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very hearts of the whole body of the clergy, and of which abruptness the effect could hardly be other than to widen the gulf which already lay between them.

The consequence of all this was, that Whately was thrown in Dublin, even more than he had been in Oxford, upon a small circle of somewhat sycophantish admirers for habitual intimacy and association. Not that he ever became a niggard in his hospitalities, or held back from partaking in the hospitalities of others. At the Castle and in Phoenix Park he was, on the contrary, a frequent guest; and Lord Mayor's dinners and other public feasts, were, on all necessary occasions, enlivened by his presence. His entertainments in the Palace, likewise, were frequent and liberal; but he never interchanged ideas, in the proper sense of that expression, out of his own sphere. He became, again, the object of idolatry to a clique, and had all his old habits of dogmatism strengthened and confirmed.


If Whately's difficulties were great, looking to his position as one of the heads of the Church in Ireland, they were still greater when he entered, as his position compelled him to do, into the arena of politics. His incumbency was distinguished by the rise, progress, and issue of all the most important questions which followed the passing of the Reform Bill. witnessed the great struggle about tithes; the triumph and decline of the Repeal agitation; the efforts of the Romish party to get possession of Trinity College; and the endeavour of Sir Robert Peel to make some amends to them on their failure, by the establishment of colleges, which they contemptuously rejected. It is due to the memory of the late Archbishop to say, that the part which he played on all these occasions was honest and straightforward. His evidence before the Tithe Committee was creditable to his judgment. He recommended the course

which the Government eventually adopted, and which was, perhaps, the best for the Church which, under existing circumstances, could be followed. Amid the fury of the Repeal agitation he maintained a dignified reserve; and though he appears, in reality, to have anticipated that in order to avert that misfortune the Protestant Church in Ireland must be sacrificed, he never, by word spoken or written, professed to treat this consummation as reasonable or imminent. Once, and only once, it is recorded of him that he was surprised into exclaiming "I shall be the last Protestant Archbishop of Dublin."

The mind to which so many subjects of grave importance were daily presented, found room, while paying to them due attention, to deal with almost every trifle that floated on the surface of society. Dr Whately was a believer in mesmerism, clairvoyance, and spiritrapping. His predilection for political economy as a branch of polite education, never waned; and he succeeded, though not without considerable difficulty and opposition, in founding a chair in the University of Dublin. His success in this as in other undertakings was certainly not owing to diplomatic fencing. Whately could never condescend to wheedle or coax men to his way of thinking. The point at which he was aiming he approached by the shortest and most direct road, and woe to the luckless individuals who endeavoured to avert his onward progress. They were pushed aside by ridicule or downright bullying. There could be no more striking proof of this than was presented by his manner of dealing with the Protestant clergy on the one hand and the Romish priesthood on the other, on the question as to whether or not, and in what form, the great truths of Christianity should be taught in the national schools. The Protestants began by requiring that the Bible should be used as a class-book; the Bible being, of course, according to their

meaning, our English authorised version. The Romanists objected, but were willing to make use of the Douay version, provided the explanatory notes were likewise read. A third party, despairing of any other escape from the difficulty, suggested that there should be no religious instruction whatever. Whately having set these gentlemen down by pronouncing their scheme to be impracticable, proceeded to coquet with the other two parties, and proposed, half in joke, that both versions, the authorised and the Douay, should be used. He did not expect, nor desire to succeed; but he did succeed in introducing those Scriptural extracts with which all who have seen the Irish School series must be familiar. It was a clumsy expedient, we must admit, having only this to recommend it, that the master could hardly explain the meaning of each sentence as it was read, without referring, more or less fully, to the existence and power of God, and to the operations of Providence. But great principle seemed to Whately to be established by it; and in this, as in other respects, he was more intent upon establishing what he called great principles, than upon settling the details by which important practical results might be brought about. So also he overcame, by sheer strength of will, the opposition of the authorities, and established in Trinity College a Professorship of Political Economy. He seems to have been more proud of that achievement than of almost any other of his successes-and they were numerous -in Dublin. He often referred to it, on public as well as on private occasions and not always, it must be admitted, in the best possible taste.


The man who effected all this, who revolutionised the system of popular education in Ireland-who suggested, and mainly contributed to carry into effect, a great plan of Church reform-who snubbed his own clergy because of their over-zeal

in the cause of Protestantism, and conciliated the more moderate of the Roman Catholics, even while he ridiculed their favourite dogmata-was one of the greatest jokers of his day, the most uncouth creature that ever mixed in polished society, and in many respects the strangest mixture of scepticism and credulity. He ridiculed the reputed miracles of Prince Alexander of Hohenlohe, yet gave implicit credit to the impostures of spirit-rappers and table-turners. He was glad when, without profanity, wondrous works of a higher order could be accounted for by reference to natural causes; yet he professed unqualified faith in the mysteries of clairvoyance. Of his riddles, conundrums, and puns there was no end.

