1862–1865
THE year 1862, being the Bicentenary of the Bartholomew ejectment, was
largely given by English Nonconformists to a remembrance of the
confessorship and heroism which marked the ejectment of ministers in
1662. A meeting was held in the spring at St. James’s Hall, Piccadilly,
when papers were read, bearing on the commemoration. The preparation of
one of them fell to my lot; but I was taken ill at the time for its
delivery, and it had to be read by my friend, the Rev. Joshua Clarkson
Harrison. A story is told of Garrick’s reading a poem of Hannah More’s,
before a party of friends, when the effect produced was by Garrick
attributed to the lady’s composition, and by the lady to the reader’s
elocution. Whatever might be the impression made at St. James’s Hall on
the reading of the paper, it was divided between my friend and me, after
the same fashion. In this address I advocated a Bartholomew celebration,
on the ground, that it was good to remember sacrifices made for
conscience’ sake, and therefore professed my readiness to honour Jeremy
Taylor as well as Richard Baxter. This brought a letter from the Bishop
of Down and Connor testing my sincerity by an appeal on behalf of an
Irish cathedral restoration in memory of Jeremy Taylor. I sent a small
contribution, which brought back a pleasant response, such as I highly
valued. Afterwards I met him at the Athenæum, when he invited me to
visit him, with a view to Christian union in Ireland. I should add that
the Bishop’s scheme for the cathedral restoration failed, and he politely
returned my small contribution.
In the autumn of 1862, I read a paper to the Congregational Assembly, in
which I advocated certain methods of improvement. This subject I took up
afterwards, with no result, however, that I could discover. The faults
of other systems are always more welcome than the reformation of our own.
In 1863 we were visited by a family bereavement which was one of the
heaviest sorrows of my life. John Howard Stoughton, born at Windsor in
1842, was a lad of extraordinary character, witty and artistic beyond his
brothers and sisters, who loved him with no ordinary love. His love of
art led us to place the youth under Mr. Thomas, a distinguished sculptor
and decorator, largely employed in works at Windsor Castle. Our boy
devoted himself to his pursuits with an assiduity which created much
anxiety in his mother and in me, for it evidently injured his health. In
the spring of 1861 we took him to Hastings, and Dr. Moore, an eminent
physician there, carefully studied his case, and, as the result, advised
that his artistic pursuits should be for awhile suspended, and that he
should travel abroad, where he would see and learn much, without tasking
his physical power. Accordingly, in the summer of 1861, he visited the
Continent with his elder brother and me, went up and down the Rhine, and
saw pictures, statues, and decorations, which interested his mind without
overtasking his bodily strength. In the following autumn he was better,
and under medical advice we arranged that, in company with one of his
sisters, he should spend the winter in Rome. They did so accordingly,
and our hopes were raised; but in the spring he had an attack, which
rendered it advisable that he should remove from Rome to some other part
of Italy. He did so, and paid a visit to friends in Leghorn. I left
home with another of my daughters and two nieces, joining my children
where they were staying; thence I accompanied them, on a pleasant tour
through Florence, over the Apennines, and, by way of Bologna, Milan, and
the Alps, to Geneva. Thence we came home through France. We returned in
good spirits; but, as winter approached, fears reawakened. Gradually the
invalid became weaker; but faith in the Invisible and Divine Father grew
stronger and stronger. The youth spent with us a cheerful Christmas; but
in spring it was obvious he was not long for this world. As the end
approached he talked calmly on the subject with his beloved brother, the
two being united in bonds of Christian faith, as well as natural
affection. I can never forget the Holy Communion we—mother, father,
brother, and sisters—enjoyed in a room overlooking our garden, when
bursting buds told of nature’s returning life, and the dear sufferer bore
unmistakable signs of approaching death. But he was calm and cheerful,
and took deep interest in the gracious ordinance. It was administered
with solemnity by our dear friend Harrison, who loved Howard as though he
had been his own son. He expired on March 31st, 1863, and on the
following Sunday evening my brother just named preached a memorable
funeral sermon in Kensington Chapel.
