Project Canterbury






















It has always seemed unaccountable to me that so little has been written in record and remembrance of Bishop Williams. Having so many devoted friends and admirers, both among the clergy and laity, whose recollections must be taken from many standpoints, one wonders why so few have been recorded. He was so notable a personality, so great intellectually, officially so prominent, not only in his own diocese, but throughout the United States and abroad; so popular with all classes, and so universally recognized as one of our greatest men by the learned in all professions, how does it happen that some of those whom he educated and instructed with such rare wisdom, whom he guided and helped, have not with gratitude and eloquence paid fitting tribute to so great a character?

Sixteen years ago he died, but, aside from the tributes paid him at his death, and the worthy memorial sermons by Bishop Doane and Dr. Hart, no fitting words have received the story of his life, his work and achievements, his great influence on the development of the church, or told of his strength of character, his loving personality, his simplicity and dignity, or of the wisdom, tact and towering intellect that placed him so far above the average in the estimate of all.

Add to all this the reminiscences of his friends, his personal interest in families and individuals, his brilliant wit and wonderful memory, his skill as a "raconteur," his delightful conversational powers, his faithful friendship for young and old--here is a wealth of material that would furnish pages of interesting reading for the many lovers and admirers of so great a man. He was, as Bishop Doane so aptly characterizes him, "a spiritual Prince."

Many have asked me why I did not write my own recollections of Bishop Williams, because I was so intimately connected with him for very many years, but I have felt that my pen was utterly unworthy of so great a subject, and, if I venture now to do so. it is with the feeling that I cannot attempt to portray his character or his intellectual abilities, but recall only some of the light and ordinary details of a long and useful life. However, as I was from my youth honored with his confidence and affection, what I may have to tell will be largely personal, for which I must be pardoned, as it is all I have to offer. Yet some of it may be interesting as showing how supremely he was [3/4] loved and how closely he attached himself to his people. After his mother's death he was a lonely man with few near relatives, and therefore his affections were largely centered on those bound to him by no ties of blood, but, nevertheless, they were deep and sincere.


Turning backwards many long years one recalls his frequent preaching in old Christ Church on Broad Street, Middletown, where his sermons were a delight to his hearers; always logical, clear as crystal, and in language that a child could comprehend. Later, in the new and present edifice--now Holy Trinity--he preached, but more infrequently, because of his increasing duties, not only as Bishop of Connecticut but as Presiding Bishop.

I well remember on one occasion when he seemed to be especially impressive and earnest as, in his bishop's robes, he stood towering majestically above his hearers, the idea of an archangel flashed through my mind. He was preaching one of his eloquent sermons, the text taken from his favorite St. Paul, and in conclusion, he exclaimed in tones of deep humility: "And yet I am ready to say with St. Paul, having done all these things I am a most miserable sinner."

Again, I recall his officiating at a funeral on Indian Hill Cemetery. It was a beautiful day, the sun setting in exquisite coloring in the west, and everything so quiet and peaceful that it seemed as if we were outside the busy world entirely. Bishop Williams had read the " committal" and then in tones almost exultant and full of belief and faith, raising himself to the full height of his magnificent manhood he pronounced the words, ''I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me--write, 'From henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,--even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors." [Note--The popular Captain West, an officer of one of the great steamship lines, told a Philadelphia friend of mine that during a voyage from England to this country, when he was bringing over the wonderful Swedish singer Jenny Lind for, I believe, her first concert tour, she expressed her earnest desire to behold a sunrise at sea. Accordingly, one cloudless morning he had her called at early dawn and she stood tint by his side on deck, silent and motionless, watching every change of shade and until the first golden rays shot up from the horizon. As the sun itself leaped up from the waves, she burst into rapturous song, her deeply religious feeling finding expression in the noble music of Handel's "Messiah." No wonder that Captain West, when describing the scene, should have exclaimed: "No one will ever hear "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth' sung as I heard it that morning."]

I shall never forget that occasion, nor the impression it made on me, for there was such a note of triumph in the tones of his voice, as if he were expressing his own entire belief in his own words, in the presence of God, and utterly unconscious of his surroundings. Never have I listened to a more [4/5] wonderful service, nor heard those inspiring words uttered by mortal lips in such a striking and beautiful manner. Had there been present unbelievers, with hearts of stone, they must have been stirred by the comfort of the text so exquisitely rendered.

On another occasion, an Easter Sunday, a collection was planned to pay the parish floating debt. Bishop Williams was to preach, and before his sermon he simply stated the purpose of the collection, and it would please him very much personally if the congregation would contribute sufficient to free the parish from the last of its indebtedness. After the service the rector, or warden, received a note from a gentleman present, not a Communicant, stating that if the collection was not sufficient he would personally send his check for any deficit, which he did, amounting to about $1,500, remarking afterwards that the bishop wanted the debt paid and so he was glad to do it for his sake.

Some years ago when the Berkeley Divinity School needed funds, I told Bishop Williams I believed, from what had been told me, that Mr. S. would contribute if he asked him to do so. The bishop gave me a note of introduction and I was received cordially and stated the object of my call. He replied, "I am not a churchman, nor have I any connection with the Episcopal Church, though my wife was a communicant, but I know Bishop Williams and admire him, and anything he wants he ought to have. I will give him $1,000 now, and if necessary you can come to me for more."

Another instance, the circumstances of which I am not at liberty to detail, when a very large sum of money was needed for a specific purpose, I asked the bishop to write to a generous friend, stating the case, but it took six month's persuasion on my part to get him to do it, although he constantly said that he would. Finally the letter was sent and the response was instantaneous and the check for $30,000 received within a week.

Let it not be thought that Bishop Williams did these things frequently. On the contrary he seldom asked for money by personal appeal, and disliked to do so immensely. But when he did the result showed that it was looked upon as a privilege to do what such a man desired, because underneath it all lay silent and unexpressed deep love and personal affection that prompted instant response.


Now that Mr. Joseph E. Sheffield of New Haven has long passed to his rest. I can speak of the absolutely confidential and affectionate relations between him and Bishop Williams. Mr. Sheffield [5/6] regarded it as his peculiar privilege and happiness to aid largely in sustaining the work of Bishop Williams in establishing the Berkeley Divinity School and provide for its future endowment, as well as its then present needs. For many years Mr. Sheffield contributed over $5,000 a year out of his private purse in lieu of New Haven & Northampton dividends, which had been suspended on stock which he had given the school, and his generosity relieved the good bishop of many anxious moments.

In reference to this I quote from a confidential letter from Mr. Sheffield to myself, written in 1881, in which he says:--

"The present investment is safe, and while I am able to sign a check the dividends will be regular; and I feel warranted in saying they will in time be much larger. This, again, private and confidential, and only for the good bishop and yourself. I cannot but realize his anxiety for the future income for Berkeley (indeed the present income); I cannot expect to relieve that anxiety, but, if I can lessen it, I feel that it is my bounden duty to do so."

Once Bishop Williams was dining with Mr. Sheffield at his New Haven residence and Mr. Sheffield, who sat opposite, remarked: "Bishop, how well you look. Who is your physician?" And the reply came, "He sits opposite me, sir." The bishop told me the color rose in Mr. Sheffield's face like a girl, so overcome was he at the deep feeling contained in the good bishop's words and the compliment so beautifully expressed.


Turning back to life in Middletown in the 60's and later, one may remember frequently seeing Bishop Williams on the street and seldom alone. Sometimes amid a group of students or walking with two or three; sometimes with the clergy, of whom many were here--Dr. Goodwin, rector of the parish; Drs. Harwood, Coit, Fuller, de Koven, Davies, Gardiner, Townsend, Binney and others; sometimes stopping for a chat at the old rectory (standing on the present site of Holy Trinity Church) and often meeting his lifelong friends of the lay families--Alsop, Johnson, Casey, Jackson, Russell, Glover, Hackstaff, Hubbard, Pelton and many others. Always a smile, a pleasant word, and a handshake, and whether he met Jew or Gentile, Catholic or Protestant, all knew Bishop Williams and called him friend.

