The year 1862, being the Bicentenary of the Bartholomew ejectment, was largely given by English Nonconformists to a remembrance of the confessorship and heroism which marked the ejectment of ministers in 1662. A meeting was held in the spring at St. James’s Hall, Piccadilly, when papers were read, bearing on the commemoration. The preparation of one of them fell to my lot; but I was taken ill at the time for its delivery, and it had to be read by my friend, the Rev. Joshua Clarkson Harrison. A story is told of Garrick’s reading a poem of Hannah More’s, before a party of friends, when the effect produced was by Garrick attributed to the lady’s composition, and by the lady to the reader’s elocution. Whatever might be the impression made at St. James’s Hall on the reading of the paper, it was divided between my friend and me, after the same fashion. In this address I advocated a Bartholomew celebration, on the ground, that it was good to remember sacrifices made for conscience’ sake, and therefore professed my readiness to honour Jeremy Taylor as well as Richard Baxter. This brought a letter from the Bishop of Down and Connor testing my sincerity by an appeal on behalf of an Irish cathedral restoration in memory of Jeremy Taylor. I sent a small contribution, which brought back a pleasant response, such as I highly valued. Afterwards I met him at the AthenÆum, when he invited me to visit him, with a view to Christian union in Ireland. I should add that the Bishop’s scheme for the cathedral restoration failed, and he politely returned my small contribution.

In the autumn of 1862, I read a paper to the Congregational Assembly, in which I advocated certain methods of improvement. This subject I took up afterwards, with no result, however, that I could discover. The faults of other systems are always more welcome than the reformation of our own.

In 1863 we were visited by a family bereavement which was one of the heaviest sorrows of my life. John Howard Stoughton, born at Windsor in 1842, was a lad of extraordinary character, witty and artistic beyond his brothers and sisters, who loved him with no ordinary love. His love of art led us to place the youth under Mr. Thomas, a distinguished sculptor and decorator, largely employed in works at Windsor Castle. Our boy devoted himself to his pursuits with an assiduity which created much anxiety in his mother and in me, for it evidently injured his health. In the spring of 1861 we took him to Hastings, and Dr. Moore, an eminent physician there, carefully studied his case, and, as the result, advised that his artistic pursuits should be for awhile suspended, and that he should travel abroad, where he would see and learn much, without tasking his physical power. Accordingly, in the summer of 1861, he visited the Continent with his elder brother and me, went up and down the Rhine, and saw pictures, statues, and decorations, which interested his mind without overtasking his bodily strength. In the following autumn he was better, and under medical advice we arranged that, in company with one of his sisters, he should spend the winter in Rome. They did so accordingly, and our hopes were raised; but in the spring he had an attack, which rendered it advisable that he should remove from Rome to some other part of Italy. He did so, and paid a visit to friends in Leghorn. I left home with another of my daughters and two nieces, joining my children where they were staying; thence I accompanied them, on a pleasant tour through Florence, over the Apennines, and, by way of Bologna, Milan, and the Alps, to Geneva. Thence we came home through France. We returned in good spirits; but, as winter approached, fears reawakened. Gradually the invalid became weaker; but faith in the Invisible and Divine Father grew stronger and stronger. The youth spent with us a cheerful Christmas; but in spring it was obvious he was not long for this world. As the end approached he talked calmly on the subject with his beloved brother, the two being united in bonds of Christian faith, as well as natural affection. I can never forget the Holy Communion we—mother, father, brother, and sisters—enjoyed in a room overlooking our garden, when bursting buds told of nature’s returning life, and the dear sufferer bore unmistakable signs of approaching death. But he was calm and cheerful, and took deep interest in the gracious ordinance. It was administered with solemnity by our dear friend Harrison, who loved Howard as though he had been his own son. He expired on March 31st, 1863, and on the following Sunday evening my brother just named preached a memorable funeral sermon in Kensington Chapel.

