Ford, in his voluminous “Guide to Spain,” at the beginning of a notice respecting Valladolid, says: “In the first street, above the bridge, is the site of the old Inquisition, the Court of Chancery, and the prison”; adding the remark: “The great Chancery or Court of Appeal for the north of Spain was moved to the present building by Ferdinand and Isabella. The inscribed motto, ‘Jura fidem ac pænam reddit sua munera cunctus’—seems rather strong, to all who know what Spanishjustitiais, let alone Chancery in general.”
Incipient stages of reformation come before us in this city. One sees in imagination “The Calle del Doctor Cazalla,” of Jewish extraction, a man of renown for his Protestant work, born in 1510; he had been Court preacher and champion of orthodoxy, until he came under the influence of German reformers. But he seems by no means to have been a Martin Luther, for, when he was accused of dogmatising in a Valladolid conventicle,he solemnly denied the fact, and said he had notindoctrinatedother people with his own views. His end was not heroic. After being dislocated on the rack, he recanted with a hope of life, but he found no escape. The night before his execution, when acquainted with the final sentence, the poor man said, “I must prepare to die in the grace of God, for it is impossible for me to add to what I have said, without falsehood.” We learn that, after all, he did not break with Rome, but received absolution; and then, instead of being burnt, he was strangled. His house was pulled down, the spot strewn with salt, and a column placed where the building had stood. An inscription upon it stated: “Lutheran heretics assembled here in conventicle against the Catholic faith and the Roman Church.” A namesake, Francesco de Vibero Cazalla, more valiant for the truth, remained constant to the last. Another martyr behaved heroically, only lamenting that his wife abjured, and he saw her dressed as a penitent. But we are told the husband’s look never departed from her eyes. In my “Spanish Reformers” I have given a detailed account of several sufferers for the truth at Valladolid.
Of the cathedral, Street, in his work on “SpanishArchitecture,” says: “Nothing could ever cure the hideous unsightliness of the exterior”; and he adds: “The side elevation remains as Herrera, the architect, designed it, and is really valuable asa warning.” The author describes Sta. Maria l’Antigua, close to the cathedral, as the most attractive church in Valladolid. He says of the city: “It was too rich and prosperous, during an age of much work, and little taste, to have left mediæval architecture of any real value; yet as a modern city it is, in parts, gay and attractive; being, after Madrid, the most important city of the north of Spain.” From what I saw of the place, I can endorse this opinion.
We reached Burgos, after a short journey, and found the town much less interesting and agreeable than Valladolid, but the cathedral is incomparably superior. The picture of its facade, doors, windows, and towers, is vividly imprinted on my memory.
We were now approaching the border of France, and I had memories revived of a first dip into Spain, years before. Though the land be still the same and the skies the same, different feelings arise from departure out of a country, compared with one’s entrance into it. We reached a new and verycomfortable hotel at San Sebastian, and there I revived recollections of curiosity and interest, felt years before, when I first crossed the border and became acquainted with the costumes, the manners and customs of Spanish life.
Thisyear I paid my third and last visit to Rome. A comparison of the city and neighbourhood as they were during my first visit with what now appeared, was very striking. Formerly it retained much of the appearance it had in the previous century. There were narrow streets, bad pavements, old-fashioned houses; monks and friars of different orders, white, black, grey, thronging thoroughfares; cardinals’ coaches with liveried servants, in gay coats and cocked hats; the Pope, driving down the Corso, whilst the whole population watched him with reverence on bended knees: now these old sights had vanished; comparatively few ecclesiastics could be recognised by their costumes; only companies of boys, in red or blue collegiate garb, attracted attention by contrast with other people. At Easter in the olden time the ceremonies at St. Peter’s were gorgeous, the illuminationof the dome brilliant, the fireworks in the Piazza del Popolo unrivalled: now Mass on Easter Sunday was far from imposing, there was no feet washing, no dinner to poor pilgrims, noMisererein the Sistine chapel, no blaze of candles in the Pauline. The Forum had formerly lines of trees, groups of cattle, peasants in rural costume; now marble sculptures had been brought to light. The neighbourhood of St. John Lateran had been waste and void; now it was covered with modern houses. What a change in the Fontana, outside Rome, the traditional site of St. Paul’s martyrdom. The monastery, when I had seen it before was desolate, now it was surrounded by abundant vegetation; the culture of the eucalyptus plant being the secret of this transformation.
Hare laments, in the following strain, changes which had occurred in the city and were to be regretted:—
“The baths of Caracalla, stripped of all their verdure and shrubs, and deprived alike of the tufted foliage amid which Shelley wrote, and of the flowery carpet which so greatly enhanced their lonely solemnity, are now a series of bare featureless walls standing in a gravelly waste, and possess no more attraction than the ruins of a Londonwarehouse. The Coliseum, no longer ‘a garlanded ring,’ is bereaved of everything which made it so lovely and so picturesque; while botanists must for ever deplore the incomparable and strangely unique ‘Flora of the Coliseum,’ which Signor Rosa has caused to be carefully annihilated; even the roots of the shrubs having been extracted by the firemen, though, in pulling them out, more of the building has come down than five hundred years of time would have injured. In the Basilica of Constantine, the whole of the beautiful covering of shrubs with which nature had protected the vast arches, has been removed, and the rain soaking into the unprotected upper surface, will soon bring them down. Nor has the work of the destroyer been confined to the Pagan antiquities, the early Christian porches of S. Prassede and S. Pudenziana, with their valuable terra-cotta ornaments, have been so smeared with paint and yellow-wash as to be irrecognisable; many smaller but precious Christian antiquities, such as the lion of the Santi Apostoli, have disappeared altogether. And in return for these destructions and abductions Rome has been given—what? Quantities of hideous false rock-work painted brown in all the public gardens; a Swiss cottage and a clock which goes by waterforced in amidst the statues and sarcophagi of the Pincio; and the having the passages of the Capitol painted all over with the most flaring scarlet and blue, so as utterly to destroy the repose and splendour of its ancient statues.”
“The baths of Caracalla, stripped of all their verdure and shrubs, and deprived alike of the tufted foliage amid which Shelley wrote, and of the flowery carpet which so greatly enhanced their lonely solemnity, are now a series of bare featureless walls standing in a gravelly waste, and possess no more attraction than the ruins of a Londonwarehouse. The Coliseum, no longer ‘a garlanded ring,’ is bereaved of everything which made it so lovely and so picturesque; while botanists must for ever deplore the incomparable and strangely unique ‘Flora of the Coliseum,’ which Signor Rosa has caused to be carefully annihilated; even the roots of the shrubs having been extracted by the firemen, though, in pulling them out, more of the building has come down than five hundred years of time would have injured. In the Basilica of Constantine, the whole of the beautiful covering of shrubs with which nature had protected the vast arches, has been removed, and the rain soaking into the unprotected upper surface, will soon bring them down. Nor has the work of the destroyer been confined to the Pagan antiquities, the early Christian porches of S. Prassede and S. Pudenziana, with their valuable terra-cotta ornaments, have been so smeared with paint and yellow-wash as to be irrecognisable; many smaller but precious Christian antiquities, such as the lion of the Santi Apostoli, have disappeared altogether. And in return for these destructions and abductions Rome has been given—what? Quantities of hideous false rock-work painted brown in all the public gardens; a Swiss cottage and a clock which goes by waterforced in amidst the statues and sarcophagi of the Pincio; and the having the passages of the Capitol painted all over with the most flaring scarlet and blue, so as utterly to destroy the repose and splendour of its ancient statues.”
