us shocking, &c."

The preacher went on to say that he knew the words of his text in three languages, "The Latin tongue which is the language of all learned people: I do know them in the English language – it is the language of all genteel people. I do know them in the Welsh language of course – it is the language of all vulgar people."

Much of the sermon is given up to a description of Adam and Eve, the latter being described as "the beautifullest of all women, but she was a very peculiar woman. She wanted to know everything she ought not to know." The Garden of Eden is thus portrayed: "The garden of Squire Thomas was nothing to it: it would take twenty thousand of Squire Thomas' to make such a garden."

It is altogether a most wonderful discourse, and it would be well worth anyone's while to hunt it up in the British Museum, if the original is really to be found there.

Then there is an extract from a sermon preached by an Irish bishop, which, says Bishop Walsham How, "I heard described by one of his clergy who heard it." The point of the sermon was an illustration of the joy over the one repentant sinner by the joy in a household over the baby which had been ill and had recovered. The curious part of the story lies in the fact that at every mention of the baby the preacher dandled his hands up and down as if he were holding it. The constant repetition of this must have been trying to the gravity.

A few more "sermon-notes" may find a place here just as they were jotted down by the Bishop.

A certain preacher, after describing all sorts of evil, exclaimed, "And all this in the so-called nineteenth century!"

A working man refused to go to church because (he said) the parson could tell him nothing in a sermon he didn't know. However, a friend persuaded him to go, and asked him afterwards if he had learnt nothing. "Well, yes," he said, "I did learn one thing. I learnt as Sodom and Gomorrha was two places. I always thought they was man and wife."

It is said that Dean Goulbourn while preaching on the intermixture of evil with good in the Church, said, "Remember, there was a Ham in the Ark" – then, thinking it might sound odd, corrected himself and added, "I mean a human Ham."

CONCERNING BISHOPS

As might be expected, a very large number of stories in the Bishop's note-book concern Episcopal dignitaries either past or present. It is unfortunate that some of the very best are told of bishops who are still alive, and, although there is not an ill-natured word on any single page, yet it might not be advisable to publish these anecdotes, lest this little volume should be open to the charge of want of respect for those in high places.

How often a story is told of, say Bishop Wilberforce, and at its conclusion the narrator says, "Or perhaps it was Bishop Magee," entirely forgetting the wide difference between these witty prelates, and spoiling the story by his uncertainty. It will be noticed that some of the better-known stories which are given below have Bishop Walsham How's own evidence of their origin, and it is possible that in some cases their publication may be useful as clearing up all doubts as to their source. For instance, he knew well both Bishop Wilberforce and Bishop Magee, and for the stories about them he frequently vouches.

The Bishop of Winchester (Wilberforce) is renowned for his wit. I was one day dining in his company. He was to the right of the lady of the house, Canon G – to her left, and I next to him. Canon G – was talking to the bishop across the lady of the house about a very old man, and observed that he was losing his faculties very fast, his senses of taste and smell being so completely gone that some naughty boys in his house, knowing that he always had a lightly boiled egg for breakfast, blew it one morning and filled it with castor oil, and he never found out. The bishop looked up with one of his merry twinkles and simply said, "Never?"

On another occasion at a dinner party a young man was talking rather foolishly about Darwin and his books, speaking very contemptuously of them, and he said to the bishop, "My Lord, have you read Darwin's last book on the Descent of Man?" "Yes, I have," said the bishop; whereupon the young man continued, "What nonsense it is talking of our being descended from apes! Besides, I can't see the use of such stuff. I can't see what difference it would make to me if my grandfather was an ape." "No," the bishop replied, "I don't see that it would; but it must have made an amazing difference to your grandmother!" The young man had no more to say. I could quote many more witty sayings of the bishop, but they would give no idea of the real humour with which they were spoken, so much depending on the bishop's inimitable manner and tone of voice.

Bishop Wilberforce, in one of his instructions upon preaching, gave descriptions of what were not sermons, before proceeding to describe what was a sermon. One of his sentences was this: "A few texts floating here and there in the feeble waste of your own turbid fancies —that's not a sermon."

