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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Edward Hoare, M.A., by Edward Hoare, Edited
by John Hume Townsend
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Edward Hoare, M.A.
A record of his life based upon a brief autobiography
Author: Edward Hoare
Editor: John Hume Townsend
Release Date: March 26, 2012 [eBook #39271]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDWARD HOARE, M.A.***
</pre>
<p>Transcribed from the 1896 Hodder and Stoughton edition by
David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p0b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Photograph of Edward Hoare. Lankester Photo, Tunbridge Wells.
Jenkins Heliog, Paris"
title=
"Photograph of Edward Hoare. Lankester Photo, Tunbridge Wells.
Jenkins Heliog, Paris"
src="images/p0s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h1>EDWARD HOARE, M.A.</h1>
<p style="text-align: center">A RECORD OF HIS LIFE BASED UPON
A<br />
BRIEF AUTOBIOGRAPHY</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EDITED BY
THE</span><br />
REV. J. H. TOWNSEND, D.D.<br />
<i>Vicar of Broadwater Down</i>, <i>Tunbridge Wells</i><br />
<i>Author of</i> “<i>Spiral Stairs</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>the
Heavenward Course of the</i><br />
<i>Church Seasons</i>”</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH A PORTRAIT</i></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">London<br />
HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br />
<span class="GutSmall">27, PATERNOSTER ROW</span></p>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span
class="GutSmall">MDCCCXCVI</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iv</span></p>
<div class="gapline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by Hazell</i>,
<i>Watson</i>, <i>& Viney</i>, <i>Ld.</i>, <i>London and
Aylesbury</i>.</p>
<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
v</span>PREFACE</h2>
<p>It was on the 20th of August, 1864, that the Rev. Edward
Hoare, on the deck of the steamer from Boulogne to Folkestone,
spoke kindly words of sympathy to a schoolboy returning home
after a great bereavement in Switzerland. How little then
could either of them have imagined the future relationship of
Vicar and Curate, the long years of happy friendship afterwards,
the deeply solemn funeral sermon, and, finally, the sacred task
of editing the Autobiography and writing the brief sketch
contained in the following pages! This work has been
undertaken with the greatest diffidence, partly owing to the many
duties of a somewhat busy life, and still more from the anxious
wish that such a character as that of Canon Hoare should be
depicted by one who had known him from earlier years.
Another difficulty has been to compress the volume into the small
limits desired by the family.</p>
<p>To write a large volume would have been easy, <a
name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>but to read a
considerable correspondence, together with closely written
volumes of journal, and give a digest of their contents, has
required care and thought. It has also necessitated the
putting upon one side of much that was interesting and
profitable. Amongst the things unpublished have been many
powerful letters upon various burning questions of the day during
the past forty years; most of these subjects have now burnt
themselves out, and it seemed unwise to rake up the ashes.</p>
<p>It is, moreover, better to say too little than too much, and
those who knew him best will acknowledge that the latter error
has been avoided.</p>
<p>A man possessing such qualities as those which Canon Hoare
exhibited—great kindness and affection, wide views of men
and things, strong convictions, ruling powers, commanding
intellect, and deep spirituality of mind—was one who could
not live without influencing visibly all with whom he came in
contact; but it has been the desire of the Editor so to picture
this life as it appeared to him, and with the one desire that God
may be glorified by the narrative as He was magnified in the life
of His servant.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">J. H. T.</p>
<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
vii</span>CONTENTS</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: right"><span
class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER I</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">EARLY LIFE AND BOYHOOD</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER II</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">CAMBRIDGE</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page18">18</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER III</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">RELIGIOUS STATE, AND EXAMINATION
FOR DEGREE</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page30">30</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IV</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VISIT TO IRELAND, AND PREPARATION
FOR HOLY ORDERS</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page41">41</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER V</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">ORDINATION AND FIRST
CURACY</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page50">50</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VI</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">RICHMOND</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page70">70</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">HOLLOWAY AND RAMSGATE</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page92">92</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VIII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TUNBRIDGE WELLS</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page120">120</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a
name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. viii</span>CHAPTER
IX</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">WORK IN VARIOUS PLACES</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page133">133</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER X</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DOMESTIC LIFE AND FOREIGN
TOURS</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page143">143</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XI</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PAROCHIAL MISSIONS</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page161">161</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PARISH WORK</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page173">173</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE BORDERLAND</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page187">187</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIV</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">BOOKS AND SPEECHES</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page198">198</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XV</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">BLINDNESS AND SECOND
ILLNESS</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page217">217</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVI</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">REMINISCENCES</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page251">251</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PROMOTION</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page263">263</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVIII</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TRIBUTES</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page267">267</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
I<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>EARLY LIFE AND BOYHOOD</i></span></h2>
<p>It is a common practice amongst remarkable men to leave on
record some of the circumstances which have led to the formation
of the leading features of their character.</p>
<p>But as the greater part of mankind is not remarkable, I think
it just possible that some may be interested, and possibly some
profited, by a few details of the life of one whose life has not
been marked by incident so much as by abundant mercy, who has
been led on step by step in the happy life of a parochial
clergyman, and who at the close of it can say with reference to
the past, “Surely goodness and mercy have followed me all
the days of my life,” and can add with reference to the
future the blessed hope and determination of David, “I will
dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”</p>
<p>Of all the many mercies of my life the one that must ever
stand first and foremost is the gift of my beloved father and
mother. No words can describe the blessing of such parents,
and I never can look back on the unspeakable privilege of <a
name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>such a
parentage without adoring the sovereign grace which placed me
under their parental care. When I observe the carelessness
of some parents, the inefficiency of others, and the terrible
training for evil to which I see multitudes of poor children
exposed, I can only adore the sovereignty of God which on June
5th, 1812, committed me as a sacred trust to the very best of
parents.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>My father, Samuel Hoare, was a banker in the City. Both
he and my mother, Louisa Hoare, <a name="citation2"></a><a
href="#footnote2" class="citation">[2]</a> had been brought up in
the Society of Friends, and had not formally left it at the time
of my birth, so that I was registered by that body, and at the
time of my ordination I had to apply to the Westminster Meeting
for a certificate of my birth. But they were both greatly
influenced by the ministry of some devoted Evangelical clergymen,
such as the Rev. E. Edwardes of Lynn, and the Rev. Josiah Pratt,
and I believe it was very soon after my birth that they were
together baptised. We young people were therefore all
brought up as members of the Church of England, though, as my
father never completely lost his early Quaker prejudice against
infant baptism, we were not baptised till about the age of
fifteen, when we were considered able to judge for ourselves.</p>
<p><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>It was
probably the result of his own Quaker education that my father
had a strong objection to public schools; so that his plan was to
engage a private tutor, some young man from Cambridge or Oxford,
to educate us at home till we attained the age of fifteen, and
then send us to a private tutor, preparatory to our going up to
Cambridge. This arrangement answered well so long as there
were four of us boys at home, and some of our cousins were united
with us both in the schoolroom and playground; but as the elder
boys went off, there was a sad want both of healthy amusements
and intellectual stimulus for those that were left behind.