We visited a very old house in the Ghetto, where at the time services were held by a company of Jewish converts. Rude, uncomfortable and mean, the place looked to any one accustomed to modern churches; yet that dreary apartment, up a flight of stairs, was typical of places for Christian worship in the imperial city of the second century. Few fashionable people know the existence of the room I mention, and attendants shyly ascend the dirty steps, wishing to be unobserved; just so, no doubt, it was with some of the companies in the second century who in Rome “sang praises to Jesus as to God.” In the reigns of Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius, little was known about the Gospel by the higher ranks. Emperors, consuls, magistrates, marched along the streets in haughty indifference, or with contemptuous hate towards the new superstition.
Much inquiry has arisen as to where Paul lived during his captivity in Rome. A local tradition affirms that in a subterranean church dedicated tothe Virgin Mary, which you pass going down the Corso, you have the very “hired house,” where for two years the Apostle lived. In the crypt-like place, there is nothing which looks like a human dwelling; and the tradition itself, in a city where such traditions abound, is of little if any value. A house in the Ghetto, extremely ancient, was pointed out to me by Dr. Philip, a Jewish missionary, as the probable spot; but his idea seems to have had nothing to rest upon, except that this old building is in the Jews’ quarter. What is fatal to the identification of the “hired house” in either of these spots is that the New Testament indicates it as connected with lodgings occupied by the Pretorian guard. The “soldier that kept him” would not be far away from comrades; and soldiers in general would be accommodated in the Pretorian camp, of which traces exist near the Porta Pia—a long distance from the Corso and the Ghetto.
My third visit to Rome was the close of my foreign travels. A word more in reference to them. Most frequently on my way to other countries, I passed through France to Paris, either by Calais and Amiens, or by Havre and Rouen. Let me refer for a moment to the cathedral at Amiens, one of the wonders of the world—the largest placeof worship I know, except Cologne Cathedral, St. Peter’s at Rome, and St. Sophia at Constantinople. It takes away one’s breath to look up at its rich clerestory, and its roof, 140 feet high, half as high again as that of Westminster Abbey. Rouen has architectural beauty, and an historical interest beyond other French cities. The Church of St. Ouen surpasses the cathedral, and the Palais de Justice is a beautiful specimen of Civic Gothic. But associations of what happened in that city, during the fifteenth century, surpass its material monuments. Poor Joan of Arc—most touching example of self-delusion and self-sacrifice the world ever saw—how she absorbs interest as one stands in the Place de Pucelle, where she was burnt, the victim of French ingratitude and English revenge! Paris is so well known by everybody that no notice need be taken of it here.
We now return to Great Britain.
In the autumn of 1885 the Evangelical Alliance met at Edinburgh and Glasgow, and in the latter city I was entertained by the Lord Provost, Sir William and Lady Collins, and met there, Admiral Sir W. King Hall and his lady, with whom a pleasant friendship sprang up, and I accepted an invitation to visit them at their home, but his deathsoon afterwards deprived me of the anticipated pleasure. They appeared to me spiritually minded people; their society with that of our excellent host and hostess filled me with great pleasure. At the meeting I lamented, as I am accustomed to do, our numerous ecclesiastical divisions. “Here we are as Christians connected with denominational churches, and we may be compared to persons living in an island city, where we have our own municipal regulations, where some are in what may be called Episcopalian Square, some occupying Methodist Terrace, some residing in Congregational Road, and some liking to live by the waterside. Whilst these differences exist amongst us in this world, surely it sometimes crosses our minds that they are distinctions of a very temporary nature. The things which are seen are temporal, but the things not seen are eternal. We are looking away from what is familiar to what is now rare indeed—perfect unity.”
I have long found it to be one of the sorrows incident to old age to lament the loss of attached friends. In this respect I was much tried in the year 1886, for I had then to deplore the death of Lord Chichester, who became acquainted with me through the medium of the EvangelicalAlliance about twenty years before. Of late he was unable to attend meetings, but our intercourse in private continued and increased as years rolled on. Descendant of Sir John Pelham, who figured in the French wars, described by Froissart, and an immediate relative of a well-known political family of the same name in the last century,—the Earl became an earnest Christian and an active philanthropist for more than half a century. Possessed of wide and varied information respecting men and things, and being eminently genial and altogether free from ostentation, his society could not but be agreeable and instructive. It was a treat to hear him recount incidents and conversations of former days. At different times he brought within view George IV., William IV., the Duke of Wellington, leaders of the Whig party, and other magnates. He told me that when approaching his majority his father proposed that he should enter the House of Commons, and the Duke of Newcastle promised him a seat for Newark. Before an election arrived the father of young Lord Pelham died, and the son became a peer. It is remarkable that the seat intended for him in the Lower House was next occupied by the now famous William Ewart Gladstone. “The Grand Old Man,” in conversation withmy friend not long before his death, speculated, in his characteristic way, upon possible consequences to each, had the seat been accepted by young Lord Pelham. With the Hare family, the Osbornes of the ducal house of Leeds, the Rev. F. D. Maurice, and other distinguished persons, the Earl had been intimate, and could tell many a story about them. Though a thorough Evangelical, and zealous for all the great truths of Christianity, he was singularly free from prejudice against people of different views. He could appreciate goodness wherever it was to be found.
The Prince Regent, with old Queen Charlotte, paid a visit to Stanmer, the family seat, near Brighton, when the Earl was a boy, and an amusing picture in one of the rooms exhibits his Royal Highness in dandy fashion—his diminutive mother wearing a wonderful bonnet, the former earl acting as cicerone, and his eldest boy riding on a smart pony. The Stanmer Pelhams are descended, on the female side, from Oliver Cromwell, and have in their possession the Lord Protector’s Bible in four volumes, a miniature of him, which, I think, belonged to Lady Falconbridge, and a portrait of His Highness’s mother. It is curious to find these Commonwealth relics associated with mementoes inthe family arms,—I refer to the buckle and strap of Sir John Pelham, who assisted in taking King John of France prisoner at the battle of Poitiers. In addition to these memorials, mention may be made of a fine copy in the library of Walton’s “Polyglot,” with the rare preface containing a reference to Oliver Cromwell.
Soon after the death of Lord Chichester I lost another friend, Mr. Cheetham, M.P. His daughters were educated at Kensington, and hence an intimacy sprang up between us, cultivated by visits to Eastwood, near Staleybridge, where he resided. He was a shrewd, energetic man, and figured conspicuously in the Anti-Corn Law League. His command of the Lancashire dialect, and his knowledge of Lancashire life, made him an amusing companion, and Lord John Russell would sometimes engage him in characteristic recitals, greatly to his lordship’s diversion. Mr. Cheetham had in early life known much of the Moravians, and ever retained a deep interest in that remarkable community, though to the end of life he remained a constant member of the Congregational communion. I have long been of Dr. Johnson’s mind: “If a man does not make new acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, sir, shouldkeephis friendships in constant repair.” On that principle I have habitually sought to make up for losses from bereavement.
Here let me add a few lines respecting the Archbishop of York, Dr. Magee, previously Bishop of Peterborough.
