front of Hampton Court Palace. A little further on we pass Esher,
where, on a tree-girt hill, the lofty pediment of Claremont peeps
through the trees, and reminds me that here, sixty years ago, the
hopes of England were quenched by the death of the youthful Princess
Charlotte. Strange, that this house should have been the death-place
of the unthroned heiress of England, and, forty years afterwards, of
the dethroned crafty old French king, Louis Philippe.
When we stop at Woking Common, I feel at home. Here, half-a-century
ago, when there was not even a hut on the spot which is now a busy
town, I used to play as a boy. Yonder is the Basingstoke canal, where,
with willow wand and line of string from village shop, I used to
beguile the credulous gudgeon and the greedy perch. Just up that lane
to the right, on the road to Knap Hill--famed the world over for its
hundreds of acres of rhododendrons--is the nurseryman's shed to which,
in the summer, cart-loads of the small, wild, black cherries came
from Normandy, for seed. Here the boys of the neighbourhood had the
privilege of gorging themselves gratis with the luscious fruit, on the
simple condition that they placed the cherry-stones in bowls provided
for the purpose. As the train moves on, we dash through a deep cutting
of yellow-coloured sand, and emerge upon a wild and dreary region.
On the hills to the right are a gaol, a reformatory, and a lunatic
asylum; and on the left is the "Necropolis," where London, in the
black and sandy soil, deposits the myriads of its dead. All around,
the ground is olive-coloured with unblossomed heath, bright and golden
here and there with the flowerets of the prickly gorse. Dense and
dismal plantations of black-looking Scotch firs are enlivened at
intervals by the delicate and tender green spikelets of a sprouting
larch. On we rush for miles through this sombre region, through dank
morasses, and past dark and gloomy pools, from one of which a heron
rises majestically. On, until, in a broad and airy region, the red
coats of soldiers are seen dotted here and there amongst the heather.
In the distance are the serried lines of the tents of Aldershot. Just
beyond this point the train suddenly enters the chalk formation,
and comes simultaneously into a cultivated district. A mile or two
further, and the train stops at Farnham; birthplace of Toplady,
who wrote the beautiful hymn, "Rock of Ages;" of William Cobbett,
sturdiest of English yeomen; and of Charles Vince, who, coming to
Birmingham an utter stranger, so endeared himself to its people, that
he was universally beloved; and when he died, was followed to his
grave by thousands of the principal inhabitants, amid the tearful
regrets of the entire population.
As I leave the station, and approach the town, I see on my left,
nestling under a cliff, an old timbered house, bearing on its front
the inscription, "Cobbett's birthplace." It is an inn, and I enter in
search of refreshment. A somewhat surly man appears, and tells me that
he "ain't got no cold meat." I persevere, and am told that I _can_
have some bread and cheese, which are accordingly served. I ask the
landlord--for such the man is--if there are any relics of Cobbett
remaining in the house? The reply is, "not as I knows on." I am told,
however, that he is buried in the churchyard hard by, and that his
grave is "right agen the front door," and this is all the man knew, or
cared to tell, about the matter.
The most striking peculiarity of Farnham, as seen from the cliff
behind the "Jolly Farmer," is the abundance of hop gardens. As far
as the eye can reach, in all directions, little else appears to
be cultivated. At the time I visited it, the appearance was very
singular. From the tops of distant hills; creeping down into the
valleys; even to the back doors of the houses in the principal street,
the whole surface of the earth seemed clothed with stiff bristles.
About two thousand acres of land in this parish alone are planted with
hop bines, and as each acre takes three thousand hop-poles to support
the climbing crop, it follows that there were five or six millions of
these poles standing bare and upright before the astonished eye. No
wonder that a conical hill at a little distance looked like a gigantic
hedgehog.
