The year 1850 opened with a storm of religious excitement, owing to a division of England by Papal authority into Roman dioceses, at the suggestion of Dr. Wiseman. It came to be called “The Papal Aggression.” Some thought more was made of it, at the time, than circumstances warranted; but, looked at through the medium of history, it seemed to aim at a territorial authority over England, inconsistent with our repudiation of Papal supremacy. The way in which it was taken up by some good people was not wise, and there was an anti-popish commotion amongst some of my friends—a few only. The commotion was unreasonable, but was overruled for good, as the incident led some Protestants to look into their professed principles, which doubtless, in our country, lie at the basis of civil and religious liberty.From one end of the island to the other, Nonconformists as well as Churchmen took an opportunity for expressing attachment to the Reformation. In two ways I became connected with what went on. The Presbyterian, Congregational, and Baptist ministers of London, representing the three denominations, resolved, in common with other ecclesiastical bodies, to approach Her Majesty with a protest against “Papal Aggression.” The three denominations—like Convocation and certain English corporations—have a right of presenting addresses to the Sovereign; and on this occasion, the audience for accepting the addresses, was appointed to be at Windsor Castle. When the ceremony in the Royal Closet for receiving representatives of the three denominations was over, we were invited to lunch in the equerry’s apartment. Covers were laid for two or three gentlemen, in addition to our party. “Pray, can you tell me their names?” I whispered to one of the servants, who, from my previous residence in the town, happened to know me. He could not say, and at the same moment the strangers, who proved to be Roman Catholic noblemen, felt a like curiosity to know who we were. I proceeded to explain the origin of the three denominations, which was quite a revelation to the gentlemen; who informed us that they had just presented a loyal address from 250,000 Catholics. They proceeded to say, that English Protestants had quite misapprehended the meaning of recent arrangements; and, after receiving a courteous explanation, we sat down with them, and had a pleasant chat.

At that time I delivered at Kensington a short series of discourses on the Roman Catholic controversy. I went over some of the main points in that controversy, avoiding misrepresentation and uncharitableness. I was not violent enough to please some ultra-Protestants, but I had the gratification of hearing, that two young Catholics ultimately became Protestants, and were helped by the lectures. I have met in the course of my life with several members of the Romish Church, who have appeared to me estimable characters. I had in my congregation a young lady, one of a family which ranked a Cardinal amongst its members, and whose mother remained a Catholic; in her dying illness she clung to Christ as her Saviour, saying, in the words of Solomon’s Song: “I held Him, and would not let Him go.”

In the same year, as I have said, the Palace of Glass was opened; and, being a Kensington resident, I had opportunities of watching the edifice rising out of the earth as a beautiful exhalation. On moonlight nights, in the previous winter, how often, on my way home, it revealed itself, amidst floating mists, as a kind of ethereal structure!

There was a moral atmosphere created by the enterprise, which those who do not recollect it are unable to appreciate. It inspired thousands of people with expressions of charity and goodwill. The opening day can never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The Times newspaper had a leader, which made one feel that a new era in history had arrived; that war and strife were approaching an end, and a millennial age of goodwill had dawned upon mankind. When, that day, we saw crowds, not jostling and pushing against each other; for almost every unit of the mass seemed willing to make way for a neighbour; when we witnessed the opening service, and beheld the royal procession moving through the stupendous aisles,—representatives of “all people that on earth do dwell,”—those present seemed to feel as they never did before. As the poet Montgomery conversed with me on the subject, he remarked that, looking down from the galleries upon the throng which passed before his eyes, it “reminded him of flowing waters gently gurgling through some broad channel.” The people, thronging here and there round corners, seemed like eddies in a river with lofty banks.

In the Exhibition year efforts were made for the religious improvement of the people. The Press was in different ways employed for this purpose; and amongst other methods there appeared, as distinctively characteristic, a series of evangelical discourses in Exeter Hall. They attracted crowded audiences. The sermons were carefully reported and widely circulated. About the same time several similar methods were employed for the promotion of religion; services were held in theatres and other places of amusement. Having been engaged in these efforts, I can testify to the crowds gathered together, and the general decorum of their behaviour. Some to whom these buildings belonged took an interest in the proceedings, as I knew from conversation with dramatic managers, who expressed interest in the addresses delivered. Afterwards, services were planned to be conducted by Episcopal clergymen in Exeter Hall, but the plan was frustrated by opposition of parochial authority. After this, Dissenters undertook to supply the lack of service, and the first Sunday night, an Independent minister officiated, reading parts of the Liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer, and an English nobleman acted as clerk, leading the responses.