In the earlier days of the school, when the learned and genial Dr. Thomas W. Coit lived in Troy, he would come in the spring and autumn to lecture to the students, and it was remarked by some witty person that we could always expect Dr. Coit, [6/7] Connecticut River shad and Barnum's circus at the same time every spring. The bishop's house was always a center, and its hospitality generous and abundant. During the days at home you would find him in his library working, writing or reading, and in the evening during his mother's life, and afterwards, sitting in a rocking chair in the southwest corner of the parlor smoking his cigar and reading or chatting.

When the first company of volunteers, in 1861, left for the seat of war I well remember it drawn up in front of the bishop's house to receive a flag made by the women of Middletown and presented in eloquent words by the bishop. He was loyal to the core to that flag and all through those weary years of strife his voice was heard for the Union.


He never went much into society, though often a welcome and much desired guest at the dinner parties so frequent then in the town. But his devotion to his mother was so dutiful and so beautiful that he found his chief relaxation in her society. After her death Miss Tibbs, an elderly lady who had always lived in his family, kept house for him; later, when her health failed, his cousin. Mrs. Field, looked after his household until his death. I recall years ago a trustees' meeting at his house, interrupted by the luncheon hour, when we adjourned, to the dining room. The bishop, eating but little himself, entertained us by telling some dialect stories of the wittiest character, and in inimitable manner, so that our grave and reverend board was so convulsed with laughter, that we could scarcely eat. No professional actor could have excelled him in accent, pronunciation and gesture, and as one story followed another we enjoyed a treat rarely experienced.

Wherever he happened to be, whether in church, society or meeting of any sort, he was instantly accorded the first place, and was the center of attraction. There was absolutely no question as to his precedence, and it seemed to be taken for granted that it belonged to him; and I may add, not so much on account of his office as because of his acknowledged strength and superiority intellectually. Yet he never assumed this superiority by right of position, or his unusual gifts. In fact, his attitude of mind was humble and not assertive, and he was easy of approach by all. No artificial cloak of dignity was needed to remind one that he was a bishop, and a great man. He did not hedge himself about with any barriers of pride, or intolerance; yet I never saw a man who dared to take advantage of his friendship or simplicity of manner. I have [7/8] met in traveling far and wide, in business and socially, many young and old who knew Bishop Williams, and the fact of our mutual acquaintance seemed at once to create a common bond that put me on a friendly basis that was unique. This experience covers, of course, the bishops of our church, and the clergy, as well as a justice of the supreme court of the United States, statesmen, professional and business men, down to the humblest of the land.


In 1894, before going abroad, I asked the bishop if he would give me some letters of introduction. Calling for them, he said he had concluded to give me one letter which, if presented to any English cleric, would insure me attention and civility, and especially in Scotland he was sure would give me the "entree" to anything, or any place I wished to visit. He instructed me when I visited Lambeth Palace to send the letter with my card to the archbishop's secretary, and, as he expressed it, "You will be shown everything any American layman ever sees, and probably some things they never see."

When I called I asked for the porter (as the bell was answered by a middle-aged woman) and was told he was not in the palace, I then gave her the letter and my card for delivery to the secretary, and when the woman returned she said the secretary had directed her to guide me through the palace. She then explained that she was the wife of the porter, who was absent on his two weeks' holiday, and added: "Are you from Bishop Williams of the United States?" And when I assented she said: "Ah, John will never forgive himself for being absent when any one from Bishop Williams comes here, or any friend of his." This she kept repeating as we journeyed through the palace, showing me every room and thing of interest she could think of, and finally we reached the Lollard's Tower, where she said Bishop Williams would come often to smoke his cigar, and where I think "John" sometimes accompanied him for a chat.

I parted from my faithful guide, leaving her still repeating her tearful regrets that John should be away when any friend of Bishop Williams called. Evidently when he went to England and Scotland in 1884 he had made devoted friends of the old porter and his wife. Such is an illustration of the character of Bishop Williams, who won the respect and love of the lowly, equally with the friendship of the great. The circular letter of introduction I have in my possession and shall always keep as a valued memento.

[9] Returning home, I immediately called on Bishop Williams, finding him seated in the corner of his library reading and wearing the familiar purple dressing gown. He rose and came forward, putting a hand on each shoulder and kissing me on each cheek, saying, "Well, I'm glad to see you home again. I've felt like an old cat that had lost its kitten." Such a welcome, from such a man, I have always considered as one of the events of my life to be most proud of.


Perhaps no event of his life gave him more real enjoyment than his visit to Great Britain in 1884 to participate in the Seabury Centenary, and the account of this together with the services in Connecticut, were published in 1887. In acknowledging the presentation of the staff by the Bishop of Aberdeen, Bishop Williams said:--

"There are times and things concerning which words utterly fail, and must fail, to give utterance to the feelings of the heart, and this let me say, is one of those times--a day that I can never forget, a day for which, though most unworthy of what has been given me, I must always feel the devoutest thankfulness to Almighty God."

I would like to quote the whole page, for what he said is contained within that space. It breathes thankfulness, humility and happiness of spirit, and the prayer that the bond between the Scottish and American churches will, be maintained in the years to come. It is all so characteristic of the man--simple, thankful and eloquent.

Some of his letters from abroad (copies of which I have through the kindness of the Misses Beach of West Hartford) are, of course, very interesting, with many little sparkles of humor, and often sentiment, when he encloses a leaf, a flower, or a bit of heather, with a little story accompanying it, of association with somebody or some thing.

Surely, the church made a wise choice in selecting Bishop Williams to represent it at the Seabury Centenary. Physically and intellectually he made a deep impression, and so noble a presence, so eloquent a preacher, and so well informed, a scholar was indeed a delegate of which America might well be proud.

But with all the honors and hospitality so abundantly showered upon him, it is evident through all his letters that he turned with almost homesick longing to his own people and his own home--counting the days before sailing and arriving in Middletown, much as a schoolboy might count the weeks and days before his home-coming.


So many of the stories and witticisms of Bishop Williams have been published that there is danger of repetition, but a few will not come amiss -as showing the lighter side of his character. In his visitations he suffered many inconveniences and discomforts, though he never complained, and probably a strong, inherited constitution many times saved him from serious consequences. He would speak of the "spare room beds" with horror, and in getting in between sheets that were so damp and cold, on beds which perhaps had not been slept in since his last visitation, and, as he expressed it--"it was like getting in between cakes of ice."

When my father heard of this he gave the bishop two flannel gowns, which ever afterwards accompanied him when traveling, and which he said "saved his life." But it was not only cold that he experienced, but sometimes too much heat. Once in winter he was shown to his room, where a base-burning stove was glowing red hot, and a feather bed was the only mattress. Before retiring he tried to open a window, but they were not only nailed down, or fastened, or protected by double windows so no air could be admitted, but the crevices had cotton glued over them. He tried to sleep, but could not, and finally told his secretary to get up, take the hair brush and break a pane in the window. He did so, and presently there was a crash of breaking glass and the bishop said: "Ah, now I can breathe"--and calmly went to sleep. In the morning the only broken pane of glass visible was in the bookcase. Such is the power of imagination even on the greatest intellects!


Arriving late one afternoon in a village where he was to preach in the evening he found his hostess in a flutter for fear that in cooking the supper for the bishop and then getting ready for church she would miss part of the service. So the bishop told her simply to put things on the table and while she was dressing he would cook his eggs himself which he did. Afterwards, in walking to the church with the rector, he listened to his hostess dilating to a crony of hers on the bishop's accomplishments--what a wonderful man he was, and ending up by saying, "And would you believe it, the critter cooked his own victuals." How few men would have shown such thoughtfulness and consideration and won the gratitude of this poor woman by helping her out of her dilemna in the way he did.

This portrait of Bishop Williams is one of about twenty taken in 1893, through the generous and thoughtful interposition of Miss Edith Kingsbury of Waterbury, who enlisted the aid of Mr. H. St. Gaudens to pose the Bishop. Miss Kingsbury gave a complete set of these photographs to the Berkeley Divinity School and they are now in the Williams Library. Posterity will be grateful to her for preserving so good a likeness of the great Bishop.

[12] Another time he met a most inquisitive Yankee who pelted him with questions as to his business, occupation, etc., and finally after the bishop had evaded his inquiries for some time the man remarked, "You must be a kind of traveling agent," and the bishop brought the interview to a close "by allowing that he was."


