The unveiling of Baxter’s statue at Kidderminster occurred in July 1875, when Dr. Stanley represented the Church of England at the request of the town authorities; and, at the same time, they requested me to speak on behalf of Nonconformity. It was a gala day; shops were shut, flags were hung out, people wore holiday clothes, and a procession of the Corporation, the Bishop, and the speakers marched to the spot where the statue was placed.
Soon after the Kidderminster celebration I visited a worthy friend of mine at Bridgenorth, the Rev. Daniel Evans. Whilst there I received a letter from Dr. Stanley saying that he had heard me mention a design I had of visiting Madeley. He said he found in his interleaved Bible, opposite Dan. iii. 19–27, the words “Fletcher of Madeley,” and asked if I could discover at Madeley a key to this enigma, as it seemed to him. Mr. Evans and I had visited Madeley together, and in conversation recalled to mind an anecdote in Benson’s “Life of Fletcher.” A man threatened to burn his wife if she went to hear the vicar again. She went notwithstanding, and the preacher chose for his sermon one of the lessons for the day, instead of the text he had thought of previously. The lesson was in Daniel on the deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. The man followed his wife at a distance to find out what it was in Fletcher’s preaching that so attracted her. When the poor woman returned she found her husband on his knees praying by the side of the fire he had prepared for her martyrdom. I wrote to the Dean and told him the story, as recalled to my mind by my friend Daniel Evans. The Dean sent back his kind regards and thanks to Daniel, “who had discovered his dream and the interpretation thereof.”
I have brought the Bunyan and Baxter celebrations together because of their similarity; and the Madeley incident because it became connected with the last of them.
In 1874, the year between the two celebrations, I resigned my charge at Kensington, when a meeting was held to present a testimonial, to which Archdeacon Sinclair contributed, and the Dean of Westminster, with other Churchmen, besides Nonconformist friends in large numbers, uttered loving words I can never forget.
The following report appeared in The Times:—
“Dean Stanley and the Nonconformists.
“On Thursday evening, April 15th, 1874, the Rev. J. Stoughton, D.D., an eminent Dissenting minister at Kensington, retired from the pastorate of his congregation there, after a connection with them extending over the long period of thirty-three years, during which he has had the reputation, while upholding the principles of Nonconformity, of maintaining the most kindly relations with the neighbouring clergy, and is understood to have enjoyed the respect of the whole community of Churchmen as well as Dissenters. The ceremony of last evening was held in Kensington Chapel, a handsome building in Allen Street, Kensington, where Dr. Stoughton has long ministered, and his congregation attended in great numbers on the occasion. Mr. Samuel Morley, M.P., acted as chairman, and there were present, among others, the Dean of Westminster, Sir Charles Reed, Sir Thomas Chambers, M.P., Mr. James Spicer, the Revs. W. H. Fremantle, M.A., J. Angus, D.D., W. M. Punshon, D.D., Donald Fraser, D.D.; F. J. Jobson, D.D., Henry Allon, D.D., Samuel Martin, and J. C. Harrison, the last-named of whom, on being called to address the meeting, took occasion to say that their reverend friend, Dr. Stoughton, though acquainted with every form of religious thought, had ever held fast to the Gospel; that, as a minister of religion, it had been quite a passion with him to be thoroughly fair and impartial; and that he had all along panted for union among all religious denominations. Later in the ceremony, the Dean of Westminster, having been called upon to speak, presented himself to the meeting, and was much cheered. He said there might perhaps be several reasons why he had been asked to address them. He could not plead the same long acquaintance as the previous speakers had claimed with their venerable pastor; but still, during the last few years of his acquaintance with him, he could truly say that there had been no occasion of joy or sorrow in his life on which he had not received some kind sympathy from him. There was another reason for his addressing the meeting. As a Churchman, and as a minister of the Church of England, he felt called on to express his gratitude towards one, not exactly of his communion, who had never once let fall from his lips a word of bitterness against the community to which the Dean belonged, and through whose heart he verily believed the destruction of Westminster Abbey would send a pang. He only trusted that when the twenty-first century arrived, and some future pastor of the chapel should write the history of Queen Victoria’s reign, he would treat his communion with the same courtesy and appreciation as their present pastor had treated, alike, divergent ministers and pastors of the Church of the Commonwealth. He felt he