sermon, as though he thought he was saying something important! "Which I did," adds Philip. They argued on their way home whether they were to say anything that could be misunderstood. His friend did not believe in "the day of judgment;" Philip thought it right to use Scripture language, which people could interpret according to their light. A fortnight later, he preached at the chapel in St. Saviourgate. This service was in the afternoon, when the congregation was scanty; but it contained many critics. He preached on a characteristic theme-"The connection between the love of God and of man" (1 John iv. 20). He felt "perfectly disgusted" with his sermon, though he had taken great pains with it, and he had complied with Mr. Wellbeloved's wishes in many little particulars. He was rewarded by the cordial approval of his venerable friend. "I am glad I pleased him, * and heard the Et incarnatus est-exquisite thing! What shall one do without the Minster? How do you manage to live?" His appreciation of this glorious music did not damp his efforts to improve the choir at St. Saviourgate : he was organist there, and induced the congregation to consent to having some additions made to the organ; but, as he found that it was their habit to pay for repairs, etc., out of the fund that would else go to the minister, he went about collecting subscriptions. He had the pleasure of opening the instrument, a few Sundays before he left York, free from debt. In March, the exciting intelligence reached him that the college (first of the Dissenting colleges) was affiliated to the new University of London; and that students, duly certificated, might take the B.A. degree without matriculating, at the next examination in June. He urged me to go up and said that as he was not twenty-one, and a dutiful son, he would go * "I arranged the prayers in the homiletic way; and got an us benediction [be with us-not, be with you], and did not say, 'in whose words,' before the Lord's Prayer." Earlier in the session, he wrote that he had not been able to go to the Minster for three weeks, and "one sweet little boy, who used to open his mouth, and sing out, when he saw me looking at him, has died of typhus fever." up if we required it; but he greatly desired to defer it, as he wished the last examination at York to be a creditable one. While corresponding on this subject, the news reached us of our father's death, on his voyage from Naples (April 5, 1840); and Philip came to Bristol, where he remained two or three weeks. We took long country walks together, bringing home flowers for our mother: I never felt more grateful for the beauty of the spring. Our bereavement called forth the living reality of faith, and made the doubts which. our college inquiries had suggested appear merely speculative. The mystery of his death seemed to clear up the mystery of his life. We knew nothing as to his mortal end, and immortality seemed brought to light. He had "walked with God; and he was not, for God took him"-took him from the cloud and the burden under which of late he had been walking, to the Father's house. When we all met that Easter Sunday in our mother's room, she saw how clearly "the visioned glories all appeared" to us, and warned us that, if we were on the Delectable Mountains, we might yet again have to traverse the Valley of Humiliation. But deeply, tenderly, sadly, as we felt our loss-a loss we could never forget-we felt that with him it must be well. It was a time of holy communion for the family. On the Sunday after the funeral sermon, I went to preach at Frenchay, a village five miles from our home. Philip accompanied me, and we walked back together, enjoying the beautiful sunset, and the songs of the birds, and the loveliness of the foliage. We were very happy as we poured forth our hearts to each other, and conferred on the highest themes. The feeling how little can be known from letters is increased as I read those which I next received from Philip. No one could guess from them what had happened. He wrote in the highest spirits, expressing the delight of the college that three former students had taken their degrees at the University of London.* Before 1839, no strict Dissenter could obtain an *The Revs. J. Robberds, T. Hincks, and R. L. Carpenter took their B. A. degree in the first division, May, 1840. English degree. He was working hard for his examinations, and was "drenching" himself "with Platonism" for about a fortnight, for his oration "On the influence of Platonism on Christianity." His studies this year had much interested him. He had purchased Scholz's Greek Testament, having already Griesbach, Lachmann, etc.; he could not think of any book he more desired, for Scripture criticism was a great deal to his taste. As the last examination at York drew near, he was very urgent that I should attend it, and meet other old students who would be there to show their respect for Mr. Wellbeloved, to whom a handsome testimonial was to be presented. When I consented, he wrote, "Your letter fills me with the UTMOST joy." What he felt, as well as what he did, was with all his heart. It was his turn to take the afternoon service on the previous Sunday at his request I took it for him, and had the melancholy honour of being the last to preach before the students of York College. : Mr. W. H. Herford says, "Philip's strong regret at leaving York was not shared by myself, and the wider and deeper