Bishop Williams spent many summers at Lake George and knew every foot of the surrounding country, with all its points of historic interest. He would fish on the lake much of the time and during the day wear old clothes and a soft hat that must have somewhat transformed him. He was met on one occasion by a rather pretentious tourist with his family, who were inspecting one of the old forts, and was addressed as "My man, can you tell us?" etc. To which the bishop responded by guiding them about the place and made himself so useful and interesting in describing the historic points that his tourist friend thanked him and presented him with a half dollar, which the bishop pocketed with much enjoyment of the situation. Imagine the surprise and confusion of the prelate's benefactor, when seated at dinner at the hotel that evening, to see the dining room door opened, his "guide" appear in full clerical attire, accompanied by friends, and conducted with great respect by the head waiter to his table. If the earth had yawned at that moment our tourist friend would have welcomed that method of escape to conceal his deep embarrassment.

During the Civil War a friend of Bishop Williams said to him: "You know a tax on bachelors is contemplated, and I have figured that, at your age, you will have to pay about $250 a year." "Well," says the good old bishop with a twinkle in his eye, and as quick as a flash, "it's worth it."


As I entered his library one day he was just in the act of tearing up a letter to drop in his waste basket, and seeing me, he said: "I want to read you a letter from Wilmer" and added, on seeing a look of doubt on my face of whom he was speaking. "Why, you know who I mean--the Bishop of Alabama." Then, proceeding, he explained before reading the letter that at a general convention some years previously the then Bishop of Fond du Lac Hong since dead) had proposed a resolution that no candidate for holy orders should be allowed to use tobacco [12/13] during the three years they were studying. After it was debated and defeated Bishop 'Williams asked that all mention of the matter be expunged from the record, for the reason that, if known, it might be said that the church was not in favor of temperance. This was done. Then the bishop read me the letter, as follows, viz: --

By the way, what's become of Fond du Lac and his motion? It's evident he is not "fond du Bac." What did he propose as a "quid pro quo" or rather a "pro quo Quid?"

And so the letter ran on, witty and bright, and ended in the waste basket, where, in fact, all Bishop Williams's correspondence went, greatly to the loss of succeeding generations, no doubt. I may add that he explicitly directed his executors (Rev. John Townsend and myself) to destroy every letter, sermon, etc., that we might find among his effects, but for this injunction there was slight necessity, as he had effectively attended to it himself.

We have all heard of his witty "bon mots" about the Puritans, who "when they landed fell on their knees and then on the Aborigines," and that it was always a question "whether, when the Puritans landed on Plymouth Rock, it might not have been better if Plymouth Rock had landed on them." I am told of others who claimed the authorship, but it belongs to our Bishop Williams.

Bishop Williams was thin and spare, and for so large a man he seemed to eat very little. An English bishop, calling on him, asked why he did not adopt the English dress of his rank and order--knee breeches and silk stockings. "Because,"" answered Bishop Williams, "if I did I would be arrested." "And why," asked his friend with some astonishment. "For want of means of visible support," was the quick reply. And possibly the Englishman today, if living does not appreciate the witticism.

Showing the feeling towards the Episcopal Church after the Revolution, Bishop Williams used to say it was then looked upon as one large piece of baggage left behind by the British when they evacuated this country. The bishop told me that there was a little Jew tailor in Mobile whom Bishop Wilmer employed, and one day he said his son Jakey would not believe the stories in the Old Testament, and particularly that the whale ever could have swallowed Jonah. "What shall I tell him, bishop?" the father anxiously inquired. "Oh," said Bishop Wilmer promptly, "tell him Jonah was one of the minor prophets."

In all my many years of the closest relations with Bishop Williams, only once did I see him show the least indication of temper, and that was after he had nominated a man for rector [13/14] of a large parish, whom the vestry did not elect, but asked me to request the bishop to name some one else: I did so, and he turned to me with some severity and said: "Did I not nominate Rev. Mr. -------- and the vestry refused to elect him?" To which I assented. "Very well," he said, "if the vestry does not approve of my nomination made at their request, I have no other name to suggest, and you may tell them that I said so." It was evident that he considered the action taken a reflection upon his own good judgement, after the careful consideration he must have given in making the nomination.

From a rare pen and ink sketch made by a Divinity Student.

The frankness of his disposition is illustrated by the following incident: Many years ago when the confirmation or election of a certain bishop by the requisite number of dioceses was in doubt, a very prominent layman, interested in the outcome, knowing, though a stranger, of my intimacy with Bishop Williams, wrote me a long letter explaining the circumstances and asked me to ascertain, without mentioning his name, what the prospects were. I confess I was puzzled to know what to do, because Bishop Williams must know that I had no connection with the matter, and I did not like to use my free access to him to obtain confidential information of this character or to disclose the name of my correspondent. So I just went to him and told him the facts, without, of course mentioning from whom my inquiry came, and said he must judge whether to give me the situation or not. He appreciated my dilemma, and with the utmost kindness told me that in his judgement the election would be confirmed, but that what he said must go no further than myself and my correspondent, and his name [14/15] must not be mentioned. Thus with simplicity and directness he solved the question that bothered me and satisfied those deeply interested.

Illustrating his affection for old methods, and his dislike of changes in his administration in his later years, at one time the addition of laymen to the standing committee was agitated in the convention. Afterwards in discussing it with the bishop I asked him to tell me frankly what he desired done, if anything. "Well," said he, "I'll tell you. Just leave things as they are until I am gone and then you can do as you think test."


Many years ago we had a faithful old janitor named "Tim" at the Divinity School, who always implicitly did what he was told to do, without regard to circumstances or conditions. It happened that Miss Tibbs, who kept house for Bishop Williams wanted a glass of wine for her kitchen, and the bishop had the keys, of the sideboard and he was out. Miss Tibbs had forgotten that he was holding service in the chapel, so she directed Tim to find the bishop and get the keys. Tim walked straight into the chapel where the epistle for the day had just been read and addressed the bishop with "Please bishop, Miss Tibbs wants the keys." Without a moment's hesitation the bishop replied, "You go and tell Miss Tibbs she cannot have the keys just now," and proceeded--"the Holy Gospel is written," etc. Thus with dignity and perfect self-possession did he dispose of an astounding interruption.


As a presiding officer he was most efficient and clear. In some meeting, or convention, a man proposed some resolution so involved in its wording that its meaning was very doubtful. Bishop Williams, catching the idea, put it into words which gave its intent clearly and concisely. "Is that what you mean?" he asked, and received rather a stammering though grateful assent, to which the indignant bishop responded under his breath, "Why didn't you say so then?"

And it was also said that a like occurrence took place once in the House of Bishops, when some involved resolution was offered which the chair and house could not comprehend. Several bishops strove to elucidate it. and finally Bishop Benjamin Paddock arose and gave an explanation, asking Bishop [15/16] Williams what he thought of it, and the chair instantly replied: "That Benjamin's mess was ten times greater than the others."

No one knows better than the graduates of Berkeley how big a heart he had or how affectionately he looked upon them as part of his family. I remember one instance of a young man studying at Berkeley whose home was in the far North, and it was winter. He told the bishop that his mother was very ill, and he replied that he ought to go home and see her. The young man said he could not afford it and Bishop Williams immediately handed him .sufficient for his journey. Next day the bishop found him still at the school and asked why he had not started. After some conversation he ascertained that the student had no warm overcoat. Then the bishop handed him a check to purchase one and sent him to his mother rejoicing. No doubt this is only an example of numberless instances where his fatherly love and thoughtfulness brightened the life of many a young man worried and perplexed by financial questions.


As to what he did for Berkeley I quote from a paper read before the Church Club of Connecticut May 23, 1901, at a meeting commemorating the 200th anniversary for the propagation of the Gospel in foreign parts (pages 22-23):--

"No history of Berkeley would be complete without personal reference to our great and lamented Bishop John Williams, and his connection with the school as founder, creator, sustainer, and of his loving care as teacher. No eloquence can do him justice, or portray the noble character of the man, and rare is the life and career which has commanded more truly the loving affection and true devotion of his friends, than was his happy and deserved good fortune; and yet, with all his great gifts, his humility of character was most striking. He gave to Berkeley all he had, freely. He never received one cent of compensation, but, on the contrary, said just before his death that he had contributed from his private purse, for over forty years, at least $1,000 a year to its support and to aid the young men studying there, and at his death he left his property to help endow it. To say nothing of his incomparable teaching, guidance and influence, his money gifts must have amounted to $75,000 at the very least. It is impossible to estimate in words, or Imagination, the influence this great man has had through the length an^ breadth of the land, partly by reason of his work in the Berkeley Divinity School. Such a mind, such a personality, such a loving interest in the young men under his care, could not fail to reach far and wide, as they scattered through this great [16/17] country; and everywhere one meets those who turn with the tenderest interest to their days at Berkeley, when Bishop Williams led, taught and inspired them to work for the church.