I was the third, and I remember how difficult it was for my dear
brother Joseph and myself to keep ourselves well employed when
our elder brothers Samuel and Gurney had been placed under the
care of the Rev. H. V. Elliott, the most able and gifted tutor to
whom we three eldest brothers were sent, and to whom we were all
indebted far more than I can describe. He had a wonderful
power of bringing the interest of the University to bear on the
education of his pupils, and I never can forget the effect on my
own mind, for I never really worked till the day I entered his
house; but I began then, and I have never been habitually idle
since. He was a grand illustration of the principle, that
the great office of an educator is not merely to cram a
boy’s head with knowledge, but to kindle a fire in his <a
name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>soul, which
will go on burning brightly when the tutor himself has long since
passed away.</p>
<p>But though there were great disadvantages in our home
education, there were also immense advantages. It was not
so effective as my dear parents hoped it would be in preserving
us from impure and defiling information, and to this day I rarely
pass the back door of what used to be my grandmother’s
house without a sense of loathing at the wickedness of her
corrupt old butler, who on that spot did his utmost to pollute my
boyish mind with filthy communication.</p>
<p>But in many other respects I have never ceased to feel the
blessed results of those years at home. In the first place,
we were all brought under the constant influence of our father
and mother. He was a man of great strength of character,
and of marvellous perseverance in all that he undertook. He
was deeply interested in the improvement of prison discipline,
and was one of the “Governors” of the “Refuge
for the Destitute.” This he used to visit once a week
with the utmost regularity, rising early so as to be able to
complete his visit before his attendance at the Bank, and I have
seldom seen a more affecting sight than when he used to ride off
week after week in all weathers, even after the Lord had laid him
so low by an attack of paralysis that he could not attempt to
ride beyond a walking pace, and it was indeed unsafe for him to
ride at all; but he was a man <a name="page5"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 5</span><i>tenax propositi</i>, and nothing
would turn him from his purpose. It was his determination
of character that made him a most valuable coadjutor with his
brother-in-law, Sir T. F. Buxton, in the great anti-slavery
struggle, as may be seen in the graphic account given in the Life
of Sir Fowell of the great debate which virtually decided the
question. Sir Fowell himself was a man of courageous
determination; but it was my father that, during that debate, sat
under the gallery of the House of Commons and upheld his hands by
his decided and unwavering judgment. It was a great
privilege for us boys to grow up under the influence of such a
character.</p>
<p>Once a week, on the day of his holiday from the Bank, he used
habitually to visit the schoolroom, and hear us repeat what we
had learned during the week; and every Sunday afternoon he used
to read with us some good religious book. I fear sometimes
one at least of his pupils greatly tried his patience by
supineness and inattention, but there were not then the same
interesting books for young people that there are now, and such
books as Wilberforce’s “Practical View” or
Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress” were not
calculated to attract the attention of a set of boys whose hearts
were set on cricket.</p>
<p>Then my dearest mother was one of the most lovely women of the
day. Beautiful in countenance, gentle in her manners, pure
in her thoughts, <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
6</span>and most loving in all her intercourse with her family,
she exercised over us all a most sacred and refining influence,
and one of the most abiding sorrows of my life has been that,
when she was teaching me something, I was so negligent that I
caused her to shed a tear.</p>
<p>Besides that, she had great intellectual charm.
First-rate men such as Chalmers and Wilberforce delighted in her
society. She was an excellent English writer. Her
letters to her sons at College are perfect models of such
compositions, and her admirable little book “Hints on Early
Education,” containing the principles on which she brought
us up, continues to this day, passing through edition after
edition, unsurpassed, if I may not say unequalled, by the many
more modern efforts to throw light on that most important
subject.</p>
<p>It is to her that I am indebted for my first intelligent
acquaintance with the Gospel. She used to have us boys to
read the Scripture with her every morning at 7.15. Nothing
can ever efface the lovely impression made on those
occasions. There she used to be by a bright fire in her
little room, in her snow-white dressing-gown, looking as pure and
lovely as was possible in woman. I fear we boys were often
late and sometimes inattentive. But I never forget one
morning when she asked me if I knew what faith was, and, finding
that I was utterly ignorant, proceeded to teach me those <a
name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>sacred lessons
of a Saviour’s grace which have been life to my soul from
that day till now. Oh, mothers! what an opportunity you
have of sowing a seed which will never die!</p>
<p>Another great advantage in our home education was that we
became interested in missionary work. Drawing-room meetings
were not the fashion then as they are now, and my father and
mother, without waiting for the fashion, threw open their large
drawing-room to various devoted men. Thus we boys used to
enjoy the no small privilege of becoming personally acquainted
with many of the most devoted men of the day, as well as of being
educated into an interest in missionary work.</p>
<p>But parental influence was not all, for one of the tutors
engaged for our instruction was the Rev. R. Davis, of
Queen’s College, Cambridge, a devoted young man, and deeply
interested in the Church Missionary Society. It was he that
enlisted the interest of my father and mother, so that I find, in
turning to the report for the year 1820, the following entry,
which was the sum-total of the then Hampstead
Association:—</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p><i>£</i></p>
</td>
<td><p><i>s.</i></p>
</td>
<td><p><i>d.</i></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Contributions by a few children</p>
</td>
<td><p>2</p>
</td>
<td><p>8</p>
</td>
<td><p>0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Rev. R. Davis</p>
</td>
<td><p>1</p>
</td>
<td><p>1</p>
</td>
<td><p>9</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>3</p>
</td>
<td><p>9</p>
</td>
<td><p>9</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>Having been one of those few children, I <a
name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>remember well
the interest that the subject excited in our minds; and as that
interest never died out in those beloved ones now gone to their
rest, and as I trust it will never do so in myself, I realise how
much I owe to that young man, and I see how much may be done by a
young man who carries with him wherever he goes the unceasing
desire to be engaged in his Master’s service.</p>
<p>This home education was continued until I reached the age of
fifteen, when I was sent as a pupil to the Rev. H. V. Elliott of
Brighton, where my two elder brothers had been before me.
Before I left home arrangements were made for my baptism.
That admirable man the Rev. Josiah Pratt kindly undertook my
instruction, and I used to ride down to him at his residence in
Finsbury Circus. He was a remarkable man, firm in his
principle, faithful to the Gospel, true to his Saviour, zealous
in Missions, and of remarkable soundness of judgment. I am
not sure that he was altogether the best instructor for a
spirited lad, but I never shall forget the venerable man, sitting
on one side of the fireplace, finding, I fear, considerable
difficulty in eliciting much response from his pupil. But I
learnt one practical lesson from these interviews, which has been
a help to many a lad under similar circumstances:—I was at
that time thoroughly in earnest about my soul, and I looked
forward to my baptism with great seriousness. It was a
matter for much prayer and close examination. <a
name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>But my dearest
mother showed me Mr. Pratt’s letters respecting me, in
which he said, “I hope there is something at the bottom,
but I find it very difficult to bring it to the
surface!” How often have I thought of these words,
when I have been preparing my young people for Confirmation; and
when I have seen them nervous, agitated, and with small
development of feeling, I have thought of myself and of Mr.
Pratt’s letters, and remembered how earnest I was at the
time, although he could discover but little trace of it.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>The day of my baptism was a very solemn one, my cousin, the
late Sir Edward Buxton, being baptised at the same time in St.
