1850–1854
THE year 1850 opened with a storm of religious excitement, owing to a
division of England by Papal authority into Roman dioceses, at the
suggestion of Dr. Wiseman. It came to be called “The Papal Aggression.”
Some thought more was made of it, at the time, than circumstances
warranted; but, looked at through the medium of history, it seemed to aim
at a territorial authority over England, inconsistent with our
repudiation of Papal supremacy. The way in which it was taken up by some
good people was not wise, and there was an anti-popish commotion amongst
some of my friends—a few only. The commotion was unreasonable, but was
overruled for good, as the incident led some Protestants to look into
their professed principles, which doubtless, in our country, lie at the
basis of civil and religious liberty.
From one end of the island to the other, Nonconformists as well as
Churchmen took an opportunity for expressing attachment to the
Reformation. In two ways I became connected with what went on. The
Presbyterian, Congregational, and Baptist ministers of London,
representing the three denominations, resolved, in common with other
ecclesiastical bodies, to approach Her Majesty with a protest against
“Papal Aggression.” The three denominations—like Convocation and certain
English corporations—have a right of presenting addresses to the
Sovereign; and on this occasion, the audience for accepting the
addresses, was appointed to be at Windsor Castle. When the ceremony in
the Royal Closet for receiving representatives of the three denominations
was over, we were invited to lunch in the equerry’s apartment. Covers
were laid for two or three gentlemen, in addition to our party. “Pray,
can you tell me their names?” I whispered to one of the servants, who,
from my previous residence in the town, happened to know me. He could
not say, and at the same moment the strangers, who proved to be Roman
Catholic noblemen, felt a like curiosity to know who we were. I
proceeded to explain the origin of the three denominations, which was
quite a revelation to the gentlemen; who informed us that they had just
presented a loyal address from 250,000 Catholics. They proceeded to say,
that English Protestants had quite misapprehended the meaning of recent
arrangements; and, after receiving a courteous explanation, we sat down
with them, and had a pleasant chat.
At that time I delivered at Kensington a short series of discourses on
the Roman Catholic controversy. I went over some of the main points in
that controversy, avoiding misrepresentation and uncharitableness. I was
not violent enough to please some ultra-Protestants, but I had the
gratification of hearing, that two young Catholics ultimately became
Protestants, and were helped by the lectures. I have met in the course
of my life with several members of the Romish Church, who have appeared
to me estimable characters. I had in my congregation a young lady, one
of a family which ranked a Cardinal amongst its members, and whose mother
remained a Catholic; in her dying illness she clung to Christ as her
Saviour, saying, in the words of Solomon’s Song: “I held Him, and would
not let Him go.”
In the same year, as I have said, the Palace of Glass was opened; and,
being a Kensington resident, I had opportunities of watching the edifice
rising out of the earth as a beautiful exhalation. On moonlight nights,
in the previous winter, how often, on my way home, it revealed itself,
amidst floating mists, as a kind of ethereal structure!
There was a moral atmosphere created by the enterprise, which those who
do not recollect it are unable to appreciate. It inspired thousands of
people with expressions of charity and goodwill. The opening day can
never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The _Times_ newspaper had
a leader, which made one feel that a new era in history had arrived; that
war and strife were approaching an end, and a millennial age of goodwill
had dawned upon mankind. When, that day, we saw crowds, not jostling and
pushing against each other; for almost every unit of the mass seemed
willing to make way for a neighbour; when we witnessed the opening
service, and beheld the royal procession moving through the stupendous
aisles,—representatives of “all people that on earth do dwell,”—those
present seemed to feel as they never did before. As the poet Montgomery
conversed with me on the subject, he remarked that, looking down from the
galleries upon the throng which passed before his eyes, it “reminded him
of flowing waters gently gurgling through some broad channel.” The
people, thronging here and there round corners, seemed like eddies in a
river with lofty banks.
In the Exhibition year efforts were made for the religious improvement of
the people. The Press was in different ways employed for this purpose;
and amongst other methods there appeared, as distinctively
characteristic, a series of evangelical discourses in Exeter Hall. They
attracted crowded audiences. The sermons were carefully reported and
widely circulated. About the same time several similar methods were
employed for the promotion of religion; services were held in theatres
and other places of amusement. Having been engaged in these efforts, I
can testify to the crowds gathered together, and the general decorum of
their behaviour. Some to whom these buildings belonged took an interest
in the proceedings, as I knew from conversation with dramatic managers,
who expressed interest in the addresses delivered. Afterwards, services
were planned to be conducted by Episcopal clergymen in Exeter Hall, but
the plan was frustrated by opposition of parochial authority. After
this, Dissenters undertook to supply the lack of service, and the first
Sunday night, an Independent minister officiated, reading parts of the
Liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer, and an English nobleman acted as
clerk, leading the responses.