had come there that evening not so much as a personal friend or as a minister of the Established Church, but rather as her representative of common friends through the writings of Dr. Stoughton and himself. He came there to express obligations which dear old friends of them both, who lived two hundred years ago, would have wished to express on an occasion such as that—Chillingworth, Jeremy Taylor, Sir Matthew Hale, and many more whom his friend had brought to one common platform. They had had before his time histories of the Puritans, where they heard of nothing but Puritans; they had also histories of the Church of England; but the work of Dr. Stoughton was the first that had brought those famous men together. There was, he knew, a charge brought against his friend and himself that they were not sufficiently good haters. However that might be, he was sure that Dr. Stoughton hated, as he did, party spirit, the want of candour, all untruthfulness, and insolent vulgarity, whether in Church or Nonconformity. All these the Dean hated with a detestation so complete that, if it were possible, he would be willing to curse them thirteen times a year. He could not part from that assembly or from that occasion without saying one word on the peculiar aspect of the farewell on which the previous speakers had so touchingly dwelt. Surely it was a transition of life which all of them might envy as they approached the term of their allotted existence, to be able to secure for themselves a margin of life and of comparative quiet before the great end came at last. There was a custom in old monasteries—he trusted it would not be altogether inappropriate to mention it at a meeting of Congregationalists—that when any of the ancient monks had served a term of thirty or forty years—he forgot which—they were then to be relieved altogether from their arduous labours; they were to be called by a gentle name which meant ‘playfellow’; and one condition of their existence was that nothing that was disagreeable should ever be named in their company. Such to their friend Dr. Stoughton was the tranquil period through which he was now passing; and although they might still anticipate for him long years of active usefulness, whether by pen or by voice, there must be a delightful sense on his part in looking forward, having accomplished one period of his existence, to a more undisturbed time in which he might look back on what had been, and forward to what was to be to him and all alike. The Dean’s speech, of which this is necessarily a summary, was repeatedly cheered during its delivery. A valedictory address, expressed in flattering terms, and reviewing the long connection between their pastor and the congregation, was afterwards presented to Dr. Stoughton by Mr. R. Freeman, on behalf of the Church and congregation, accompanied by the spontaneous gift of a purse containing £3000.”
Besides others who were present on the occasion, as noticed in The Times, let me mention my excellent friend and neighbour the Rev. J. Philip Gell, formerly Vicar of St. John’s, Notting Hill. He referred to the well-knit efforts of pastor and people, which had constituted the strength of the Church at Kensington, and remarked that it was little known how the force of public opinion acts and reacts on the life of a large permanent congregation. “The love which was thrilling that night was the Church’s strength, and so long as that lived and flowed on the part of the people, and was sustained by the pastor’s wisdom, so long would the Church live and prosper.”
Dr. Morley Punshon, President of the Wesleyan Connexion, travelled from Leeds, where he had preached that morning. He trusted that the Church would be Divinely guided in choosing a successor. It was encouraging to witness such a presentation as that just made, the like of which many present had never seen before.
The years I spent at Kensington were very happy. I can say from experience that the life of a Congregational minister, in connection with a large and liberal Church—when full play is given to the social affections, elevated and purified by culture as well as religion—is an enviable lot, and calls for the devout gratitude of any one who has enjoyed it.
The friendships formed with many of my flock, a very few of whom are still living, have been amongst the choicest privileges afforded me by Divine Providence. Loving memories of them linger in my heart, amidst sweeping obliterations of names and faces incident to an age of fourscore and more, and those who survive me will, I trust, accept an acknowledgment of obligations deeply felt as these lines are written. I took special interest in some, now goodly matrons, who were school girls at Kensington in my time, and whose happy fortunes I have sympathetically followed through life. If they read these lines, they will understand the fatherly feeling with which they are written. Their parents, now at rest in the eternal home, were no small joy to me, and as they passed away, one after another, they left blanks not to be filled up in this world.