Stephen’s, Coleman’s Street, and I think it was the
next day that we left our homes together and went to Brighton, to
enter upon a new mode of education. I cannot say how
thankful I am that my father sent me to Mr. Elliott. He was
a first-rate man in all respects, and he had been the means of
kindling an intellectual fire in my eldest brother, who was
passing through Cambridge at the time with high
distinction. He (Mr. Elliott) had a faculty for inspiriting
his pupils for work. I had been an idle boy until I went to
him; but I had no sooner crossed his threshold than I felt an
ambition for University distinction, and lost very little time
when I was under his rule. As he took only six pupils there
was the same difficulty that we <a name="page10"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 10</span>found at home in getting good play,
first-class cricket.</p>
<p>But there were other great advantages. There were some
very choice lads amongst the pupils, one especially whom I can
never forget—namely, Henry Goulburn. He was small in
stature, but of marvellous ability: for quick perception, clear
understanding, for never-failing memory, and a power of seeing
through a subject, such as I never saw in any man. I shall
never forget his influence when he first joined us as a
pupil. There was at that time a good deal of quarrelling
amongst us. There was one young fellow who was rich, but
very foolish, who became the butt of his companions. I
remember well one day, when Goulburn had just come amongst us,
and we were all like a pack of hounds upon that young fellow,
Goulburn got up from the table, walked round to him, and put his
hand upon him, saying, “I will be your friend.”
That act of his had such a power over the whole party that
similar unkindness entirely ceased. I never saw a
repetition of it.</p>
<p>But, besides the pupils within the house, we had the immense
advantage of the friendship of Mr. Elliott’s mother and
sisters, who lived close by. That mother was one of the
most charming old ladies I ever remember. She was the
daughter of Henry Venn, Rector of Yelling, the grandfather of the
late Henry Venn, Secretary of the Church Missionary
Society. She grew up <a name="page11"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 11</span>amongst her father’s friends,
Berridge, Fletcher, and Simeon in his early days, and nothing
could be more charming, more delightful, than her reminiscence of
the early struggle of those devoted men. It wanted a good
deal to draw me from the cricket field, but she had the power of
doing it. I could not have had a greater treat than to
listen for half-an-hour to her anecdotes.</p>
<p>Then again it was one of the privileges that we enjoyed at
Brighton that we attended St. Mary’s Church. Mr.
Elliott’s preaching was valuable, full of truth, and most
beautiful in composition. I used to listen to it with great
interest, and from it I first learnt the great and blessed
doctrine of justification by faith, which I have had the
privilege of preaching throughout my ministry. I never can
forget one sermon of his in which he pointed out that there were
three great trials of Abraham’s faith: (1) His Call (Gen.
xii.); (2) The Promise given him (Gen. xv.); and (3) The
Sacrifice of Isaac (Gen. xxii.). He then pointed out that
the first and last of these three trials involved immediate
action, but that the middle one demanded no action at the time,
but required simply a believing reception of the promise of God,
and it was of it that the statement was made (Gen. xv. 6):
“Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him for
righteousness.”</p>
<p>There was a fresh blessing given me in St. Mary’s.
It was there one sacred day when Robert <a
name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>Daly,
afterwards Bishop of Cashel, was preaching, that I was led by the
Spirit of God to give myself up to the ministry. I do not
remember exactly what he said; but I am sure that a permanent
impression may be often made without any distinct recollection
always of what has been uttered. So it was in my case,
while that noble man was preaching; and I there and then gave
myself up to the ministry of God, as I told him many years
afterwards. I said nothing about it to anybody for a year,
because I wished my determination to be thoroughly tested.
At the end of the year I told my father. He informed me
that there was a place open for me in his Bank, but at the same
time he gave his cordial approbation; and so with his full
consent and that of my dearest mother, I regarded myself from
that day as one set apart to the sacred ministry. That must
have been nearly sixty years ago, and never for one moment have I
had reason to regret the decision.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>From Mrs. Hoare to her son at Brighton:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<i>August</i>
22<i>nd</i>, 1829.</p>
<p>“How continually have I thought of you, dearest Edward,
since you left us, with the truest pleasure and I hope
thankfulness for the happy time we have passed together, with the
greatest interest in your present settlement and earnest desire
and prayer for your well-doing in future! You have, my
love, gained the confidence and excited the sanguine hopes of
your parents, and if <a name="page13"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 13</span>you do not turn out the
<i>decided</i>, <i>noble</i>, <i>upright</i>, and <i>effective
Christian</i> character, we shall be disappointed. I
consider the present juncture in your life very important.
The more I consider the case, the more I am sure of Mr.
Elliott’s intrinsic value to you, and the more I am
convinced of the wisdom of giving up yourself in the present to
his wishes; if you secure his friendship, you secure a treasure
for life. In this as in every situation, you will have
something to bear.</p>
<p>“1. Don’t stand on your own rights too much
or be tenacious in little things.</p>
<p>“2. Be <i>very slow</i> in taking offence or
fancying any disrespect or want of favour is shown to you.</p>
<p>“3. Never <i>complain</i> of anything to your
companions.</p>
<p>“4. Encourage a spirit of content, and <i>be
determined</i> (there is much in this determination of mind) to
be comfortable.</p>
<p>“5. Promote, as far as possible, the pleasure of
your companions by yielding in little things. I believe,
dearest Edward, you are sensible that, to act with true wisdom,
we must seek this precious gift from above, and day by day ask
for help and strength and grace for the day.</p>
<p>“6. Write to me intimately, and the letters may be
<i>entirely private whenever you wish it</i>.</p>
<p>“The books could not be despatched at once. Sam
says the Shakespeare is a bad bargain, but we will talk it over
again—oh how I should enjoy a half-hour with thee over this
nice library fire!”</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>Early Letters.</h3>
<p>There are some interesting letters of this period, which have
been carefully preserved. The earliest <a
name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>of these,
written when he was eleven years old, is characteristic. It
is addressed to his mother, who was away from home, and begins
with an apology for not having sent her a letter before: this is
based upon an accident at cricket, which he describes
graphically, the ball “ascending to a great height”
having fallen upon his thumb and so disabled him, etc., etc.; but
the pathetic narrative is followed by a burst of
honesty—“however, as that happened only yesterday it
is not much of an excuse”! Another, a year later,
written from Ryde, after describing a boating and fishing
expedition, relates further a conversation with the boatman, whom
they saw doing something to the dogfish that they had
caught. “He replied” (and here the young scribe
phonetically renders the local pronunciation), “‘O
Lar, I’m only tormenting ’em.’ We asked,
‘Why?’ ‘Because ’em has a pisonous
prick on ’em’s back.’ We asked him
how they could help that. ‘Oh, I knows ’em
needn’t have it if ’em didna like!’”</p>
<p>The letters that follow were written from Brighton, and
describe his arrival at Mr. Elliott’s house, and sundry
events that took place from time to time; they are full of
affection to his mother, and abound likewise in touches of
humour, but they show also a diligence and steadiness of purpose,
and a liking for good things, remarkable in a boy of that
age. Subjoined are a few extracts as specimens:—</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
15</span>“I suppose Jack told you of the famous hunt we had
the other day when we were going out riding and met the hounds,
half by accident? We had a run of above an hour, and the
hounds were in full cry all the time; but, alas! the other day a
bill came in from the horse-keeper, which informed us that we