At the extreme westerly end of the main street of the town there is a
small house on the left, standing some twenty feet back from the line
of the other buildings. The space between the house and the street is
now covered by a conservatory. A greenhouse adjoins the house on the
west side, and a large piece of ground fronting the street for some
distance is occupied as a nursery, and, when I saw it, was gay with
flowers and verdure. In the year 1823 this house, together with a
large plot of adjoining land (now built upon), was the property of
Charles Vince's father, and in this little house Charles Vince was
born. The father was by trade a builder and carpenter, and was very
skilful. If he had any intricate work on hand, it was his habit to
go to bed, even in the day-time, in order that he might, undisturbed,
work out in his mind the proper means of accomplishing the end in
view. He held a sort of duplex position. He was foreman to, and
"the life and soul of the business" of, Messrs. Mason and Jackson,
builders; but he had a private connection of his own, which he worked
independently. He was greatly liked, and the late Sir George Barlow, a
landed proprietor of the neighbourhood, made him a kind of factotum on
his estate. He seems to have been a very original character; to have
had superior abilities as an artificer; and to have had most of the
qualities which go to form what is called a "successful" man. He was,
however, a bad financier; he did not understand "business;" and so he
went on through life, contented to remain where he was; his abilities
securing to him competence and comfort; enabling him to give
his children a good education; and to maintain his position as a
respectable and worthy member of society. He had something of the old
Puritan about him, and was "brimful of fun and humour." He was
very original in speech and thought, and he was very earnest in his
religious life and practice. A good story was told me of his quaint
manner. At the chapel of which he was a member, one of the ministers
having died, a successor was appointed, who in some way caused a
division amongst his people, some of whom seceded. Mr. Vince, senior,
remained. Some weeks afterwards it was decided by those who still held
to the old chapel that it would be better for the minister to leave,
but this decision was not made public. A few days after, one of the
seceders, meeting Vince, said, "I understand you're going to buy your
minister a new pulpit gown." "No," was the reply, "you've missed it;
we're going to buy him a _new travelling cloak_."
Mrs. Vince, senior, was a member of a very good family in Sussex,
and was a woman of superior mental powers. She is described as a very
industrious, careful, motherly woman; one to whom all the neighbours
applied for advice and assistance in any trouble or emergency, and
never in vain, for her heart was full of sympathy and her brain of
fertility of resource. She was a pious, humble, God-fearing woman, who
did her duty; trained her children carefully; set them the example
of a truthful, practical, and loving Christian life; and had the
satisfaction of seeing the results of her excellent example and
precepts carried into full life and activity in the career of her only
son.
Such were the parents of Charles Vince, and such the influences which
surrounded his childhood. He was a bright, intelligent boy; he
never had any trouble with his lessons, and was remarkably quick in
arithmetic. His father was very proud of him, and he was sent to the
best school in the place. It was kept by a nephew of the celebrated
William Cobbett. "Tommy" Cobbett, as he was always called, seems to
have been a favourable specimen of a country schoolmaster in those
days. On his leaving the town, about 1837 or 1838, a Mr. Harrington
took his place, and Charles Vince remained as a pupil for a time, but
Harrington went to old Mr. Vince to say that he felt he was dishonest
in taking his money, for "Charles ought to take my place and teach
me."
Upon leaving school, Charles was duly bound apprentice to Messrs.
Mason and Jackson, where he was taught by his father. Without
indentures of apprenticeship in those days, an artificer had no status
in his trade; yet it would seem, in this case, that the "binding" was
regarded by each party as little more than a necessary formality, for
the youth did not spend the whole of his time in the service of his
nominal employers. He was always with his father, and Sir George
Barlow took a great fancy to him. He worked on at his trade, however,
for some years, and only left the workman's bench to assume the
vocation of a teacher.
His parents were members of the Congregational Chapel in the place,
and their son was a constant attendant at the Sunday school, first
as a scholar and afterwards as a teacher. When he was about 17 or 18
years of age, one of his relatives, and the then master of the British
School in the place, conceived the idea of establishing a Mechanics'
Institute. Vince joined the movement with ardour, and the little
institution was soon an accomplished fact. A grammar class, to which
Vince attached himself, was very popular among the young men of the
town, and they soon after established a debating club. Here the latent
talents in Vince developed themselves. He became a fluent speaker,
and was soon asked to deliver a lecture. Being half a poet himself, he
chose Poetry as his topic, and seems to have given himself up to the
preparation of his subject with a determination to succeed. One of his
old I companions (whose towering head, by the way, would be a splendid
artist's "study" for an apostle) told me that at this time they read
together "Paradise Lost," a great part of which he said he could
still repeat from memory. Vince used to declaim aloud the "bits" that
pleased him, and "he was never tired" of the passage in the tenth
book, where the poet, describing the change which followed the Fall,
says--
"Some say He bid His angels turn askance
The poles of Earth some ten degrees or more
From the sun's axle; they with labour pushed
Oblique the centric globe,...