In 1864 Dr. Stanley became Dean of Westminster, and on his expressing a wish to be introduced to some Nonconformist brethren, Dr. William Smith—editor of so many valuable dictionaries, and with whom I was then associated in the business of New College—kindly gave a dinner party to which he invited me. The Dean afterwards finding there was between us some similarity of taste in literature, and sympathy in desires for union, invited me to the Deanery; and so began a friendship with him and Lady Augusta, which lasted as long as they lived, and proved one of the most precious privileges vouchsafed to me, by the providence of our Heavenly Father. On December 28th, 1865, “the Feast of the Holy Innocents”—the Dean preached a sermon in Westminster Abbey. The sermon was in commemoration of the Abbey’s foundation by Edward the Confessor eight hundred years before. The text was felicitously chosen from John x. 22, 23,—“It was the feast of the Dedication, and it was winter, and Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon’s porch.” “Feast of the Dedication” corresponded with the character of the service; “winter” was the season of both celebrations; the northern porch—a main entrance to the Abbey—is called “Solomon’s porch.” The sermon was not less appropriate than the text. It sketched the history of the venerable edifice, and contained marked allusions to Nonconformist ministrations within its walls during the Commonwealth. Being present on the occasion, I wrote to the Dean afterwards in reference to his allusions, when, in reply, he said, “It gave me additional pleasure to deliver them, from the reflection that there was at least one person present capable of entering into them.” In the sermon, as delivered, he spoke of the Westminster Confession as the only one ever imposed in the whole Island, and on my calling his attention to this statement, and pointing out the distinction between the doctrinal and ecclesiastical part of the Confession, he answered, “I was not ignorant of the distinction, nor did I mean to say it was imposed in any offensive sense. For I was anxious not to say a word that could be offensive to any of my brethren, and merely wished to call attention to the fact, that a document, which had received in part a wider legal recognition than any other since the Reformation, came from Westminster Abbey.” In the sermon, as printed, are the words “sanctioned by law for the whole Island,” and in a note, “The doctrinal Articles of the Westminster Confession of Faith (were) sanctioned by the English Parliament in 1647, and the whole Confession by the Scottish Parliament in 1648.”

In further illustration of the Dean’s ingenuity when turning Scripture to account in the improvement of events, I may here repeat what he once related to me. He happened on a Saturday to be preparing a sermon for the Abbey, on some occasion when he was to plead for two objects, and had chosen for his text Gen. xxvii. 38—“And Esau said unto his father, hast thou but one blessing my father? Bless me, even me also, O my father.” As the Dean was writing his discourse, some one stepped in and told him, the American President, General Grant, intended to be at the Abbey the next day, and suggested that it would be gratifying to Americans if some allusion was made to the incident. Immediately it was turned to account by the Dean in this way—that God had many blessings which He distributed amongst his children; that bounty to one did not mean denial to another; that Great Britain, for instance, had been blessed, but God had rich benefactions for America as well.

For years I felt an earnest desire to visit the East, and thus to become personally acquainted with Bible lands. A meeting was held in 1865 to present me with a purse of £400, and a pledge that expenses incurred through my absence from Kensington should be met, without any pecuniary responsibilities on my part. The friends who accompanied me were Dr. Allon, of Union Chapel, Islington, Dr. Spence, of the Poultry Chapel, London, Dr. Bright, minister of the Independent Chapel, Dorking, and two young lay friends—Stanley Kemp-Welch and Thomas Wilson. The Dean of Westminster gave me introductions to people he knew in Palestine, and afforded valuable assistance in other ways.

We started in February 1865. I kept a journal and sent home long letters. We visited Alexandria and Cairo, and then proceeded through the desert of Sinai to the monastery at the foot of Jebel Mousa. Turning north, we made our way to Gaza, thence to Ramleh, and so onwards to Jerusalem. The members of our little party, as we approached the city on horseback, rode at a considerable distance from each other. I knew that we should cross some ridges, before we caught sight of the city, and I happened to be in the rear of my fellow-travellers. I watched the foremost of them till I saw him pull up his horse, pause awhile, then take off his hat. I knew what that meant, and the feelings awakened I can never forget while I live. I eagerly, and I may say reverently, followed the foremost horseman, and as soon as I caught sight of the walls and the gate, I am not ashamed to say, my eyes were full of tears.