The same year (1851) it fell to my lot at the autumnal meeting of the
Congregational Union to read a memorial paper on Dr. Doddridge, who had
died just a hundred years before, and had been pastor and Divinity
Professor in Northampton, where the assembly met. We occupied the old
meeting-house in which he preached; there in the vestry stood the chair
in which he sat. From the pulpit which had been his, the centenary
tribute to his memory was delivered. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnell,
presented the original MS. of a funeral sermon which the doctor preached
for his little daughter, partly written upon her coffin. A common
sympathy, amidst deathlike silence, pervaded the audience, as if the
divine who was commemorated had only just left the world, and we had
assembled to honour his remains. The _genius loci_ of the place, and
traditions of the good man, passed away so long before, contributed to
the occasion more impressiveness than it derived from other
circumstances.
In 1852 my beloved wife travelled with me to Elberfeld to see our eldest
daughter. We had, from an early period, formed the plan of sending our
children abroad for part of their education, in order that they might
learn a foreign language and see other forms of society besides our own.
Therefore we placed our firstborn under the care of Pastor and Madame
Schröder,—two very excellent persons, whose character and influence
answered the high expectations we had been led to form. Pastor Schröder
succeeded Dr. Krummacher as one of the pastors of the Evangelical
communion. We enjoyed his society and that of his excellent wife, and
saw something of German habits, which interested me much; they presented
aspects unfamiliar to us. For instance, one Sunday afternoon we took a
walk in the woods with our friend the pastor, and, on the way, he
gathered into a large company one after another of his people, until it
formed quite a procession; and, finally, we rested in a pleasant nook
encompassed by trees, where the people drank coffee, and sang hymns.
After we had spent some days at Elberfeld we started for Switzerland,
where I planned my wife and daughter should spend two or three weeks,
whilst accompanied by a Kensington friend, I proceeded on a journey to
Italy. We started from Zurich, crossed the lake, reached Coire and the
Via Mala, and over the Alps, came down to the Lake of Como; thence we
reached Milan, where we stayed three days. I then became acquainted for
the first time with the Duomo and other churches. We spent a Sunday in
the city, and felt deeply interested in schools founded by Cardinal
Borromeo, carried on at the time with exemplary care; and we found at
eventide, in a church, groups of worshippers, led by a layman, who knelt
in front as they chanted responses. I was struck then, and have been
oftentimes since, with the adaptation of Scripture passages on church
walls, pointing to salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. One thought,
too, of Ambrose, who forbade the approach of Theodosius, wet with the
blood he had shed at Thessalonica. Speaking of the adaptation of
Scripture in foreign churches, I may mention other passages inscribed on
their walls in other places, for example, at Treves, where under a
picture of “The Nativity” we read “Verily Thou art a God that hidest
Thyself,” as applied to the Incarnation. Again, at Nismes, if I
recollect aright, under the fresco of a captive rejoicing in his freedom,
the words “Thou hast loosed my bonds”; and under another, representing
martyrs and virgins at the portals of heaven, “With joy and rejoicing
shall they be brought: they shall enter into the King’s palace.” After
all, the kernel of the Gospel continues in Roman Catholic Christendom,
though too often concealed under manifold innovations. Still there it
is, if you look for it.
My reference to Milan brings before me other recollections of that
wonderful city, as revisited again and again since 1852. Amidst manifold
associations of art, archæology, history, and religion, one image,
indelibly impressed on my mind, is that of Augustine under the fig tree
in a garden, listening to a voice which cried, “Tolle lege”; at the
hearing of which he sat down, took the Testament in his hand, and read
Rom. xiii., and thus became a new creature in Christ Jesus. Wandering in
quiet old streets, I have paused near some fig tree in a little enclosure
of grass and flowers, to think of him who became the grandest father of
the Latin Church.
From Milan we proceeded to Verona, and thence to Venice, where I felt
“one of the greatest emotions of life.” I have seen it again and again,
but the first charm was greatest of all. Then Titian’s “Peter Martyr”
adorned the walls of SS. Giovanni e Paulo. Wonderful picture that! but
it does not, to my mind, eclipse his S. Jerome in the Brera at Milan.
Let me return to Kensington. Perhaps this is as good a place as any, for
saying a few words about people there, and others with whom I was brought
into contact, during my pastorate.