...to bring in change
Of seasons to each clime; else had the spring
Perpetual smiled on Earth with verdant flowers,
Equal in days and nights."
The condition of his mind at this time was so eloquently described to
me by this friend, that I shall quote his words as I took them down
from his own lips: "To ordinary appearance his mind was like a common
flower; with beauty, perhaps, that would not catch the unobservant
eye; but intimate as I was, I could discover in his homely talk,
beauties that those who only knew him slightly could not observe,
because he kept his petals closed. He did not open to many, but I saw,
or thought I saw, the germs of what he afterwards became."
The lecture was a great success, and the conductors of the Sunday
school had no difficulty afterwards in persuading him to give short
addresses to the children. He appears about this time to have
decided to become a preacher, and his character became deepened and
intensified by the determination. This is so well described in a
letter from Farnham that I shall again quote: "When he first fully
made up his mind to give his attention to preaching and teaching, he
and I were deputed to visit a village about an hour's walk from
this town to canvass the houses, and see if a Sunday school could be
established. I remember it was about this time of the year, and with
what delight my friend seemed to drink in all the beauties of Nature
on that quiet Sunday morning. _He seemed, to look on these things with
new eyes_; and he often, in years long after, referred in sermons and
in speeches to that Sunday morning's walk."
The Sunday school was established, and here, "in one of Surrey's
prettiest villages," Vince preached his first sermon in a cottage.
At this time, too, he became a politician, taking his lessons and
forming his political creed from a most unlikely source, apparently.
This was the _Weekly Dispatch_, a paper that in those days was
scarcely thought to be proper reading for young people. He read it,
however, with avidity, and there is no doubt that it had much to do
with forming his political character, and in laying the foundation
of the sturdy inflexibility with which he held to his political
principles. One of his early friends says, "He liked the _Weekly
Dispatch_. The politics, being racy, had a great attraction for him,
and he used to drink them in ravenously."
From this time he was the "pet speaker" of the place. His lectures
at the Mechanics' Institute were delivered frequently, and became
immensely popular. The lecture-room was far too small for the eager
listeners who crowded to hear him. "A large market room" was taken,
and here, when he lectured, there was no space for many who wished to
hear him. He preached on Sundays in the villages around, and at length
was asked to occupy a pulpit in Farnham itself. "I remember," says one
of his friends, "his first sermon in the old Congregational Chapel.
The place was crammed to excess, by people too who were not in the
habit of attending such places."
All this time, this "carpenter, and son of a carpenter," worked
diligently at his trade; but a sudden vacancy occurring in the
management of the Farnham British Schools, he was asked to become the
master. He did so. He left the carpenter's bench on a Saturday, and
became schoolmaster on the following Monday. This, however, was but
a temporary arrangement, for he was at the time negotiating with
the managers of Stepney College to become a pupil there; and, an
opportunity shortly afterwards occurring, which he had very promptly
to accept or refuse, he somewhat abruptly vacated his seat as a
schoolmaster, and became once more a scholar.
This was in 1848. He remained in the college four years, and he
soon learned to laugh heartily at his Farnham Latin and his Farnham
lectures. He was in the habit, while at the college, of going on
Sundays to hear the best preachers in the Metropolis, and he has told
me that he often walked from Stepney to Camberwell to hear Melvill,
who was then the most popular preacher in London.
At the end of his academic career he was invited to become the
minister at Mount Zion Chapel, in Birmingham. How he laboured here
every one in the town can testify, and I need not say one word; but
there is one fact that should be more generally known, as it shows one
result of his work. In the year before he came to Birmingham (1851),
the sum collected in this chapel for the Baptist Missions was L28
4s. 11d. The report for 1874--the last under his care--gives the
amount collected in the year as L332 5s. 5d.
