Chapter III: The Third Pastorate

_THE REV. DR. LEIFCHILD_. 1808–1824.

“BEFORE accepting the call to Kensington,” he said, as we learn from the Memoir by his son, “while returning from a visit to that place, I heard at the house of a friend that Rowland Hill had announced me to preach at Surrey Chapel on the following Tuesday evening.” He went and preached, and was surprised at the risibility of the audience, which was explained when he heard that Mr. Hill had crept up into the gallery behind the pulpit, and in his own comical way expressed assent to one part and dissent from another part of the discourse. The veteran came into the vestry and asked the young man to become his curate at Wotton-under-Edge. The latter declined the overture, when the former replied, “That reminds me of young men setting up in business before they have served their apprenticeship.” {37} Just before that evening service, the minister of Surrey Chapel had written to Mr. Wilson, Treasurer of Hoxton Academy, saying, “I hear much of a young man of the name of Leifchild. It was supposed that he was going to _settle_ (a bad word for a young recruiting spiritual officer) at Kensington; but that there is a set of formal stupid Presbyterians there, who by no means suit his taste, and that he is consequently still waiting for the further directing hand of Providence, to know where he is to go.” {38a} Mr. Hill was mistaken. John Leifchild did _settle_ at Kensington, and was ordained there in June, 1808, when Dr. Simpson, his tutor, delivered the charge. Dr. Simpson, it may be remarked, was a man of singular spiritual power. Many can argue, illustrate, persuade, and impress, but he could _inspire_; and the accounts given of him in this respect by his students were enthusiastic. “I received a charge from his lips at my ordination over the Church at Kensington,” says his admiring pupil, “which I can never forget. Much of the attention I afterwards met with in that official connection I ascribe to the affectionate manner in which he addressed me.” {38b}

The new pastor does not give a flattering account of the congregation which formed his maiden charge. “There was a great prejudice,” he says, “in the town against Dissenters. Many of my hearers resided at a distance or held situations in London, and some of the managers of the chapel, who were Scotchmen, were not very spiritual. Of the deacons, some resided in London, and one was very old. He also was a Scotchman, but a very good man. He had been a gardener on a nobleman’s estate, and now lived on a small income, respected for his piety and integrity. He was my best help, but died after a long and lingering illness.” “During that period I never found him otherwise than pious, resigned, and cheerful. He always had a guinea to spare for any religious object of importance, although his income did not exceed £50 per annum. One of the managers was worth at least £20,000, and was as niggardly as Duncan was generous. ‘Here, Duncan,’ exclaimed this wealthy man, on the occasion of an important collection at the chapel, ‘Here, Duncan, will you put this in the plate for me?’ handing two half-crowns. ‘I will, sir,’ replied Duncan, ‘_with my own guinea_.’ This was said with a good intent, but it hardly agreed with the Master’s precept, ‘Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.’”

Within little more than a year after the new pastor’s settlement, George the Third’s jubilee was held,—an event which of course produced excitement in Kensington, for whilst the royal old gentleman was popular all over the country, beyond what the present generation is apt to believe, he stood particularly high in the affections of the Kensingtonians, who were familiar with his face and figure, as he dashed along in his coach and four, attended by his body guard, through the Court suburb. The cry of his approach, and the distant sight of the soldiers and outriders brought people to the front, lifting their hats as he passed by. With Dissenters he was especially popular, and the Hornton Street congregation loved him all the more because he liked Saunders, the coachman, and read his tracts. So in the loyal demonstrations of October, 1809, they came prominently forward, and established on the 25th of the month a school for “children of both sexes and of all religious denominations.”

Soon after the jubilee had been celebrated, the Nonconformist part of English Christendom was thrown into excitement by Lord Sidmouth’s Bill for abridging the liberty of preaching, under pretence of rectifying an abuse. He complained that licences to preach were sought in order to evade parish duties and militia service, and urged that there should be put upon grants of licence certain restrictions which Dissenters did not approve. The deputies of the three denominations rose in determined opposition to this intermeddling with religious liberty, and petitions against it poured into the Houses of Parliament. The Kensington people joined other Nonconformists in resisting the mischievous scheme, and promised the London committee “the utmost assistance and cordial co-operation”; they also subscribed towards defraying expenses incurred by this “well meant and well timed” assertion of religious freedom. {40}

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}

Mrs. Leifchild might well be proud of her husband; and here, in conclusion, let me repeat what I have said elsewhere: his sermons were constructed upon the principle of reaching a climax in the peroration. All prepared for that, and he used to lay down this maxim for pulpit oratory: “Begin low, proceed slow; rise higher, catch fire; be self-possessed when most impressed.” Though he produced wonderful effects at public meetings, the pulpit was his throne, where he ruled his audience with a kind of imperial sway. His skill in the introduction of religious topics into common conversation was very remarkable, and he abounded in anecdotes illustrative of scripture truth and spiritual experience. On his death bed he fancied himself entering within the everlasting doors, and exclaimed, “Why, don’t you hear it, those beautiful harps? You can’t all go in with me. I must go first; but keep close behind me, and open the gates wide, wide, wide for all.” On his tombstone are inscribed these words of his own: “I will creep as well as I can to Thy gates. I will die at Thy door. Yea, I will be found dead on the threshold of Thy mercy, with the ring of that door in my hand.” {55}