Cambridge, October 7th, 1873.
“My dear Sir,
“I have this morning had the pleasure of receiving your friendly note, and hasten to say how much I regret that absence prevented me from seeing you when you were in Cambridge.
“We should have lived over again that bright summer afternoon at Mrs. Fuller Maitland’s, which I so well remember, and you would have told me of many friends whom I should like to hear of again.
“Perhaps I may still have the pleasure of seeing you before you return to England. If not, I beg you to present to Mr. and Mrs. Maitland my best regards and most cordial remembrance of their kindness and hospitality.
“With greatest esteem,
“I am, my dear sir,
“Yours truly,
“Henry W. Longfellow.”
Mr. and Mrs. Fuller Maitland, members of a well-known old Nonconformist family, were members of my church at Kensington; and at their house I used to meet distinguished and interesting people. The occasion referred to in the foregoing letter made upon me a most pleasant impression. A large company had assembled to greet the American poet, and there was plenty of handshaking, which I feared would rather weary him, especially as so many of us were total strangers; but he assured me that I was quite mistaken, and that it gratified him much to be surrounded by so large a party, composed of those whom he regarded as English friends. Americans are in some respects more cosmopolitan and genial in new society, than Englishmen, and I was struck with this repeatedly in my transatlantic trip. I was quite affected with the kindness met with everywhere. Among those who showed special courtesy were some of the well-known Abbot family, and other professors at Yale, Andover, and Princeton, as well as at Harvard, and Mr. Winthrop, of Boston fame. Before I conclude this account of my American tour, one more incident remains to be mentioned. At some of the meetings in New York, I met with an intelligent and interesting Quaker. I found he was acquainted with Friends in England, and in the course of conversation mention was made of the Gurneys, when he informed me that Mrs. Gurney, widow of Joseph John Gurney, of Earlham, was residing in the vicinity of Burlington, in New Jersey. She was an American lady who became the wife of the Norwich philanthropist, and retired to her own country after her husband’s death. Finding that I knew Mr. Gurney, his widow was informed of the circumstance, and presently I received a kind invitation to visit her at her own residence. My friend and I, after a pleasant journey, reached the outskirts of Burlington, and were welcomed by our hostess at a handsome house with picturesque surroundings. We had much conversation about Earlham, and I was shown into a comfortable library stocked with books, brought from the Hall which I had seen in my boyhood. She told me about a visit which Mr. Forster, father of the distinguished politician, had paid her, not very long before,—a visit speedily followed by his death, and interment in the neighbourhood. On the walls of the drawing-room I noticed a facsimile of the famous letter written to Mrs. Gurney, by President Lincoln, respecting the great war going on, in which the question of negro slavery was so inextricably involved. She and some other ladies had been favoured with a special interview on the subject of emancipation, and it was to this interview, and its associations that the facsimile referred. She asked, if I should like to have a copy of it, and then not being able at the moment to find what she sought, she took down the framed copy and presented it to me as a memorial of my visit. I carefully brought it to England, and as it is not known here, as it is in America, I subjoin the contents, showing the importance which Abraham Lincoln attached to the conversation of the zealous Quaker on the occasion mentioned.
“Eliza P. Gurney.
“My Esteemed Friend,—I have not forgotten, probably never shall forget, the very impressive occasion when yourself and friends visited me on a Sabbath forenoon two years ago. Nor has your kind letter, written nearly a year later, ever been forgotten. In all, it has been your purpose to strengthen my reliance on God. I am much indebted to the good Christian people of the country for their constant prayers and consolations; and to no one of them more than to yourself. The purposes of the Almighty are perfect and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in advance. We hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before this, but God knows best and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet acknowledge His wisdom and our own error therein. Meanwhile we must work earnestly in the best light He gives us, trusting that so working, still conduces to the great end He ordains. Surely He intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion, which no mortal could make, and no mortal could stay.
“Your people—the Friends—have had, and are having, a very great trial. On principle and faith, opposed to both war and oppression, they can only practically oppose oppression by war. In this hard dilemma some have chosen one horn, and some the other. For those appealing to me on conscientious grounds, I have done, and shall do, the best I could, and can, in my own conscience under my oath to the laws. That you believe this I doubt not, and believing it, I shall still receive, for our country and myself, your earnest prayers to our Father in Heaven.
“Your sincere Friend,
“A. Lincoln.”