And in conclusion let me speak a word as to the future of Berkeley. I am sure that this school, established so solidly and so long, having achieved such great results, with such a successful past, is not now to become a nonentity and a failure, nor cease to add its share of workers to the church at large. It would be a reflection on the soundness of Bishop Williams' forty-five years of work to suppose that the usefulness of the institution ended with his life. Many feared such a fate would befall St. Paul's School of Concord, when Dr. Henry A. Coit died--one of the greatest teachers ever known--but today St. Paul's stands as a living successful example that men's work lives after them. So I believe it will be with the Berkeley Divinity School. The shock was a severe one, but it has been mot and overcome, and it is the duty of the diocese to see that the great work of so grand and farsighted a man, should continue as one of the monuments of his life, his wisdom and his sagacity. He expected it to last, and made every effort to put it on a firm foundation, so that it should remain forever located as it is, which was his most ardent wish."

It gives me the most intense satisfaction and happiness to say that the expectations and hopes expressed above as to the future of the Berkeley Divinity School are being realized and that the foresight and wisdom of Bishop Williams have been justified. It has a strong faculty; it is fairly prosperous and doing a great and good work; its friends and alumni are standing by it, and it is contributing to the church a very large percentage of its most prominent and forceful leaders in the house of bishops and among the clergy.

Bishop Williams desired and planned that the Berkeley Divinity School should always remain in Middletown where he had located it. Years ago it was brought to his attention by the heirs of Edward S. Hall, who had given the original building (now called Jarvis building) to the trustees, that the intent of the donor was that the property should revert to him or his family if ever the school were removed, and that this condition had been omitted in the deed. Bishop Williams took steps to have this omission corrected by the trustees and after we had signed the necessary papers he turned to me with the remark: "That settles the future of the Divinity School. It will remain here." Other evidence of his earnest desire in this regard exists of record, and no doubt had great influence with the trustees a few years ago when the question of removal to New Haven was agitated.

[18] In 1897, when Bishop Brewster was elected assistant bishop, the Rev. Henry M. Sherman, Rev. F. W. Harriman, Hon, F. J. Kingsbury and the writer were appointed a committee to convey to Bishop Williams official notice from the convention of its choice. All met at the bishop's residence and were ushered into his bedroom and delivered our message and then Dr. Harriman asked him to give us his blessing, and, kneeling at his bedside we received it. His voice was strong and unshaken and it was most solemn and touching in its tone, as if he was taking farewell of the diocese, his work and ministrations.


We often listen to stories of the travels by buckboard and horseback of our western bishops and missionaries, and, while it is true they covered longer distances, it is also true that Bishop Williams in his visitations covered hundreds of miles in daylight and darkness, in storm and sunshine, by stage or carriage. Many old-time liverymen throughout Connecticut could tell interesting tales of these long trips and how pleased and honored they were to have so distinguished a task as safely conveying the bishop to his destination in time for his appointment. This was before the days of many railroads, of Sunday trains, of trolleys and automobiles, and many parishes were far apart, and yet combined in one Sunday's visitation, morning, afternoon and evening in succession. It seems incredible now that such a duty was performed without great weariness and injury to health, but there was never a complaint from him, in spite of his growing years.

Though many years have passed since Bishop Williams's active days, the recollections of the man linger fondly and affectionately in the hearts and memories of those who knew him. Especially in the country parishes do the people like to talk of him and of the days of his visitations (which were always red letter days in their calendar) when he took them by the hand and called them each by name, and how the eye kindles and the voice trembles as they tell of their reminiscences, and how dearly they loved him and looked upon him, as indeed he was, a father of the church and of his people.

He had, undoubtedly, an unusually strong constitution, and his capacity for work both mental and physical was marvelous. He possessed a wonderful memory and the power of concentration of mind, and while he never hesitated for a word to express his meaning, he wasted none in utterance or writing. I have often watched him work at his desk and it was marvelous how [18/19] steadily he applied himself and how his pen ran on over the paper with hardly a stop. In short, he was a master of the English language and appreciated the gift in others.

His correspondence was large, in this country and abroad, and it will never be known how many turned to him for advice and counsel. He mentioned this once to me and said many came to him who ought to have gone to their own bishop for guidance and to whom he felt obliged to refer them. It shows his enduring influence on those he taught that they should turn to him in time of trouble and need.

Speaking of his young men in the Divinity School, he said he impressed on them this simple rule, viz:--"First, have something to say; second, say it, and third, stop." Needless to say it is a rule that might embrace many other classes than the one devoted to sermon writing, and yet in modern education and composition it is a maxim rarely observed.

On one occasion I remarked that I would like to establish a chair of English literature and composition in the Divinity School had I the means, and he answered that the students were supposed to be proficient in those subjects before entering. To which I replied that it was true, but as a matter of fact few were, to which he assented fully. Would that some one in affectionate remembrance of the great founder of Berkeley, and interested in the work of the school and the efficient equipment of young men for the ministry, might be moved to endow such a professorship.

I think, perhaps, the first early communion service in Middletown was held in the room of the Jarvis building set aside as a chapel by Bishop Williams when he lived there. It was a long, narrow room, located directly over the front entrance, and there the services were held up to the time Mrs. Mutter built and gave St. Luke's Chapel to Berkeley. Well do I remember, some time in the 50 's, before I was confirmed, I drove my "two oldest sisters into town from Walnut Grove, where we were then living, to attend the early Easter service in this chapel, which. I think, was held at 6:30 the bishop himself officiating.

Christmas Day the bishop must have been very lonely after his mother's death, but he made a great deal of it, and the two following notes show how the Christmas season fully possessed him:--

December 26, 1888.

My Dear Mrs. G.--:

Let me thank you earnestly, for your beautiful holly branch. It joins Christmas cheer to the parlor, and Christmas thoughts to the soul.

The berry red, the blood outshed;
The leaves so green, the rainbow seen,
Like emeralds round the throne;
[20] The joys unseen, except in hope,
Which in the far off future ope,
Then only fully known.

With all good Christmas wishes for you all.

Most truly yours,

J. Williams.

My Dear Mrs. G.--:

Many thanks for the beautiful holly which makes my only Christmas green this year. But it is quite enough, for nothing else belongs to Christmas as it does.

I send you on the opposite page, a "Song of the Holly," which I did not write myself, though I wish I had.

With best wishes of the season for the household, I am,

Very truly yours,

J. Williams.

December 29, 1890.


The holly oh, the holly!
Green leaf and berry red,
Is the plant that thrives in winter
When all the rest are dead;
When snows are on the ground,
And the skies are grey and drear,
The holly comes at Christmas-tide,
And brings the Christmas cheer,

Sing the Mistletoe, the Ivy,
And the Holly-bush, so gay,
That come to us in winter,
No summer friends are they!

Give me the sturdy friendship
That will ever loyal hold.
And give me the hardy Holly
That dares the winters cold;
Oh, the roses bloom in June,
When the skies are bright and clear,
But the Holly comes at Christmas-tide,
The best time o' the year.

Sing the Holly and the Ivy,
And the Merry Mistletoe,
Which comes to us in winter,
When the fields are white with snow.


The simplicity of his character needs no better illustration than is contained in his "Directions for My Executors," which I quote in part, dated in 1886:--

No. 1--I wish my burial to be as inexpensive and simple as may be: a plain pine coffin; no flowers; my body not to be arrayed in Episcopal or other robes, but in a shroud of linen; as few carriages as possible; no outer shell to coffin.

[21] No. 2. The Burial Service simply to be read by one person, to be designated by the president of the standing committee of the diocese; without any address or sermon: this I distinctly forbid: and with no additions to the Prayer Book service except a hymn after the Lesson, and the hymn to be "Rock of Ages" as it stood in the prayer book in years gone by.