In 1864 Dr. Stanley became Dean of Westminster, and on his expressing a
wish to be introduced to some Nonconformist brethren, Dr. William
Smith—editor of so many valuable dictionaries, and with whom I was then
associated in the business of New College—kindly gave a dinner party to
which he invited me. The Dean afterwards finding there was between us
some similarity of taste in literature, and sympathy in desires for
union, invited me to the Deanery; and so began a friendship with him and
Lady Augusta, which lasted as long as they lived, and proved one of the
most precious privileges vouchsafed to me, by the providence of our
Heavenly Father. On December 28th, 1865, “the Feast of the Holy
Innocents”—the Dean preached a sermon in Westminster Abbey. The sermon
was in commemoration of the Abbey’s foundation by Edward the Confessor
eight hundred years before. The text was felicitously chosen from John
x. 22, 23,—“It was the feast of the _Dedication_, and it was _winter_,
and Jesus walked in the temple in _Solomon’s porch_.” “Feast of the
Dedication” corresponded with the character of the service; “winter” was
the season of both celebrations; the northern porch—a main entrance to
the Abbey—is called “Solomon’s porch.” The sermon was not less
appropriate than the text. It sketched the history of the venerable
edifice, and contained marked allusions to Nonconformist ministrations
within its walls during the Commonwealth. Being present on the occasion,
I wrote to the Dean afterwards in reference to his allusions, when, in
reply, he said, “It gave me additional pleasure to deliver them, from the
reflection that there was at least one person present capable of entering
into them.” In the sermon, as delivered, he spoke of the Westminster
Confession as the only one ever _imposed_ in the _whole Island_, and on
my calling his attention to this statement, and pointing out the
distinction between the _doctrinal_ and ecclesiastical part of the
Confession, he answered, “I was not ignorant of the distinction, nor did
I mean to say it was _imposed_ in any offensive sense. For I was anxious
not to say a word that could be offensive to any of my brethren, and
merely wished to call attention to the fact, that a document, which had
received in part a wider legal recognition than any other since the
Reformation, came from Westminster Abbey.” In the sermon, as _printed_,
are the words “_sanctioned by law_ for the whole Island,” and in a note,
“The doctrinal Articles of the Westminster Confession of Faith (were)
sanctioned by the English Parliament in 1647, and the whole Confession by
the Scottish Parliament in 1648.”
In further illustration of the Dean’s ingenuity when turning Scripture to
account in the improvement of events, I may here repeat what he once
related to me. He happened on a Saturday to be preparing a sermon for
the Abbey, on some occasion when he was to plead for _two_ objects, and
had chosen for his text Gen. xxvii. 38—“And Esau said unto his father,
hast thou but one blessing my father? Bless me, even me also, O my
father.” As the Dean was writing his discourse, some one stepped in and
told him, the American President, General Grant, intended to be at the
Abbey the next day, and suggested that it would be gratifying to
Americans if some allusion was made to the incident. Immediately it was
turned to account by the Dean in this way—that God had many blessings
which He distributed amongst his children; that bounty to one did not
mean denial to another; that Great Britain, for instance, had been
blessed, but God had rich benefactions for America as well.
For years I felt an earnest desire to visit the East, and thus to become
personally acquainted with Bible lands. A meeting was held in 1865 to
present me with a purse of £400, and a pledge that expenses incurred
through my absence from Kensington should be met, without any pecuniary
responsibilities on my part. The friends who accompanied me were Dr.
Allon, of Union Chapel, Islington, Dr. Spence, of the Poultry Chapel,
London, Dr. Bright, minister of the Independent Chapel, Dorking, and two
young lay friends—Stanley Kemp-Welch and Thomas Wilson. The Dean of
Westminster gave me introductions to people he knew in Palestine, and
afforded valuable assistance in other ways.
We started in February 1865. I kept a journal and sent home long
letters. We visited Alexandria and Cairo, and then proceeded through the
desert of Sinai to the monastery at the foot of Jebel Mousa. Turning
north, we made our way to Gaza, thence to Ramleh, and so onwards to
Jerusalem. The members of our little party, as we approached the city on
horseback, rode at a considerable distance from each other. I knew that
we should cross some ridges, before we caught sight of the city, and I
happened to be in the rear of my fellow-travellers. I watched the
foremost of them till I saw him pull up his horse, pause awhile, then
take off his hat. I knew what that meant, and the feelings awakened I
can never forget while I live. I eagerly, and I may say reverently,
followed the foremost horseman, and as soon as I caught sight of the
walls and the gate, I am not ashamed to say, my eyes were full of tears.