As we entered the Holy City the bustle was very great. Bedouins with yellow scarves round their heads, and striped robes on their shoulders; Syrians with snowy turbans, short jackets, and flowing trousers; Turks wearing the crimson fez; a rich man “clothed in purple and fine linen,” mounted on a smartly caparisoned white ass, and a poor man on foot, ragged and tattered; camels and donkeys carrying loads of timber and brushwood, to the peril of wayfarers; Egyptian, Copt, Armenian, Greek, the black Nubian, the white Circassian, with groups of veiled women, shuffling over the stones in gay slippers—all these made a motley picture, which dazzled the attention of pilgrims from England. At length we reached our hotel, and had to make ladder-like ascents, and mount on roofs, story after story, before we could get to our apartments, whence we caught our first view of Mount Olivet.

We met with Christian friends in the Holy City, and were kindly invited by Dr. Gobat, Bishop of Jerusalem, to spend an evening at his house, when he gathered together a party consisting of the principal foreign visitors at the time, most of whom were English. For two Sunday mornings we worshipped at the church on Mount Zion, near the Episcopal residence, and were glad of an opportunity to partake of the Communion. I have always delighted in fellowship at the Lord’s table with Christian brethren of different churches, who, under different forms of administration, worship and adore the same Lord. Not only when travelling on the Continent have I received the Lord’s Supper at the hands of Episcopalian brethren, but in England, on a few occasions I have availed myself of a similar catholic privilege.

Before proceeding further, let me relate a story I heard from Dr. Rosen, the German consul, respecting the famous Sinaitic MS. Tischendorf had reason to believe a precious treasure was hid in the monastery at Sinai. He obtained letters which he thought would assist him, but, on further consideration, declined to employ them. He found in the library part of his coveted prize; and, it happened at that moment, the office of Okonomos was vacant, and a keen contest for it was going on between two monks. He joined one party, and promised to use influence with the Russian Emperor in favour of their candidate, hinting that the present of a valuable MS. would promote their object. After a good deal of diplomacy this plan prospered. The MS. coveted by the scholar was secured, and the once hopeless candidate was installed in office. This was not all. The MS. was incomplete, and the missing part was found by Tischendorf in the possession of a Greek merchant. The promise of a Russian title proved more effectual than gold, and Tischendorf carried off his prize to St. Petersburg in triumph. I jotted down the story the evening Dr. Rosen related it, and here in a few words have I given the substance.

Of course we explored Jerusalem as far as our limited time allowed; and, under the guidance of Dr. Rosen, I had the privilege of visiting certain spots where recent discoveries had been made. I remember seeing what looked like indications of a well, from which, it was easy to imagine, people, in our Lord’s time, used to draw water. Nor can I forget rambles on the line of walls commanding views of the city and neighbourhood. I can now distinctly recall my visit to a sepulchre outside the city, where a stone, like a large millstone, was lying at the door, as if recently “rolled away.” I studied (as well as time, and what I had read on the subject, would allow), the question as to the place of crucifixion, and where our blessed Lord rose from the dead. Points still remain to be settled, as to the direction in which the city wall ran in the time of Christ. I cannot adopt any modern theories on the whole subject, which have made way in America and in England. It appears to me after long study, that grounds can still be maintained in support of the old tradition in favour of the spot where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre stands. We made a memorable excursion to Bethlehem, by way of Rachel’s sepulchre, and descended the cave where, it is said, our Lord was born. We next proceeded to Hebron, where I stood by a flight of steps leading to the tombs within, longing to ascend and explore those hallowed resting places. Returning northwards, we stopped at the traditional oak, by which Abraham sat in the heat of the day—and at the vineyards of Eschol where old stocks are thriving still—and at Solomon’s pool and gardens, not far from David’s hiding-places. Then, after a long and exciting day, we found rest in the old monastery of S. Saba, from the terrace of which, we caught a view of the Dead Sea. We rambled on its melancholy shores, dipped in the Jordan, and then spent a night by the ruins of Jericho.

