Part 3

Amongst the families connected with the Church during Dr. Leifchild’s pastorate, two in particular may be mentioned, noteworthy on their own account, and whom I can describe from personal knowledge.

The Talfourds attended for some years. The mother was one of those saintly women who when once seen can never be forgotten. She belonged to the class of matrons immortalized by Solomon. “The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.” “She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.” All this is eminently true of Mrs. Talfourd; and there she used to sit and listen to her pastor in one of the square green pews at Hornton Street, with her “children about her”; one of whom, when a matron and mother, was, during my own ministry, a comfort and a joy. The most distinguished of her sons—others became distinguished in other ways—was Mr. Justice Talfourd, who for some time not only adorned the judicial bench, but before doing so made a mark on literature and politics, by authorship and eloquence. The good old lady told me of his boyish days, of his school-life at Mill Hill; read to me one of his letters, in which he spoke of his school-fellows, especially “one Hamilton,” who joined a party that met for worship privately, and was “very flowery in his prayers.” This Hamilton was no other than the subsequently famous Nonconformist minister of Leeds. The young barrister wrote an article on pulpit oratory, in which he fully described the preacher to whom he listened on Sundays:—

“Mr. Leifchild is one of those who feels ‘the future in the instant.’ He has almost as intense a consciousness of the world to come as he has of the visible objects around him. He speaks not only as believing, but as _seeing_ that which is invisible.

“His manner of level speaking is slovenly, sometimes bordering on the familiar; but when he is aroused he pours forth a torrent of voice and energy, and sustains it without intermission to the end. His whole soul seems thrown into every word. He does not stop to explain his expressions, or give all his qualifications to his doctrines which he might think requisite in a confession of faith, but gives full vent to the predominant feeling, and allows no other to check its course, which in every kind of oratory is wise. He thus occasionally, it is true, rushes headlong against some tremendous stumbling-block, or approaches that fine division where the pious borders on the profane. But, on the whole, the greatest effect is produced by this abandonment to the honest impulse of the season.”

“I remember,” says Mr. Leifchild, “that my father told me, upon his return from the Serjeant’s house in Russell Square, where he had been dining, that this then well-known orator of the law courts had relaxed and refreshed himself by referring to the old Kensington days, and the old chapel, and singularly enough, the old hymns of Dr. Watts, which he had once rather disdained. ‘Do you remember,’ said he to my father, ‘how we used to sing that hymn—one of Watts’s best—

“When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count my loss, And pour contempt on all my pride”?

And do you remember how heartily we used to join in the last verse:

“Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so Divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.”’?”

Another family, less known to fame, was Mrs. Bergne, of Brompton Row, and her two sons. The eldest of them was John Bergne, for fifty years clerk in the Foreign Office, and during the latter part of the time superintendent of the French department,—an office which brought him into association with many foreign and home celebrities. A man of high culture, great conversational power and exuberant wit, he was nevertheless decidedly religious, and remained steadfast in his nonconformity to the end of life. He was a most attentive hearer, and wrote down many of his pastor’s sermons, chiefly from memory. He carefully preserved two quarto volumes filled with a course of lectures on “The Acts,” which I read when I was young, and they gave me a good idea of the preaching then heard at Hornton Street. A younger son, Samuel, entered the ministry during Dr. Vaughan’s pastorate, and with him, as well as his brother John, I enjoyed a lifelong friendship most intimate, most endeared. He became well known as pastor of the Poultry Chapel, and as Secretary of the British and Foreign Bible Society. The family lived at Brompton, but year after year made their way morning and evening to Kensington Chapel; and with them I may couple the family of the Gainsfords, who resided in Piccadilly. Such circumstances show the distances which in those days people walked to the house of God. It is remarkable how many branches of old Nonconformist families included in our history have since risen to eminence. Here I may mention Dr. Bruce, the learned archæologist in Newcastle, who married Miss Gainsford; also their son, the present Recorder of Bradford.

Another family may also be mentioned, though not I believe members of the Church, as were most of those whom I have just recorded:—

