In the discourse, Bishop McIlvaine had said:  “The only difference between the Presbyterian denomination, and Episcopal denomination, is their difference as to the orders of the ministry.”  The Dean was delighted with my account, and said:  “Just imagine the Bishop of London preaching such a sermon in Newman Hall’s or Spurgeon’s pulpit; it would rock the old dome of St. Paul’s.”  In all of his intercourse with his dissenting brethren the Dean never put on any airs of patronage, for though a loyal Episcopalian, he recognized their equally divine ordination as ministers of Jesus Christ.

A few days afterwards I went up to get a look at Holly Lodge, the residence of Lord Macaulay, in a side street just off Campden Hill.  I met the Dean just coming out of the gate.  He had been attending a garden party given by Lord Airlie, who then occupied the lodge.  It was a pleasant coincidence to meet the most brilliant ecclesiastical historian at the door of the most brilliant civil historian of England.  The Dean stopped and chatted about Macaulay, of whom he was very fond, and then said:  “Just beyond is Holland House.”  We went a few paces and got a glimpse of the famous mansion in which Lord Holland had entertained the celebrities of America and Europe.  One of the best hours I ever spent with Stanley was at his own table in the Deanery.  He was the most delightful of hosts.  Lady Augusta Stanley, daughter of the Earl of Elgin, had been a favorite Maid of Honor to the Queen, and the Dean had accompanied the Prince of Wales on his tour to the Orient.  The Queen quite frequently slipped away from the palace for a quiet chat at the Deanery with this pair whom she so loved.  A marble bust of Victoria, by her daughter, the Princess Louise, stood in the parlor, a gift of the Queen.  If the Dean was very broad in his theology, his cultured wife was as decidedly evangelical in hers and her religious influence was very tonic in all respects.  After lunch that day the Dean very kindly took me into the famous Jerusalem chamber and showed me where the Westminster Assembly had sat for six years to give birth to our Presbyterian Confession of Faith and Catechism.  I was surprised at the small size of the room that had held seventy or eighty commissioners.

As I was very desirous of hearing the Dean preach in the Abbey, he sent me a very kind invitation to come on the next Sabbath to the Deanery before the service, and on account of my deafness Lady Augusta would take me into a seat close to his pulpit.  Accordingly she stowed me in a small box-pew, which was close against the pulpit, and within arms’ length of the Dean.  His sermon was a beautiful essay on Solomon and great men, and in the course of it he said:  “Such was the greatness of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  I felt so pained by what he did not say that I ventured to write him a most frank and loving note, in which I expressed my deep regret that when he referred to the “greatness” of our Saviour he had so entirely ignored what was