CHAPTER XI
1874–1875
In the year 1874 I lost my old friend, Thomas Binney. His pre-eminent position amongst Dissenters was attested by copious notices in newspapers, and, by the scene at his funeral. That position arose from several causes—his character, abilities, pulpit popularity, and personal appearance, manifold and far-reaching sympathies, and a genial nature, characteristic of the best Englishmen. His influence in the Congregational denomination throughout the country was aided by the central position of the Weigh-House when London was different from what it is now; [230] by strangers from the provinces who flocked there as to a centre; by visits to various parts of the country at Nonconformist festivals; and by the transfer of so many members of his Church to other congregations throughout the land. Nor do I forget how his name came to be known, beyond that of any other of our ministers, throughout the British colonies, owing to his being the father and founder of the Colonial Missionary Society, and the guide and counsellor of many youths going to seek their fortune in America or the South Seas. Still further was his popularity owing to a visit he paid some years ago to Australia. Also, when I was in Canada, I often heard of a less public visit paid to that country at an earlier period.
Amongst the many subjects in which my friend felt interested, was that of improvement in conducting Nonconformist worship; he gave his views respecting it in an appendix to a work on Liturgies, by the Rev. E. H. Baird of New York. I refer to this subject particularly, because to a considerable extent I sympathised with him; not, however, in consequence of his arguments, but from previous convictions, which, during late years, have become stronger than ever. The authority for excluding all liturgical worship from our places of assembly, neither he nor I could ever understand. I see nothing in Scripture which ties a Christian down to this perverse one-sidedness. On the contrary, both methods are sanctioned in the Old and New Testaments. My experience since retiring from the pastorate has strongly confirmed my previous impressions. When leading public worship, as I did for so many years, my utterances of devotion were spontaneous, and I am sure imperfect; but what was obvious enough before, though sometimes overlooked, came home to my feelings when listening to words in public devotion, often unadapted to inspire or guide supplication and praise. Further, extempore words, though free to the speaker, are, to all intents and purposes, a form to the hearers; and if a form in extempore speech, when thoroughly suitable, be proper, why is not a form in written language? Since I have become deaf, and often cannot catch a brother’s supplications, a form which I can read must obviously be preferable to one which I am unable to understand. Extempore public devotion, under many circumstances is of priceless value; but under some circumstances so is liturgical service. Attempts amongst Dissenters in the latter direction, I am aware, have in some instances failed, owing largely to prejudices handed down through past generations; until those prejudices melt away—some day perhaps they will—an alteration, such as to others like myself, seems quite hopeless. [233]
In the years 1874 and 1875, I took part in commemoration of two world-known Nonconformist celebrations.
The first was the unveiling of Bunyan’s statue at Bedford. I went down with the Dean of Westminster, Lady Augusta Stanley, and Dr. Allon, who all did wisely and well the parts allotted them. Her Ladyship gracefully unveiled the bronze figure of the wonderful dreamer; and her husband uttered immediately afterwards the following effective words:—“The Mayor has called upon me to say a few words, and I shall obey him. The Mayor has done his work, the Duke of Bedford has done his,” (he gave the statue,) “and now I ask you to do yours, in commemorating John Bunyan. Every one who has not read the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ if there be any such person, read it without delay; those who have read it a hundred times, read it for the hundred and first time. Follow out in your lives the lessons which the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ teaches; and then you will all of you be even better monuments of John Bunyan, than the magnificent statue which the Duke of Bedford has given you.”
The Dean and Dr. Allon delivered elaborate addresses at the Corn Exchange, and it was allotted to me, to propose, after a public dinner, “The Memory of John Bunyan.” The thought struck me, that his genius was equally imaginative and realistic. People rise from reading his dream, with impressions of character, as lively as those derived from perusing Shakespeare or Scott. They see in his delineations just such folks as walked the streets of Bedford, and plodded through Midland country lanes, two hundred years ago. I heard gentlemen at table say they thought Bunyan took his conceptions of scenery from neighbouring places. But I said I did not think so. He had never beheld hills like “the Delectable Mountain,” nor a vale or plain like that of “Beulah.” In fact, he took his scenery from Scripture, and gave it reality by allusions such as we employ, when touching on objects of every-day life. He was “Christian,” “Evangelist,” “Greatheart,” all in one—a pilgrim to the Heavenly City and a preacher of the Gospel.
I may here add that two years afterwards brazen doors were given to Bunyan meeting by the Duke, and were opened with due solemnities, the Mayor and Corporation attending on the occasion.