“Amongst the attendants on his ministry (says Mr. John Leifchild, speaking of his father) were Lord and Lady Molesworth. They had derived benefit from his pulpit instruction, and became his attached friends. He often referred in particular to the mother, Lady Molesworth, a truly pious elderly lady, who had apartments in Kensington Palace. She had two strong reasons for her attachment to my father’s ministry: one being the benefit which she herself had obtained from it; and the other being the influence which it had exercised on a favourite son—Lord Molesworth. Lord Molesworth, her younger son, had heard Mr. Leifchild at Hornton Street Chapel, and though very wild and thoughtless at that time, was so affected by what he heard as to alter his mode of life. Another, and the elder son, was then in India, where, being laid on a sick bed, he remembered the psalms which his father, Viscount Molesworth, had read and expounded when he was a child at home, showing their reference to the Messiah, and thus confirming the truth of Scripture. I believe he came home, and it was then that he also attended the ministry at Hornton Street Chapel. He now became devoted and useful; and having obtained an appointment in Ceylon, he repaired thither, and there continued his usefulness by distributing religious publications. His father dying, he succeeded to the title, and having acquired property in Ceylon, he determined to return home, assist at the chapel, and spend the remainder of his days with his aged mother. He notified to his mother the time of his embarkation, and she, calculating the length of the voyage, expected at a certain day to enfold her son in her embrace. She was disappointed, and the reason soon appeared in the reception of the melancholy intelligence that the vessel in which he had trusted himself, his wife, and all his acquisitions, had gone down at sea, and every life had been lost. ‘I feared,’ says my father, ‘on hearing the sad news, to call upon her; but on doing so I found her calm. And with erect and majestic figure, looking at me, she said: “Dear pastor, God sustains me. I utter not a murmuring word. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord.”’”

When I first went to Kensington, I was requested to visit an old member of the Church, a shoemaker by trade, who I learnt had been converted under the ministry of Dr. Leifchild. I went and found him bedridden. He was a remarkable man, with a handsome face, but a cripple. In very humble circumstances, and uneducated, except in things pertaining to the kingdom of God, he had a good deal of that natural politeness which appeared all the more striking from its humble surroundings. He won my affections; and I delighted to sit by the good man’s bed when he would describe, in emphatic language and with strong emotion, his strange life-story. Good-tempered from a boy, ready for fun and frolic, and of a daring spirit, he plunged one day, if I remember right, into the thick of the traffic in the high road, and was so crushed under a cart wheel, that it was a wonder he survived the accident. He had mixed with dissolute company, and been accustomed, as he loitered about the end of an alley opposite the church, to insult those who passed by on the way to worship. His habits did not improve when he became a married man, and his notoriety for evil was a village scandal. But two of his children went to the Sunday school, and they persuaded their father to come to chapel. Dr. Leifchild preached from the words of St. Jude: “Preserved in Jesus Christ, and called,” and spoke of the remarkable preservation of sinful people before they were called and converted. He happened to relate an anecdote of Mr. Cecil, who, previously to his becoming decidedly religious, narrowly escaped with his life, when thrown by his horse across the track of a wagon, which in passing only crushed his hat. The incident struck the listener. It resembled his own experience, and rivetted his attention. When the preacher followed up the illustration with a characteristic appeal, addressed to such as were still unconverted after signal providential deliverances, the cripple trembled from head to foot. Greatly impressed, he went to chapel again and again, till he found himself another man, “a new creature in Christ Jesus.” He would weep as he told the story, and go on to speak of his subsequent spiritual joy. “I am a wonder unto many,” he would say, and then sing:—

“Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me; I once was lost, but now am found; Was blind, but now I see.”

Before I knew him a chair was made, in which he was wheeled from place to place, and was conveyed to the chapel where God’s grace touched his heart. He loved the memory of the minister who had led him to Christ; and that minister relates: “Whenever he heard that I was about to re-visit the town, which I had subsequently left for another sphere of labour, he caused his little carriage to be wheeled out to meet me. I saw his eyes glistening with emotion, and the tears rolling down his cheeks, as I approached him, and then he invariably exclaimed aloud, ‘I am a wonder to many, sir; but God is my strong refuge.’” {47}

This remarkable conversion came to be common talk, and reached the ears of the Vicar, the Rev. Thomas Kennell.

“Shortly afterwards (says Dr. Leifchild) the Vicar called upon me and entered into familiar conversation with me on the great truths of the Gospel, evidently as the result of the impression which the shoemaker’s wonderful conversion had produced. Thenceforth his kindly feeling toward me never decreased, and this was the more to be remarked on account of his standing in the Episcopal Church, as respected his learning, oratorical power, and zeal for God according to his knowledge. He was comparatively young, but with a magnanimous mind he had early determined to appreciate truth and goodness wherever they were to be found, and to follow them whithersoever they might lead. Soon afterwards he fell into a decline, and one evening while we were holding a prayer-meeting, news was brought us of his dangerous illness. I immediately requested those who led our devotions to bear him on their minds before God, and afterwards desired that no mention might be made of this circumstance, as I did not wish to draw attention to ourselves. But a report of it reached his sick chamber, and shortly after, upon the occasion of his removal for the benefit of change of air, I received from him the following note:

‘_April_ 29_th_.