The same year (1851) it fell to my lot at the autumnal meeting of the Congregational Union to read a memorial paper on Dr. Doddridge, who had died just a hundred years before, and had been pastor and Divinity Professor in Northampton, where the assembly met. We occupied the old meeting-house in which he preached; there in the vestry stood the chair in which he sat. From the pulpit which had been his, the centenary tribute to his memory was delivered. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnell, presented the original MS. of a funeral sermon which the doctor preached for his little daughter, partly written upon her coffin. A common sympathy, amidst deathlike silence, pervaded the audience, as if the divine who was commemorated had only just left the world, and we had assembled to honour his remains. The genius loci of the place, and traditions of the good man, passed away so long before, contributed to the occasion more impressiveness than it derived from other circumstances.

In 1852 my beloved wife travelled with me to Elberfeld to see our eldest daughter. We had, from an early period, formed the plan of sending our children abroad for part of their education, in order that they might learn a foreign language and see other forms of society besides our own. Therefore we placed our firstborn under the care of Pastor and Madame SchrÖder,—two very excellent persons, whose character and influence answered the high expectations we had been led to form. Pastor SchrÖder succeeded Dr. Krummacher as one of the pastors of the Evangelical communion. We enjoyed his society and that of his excellent wife, and saw something of German habits, which interested me much; they presented aspects unfamiliar to us. For instance, one Sunday afternoon we took a walk in the woods with our friend the pastor, and, on the way, he gathered into a large company one after another of his people, until it formed quite a procession; and, finally, we rested in a pleasant nook encompassed by trees, where the people drank coffee, and sang hymns.

After we had spent some days at Elberfeld we started for Switzerland, where I planned my wife and daughter should spend two or three weeks, whilst accompanied by a Kensington friend, I proceeded on a journey to Italy. We started from Zurich, crossed the lake, reached Coire and the Via Mala, and over the Alps, came down to the Lake of Como; thence we reached Milan, where we stayed three days. I then became acquainted for the first time with the Duomo and other churches. We spent a Sunday in the city, and felt deeply interested in schools founded by Cardinal Borromeo, carried on at the time with exemplary care; and we found at eventide, in a church, groups of worshippers, led by a layman, who knelt in front as they chanted responses. I was struck then, and have been oftentimes since, with the adaptation of Scripture passages on church walls, pointing to salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. One thought, too, of Ambrose, who forbade the approach of Theodosius, wet with the blood he had shed at Thessalonica. Speaking of the adaptation of Scripture in foreign churches, I may mention other passages inscribed on their walls in other places, for example, at Treves, where under a picture of “The Nativity” we read “Verily Thou art a God that hidest Thyself,” as applied to the Incarnation. Again, at Nismes, if I recollect aright, under the fresco of a captive rejoicing in his freedom, the words “Thou hast loosed my bonds”; and under another, representing martyrs and virgins at the portals of heaven, “With joy and rejoicing shall they be brought: they shall enter into the King’s palace.” After all, the kernel of the Gospel continues in Roman Catholic Christendom, though too often concealed under manifold innovations. Still there it is, if you look for it.

My reference to Milan brings before me other recollections of that wonderful city, as revisited again and again since 1852. Amidst manifold associations of art, archÆology, history, and religion, one image, indelibly impressed on my mind, is that of Augustine under the fig tree in a garden, listening to a voice which cried, “Tolle lege”; at the hearing of which he sat down, took the Testament in his hand, and read Rom. xiii., and thus became a new creature in Christ Jesus. Wandering in quiet old streets, I have paused near some fig tree in a little enclosure of grass and flowers, to think of him who became the grandest father of the Latin Church.

From Milan we proceeded to Verona, and thence to Venice, where I felt “one of the greatest emotions of life.” I have seen it again and again, but the first charm was greatest of all. Then Titian’s “Peter Martyr” adorned the walls of SS. Giovanni e Paulo. Wonderful picture that! but it does not, to my mind, eclipse his S. Jerome in the Brera at Milan.

