IV. I now turn to the Quaker community. Well do I remember meetings at the Goldencroft, Norwich, where, at the upper end, sat men and women called Public Friends. My mother, born in 1770, told me of yearly meetings held in our old city, when sometimes Friends from America attended: and so great was the number of visitors that it raised the market price of provisions. Some ladies who came from the other side of the Atlantic wore dresses with open skirts and green aprons. No bows of ribbon were seen, while bonnets of black and of lead-coloured silk crowned the heads of young and old. What Charles Lamb says in his “Elia” corresponds with what I recollect, and what my mother used to tell me, how “troops of the shining ones” were seen walking the streets, on their way to the house of worship, where their silence was more eloquent than speech. I have read with sympathy “The Life of John Woolman,” written by himself, and so warmly recommended by the essayist. “Get,” says Charles Lamb, “the writings of John Woolman by heart, and love the early Quakers.”
A very serious diversion in theological opinion existed among American Friends early in this century, and it is because an effect of it appeared in England that it is noticed here. A French Friend—the well-known Stephen Grellet—travelling in the States, makes this entry in his journal, under date 1822:—“We proceeded to Long Island, where I attended all the meetings, but here my soul’s distress exceeded all I had known during the preceding months, though my baptism had been deep. I found that the greatest part of the members of our Society and many of the ministers and elders, are carried away by the principle which Elias Hicks has so assiduously propagated among them. He now speaks out boldly, disguising his sentiments no longer; he seeks to invalidate the Holy Scriptures, and sets up man’s reason as his only guide, openly denying the divinity of Christ. I have had many expostulations with him in which I have most tenderly pleaded with him, but all has been in vain.” [374] From what I have read in American literature touching what is known as the Hicksite controversy, it appears to me plainly indicative of a denial among many American Friends, that Jesus Christ, in the orthodox sense of the term, was Divine, and that He did not make any atonement for sin. Hicks appears to have been a thorough mystic, unintelligible to common-sense people. At all events he converted many to his views; and these views were caught up by some Friends in this country. To what extent exactly they were adopted in England I cannot say: but they created alarm amongst many Friends on this side the Atlantic. Great sorrow at the abandonment of Evangelical doctrines led to secessions from Quakerism on the part of excellent people who had been born and bred in the community. Some of them resided, at the time I speak of, on the borders of Wales, others in the county of York. They became Congregationalists, and in tours on behalf of the London Missionary Society, I was received hospitably in their homes, and had gratifying opportunities of witnessing their beautiful Christian life.
Joseph John Gurney, of Earlham, felt seriously concerned respecting the American defection, in a community to which he had been attached from childhood. He had studied in the University of Oxford, had cultivated friendships in other denominations, was a good classic and Biblical scholar, and also an author of theological works. Mr. Gurney was “concerned” about the effect of Hicksite opinion on American and English Friends, and therefore took up his pen and wrote in reply to the leader who had done so much mischief.
Mr. Gurney, like his sister Mrs. Fry, undertook journeys for preaching the Gospel, and once he visited Windsor for that purpose. I was unwell at the time, but he called and talked by my bedside, and commended me to God in prayer. Several Quaker families at that period were living at Staines and Uxbridge; with them I had much intercourse, especially when we were joined in the advocacy of Slave Emancipation. The community, in both towns now named, was considerable for numbers and for wealth.
Friends now dress, speak and act much like other people. Conforming to common custom, they still eschew all extravagances of fashion. They no longer forfeit membership by “marrying out of Society.” “The Right Honourable John Bright” (how shocked George Fox would have been at the title!) told me once, that relaxation in strictness as to unimportant points, had checked a decline in numbers going on before.
V. Methodism, of course, brings to my mind a long train of early associations. Not merely names, but living forms, of noted preachers belonging to the second decade of this century come back to my recollection.
Calvert Street Chapel was opened about 1812, and Dr. Coke preached.
I cannot say that I remember his sermon; but, as noticed already, I distinctly recollect seeing the odd-looking, diminutive man, standing on a table talking in the committee room of Bethel Hospital [377] adorned by paintings of foundress and governors. Dr. Coke energetically addressed on the occasion a number of people, who had been invited by my grandfather, to hear the noted advocate of Methodist missions. Many years afterwards I mentioned the circumstance to a gentleman, who at the time took care of the patients, when he fetched an old committee book, in which this gathering was noticed, with a minute expressing the displeasure of the Governors at such a liberty being taken, and forbidding anything of the kind in future. The Wesleyan congregations in Norwich were then very large, and local preachers—uncultivated men in humble life—frequently occupied the pulpit in the afternoon service at Calvert Street, and, remember, delivered animated discourses likely to do their hearers good.
Dr. Jabez Bunting was a very influential man among the Methodists when I was young. For many years he was regarded as ruler of the Connexion,—exerting a despotic sway over the whole body. Such general conclusions oftentimes are not fairly drawn from existing facts, and how far widely extended opinion in the case now noticed, is justifiable I cannot undertake to say. To me he was very agreeable, and for him I had great respect. William Bunting, his son, was of a different stamp from his father, and though a skilful critic, he had not his father’s gift of authority and rule.
Before the middle of the century came Dr. Newton, to open a second chapel, in the upper part of Norwich; his magnificent voice and careful diction produced a powerful effect. I met him in after-life at Windsor, when he told me that he was accustomed to leave his home on Monday morning in the Manchester circuit, and travel by coach to the other end of England,—perhaps cross over to Ireland,—and then get back, at the end of the week, ready for preaching the next day. He said he weekly delivered five or six sermons, making them “on the wheels” as he went along. He seemed a stranger to physical fatigue.