I am obliged to omit much that is interesting, but I have at least
shown that his childhood's home was comfortable and respectable, and
that he did not spend his boyhood among companions unworthy of him.
In his native town his memory is as warmly cherished as it is in
Birmingham. His last public act there was to preach the first sermon
in a new and remarkably handsome Congregational Church, and it is said
that on that occasion, the number of people who sought to hear him was
so great, that the Church, although a spacious one, would not contain
the half of them. "There was no room to receive them; no, not so much
as about the door."
A handsome gothic cross has recently been erected over Vince's grave.
It bears the following inscription:
TO THE MEMORY OF
CHARLES VINCE,
BORN, JULY 6, 1824; DIED, OCTOBER 22, 1874:
WHO FOR TWENTY-TWO TEARS WAS THE MINISTER OF GRAHAM STREET
CHAPEL, IN THIS TOWN.
As a Preacher
of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, his teaching was
especially characterised by perfect faith in the infinite love
and mercy of God, and by deep and tender sympathy with the hopes,
the sorrows, and the struggles of men.
As a Citizen,
his generous zeal for the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed,
made him the strenuous advocate of all efforts for
social and political reform.
The sweetness of his nature, the purity of his
life, and the manliness and simplicity of his character, compelled
the respect and attracted the friendship of those who differed from
him. His courage, integrity, courtesy, and charity,
won the affection, and his eloquence commanded the admiration,
of all classes of his fellow-townsmen,
by whom this memorial is erected as a tribute to his
personal worth and public services.
JOHN SMITH, SOLICITOR
Everybody in Birmingham knew "Jack Smith, the lawyer." It was
something worth remembering to see him drive up New Street in the
morning on his way to his office. Everything about his equipage was
in keeping. The really beautiful pair of ponies; the elaborate
silver-trimmed brown harness; the delicate ivory-handled whip; the
elegant little carriage; the smart boy-groom behind; and the radiant
owner in front. Most carefully, too, was the owner "got up." His white
hat; his well-fitting coat, with its gay flowers in the button-hole;
his scrupulously clean linen; the bright buff waistcoat; the blue
necktie, and the diamond pin, all seemed to harmonise with his broad,
merry, brown face as he passed along, with a sort of triumphant air,
glancing from side to side, and greeting with a roguish, happy-looking
smile such of the foot passengers as he happened to know. Everybody
turned to look at him; and most people looked as if they felt it to be
a compliment to be recognised by him in the street.
[Illustration]
John Smith was the son of Mr. Dyer Berry Smith, a printer, engraver,
and wholesale stationer in a very extensive way of business in
Prospect Row. Forty or fifty years ago his firm was known all over the
country, for they printed the bill-heads for nearly every grocer in
the kingdom, the imprint, "Smith and Greaves, sc.," being prominent
on every one. John was born in Prospect Row, in the year 1819. He
was intended by his father for the medical profession, and spent some
years in preliminary studies. He was exceedingly fond of chemistry, in
which he became very proficient, and the study of which continued to
be a favourite pursuit all his life. He had also considerable skill as
an anatomist, and it is known that, within a few years of his death,
having caught a mole in his garden, he dissected it most skilfully,
with a view to discover the peculiarities of the eyes and optic nerves
of that singular animal. His knowledge of chemical and medical
science was, in after life, of great service to him. No doubt it was a
considerable _factor_ in the marvellous defence he made of Palmer,
the Rugeley poisoner, which, though unsuccessful, was universally
considered amongst lawyers to have been a masterpiece of professional
skill.
Having abandoned the idea of becoming a medical practitioner, as not
affording scope for his energetic spirit, he was articled to the
late Mr. Alexander Harrison, the solicitor. Immediately after
the expiration of his articles, Smith made his appearance in the
Bankruptcy Court as an Advocate. In this capacity he showed very great
tact, and an intimate knowledge of every minute point of practice. His
pleasant voice and manner soon made him a favourite; and he applied
himself to this branch of his profession with such success, that it
may be said that down to his death there was scarcely a bankruptcy
case of any importance in the Birmingham Court in which he was not
professionally engaged on one side or the other.