As we entered the Holy City the bustle was very great. Bedouins with
yellow scarves round their heads, and striped robes on their shoulders;
Syrians with snowy turbans, short jackets, and flowing trousers; Turks
wearing the crimson fez; a rich man “clothed in purple and fine linen,”
mounted on a smartly caparisoned white ass, and a poor man on foot,
ragged and tattered; camels and donkeys carrying loads of timber and
brushwood, to the peril of wayfarers; Egyptian, Copt, Armenian, Greek,
the black Nubian, the white Circassian, with groups of veiled women,
shuffling over the stones in gay slippers—all these made a motley
picture, which dazzled the attention of pilgrims from England. At length
we reached our hotel, and had to make ladder-like ascents, and mount on
roofs, story after story, before we could get to our apartments, whence
we caught our first view of Mount Olivet.
We met with Christian friends in the Holy City, and were kindly invited
by Dr. Gobat, Bishop of Jerusalem, to spend an evening at his house, when
he gathered together a party consisting of the principal foreign visitors
at the time, most of whom were English. For two Sunday mornings we
worshipped at the church on Mount Zion, near the Episcopal residence, and
were glad of an opportunity to partake of the Communion. I have always
delighted in fellowship at the Lord’s table with Christian brethren of
different churches, who, under different forms of administration, worship
and adore the same Lord. Not only when travelling on the Continent have
I received the Lord’s Supper at the hands of Episcopalian brethren, but
in England, on a few occasions I have availed myself of a similar
catholic privilege.
Before proceeding further, let me relate a story I heard from Dr. Rosen,
the German consul, respecting the famous Sinaitic MS. Tischendorf had
reason to believe a precious treasure was hid in the monastery at Sinai.
He obtained letters which he thought would assist him, but, on further
consideration, declined to employ them. He found in the library part of
his coveted prize; and, it happened at that moment, the office of
Okonomos was vacant, and a keen contest for it was going on between two
monks. He joined one party, and promised to use influence with the
Russian Emperor in favour of their candidate, hinting that the present of
a valuable MS. would promote their object. After a good deal of
diplomacy this plan prospered. The MS. coveted by the scholar was
secured, and the once hopeless candidate was installed in office. This
was not all. The MS. was incomplete, and the missing part was found by
Tischendorf in the possession of a Greek merchant. The promise of a
Russian title proved more effectual than gold, and Tischendorf carried
off his prize to St. Petersburg in triumph. I jotted down the story the
evening Dr. Rosen related it, and here in a few words have I given the
substance.
Of course we explored Jerusalem as far as our limited time allowed; and,
under the guidance of Dr. Rosen, I had the privilege of visiting certain
spots where recent discoveries had been made. I remember seeing what
looked like indications of a well, from which, it was easy to imagine,
people, in our Lord’s time, used to draw water. Nor can I forget rambles
on the line of walls commanding views of the city and neighbourhood. I
can now distinctly recall my visit to a sepulchre outside the city, where
a stone, like a large millstone, was lying at the door, as if recently
“rolled away.” I studied (as well as time, and what I had read on the
subject, would allow), the question as to the place of crucifixion, and
where our blessed Lord rose from the dead. Points still remain to be
settled, as to the direction in which the city wall ran in the time of
Christ. I cannot adopt any modern theories on the whole subject, which
have made way in America and in England. It appears to me after long
study, that grounds can still be maintained in support of the old
tradition in favour of the spot where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
stands. We made a memorable excursion to Bethlehem, by way of Rachel’s
sepulchre, and descended the cave where, it is said, our Lord was born.
We next proceeded to Hebron, where I stood by a flight of steps leading
to the tombs within, longing to ascend and explore those hallowed resting
places. Returning northwards, we stopped at the traditional oak, by
which Abraham sat in the heat of the day—and at the vineyards of Eschol
where old stocks are thriving still—and at Solomon’s pool and gardens,
not far from David’s hiding-places. Then, after a long and exciting day,
we found rest in the old monastery of S. Saba, from the terrace of which,
we caught a view of the Dead Sea. We rambled on its melancholy shores,
dipped in the Jordan, and then spent a night by the ruins of Jericho.