No. 3. I direct my grave stones to be in form, size and material, the same as those at the grave of my mother. On the headstone nothing to be placed but my name, John Williams, and the date of my death; on the footstone my initials--J. W.

All his property he left to the Berkeley Divinity School, giving, however, the right to several of the bishops and clergy, and certain relatives and lay friends, including his executors, to select from his effects such memorials as they might choose--"an act of gracious thoughtfulness," as Bishop Doane puts it, which made us feel honored and happy that we were so affectionately remembered by so great and good a man.

I cannot close this article better than by quoting from Bishop Doane's eloquent and loving tribute to Bishop "Williams, contained in his Connecticut convention sermon in 1899:--

And now I turn from the personal associations which live in his delightful letters, and in the deep places of my memory, to speak to you about his gifts. I cannot but think that there is some strong and subtle connection between the outer and inner man: that sometimes, at least, the mould in which Almighty God casts a piece of Himself, has in it an indication of what man is meant to be and to do.

This, is quite beside what everybody knows, that there is a faint parable here of what the spiritual man is to be when the soul shall clothe itself with its own body to suit its own capacities, for their untrammelled expression in the day of regeneration. There is a strong suggestion of this in the way in which in almost all men, the spiritual nature fashions and illumines, the outer man, until it speaks its strong emotions in the transfigured face.

And no one could see the gift of natural manhood of Bishop Williams without the sense of dignity, and power and will, and intellect, that were stamped upon it. He was a spiritual prince, from the great dome of his head in every lineament of his face, his keen eye, his firm lips, his strong chin, his over-arching brow, his finely moulded nose, his commanding presence, his firm tread.

He was a man men turned to look at and stayed to look up to, not for his height in inches, but for the exaltation of his bearing.

The exquisite tribute of Bishop Doane to our great Bishop Williams leaves but little for the pen of a layman, but it is hard to resist the utterances of the heart on such a theme, even though it may savor of repetition.

Of all men I ever knew, he possessed most fully that divine gift of charity. Nothing except deliberate wrong, personal, corporate or political, moved him to sarcastic or strong denunciation. Considerate and patient of all, he was an embodiment of truth and equity. In parish disputes brought to him for adjudication he listened to clergy and laity, and counseled both [21/22] fairly. He was so great that no prejudice blinded him, and he stood, as it were, upon a mountain height, towering head and shoulders above his surroundings, and settling the troubles of his people with courage, and justice to all. Sometimes I fear we did not appreciate him in this respect as we ought to have done.


As the long line of clergy followed him to his burial I could not but notice how large a majority had listened to his teachings and been subject to his fatherly training and interest. And through them let us hope that the impress of his great mind and character may pass to future generations.

No greater memorial could he leave than the work that he has accomplished in training men for the ministry. Those who have been under him will appreciate this, and not only was he their teacher but their friend and counsellor, without whom many would have turned aside to other vocations. No one will ever know his benefactions, for like the dew from heaven, they came silently and passed into oblivion when the night of trouble ended.

At his bier stood Roman Catholics and all Protestant creeds--mourning alike the irreparable loss. The bells of other churches tolled his requiem in union with ours, and both in life and death all men loved and honored him.

One marked evidence of a great mind was his, and that was his attention to detail. To the very last he retained this, and seemed loth to surrender to others the duties he had so long performed. His memory was marvelous, and the tenderness of his heart and consideration for others abounded in his sick chamber as strongly as when in health. Only a few weeks before his death he dictated and signed a note of encouragement and sympathy to a little boy who for many weeks had been critically ill. He took a strong interest in public affairs, and not long before his death, and with impressive utterance, he said to me: "From the time we enter on foreign conquest, and depart from the traditions of our fathers, from that date you may mark the downfall of the republic."

He was indeed a great man, endowed with splendid gifts of heart and intellect, a wise counsellor, a just judge, who as a churchman was preeminent, but who as a statesman, Jurist, or in any other profession or walk of life would have been a leader and master. Simple, humble-minded, straightforward, strong what an example for us all.

[23] Some of Bishop Williams' Letters written from England and Scotland in the Summer of 1884, from July to October, to Miss Eliza Tibbs, and Mrs. R. W. Field, Rev. Dr. Thomas W . Coit, Rev. Dr. Francis T. Russell and Rev. John Townsend. Copies given me by Miss Edith Beach, Vine Hill, West Hartford, Connecticut.

Post-card from Chester, August 1, 1884.

We came here last Tuesday (29th) and have rested here since. The Dean has been very kind and showed us every attention.

We go to London to-day, and I will write at length from there. All well and enjoying the really pleasant weather. To-day is like a Summer day at home.

Love to all.

J. W.

To Miss Tibbs,

London, August 3, 1884.

I wrote a postal from Chester which I hope you got. And now for the story. We found Liverpool wet, dirty, cold, and as usual uncomfortable- So on Tuesday, July 2Qth, we went to Chester. Here we found the Dean (Howson) at home, and had a cordial welcome. We went to service in the Cathedral, and walked round the walls of this queer old town. On Wednesday we breakfasted at the Deanery, and an English breakfast gathering is the pleasantest of all gatherings, and then the Dean took us over the Cathedral. It is small, and not very imposing, but greatly improved from what it was in 1840. Its restoration is the Dean's great hobby. We also drove out to Eaton Hall, the Duke of Westminster's seat, and saw the magnificent gardens covering sixty-four acres, with enormous conservatories, etc. But there is little that is interesting in these modern splendors.

In the afternoon we went to a garden-party in the Dean's gardens where the ground was soggy and damp. A garden-party in England involves a strong exercise of faith, for if it does not rain the ground is still damp, and one generally gets both. I saw here a daughter of ArchBishop Longley and two delightful old Churchwomen, the Misses Wilbraham--great friends of Keble and Miss Yonge.

Their father, Sir Richard Wilbraham, was in Canada years ago, and they were great friends with Bishop Mountain and his family.

On Thursday these good old ladies took us to see the "Blue Post Inn." The story written by one of them which I send, will tell you why it is so interesting. Please keep it carefully. The room we saw is just as it was in the days of "Bloody Mary." It was like reading a story of Miss Yonge to talk to these sisters-

On Friday we came to London making the 178 miles in about five hours and seeing a good deal of the garden like scenery as we went along. We travelled second class and found it perfectly comfortable. There is a story here that some one asked a peer of the nation why he travelled [23/24] third class and got for his answer "because there is no fourth class." It was not so late but what we went to see "Westminster Hall" with its wonderful roof.

On Saturday we went into "the City" to see Mr. Morgan--whom we did not find--and attend to some other matters of business.

In the afternoon going to the Abbey we did not find, the Dean who was out of town. But we did find, that the canon in residence was Dr. Westcott. Mr. Townsend will tell you what this means. He went round with us showed us what very few people now see--the hideous old wax work, and other things. It was touching to see the flowers on Stanley's tomb and Longfellow's bust.

There is a beautiful altar-tomb, with a recumbent figure, for Stanley. I found a cat sitting on a bench under Andre's tomb, very much at home and making herself comfortable. In the evening Nichols and I went to see Madam Tussaud's wax works!

You can easily follow us in Hare's Walks in London. We are unlucky as far as people are concerned in the time we are here; but luck in all else. We have a nice sitting room and bedrooms and are very comfortable. Please let this letter be circulated to all friends.

With love to all,

J. W.

I am getting plenty of photographs. The enclosed Ivy is from Chester Cathedral; the dandelion from King Charles' Tower.

To Miss Tibbs,

London, August 5, 1884.

After I closed my letter on Sunday, we went to St. Paul's and heard Liddon.

Three or four thousand people were under the dome but we had seats in the choir, and heard him perfectly. It was a very eloquent and able sermon; delivered with no gestures.

Monday being Bank Holiday we did little or nothing except that we went out to dine with Mr. Morgan at his country place, a charming spot, where I saw Mr. Duncan formerly of Canandaigua.

Yesterday we went over the Tower and St. Paul's Church; the things I wanted to see were the Traitor's Gate; the Bloody Tower where the princes were murdered, and where Laud was confined. I put my hand out of the window from which he blessed Lord Strafford (the picture is in my study)! Beauchamp Tower where so many prisoners were confined, and where so many names are carved; the old Chapel of St. John--a beautiful specimen of Norman, now lighted with electric lights (!) and used for a Presbyterian service; St. Peter's Chapel where Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard lie side by side. We saw also the crown jewels and the armory.