He possessed consummate ability, an imperturbable temper, and
great confidence in himself. His marvellous coolness under the most
embarrassing circumstances, his quickness of apprehension, his ready
wit, and his boundless fertility of resource, have won him many
a legal victory. It is but justice, however, to add that his easy
notions as to truthfulness occasionally carried him over difficulties
which would have been insurmountable by a man of more acute moral
sense.
His memory was very tenacious. I had once a very remarkable instance
of this. I was dining at the "Acorn" one Monday, and Smith was there.
He came to me after the cloth was cleared, and said, "Didn't I see you
at Vince's Chapel last night?" On my replying in the affirmative, he
began to eulogise the sermon, which he said he had repeated the night
before, word for word, to some friends at his house, after he got
home. Knowing his failing, I smiled incredulously, but he began
immediately to recite the sermon _verbatim_, and I verily believe that
he could have gone through the whole without a mistake of a single
word.
It is well known that he was often short of money. On one occasion he
wrote to George Edmonds, asking for a loan of seven pounds, adding,
"on Wednesday I will faithfully promise to repay you." Edmonds sent
the money, and on Wednesday called at Smith's office, expecting to be
repaid. After the usual civilities, Edmonds asked for the cash. Smith
affected to be ignorant, but on Edmonds saying, "Well, I've got your
note promising to repay me to-day," said, "Let's look at it, old
fellow; there must be some mistake." The note was produced, and after
reading it, Smith said, "I thought you must be wrong, and I find it
is so; this note says that 'on Wednesday I will'--what? Pay? No.
'Faithfully promise.' Well, I do now faithfully promise to repay you,
but Heaven knows when you'll get the money."
Some years ago one of the Banks brought an action against some one
who owed them money, and Smith was retained for the defence. He first
attempted to compromise the action, but he found that his client had
in some way so annoyed the directors and the manager, that they would
not entertain any proposition; the case therefore stood for trial
at Warwick Assizes. Smith hit upon a very novel expedient. He caused
subpoenas to be served upon every clerk in the bank and upon the
manager. The latter had what is technically called a _subpoena duces
tecum_, in virtue of which he was under an obligation to produce at
Warwick the whole of the books of the establishment. This caused great
dismay, it being seen that if the trial were to go on, the business of
the bank must be entirely suspended. The result was that Smith's terms
were accepted, and the action was settled.
During the "railway mania" of 1845 a company was formed in Birmingham
for making a railway from Wolverhampton to Birkenhead, and Smith was
its solicitor. The company, like many others, "came to grief." The
directors were great losers, and much litigation followed. In those
days there were no "winding up" arrangements, and the creditors of
defunct companies had to sue individual directors to recover the
amount of their claims. One action in connection with this company
came on for trial at Warwick, in 1847 or 1848, before the late Mr.
Justice Patteson. Mr. M. (the present Justice M.) was counsel for
the defence, and Smith was a witness for the plaintiff. The Judge was
deaf, and Smith's loud voice and clear replies evidently pleased him.
He complimented Smith, who was soon in one of his best humours,
his broad, merry face beaming with smiling good-nature. His
examination-in-chief being over, Mr. M. got up, prospectus in hand,
and majestically waving a pair of gold eye-glasses, said, "Well, Mr.
Smith, I see by this prospectus that the solicitor of this company
is John Smith, _Esquire_, Upper Temple Street, Birmingham; are _you_
'John Smith, _Esquire_?'"
Smith (with great energy): "I AM!"
Mr. M. (evidently disconcerted): "Oh! very good, Mr. Smith; very good!
H'm! I see by your prospectus that you had a large number of persons
connected with you in this matter. You had, I see, Parliamentary
agents, solicitors, London solicitors, local solicitors, consulting
engineers, acting engineers, surveyors, auditors, secretary, and a
variety of other officers. Had you standing counsel, Mr. Smith?"
Smith (folding his arms, and with the greatest possible coolness):
"No, we hadn't, Mr. M.; but I remember the subject being discussed
at one of our board meetings, and I mentioned your name as that of
a rising young man at the Bar, and there was some idea of retaining
you."