Page images
PDF
EPUB

morning, which lay on the greensward under his window, and rose to attempt it; but his strength was gone; he could but just cross the room, supported on either side, and sank down upon the bed in a deep sleep. That moment the physician entered, and saw at once that the disorder had turned to congestion of the brain. Remedies were applied: he was roused to animation, but not to consciousness. A few wandering words and sentences escaped him on the topics most familiar to him; the projected voyage to Edinburgh, to which he had been looking forward with delight, as he always did to anything which brought him into contact with his favourite element-the thoughts of his charge at home, "Then I shall be within reach of Norwich, to return for the cholera "-the distribution of money to schools-and the enforcement of full services in small congregations, "If there are but twenty, they ought to have their double service." Before evening those faint gleams of life and reason had passed away; at midnight Dr. Bright, the eminent London physician of that name, arrived from Inverness, where he happened to be staying, and concurred with Dr. Ross, the medical attendant of the place, that hope was extinct. For two days the unconscious struggle of nature continued; but, on the night of Thursday, the 6th of September, in the presence of his wife and daughters, who had been with him throughout, and of his second son, who had arrived from Edinburgh on the evening of the 5th, he breathed his last.

It was not known till the following December that three weeks before that time, on the 13th of August, his

youngest son, Captain Charles Edward Stanley, of the Royal Engineers, had been suddenly cut off by fever at his post at Hobart Town, in Van Diemen's Land. It was not known till the following summer that, six months from that time, his eldest son, Captain Owen Stanley, of H.M.S. Rattlesnake, whose health, after the reception of the news of his brother's death from Van Diemen's Land, had given way under the labour and anxiety of his successful survey of the coast of New Guinea, and who, on his return to Sydney in February, found the tidings of his father's death awaiting him, suddenly expired on board his ship, in the port of Sydney, on the 13th of March, 1850.

[ocr errors]

In the papers which were found at Norwich, on the arrival of his family, to be opened after his death, was a short direction for his burial, written in 1843, to the effect that “individually he should have preferred Alderley Churchyard, there to rest amongst those "with whom he had so long lived"-but that "cir"cumstances and the wishes and judgment" of those in whom he most confided "might decide might decide upon the spot "which had been the last scene of his ministerial "labours." "If so, let me rest in Norwich Cathe"dral or its precincts." That desire, which had been expressed more decidedly in latter years as he grew more attached to his last sphere of duty, had been already anticipated. The mortal remains had been conveyed by sea from the neighbouring port of Invergordon to Yarmouth. It was the time of the equinoctial gales, and it

was therefore not without anxiety that the arrival was awaited. But the storm abated, and on the evening of Wednesday, the 19th of September, the steamer conveying the precious freight entered the roads of Yarmouth, and there, by the joint exertions of the hardy boatmen, whom he had often watched with so lively an interest, and of the venerable head of the steam-company of the town, it was landed on the quay amidst a crowd of spectators collected in silent respect on the spot, the colours hoisted half-mast high on the ships and on the Town Hall,-and the civic and ecclesiastical authorities combining to show the last mark of honour to him, who could not, had he chosen for himself, have wished a place or mode for the reception of his last mortal remains on the way to their final restingplace, more fitting than amidst the roar of the winds and waves on the familiar shores of his own Diocese, where he had been so often cheered in life by the sight of his own darling element.

The funeral took place on the 21st of September. One document alone had been found amongst his posthumous papers expressive of his own wishes on the subject, beyond what has been already stated. In the preceding July, a few weeks before his departure for Scotland, he had written a short direction, to the effect that, "if he were buried at Norwich, anxious as he had "been through life for the education of the humbler "classes, as large a number of the schoolchildren as "could conveniently be collected should attend his "funeral."

In this particular his request was fulfilled, and in all

BISHOP OF NORWICH.

101

else as much simplicity was observed as was compatible with the spontaneous and universal respect paid by all classes to his memory.

The details of the day on which his remains were committed to the grave will best be described in the following extracts from letters written immediately afterwards by eye-witnesses to distant friends.

"It was," says Professor Sedgwick, "the most touching and striking ceremonial I ever witnessed. The mayor and corporation in their civic dresses, covered with crape, led the way. Then followed the coffin and pall-bearers-then the family and mourners, among whom went Mr. Wodehouse and myself. About four hundred clergymen, in full robes, followed. And lastly, a great multitude of the respectable inhabitants in the city and neighbourhood. The procession was so very long, that I could only see a very small part of it. On reaching the western door of the cathedral there was a short halt. The doors were then thrown open, and on each side of the central aisle of the nave eleven hundred children from the different schools of the city were arranged in triple rows. The members of the corporation descended through the nave to the choir, followed by the choristers in surplices and scarfs, chanting a Psalm. Then the coffin and pall-bearers, followed immediately by the family and the rest in turn, and in the order above described. the clerical body, walking four abreast, extended from the west door to the organ screen. As soon as the choir was filled the door was closed, and the funeral service was read by Dr. Philpott and the Dean. After which we returned to the grave in the centre of the nave, keeping the same order as before, the organ pealing the solemn Dead March in Saul. At the grave side the choristers sang a solemn dirge, and then the concluding service was read by the Dean. There were thousands in the Cathedral. All parts of the triforium were filled. The organ

I was told that

102

MEMOIR OF EDWARD STANLEY,

gallery was covered with spectators; all were in mourning; many were deeply affected. Many thousand eyes were dim. with tears, and you could hear the modest and half-concealed sobs of the little children as you passed down the nave; for the Bishop had visited all the schools again and again, and was loved by the children; and it was at his request, expressed in a written paper found in his study after his death, that they were all invited. The day was beautiful, and between the palace gate and the Erpingham gate we marched, through, I should think, not less than 20,000 spectators, who were all respectful and silent, and many of whom were sorrowful. Nothing happened to break in upon or mar the moral sublimity of the solemn procession and service."

Two other letters may be quoted, as adding some particulars of their own.

"I was early in the Palace garden," says one who held the office of Rural Dean in the Diocese, "and had an opportunity of observing the persons arriving to pay their testimony to the sense they had of what the occasion called for. Knowing as I do personally most of the clergy of the Diocese, and of the principal inhabitants of the city, I was first struck with the sight of the extraordinary mixture which presented itself-the perfect fusion it showed of parties of all opinions, both in Church principles and political differences. Some of all stations in society, not attending so much officially as individually, because (as I verily believe) they each felt that they had lost a personal friend, who had borne himself honestly, fairly, and kindly towards all.

"I took my place late in the procession, and had the means of watching it from first to last. Upon leaving the Palace gateway it had to pass through very large masses of the assembled populace, but not a sound of any kind was to be heard, but the trampling of feet; and (what still more plainly in

« PreviousContinue »