[Picture: Rev. Dr. Leifchild]
IF the congregation at Kensington felt that John Clayton acted with
something of the rashness and impatience of youth, there was at least no
sign that they so regarded it: for after unsuccessful overtures had been
made to the Rev. F. Hamilton, of Brighton, to become successor to Mr.
Clayton, they turned to another young man fresh from college, whose name
was John Leifchild. After patiently waiting until he had completed the
few remaining months of his college course, they welcomed him to the
pastorate in June, 1808; and a very remarkable ministry then began. It
is impossible to feel surprise at Mr. Leifchild’s frank avowal of the
defects of the congregation considered as a spiritual society. Any one
who has wearily made his way through the minutes in the church-book
relating to this period, might be pardoned for concluding that no
spiritual body existed at all. The government of the church was in the
hands of a small coterie of managers; and the records consist of an
uninspiring succession of financial statistics and plans for raising
money. To those of us who are more interested in the character of the
Church than in the idiosyncrasies of any particular minister, these
accounts are not good to read. Mr. Leifchild says, “There was a great
prejudice in the town against the Dissenters”; and one can hardly wonder
at that when we remember that Dissenters can only justify their existence
as Dissenters by the superiority of their spiritual thought and work: and
of this at present there is but too little trace in the history that we
have received. But in every way—patience, perseverance, tact and
courage—John Leifchild was just the man to inaugurate a better era. At
this time the church made a resolute and successful endeavour to
liquidate the old debt on the buildings: and then, after the manner of
high-spirited communities, proceeded to contract a new one. The young
minister had almost immediately attained considerable popularity, and a
back gallery had to be erected. In a short time side galleries had to be
added, to accommodate the people who desired to worship at Hornton Street
Chapel. All these alterations involved the congregation in somewhat
expensive liabilities, and, in addition, the incidental expenditure had
not been met. These were only the necessary penalties of success, and it
was quite clear that all would come right in time. But the financial
apprehensions of the managers were excited; and they actually formulated
proposals for taxing the seat-holders, inserting in their plan, however,
a suitable declaration of their devotion to the voluntary principle. The
proposals were overthrown by the unwavering resistance of Mr. Leifchild,
and the voluntary principle, fairly applied, proved more than adequate to
the necessities of the time.
Our Sunday Schools to-day are such a notable feature of Kensington
Chapel, that it is interesting to find a record of this kind, dated
February 22nd, 1814: “Resolved—In consequence of no other place being
found so convenient as the _vault_ under the chapel for a Sunday School,
that we take the same into consideration.” We are sometimes tempted to
complain of the discomforts of our present buildings, but those who began
the work had to do it obviously under difficulties of which we know
little. The managers, however, could not finally consent to bury the
Sunday School in the vault,—and hence, by the removal of the staircase, a
room was fitted up under the back gallery, and here the Sunday School was
very narrowly housed. This important question having been thus disposed
of, a more serious problem arose—that of music. There was at this time
no organ; but it was natural that one so distinguished in the musical
world as Mr. Broadwood should desire the introduction of a suitable
instrument. Mr. Broadwood not only desired it; but he was liberal enough
to offer to present an organ to the chapel. The conscientious objection
to instrumental music in religious buildings is now, for the most part,
ancient history. But feeling ran high on the question in the days I am
writing of, and one “true-blue Presbyterian,” as Dr. Stoughton calls him,
would have none of the new-fangled methods, and retired with his family
from the scene, entering his protest against the whole proceedings in
stout British fashion. Mr. Broadwood gave the organ; and the treasurer
had great difficulty, apparently, in paying the organist; and, what with
periodical discontinuance of the organ on the score of expense, and
criticism of the organist by the congregation, the musical affairs were
far from smooth and pleasant for some time to come. Kensington music has
never ceased to be a source of anxious solicitude to the Church from that
day to this.
Many are the stories of Mr. Leifchild’s power of preaching, and it is
evident that he prepared his discourses with great care. His method of
delivery was somewhat singular, and we should be inclined to regard it as
artificial. But it was capable of great effect. The main portion of the
discourse was delivered in a quiet, conversational tone, and was occupied
in doctrinal, or exegetical, exposition. The audience listened
languidly, if not drowsily. But suddenly there was an awakening. The
preacher was approaching his application. Standing full back in the
pulpit, and mustering all his energy, he proceeded to declaim the final
passages of the sermon. In these he drove home the truths he had
elicited in exposition with amazing force. The congregation was now
listening with breathless interest. This was what they had come to hear;
and they were simply at the preacher’s mercy for the remainder of his
discourse. This old style of preaching has almost entirely, if not
altogether, disappeared. But it was a great power in those days, and
there were few more absolute masters of the art than John Leifchild.
There are still two members connected with Kensington Chapel who were in
Mr. Leifchild’s Bible Class.
After sixteen years of faithful ministry, Mr. Leifchild accepted a call
to Bristol, and left amid genuine expressions of regret. It is
interesting to note that, immediately after his departure, the minutes,
which have only recorded “Managers’ meetings,” change to “Managers’ and
Deacons’ meetings.” The introduction of the spiritual order of
office-bearers is not without significance. Neither is the fact that the
next minister was invited, not by the subscribers and trustees, but by
the Church. Evidently “the old order changeth, yielding place to new”;
and John Leifchild’s greatest success was his last—for we can hardly
doubt that it was his—when the spiritual order superseded the purely
business order, and the power of a body of managers gave way to the
authority of a Church of Christ.