The order of our journey followed Dr. Stanley’s directions, that we might have the advantage of crossing Olivet, so as to come suddenly on the point where our Lord “beheld the city and wept over it.” From Jerusalem we proceeded northwards by Bethel, Sychar, Samaria, Esdraelon, and Nazareth, to Tiberias and the Lake. Thence by Safed we travelled over the hills of Galilee to Banias (“the Syrian Tivoli”), Damascus, and Beyrout. Banias is a charming spot. With the scenery from a hill overlooking Damascus I was charmed beyond measure, and was intensely interested in the antiquities of that grand old city. Dr. Allon, Dr. Bright and Mr. Wilson visited the ruins at Baalbec, but Mr. Kemp-Welch remained with me in Damascus to take care of Dr. Spence, who was very ill. He had to be leisurely taken over the mountains to Beyrout, approaching which we had never-to-be-forgotten views of the beautiful Mediterranean.

After leaving Palestine I wrote in my notes the following impression as to the Bible, which had been a constant companion and guide in our travels:—It is the Book of the Holy Land—the gospel of Palestine. It is Oriental; it is Syrian; it is Samaritan; it is Galilean; it is Jewish. It paints the scenery of the Land of Promise from end to end, and the wilderness too. It echoes the voices of the people. We hear in it the murmur of towns and villages, we pass through; it breathes the pure, fresh, bracing air of the desert; everywhere as I opened the Divine pages I found them reflecting surrounding scenes. Even the brilliant Frenchman, who has tasked his genius to demolish the authentic life of Jesus and to build out of the ruins an imagination of his own, virtually admits the truth of what I have now advanced, for he points out the minute accuracy of the Volume; which shows how true in detail are the Gospels, how faithful to rock and stream, river and lake, tree and wild flower, is the entire narrative. Thus, after all he says to the contrary, he really raises in the reader’s mind a fair presumption of its fidelity in higher matters.

One circumstance struck me as very noticeable—that is, the compression, within a small compass, of a number of stirring incidents related in Holy Writ. Dothan, where Joseph sought his brethren and their flocks; the plain of Megiddo, the battle-field of Israel; the river Kishon, “that ancient river,” so fatal to Sisera’s army; the valley of Jezreel, with its wide panorama, where Ahab had a palace; the heights of Gilboa, where fell Saul and his sons, with the well of Harod at the foot, where Gideon’s three hundred men stooped and lapped the water; the garden of the Shunamite, opposite to Mount Carmel; the city of Nain and the cave of Endor; Tabor and Nazareth—all these spots come within a few hours’ ride. Well might Issachar think “that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant.”

Our party began to separate at Beyrout. Dr. Spence, accompanied by Mr. Wilson, returned direct to England; the rest of us came home through Europe.

In crossing the Mediterranean with Dr. Allon and Kemp-Welch we touched at Cyprus. The coast looked flat and uninteresting, but the bright morning, the sparkling sea, and the manifold associations attaching to the islands inspired great curiosity and deep interest, though I felt by no means well. I began to be conscious that my appetite for travelling had somewhat palled, if not become almost dead. We landed at Larnaca, and found it a very poor place. The Greek churches were somewhat curious, from the circumstance of old columns with characteristic capitals being built into the walls. I noticed Greek priests sitting in wine shops, and some of them occupying places of traffic, selling different articles in huckster-like hovels. These men indicated the social degradation of inferior orders in the Eastern Church. However it may be with the dignified clergy in Russia, certainly priests in Palestine, Syria and the Mediterranean Isles afford low types of civilisation. After dwelling on what is related about Cyprus in the Acts of the Apostles, the conversion of Sergius Paulus, and the conduct of Elymas the sorcerer, became very real narratives; and with these memories in our minds we re-embarked and had a pleasant evening as we sat on deck. I fell asleep with the prospect of reaching Rhodes the next day.