Let me return to Kensington. Perhaps this is as good a place as any, for saying a few words about people there, and others with whom I was brought into contact, during my pastorate.Under the ministry of my predecessor, Dr. Leifchild, there lived in one of the stately houses in the neighbourhood, a gentleman—commanding in person and polished in manners—who was drawn towards the Dissenting pastor, though he had no affection for Dissent; if he smiled at the system, he liked some of the people. He lost largely on the Stock Exchange, but he bore it with much magnanimity. I was acquainted with some of the family, who were in prosperous circumstances, and who became my kind friends. I once met at their house with an old general—uncle to the Duchess of Gordon—who related a singular anecdote. He had been at the Eglinton Tournament, and, as the castle was crowded with guests, he and another person shared the same bedroom. That person was no other than the future Napoleon II. He kept his companion awake with talk about the French Empire and his uncle, declaring, that he was sure one day of sitting on his uncle’s throne. The ambitious dream filled his mind, and overflowed in his abundant chat; though then it seemed a most improbable imagination. The incident was related some time after the tournament, and before the Republic was established; and when I afterwards heard of Napoleon’s election to the presidentship, I saw it was by no means unlikely that the daring prophecy he had ventured, would come to pass. I have heard from other people that he often, when residing in London, talked in society of his coming elevation, as imperial ruler of the French. The uncle had seen beforehand the dazzling star of his destiny. His nephew did the same. There were people who fancied something supernatural in this, but it may be accounted for on natural principles.

Another story, of an amusing kind, I heard at a Chiswick garden party, to which I was taken by the kind friends at whose house I met the old Scotch soldier. Amongst personages of rank present at Chiswick were certain bishops, who had not dropped the old episcopal costume of a big wig, a most decidedly broad-brimmed clerical hat, and a conspicuous apron. Right Reverend brethren are still somewhat distinguished from other people, though some of them reduce the distinction within very restricted limits; forty or fifty years ago it was quite otherwise. They appeared then commonly—to use an undignified expression—in full jig, and as some occupants of the Bench passed by, in unmistakable array of the kind just noticed, a clergyman at the garden party now mentioned, told me of a prime minister, who used to remark, he thought, “Bishops well deserved all they got” (and it was much more then than it is now), “for allowing themselves to be dressed up, as such regular guys.”

Literature and art were pretty well represented in Kensington, at the period I speak of. Contributors to Punch—Mark Lemon, Gilbert a Becket, and others—were my neighbours, and with one of them I spent a pleasant evening. Gilbert a Becket during a few weeks, when the parish church underwent repairs, used pretty regularly to attend our chapel, and I was struck by his attentiveness and devotion. He expressed his readiness to spend a few hours with me, at a friend’s residence, only he stipulated that it should not be on an opera night; and when it was proposed to me I stipulated that it should not be on one of my service nights. Preliminaries being settled we accordingly met, and got on exceedingly well. What amuses me, as I think of it, is that, though I am not at all given to pun-making, the presence of a brilliant punster so inspired me, that I perpetrated one or two hits, which Becket pronounced very fair. Perhaps I may be forgiven by those who achieve pleasant things in that way, if I remark that there is something contagious in the practice; and it is difficult not to catch it, when in company with those who are imbued with the habit.

With another celebrity I came in contact through intimacy with his family, and his early connection with our place of worship. I allude to Justice Talfourd. When a young man he used to attend on Dr. Leifchild’s ministry, his father and mother being members of the Congregational Church at Kensington. His mother, whom I knew well, related anecdotes of his early days at home, and at Mill Hill School, where he had schoolfellows who afterwards distinguished themselves in the walks of Dissent. He wrote home about his companions and told his mother of prayer-meetings amongst the boys; and of one boy in particular, very imaginative, and florid on such occasions. This schoolfellow became afterwards an eloquent minister, well known as Dr. Hamilton of Leeds. The Judge told me of his early attachment to that gentleman, and how, during the doctor’s last visit to London, he went to hear him preach, and stepped into the vestry afterwards, to talk of old times; but the preacher had left, which was a great disappointment.There was a strong religious side to Judge Talfourd’s character, and he used to speak with much enthusiasm of my predecessor, Dr. Leifchild, whose preaching he said came up to his idea of the Apostle Paul’s ministry.

Amongst artists living in Kensington were two Academicians, Uwins and Philip, who both belonged to our congregation—the first a regular, the second an occasional, attendant. Philip’s wife—a beautiful woman, whom he introduced into some of his pictures—was a communicant with us at the Lord’s table. I often visited the artist’s studio, and listened to his picturesque description of Spain, and also to his accounts of family afflictions which elicited my sympathy.