were to pay a pound for each of the horses because we had been
with the hounds. . . . I like Abercorn <a
name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15"
class="citation">[15]</a> very much, but he is excessively idle,
as my shoulders will bear witness, as it is his great delight to
get up and thump Ted Buxton and me on the shoulders; but
fortunately he is tired of hitting me, as I repay the blows
tenfold with a singlestick, and the consequence is that poor Ted
gets double his former allowance.”</p>
<p>“We have capital walks on the Downs almost every day,
which are very pleasant, and capital exercise, as we go a
considerable distance; the other day we went nearly to the
Dyke. Before seven [a.m.] we three have delightful readings
together—we have nearly done Matthew; at seven we come down
and read till breakfast, and after that till two; we then go out
for our walk till dinner. . . . On Thursday we are to have
our debate about the battle of Navarino, in which I am going to
be exceedingly eloquent—only there is one great barrier to
my eloquence, which is that I can think of nothing to speak
about. Robert and Jack are going to attack the battle; and
Ted, Abercorn, and I are going to defend it. I think they
have got much the best side.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This extract, written in a boyish hand, is dated February
19th, 1828. The next, on October 4th in the same year, is
remarkable for its transition <a name="page16"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 16</span>into the formed hand of the young
man, and its resemblance to the writing of all his later
years. He was then sixteen. The letter is full of
manly thoughts, kind sympathy for some relatives in trouble,
great thankfulness to God for restoring him to health after an
illness, and then the schoolboy reappears towards the close as he
longs for a share in the partridge-shooting which his father and
elder brothers were enjoying at that time, and “the
plumcake after church, and then the walk on the lighthouse
hills” at Cromer, concerning which he winds up by saying:
“I do not know two things that live so pleasantly in my
mind. How far superior to all the strutting finery of
Brighton!”</p>
<p>The letters written during his residence in Brighton show that
Mr. Elliott, besides being a very kind tutor, had the gift of
inspiring his pupils with great diligence and love for their
work. The year 1830 was the last spent under his roof, and
they testify to a great deal of hard reading, with the University
constantly in view.</p>
<p>At the end of a letter dated “Brighton, September 20th,
1830,” young Hoare writes:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I may tell you that this is the last letter
you are ever likely to receive from me from Brighton. My
two years and a half (that but yesterday I thought would never
end) are now nearly come to a close; I am sure if I had time I
ought and could write a long letter of gratitude to you and my
father for having given me such opportunities <a
name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>of
improvement. Oh that I had made full use of them! what a
capital fellow I should be! At all events, of this I am
quite certain, that if your sons turn out either rascals or
blockheads (the latter of which I fear is the case with the third
<a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17"
class="citation">[17]</a>), it can never be laid to your
charge. And so, with regard to the course we are now likely
to enter upon, I feel that every reason which ought to influence
a person in the strongest degree binds me to read with thorough
diligence and perseverance, and I only trust that I may be
enabled to show my gratitude for your kindness by taking thorough
advantage of it.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“O si sic omnes!” is the thought that rises to the
mind after perusing these schoolboy letters; they contain the
germs of all the characteristics that made Edward Hoare the power
that he afterwards became—manliness, gentleness, remarkable
diligence, reverence for religion and the Bible, a loving and
thankful spirit, and, last but not least, a keen sense of the
humorous side of things.</p>
<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
18</span>CHAPTER II<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>CAMBRIDGE</i></span></h2>
<p>In the year 1830 I went to Trinity College, Cambridge, one of
the finest places for education. My dear brother Gurney was
there at the time. Goulburn followed a year
afterwards. Canon Carus was in his years a Fellow of
Trinity, and my beloved friend Bishop Perry was there as a
tutor. I had many friends, and we were a happy party.
I have outlived almost all of them. I owe more than I can
express to my College life. I read hard, and I have often
observed that hard-reading men look back upon their College days
with the greatest pleasure. I was surrounded by a set of
steady men, and, above all, I had the advantage of Mr.
Simeon’s ministry. There was something very wonderful
about his preaching; it was not eloquence, and he had none of the
brilliance of Mr. Elliott. But it was as clear as a
noonday; his statements of truth were unmistakable. He was
raised up to preach at Cambridge the great Evangelical doctrines
of Scripture. And he taught them with a clearness, a
distinctness, and a courage such as could not well be
surpassed. <a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
19</span>Many and many a time did I return to my rooms after
church, “sport” my door, and kneel down in earnest
prayer under the solemn conviction produced by his most spiritual
and awakening ministry. Thus the three years of my
University life passed rapidly by. I was very eager in
boat-racing, and very keen at the game of cricket, although I
could not play much of it, as it took too long a time. But
I am thankful to say I had the ministry always in view; and I
remember well that on the morning I went into the Senate House
for my degree, I knelt down to pray for success, and I thought at
the time how much higher gifted I would be if the Lord would make
me wise to win souls.</p>
<h3>University Letters.</h3>
<p>Although the autobiography contains but a brief reference to
his career at Cambridge, it seems a pity to pass too hastily over
this most important time of a young man’s life. A
great many of his letters to his mother were written at this
period, and, like his boyish letters, they are all carefully
stitched up into a series of sets, as if his parent foresaw that
one day they would be valued by others. They form
delightful reading, and it is unfortunate that want of space
forbids more than a summarising of their contents and a few
extracts.</p>
<p>The first of these, written to his mother, October 22nd, 1830,
two days after he had taken <a name="page20"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 20</span>up his residence at Trinity College,
describes the purchase of cap and gown, the first dinner in Hall,
the rooms in which he was settled, the prospects of College life,
which he greatly relished, and the determination to keep clear of
“harum-scarum fellows.” A characteristic
sentence is worth quoting: “There is only one point I
really dislike, which is the profane manner in which the Lessons
are gabbled over at chapel, so that you can only hear a hurried
mumble, and not one word of the sense.”</p>
<p>Various incidents enliven the letters at this time:
descriptions of his friends, a very nice set; allusions to some
“glorious sermons” of Mr. Simeon, who was then the
great power at Cambridge; his resolution to join a boat; and the
excitement caused “by an attack on the Anatomy Schools,
when the Vice-Chancellor sent round to the Colleges to call the
men out to fight, which summons we obeyed with great alacrity,
though little necessity.” Surely the last item must
make Cambridge men of this generation envy their predecessors of
sixty years ago! On his nineteenth birthday young Hoare
thus writes to his mother:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I don’t know whether you recollect
that I shall never again see nineteen years. So I am now
entering a new year—oh how earnestly I do hope that,
through His grace who alone can keep me, it may be a year of
profit and advancement in holiness! I have thought a good
deal about it, though not so much as I could wish. How many
blessings I have to be thankful for <a name="page21"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 21</span>that I have received during the past
year, when sorrow and affliction have been scattered all around
me! How wonderfully all of us have been preserved in
perfect health and enjoyment!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A few months after this, in a letter from Hampstead, he
mentions walking across the fields one Sunday morning to St.