In the evening we were taken by one of the M. P's. to the House of Commons and heard Mr. Gladstone and many others speak. To-day [24/25] Nichols and I are to dine with Willie Purdy; to-morrow we go to Seven-Oaks, Kent, to spend the night at the White's; Friday to Addington Park to lunch with the Archbishop, and so it goes. I hope we shall have done London early next week and get off for the country. We are all well, but fairly tired out at night. Letters from Scotland show us that we shall need all our strength there.

Give much love to all friends. I must make my letters circulars for I cannot write more than one for each steamer. I hope you will get away for part of August.

Aff. yrs.

J. W.

Not a drop of rain since we came to London!

To Miss Tibbs,

London, August 9, 1884.

We are having terribly hot weather in London, but we all stand it very well. Sight seeing has gone on in spite of it, and we are nearly through here.

On Thursday, we went down to Combe Bank, Kent, where Mr. White lives, and spent the night. It is a charming place, and a breath of fresh country air was very pleasant. Friday, I went down to Addington Park. lunched and spent a good part of the day with the Archbishop. He is a very simple, straight-forward and sensible man. We sat, or rather lay, on the ground under the great cedars of Lebanon in the park, and had a long, long talk over Church matters here and at home. I liked him because we fully agreed in our notions.

To-day we go out to Lambeth and also to see St. Paul's school under the guidance of Mr. Lapton.

I hope we may get off by Wednesday for Canterbury and so work round to Oxford and Cambridge. Everybody is more than kind. I hope we may get off by Wednesday.

Will you thank Dr. Coit and Townsend for their letters. I do not write to Mr. T. by this steamer because I suppose he is away.

But I enclose an order for registered letters which I hope you will give him. I will write to Dr. Coit soon. My love to all. I leave it to you to report progress.

Aff' ty. yours,

J. W.

To Mrs. Field,

Salisbury (Should be no doubt Chichester) August 17, 1884.

Your letter reached me at Canterbury yesterday and was a great relief. From the peculiar wording of Mr. Townsend's letter I was perfectly certain Miss Tibbs was ill, and had felt very anxious. I hope she will be very careful, and avoid fatigue. That is the great trouble.

I have written three letters to her which with my letter to Mr. T. will carry you down to the end, or nearly so, of our stay in London. We [25/26] left London on Thursday after a regular heated term, and went to Canterbury. Here we saw the Cathedral, the finest on many accounts in England. St. Martin's Church, the oldest Church in England, dating from A. D. 250, and drove out to Bishopsbourne, where Richard Hooker died. Tell Dr. Coit with my love that I stood in the pulpit from which Hooker preached, and laid my hand on the altar at which he consecrated the eucharist.

I found here Archdeacon Harrison, whom I knew in 1840; we lunched with him, and had a delightful visit- The Dean who had asked me to come for a Sunday and preach, was away. Spending Friday at Canterbury we came on Saturday across country here. This A. M. we have been at the Cathedral, and after evening service are to go to the Deanery for the evening. Dear old Burgon is the Dean here, and we are to meet the Bishop. The Inn here is a real old English one; one of the few left.

It carries me back to the old times when I was here. England is much changed, and not, I fear, for the better. The people do not look as they used to, and are careworn and discontented.

To-morrow we go to Winchester, and from there to Salisbury, where I hope to find the Bishop. We are fairly overwhelmed with kindness. Give my love to Miss T. and all friends.

To-day fills one month since I left M. In a little more than two I hope to be at home again. Give me America to live in.

Yr. Aff. cousin,

J. W.

Do write often.

To Miss Tibbs,

Wells, August 21, 1884.

I was sorry and glad both at reading Rebecca's letter; sorry to hear you had been ill and glad to know you were better. I hope by this time you are quite well and beg you to be very careful.

My letter to Rebecca brought us up to last Sunday noon. After that we went to the Cathedral at Chichester for evening service, and then spent all the rest of the day and evening at the Dean's (Burgon's) and with the Bishop who was at home and gave us a very hearty welcome. He showed us the palace and its gardens and several people came to see us.

On Monday (18th) we breakfasted with Canon Audry, a thoroughly nice fellow, and afterwards he went over the Cathedral with us, and took us to see St. Mary's hospital, a sort of home for poor old women. It is a most curious place, like a church with a nave and chancel thus. The square places marked off in the nave are rooms, each with a fireplace and bedroom for eight old people, and the chancel is a chapel where they have prayers.

[27] Leaving Chichester at 11 A. M. we went to Winchester where we were at evening service, and then went round the Cathedral. It is 500 feet long, and a magnificent building. We then went out to St. Cross hospital where seventeen poor men and their wives live in snug little houses round a quadrangle.

The old men wear a long black gown with a silver cross on the breast. It dates from the days of King Stephen.

Tuesday 19th. We went to Salisbury, and I went to see the Bishop, who is very old and infirm, but very bright. He is Dr. Moberly, and I was very glad to see him.

The Cathedral is to my mind one of the most charming in England. Wednesday--the 20th--In the forenoon Nichols and I drove out to Stonehenge over Salisbury plain, and then to Bemerton to see George Herbert's Church and rectory. The rector was very kind and showed" us the house and garden. In the latter is an apple tree planted by George Herbert himself. I enclose five leaves from it. Keep three and give Rebecca one, and Townsend one. The rector's wife is cousin to the Scotch Princes. In the afternoon at his request I took over the clergy to see the good old Bishop; and we were shown the palace and grounds. I have seen nothing more beautiful anywhere.

Thursday--21st. To-day we came to Glastonbury where we saw the ruins of the famous old Abbey, and then came on to Wells. The Bishop is away and I could only leave a card for him. His home is still surrounded by a moat full of water, and entered by a draw-bridge under a portcullis.

To-morrow we go to Bristol, Gloucester and Worcester; and hope on Saturday to go by Stratford on Avon and Warwick to Oxford where we shall stay a few days.

Marvellous weather! Twenty-three days perfectly clear, and with only two showers.

Love to all friends. Take good care of yourself.

Affec. yrs., J. W.

All are and have been perfectly well.

To Dr. T. W. Coit,

Oxford, August 24, 1884.

From this old seat of orthodoxy, which I fear is to be--if it is not, a home of unbelief, I send you a word of acknowledgement of your letter. We have now been in England twenty-seven days and in twenty-six of those we have not had a drop of rain, and it has been about as warm as we get it in America. One day in London the thermometer marked ninety-two in the shade.

They have had no such season in many years. The nights, however, are very cool and refreshing.

We have made good use of our time; have seen eleven Cathedrals, counting in Westminster Abbey; and many places of interest, especially [27/28] Bishopsburne where Hooker died, and Bemerton where George Herbert lived and died. Curiously enough I found the same Rector at Bemerton who was there in 1840. He showed us an apple tree in the garden which Herbert planted, and which renews itself by fresh shoots of its own putting out as the old ones die down. It is a lovely spot, the ideal of a country parsonage.

I have seen the Archbishop at Addington at lunch, and spent several hours with him. He is a very frank, simple and kindly man, and while he sees all the difficulties ahead, is full of heart and courage. He said, when people croak about the future of the Church, I tell them to look at the glass in the windows of Lambeth Chapel. Originally it was copied from the pictures in the Biblia Pauperam. The Protector Somerset smashed it. Land replaced it, copying the old glass. The Puritans smashed that. It has been renewed again, and if somebody smashes that, somebody else will renew it. That is all there is about the Church. Winchester I missed, but he writes me that he will be in Scotland and urges me to go home with him, which I cannot do. I have also seen Litchfield, Chichester and Salisbury. The latter is, I am sorry to say, very infirm and broken up.

It would cover too much paper to tell you of all the people we have seen. I am sorry to miss Foulkes here, but he is off on his vacation.

We intend to be here for a few days, and then we go to Cambridge and so by the eastern coast to Edinburgh, where I am due for the first Sunday in September. I did not take any license, or whatever it is, for England, and therefore have had an entire rest. But it will be more than overbalanced, I fancy, in Scotland.

Hoping that this will find you well, as also all the rest, and with kind regards to C., the professors, students, and all friends, I am,

Aff'y. y'rs., J. W.