I first met him at Norwich where we took part in a Bible Meeting, and in the course of my remarks I spoke of “sinking ecclesiastical differences” on such an occasion. Dr. Magee, then Dean of Cork, made an amusing reference to this, and repeated it with kindness and humour the next day, as we travelled together by rail to London. We talked incessantly and at the end he pressed me to visit him at Cork. Several years passed without our meeting, and then at a funeral service in Westminster Abbey, he kindly accosted me, saying, that as I had not been to see him at Cork, I must go and see him at Peterborough, where, not long before, he had been appointed bishop. Several visits followed, which I greatly enjoyed. My impression of him as a brilliant talker, which I received on our journey from Norwich to London, was now increased, and nothing could exceed his hospitality and that of his amiable wife and daughters. We had several drives; and one day we sat down together in a picturesque churchyard to discuss ecclesiasticalquestions, where, as he said, the associations and “genius loci” were on his side. I forget altogether what passed between us, beyond a series ofprosandcons, and can only say that we finished as we began—he a Churchman, I a Nonconformist, but both good friends. Once when I was at Peterborough I heard him preach in the Cathedral for the Bible Society, on the jubilee of the auxiliary, when he took for his text two passages: “Is not this the carpenter’s son?” “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.” He admirably brought out the Divine and human sides of our blessed Lord’s personality and then presented this as being in harmony with the Divine and human elements in Holy Writ. As is well known, he did not use a MS. in the pulpit; nor, as he told me, was he in the habit ofwritinghis sermons beforehand. He seems to have had the gift of mental composition, and also of expressing himself extemporaneously in felicitous diction and with quiet ease. Nor was he at all verbose, as many fluent speakers are.
He could tell a story as few people can, sparkling with humour, and distinct in point. I remember two he told of Dean Mansel. Taking a lady round St. Paul’s, she paused to look at a figure of Neptunewith histrident, remarking that she was shocked at seeing in a church such heathen mythology. “Why,” rejoined the Dean, “that looks more likeTridentinetheology.” At a public dinner, after a toast to Reform—the word on the paper had aneat the end—“Reform,” the Dean remarked, “often ended in anémeute.”
As I was preparing for my journey in Spain I met the Bishop at the Athenæum, when he told me he was doing the same, and proposed we should go together, adding that he could help me with his knowledge of Spanish. I had heard him speak of his residence in Spain when he was a boy, and I should have been delighted to fall in with his plan, but found it quite impossible beforehand with regard to time. However, we agreed to inquire after each other at consular offices, as we passed from place to place; but I found I was always too late, or too soon. When I called at an hotel in Madrid, where he had been staying, I learned he had just left for the railway; and after our return, he told me his daughter saw me in the street as they were hurrying to catch a train.
How many remarkable facts have been related within the last few years respecting old English houses and estates!
During a visit to Lord Ebury, at Moor Park,he told me the mansion he occupied had been in the hands of many distinguished families; and that reminds one of what is said in the Eastern tale: “Call it not a palace but a caravanserai.” It belonged to the Abbot of St. Albans; to Neville, Archbishop of York; to Henry VII.; to De Vere, Earl of Oxford; to Cardinal Wolsey; to Lucy, Countess of Bedford; to Sir John Franklin; to the Earl of Ossory, who sold it to the Duke of Monmouth, whose Duchess sold it to Mr. Styles, of South Sea Bubble notoriety, to be afterwards purchased by Lord Anson. After changing owners again and again, it was secured by the Marquis of Westminster for his son. Lord Ebury informed me it had never remained in the same family more than two generations. There runs a curious story of the Lady of the Earl of Monmouth, who possessed the estate in the seventeenth century,—that her ladyship protested against the intention of James I., to put his son Prince Charles “into iron boots, to strengthen his joints and sinews”; for he seemed to have been physically as a boy what he was, in some respects, morally as a man—veryweak-kneed.
In the course of my recollections, I have had much to say of foreign tours, and also of journeys in different parts of England for various religiouspurposes; but, in drawing my personal narrative to a close, I am constrained to add a few lines, respecting visits to friends in my own county, where I have enjoyed welcome rests amidst ministerial toils.
One spot, long years ago, where I was wont to seek recreation was Letheringsett Hall, near Holt, in my native county, Norfolk. There still lives Mr. Cozens-Hardy, whom I knew as a boy, about five years old, in days when we worshipped in Calvert Street Chapel, Norwich. He married a lady whom I recollect as a girl, and who was long the light of his dwelling, well known to numerous guests. They hospitably entertained me in many of my summer holidays, and drove me round the neighbourhood called “The Garden of Norfolk.” Respecting his beloved wife, let me quote words which I wrote for a short family memorial of her: “My last two or three visits found her weak and frail, but yet a good deal of her old buoyancy would come back as we sat chatting round the fire. She seemed to have a quiet faith in the blessed Gospel, but with some shadows of doubt and fear respecting herself. No bold, self-asserting professions, as is the case with some, but a genuine sympathy in reference to thefundamental truths of the Gospel, which form the resting-place of all true believers. She seemed to know more of the Valley of Humiliation than of the Land of Beulah; not often climbing the Delectable Mountains, but by no means a prisoner in Doubting Castle.” Her good husband has for many years been the main supporter of the Methodist Society in Holt, and his son, the eminent Q.C., has been for many years a member of the Congregational Church at Kensington. The large-hearted Mr. Colman, M.P. for Norwich, married Mr. Cozens-Hardy’s eldest daughter, and in their hospitable homes at Carrow and Corton I have spent many a happy day.
I may add here that amongst delightful sojourns in English homes, I gratefully reckon Stanley Park, the residence of Sir Samuel Marling; a marine villa at Dawlish, belonging to Sir Thomas Lea, Bart., also his home at Kidderminster; the beautiful Quinta on the Welsh border, belonging to Colonel Barnes; and the marine residence of Miss Cheetham, one of my interesting school-girls at Kensington.
During the later portion of my residence in Kensington, there was a considerable increase of Roman Catholics residing in the neighbourhood. When I first went to it, a small place of worshipsufficed to meet their wants, but before I left, a large church was built near the Vicarage, and another in the high road, partly hidden by buildings in front. After the formation of a Westminster Archiepiscopal see, the last-named edifice became a pro-cathedral, where Cardinal Manning sometimes officiated. As I did not hear of numerous conversions, in the neighbourhood, to the Romish faith, I was curious to know whence the increase arose, and one day I had a long conversation on the subject with Monsignor Capel. He informed me that it was owing largely to an increase in the number of priests who had come to reside in the place, and who attracted many retired people who were desirous of opportunities for confession and spiritual advice.
Hence, I gathered that the increase of Catholics in the neighbourhood did not arise from local conversions; this explained what had been a matter of wonder. The Monsignor was very sociable and communicative, and gave much information about Romanism, its usages and dignitaries. He had a great deal to say about the political relations of distinguished Catholics at that time. How far all his reports were to be trusted I cannot say.
Certainly there was much activity amongstHammersmith Catholics. Within a few doors of my house there was a sisterhood active in collecting whatever they could of money, garments, and other benefits for the poor, and on the edge of Brook Green rose a handsome church, in which special revival services were held. I attended one of these, and heard a priest make earnest religious appeals to careless sinners.