‘I cannot leave Kensington without expressing to you my grateful feelings for the truly kind and Christian manner in which, during a very critical period of my illness, you were pleased to direct the prayers of your congregation to the throne of grace for my recovery. It has made a deep impression upon my mind.

‘Those prayers were mercifully heard, and, by the blessing of God, I trust that I am in a state of progressive amendment. Slow indeed have been my advances, insomuch that even now I am totally incapable of the ordinary exertions of life; but I trust that a good Providence, whose mercies have indeed been around my path and about my bed, will, in His good time, perform the perfect work of restoration.’”

Another remarkable fact must not be passed by:

“One sabbath morning (says the pastor) a singular lapse of memory befell me, which I had never before and have never since experienced. When I rose from sleep I could not recollect any portion of the discourse which I had prepared on the day before; and, what was most strange, I could not even remember the text of the prepared sermon. I was perplexed, and walked out before breakfast in Kensington Gardens. While there a particular text occurred to my mind; and my thoughts seemed to dwell on it so much that I resolved to preach from that without further attempting to recall what I had prepared, a thing which I had never ventured to do during all my ministry.

“From this text I preached, and it was ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ I preached with great liberty, and in the course of the sermon I quoted the lines:

‘Beware of desperate steps! the darkest day— Live till to-morrow—will have passed away.’

“I afterwards learned that a man in despair had that very morning gone to the Serpentine to drown himself in it. For this purpose he had filled his pockets with stones, hoping to sink at once. Some passengers, however disturbed him while on the brink, and he returned to Kensington, intending to drown himself in the dusk of the evening. On passing my chapel he saw a number of people crowding into it, and thought he would join them in order to pass away the time. His attention was rivetted to the sermon, which seemed to be in part composed for him; and when he heard me quote the lines alluded to, he resolved to abandon his suicidal purpose.”

Another incident deserves relation:

“A bricklayer came one evening drunk, yet towards the close was impressed. The next Sunday he came again, and I noticed him as one of the two young men who had behaved rudely the Sabbath evening preceding; but he had been cut to the heart. ‘I,’ said he to himself, ‘am the man intended.’ He soon fell ill, when the good work deepened. He is now consistent.”

Dr. Leifchild left a list of thirty-two persons to whom he had been useful, and under each name a notice of particulars connected with it. {49}

There lived in one of the stately houses in Kensington Gore a gentleman, commanding in person and polished in manners, who was drawn towards the Dissenting pastor, though he had no affection for Dissenters. “He laughed at _them_ and liked _him_. He was a staunch churchman, but came occasionally to the chapel, where, as also in other places, he might be distinguished by the flower always fastened in the buttonhole of his coat.”

At the table of this hospitable gentleman the Kensington pastor met Serjeant Goulburn, then a young man; Mr. Stephen, of anti-slavery renown and Wilberforce’s friend; Miss Edgeworth, the novelist; and the John Owen, early Secretary of the Bible Society. The cheerful host experienced a great reverse, lost a fortune on the Stock Exchange, but bore it with equanimity, saying, when he came home and was asked by his wife how he was, “Pretty well, my love, for a ruined man.” Dr. Leifchild, through the medium of rich neighbours, befriended him in his trouble, for which he was ever afterwards grateful; and in subsequent years I enjoyed the friendship of one of his daughters, who with her husband, a Governor of the Bank of England, attended Hornton Street Chapel when I was minister. Her sisters also, who attained rank and fortune, always felt kindly towards the place where their father worshipped; but I knew nothing at that time of the circumstances respecting him described in the “Life of Dr. Leifchild.”

Mr. Leifchild met with curious characters in Kensington:

“The Honourable Mrs. S— lived next door to him. One morning she said to him, looking over the garden wall, ‘Leifchild, can I come in; I want to speak to you?’

“‘Certainly, Mrs. S—,’ was the reply, and they were soon together in my father’s parlour, when the following conversation took place, the lady commencing abruptly as follows:

“‘Leifchild, I want a spade.’

“‘A _spade_, madam!’ exclaimed her neighbour in astonishment.

“‘Yes, a spade!’ was the rejoinder.

“‘But, Mrs. S—, your garden is always in good order.’

“‘Nonsense! you know what I mean.’

“‘Well, I will send the servant round with a spade.’

“‘Nonsense! you know I do not mean that.’

“‘Excuse me, Mrs. S—, I really do not know what you mean.’

“‘Well, then, you frightened me yesterday by saying that very few were converted after fifty years of age, and I am now forty-nine. And then you spoke of the diligent husbandman, and said we must all set to work. Now, I mean to work, and that is why I want a spade.’