The harbour, with its well-known mole and adjuncts, is very picturesque. We climbed up narrow streets, full of houses once occupied by the knights, and from the fortification, had an extensive view of the island and the Mediterranean. The Church of St. John, blown up by gunpowder, and shattered to fragments, seized on my imagination for a good while, as I wandered, and sat down on a spot, so rich in romantic story. We then returned to the interior of the town, and at the harbour watched the boatmen, busy at the seaside. As we were doing so, one of my companions exclaimed, “Stoughton, you’ve got the jaundice!” and, sure enough, when we reached our steamer, the looking-glass proved this was true. When I rose next morning my limbs were of a saffron colour.

The weather changed. The sky was dark, and the views we caught of Asia were by no means inviting. At night there came a storm; and a storm in the Mediterranean is no trifling matter. Wind roared through the rigging; the vessel lurched and laboured, groaning as if the timbers would burst. Lying in my berth I could feel the dashing billows. Tables and stools were sliding about. The suspended lamps swayed to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock. Overhead confusion was terrible. Horses were kicking, and the sailors were swearing. We had a pasha with his harem on board, and, as might be expected, they were exceedingly terrified. Crowds of pilgrims returning from the Eastern celebration at Jerusalem, were lying on deck resembling herrings in a barrel, and the noise they made was terrific. Waves beat over our boat, till the poor creatures were almost drowned. Beside we had horses, bears and monkeys on board, and, of course, they added to the inharmonious concert. I rose from my hammock early, and with my companion, Mr. Welch, sought comfort from a cup of tea. Reaching the deck, I talked with one of the engineers, an Englishman, and asked what he thought of the storm. “Is there any danger?” I asked. He replied, “This has been a very queer night, and we have made no way. If it had lasted, that would have been serious.” We safely reached Smyrna harbour in the afternoon.

Of course, I thought as we approached land:—There, on one of the hills yonder, the martyr, Polycarp, by death sealed the truths which he had proclaimed in life. As we landed, I thought myself in an Italian port, so European at a glance everything looked—houses, shops, and people—but, entering the town, the scene changed, for there the streets, bazaars, and costumes told of Oriental manners and customs. The next day a party was organised to visit the ruins of Ephesus. It can be reached by railway, and when we entered the station, we might have fancied ourselves at home; for there we met with English guards, and railway porters, like our own. We had a special train to convey us to the far-famed ruins. We visited what is left of the forum, the theatre, and the stadium, but it is difficult to identify anything; and it seemed to me, a definite idea of what Ephesus was in its glory is impossible. The view from the loftiest eminence is magnificent, including the vast plain, the winding river Cayster, and what, in Paul’s day was the harbour of Miletus. At the time of our visit, Greek Christians were celebrating the Festival of St. John, on a lofty hill, the church there being a rude-looking structure. The cave of the seven sleepers was pointed out, on our way back to the railway station, and by the cave is a beautiful mosque of the fifteenth century.

On Saturday morning we embarked at Smyrna for Constantinople. We faintly discerned in the far distance, as we crossed those classic waters, point after point closely connected with ancient story. Of course, all the way, amidst Homeric scenes and associations, we called them to mind by Homer’s help; but the thought of St. John’s labours, his epistles, to the seven churches in the Apocalypse, more prominently occupied one’s mind on the Lord’s day, when we had worship in the saloon, and I preached, as well as I could, to a few sympathetic fellow-passengers.

On Monday morning early, we reached the Golden Horn, filled with shipping. Caiques were quietly gliding over still waters; but we were troubled at the Custom House by an ignorant soldier, who laid hold upon my “Homer” and detained it for two or three days.

Kemp-Welch was the only member of our party left, the rest proceeding homeward by another route. I made the most of what was possible during the four days spent at Constantinople. My friend and I followed the circuit of the city on horseback; through Stamboul, which appeared very Oriental, ruinous and dirty—through lines of cypresses, near cemeteries with turbaned headstones; and so, all round, till we reached the sweet waters. There we tarried a while, looking at the gardens, and their summer houses, called kiosks. The place is a resort like Hampton Court. Thence we returned to the city. Next day we crossed the Golden Horn, and saw the Sultan’s seraglio, attached to which are more gardens and more kiosks. The place contains a library full of Arabic MSS., and a throne room, with the Sultan’s divan, surmounted with a baldacchino. There His Majesty used to hold his court, attended by janissaries, and was screened from the view of subjects, except that his hands were visible. The Sublime Porte is the grand entrance to the room of audience for ambassadors from other courts.