The order of our journey followed Dr. Stanley’s directions, that we might
have the advantage of crossing Olivet, so as to come suddenly on the
point where our Lord “beheld the city and wept over it.” From Jerusalem
we proceeded northwards by Bethel, Sychar, Samaria, Esdraelon, and
Nazareth, to Tiberias and the Lake. Thence by Safed we travelled over
the hills of Galilee to Banias (“the Syrian Tivoli”), Damascus, and
Beyrout. Banias is a charming spot. With the scenery from a hill
overlooking Damascus I was charmed beyond measure, and was intensely
interested in the antiquities of that grand old city. Dr. Allon, Dr.
Bright and Mr. Wilson visited the ruins at Baalbec, but Mr. Kemp-Welch
remained with me in Damascus to take care of Dr. Spence, who was very
ill. He had to be leisurely taken over the mountains to Beyrout,
approaching which we had never-to-be-forgotten views of the beautiful
Mediterranean.
After leaving Palestine I wrote in my notes the following impression as
to the Bible, which had been a constant companion and guide in our
travels:—It is the Book of the Holy Land—the gospel of Palestine. It is
Oriental; it is Syrian; it is Samaritan; it is Galilean; it is Jewish.
It paints the scenery of the Land of Promise from end to end, and the
wilderness too. It echoes the voices of the people. We hear in it the
murmur of towns and villages, we pass through; it breathes the pure,
fresh, bracing air of the desert; everywhere as I opened the Divine pages
I found them reflecting surrounding scenes. Even the brilliant
Frenchman, who has tasked his genius to demolish the authentic life of
Jesus and to build out of the ruins an imagination of his own, virtually
admits the truth of what I have now advanced, for he points out the
minute accuracy of the Volume; which shows how true in detail are the
Gospels, how faithful to rock and stream, river and lake, tree and wild
flower, is the entire narrative. Thus, after all he says to the
contrary, he really raises in the reader’s mind a fair presumption of its
fidelity in higher matters.
One circumstance struck me as very noticeable—that is, the compression,
within a small compass, of a number of stirring incidents related in Holy
Writ. Dothan, where Joseph sought his brethren and their flocks; the
plain of Megiddo, the battle-field of Israel; the river Kishon, “that
ancient river,” so fatal to Sisera’s army; the valley of Jezreel, with
its wide panorama, where Ahab had a palace; the heights of Gilboa, where
fell Saul and his sons, with the well of Harod at the foot, where
Gideon’s three hundred men stooped and lapped the water; the garden of
the Shunamite, opposite to Mount Carmel; the city of Nain and the cave of
Endor; Tabor and Nazareth—all these spots come within a few hours’ ride.
Well might Issachar think “that rest was good, and the land that it was
pleasant.”
Our party began to separate at Beyrout. Dr. Spence, accompanied by Mr.
Wilson, returned direct to England; the rest of us came home through
Europe.
In crossing the Mediterranean with Dr. Allon and Kemp-Welch we touched at
Cyprus. The coast looked flat and uninteresting, but the bright morning,
the sparkling sea, and the manifold associations attaching to the islands
inspired great curiosity and deep interest, though I felt by no means
well. I began to be conscious that my appetite for travelling had
somewhat palled, if not become almost dead. We landed at Larnaca, and
found it a very poor place. The Greek churches were somewhat curious,
from the circumstance of old columns with characteristic capitals being
built into the walls. I noticed Greek priests sitting in wine shops, and
some of them occupying places of traffic, selling different articles in
huckster-like hovels. These men indicated the social degradation of
inferior orders in the Eastern Church. However it may be with the
dignified clergy in Russia, certainly priests in Palestine, Syria and the
Mediterranean Isles afford low types of civilisation. After dwelling on
what is related about Cyprus in the Acts of the Apostles, the conversion
of Sergius Paulus, and the conduct of Elymas the sorcerer, became very
real narratives; and with these memories in our minds we re-embarked and
had a pleasant evening as we sat on deck. I fell asleep with the
prospect of reaching Rhodes the next day.
The harbour, with its well-known mole and adjuncts, is very picturesque.
