It was a very remarkable gathering—that gathering of men in the Balliol Chapel—to mourn for the Master who had been taken from their head. Walkers in various paths of life, thinkers of various ways of thought, had found their paths and ways all converge in sorrow for a common loss—not only to the College, but to their time and fatherland. The coffin lay upon its trestles shoulder high. Over it fell a purple pall, made white with floral tributes; but the greatest tribute there was the presence of such men of busy life and active mind, come to pay grateful homage to the memory of their spiritual father. For indeed he was the spiritual even as he was their intellectual father, he who for so many years of incessant labour and marvellous energy had taught them all how best to be about their Father’s business. (p. 586)….
For here was a man who had fought a good fight for the sake of truth, tolerance, justice, and the cause of a higher idea of what education should be—still in the van of all wise reform, still able to startle and surprise men by the newness of his ideas, and the novelty of his methods to meet the new needs of his day; not only master of the art of getting men to work for others than themselves, but master of the art of securing their noblest sympathy and insuring their most affectionate regard. (p. 599).
It was not only as Master of the College but master of the College servants that he will be long remembered. Those who on the funeral day spoke with the College porter and the College scout, or talked with the faithful housekeeper and the servants at the Master’s lodge, know well how true and thoughtful a friend they felt they had lost; and can realise how fine an example of the Christian type of generous English gentleman went away from Oxford when the Master of Balliol died. ‘My love to the College’ were his last words. (p. 599)
(Cornhill Magazine, 21 (December 1893), 586-99)