There was a nunnery not far off, and from the abbess, through the medium of a relative, I received an invitation to witness the ceremony of taking the veil. As a spectacle, there was something about it pathetic and touching, but as an act of worship the whole struck me as altogether out of harmony with primitive Christianity. The relative who conveyed to me the invitation was the daughter of a Dissenting minister, a girl highly imaginative and poetical, who made some little stir in earlier life by a book entitled “From Oxford to Rome,” by “One that made the Journey.” She told me of a complimentary note on the subject from a High Church politician; and I found that she had been thrown a good deal in the way of Oxford “perverts,” as they were called. She became a decided convert, and related to me much of what she saw amongst her new friends. By her severepenances she broke down her health until she died, but not in the religion she had recently embraced. The faith of her childhood, in its simplicity, returned in her last days. I do not know that she made a formal renunciation of what she had lately embraced, but she desired no priestly ministrations, and fell back upon her Bible, and the truths she had accepted in former days. She joined in her father’s prayers by her bedside, and so went home to rest for ever with her Saviour, whom she loved amidst all her aberrations of controversial thought.
Soon after my resignation I paid a summer visit to my friend Mr. George Moore, of Whitehall, Cumberland, the well-known merchant prince. There I met Lord Justice Lush, his lady and daughter, Dr. Moffat, Canon Battersby, and Mr. Smithies, the “Workman’s Friend.” One day we had Bible readings in a baronial-looking hall; another day we had outdoor recreations for the villagers, when a select party dined at the mansion. In the evenings we were taken to places in the neighbourhood to attend Bible meetings. On Sunday we went to church in the morning and to chapel in the evening. Our host was in all his glory.
With the good judge I had much conversation, and heard something of his early life story. He had been on the point of settling in America when he was young, and went there more than once before he finally made a home in his own country. He was a beautiful character, an example of Christian politeness, general intelligence, and professional learning.
In closing notices of towns to which I have paid ministerial visits, let me mention Hastings, in which, from circumstances to be mentioned, I feel more than ordinary interest. I do not speak of the decisive battle on the field of Senlac, which ended the line of Saxon sovereigns and gave to England a Norman king, but of personal memories, somewhat unique in their connection. There was, many years ago, a venerable Dissenting minister in the town whose congregation was small, and it was thought by London friends and others, that a new and larger chapel should be built, and efforts made to revive the cause. I was invited to preach at the dedication of that building, and at the close of the sermon found my old fellow-student, the Rev. James Griffin, was present. He had just before, owing to impaired health, resigned an important pastorate at Manchester, and, as he seemedto be recovering strength, I suggested that this new chapel at Hastings might be a suitable sphere for resuming his ministry. The congregation invited him to become pastor, and he faithfully and successfully for many years discharged the duties of that office. It became after a time necessary to erect a still larger edifice, and, in connection with the opening services, I was for a second time invited to preach to the people. Mr. Griffin soon afterwards engaged in the erection of another chapel outside the town, and when the time for opening it approached he invited me to undertake that service. Thus a threefold cord of interest attached me to Nonconformist friends at Hastings. Moreover, repeated visits on the part of my dear wife and children increased my interest in the town, and the hospitality of my friends I remember with gratitude. My dear friend James Griffin still lives, adorning the doctrine he has successfully preached for more than half a century.
The autumnal meeting of the Congregational Union was in 1886 held at Norwich. My friend, the Rev. Edward White, was chairman, and I was invited to read in the old Meeting House, where I worshipped in my youth, a paper on the early history of Norfolk Congregationalism. There was a largegathering of ministers and other friends in the city, and, as in other cities and towns, Episcopalians received Nonconformists as their guests. It was my privilege to be entertained by the Bishop, with whom I had become acquainted while sojourning under the roof of his brother, Lord Chichester, at Stanmer Park. I was received and treated with the greatest kindness and comfort, and found this Episcopal home a beautiful example of Christian simplicity and devotion.
The Mayor of the city received members of the Union and other friends in St. Andrew’s Hall on the Monday evening; and one afternoon Mr. Colman, M.P. for Norwich, had a large garden-party in his pleasure grounds.
I availed myself of opportunities during the week for rambling about scenes of my boyhood, amidst many changes in architecture, manners and customs, including habits of religious life. The trade of the city had flowed into new channels; old families such as I knew in my boyhood were no more. New faces I saw everywhere, and pensive thoughts were naturally suggested when one traversed memories of seventy years. How different had been my lot from what it might have been! Church and Dissent did not stand in the same relations to each other as they had doneonce. There was more mutual charity, more, I believe and trust, of real religion. Certainly, Evangelicalism had made way in the Establishment, and was not regarded as it had been in days gone by.
I took a ramble outside the old city, and called on young friends; and so caught glimpses touching borders of auld lang syne.
It fell to my lot to occupy a bedroom in the palace exactly to my taste. It is described by Blomefield in his “History of Norwich.” Lined with carved wainscot brought from the demolished abbey of St. Bennet in the Holm, retaining still the arms of that abbey—of the Veres, and others, particularly those of Sir John Fastolff, their great benefactor. There were also busts of heroes and remarkable men and women, “brought hither by Bishop Rugg.” The place recalled images of old, and stories which had interested me in youth; if they did not people my dreams, they coloured my meditations.
My “Recollections of a Long Life” began with a notice of being born in Norwich; and as the last visit to my birthplace was at the time now indicated, I think it is a fitting point for terminating my narrative.
Incompleting this volume I propose to take a survey of what I have seen and noticed, amongst distinct religious denominations, during seventy years.
I. To begin with the Church of England. I remember hearing a sermon by the late Bishop of Manchester, at the reopening of Chester Cathedral, when, in no measured terms, he dwelt upon ecclesiastical abuses, as they existed during the last century, and the earliest part of the present. He exposed the nepotism of bishops, the worldliness of clergymen, and the indifference of Church-people to religion in general. About the same time another prelate privately told me that things in his diocese, when he was first consecrated, had reached such a point as made it wonderful how the Establishment had survived. He complained of the limited power diocesans had at command, to repress existing evils,and gave an instance, how in his own case he had spent a large sum without any effect for the removal of a clergyman who had dishonoured his profession. About the facts charged against the delinquent there could be no doubt, but proceedings failed through technical objections. I remember when I was a youth there were scandals in the diocese of Norwich, publicly known, yet legally unassailable. Plurality and non-residence were notorious. Preaching was neglected to a shameful degree; in one case fifteen churches were served by three incumbents. Livings had to be sequestered through clerical insolvency or scandalous misconduct. Bishop Stanley wrought a great reformation in these respects, much to the dismay of delinquents, much to the satisfaction of parishioners. I remember him perfectly well. Of slight figure, with white hair, he tripped along the streets of Norwich on a Sunday, to one church after another without giving beforehand notice of his movements, but surprising rector or curate at the close of the service by rising to pronounce the benediction. He was as unremitting and efficient in his clerical position, as he had before been in his naval duties. The magistrates’ seat prepared Ambrose for his episcopate at Milan: the deck of a ship prepared Edward Stanley to rule the diocese of Norwich.
The typical High Church clergyman of my early days was a person perfunctorily discharging his duties, living on civil terms with his parishioners, known in the parish by clerical costume, reading prayers in a surplice, and preaching in a black gown, visiting the best society in the neighbourhood, kind to the poor, and looking upon Dissenters as a rather suspicious class.