We climbed up narrow streets, full of houses once occupied by the
knights, and from the fortification, had an extensive view of the island
and the Mediterranean. The Church of St. John, blown up by gunpowder,
and shattered to fragments, seized on my imagination for a good while, as
I wandered, and sat down on a spot, so rich in romantic story. We then
returned to the interior of the town, and at the harbour watched the
boatmen, busy at the seaside. As we were doing so, one of my companions
exclaimed, “Stoughton, you’ve got the jaundice!” and, sure enough, when
we reached our steamer, the looking-glass proved this was true. When I
rose next morning my limbs were of a saffron colour.
The weather changed. The sky was dark, and the views we caught of Asia
were by no means inviting. At night there came a storm; and a storm in
the Mediterranean is no trifling matter. Wind roared through the
rigging; the vessel lurched and laboured, groaning as if the timbers
would burst. Lying in my berth I could feel the dashing billows. Tables
and stools were sliding about. The suspended lamps swayed to and fro,
like the pendulum of a clock. Overhead confusion was terrible. Horses
were kicking, and the sailors were swearing. We had a pasha with his
harem on board, and, as might be expected, they were exceedingly
terrified. Crowds of pilgrims returning from the Eastern celebration at
Jerusalem, were lying on deck resembling herrings in a barrel, and the
noise they made was terrific. Waves beat over our boat, till the poor
creatures were almost drowned. Beside we had horses, bears and monkeys
on board, and, of course, they added to the inharmonious concert. I rose
from my hammock early, and with my companion, Mr. Welch, sought comfort
from a cup of tea. Reaching the deck, I talked with one of the
engineers, an Englishman, and asked what he thought of the storm. “Is
there any danger?” I asked. He replied, “This has been a very queer
night, and we have made no way. If it had lasted, that would have been
serious.” We safely reached Smyrna harbour in the afternoon.
Of course, I thought as we approached land:—There, on one of the hills
yonder, the martyr, Polycarp, by death sealed the truths which he had
proclaimed in life. As we landed, I thought myself in an Italian port,
so European at a glance everything looked—houses, shops, and people—but,
entering the town, the scene changed, for there the streets, bazaars, and
costumes told of Oriental manners and customs. The next day a party was
organised to visit the ruins of Ephesus. It can be reached by railway,
and when we entered the station, we might have fancied ourselves at home;
for there we met with English guards, and railway porters, like our own.
We had a special train to convey us to the far-famed ruins. We visited
what is left of the forum, the theatre, and the stadium, but it is
difficult to identify anything; and it seemed to me, a definite idea of
what Ephesus was in its glory is impossible. The view from the loftiest
eminence is magnificent, including the vast plain, the winding river
Cayster, and what, in Paul’s day was the harbour of Miletus. At the time
of our visit, Greek Christians were celebrating the Festival of St. John,
on a lofty hill, the church there being a rude-looking structure. The
cave of the seven sleepers was pointed out, on our way back to the
railway station, and by the cave is a beautiful mosque of the fifteenth
century.
On Saturday morning we embarked at Smyrna for Constantinople. We faintly
discerned in the far distance, as we crossed those classic waters, point
after point closely connected with ancient story. Of course, all the
way, amidst Homeric scenes and associations, we called them to mind by
Homer’s help; but the thought of St. John’s labours, his epistles, to the
seven churches in the Apocalypse, more prominently occupied one’s mind on
the Lord’s day, when we had worship in the saloon, and I preached, as
well as I could, to a few sympathetic fellow-passengers.
On Monday morning early, we reached the Golden Horn, filled with
shipping. Caiques were quietly gliding over still waters; but we were
troubled at the Custom House by an ignorant soldier, who laid hold upon
my “Homer” and detained it for two or three days.
Kemp-Welch was the only member of our party left, the rest proceeding
homeward by another route. I made the most of what was possible during
the four days spent at Constantinople. My friend and I followed the
circuit of the city on horseback; through Stamboul, which appeared very
Oriental, ruinous and dirty—through lines of cypresses, near cemeteries
with turbaned headstones; and so, all round, till we reached the sweet
waters. There we tarried a while, looking at the gardens, and their
summer houses, called kiosks. The place is a resort like Hampton Court.