The same bishop, after preaching a very eloquent charity sermon, was going from the pulpit to the altar when an enthusiastic lady, too much moved to wait for the offertory plate, put a half-sovereign into his hand, saying, "I must give my mite," to which he replied, looking at the coin, "I thought there were two of them."

A great friend of Bishop Wilberforce told me of a little bit of cleverness of his which is worth recording. He was telling a story of an Italian Marchesa, in which she made a clever repartee in French. The bishop was known not to be very perfect in French, and my informant said he awaited his enunciation of the French remark with some anxiety. But he need not have been anxious, for the bishop discounted any shortcomings by saying, "Then the Marchesa said – (you know her French was not very perfect) – " and so made the quotation.

Of Archbishop Magee the following stories are recorded by the Bishop:

I was with Bishop Magee in a railway carriage once, and he had the Church Times and the Rock on his knees. Before the train started a newspaper boy held up a copy of Church Bells to him, and he looked up and said, "What's that? Oh, Church Bells. That's moderate, isn't it? No, thank you; I like to read the extremes and do the moderation for myself."

The same bishop at a dinner party had some soup spilt over his coat by a clumsy servant, and exclaimed, "Is there any layman who would kindly express my feelings in suitable language?"

Bishop Magee at a City dinner was sitting next to some one who had to propose the health of Alderman Pigeon, of whom he knew very little. He asked the bishop what he could say about him: "Oh," was the reply, "say you hope he will some day find himself in a mayor's nest."

Here is a story which is frequently quoted, and is inserted here for the sake of the guarantee of authenticity:

The Bishop of Peterborough (Magee), being plagued to go and open all sorts of things – churches, schools, bazaars, &c. – exclaimed one day, "I do believe very soon there will not be a young curate in the diocese who has bought a new umbrella, who will not apply to the bishop to come and open it." (Said to the Bishop of Leicester, who told me.)

Bishop Magee, walking one day with the Bishop of Hereford by the Wye, said to him, "If you will give me your river I will give you my see."

The Bishop of Peterborough, being pressed to give a certain man a living, said, "If it rained livings I would offer Mr. – (after a pause) an umbrella." (This was said by the bishop in the Athenæum to a friend of mine, who told me.)

A lady who was a great admirer of a certain preacher took Bishop Magee with her to hear him, and asked him afterwards what he thought of the sermon. "It was very long," the bishop said. "Yes," said the lady, "but there was a saint in the pulpit." "And a martyr in the pew," rejoined the bishop.

Lastly, there is a touching little story of his self-estimation:

The Bishop of Peterborough (Magee), speaking of Bishop Harold Browne, said he owed him a grudge, "for he's got all my sweetness of disposition as well as his own."

The remaining stories about bishops fall under two heads – first, those which are told definitely of some particular bishop; secondly, those which are told of "a bishop," and to which too much credit need not necessarily be given.

Under the first heading come the following:

A certain bishop [the name is given] on his marriage determined to go abroad, and he and his bride spent the first night at Folkestone, meaning to cross next day to Boulogne. There was a great crowd on the platform in the morning, and the bishop asked his wife to wait in a certain spot while he went and saw to the luggage. He made some mistake and could not find her, and, supposing she had gone on board, went to look for her, when the vessel started and he was carried off to Boulogne. His wife had to return ignominiously to the hotel, where she received great commiseration from the landlady. The lady was quite sure some accident had happened to her husband, and a messenger was sent to see, and when he returned the landlady came in with a very grave face, and said, "I am sorry to say, ma'am, there's been no accident. But he didn't look like a gentleman to do such a thing." Of course he returned by the next steamer.

Bishop Selwyn of Lichfield was once asked how he came to give his theological college men such an ugly hood – black and yellow like a wasp. "Oh," he said, "I wanted to distinguish them from St. Bees' men."

It was said of Bishop Christopher Wordsworth of Lincoln that one half of him was in heaven and the other half in the seventeenth century.

When Dr. Moberly, Bishop of Salisbury, was old and infirm, he went with a friend to visit Old Sarum, and, as he was toiling up with the help of his friend, the latter remarked, "It's hard work getting up Old Sarum," to which the bishop replied, "It's harder work getting old Sarum up!"