But a great change took place in 1832. Earnest men, as we have seen, arose at Oxford, who devoted themselves to the study of certain Anglo-Catholic divines and Greek and Latin fathers. Some of them introduced ritualistic practices, older than the Reformation. The change under Henry VIII. and Elizabeth was approved by them no further than as it wiped away stains from the face of popery. I recollect a High Church layman telling me he liked an ornate service, but that he was left far behind by the newly advanced party. I have myself witnessed ceremonies in Anglican churches so nearly approaching the Romanistic that only a practised eye could discern the difference. There were, however, men of another order, who had a liking for Anglo-Catholic theology, but eschewed revived ceremonialism; and I have heard a High Churchman in Westminster Abbey preach such a sermon on the necessity of the Holy Spiritfor the salvation of souls as, with a few expressions, a Methodist might have delivered. He pronounced a glowing eulogium on John Wesley. On one side this clergyman appeared a warm-hearted Evangelical, on the other, he was a staunch High Churchman.
When I think of Evangelicals early in this century, they present a different class from men of the type just described. As a boy in Norwich I heard Simeon of Cambridge, and Legh Richmond of Turvey; and I remember them at this moment as they appeared in the autumn of that year to advocate the British and Foreign Bible Society. The former of the two does not come to my recollection so vividly as the latter; him I can now see, with his pleasant face, and large spectacles, mounting, with a lame foot, the pulpit stairs of St. Lawrence’s Church—attired, not in a white surplice, but in a black gown: nothing priestly in his appearance and manner. His sermon was on behalf of the Society for Promoting Christianity among Jews. He took for his text, “For thy servants take pleasure in her stones and favour the dust thereof.” With a soft, winning voice, and “a sweet reasonableness” he discoursed on the interest, which all Christians should feel in building up the Church of God, especially with stones gathered from ruins of the House of Israel. In St Andrew’s Hallhe spoke on behalf of the Bible Society, and related a conversation he had on the subject with the Emperor Alexander of Russia, when he visited England after the Napoleonic wars. He also told touching stories of what the Word of God could do for people amidst sins and sorrows. As to Charles Simeon, whom I heard, he did not penetrate like dew, but came down with hailstones and coals of fire.
At a later period Episcopalians bestirred themselves in many parts of the country, and from end to end, in building and other efforts for church extension, and I recollect Dean Alford told me how surprised the Church Commissioners were at the liberal response given to challenges for aiding ecclesiastical objects.
In 1865 the old Act of Uniformity was modified so as to relieve the consciences of such as scrupled to declare unfeigned consent to everything contained in the Prayer-Book.Nowthe requirement was an assent to the Articles, the Common Prayer, and the Ordering of Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, and a declaration that the doctrine of the Establishment was agreeable to the Word of God. In 1867 a commission was appointed to regulate public worship, the result of which was unsatisfactory.
In former pages of this volume I have noticed devoted and exemplary Churchmen through whom my own soul has been nourished and stimulated. It would be ungrateful not to recognise, on these pages, spiritual benefit I have derived from sermons preached and books written by living Churchmen.
Before I close this section of reminiscences touching the Church of England it will be interesting to notice an accession to it of a remarkable person who had previously been a Dissenter. Her name, now so extensively known, was Sarah Martin. My old friend Mr. Walford often alluded to her in his conversations, and in his Autobiography, written in a series of letters published by his direction, he gives the following narrative:—
“This young woman, during my residence in Yarmouth, supported by her needle both herself and, I think, also an aged grandmother, with whom she lived at Caister, near Yarmouth. When I first knew her she was, I imagine, about twenty years of age. She introduced herself to me as one who had been as inconsiderate and negligent of religion, as she was ignorant of the nature of genuine Christianity. By some means, which I do not now remember, she was induced to come to the New Meeting, where she heard one or more discoursesfrom me, which, she assured me, had produced very deep impressions upon her, and entirely changed the character of her mind and conduct. She subsequently became a member of the Church of which I was the pastor, and was most diligent and attentive to the public and private meetings of the Church. I found her to possess great energy of mind, by the exercise of which she very soon became well informed in the truths and duties of Christianity, and ardently disposed to do any good that was compatible with her station in life. Her affection for me was such that it is not too much to say of her, as St. Paul did of his converts among the Galatians, that, if it had been possible, they would have plucked out their own eyes and have given them to him (Gal. iv. 15). Her regard for me, and the ministry I exercised, continued unalterable through the several years in which I resided in Yarmouth, after my acquaintance with her commenced. I afterwards saw her several times during occasional visits which I made to that place, when I found that she still retained an affectionate remembrance of me.”
“This young woman, during my residence in Yarmouth, supported by her needle both herself and, I think, also an aged grandmother, with whom she lived at Caister, near Yarmouth. When I first knew her she was, I imagine, about twenty years of age. She introduced herself to me as one who had been as inconsiderate and negligent of religion, as she was ignorant of the nature of genuine Christianity. By some means, which I do not now remember, she was induced to come to the New Meeting, where she heard one or more discoursesfrom me, which, she assured me, had produced very deep impressions upon her, and entirely changed the character of her mind and conduct. She subsequently became a member of the Church of which I was the pastor, and was most diligent and attentive to the public and private meetings of the Church. I found her to possess great energy of mind, by the exercise of which she very soon became well informed in the truths and duties of Christianity, and ardently disposed to do any good that was compatible with her station in life. Her affection for me was such that it is not too much to say of her, as St. Paul did of his converts among the Galatians, that, if it had been possible, they would have plucked out their own eyes and have given them to him (Gal. iv. 15). Her regard for me, and the ministry I exercised, continued unalterable through the several years in which I resided in Yarmouth, after my acquaintance with her commenced. I afterwards saw her several times during occasional visits which I made to that place, when I found that she still retained an affectionate remembrance of me.”
She was in humble circumstances, and earned a scanty income by the use of her needle; but she coupled with it extraordinary efforts forthe good of others, and this disposed some ladies, members of the Established Church, to contribute to her support. This enabled her to devote more time to her charitable work, and at length she was so absorbed in it that she became a kind of missionary to the inmates of the workhouse and the prisoners in Yarmouth gaol. She read and explained the Scriptures to them, and in devotional service, she carried on for their spiritual welfare, she employed parts of the Church Prayer-Book. Gradually, I infer, she became attached to those who helped her, and this association led to her becoming a member of the Establishment. After her death a commemorative window was placed in Yarmouth parish church, and at its reopening, after a costly restoration, Bishop Wilberforce pronounced an eloquent eulogium on Sarah Martin’s character. Some intimate Nonconformist friends of mine remained attached to her, and showed me numerous MSS. in her handwriting.
I now return to the ranks of Dissent and proceed to notice—
II. English Presbyterianism. A word on its earlier history will here be appropriate. The Presbyterians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were orthodox. After the Restoration many ofthem adhered to the Westminster Confession, but a departure from it, in some instances, appeared in the century after. Arian and Socinian opinions began to obtain, but those who held them claimed connection with the Presbyterians of the Commonwealth, on the ground that they followed such worthies in the exercise of religious freedom and the rights of conscience. Their forefathers had repudiated the Prayer-Book, and now they, their sons in the cause of religious freedom, renounced the Westminster Confession. For the most part they remained steadfast in believing New Testament miracles. The Rev. Mr. Madge, a noted English Presbyterian, sixty or seventy years ago, said to me once, he could not understand how a man could be called a Christian who did not believe in our Lord’s resurrection.