John’s and hearing a sermon from Mr. Noel that greatly
impressed him; the subject was “The necessity and efficacy
of diligence in religion.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“He really seemed as if he had meant it for
me, for I had been thinking a great deal how far more diligently
I pursued my mathematics than my religion.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Yet at this time he was teaching in a Sunday School every
Sunday—rather a rare thing for an undergraduate in those
days.</p>
<p>Here occurs an allusion to one who was destined to occupy a
warm share in his affection during years to come:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I met the other day Perry, who was Senior
Wrangler and fifth on the Classical Tripos, and finding that he
was going to take pupils I have engaged him for next term,
provided my father intends to be so liberal as to let me have a
tutor.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>For over sixty years the friendship was strong and deep, and
after Bishop Perry’s resignation of the See of Melbourne
their intercourse was <a name="page22"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 22</span>frequent and loving up to the
end. In the Lent Term of 1832 he writes:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I have been getting on this week tolerably
in my reading, and intolerably in my rowing, having been bumped
by the Johnians on Thursday for the first time in my life, and
that too when we might have got away with the greatest ease if
all our crew had exerted themselves.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Half a century afterwards his curates were often exhorted to
work together with a will, and the exhortation was enforced by
allusions to the disasters experienced by a crew whose members
were not absolutely one in “go” and sympathy.</p>
<p>The following letter from his father has reference to College
events at this time:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">London</span>, <i>March</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1832.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Edward</span>,—A hasty
opinion is not always worth having, but you may safely take my
advice and try the new boat, bump the first Trinity, and wait for
further orders. Let your mother’s letter compel you
to watch yourself, and if you find the effects of rowing at all
prejudicial give it up, but if you find your health and strength
on the wax go on, tempering your zeal with moderation, and I will
do my best to make peace at home—a work which I shall
accomplish with more ease and in less time than you will be at
the head of the river. It came across me that, after having
vanquished all Cambridge, you might wish to carry your victorious
oars to Oxford!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A fortnight after the last quoted letter from the young
collegian, there was another which recounted <a
name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>that,
although his boat, of which he was stroke, had gone down as low
as fifth, yet on the last race-day it had recovered its old place
of second. Then follows a groan concerning the difficulties
that attended his post as captain over a discordant body of
twenty men: “The crew, when successful, get all the credit,
and in the time of misfortune make me their scapegoat.”</p>
<p>Fortunately he did not adhere to his original intention of
resigning the captaincy, and ultimately his boat attained the
proud position of head of the river. Edward Hoare’s
success in rowing did not make him idle, however: nothing could
do that; into whatever he undertook he threw his whole heart and
soul, and the very next letter, a few weeks later, May 4th, 1832,
begins thus:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Here I am a scholar of Trinity safe and
sound, as the master calls it ‘discipulus juratus et
admissus,’ and not a little pleased am I at the
thought. But what pleases me most of all is that, so far
from being last of all, as our list declares, I have come in very
high on the list. I do not know exactly where I am, but, as
you wish for all the reports, I tell you one which I don’t
quite believe, which is that I was the second in both
years. I beat all the third year, and all my own except the
great lion Stevenson, and I got within a respectable distance of
him, and Peacock says I have gained upon him since the last
examination, whereas I never expected to get within miles of
him. In fact I am altogether happier than I can express,
and really think that I never spent so joyful a night and day in
all my life.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
24</span>Referring to this success his father writes
again:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>May</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1832.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Edward</span>,—Of
advice and congratulations you will partake abundantly without an
addition from me, but your mother wishes me to write, what I have
no doubt Sam has already written. What may be the best
course for you to pursue I have not made up my mind, but as you
are at Cambridge it is as well to remind you that a man may be
happy without mathematics, and that the glory of being Senior
Wrangler (supposing the possibility of such an event) may be
purchased at too high a price. I attribute the greatest
proportion of your late honours to solid understanding and
reading, some part to good luck or accident. Had you not
then better see the result of the class examination before you
take the plunge? With the blessing of God you will be
rooted more deeply than ever now in all our hearts, and, what is
far beyond extending growth here, you attain that eminence which
is quite out of the sound of wrangling.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“I am most affectionately
yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">S. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A few days later he receives the news of the sudden death of a
relative, Mr. Powell, <a name="citation24"></a><a
href="#footnote24" class="citation">[24]</a> and various letters
describe the effect that this event had upon him. His
sympathy was warmly expressed for all the mourners; and then, as
was natural to a thoughtful mind, the remembrance of the
shortness of life made itself felt. Strong <a
name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>and athletic
as he was, he too might be cut off suddenly: was he ready for the
call?</p>
<p>But his recent success at the scholarship examination, and his
future hopes, seem to have had a strange light thrown upon them
by this bereavement, and he began to ask himself the question
which some of us have had to face in hours of success or
failure—“What <i>are</i> College honours? Are
they an end, or only a means?” He writes
thus:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I never felt so strongly as I do now the
utter worthlessness of the objects at which I have been aiming
with so much zeal. What does it signify whether I am
fourth, fifth, sixth, or anything else in this examination, when
at one stroke all one’s honour and all one’s learning
may be dashed from you? It has impressed me very strongly
with the feeling that to read because it is my duty and because
it is an admirable preparation for after-life is a glorious
object, but to read (as I must confess I have done) for a place
and a place only, and slur over higher things for it, is indeed
vanity of vanities.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The summer of 1832 was spent with a reading party in
Wales. The start was made from Highgate, where the coach
“Wonder” took in its passengers and conveyed them to
Shrewsbury “with <i>wonder</i>ful rapidity,” the
journey commencing at 6.40 a.m. and the destination being reached
at 10.30 p.m., or one hundred and fifty-six miles in nearly
sixteen hours!</p>
<p>Thence sometimes on coach, sometimes on foot, <a
name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>they made
their way to Llangollen, Llanrwst, Conway, and Bangor. The
beautiful suspension bridge was an object of immense
interest. The travellers went over to the Anglesea side,
and down into the chambers and passages of the rock where the
chains are fixed that uphold the structure; the letter recounting
this visit contains diagrams descriptive of it all, showing the
fascination that it exerted on the mind of the writer.
Various accounts of the magnificent scenery fill pages in these
interesting letters, and also allusions to the kindly way in
which Welsh tracts were taken by the people, and the excited
gratitude which the gift sometimes caused. At last
Barmouth, the “ultima Thule” of their wanderings, was
reached, lodgings were taken, and the party set steadily to
work.</p>
<p>They were fortunate in the parish clergyman, whose name was
Pugh, and young Hoare’s letters often speak with gratitude
of the guidance from above which led them into the parish of this
excellent man. Michaelmas Term found them back at
Cambridge, and now his younger brother Joseph <a
name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26"
class="citation">[26]</a> joined the party, and Edward’s
feelings with regard to his duties towards him are expressed in a
letter to his mother, of which nearly the whole is taken up with
a loving interest in his brother’s plans and
prospects. He writes:—</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
27</span>“I most earnestly hope that I may be able to
assist him, and, what is far more, that he may have that far
better assistance which can alone be all-sufficient. . . .
