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.