Whately's oddities of manner would scarcely be believed, but that the testimony which vouches for them is irresistible. His favourite attitude when attending a meeting of the Irish Privy Council was in front of the fire, if the season happened to be winter, with his coat-tails held up; if in summer, upon a chair, which he balanced on its hind-legs, with his own legs thrown over the back of another chair. It was in reference to the former practice, and of the habits of another member, who in cold weather would occasionally wear his hat, that a wag observed, wag observed, "The prelate in Council uncovers what ought to be hid, and the peer hides what ought to be uncovered." He was quite as little ceremonious in the Castle drawing-room. He has been known, while waiting there, one of a large party, till dinner should be announced, to take a pair of scissors out of a case which he carried in his pocket, and pare his nails. In the same place, and under similar circumstances, he has been seen to throw himself into an easy-chair, and, drawing another near him, to swing one of his legs over the back of it. He was a greater smoker than Dr Parr, and might often be seen by passers leaning against the pillar of

his own door in Stephen's Green with a long clay pipe in his mouth. His powers of conversation were extraordinary. There was scarcely a subject on which he could not declaim with more or less correctness, as the following anecdote will show:-It happened on a certain occasion that some clever young men belonging to the garrison, who admired the Archbishop extremely, yet wished to lay a trap for him, agreed among themselves to get possession of the table-talk at a dinner which was to come off shortly, and to divert it into the subject of fencing. They assumed that the Archbishop could not possibly be as much at home on that matter as themselves, and counted either on his being entirely thrown out-a circumstance which would be amusing because of its rarityor, what would be equally ludicrous, on his falling into some palpable mistake in the endeavour to keep up an established reputation. Fencing accordingly supplanted, amid a brilliant circle, all other topics; and the Archbishop, interrupted in the midst of a discussion on language, held his peace. Byand-by, however, to the great amusement of all present, he interrupted the officer who was laying down the law; and, quoting one authority after another, pronounced the theory of the speaker to be a mistaken


A friendly argument ensued as a matter of course, which the Archbishop brought to a close by jumping up from his chair, seizing the poker, and showing how the particular thrust which had been the subject of discussion could best be parried and a counter-thrust delivered. Amid a general roar of laughter the officer confessed that the Archbishop was right, and the Archbishop enjoyed his triumph as keenly and undisguisedly as if he had been declared victor in some important strife of dialectics.

Dr Whately not only affected no state as Archbishop of Dublin, but went so far in an opposite direction as to lay himself open to the

charge of affecting simplicity. His equipages were of the plainest kind, and his manner of living simple and unostentatious. He even threatened to put, and was not without difficulty restrained from putting, a coat of whitewash over the gilded cornices which ornamented the ceiling in the archiepiscopal palace. At the same time, his hospitalities were on a scale of great liberality, and his wines both varied and excellent. He was an admirable host, full of wit and fun, and intolerant of a practice not uncommon among Irish Protestants, of mixing up what is called religious conversation, in not very seemly confusion with lighter matters. A prelate of the Evangelical school happened one day to be among the guests, and, persevering in this course longer than Whately's patience could endure, was at last interrupted by the Archbishop, who asked him abruptly if he knew how the best pickled cabbage was made. The bishop answering in the negative, Whately seized his opportunity, ran off into a sort of treatise on the culture and uses of the vegetable, and put an effectual stop to the annoyance.

With few men did prejudice go farther than with Whately. likings and dislikings were both in the extreme. Among other persons who were so unfortunate as to fall under the latter category, was the Right Hon. Alexander Macdonnell, the able and indefatigable Resident Commissioner at the central or model school in Dublin. Mr Macdonnell was one of the majority who, under circumstances to which we shall presently refer, voted for the exclusion from among the textbooks of the Irish National Schools of Archbishop Whately's Scripture Lessons, as well as his treatise on the Evidences of Christianity. It was an offence which Whately could never forgive, and he took the following comically childish method of showing his anger. As often as he had occasion

to write to Mr Macdonnell, he forgot his Christian name, and instead of addressing the letter to The Right Hon. Alexander Macdonnell, he wrote upon the envelope Macdonnell, Esq."




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Another individual offended him by a display of considerable selfconceit. Sir," said the Archbishop to him one day, "you are one of the first men of the age.' "Oh, my Lord," replied the professor, looking unutterable things, you do me too much honour." "Not at all," replied Whately; "you were born, I believe, in 1801.' Whately's charities were unbounded. He gave away, during the famine year, not less than £8000; and his outlay on acts of benevolence in the course of the thirtytwo years of his incumbency, did not fall short of £50,000. He was quite as much hand-and-glove, likewise, quite as familiar and as amusing, with the peasantry who worked for him, or with whom he came in contact, as with their betters. Soon after his first arrival at his countryhouse of Still-Organ, the hay was ripe, and a number of men were called in to mow and make it. They were resting for a moment to refresh themselves on the food which the Archbishop supplied, when Whately found them. Are you good runners?" he said. Yes, your honour," replied several; "we ran we ran agin' the east wind yesterday, and bate it." "Well, now, I'll give this half-crown to the man that first touches that tree.' The tree grew at the other end of the field, and the field was a wide one. Up sprang all the mowers, and the Archbishop, standing behind, gave the word, 66 Once, twice, thrice, and away!" Away they went, and the foremost were nearing the tree, when rapid steps were heard behind them, and a pair of long legs swept by them all. It was the Archbishop himself, who, touching the tree, turned round, and laughed immoderately, -an exercise in which, after a moment given to blank astonishment, the whole field joined; and

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he put the half-crown back into his own pocket.