I have had a most happy vacation, and cannot say how I have
valued it. I only trust that I may be able to repay a
hundredth part of your and my father’s kindness to me by
fraternal affection towards Joe. My motto with regard to
him is—</p>
<p>“‘Men must be taught as if you taught them not,<br
/>
And things unknown proposed as things forgot.’”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>During the month of September, in the year before this, his
elder brother Samuel was married to Miss Catherine Hankinson. <a
name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27"
class="citation">[27]</a> There was a warm attachment
between the brothers. Edward often writes in terms of great
admiration of “Sam,” and now the new sister was
received with equal affection into his heart. It was a
feeling which grew and strengthened to the last day of his life,
and was returned by her, being specially manifested in the tender
care which she bestowed upon his motherless children more than
thirty years afterwards. This, however, is anticipating,
and it is suggested only by a letter from Cambridge dated
November 9th, 1832, full of delight—</p>
<blockquote><p>“at the joyful news of the week. I am
highly proud of my new avuncular honours. I begin to feel
quite a strong affection to my new niece, which I never expected
to do, at all events till I had seen her!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>The
same letter writes thankfully about the interest which he had
been able to arouse in the University in connection with the
British and Foreign Bible Society.</p>
<p>There had been one collector in Cambridge previously, but
young Hoare set to work and had the gratification of sending in
more than a hundred guineas, fifty of which came from
Trinity. He says, “I only hope that this success will
encourage us to work hard during the next year.” His
interest in the Society never waned, and it did well many years
afterwards in making him one of its Vice-Presidents.</p>
<p>We have an insight into a College Sunday in one of his letters
at this time:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“We have had a delightful Sunday, and a most
edifying sermon on the Conversion of St. Paul. After Hall I
had a large party in my rooms, and we read one of Blunt’s
Lectures on St. Paul. Our party after Hall has become
rather a burden to me, it has grown so very large, as I have
invited any persons who I thought would come and employ their
time better than elsewhere; and now I feel that it is an
opportunity which ought to be employed to good purpose, and I
don’t know exactly how to go to work to do so.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In a letter written early in 1833 he refers to all the
dignities of the third year upon his head, and his desire to use
them aright; it will probably be the opinion of any who read the
extracts above quoted that the young collegian rose nobly to the
<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>ideal
which he had set before him. There are those now living who
can testify to the rich harvest of good which sprang up in his
generation from the seed of manly Christian influence so freely
scattered round him in those undergraduate days. Yet a
crisis in his life was approaching, which we must leave to the
next chapter to describe.</p>
<h2><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
30</span>CHAPTER III<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>RELIGIOUS STATE</i></span><span
class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>AND
EXAMINATION FOR DEGREE</i></span></h2>
<p>A few months after Edward Hoare took up his residence at
Cambridge he commenced to keep a journal, which practice he
continued for more than thirty years. Into its pages he
poured his thoughts and communings with God, and, as he says in
different parts of the journal, he did so that, looking back from
time to time, his faith and love might be increased by noticing
the way in which God had led him.</p>
<p>At the same time he was determined that there should be no
repetition in his case of the grievous mistake which has been
made by some well-meaning biographers; over and over again
therefore he has inscribed upon the top of a page the word
“Private”; and at the end of the first volume,
written at a time when he thought that he was very near his end,
he distinctly directs that his journal is not to be
published. His wish has been carefully observed; no one has
read the journal except the editor of his Autobiography, and he
only to get a clearer view of the character <a
name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>which he
wishes to place before the reader, with the one object laid down
in the closing words of the volume referred to—“Let
nothing be done with it or said about it except to extol the
goodness of God by the weakness of the creature.”</p>
<p>It is evident from a perusal of the journal at this time that
he was dissatisfied with his spiritual state, and a letter to his
mother, dated July 21st, 1833, gives such a particular account of
the remarkable crisis through which he passed that it is here
given in full:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“You have often expressed a wish that I
would write you a full and intimate letter about my own religious
feelings, but I have not done so hitherto, because I lament to
say they were too feeble to authorise any expression, but I have
had a time of very deep interest since my return, and I do not
like to withhold it from you.</p>
<p>“When I arrived at home, I ought to have been smarting
with a guilty conscience, but I had succeeded in stifling things,
and though I cannot say I felt irreligious, I was far from a
Christian walk with God. On Sunday morning Dr. Chalmers
preached his sermon upon the enjoyment and preparation for
heaven, and told us that the fruition of heaven was already begun
in the Christian’s mind by the work of sanctification and
regeneration in his heart. I began to think how this work
was going on with me, but I found it so difficult to bring my
thoughts to bear upon the subject that I carried the process of
examination very little way, but that little brought a whole
array of irreligion before me. I felt that my heart was not
right with God, that I had <a name="page32"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 32</span>not that love towards the Saviour,
nor that detestation of sin, which it appeared to me that any one
must feel who had in truth participated in the Christian
covenant, and I was surprised and horror-struck at finding that I
had been guilty, not only of neglect, but of some actual
violations of God’s law. Still, with all this I could
not bring my mind to dwell upon its own state, and my serious
thoughts were constantly supplanted by others of a trivial
nature. I tried to go and pray as an offending sinner, but
I could not collect my thoughts, and though I daily said my
prayers they were heartless and cold, and did not at all reach
the deep sensation of need which I every now and then
experienced, and I felt that I was making no progress, though I
was growing very anxious. Every now and then my faith
almost gave way, and I thought that I had resisted the Spirit so
long that God had taken it from me. Then again I thought of
some passages such as these: ‘It is the Father’s good
pleasure to give you the kingdom of life,’ and those
beautiful verses in the third of St. John, ver. 14; and I heard
Dr. Chalmers’ morning reading upon the generality of the
Gospel offers, when he dwelt upon the words
‘whosoever’ and ‘every one,’ and I
thought too upon the great Sacrifice that had been made for
sinners, and I had times of alternating hope and despondency, but
I was never happy because I found I could not pray with my whole
heart in faith, and I did not think I was under the influence of
the Holy Ghost. This went on till Sunday evening. I
then heard an excellent sermon from Mr. Fisk about the enthusiasm
which a Christian must feel towards God and the Saviour, and I
felt that the state of my own heart differed widely from this
description. I came home very unhappy, but even then I
could not get rid of wandering thoughts, by which I was so
discouraged <a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
33</span>that I began to think that God had cast me off.
Then I thought of the promises, especially ‘Come unto Me,
all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest’; but then I felt that I could not number myself with
them, for if really burdened with sin I could think of nothing
else. I walked about my room for a long time and I knew not
what to do, for my faith was so weak that I felt a fear of
approaching God. At last, however, I felt that I could
offer a silent prayer to Him to teach me to pray, and He heard
me. I knelt down and felt as if a thick cloud had been
removed from me, and I was enabled to approach God and entreat
Him to pardon and to sanctify me. Oh, dear mother! I
cannot describe to you the joy I experienced when I felt that God
had vouchsafed once more to hear me.</p>
<p>“I afterwards went and told Goulburn all that I had been
going through, and was cruel enough to wake him up in the midst
of his night’s rest. He satisfied me very much upon
the generality of the promises, and I went to bed full of joy and
thankfulness. The next evening we met together and read the
‘1st Ephesians,’ and he offered up a most
satisfactory prayer that the Holy Spirit might manifest Himself
in our hearts, and I am most thankful to say I do believe his
prayer has been heard. We have continued to read and pray
together every evening, and I have found it perfectly invaluable,
and I trust, dearest mother, I have been able to cast the whole
burden of sin upon the Cross. I feel still, however, that
my heart is corrupt before God, and I feel a want of devotion
towards Him, but I can pray that I may be strengthened with might
in the inner man, and I know I shall be heard. Oh how
unspeakable is the love of God! Oh may Christ dwell in my
heart by faith, that I, being rooted and grounded <a
name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>in Him, may
be able to comprehend with all saints what is the length and
depth and breadth and height, and to know the love of Christ that
passeth knowledge! I need not say that this letter is
perfectly private. I should, however, have no objection to
my father or Elizabeth seeing it if they wish. I will
include too Sam and Catherine, but I don’t wish anybody to
be told about it.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: right">“Believe me to be<br />
“Your most affectionate and grateful Son,<br />
“<span class="smcap">Edward Hoare</span>.”</p>
<p>Just at the same time in his journal he chooses as his
“text for life” St. Peter’s
words—“Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth
for you.” But a great sorrow was at hand.
