father's time, than in the time of Archbishop Tait; on the other hand, all the conditions of admission were far more stringent, and the tickets were charged with directions, the object of which was to keep everything neat and beautiful. It was a misery to him to see the slovenly relics of picnicparties; his love of discipline was very deeply-rooted. His sense of possession was aggrieved to an extraordinary degree by people who took flowers or ferns, blackberries or mushrooms, and I have seen him ring the bell and send out a peremptory message to a child picking mushrooms in front of the house-the very blackberrying by the village children was all by rule and line. On one occasion when he was fretting over the invasion of the park, in the blackberry season, I said something about the "kindly fruits of the earth," to which he replied smiling, "Yes, but remember it says that 'in due time we may enjoy them.'"

On the other hand, he had a great personal affection for his lesser neighbours. A party was given during the summer to the old people who received the "Lambeth Dole," and "Corrody," and to the blind.

The "Lambeth Dole," a lineal descendant of the dole of broken meat given to the poor from the superabundance of Archbishop Winchelsea's hospitality in the Great Hall in the end of the 13th century, forms still a link between the Archbishop and some of his poorer neighbours.

Each week twenty-nine old women (unless prevented by infirmity) come to the great gate of the Palace and there receive the 2s. pension, which is continued by each Archbishop as a voluntary gift.

The Corrody is somewhat more obscure. It is a weekly pension distributed to thirty-four poor persons, and is supposed to be the commutation of certain annual gifts made originally to the Brothers and Sisters of the Hospitals of St Nicholas, Harbledon and St John's, Southgate. It is

now practically amalgamated with the Dole, twenty-nine persons receiving Dole and Corrody, and five the Corrody alone.

The Archbishop loved to make this link as much as possible a personal one, himself going into the circumstances of each old lady before appointing her, and always making a point of taking the service and giving a simple address in the Chapel at the close of the yearly party; and finally bidding each good-bye as he stood in his rochet at the West door leading from the Chapel into the picturesque old Post Room where buns and flowers were distributed.

This feeling of personal link between the Archbishop and his poorer brothers and sisters he always jealously guarded, and tried to make real, whether by the careful arrangements made by him for the fullest use of the Lambeth field, or by the care with which he went into the details of each "brother's" and "sister's" case whom he appointed to Archbishop Whitgift's College at Croydon, an almshouse to which the Archbishop presents, and the point he made of riding over there from Addington from time to time to visit the Warden and have a chat with some of the "brothers."

The Rev. Arthur Carr, formerly a colleague of my father's at Wellington College, and latterly Vicar of Addington, writes:

The Archbishop took a great interest in the parish of Addington. Many of the cottagers were his own tenants and workmen. He knew them personally and often spoke with pleasure of one or another who had shown special excellence in woodcraft or carpentry. As one of the School managers he interested himself in all our arrangements and plans for improvement and helped personally in the selection of a new teacher. He took great delight in the children; sometimes, perhaps, seeing their characters and conduct in an ideal light. I remember for instance his saying at the annual distribution of

prizes that Addington boys never threw stones; I have known him take the lesson himself and carry the children into delight fully fresh fields of knowledge. The Archbishop regularly attended the services of the Parish Church. He robed in the Vestry, which was shared by the Clergy and Choir, and joined in the procession, followed by his domestic Chaplains. He sat in the Sacrarium on the north side and always read the Absolution and gave the Benediction at the end of the service. He invariably preached on Christmas Day, and occasionally at other times. When present at Holy Communion, he usually celebrated, but only when requested to do so by the Vicar. For, with his habitual courtesy and tact he avoided the appearance of authority in the Parish. And thus the relations between the Vicar and his illustrious parishioner were always most cordial and pleasant. The use in the celebration of Holy Communion was almost precisely what it had been in Wellington College Chapel years before. The mixed chalice was used and the "Eastward" position taken. No vestments were worn, not even coloured stoles. On St Andrew's Day, the day of the intercession for foreign missions, the Archbishop was accustomed to sit in the body of the Church and to receive the Sacrament with the rest of the congregation. On the Sunday after Christmas Day we used to have a service originally drawn up by him for Truro Cathedral, called "Nine Lessons with Carols." The first three of these short lessons, consisting of five or six verses each, were read by Choir-boys, the next two by Choir-men, the following three in succession by one of the Chaplains, the Curate, and the Vicar of the parish, and the last by the Archbishop, who also gave a benediction before each of the nine carols. It was pleasant to see how devoid of awe the choir-boys were in the presence of the Archbishop. His kind fatherly manner won their hearts, and on one occasion, when some of the choir-men's coats had been stolen during the service, it was amusing to watch the small choristers eagerly explaining to his Grace how the Vestry door had been left unlocked and whose fault it was. On the same occasion it may be mentioned, as one instance of the Archbishop's invariable generosity, that each of the despoiled choir-men received next day a cheque from the Archbishop fully covering the loss of his coat. The Archbishop was very fond of the village church with its unique pre-Norman windows and remarkable narrow side aisle and early English pillars. Nor would he have newer work tampered with. When someone suggested the removal of a very modern