Under the ministry of my predecessor, Dr. Leifchild, there lived in one
of the stately houses in the neighbourhood, a gentleman—commanding in
person and polished in manners—who was drawn towards the Dissenting
pastor, though he had no affection for Dissent; if he smiled at the
system, he liked some of the people. He lost largely on the Stock
Exchange, but he bore it with much magnanimity. I was acquainted with
some of the family, who were in prosperous circumstances, and who became
my kind friends. I once met at their house with an old general—uncle to
the Duchess of Gordon—who related a singular anecdote. He had been at
the Eglinton Tournament, and, as the castle was crowded with guests, he
and another person shared the same bedroom. That person was no other
than the future Napoleon II. He kept his companion awake with talk about
the French Empire and his uncle, declaring, that he was sure one day of
sitting on his uncle’s throne. The ambitious dream filled his mind, and
overflowed in his abundant chat; though then it seemed a most improbable
imagination. The incident was related some time after the tournament,
and before the Republic was established; and when I afterwards heard of
Napoleon’s election to the presidentship, I saw it was by no means
unlikely that the daring prophecy he had ventured, would come to pass. I
have heard from other people that he often, when residing in London,
talked in society of his coming elevation, as imperial ruler of the
French. The uncle had seen beforehand the dazzling star of his destiny.
His nephew did the same. There were people who fancied something
supernatural in this, but it may be accounted for on natural principles.
Another story, of an amusing kind, I heard at a Chiswick garden party, to
which I was taken by the kind friends at whose house I met the old Scotch
soldier. Amongst personages of rank present at Chiswick were certain
bishops, who had not dropped the old episcopal costume of a big wig, a
most decidedly broad-brimmed clerical hat, and a conspicuous apron.
Right Reverend brethren are still somewhat distinguished from other
people, though some of them reduce the distinction within very restricted
limits; forty or fifty years ago it was quite otherwise. They appeared
then commonly—to use an undignified expression—in _full jig_, and as some
occupants of the Bench passed by, in unmistakable array of the kind just
noticed, a clergyman at the garden party now mentioned, told me of a
prime minister, who used to remark, he thought, “Bishops well deserved
all they got” (and it was much more then than it is now), “for allowing
themselves to be dressed up, as such regular guys.”
Literature and art were pretty well represented in Kensington, at the
period I speak of. Contributors to _Punch_—Mark Lemon, Gilbert a Becket,
and others—were my neighbours, and with one of them I spent a pleasant
evening. Gilbert a Becket during a few weeks, when the parish church
underwent repairs, used pretty regularly to attend our chapel, and I was
struck by his attentiveness and devotion. He expressed his readiness to
spend a few hours with me, at a friend’s residence, only he stipulated
that it should not be on an opera night; and when it was proposed to me I
stipulated that it should not be on one of my service nights.
Preliminaries being settled we accordingly met, and got on exceedingly
well. What amuses me, as I think of it, is that, though I am not at all
given to pun-making, the presence of a brilliant punster so inspired me,
that I perpetrated one or two hits, which Becket pronounced very fair.
Perhaps I may be forgiven by those who achieve pleasant things in that
way, if I remark that there is something contagious in the practice; and
it is difficult not to catch it, when in company with those who are
imbued with the habit.
With another celebrity I came in contact through intimacy with his
family, and his early connection with our place of worship. I allude to
Justice Talfourd. When a young man he used to attend on Dr. Leifchild’s
ministry, his father and mother being members of the Congregational
Church at Kensington. His mother, whom I knew well, related anecdotes of
his early days at home, and at Mill Hill School, where he had
schoolfellows who afterwards distinguished themselves in the walks of
Dissent. He wrote home about his companions and told his mother of
prayer-meetings amongst the boys; and of one boy in particular, very
imaginative, and florid on such occasions. This schoolfellow became
afterwards an eloquent minister, well known as Dr. Hamilton of Leeds.
The Judge told me of his early attachment to that gentleman, and how,
during the doctor’s last visit to London, he went to hear him preach, and
stepped into the vestry afterwards, to talk of old times; but the
preacher had left, which was a great disappointment.
There was a strong religious side to Judge Talfourd’s character, and he
used to speak with much enthusiasm of my predecessor, Dr. Leifchild,
whose preaching he said came up to his idea of the Apostle Paul’s
ministry.
Amongst artists living in Kensington were two Academicians, Uwins and
Philip, who both belonged to our congregation—the first a regular, the
second an occasional, attendant. Philip’s wife—a beautiful woman, whom
he introduced into some of his pictures—was a communicant with us at the
Lord’s table. I often visited the artist’s studio, and listened to his
picturesque description of Spain, and also to his accounts of family
afflictions which elicited my sympathy.
From my boyhood I had taken an interest in art, and the friendship of
several men distinguished in its cultivation was exceedingly instructive
and pleasant. My travels on the Continent, which enabled me to visit
most of the principal picture galleries,—rich in specimens by great
masters,—educated and purified what little taste I had; and prompted me
to somewhat extensive studies in artistic literature. These, blended
with other habits of reading, I find an immense enjoyment in the leisure
of my old age.
