[Illustration:  The Bishop of Lincoln. From a photograph by Lewis Carroll]

The Bishop of Oxford, Dr. Wilberforce, had expressed the opinion that the “resolution to attend theatres or operas was an absolute disqualification for Holy Orders,” which discouraged him very much, until it transpired that this statement was only meant to refer to the parochial clergy.  He discussed the matter with Dr. Pusey, and with Dr. Liddon.  The latter said that “he thought a deacon might lawfully, if he found himself unfit for the work, abstain from direct ministerial duty.”  And so, with many qualms about his own unworthiness, he at last decided to prepare definitely for ordination.

On December 22, 1861, he was ordained deacon by the Bishop of Oxford.  He never proceeded to priest’s orders, partly, I think, because he felt that if he were to do so it would be his duty to undertake regular parochial work, and partly on account of his stammering.  He used, however, to preach not unfrequently, and his sermons were always delightful to listen to, his extreme earnestness being evident in every word.

[Illustration:  Bishop Wilberforce. From a photograph by Lewis Carroll.]

“He knew exactly what he wished to say” (I am quoting from an article in The Guardian), “and completely forgot his audience in his anxiety to explain his point clearly.  He thought of the subject only, and the words came of themselves.  Looking straight in front of him he saw, as it were, his argument mapped out in the form of a diagram, and he set to work to prove it point by point, under its separate heads, and then summed up the whole.”

One sermon which he preached in the University Church, on Eternal Punishment, is not likely to be soon forgotten by those who heard it.  I, unfortunately, was not of that number, but I can well imagine how his clear-cut features would light up as he dwelt lovingly upon the mercy of that Being whose charity far exceeds “the measure of man’s mind.”  It is hardly necessary to say that he himself did not believe in eternal punishment, or any other scholastic doctrine that contravenes the love of God.

He disliked being complimented on his sermons, but he liked to be told of any good effects that his words had had upon any member of the congregation.  “Thank you for telling me that fact about my sermon,” he wrote to one of his sisters, who told him of some such good fruit that one of his addresses had borne.  “I have once or twice had such information volunteered; and it is a great comfort—­and a kind of thing that is really good for one to know.  It is not good to be told (and I never wish to be told), ’Your sermon was so beautiful.’  We shall not be concerned to know, in the Great Day, whether we have preached beautiful sermons, but whether they were preached with the one object of serving God.”