interests provided by Manchester soon cured his regrets." The change was a complete one. The students no longer lived together, and the lectures were delivered in a house in Grosvenor Square. In place of Mr. Wellbeloved, there were three theological professors the Revs. R. Wallace, J. G. Robberds, and J. J. Tayler; there were five professors in the Literary and Scientific Department, including Revs. J. Kenrick and J. Martineau, and F. W. Newman, Esq. The number of divinity students was only eleven; but seventeen lay students were attracted by these distinguished men. : Philip wrote to his friend Mr. G. Buckton (November 22, 1840): "I don't at all like being here, in comparison with York, and regret the old place very much. . . . About our present college I am sorry to say we live in lodgings, which takes away all the fun we used to have. We are now a disconnected body, only meeting at lectures, and obliged to turn our thoughts to the melancholy task of thinking how to provide eating and drinking in the cheapest way possible. I guess that if I were to tell you what my living costs me per week, you would be a little bit astonished. . . . They are working us most uncommonly hard." He found what it was to have so many professors, each desirous that his subject should receive full attention, and wrote to his brother: "I feel it the worst part of my stay here, that I am hurried on from one thing to another, and have not a single hour to think. So I suppose my mind must be content to digest, which is perhaps not so very bad a thing, as I had more than a year's thought last year." To my remonstrance at his overwork, he replied, “I take my regular exercise, and sleep, and eat lots. What I mean by working hard, is not wasting any time I like to work steadily while I do work; but keep regular hours. I am not one of those who go and read papers at the Athenæum, and then sit up late to make up, and say they are overworked!" He had felt it a duty, as a senior student, to keep up the old York clubs-the Shakespeare, the Debating, and, above all, the Repository. He would naturally have been elected censor of the "Poz. ;" but, for various reasons, he thought it better that his friend, W. H. Herford, should have the appointment. "Somehow or other," he writes, "such is the weakness of human nature, though it was my own deliberate doing, yet I felt an agitation and struggle at it, though I have pretty well reconciled my mind to it now." His friend fully appreciated his disinterestedness, and remembers thinking the honour conferred on him greater, relatively, than any he was ever likely to earn! Instead of having a party when he came of age, Philip resolved that his special entertainment should be when, as secretary, he invited the members to his room; and he copied out his number with unusual care, to set a high standard for the new series. He had to preach almost every Sunday, and though he expresses great disgust at having to repeat his old sermons, the change, no doubt, did him good, and he benefited by his varied experience. When he was preaching at the Strangeways chapel, for his friend Mr. Mountford, his sister Mary heard him for the first time, and relates that his manner may be well etc. described in Cowper's lines beginning, "Simple, grave, sincere," He noted, when he preached at Bradford for a fee, that it was his first "hiring out.” He always felt some repugnance at being paid for religious services; yet he was now glad to earn a little and when he was again at Bradford, on Easter Sunday, he visited Leeds, and spent the rest of his holiday at York, where he was the guest of his old tutors. He "worked very hard at enjoying" himself; he called on all his friends (especially on Stout, the old college porter, with whom he spent two hours), had a pull on the Ouse, fished for shells, went before breakfast to botanize, and, above all, attended three services at the Minster. He had written beforehand to bespeak a favourite anthem ("Plead thou my cause," Mozart's Twelfth Mass), which his musical friends kindly arranged for him. “I had you in spirit with me at York," he wrote, "and was too busy to feel myself alone there. I shall probably be the last student to see the old place before it is applied to its new purpose-Normal School." (Except the common hall and lecture-room, the buildings consisted of old dwellings round two courts, opposite the York Hospital in Monkgate; the college library was in Mr. Wellbeloved's house, across the street.) He "went into every hole and corner of the dear old place, rung the two college bells, and did many other sentimental things!" On the following Sunday, April 18, he walked over from Manchester, six miles, to preach at Stand, where the minister, Rev. T. May, had resigned through ill health. He spent the night at Mr. Philips's, The Park, and walked back to his lectures the next morning. In a few days, Mr. Philips called on him, with a unanimous invitation from the congregation. He accepted it with some reluctance, as he “did not feel fit to begin," and wished to continue his studies. While his thoughts were much occupied with the new duties before him, he had to work hard for his B.A. examination in London, at the end of May. When it was over, he wrote: “I went to the opera for the first, and I suppose the last, time. I reflected that it was not often that I should have an opportunity of hearing one of Mozart's best operas ['Don Giovanni'] per |