Mr. Theed, the sculptor, and his family, who attended Kensington Chapel,
were our intimate friends; and he told me much about Gibson, his
companion in art, and intimate acquaintance for many years, when they
resided at Rome. With the latter gentleman I became acquainted slightly
when I was in Italy, and had a long talk with him once about tinting
sculpture,—which he advocated with zeal, and practised with skill. I
felt there was force in what he said. Another Kensington name,—that of
Edward Corbould, the water-colourist,—may be coupled with my friend
Theed’s. Each was connected with the other in artistic service to Her
Majesty and family. I remember on the Sunday morning after the Prince
Consort’s lamented death, missing both these gentlemen at Divine worship,
in consequence of their being summoned to Windsor—one to take a cast, and
the other to make a drawing of the good Prince’s face.
There was another group of hearers during the latter part of my
Kensington ministry, to whom I was much attached. One of them, Cozens
Hardy, M.P., who has won eminence in the legal profession, is son to the
oldest friend I have. All now referred to are distinguished, not only by
professional position, but by continued study in classical learning.
I must not pass by “annals of the poor.” When I first went to
Kensington, I was requested to visit an old shoemaker, crippled, and in
humble circumstances, but with a good deal of natural politeness, the
more striking from its surroundings. He had been a wild young fellow,
daring to the last degree, and this was the cause of his incurable
lameness. He was converted under the ministry of Dr. Leifchild. The
preacher, in the course of a sermon, related an anecdote of Mr. Cecil,
who previous to his becoming decidedly religious narrowly escaped with
life, when thrown by his horse across the track of a waggon, which in
passing only crushed his hat. The incident struck the listener. It
resembled his own experience, and riveted his attention, preparing him to
listen to the preacher’s appeals. He became an exemplary Christian; and
I often sat by his bedside to hear him describe the wondrous change
wrought in his character, by Divine grace. “I am a wonder unto many,” he
used to say; and then, with faltering voice, would sing the old hymn—
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.”
This was not the only case in which the humbler members of the Church
were a comfort to me. Often my heart was cheered by communications made
by them, touching spiritual life. Such communications were perfectly
artless, and arose from the absence of that reserve which, in the upper
class, is the result of educational refinement. This circumstance often
prevents a free revelation of what cultured people think and feel on the
subject of religion. I have frequently noticed it, and never inferred,
from delicacy touching soul secrets, any want of that which rises to the
surface, and overflows in ready words, when uneducated people speak of
their Christian experience.
I cannot omit a reference to the Gurney family, with some of whom I came
into pleasant connection during my Kensington residence. As a boy, I had
some knowledge of their ancestral relatives; and now I came into close
friendship with Mr. Bell, brother to Mrs. John Gurney, who was mother to
Samuel Gurney, the renowned London Quaker, and also to Joseph John
Gurney, of Earlham, near Norwich—an equally renowned banker, and also a
_Public Friend_, as preachers of that denomination then were wont to be
called. Mr. Bell had become one of my hearers and a communicant, much to
his spiritual benefit, as he and his family informed me. He was a chatty
old gentleman, and used to talk of his sister, Priscilla Wakefield, of
Miss Schemmelpenninck, and of Samuel Taylor Coleridge—whom he met at the
house of his friend Gilman, resident in Highgate. Through frequent vivid
references to these celebrities, whom I knew by their writings and by
report, I came to have a sort of personal acquaintance with them. Thus
they became, more than ever, living realities. Besides this, I came to
have a slight personal knowledge of Mr. Samuel Gurney, just mentioned,
the well-known bill-broker, and also of Mrs. Fry, his sister, who did so
much good as a prison visitor. Mr. Gurney was a stately person, with a
benign countenance, and a musical voice rich in persuasive tones. The
mental anxiety he felt during money panics, not only on his own account,
but also from sympathy with others, was such, that he was known to spend
sleepless nights pacing his chamber. Mrs. Fry was as dignified as her
brother, and I now in imagination see her in her becoming Quaker garb, as
she talked to me about her nephew Bell, and spoke gratefully of the
benefit he had derived from my ministry. The younger Mr. Samuel Gurney
came to live at Prince’s Gate, Kensington, and used to worship with us
occasionally. At his table I met with the Bunsens, and other remarkable
friends and relatives of his. He told me that at any time when I needed,
in Christian work, pecuniary help, I might apply to him without
hesitation. The crash on “Black Friday” was a terrible trial, as it made
him, after being one of the richest of London citizens, dependent on his
relatives. I wrote to him words of condolence, to which he beautifully
replied, saying that he trusted the tribulation which had befallen him
would be for his spiritual welfare. His excellent wife bore up nobly,
and the two afforded admirable instances of Christian patience and
resignation.