From my boyhood I had taken an interest in art, and the friendship of several men distinguished in its cultivation was exceedingly instructive and pleasant. My travels on the Continent, which enabled me to visit most of the principal picture galleries,—rich in specimens by great masters,—educated and purified what little taste I had; and prompted me to somewhat extensive studies in artistic literature. These, blended with other habits of reading, I find an immense enjoyment in the leisure of my old age.Mr. Theed, the sculptor, and his family, who attended Kensington Chapel, were our intimate friends; and he told me much about Gibson, his companion in art, and intimate acquaintance for many years, when they resided at Rome. With the latter gentleman I became acquainted slightly when I was in Italy, and had a long talk with him once about tinting sculpture,—which he advocated with zeal, and practised with skill. I felt there was force in what he said. Another Kensington name,—that of Edward Corbould, the water-colourist,—may be coupled with my friend Theed’s. Each was connected with the other in artistic service to Her Majesty and family. I remember on the Sunday morning after the Prince Consort’s lamented death, missing both these gentlemen at Divine worship, in consequence of their being summoned to Windsor—one to take a cast, and the other to make a drawing of the good Prince’s face.

There was another group of hearers during the latter part of my Kensington ministry, to whom I was much attached. One of them, Cozens Hardy, M.P., who has won eminence in the legal profession, is son to the oldest friend I have. All now referred to are distinguished, not only by professional position, but by continued study in classical learning.I must not pass by “annals of the poor.” When I first went to Kensington, I was requested to visit an old shoemaker, crippled, and in humble circumstances, but with a good deal of natural politeness, the more striking from its surroundings. He had been a wild young fellow, daring to the last degree, and this was the cause of his incurable lameness. He was converted under the ministry of Dr. Leifchild. The preacher, in the course of a sermon, related an anecdote of Mr. Cecil, who previous to his becoming decidedly religious narrowly escaped with life, when thrown by his horse across the track of a waggon, which in passing only crushed his hat. The incident struck the listener. It resembled his own experience, and riveted his attention, preparing him to listen to the preacher’s appeals. He became an exemplary Christian; and I often sat by his bedside to hear him describe the wondrous change wrought in his character, by Divine grace. “I am a wonder unto many,” he used to say; and then, with faltering voice, would sing the old hymn—

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.”

This was not the only case in which the humbler members of the Church were a comfort to me. Often my heart was cheered by communications made by them, touching spiritual life. Such communications were perfectly artless, and arose from the absence of that reserve which, in the upper class, is the result of educational refinement. This circumstance often prevents a free revelation of what cultured people think and feel on the subject of religion. I have frequently noticed it, and never inferred, from delicacy touching soul secrets, any want of that which rises to the surface, and overflows in ready words, when uneducated people speak of their Christian experience.

I cannot omit a reference to the Gurney family, with some of whom I came into pleasant connection during my Kensington residence. As a boy, I had some knowledge of their ancestral relatives; and now I came into close friendship with Mr. Bell, brother to Mrs. John Gurney, who was mother to Samuel Gurney, the renowned London Quaker, and also to Joseph John Gurney, of Earlham, near Norwich—an equally renowned banker, and also a Public Friend, as preachers of that denomination then were wont to be called. Mr. Bell had become one of my hearers and a communicant, much to his spiritual benefit, as he and his family informed me. He was a chatty old gentleman, and used to talk of his sister, Priscilla Wakefield, of Miss Schemmelpenninck, and of Samuel Taylor Coleridge—whom he met at the house of his friend Gilman, resident in Highgate. Through frequent vivid references to these celebrities, whom I knew by their writings and by report, I came to have a sort of personal acquaintance with them. Thus they became, more than ever, living realities. Besides this, I came to have a slight personal knowledge of Mr. Samuel Gurney, just mentioned, the well-known bill-broker, and also of Mrs. Fry, his sister, who did so much good as a prison visitor. Mr. Gurney was a stately person, with a benign countenance, and a musical voice rich in persuasive tones. The mental anxiety he felt during money panics, not only on his own account, but also from sympathy with others, was such, that he was known to spend sleepless nights pacing his chamber. Mrs. Fry was as dignified as her brother, and I now in imagination see her in her becoming Quaker garb, as she talked to me about her nephew Bell, and spoke gratefully of the benefit he had derived from my ministry. The younger Mr. Samuel Gurney came to live at Prince’s Gate, Kensington, and used to worship with us occasionally. At his table I met with the Bunsens, and other remarkable friends and relatives of his. He told me that at any time when I needed, in Christian work, pecuniary help, I might apply to him without hesitation. The crash on “Black Friday” was a terrible trial, as it made him, after being one of the richest of London citizens, dependent on his relatives. I wrote to him words of condolence, to which he beautifully replied, saying that he trusted the tribulation which had befallen him would be for his spiritual welfare. His excellent wife bore up nobly, and the two afforded admirable instances of Christian patience and resignation.