monument to Alderman Trecothick, one of the previous owners of Addington Park, he refused his assent, pointing out the beauty of the marble and of some of the carving. "And besides,” he added, "I like to read the words upon it," a quotation from Rev. xxi. 4, the monument being opposite to his seat. In one of his last talks with the Vicar before leaving for Ireland he enjoined him to invite an architect, whom he selected (Arthur J. Reeve, Esq.), to make drawings with a view to restoring some of the ancient features of the Church. This design, with some special additional features, has been carried out as a memorial to the Archbishop.

He was always strongly moved by any disrespect, such as is not unfrequently shown in certain parts of London, to the episcopal costume; and this sensitiveness was one with the feeling that made him acknowledge any salutation from a stranger with an eager and elaborate courtesy, and welcome the increased friendliness of the people in the poorer streets of Lambeth and Westminster, to whom he became, as he rode through, a familiar figure. He strenuously resisted all suggestions to turn the Lambeth fields attached to the palace into a public recreation ground: he organised most carefully the use of the ground by cricketclubs, and maintained that it was giving far more wholesome pleasure than if he had thrown it open for all alike: he felt a certain pleasure also in its being a concession, and not a public right, feeling that this best maintained the direct bond between the Church and the people.

Where this feudal strain came from I know not, but it was most strongly there; I do not mean that it was ever allowed for an instant to clash with his sense of Christian duty; but, in cases where his reason went against it, it was a struggle of grace with instinct.

Nothing was more characteristic of my father than his consideration for and affectionate interest in his servants. First came the beloved Beth, who for more than sixty years, with tender self-sacrifice and a heart for all, has had no

thought except for our happiness. Parker, the most genial and thoughtful of friends, was our butler at Wellington and Truro, and became our porter at Lambeth on the first vacancy, when Lipscomb, his stately predecessor at the Morton's Tower, went to be Warden of the Whitgift Hospital; Maclean, the Scotch coachman at Truro; Wyatt, the dignified Lambeth coachman whose wig became him well; Newberry, the major-domo who served three Archbishops with upright fidelity; Brim, once my father's valet and afterwards his butler; Whalley, the Scotch bailiff at Addington; Mrs Cave, my mother's maid; Mrs Jones the housekeeper; Sarah Stevens, the first housemaid at Lambeth, who came with us from Truro,-were some among many devoted servants, several of them most religiousminded men and women, whom it was our privilege to have about us. My father studied their ways, thought of them, talked to them and about them, showed his gratitude for their devotion, and won their faithful love. Servants stayed long with us, returned to us, and in after days visited us; the relations between them and my father were never formal, rather patriarchal in character.

Nothing, again, was more eager than the way in which he threw himself into the interests of his children, and this increased rather than diminished as time went on, and as his sympathies widened. He said to me once that he had been late in discovering that one cannot alter the decided bent of a character, and the interest he took in my brother Fred's writings was an instance of this. He did not care for fiction, still less for fashionable fiction; but he read my brother's books with a candid admiration for their élan, their vigour, though with a kind of mystification as to whence those qualities were inherited; and he was intensely amused to hear a report that he himself had read Dodo "with the tears streaming down his cheeks."

B. I.

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