CHAPTER V
1843–1850
I was quite satisfied with my position at Windsor and had no thoughts of leaving it, when Dr. Vaughan of Kensington accepted the principalship of Lancashire College, and at the same time overtures were made by his Church to me that I should succeed him in the vacant pastorate. I can truly say that my desires were on the side of remaining where I was. I only wished to know the Divine Master’s will. I felt unwilling to accept what looked like preferment; but after visiting Kensington and preaching there, the path before me appeared pretty plain. I accepted the call I received. “It seems like a dream,” I wrote to my predecessor. “Yes,” he replied; “but it is like Joseph’s—a dream from the Lord.”
It was a curious coincidence that the Church at Windsor and the Church at Kensington were both in their origin connected with a coachman in the service of George III. His name was Saunders, and he enjoyed his royal master’s confidence. They used to talk together about religion, and, encouraged by the King’s good opinion, the servant put tracts in the carriage pocket; and when His Majesty had read them he asked for more. As the royal residence was sometimes in town, and sometimes at Windsor, the home of Saunders varied accordingly, and he felt an interest in both neighbourhoods, especially as it regarded the humbler class. He probably caught the revivalist spirit prevalent a hundred years ago, and did what he could to gather people together for religious impression. In this way a room called “The Hole in the Wall” came to be the cradle of Windsor Congregationalism; and a “humble dwelling,” mentioned by the Kensington historian, was birthplace to the congregation which afterwards assembled in Hornton Street. “When the faithful servant begged permission, on account of age, to retire from His Majesty’s service, that he might reside at Kensington, it was not without an expression of regret on the part of the monarch; but the request was granted, and as often as the King afterwards passed through the place he took the most kind and condescending notice of his coachman.” [77]
In “Poems by John Moultrie,” there occur these lines—
“I have a son, a third sweet son, his age I cannot tell,
For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell.”
During the first three years of my Kensington residence, there were three little children taken from us, and translated to that mysterious world, where our time reckonings are lost in an incomprehensible eternity. Altogether six children were brought with us from Windsor; and to these were added five more in the first few years after our removal—making the domestic flock at the time I speak of eleven. Of that number only four remain on earth at this time, [78]—a fact which tells of joy, and of much sorrow, at the hands of our Heavenly Father. Three were taken from us between 1843 and 1849.
During my Windsor life I began to take a deep interest in the writings of Dr. Arnold, and afterwards, when his Life appeared, written by his admiring pupil, Dr. Stanley, that interest increased. As I read these memoirs I little thought that I should share in the Biographer’s friendship; and my admiration of the two men was so deep that I attribute any improvement in my mind and character since, greatly to their combined influence. Through life I have been more than ordinarily benefited by their works, and as to the Master of Rugby School, I have always been eager to learn what I could from any Rugby pupils I happened to know. At this moment there comes to my recollection an anecdote related by a friend who had been a Rugby boy. He told me that some accident happened at chapel in the upsetting of Bibles or prayer-books, and their fall from the gallery created much disturbance. Boys who were suspected of having a share in causing what happened were called up by the Master, and my informant was of the number. He told me that Dr. Arnold trusted a boy who denied any offence of which he was accused until clear proof appeared to the contrary. This was designed to keep up mutual confidence. In the instance under notice the boy accused felt sure that Dr. Arnold was not satisfied with the denial; yet he allowed the matter to pass, because he would promote confidence between master and pupil. The anecdote confirms what I have since read. He was never on the watch for boys, and he so encouraged straightforward and manly action, in trivial as in great things, that there grew up a general feeling, that “It was a shame to tell Arnold a lie, for he always believed one.” [80]
Kensington, at the time of which I speak, was famous for its number of ladies’ schools, and in them several daughters of Nonconformist parents were receiving their education. They formed an interesting part of my congregation, and my pastoral relation to them prepared for lifelong friendships. Of this group of families were the Dawsons of Lancaster, the Rawsons of Leeds, the Cheethams of Staleybridge, and the Sharmans of Wellingborough. With all of them I became intimate, and their friendships have proved no small comfort to me in later life. Parents of these families were distinguished by usefulness in many ways. Mr. Rawson was the well-known gifted hymn-writer; and Mr. Cheetham was M.P., and took an active part in the repeal of the Corn Laws. Daughters of these gentlemen were under my ministerial care while pupils at Kensington, and afterwards became earnest Christian workers in different ways, and their continued affection is a comfort to me in my old age. A son of Mr. Dawson married a daughter of Mr. Rawson, and immediately they went to China for mission work; but the broken-down health of the husband compelled his speedy return to England. He is now doing good work as one of the London City Mission secretaries.
In connection with Kensington, I would further mention other helpers: Mr. and Mrs. Coombs of Clapham were so. Mr. Coombs helped me especially by a large donation to the fund for building my new chapel. In other ways I was brought into relation with him. He was Treasurer of New College, and an active member of the British and Foreign Bible Society, the Religious Tract Society, and the London Missionary Society. His intelligence, aptitude for conversation, and kind-hearted intercourse made his friendship a privilege of more than ordinary value. It was intensified by his family relationship to some of my Kensington flock, the Salters and the Talfourds, whom I shall mention elsewhere in these reminiscences. Amidst preaching and pastoral work, it was a relief to spend a short holiday under Mr. Coombs’ hospitable roof at Clapham, where I found a large collection of books. He died before I left Kensington, but my friendship with his wife and daughter continued till they died.
Archdeacon Sinclair, who had accepted the vicarage just before I removed to Kensington, paid me a visit of welcome, and thus laid a foundation for subsequent intercourse. He was son of the well-known Sir John Sinclair, and brother of the authoress, Catherine Sinclair. All the family were remarkably tall. The Archdeacon was a man of eminent culture, and of extensive aristocratic connections. His great-grandmother, though a loyalist, was the noted lady who aided in the escape of Prince Charlie, after the battle of Culloden. This same ancestress lay buried in Kensington Church, in front of the pulpit. Archdeacon Sinclair was well read in theology, widely acquainted with the controversies of the day, and a thoroughly orthodox Churchman; also rich in family and Scotch traditions. He told me the MSS. of David Hume came into his hands, and from perusal of them he was confirmed in his suspicion, that the celebrated historian and philosopher had no deep convictions of any kind, but only played with subjects he handled, doubtful about his own doubts.