Thence we returned to the city. Next day we crossed the Golden Horn, and
saw the Sultan’s seraglio, attached to which are more gardens and more
kiosks. The place contains a library full of Arabic MSS., and a throne
room, with the Sultan’s divan, surmounted with a baldacchino. There His
Majesty used to hold his court, attended by janissaries, and was screened
from the view of subjects, except that his hands were visible. The
Sublime Porte is the grand entrance to the room of audience for
ambassadors from other courts.
We visited the arsenal with its ammunition, muskets, and swords. The
building, it is said, was in the fourth century a church—the Church of S.
Irene, where Chrysostom preached some of his wonderful sermons—and it has
still in the apse an antique cross. But the grand ecclesiastical edifice
of Constantinople is S. Sophia, with columns brought from Ephesus, and
representations of four cherubim with their faces obliterated. A legend
is preserved to this effect, that when Constantinople was taken by the
Turks, a priest was saying mass—immediately a chasm opened in the wall
and received him. There he still remains, chalice in hand, waiting to
finish the service, when Christians recover the ancient edifice.
But I must not enter into further details of what I saw and heard during
my short stay at Constantinople. I was now left alone, as my only
remaining companion was obliged to return home by a different route.
Let me add in closing this part of my story, that the banks of the
Bosphorus on which I gazed, as I left Constantinople, surpassed previous
imagination. The gardens and kiosks by the waterside, looked
paradisaical; and as we steamed along I was enchanted, one instant after
another, by objects on the shore. All the way to the Black Sea was
delightful. Then surroundings changed. Travellers, landed to find
themselves amidst indescribable confusion. Thence we proceeded by rail
across a dreary district, without trees, and abounding in shallow sheets
of stagnant water, with plenty of storks, Egyptian geese, and other wild
birds. Still, within the region crossed, there were fields of grain. We
reached our steamer on the Danube, between six and seven o’clock on
Friday evening.
We found the great river improve as we ascended it. At first we had low
banks dotted with mosques and minarets, showing we were still in Turkey.
On board the boat I was treated as an invalid, and the attention shown by
captain, crew, and servants, was such as to inspire the warmest gratitude
on my part.
The scenery on the banks of the Danube, in the earlier part of our voyage
up the river, was very magnificent—rocks rising loftily from the water’s
edge on one bank, but low on the other. We passed richly wooded scenery,
and caught glimpses of pleasant glens, with running streams and
picturesque bridges. Further on were comfortable farm-houses and smiling
villages. We reached Pesth on Tuesday, travelling by rail, and then
proceeded, in the same way, to Vienna, where I tarried for a couple of
days—seeing the magnificent cathedral, the vaults of the Capuchin Church,
the Prater, the Royal Palace, and the Picture Galleries. Travelling
across Germany by rail I reached the Rhine, thence to Brussels, where I
was entertained by my nieces then on a visit there. At last I found two
dear daughters waiting at the Victoria Station, and at Fairlawn House,
Hammersmith, there was a loving welcome.
At the conclusion of my narrative of Eastern travel, let me remark. What
one sees in travelling through Palestine gives vividness to the
narrative—makes what before were pale outlines, pictures of glowing
colour and dazzling light. I do not forget the danger there is of being
too much engaged with what is outward in Biblical studies—tarrying in the
porch instead of worshipping in the temple—lingering by the hedge to
gather flowers instead of pressing into the field to cut down
corn—playing the geologist, instead of working as spiritual
miners—finding out what is curious as to literature, instead of
appropriating “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” But still, what I
gathered in the East is precious, and may minister to spiritual
edification, as well as to mental enjoyment. How marvellous it is that
whilst the Bible is so Eastern—while Oriental manners, customs, and
scenery are photographed there, it is nevertheless an universal book!
The Koran is not so Eastern as the Bible; at least, so it struck me, as I
read it in the East; yet the Bible is the Englishman’s book as the Koran
could not be, even if we were all Mussulmans.
Specially forcible and beautiful were the impressions we derived touching
the life of Christ; we felt how toilsome were his journeys as He _walked_
along the rough and rugged pathways from Jericho to Jerusalem, over which
we _rode_. How humiliating must have been his intercourse with the poor,
who, no doubt, then lived in wretched mud hovels, such as we saw, not
only in Palestine, but in Egypt; types of domestic habitation for the
lower classes in ages past! We thought: Through such collections of
“houses of clay” did He pass! Here did He tarry, and within such abodes!
Not one of them was His own; He had not where to lay His head.