During the reign of William IV. the two most prominent English Presbyterians of the old school were the Rev. Mr. Aspland and Mr. Madge. The latter I knew well. Mr. Aspland was an eloquent speaker, and exerted himself conspicuously in the cause of Unitarianism, with which he identified the interests of religious freedom. His son, in writing his father’s life, pourtrays that gentleman’s religious connections, social virtues, and decision of character;but does not conceal his warmth of temper, and dislike to certain eminent Trinitarians. Mr. Madge, before he became minister of Essex Street, London, was for some years settled in my native city, and presided over a wealthy congregation, in which were several distinguished literary and artistic people. The Martineaus, the Aldersons, the Starks, and other distinguished families, were of the number. They worshipped in the Octagon Chapel, as it was called from its architecture, and for a number of years the building was the most distinguished Nonconformist place of worship in the eastern capital. It was rather sumptuously fitted up in my boyish days, and the attendants were not wont to mix much with other Dissenters. If there were any fault in this, I dare say it was shared on both sides.
Returning to the English Presbyterians at large, but especially as they existed in London, I must speak of a trust established by Dr. Williams, of the last century. He was orthodox, but the administration of funds bequeathed by him came into the hands of those Presbyterians who deviated from his doctrinal views, but still retained the Presbyterian name by which he was known. Though Unitarians in opinion, they by no means confinedtheir charity to Unitarian ministers and chapels; and still the “Williams’ Scholarships” are enjoyed by students preparing for orthodox ministrations amongst Independents. Dr. Martineau was for some time an administrator of the trust, but strongly objected to the exclusion of orthodox ministers from its administration.
During the last century there were Presbyterians in England holding decidedly Evangelical views, and of late there have been numerous congregations gathered, which, in their unity, form what is called “The Presbyterian Church in England.” Scotch brethren of great renown—Dr. James Hamilton, Dr. Young, and Dr. Archer—I had the privilege of numbering amongst personal friends, and they were held in honour by all Evangelical Churchmen and Nonconformists.
III. Another large section of brethren were Baptists, distinguished by certaindoctrinalanddisciplinaryviews;—the former as Particular or Calvinistic, on the one hand, and General or Arminian on the other;—the latter as Open communionists and Strict communionists. Open communionists admit to the Lord’s table those who have not been baptised by immersion; Strict communionists confine the Lord’s Supper to thosewho have been immersed. Such distinctions are now fading away. Calvinists and Arminians are comprehended in the same union, and Strict communionists are comparatively few.
Robert Hall, the advocate of Open communion, I never saw: he died when I was young. Joseph Kinghorn, his opponent, a distinguished Hebrew scholar, I knew well, as he lived in Norwich during my boyhood. William Brock, who succeeded him, and afterwards became minister of Bloomsbury Chapel, London, entered the ministry about the same time as I did, and we regarded each other with warm affection. Dr. Cox and Dr. Steane were widely known in the religious world, and with both of them I entered into a fellowship of work and worship at the opening of chapels and on other public occasions. John Howard Hinton was another Baptist brother, of whom I saw much when he was at Reading and I was at Windsor. He was more original, more metaphysical, more scientific, and more excitable than others whom I have mentioned, perhaps of a higher intellectual order, and still greater depth of religious emotion. Mr. Spurgeon, who has so recently left the world, and whose influence and fame extended further than any other Nonconformist in modern times, I greatly respectedand admired; and though I did not share his intimacy, I saw something of him in my own home, and a little more in his, where he had a magnificent library, and received his numerous friends with cordiality. His popularity amongst aristocratic people was, for a little time, much greater than is generally supposed, for I was informed by a lady of distinction that for some weeks in his early career he was a leading topic of conversation in upper circles.
IV. I now turn to the Quaker community. Well do I remember meetings at the Goldencroft, Norwich, where, at the upper end, sat men and women called Public Friends. My mother, born in 1770, told me of yearly meetings held in our old city, when sometimes Friends from America attended: and so great was the number of visitors that it raised the market price of provisions. Some ladies who came from the other side of the Atlantic wore dresses with open skirts and green aprons. No bows of ribbon were seen, while bonnets of black and of lead-coloured silk crowned the heads of young and old. What Charles Lamb says in his “Elia” corresponds with what I recollect, and what my mother used to tell me, how “troops of the shining ones” were seen walking the streets, on their way to the house of worship, where their silence was more eloquent than speech. I have read withsympathy “The Life of John Woolman,” written by himself, and so warmly recommended by the essayist. “Get,” says Charles Lamb, “the writings of John Woolman by heart, and love the early Quakers.”
A very serious diversion in theological opinion existed among American Friends early in this century, and it is because an effect of it appeared in England that it is noticed here. A French Friend—the well-known Stephen Grellet—travelling in the States, makes this entry in his journal, under date 1822:—“We proceeded to Long Island, where I attended all the meetings, but here my soul’s distress exceeded all I had known during the preceding months, though my baptism had been deep. I found that the greatest part of the members of our Society and many of the ministers and elders, are carried away by the principle which Elias Hicks has so assiduously propagated among them. He now speaks out boldly, disguising his sentiments no longer; he seeks to invalidate the Holy Scriptures, and sets up man’s reason as his only guide, openly denying the divinity of Christ. I have had many expostulations with him in which I have most tenderly pleaded with him, but all has been in vain.”[374]From what I have read in American literaturetouching what is known as the Hicksite controversy, it appears to me plainly indicative of a denial among many American Friends, that Jesus Christ, in the orthodox sense of the term, was Divine, and that He did not make any atonement for sin. Hicks appears to have been a thorough mystic, unintelligible to common-sense people. At all events he converted many to his views; and these views were caught up by some Friends in this country. To what extent exactly they were adopted in England I cannot say: but they created alarm amongst many Friends on this side the Atlantic. Great sorrow at the abandonment of Evangelical doctrines led to secessions from Quakerism on the part of excellent people who had been born and bred in the community. Some of them resided, at the time I speak of, on the borders of Wales, others in the county of York. They became Congregationalists, and in tours on behalf of the London Missionary Society, I was received hospitably in their homes, and had gratifying opportunities of witnessing their beautiful Christian life.
Joseph John Gurney, of Earlham, felt seriously concerned respecting the American defection, in a community to which he had been attached from childhood. He had studied in the University of Oxford, had cultivated friendships in other denominations,was a good classic and Biblical scholar, and also an author of theological works. Mr. Gurney was “concerned” about the effect of Hicksite opinion on American and English Friends, and therefore took up his pen and wrote in reply to the leader who had done so much mischief.
Mr. Gurney, like his sister Mrs. Fry, undertook journeys for preaching the Gospel, and once he visited Windsor for that purpose. I was unwell at the time, but he called and talked by my bedside, and commended me to God in prayer. Several Quaker families at that period were living at Staines and Uxbridge; with them I had much intercourse, especially when we were joined in the advocacy of Slave Emancipation. The community, in both towns now named, was considerable for numbers and for wealth.
Friends now dress, speak and act much like other people. Conforming to common custom, they still eschew all extravagances of fashion. They no longer forfeit membership by “marrying out of Society.” “The Right Honourable John Bright” (how shocked George Fox would have been at the title!) told me once, that relaxation in strictness as to unimportant points, had checked a decline in numbers going on before.