“‘You shall have one, madam, and gladly too. We have abundance of work, and shall be most thankful for your help.’” {51}

Prosperity attended the labours of Dr. Leifchild. The congregation greatly increased; galleries had to be erected and enlarged; and the income, once estimated at £160 a year, rose to more than double that amount. Many were admitted to communion, but in what way exactly does not appear, as the record of affairs respecting that period deals more in temporal than spiritual matters. No ecclesiastical contentions, properly so called, ruffled the stream; but there seem to have been frequent debates in the vestry about the state of the exchequer as regards paying for the gallery, and defraying other incidental expenses. Music created more serious strife. Mr. Broadwood, naturally enough, wished for an instrument to help the singing, and liberally offered to place an organ in the chapel, which Mr. Grey, a more true blue Presbyterian, did not approve. Correspondence arose and vestry meetings were held, in all of which Mr. Broadwood appears to have acted most kindly, but the conscientious scruples of his colleague could not be overcome. The latter left the chapel, and ultimately an organ was erected; but that did not end all trouble, for the organist incurred criticism; and whilst some good folks aimed at musical harmony, they were the occasion of considerable social discord. It is the old story; but no serious division occurred, and after a slight storm there came a pleasant calm.

In our historical sketch it would be bad taste to pry into domestic secrets, but the married life of Dr. Leifchild was so mixed up with the interests of the congregation, that this part of our narrative would be incomplete if no notice was taken of Mrs. Leifchild. She was his second wife, whom he married during this his first pastorate, and the idea he entertained of this excellent lady appears in memoirs of her from his own pen, entitled, “The Minister’s Helpmeet.” She lightened his cares by undertaking, at his request, the management of pecuniary matters, in which, according to his son’s account, he does not appear to have been particularly skilful. “He abhorred all figures, but those of speech, and the latter were too unsubstantial for the support of a household. He would prefer any book to his bank book (a figure of speech, for in truth he never required one); and though not to be accused of extravagance, he certainly was chargeable with some thoughtlessness.” {52} “She was a shrewd, discerning woman, with a keen insight into character—a quality of priceless value in a minister’s wife. She was generally correct in her opinions of people, and her boldly pronounced forecasts of merits and demerits in the circle of her acquaintance made a deep impression on her family, whatever might be thought of them outside if revealed, which one would hope they were not always.” Her share in conducting the psalmody, visiting the congregation, and promoting religious and charitable objects was a topic of talk for years after she left the neighbourhood; and the mutual affection of the genial couple supplied materials for pleasant reminiscences in the minds of many an old friend. Dr. Morison, of Brompton, used to relate how he walked home from Kensington one old year’s night or new year’s morning, as the moon shone brightly over the frosty road, and hearing in the distance musical voices, he found, as he came nearer, that two people were singing,—

“Come, let us anew Our journey pursue, Roll round with the year, And never stand still till the Master appear.”

What was Dr. Morison’s surprise to find at last that the words proceeded from the lips of the Kensington pastor and his wife. As she was beloved of him, so he was beloved of her. I have heard her in later days extol, in no measured terms, the excellences of his preaching, and also tell how she liked to accompany him to village services, and visit cottages in the neighbourhood, beating up recruits for the rustic congregation. Once, after a sermon in a little country chapel, I saw her go into the vestry and lovingly kiss the old prophet, exclaiming with genuine fervour, “God bless you, John.” Such affection and admiration in an ancient lady seem to me truly beautiful, and I trust no reader will think the incident two trivial to be noticed here.

Some difference of judgment between the pastor and managers respecting the mode of meeting incidental expenses led to a conference, when Dr. Leifchild hinted at the possibility of his removing. He did not approve of the management scheme, and the managers immediately retired. Their letter of resignation was accepted at a Church meeting in December, 1821. It was in August, 1824, that he received an invitation from Bristol, and his acceptance of it he thus intimated to his people:—

“Mr. Leifchild addressed the meeting, and stated that, from a variety of circumstances, he had seen it his duty to accept of an invitation to the pastoral office of Bridge Street, Bristol. He assured the meeting that this step arose from no uncomfortableness in his present situation inducing a wish to depart; from no decay in the interest here; no want of attendance; no diminution in the affections of the people; nor from any pecuniary motives, as the salary proposed at Bristol was the same which he received here, £350 per annum, and that he had no prospect of its increase there which he had not here. But his chief motives were the state of his health, which he hoped might be improved by a residence at a greater distance from the metropolis; the prospect of more extensive usefulness at that city; and above all, many indications to his mind that such was the will of Providence. He concluded by requesting any one who was not satisfied, and wished for further information, to put any question to him to that effect, as he had nothing to conceal. No question having been put, the meeting was dissolved with prayer.” {54}