For thirty years and more, Richard Whately led the sort of life, of which, in the preceding pages, we have endeavoured to present an epitome. He was an indefatigable reformer of abuses all the while in his own way; in his own way a most conscientious Head of an archdiocese; a severe student; a voluminous writer; no orator, certainly, either in the House of Lords or in the pulpit, but in both situations a propounder of good and wise things; in politics a Liberal, without being a Whig; and in religion honest and sound, yet intolerant of fanaticism. His contempt for outward show, especially in matters ecclesiastic, carried him at times too far. For example, it became his duty, as Bishop of the Diocese, to consecrate a fine church which, about sixteen years ago, the Government built for the use of the troops in the Royal Barracks. His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge then commanded the garrison, and in order to make this ceremony as imposing as possible, the troops were paraded, and the church was crammed with soldiers. At the gate leading into the enclosure within which the church stood, his Royal Highness waited with the principal Staff officers and clergy to receive the Archbishop. By-and-by, about half an hour after the appointed time, the Archbishop's carriage drove up; but, instead of arriving in his robes, the Archbishop descended from it wrapped up in a greatcoat, and, without stopping to salute any of those who stood to do him honour, passed into the vestry. There was another pause; all present expecting that, having robed, he would.come forth and proceed with the consecration. Nothing of the sort. caused the necessary entries to be made in the registry books, which were laid on the table before him, signed them, and, turning to the senior chaplain, said, "Now your church is made a church according to law; you may dismiss the con


gregation." And the congregation, being detained only till the Archbishop departed as he had come, was dismissed, partly amused, partly offended, with the whole proceeding.


As long as Archbishop Murray lived, Whately's influence in the Commission of National Education was, or seemed to be, supreme. named those books which were to be used as class-books, and wrote several of them. He gave a tone to the regulations upon which the system was to be worked. His leaning, if he had any, was in favour of the prejudices of the Roman Catholics, which he guarded against attack down to the minutest point. The consequence was that, of open opposition, the weightiest amount came for a while from the Protestant clergy. Had they but thrown themselves heart and soul into the movement, they might have guided its course to this day. They not only held aloof, however, but openly denounced the whole scheme as deliberately intended for the overthrow of Protestantism and the establishment of Popery in Ireland. On the other hand, the acquiescence of the great body of the Roman Catholic ecclesiastics was, as the result has shown, hollow throughout. Partly out of deference to the wishes of Archbishop Murray, partly with the deeper design of making themselves masters of the situation, they accepted for twenty years the boon which the Government gave them, subject to an occasional growl of remonstance from Archbishop Cullen. At last Dr Murray died, and Dr Cullen becoming Romish Archbishop in his room, matters underwent a change. First a book of sacred poetry, which Whately had arranged, and in part compiled, was objected to. With miraculous unanimity, all the Roman Catholic children in all the schools of Ireland suddenly discovered that its teaching impugned the faith. Next it was found out, that to place a volume of evidences of the truth of Christianity in the

hands of young people, was to suggest doubts which otherwise might never have occurred to them. And, finally, the Board determined on disusing for the future Whately's favourite treatise, his Lessons from the Bible. The Archbishop's indignation knew no bounds. He remonstrated and protested in every quarter where the faintest hope of being attended to presented itself; and at last, finding his efforts vain, withdrew from the Board. No heavier blow ever fell upon an enthusiast in the cause of good. The object for which he had laboured during all the years of his Primacy was defeated; and Whately became, as enthusiasts are apt to do when their favourite schemes go wrong, soured and despondent.

His abandonment of the Board, and the openness with which he denounced its proceedings, effected a sort of reconciliation between him and his clergy. And the setting up by some members of his family of a sort of orphanage, in which the children of Roman Catholics were received, and trained to become Protestants, led some of the more zealous of the body to speak of him as a converted man. It was a great mistake. Whately continued to the last what he had been since his arrival in Dublin-an honest believer in the impolicy, not to say the iniquity, of interfering with the religious convictions of any class of Christians. And his objection to the Board, and to the system of education which it promoted, lay entirely in this, that both had departed from the principle on which they were originally established. It may be, it probably is, true enough that wounded self-conceit gave pungency to this objection. Whately loved his own works, because they were portions of himself, and the rejection of any of them from the list of recognised text-books was an outrage which he could not bear patiently. But he was too keen-sighted not to see that his books were thrown aside, because whatever religious

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