V. Methodism, of course, brings to my mind a long train of early associations. Not merely names, but living forms, of noted preachers belonging to the second decade of this century come back to my recollection.
Calvert Street Chapel was opened about 1812, and Dr. Coke preached.
I cannot say that I remember his sermon; but, as noticed already, I distinctly recollect seeing the odd-looking, diminutive man, standing on a table talking in the committee room of Bethel Hospital[377]adorned by paintings of foundress and governors. Dr. Coke energetically addressed on the occasion a number of people, who had been invited by my grandfather, to hear the noted advocate of Methodist missions. Many years afterwards I mentioned the circumstance to a gentleman, who at the time took care of the patients, when he fetched an old committee book, in which this gathering was noticed, with a minute expressing the displeasure of the Governors at such a liberty being taken, and forbidding anything of the kind in future. The Wesleyan congregations in Norwich were then very large, andlocalpreachers—uncultivated men in humble life—frequently occupied the pulpit in the afternoon service at Calvert Street, and, remember, delivered animated discourses likely to do their hearers good.
Dr. Jabez Bunting was a very influential man among the Methodists when I was young. For many years he was regarded as ruler of the Connexion,—exerting a despotic sway over the whole body. Such general conclusions oftentimes are not fairly drawn from existing facts, and how far widely extended opinion in the case now noticed, is justifiable I cannot undertake to say. To me he was very agreeable, and for him I had great respect. William Bunting, his son, was of a different stamp from his father, and though a skilful critic, he had not his father’s gift of authority and rule.
Before the middle of the century came Dr. Newton, to open a second chapel, in the upper part of Norwich; his magnificent voice and careful diction produced a powerful effect. I met him in after-life at Windsor, when he told me that he was accustomed to leave his home on Monday morning in the Manchester circuit, and travel by coach to the other end of England,—perhaps cross over to Ireland,—and then get back, at the end of the week, ready for preaching the next day. He said he weekly delivered five or six sermons, makingthem “on the wheels” as he went along. He seemed a stranger to physical fatigue.
During my Windsor ministry I became acquainted with a noted Wesleyan, who was not an itinerant, but a local, preacher. He went by the name of “Billy Dawson,” and was eminently gifted with humour and pathos. I heard him preach, and listened to his platform speeches. He was not only naturally eloquent, but histrionic too; in speeches and sermons he acted while he spoke. He made you realise what he described. It is said that George Whitefield, when preaching to sailors, described a storm at sea so vividly that some of them shouted, “Take to the long boat.” Dawson had a like power of realising what he described. He would, at a missionary meeting, make a telescope of his resolution, and putting it to one of his eyes, describe what he saw in imagination,—perhaps a picture of the millennium drawn from Isaiah’s prophecies. I was young, just come from college, at the time I speak of, and made a speech in which I used some words which were not so plain as they might have been. After the meeting he spoke to me kindly, suggesting equivalent terms in plain Saxon. It was a good lesson for an unfledged bird.
When I was a member of the Wesleyan Society, I attended class according to rule, and I found the practice beneficial, inasmuch as it was a constant spur to self-examination. The primitive agape, revived amongst the Methodists, exists under the name of love-feast, at which, together with eating bread and drinking water as an expression of fellowship, men and women are accustomed voluntarily to rise, and give some account of their religious experience for edification to others. These addresses I found often interesting and useful. By such means, a habit of spiritual intercommunication amongst Methodists is kept alive; beneficial in some cases no doubt, but liable to abuse in others, as most good things are. I am constrained to relate how this habit on the bright side manifested itself on a private occasion during a meeting of Conference in London. Dr. Jobson, an eminent Wesleyan, invited a party of friends to his house. He kindly included me in the number, and I found at his hospitable board the President for the year, and some ex-presidents. Together with them, Drs. Binney, Raleigh, Allon, and Donald Fraser were present. Our host was a thorough Methodist, and very comprehensive in his sympathies, for he had mixed with different denominations. Hehad many friends in the Establishment, and in early life had studied under an eminent Roman Catholic architect, at whose house he met bishops and priests of that communion. On the occasion I refer to, he in an easy way initiated a conversation which I can never forget. He appealed to his guests, one by one, for some account of their religious life. All readily responded; and this is most remarkable,—all who spoke attributed to Methodism spiritual influence of a decisive kind. To use Wesleyan phraseology, most of them had been “brought to God” through Methodist instrumentality. Dr. Osborne was present, and made some remarks, at the close of which, with choked utterance, he repeated the verse—
“And if our fellowship below,In Jesus be so sweet,What heights of rapture shall we know,When round the throne we meet?”
“And if our fellowship below,In Jesus be so sweet,What heights of rapture shall we know,When round the throne we meet?”
The Norwich Methodists were chiefly humble folks with a sprinkling of some in better circumstances; their habits were very simple and they looked upon some who made money as becoming “worldly,” or at least, as exposed to temptation. At that time, however, such as possessed social comforts could not be justly charged with conformity to the course ofthis world; and over their little gatherings in one another’s houses there was shed a religious atmosphere such as was breathed in class and love-feast. Early in the century on a Sunday, between afternoon and evening service, there might be a large tea-party, where the preacher, a class-leader, and other members of Society would talk and pray and sing, till it was time to go to evening service at chapel. This communion seems to me now as I think of it such as is described in Malachi: “Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another, and the Lord hearkened and heard it; and a book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord and that thought upon His name; and they shall be Mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up My jewels, and I will spare them as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.”
Worldly prosperity has since fallen to the lot of not a few Methodists, and the usual temptations surrounding wealth have tested their character; but I am thankful to say, amongst those whom I have visited, I have found beautiful instances of adherence to religious principles. I may mention a friend already noticed, Sir William McArthur, K.C.M.G. When Lord Mayor of London he continued his previous Wesleyan duties; and whilst bountiful in his hospitalityeschewed usages of a fashionable kind. In his year of office the Œcumenical Conference was held, and during its meetings repeated Mansion House invitations were given to friends in sympathy with Evangelical religion. I attended his funeral, and in his residence on Notting Hill a large number of mourners assembled, and we had a short devotional service together, very touching, tender, and beautiful.
My personal recollections of Methodism, which roll back more than seventy years ago, linger round Yarmouth and Norwich. At Yarmouth I used to worship on a Sunday in a curious old-fashioned square chapel, with galleries on the four sides. There was a deep one opposite the two entrance doors, and attached to the front of that gallery was a pulpit—by what means, as a boy, I never could make out. The preacher ascended from behind by a staircase, invisible to the congregation, and then from the top of the staircase descended by two or three steps into a curiously shaped pulpit. I distinctly recollect the venerable Joseph Benson, then a patriarch, who had been associated with Methodists in John Wesley’s time. I think I see him now, of slender frame, venerable aspect, and wearing a coat of dark purple. Of course I have no recollection of what he said, but he was regarded as a saintly man in those days. Inthe autumn Yarmouth was frequented by a number of mariners from the north—coblemen they were called—who had come to fish for herrings off the Yarmouth coast. They were staunch Methodists, and used to hold a prayer-meeting after the general service. How those men used to pray with stentorian voice, which called forth loud “Amens” from voices all over the chapel!
