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