The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1880-08-28 00:00:00

THE LATE LORD STRATFORD DE
REDCLIFFE.

On Saturday afternoon the remains of Viscount
Stratford de Redcliffe were litterred in the church-
yard of Frant, near Tunbridge-wells, in the presence
of his daughters, some old personal friends, and many
of the villagers. The funeral was as simple as it could
be. The coffin was covered with wreaths sent by at-
tached friends, among others, from the Duchess of
Wellington. The plate on the lid bore the following
inscription :—" Stratford Canning, Viscount Strat-
ford de Radcliffe, K.G. G.C.8., P.C. Born 4th
November, 1786. Died 14th August, 1880." Lady
Stratford de Redcliffe was unable to attend the funeral,
as her ladyship is still suffering from her recent be-
reavement.

Dean Stanley ',reached in Errol parish church,
Perthshire, on Sunday afternoon. At the close of his
sermon he said,—Yesterday the greatest English
Ambassador of our time was, after a life prolonged far
beyond the natural limit of human existence laid to
rest in an obscure churchyard in the county of Kent.
Many are they who will be grateful to the end of their
days that they had known that majestic character.
No one could enter into his presence, either as he sat
on what may truly be called his throne at Constanti-
nople or during the long years of his dignified retire-
ment, without feeling that they had seen a king of
men. No one could hear the name of Stratford Canning
named throughout the far East without feeling that
so long as he retained his post the power of England
was safe. In his incorruptible integrity, in his magni-
ficent liberality, in his unshaken firmness, no one
could hear his influence spoken of by Christian or
Mussulman . Protestant or Catholic, 0-reek or Turk,
without feeling that in him each man knew that there
was a terror to the evildoers which no one could con-
front with impunity, a refuge for the destitute and
oppressed which nonecould seek in vain. No onecould
forget who had ever witnessed it the boundless industry,
the noble generosity with which through all the chaos
of the Crimean war he laboured for the sick and
suffering soldiers or befriended those who went out to
succour them. No one could mistake that in his
energy, in his remonstrances, in his purity the totter-
ing fabric of the Eastern Empire, which for years he
held in his mighty grasp, had at once the best bulwark
against its own ruin, and the best guarantee against its
own evil deeds. Such an example did, indeed, lift us
up from the base and sordid atmosphere of party
strife and littleness. Such an old age, with the fire
of youth subdued but not extinct, with the experi-
ence of years giving ever fresh life to the memory of
the past, was worthy of remembrance to every
toiling sufferer. He could still repeat the simple
hymns which he had learnt from his nurse
ninety years before, he could still celebrate the heroic
deeds of his countrymen with the poetry which even
for a boy would have been full of vigour. In his long
life of lonely thought he souqht in asking the ques-
tion "Why am I a Christian ? " to dwell on the
grander parts of Christianity and to leave its smaller
parts to sink into insignificance. He sought to dwell
on "the greatest of miracles" that which threw all
others into the shade the miracle of the character of
Jesus Christ Our Lord. He had chosen that better
part which neither falling empires nor political ran-
cour, nor worldly disappointments, nor ungrateful
obliviousness could ever take away from him.