Went to St. Mary's this morning. No University sermon now in vacation! No service as of old in vacation in the Chapels! Secularization is the order of the day.

To Miss Tibbs,

Edinboro', September 6, 1884.

We reached here Thursday P. M. (this is Saturday) and are comfortably settled in good lodgings near the Bishop's. He insisted on our all of us coming to him but I flatly refused, and so we are much better off. The house is very clean, the rooms very pleasant, and the table very good. We have a parlor where we have our meals by ourselves, bedrooms and bath room, and we pay for this about two dollars a day apiece. This is certainly cheap living. Our good weather holds, and we have had only two rainy days since I wrote from Wells. Our last point in England was Durham, and I enclose a little photograph of the Cathedral and will bring a larger one.

[29] Edinburgh has changed a good deal since I last saw it, but it is still the same unrivalled city. If only it was not so smoky there would be nothing like it, and the people in the streets look bright and intelligent. They look more like those one sees at home.

Yesterday we lunched with the Bishop, and I am to preach for him to-morrow morning. How long we shall stay here I do not know, but I think about two weeks. By that time the rush of tourists will be over and the roads open.

I trust this will find you well. We are all as well as well can be. Love to all friends.

Affy. yrs.,

J. Williams.

To Rev. Dr. Francis T. Russell,

Edinboro, September 6, 1884.

I promised the "Daisies" to bring back, or send back, some memorial of Margaret of Scotland.

I am hoping to go to Dunfumline, but am not quite sure of it. And, at any rate, they have or had such an extraordinary way of moving about the mortal remains of saints, that one never feels quite sure of anything in regard to them.

Edinboro Castle is, however, most intimately connected with the memory of Queen Margaret. She often lived in it and in a tower of it long since destroyed. She died on the 10th of June 1093, immediately on receiving the news of the dreadful murder--for it was a base murder--of her husband and one of her sons. Nothing, however, connected with her domestic life in the castle now remains.

But on the very summit of the rock on which the castle stands, and within the citadel, she built a little oratory, or chapel, 25 feet long by 10 wide. This still remains entire, just as she left it, except that stained glass has been lately placed in its four little windows. It was used, I am sorry to say, for a powder magazine and a store for many years; but is now cleaned out, and though not used for its proper purposes, is, still, no longer so shamefully desecrated.

It is a Norman building, which, small as it is, has still a semi-circular chancel and a nave.

These are separated by a Norman archway, which as well as the entrance-door has zig-zag mouldings around it.

This arch is given in the enclosed photograph, the only one I could get, for there is none of the outside of the Chapel.

The East window of the little chancel, which you see, has three compartments: (1) St. Margaret founding the Chapel, (2) her ministrations to the poor; (3) her death.

The other side window which you see, has a full length of the queen. In the nave, on the same side, are two windows in one of which is her husband Malcom Cameron, and in the other, her son, David, founder of [29/30] Holyrood and other Abbeys, of whom King James said--''He was a sair saint for the craun".

The Chapel was repaired, and the glass put in in 1853.

We have been wonderfully favored all along. I expect to be called a humbug to the end of my days for not having one moment of seasickness; and the weather has been charming.

We are here for several days, and then hope to get a tour in the Highlands before we go to Aberdeen.

And then, I shall say "Westward Ho!" The best day of the journey will be that in which I see my diocese again.

Give much love to Mary and the household, and especially to them at Mr. Kingsbury's. Tell Edith her gift never leaves me, and doesn't end in smoke either.

Ever aff' y'rs.,

J. Williams.

To Miss Tibbs,

Edinburgh, September 14, 1884.

We are still here and shall be till the morning of the i8th when we hope to be off for the Highlands.

It has been very pleasant here, and the good people have been most hospitable and kind. Indeed nothing could exceed their kindness.

Yesterday we went with Bishop Doane and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Eliot to Melrose, Abbotsford, and Dryburgh.

We left Edinboro enveloped in a dense fog, but at Melrose it was clear and bright like one of our own best bright Autumnal days.

There has been great improvement in keeping up the grounds at each of the Abbeys since I saw them, and they are in a less ruinous state. But the beauty of ruin and surroundings is unchanged. I enclose a little blue flower from Sir Walter Scott's grave, or as near it as anything grows; and a little heather which lay beside my plate at a dinner party the other evening. I saw there a canteen belonging to "Prince Charlie."

I am preaching twice to-day, and preached once last Sunday. But have had on the whole a good rest. The weather here is abominable; but it is clear I am told, outside "Auld Reekie." I will write again next Saturday from the Highlands. If Rebecca is with you, thank her for her letter, and Townsend for his. Much love to all.

Aff'. yrs,

J. W.

To Miss Tibbs,

Oban--In the Highlands,
September 21, 1884--

We are high up here in the land of mist, which mist to-day is what the Scotch call "an even downpour." But we have had three delicious days since we left Edinboro' on Thursday 18th, I will write you about two of them, and Dr. Coit about the third.

[31] From Edinboro we went by rail to the foot of Loch Lomond and then took steamer for Inversnaid. It was a glorious day and the mountains were superb. From Inversnaid we went by coach to Loch Lomond, and thence by steamer again to Trosachs.

When I went before it was by a boat rowed by Highlanders. The steamer went quicker but the boat was better. However, Ben-Venue and Ben-Aun, were at their best and we walked up a mile thro' the Trosachs to the Hotel. Our party had swelled to eight. Bishop Doane and his wife and two young graduates of Trinity being with us.

You will find what we saw on Loch Katrine described as no where 'else in the beginning of the Lady of the Lake.

On Friday--29th, we came by coach to Callendar, and thence by a new railway route thro' some of the finest scenery of the Highlands to Oban. There is no describing it! We stopped off over a train at Loch-Ane and went down that lake and back; seeing on the banks among other things "Inversane" which once belonged to the Duncan Campbell of Dean Stanley's Ghost story. After leaving Loch Ane we went thro' the pass of Bronder, the wildest Highland Glen I ever saw, and reached here all well at six P. M.

Yesterday we went to Iona of which I will write to Dr. Coit, and I saw Staffa, and sailed all around the Isle of Mull seeing on all hands the scenery of the Lord of the Isles. It was a day of cloud and sunshine, just what one wanted for the best effects on mountains and on water.

To-morrow we hope to start on our way up the Caledonia Canal making a three days journey of it to Inverness, and reaching there on Wednesday night. I will write from there to some one.

Will you thank Dr. C. and Mrs. T. for their letters tho' I can thank the Dr. myself. My love to Rebecca, if she is, as I hope in Middletown, and to all friends.

Aff'. y'rs.,

J. Williams.

To Dr. T. W. Coit,

Oban in the Highlands, September 21, 1884.

I got your letter yesterday, and thank you for it. Miss Tibbs will tell you how we got here from Edinburgh which we left on Thursday the 18th. But I am going to write you in detail of our visit yesterday to Iona.

Leaving here at eight A. M. and coasting along the southern shore of Mull, we sighted the venerable cathedral about eleven, and were soon on shore, not without a thrill at the thought that we have really set foot on what Dr. Johnson so soundingly discoursed about.

Two things rather bring one down on landing--First you see two paltry looking buildings and are told that one is the "Kirk", and the other the "Free Church," rather a liberal allowance of Presbyterianism to 240 souls, [31/32] big and little, the entire population of the Island. Secondly, you are beset with a host of little ragged children--whose appearance indicates the poverty of the people, selling or trying to sell, shells and the "green stones" of Iona. The popular superstition is that who ever carries one of those will never be drowned or burned.

The first place visited is the old nunnery--built long, long after Saint Columba's days, of which little or nothing remains, and then one enters on the "street of the dead," so called because along it were carried the corpses of the forty Scottish Kings--as well as others, brought here for burial in the Holy Isle.

Passing along, we soon reached an old Runic Cross, some ten feet high, called McLean's Cross. It was here that according to the legend St. Columba sat when he was dying, and the old white horse laid his head on his master's shoulder and wept. There were once 360 of these beautiful crosses in the Island.

The Presbytery of Argyle ordered forty of them to be flung into the sea! And all that now remain are this one, and St. Martin's Cross in the Cathedral yard. Not far from McLean's Cross, the McLeans--the "Lords of the Isles," were buried. Some of their tombstones remain.