Shortly after those lines were written his eldest brother Samuel
was struck down by a hæmorrhage, and in less than three
months he had passed away peacefully. This was a sore trial
to Edward, and his letters abound with messages of deepest
sympathy with his brother and the young wife soon to be left a
widow. The words which he writes to his mother read like
the experience of an advanced Christian, and the firm trust
inspired by the “text for life” breathes through them
all. The examination for his degree was rapidly
approaching, so that study could not be neglected. This
year the reading party went to Derbyshire, and the letters thence
give delightful accounts of visits to the Peak, etc., but the
coming cloud casts its shadow across all <a
name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>his thoughts;
yet even so faith triumphs, and passages like the following, in a
letter to his father, occur from time to time:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Oh what a thing it is to think that the
Peace which can never be taken away is not only bestowed upon you
and upon him here, but that if it should please God to realise
our fears, it will soon be bestowed upon him in perfection
above! Sometimes when I think of his prospects, as far as
he is concerned, I can scarcely wish him well again, and, if it
were not for all of you, could almost desire to go with
him.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On Sunday, October 23rd, 1833, the beloved brother passed
away, and the journal records that Gurney and Edward sat beside
him all through the night and to the end. Early in November
Edward Hoare was back at Cambridge. His first letter is
full of sympathetic thoughts concerning the bereaved ones at
home, and it is not until the last paragraph that there is any
mention of his work; this, however, is particularly interesting
from one point of view. The great anti-slavery struggle was
nearing its climax; and, considering the prominent part which Sir
Fowell Buxton took in the movement, it was not remarkable that
his nephew should have thrown himself warmly into it.
Accordingly we read:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I believe you were interested in my
declamation. I have not got the prize, but they put me up
on the paper as having made a very good one. The other
three men, however, made better. I believe if I had not
been so <a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
36</span>hot about slavery I might have got the prize, for at the
time they expressed their great dissatisfaction at what I said
about it.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Even as a young man he was not afraid to champion a cause
which was unpopular with some who were in authority.</p>
<p>As the year draws near its close he describes his position as
one of “overwrought excitement” when his mind dwells
upon the approaching examination, which gives way to “a
state of despondency” as a single thought of his sad home
passes before him. Either this depression or the natural
humility of his character makes him now “expect to take a
fair second-rate degree”; when within a fortnight of the
examination his mind becomes calmer, and he is enabled to make a
good forecast of the result.</p>
<p>“I have good reason to hope,” he writes,
“for a place upon which I shall look back with pleasure and
gratification all my life. . . . My own desire is to get
into the first six wranglers, and if I accomplish that I shall be
delighted. . . . I am not sanguine, but neither am I
anxious. I desire to leave it altogether in the full
assurance that I shall get the place which is best for me,
whatever that place may be.”</p>
<p>Surely the influence of the “text for life” is
visible here! And those who knew him in later years will
remember that this was his leading characteristic to the close of
his life, making every preparation, using every endeavour, and
then <a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
37</span>leaving the issue tranquilly in the hands of Him who
“careth for you.”</p>
<p>Christmas Day was spent with his Uncle and Aunt Gurney, and
two or three days at the beginning of the New Year given to his
home, to turn away his mind entirely from mathematics for the
last day or two before his examination. Then two letters
appear in the carefully preserved bundle, one to his mother at
Hampstead:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I have not time to write much, but I have
the unspeakable pleasure of telling you that I am 5th Wrangler
and Robert Pryor 4th. I cannot say how thankful and happy I
feel about it.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Written hastily, and in suppressed excitement, the date at the
head of the letter—“December 17th,
1833”—is wrong both in the month and year (as the
postmark testifies). The same day he writes more fully to
his father in London; to this letter there is no date at
all. Never surely in all his life did he make either of
these mistakes again! (The postmark on this is the same as
on the former letter, viz. January 17th, 1834.)</p>
<blockquote><p>“I have had a hard fight to-day in the
bracket, the result of which is that I am 5th Wrangler, and Pryor
4th. I cannot say what unqualified pleasure and gratitude I
feel at this result of my College labours, and the pleasure is
not a little increased at Robert being the person to beat me;
there was no person in the examination to whom I would so
willingly yield a place. I have had a hard fight to-day in
the brackets. I was well aware, from <a
name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>the failure I
made in two of the problem papers and the first class, that I was
hard-run by some of the men in the bracket, so that I felt rather
dismayed at finding myself with a good prospect of being 8th,
whereas 6th had been my ambition. However, I set to work
steadily and well, and, as I have since heard, gained three
places, for I began at the bottom of the bracket. Peacock
is very anxious that I should go in for the Smith’s prize,
as most men of my standing generally go through that
ceremony. The list of our bracket is:—</p>
<p>Pryor<br />
Hoare<br />
Main<br />
Bullock<br />
Bates.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Robert Pryor, his “twin cousin,” as he used to be
called, was Edward Hoare’s playmate from his earliest
years. Educated together, together they entered the
University, and came out, as we have seen, side by side in the
list of wranglers. Pryor went in for the scholarship, but
failed, and in a letter at the time his successful cousin writes
of him as “behaving nobly,” thinking nothing of his
failure, and only setting to work twice as resolutely as before,
with the happy result above noted.</p>
<p>Here follow letters of congratulation from the relatives with
whom he spent the Christmas before his examination. The
event to which they refer may well terminate a chapter of this
book, as it certainly was the close of an important chapter in
his life.</p>
<p><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
39</span>Congratulatory letter on his success at Cambridge from
J. J. Gurney:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Norwich</span>, <i>June</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1834.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dearest Edward</span>,—I
think it would be very flat of me not to acknowledge the receipt
of thy letter. I understand from Geo. Peacock’s
letter to Hudson that the examination took an unfortunate turn
for thee, or thou wouldst have been still higher; however, I am
sure thou art quite high enough—and we have nothing to do
but warmly to congratulate thee on thy prowess and well-earned
honours. Certainly I for one should withhold all
congratulation, did I not feel assured that thou hast aboard thy
vessel plenty of good ballast in the shape of humility,
simplicity, and Christian principle. Therein I do and will
rejoice, more than in the flag of victory. I should now
advise a polite treatment of thyself—a journey—a
frolic—a good long holiday, yet not absolute idleness,
which is good for nobody.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“I am thy truly affectionate
Uncle,<br />
“<span class="smcap">J. J. Gurney</span>.</p>
<p>“My congratulations and kind regards to Rob.