We visited the arsenal with its ammunition, muskets, and swords. The building, it is said, was in the fourth century a church—the Church of S. Irene, where Chrysostom preached some of his wonderful sermons—and it has still in the apse an antique cross. But the grand ecclesiastical edifice of Constantinople is S. Sophia, with columns brought from Ephesus, and representations of four cherubim with their faces obliterated. A legend is preserved to this effect, that when Constantinople was taken by the Turks, a priest was saying mass—immediately a chasm opened in the wall and received him. There he still remains, chalice in hand, waiting to finish the service, when Christians recover the ancient edifice.

But I must not enter into further details of what I saw and heard during my short stay at Constantinople. I was now left alone, as my only remaining companion was obliged to return home by a different route.

Let me add in closing this part of my story, that the banks of the Bosphorus on which I gazed, as I left Constantinople, surpassed previous imagination. The gardens and kiosks by the waterside, looked paradisaical; and as we steamed along I was enchanted, one instant after another, by objects on the shore. All the way to the Black Sea was delightful. Then surroundings changed. Travellers, landed to find themselves amidst indescribable confusion. Thence we proceeded by rail across a dreary district, without trees, and abounding in shallow sheets of stagnant water, with plenty of storks, Egyptian geese, and other wild birds. Still, within the region crossed, there were fields of grain. We reached our steamer on the Danube, between six and seven o’clock on Friday evening.

We found the great river improve as we ascended it. At first we had low banks dotted with mosques and minarets, showing we were still in Turkey. On board the boat I was treated as an invalid, and the attention shown by captain, crew, and servants, was such as to inspire the warmest gratitude on my part.

The scenery on the banks of the Danube, in the earlier part of our voyage up the river, was very magnificent—rocks rising loftily from the water’s edge on one bank, but low on the other. We passed richly wooded scenery, and caught glimpses of pleasant glens, with running streams and picturesque bridges. Further on were comfortable farm-houses and smiling villages. We reached Pesth on Tuesday, travelling by rail, and then proceeded, in the same way, to Vienna, where I tarried for a couple of days—seeing the magnificent cathedral, the vaults of the Capuchin Church, the Prater, the Royal Palace, and the Picture Galleries. Travelling across Germany by rail I reached the Rhine, thence to Brussels, where I was entertained by my nieces then on a visit there. At last I found two dear daughters waiting at the Victoria Station, and at Fairlawn House, Hammersmith, there was a loving welcome.

At the conclusion of my narrative of Eastern travel, let me remark. What one sees in travelling through Palestine gives vividness to the narrative—makes what before were pale outlines, pictures of glowing colour and dazzling light. I do not forget the danger there is of being too much engaged with what is outward in Biblical studies—tarrying in the porch instead of worshipping in the temple—lingering by the hedge to gather flowers instead of pressing into the field to cut down corn—playing the geologist, instead of working as spiritual miners—finding out what is curious as to literature, instead of appropriating “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” But still, what I gathered in the East is precious, and may minister to spiritual edification, as well as to mental enjoyment. How marvellous it is that whilst the Bible is so Eastern—while Oriental manners, customs, and scenery are photographed there, it is nevertheless an universal book! The Koran is not so Eastern as the Bible; at least, so it struck me, as I read it in the East; yet the Bible is the Englishman’s book as the Koran could not be, even if we were all Mussulmans.

Specially forcible and beautiful were the impressions we derived touching the life of Christ; we felt how toilsome were his journeys as He walked along the rough and rugged pathways from Jericho to Jerusalem, over which we rode. How humiliating must have been his intercourse with the poor, who, no doubt, then lived in wretched mud hovels, such as we saw, not only in Palestine, but in Egypt; types of domestic habitation for the lower classes in ages past! We thought: Through such collections of “houses of clay” did He pass! Here did He tarry, and within such abodes! Not one of them was His own; He had not where to lay His head.