Passing on we reach St. Orean's Chapel, built by Margaret Queen of Scotland, who died in 903. This is the oldest ruin on the island. It is very small--40 x 20. Near it is the "Reilag Oran," the Burial ground of St. Oran, and here lie Kings, princes, nobles and ecclesiastics.

Then we reach the Cathedral far later than Columba or Oran. Tho the original burial place of Columba is known and was at the west door of the Cathedral, like most of the mortal remains of the saints his own were carried about from place to place, and if they are anywhere together it is in Ireland.

The Cathedral is a ruin, thanks to John Knox and his crew. His "godly followers and others of "that ilk", tore it down and dug the silver and brass out of monuments. The "godly" always had a shrewd eye to the main chance.

Half the houses on the island are built of the stones of the Cathedral and the nunnery.

We stood by the high altar, or rather where it once stood, and said the Nicene Creed. The Duke of Argyle, who owns the island--was not there to object. It was a comfort to remember that Columba said the same; no less and no more.

Then we climbed the "Tor Abb" the knoll from which Columba uttered his famous prophecy: "Unto this place, albeit so small and poor, great homage shall yet be paid, not only by the kings and people of the Scots, but by the rulers of barbarous and distant nations, with their people also. In great veneration, too, shall it be held by the holy men of other Churches".

Our time was up, and we turned unwillingly away, feeling that we had seen what to us almost stands next to Jerusalem itself. It had been a dream of my life to see Iona. I thank God that I have seen it.

[33] Old Johnson was right, a man ought to be a better man after treading the soil of Iona.

We are wending our way now to Inverness, where D. V. I am to preach on the 28th. I am enough of a Jacobite to try to see on the way the old Highland Congregation at Ballachulisch which has stuck to the Church from 1688, and the place where "Prince Charlie" set up his standard in 1745.

All are well. Bishop and Mrs. Doane are with us and all send greetings to you.

Mine to C,

Ever aff'y y'rs.,

J. W.

To Miss Tibbs,

Dundee, October 2, 1884.

My letters to Dr. Coit and John Townsend, which they have read to you, bring me to Inverness, which I reached on Wednesday evening, Sept. 24th.

The next day Mr. Nichols and I went to Eden Court where the Primus lives, a beautiful house near the Cathedral. I found him bright and cheerful, but with the loss of all use of right leg and arm. I went on Thursday to Culloden Moor and saw the last battlefield of Prince Charlie. Then we stopped at Culloden House and saw the bed in which the Prince slept the night before the battle, his walking stick and various other things. Bishop and Mrs. Doane were with me, and Mr. and Mrs- Forbes who now own the large and beautiful house were very kind and asked us to luncheon, for which we could not stay.

We saw a good many of the people who were cordial at Inverness I preached in the Cathedral and, tell Dr. Coit, administered by the Scottish Communion office, on Sunday, and preached at a Church in Inverness in the evening.

On Monday 29th, after a delightful visit we left and went to Elgin to see the ruins of the Cathedral which are very fine, and then went on to Aberdeen.

There I saw the Bishop and some of the Clergy, and then we went by rail to Ballater and from thence drove to Braemar, passing Abergeldie the Prince of Wales' shooting box, and Balmoral with the royal standard flying from one of its towers. We had a good view of each.

The scenery was fine, but it was dreadfully cold.

To-day we left Braemer and drove thro the wildest and most magnificent scenery--except Glencoe--that I have seen, to Blair--Gowrie and thence came by rail here.

To-morrow we go to Arhroath--St. Ruth's Priory of the Antiquary and to St. Andrews--the next to Glammis Castle and back to Aberdeen.

There we shall stay till we set our faces towards home, which I shall be too glad to do.

Aff y'rs

J. W.

[34] The heather is from Culloden Moor, and the leaf from Culloden House. All are perfectly well. I will send a daily paper from Aberdeen.

To Rev. John Townsend,

Eden Court, Inverness, September 26, 1884.

As you will see by the date I have reached my northermost point. Bishop and Mrs. Doane met us in Edinburgh, and with them and two young Trinity graduates we set off for a Highland tour.

I wrote to Miss Tibbs an account of that till we reached Oban, and to Dr. Coit of our visit to Iona. So I will leave that to him to tell you, and go on to something else which delighted me very much, a visit to Ballachulish (pronounced Ballaheo- lish).

This, as you know, perhaps, was the only place in all the Western Highlands where the people remained as a body, Churchmen! Here they did, and I determined before I left to go and see place and people.

Our way (on Mon. Sept. 22) lay through Loch Etive and Glencoe. It was a day of heavy showers and bursts of sunlight, stormy sunshine, and the very day for Glencoe with its savage natural features and its more savage history. W r e reached Ballachulish well damped and well tired at night, but none the worse for it.

The next morning, taking Nichols with me, I sallied forth and after a walk of a mile, reached the church just as service was beginning. After service I sent my card to the Rector, or Incumbent, as they say here, who gave us a very cordial welcome and was a good deal surprised when I told him of my wish to see the old parish. Well he took us into the vestry room and showed us the old paten and chalice from which the "men of Appen" received the Holy Communion just before they went to join Prince Charlie at Culloden. Then he took me to see some of the very old people who had known those who had suffered from the penal laws against Churchmen. They are all poor people, and as the younger men were away at their work I did not see them. The old people were overjoyed at the thought that a bishop had come 3,000 miles to see them. They knew about Seabury, and had prayers in the Church for me the Sunday after we sailed. It was most touching to hear them speak so earnestly of their love for the Church. And really this was a thing never to be forgotten.

Walking back to the hotel, the Incumbent pointed out to me a hollow on the mountain side where in the times of the presecution they used to gather for service. The clergyman had to come disguised as a sportsman out shooting, and a sentinel was stationed on a high crag to give warning in case the Hanoverian soldiers came upon them. As we were looking at this spot a shower passed across the mountain and "the bow of God" spanned the place where the faithful once met to pray.

From Ballachulish we came by the Caledonian Canal to this place, where Nichols and I are with the Primus. Doane and his wife have gone South again and we shall go on Monday to Aberdeen, not to stay but to leave luggage, etc.

[35] All are well. Will you let Miss Tibbs know of this letter as I have no time to write more. Love to all.

Affy. yrs.,

J. W.

To Miss Tibbs,

Aberdeen, Sat., Oct. 11,

One line to say that we leave Aberdeen to-day, after such a visit and time as no words can describe.

I hope we shall be at N. Y. by Sat., Oct. 25th, but I shall be detained there at least a day by business at the Custom House and with Mr. Morgan. Love to all.

Aff y'rs.,

J. W.

"Aberdeen, Oct. 8. The sermon by the Bishop of Conn., on the occasion of the opening of the Seabury centenary in this city yesterday was delivered in St. Andrew's Church. In the course of the sermon he referred to the marvellous growth and awakened life of the Church during the past century."


We should not have been so foolish
As to go to Ballachulish
On a day when ne'er a native
Would have ventured on Loch Etive.
But we all were somewhat mulish,
And would go to Ballachulish
Though the clouds looked most appaling
And the mountain dew was falling
And the glass of the Professor
Should have cautioned its possessor,
Our beloved Itinerarius,
Of the dangers multifarius,
But Lord John he said "What think you
Shall we try the Pass of Glencoe?
When so near, 't would be most foolish
Not to visit Ballachulish.
There we'll find Ye Ancient Churchman."
We'll not leave you in the lurch, man,
We all said, and so we started
Every one a bit half hearted;
And it grew more dark and damp
As we neared the Pass of Glencoe,
Still we kept up brave and frisky
Wet ourselves inside with whiskey,
Took the water all external
From the soaking and supernal
Supernatural descending
Of Scotish mists and showers blending
All their wondrous wetting powers
Through the long and chilly hours
That we spent upon the coaches
Through the pass between "the loches,"
Till, soaked through and slightly coolish
We arrived at Ballachulish
But as Virgil's hero habit
Memimisse haec juvavit.
Meminisse haec juvavit.

September 22nd, 1884.

Through Loch Etive, Glen Etive and Glencoe to Ballachulish. What a day! rain and sunshine and such history. The greatest blot on the not unblotted history of Dutch William."

From Bishop Williams' Journal.

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