A certain suffragan bishop was mobbed one day in a low part of London by costers, who told him they couldn't have him wear such a hat and dress. He told them he was a poor orphan with neither father nor mother to look after him and see to his clothes; so they let him go, saying, "We can't chaff you, governor."

A witty bishop of the present day, being pressed to go to many parishes for Confirmation, said that the final clause of the Baptismal Service wanted altering, and should be worded, "Ye are to take care that the bishop be brought to this child to confirm him," &c.

When Bishop Stanley first went to Norwich he went up the tower of the Cathedral, and, hearing some jackdaws twittering in a hole in the wall, and being very fond of birds, he put his hand in and drew out three young jackdaws, which he took down in his pocket and put in the garden. The next morning he could not find them, and, while looking round the garden, heard, just outside, some boys making a noise. One was crying, "Who stole Jim Crow's cadges?" (This is the local name for jackdaws.) So he ran out and caught the boys, and found out the culprit, whom he had up before the magistrates, and was going to have punished, when the boy's father asked if he might ask a question, and, leave being given, asked, "Can you tell me, sir, who the Cathedral belongs to?" "To the dean," was the answer. "Then," said the man, "who stole the dean's cadges?" This ended the matter, and the boy was dismissed.

Bishop Short (of St. Asaph) was much annoyed by his clergy seeking promotion. One day he visited a certain parish with Archdeacon Wickham, where the clergyman, as he knew, thought he ought to be promoted to a better living. This clergyman pointed to his house and school, which he had rebuilt, and said, "I think, my Lord, I have done pretty well in this parish in building the parsonage and school." "Yes," said the bishop, "indeed you have, and may you long live to enjoy the sight of your labours."

When preparations were being made for the funeral of a former bishop of Lichfield, a newly made archdeacon, who had held preferment in the Black Country, was giving directions to the secretary in the cathedral. The senior verger was standing by with some others. The archdeacon said to the secretary, "You had better send post cards to the prebendaries stating the exact hour," whereupon the verger turned to a gentleman standing by and said, "Post cards to prebendaries! Well, if them's his Black Country manners the sooner he goes back there the better!"

Bishop Pepys (of Worcester), who was a stout old man, was walking near Hartlebury one day when the omnibus for Worcester passed, and the driver was beating the horses most unmercifully. The bishop called out to him that if he went on in that way he would have him up. The man told him to hold his noise or he would give him the same. The bishop followed the omnibus into the village and found it standing at the inn door, so he called out the landlady and asked the name of the driver. She said she did not know as he was a stranger, the regular driver being ill. So the bishop walked on, and entered the drive up to the castle. Meantime the landlady went to the driver and asked him what he had been doing, as the bishop had been asking his name. "What," he said, "was that the bishop? Why, I said I would lay into him next! Which way did he go?" So off he ran, whip in hand, to beg the bishop's pardon. In a short time the bishop heard steps following, looked round, saw the driver running after him, and, remembering the man's threat, took to his heels and ran as hard as he could towards the house. At last to his relief he heard the man panting and puffing behind him cry out, "Oh, my Lord! I hope you'll forgive me, my Lord!" So he pulled up and recovered his breath and his dignity as best he could.

When the Act of Uniformity Amendment Act (Shortened Services Act) was passed, a very short service was held in Westminster Abbey at 7.45 A.M. to last only fifteen minutes, partly for the sake of the masters at the school. Lord Hatherly always attended this service, but, although perhaps the busiest man in England, did not like the abbreviations. The new lectionary had lately come into use, and Lord Hatherly told the Bishop of Lichfield (Selwyn) as they came out of the Abbey one morning that he had discovered the true merits of the new lectionary. He said that, the lessons beginning so often in the middle of a chapter, he found that it took the reader so long to find his place that he (Lord H.) had time to finish the Psalms (of which only a portion was used) to himself. [In connection with the above story it may be noted that Bishop Walsham How was at one time examining chaplain to Bishop Selwyn, and may probably have been told it by him.]