In Calvert Street, Norwich, there used to be special services on Christmas-day. After a prayer-meeting at six o’clock in the morning there was preaching at seven o’clock, when hymns appropriate to the season were sung, accompanied by violins and wind instruments of different kinds. I did not fail, between five and six o’clock, to rise and cross the city in order to be in good time for these services. They usually commenced with the hymn—
“Christians, awake, salute the happy mornWhereon the Saviour of mankind was born;Rise to adore the mystery of love,Which hosts of angels chanted from above;With them the joyful tidings first begunOf God incarnate and the Virgin’s son.“Then to the watchful shepherds it was told,Who heard the angelic herald’s voice: ‘Behold,I bring good tidings of a Saviour’s birth,To you and all the nations upon earth:This day hath God fulfilled His promised word,This day is born a Saviour, Christ the Lord.’”
“Christians, awake, salute the happy mornWhereon the Saviour of mankind was born;Rise to adore the mystery of love,Which hosts of angels chanted from above;With them the joyful tidings first begunOf God incarnate and the Virgin’s son.
“Then to the watchful shepherds it was told,Who heard the angelic herald’s voice: ‘Behold,I bring good tidings of a Saviour’s birth,To you and all the nations upon earth:This day hath God fulfilled His promised word,This day is born a Saviour, Christ the Lord.’”
With the Methodist chapel in Calvert Street my earliest religious thoughts are connected. Watch-nights and love-feasts, are sacred in my recollection.
VI. Respecting the Congregationalist denomination, of which I have spoken already, let me add that in 1877 I was requested by Dr. Schaff, of New York, to give my impression of prevalent beliefs amongst us. I replied as follows: “Looking at the principles of Congregationalism, which involve the repudiation of all human authority in matters of religion, it is impossible to believe that persons holding those principles can consistently regard any ecclesiastical creed or symbol in the same way as Catholics, whether Roman or Anglican, regard the creeds of the ancient Church. There is a strong feeling against the use of such documents for the purpose of defining limits of religious communion, or for the purpose of checking the exercise of free inquiry; and there is also a widespread conviction that it is impossible to reduce the expression of Christian belief to a series of logical propositions, so as to preserve and represent the full spirit of Gospel truth.” (See Schaff’s “Creeds of Christendom,” p. 833.)
No doubt there may be heard in some circles loose conversation, seeming to indicate such a repugnanceto creeds as would imply a dislike to all formal definitions of Christian doctrine; but I apprehend the prevailing sentiment relative to this subject among our ministers and churches does not go beyond the point just indicated. Many of them consider that while creeds are objectionable as tests, and imperfect as confessions, they may have a certain value as manifestoes of conviction, on the part of different communities.
Some people write and talk on the subject of present opinion, with a positiveness which only omniscience could warrant. No mortal can know what is going on in the minds of thousands, touching momentous subjects; yet such knowledge is requisite for the confident conclusions of certain critics. We may speak decidedly of what is commonly taught in a community, yet this should be done with qualifications and no farther.
Silence on momentous points may prove a loss as to the full wealth of theology; but I am thankful for gain at the present day in richer views than formerly of our Lord’s character, and the bearing of it upon life and conduct. Let me add, however, ifRedemptionin all its fulness be not prominent in pulpit ministrations, power will be gone. Some suppose we are making theological advance, and thatdiscoveries are opening akin to those in physical science; but people who have more carefully surveyed the wide field, and more observantly studied the history of religious thought, discover that much as seen at first sight, is chiefly a falling back upon what was old and forgotten.
In closing what I have to say of modern Congregationalists, I venture to notice deceased ministers whom it has been a privilege to number amongst my friends.
I knew but slightly the Rev. William Jay of Bath. He has been incidentally noticed in these pages already, for he was old when I was young. He rose from a lowly rank in life to be regarded as teacher and companion by the intellectual and noble. Mrs. Hannah More valued his ministrations and cultivated his society. Wilberforce used to attend his chapel when staying at Bath; and an Indian ruler, when in England, went to hear him at Surrey Chapel, and expressed great admiration of the sermon.
The next to be mentioned is John Angell James of Birmingham. I remember perfectly well the first sermon I heard him preach when I was a student. The text was: “Our conversation (or citizenship) is in heaven.” His voice was richlytoned—a genuine birth gift improved by culture. He introduced the following illustration: A pilgrim in the Middle Ages, on his way to Jerusalem, passed through Constantinople. A friend took him from street to street, pausing to point out attractions, in magnificent buildings, and the rich scenery of the Golden Horn. He wondered the traveller was not enchanted. The latter replied: “Yes, all very fine,but it is not the Holy City.” The application was obvious and well enforced.
Dr. Raffles of Liverpool—noticed already as one of my companions to Rome—and Dr. Hamilton of Leeds, well known throughout England, won the affections of their people by sympathetic intercourse, and interested them by eloquent instructions and appeals. The former enunciated his carefully prepared periods with a voice naturally musical, the latter delivered his thoughts in condensed sentences, which reminded one of a person taking very short steps. There was an intellectual power in the sermons of the last-named, not indicated in those of the former.
John Alexander of Norwich I cannot pass by without notice. Like David, he was a youth with ruddy countenance. His speech throughout a sermon fell gentle as a snowflake, without any coldness oftouch. He read much, and made good use of what he read. The charm of his private life and conversation exceeded the effect of his public ministry, though that was great.
I must mention another name. John Harris was for some years a secluded pastor at Epsom, little known. He wrote “The Great Teacher,” but though far above the common level of such literature, it made little impression, compared with its merits. A prize was offered for an essay on Covetousness and Christian Liberality. Harris won the prize, and printed the essay. The effect was instantaneous.
The book sold edition after edition, and the author’s name became generally familiar. Requests for his services were universal. He was everywhere talked about, and when he preached places were crowded. His popularity lasted as long as he lived, but he died when he was fifty-four. He was unassuming, kind-hearted, generous to poor ministers, genial in conversation, and beloved by all who knew him.
Another brother must be mentioned—Baldwin Brown—of superior intellectual type, well educated, an extensive reader, and one who delighted in a large circle of sympathetic friends. He gathered round him a good congregation, composed chiefly of thoughtful people, who became assimilated to hischaracteristic teachings. He wore himself out by incessant study and pulpit service.
I must not pass by David Thomas of Bristol, my fellow-student and friend through life, whose elevated and genial character won from a wide circle warm attachment, and whose unique pulpit power captivated all capable of sympathising with one so thoughtful and so good.
Nor can I omit Alexander Raleigh, my successor for a short period at Kensington, who fulfilled a ministry dear to many who listened with delight to his characteristic teaching.
The last name I mention is that of Samuel Martin, minister at Westminster Chapel. He had gifts of a peculiar description, which marked him off, and made him stand by himself, both as minister and man. His appearance, voice, manner, habits, were all his own. Helivedfor his Church, in whose interests he was thoroughly absorbed. No one not intimately acquainted with him could have an adequate idea how he loved his flock, and lived for their welfare week by week. I had reverent affection for him as a saintly man, and I witnessed evidence amongst his large circle, in town and country, how he watched for souls as one that must give an account. His congregation during Parliament months included severalM.P.’s, whom he gathered together for patriotic prayer.
His neighbour, Dr. Stanley, had a reverent regard for Mr. Martin, and I know that the Dean and Lady Augusta went to Westminster Chapel to hear his voice and worship with his people. He spoke to me of him in terms of strong affection, also telling me of a brother clergyman who, after a visit to his sick chamber, pronounced him one of the most saintly men he had ever seen.