Pryor. I told thy mother that I was ready to be £50
towards thy expenses, shouldst thou take a journey—to be
had at Overend’s any day, on my account.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Congratulatory letter from his aunt:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Upton</span>, 1834,</p>
<p>“I must, my dear Edward, add one line of expression
about my pleasure in hearing of thy success; my only fear for
thee seems to be lest thou mayst not feel humble enough, and
continue to remember from whom thou gained thy excellent talents
and powers of perseverance. <a name="page40"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 40</span>To Him thou art, I know, desirous of
dedicating them. I am writing by my dear John, who unites
with us in our feeling for thee, and begs to unite in love to
thee; thou wilt, I am sure, have felt for him in this trying
relapse, but we desire to be enabled to believe it is permitted
in mercy, and the favourable recovery from the operation is very
cheering to us. Thy uncle with Sarah and Pris<sup>e</sup>
dined at Hampstead yesterday; the dear circle there as well as
one could expect.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Thy very affectionate
Aunt,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Gurney</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Letter of congratulation from his cousin:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Upton</span>, 1834.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Edward</span>,—We are
all so much interested and delighted at hearing of thy capital
success, that a few lines must go to tell thee how warmly we
congratulate thee, and how heartily we rejoice in it; it was most
kind of thee to write and let us know of the result of the
battle; we were longing to hear, the uncertainty of
yesterday’s report being so disappointing. It is
pleasant to hear of Robert Pryor’s doing so nobly, though I
must confess my cousinly feelings would have been quite as well
satisfied if you had changed places. Kitty desired me to
give her love most particularly, and to tell thee she had set off
directly to tell the Frys and the Listers about thee. Thou
wilt have heard of the great anxiety we have gone through lately
on dear John’s account; we have now the great comfort and
mercy of seeing him recovering as well as possible from this
attack. The horses are at the door for a ride, and all the
party waiting for me, so I must say no more.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Thy very affectionate
Cousin,<br />
“<span class="smcap">S. Gurney</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
41</span>CHAPTER IV<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>VISIT TO IRELAND</i></span><span
class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>AND
PREPARATION FOR HOLY ORDERS</i></span></h2>
<p>When a young man distinguishes himself by taking a brilliant
degree, the question is asked, “What profession is he going
to adopt?” No doubt many were curious to know how
Edward Hoare intended to make use of the talents that he
possessed and the position which he had attained, and the
following letter to his father, dated “May 17th,
1834,” supplies the answer:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“. . . Now as to plans. With
respect to the opening in business, I feel quite satisfied in
declining it entirely. I am well aware that it might lead
to an extensive field of usefulness and to many and great
advantages in every point of view, but still I have long looked
to the Church as my profession, and feel every day more and more
decided in my desire to devote myself to it; and I earnestly hope
that I may be strengthened in the feeling, and that when, if
ever, my hopes should be realised, I may be taught to be a useful
minister both to myself and others.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In reply his father writes as follows:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Your letter conveyed the intelligence which
I fully <a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
42</span>expected to receive. I have only to pray God to
bless you and make you a bright and shining light in His
sanctuary.</p>
<p>“You have chosen the better part, and I confidently hope
and expect that a blessing will rest upon it, and although you
may not be blessed with the fat of the land, that you will be
with the springs of living water springing up into everlasting
life.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This was a distinct turning his back upon wealth, and perhaps
social or even future Parliamentary distinction; but he had made
up his mind. “The joy of the ministry” was the
object of his young life, and surely thousands have had good
reason to thank God for his choice, for thousands by his means
have become sharers in that joy.</p>
<p>He did not, however, seek ordination at once. Being
still too young for Holy Orders, and having been strongly urged
to read for a Fellowship, he determined to set to work for
another year of diligent study, and arranged at once to take a
reading party of undergraduates to Killarney for the summer.</p>
<p>Many entertaining letters describe this period. We are
rather alarmed in these days by the Race to the North between the
trains of rival railway companies; the same spirit was not
unknown sixty years ago, and showed itself in racing coaches!</p>
<p>The first letter describes such an event: two opposition
coaches raced down a Welsh valley; <a name="page43"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 43</span>one passed the other at full gallop,
but soon began to sway fearfully, and at last went over with a
terrible crash. Providentially and most marvellously no one
was injured; had it happened a few yards farther on several lives
would have been lost. Our travellers were deeply thankful
for their escape, and proceeded on their journey <i>viâ</i>
Holyhead to Dublin, and thence, after a short stay in the Irish
capital, which they much admired, travelled southwards to the
famous lakes. The exquisite scenery made a great impression
upon the young Englishmen. “Fairy-land” was the
first brief summary of opinion, and they agreed that it had
surpassed all their expectations.</p>
<p>Great thankfulness is expressed frequently for the excellent
parish clergyman, Mr. Bland, and his sermons are often described
with interest. All were reading steadily, but frequent
excursions were made, and rowing, fishing, and climbing of
mountains kept them well occupied. One difficulty not met
with on former occasions was the great hospitality of the
surrounding gentry, who would have entertained them at dinners
and balls every evening of the week if they had been disposed to
go. Some of the young men could not resist the social
charms of the place, and their chief writes a little despondently
of the responsibility upon him of managing so large a
party. He does not shrink from it, however, and the first
letter mentions the regular “family reading” every
day, to which <a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
44</span>they invited their landlord and his family. The
condition of the poor Celtic population around served to excite
at different times feelings of amazement, humour, and almost of
disgust. It must be remembered that some considerable
changes have taken place in the manners and customs of the poor
of Ireland since then; still much that is said in the following
letter is true, not only of that neighbourhood, but also of large
portions of the South and West; and yet, as he used often to
remark in later years, this ignorant, pauperised, and
superstitious population have proportionately more
representatives in Parliament than the intelligent artisans of
England!</p>
<blockquote><p>“I had no idea of such want of
comforts. You may travel for miles and yet meet with
scarcely any one whom a Brewhouse Lane pauper would condescend to
speak to. I do not complain of their having no shoes and
stockings, because that is not their misfortune but their choice,
but what few clothes they have are a mere bundle of rags: you see
women about in worn-out men’s coats, and the men do not
cast them off till no strings can hold them together any
longer. And then their cabins! you never saw such places;
they generally consist of one room, though sometimes there are
two. In the better sort there is a hole in the side by way
of a window, but nowhere any glass in it; then there is a large
aperture above the fire, which I believe is intended for a
chimney, but the smoke decidedly prefers to proceed (after it has
spent some time with its masters) by the more fashionable
entrance of the door. This is a great convenience, as they
smoke all their dried meat on <a name="page45"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 45</span>the ceiling instead of in the narrow
passage of the chimney. Their furniture consists of perhaps
a table, two or three low chairs, a long box which serves for a
bed for two or three by night and a seat by day, and a long bench
for the younkers. Besides this there is some straw in one
corner for those of the family who have no room in the box, and
in another for the pigs; a large coop to fat the young chickens
in, and some bars across the top which serve to dry the hams on
and as roosting poles for the hens. In the third corner
they may stow a young lamb, and in the fourth throw a heap of
potatoes. I went to a place arranged as I have attempted to
describe. At first I could not see for the smoke, but was
soon told that if I were to stoop low enough I could breathe if
not see; I accordingly sat me down on the low form, and when I
was accustomed to the darkness I perceived the form of my
hostess, bustling about with no shoes or stockings, and scolding
hard at all the little urchins. Then there ensued a
conflict with the pig, who could not understand on what grounds
he was to be excluded, more especially when he saw the woman pour
out a whole pot of hot potatoes on the table, and give a basin of
goat’s milk to each of us, which I can assure you that we
and the chickens feasted on with no inconsiderable relish.
Now for mathematics!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Son,<br />
“<span class="smcap">Edward Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Men who have not forgotten the sensations of College life will
recollect the rapid way in which age accumulates at the
University! This comes out amusingly in some of the
Killarney letters, <i>e.g.</i>:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“There could not be a place better suited to
our purpose, nor a party better suited to each other; the <a
name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>worst of it
is I feel such an old man in comparison to the other two.
Still we get on uncommonly well.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And again:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I am not reading hard, for we have all
agreed that, as we have come so far, we will see the country
well, and that I am too old and the others too young to fatigue
ourselves with reading.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A vast gap of about two years separated the leader of this
reading party from his juvenile companions, and though the outer
world may not recognise much difference between young fellows of
twenty and twenty-two, University men will recognise at once the
historical accuracy of the feeling and its expression! It
is very hard to put aside all the amusing letters written at this
time, with their picturesque descriptions of the exquisite
scenery, their accounts of duck-shooting and stag-hunts and
expeditions of various sorts, and their droll description of
novel experiences in his present surroundings. The
following extract from a letter to one of his sisters must
suffice as a specimen:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I must tell you of our evening
yesterday. I was reading away as hard as could be when I
heard the bagpipe in the next room. I found it was Gandsey,
the celebrated piper, and all the village crowded into the house
to hear. However, the ladies who had him would shut the
door, because, as our landlord said, ‘one of them was a
dumpey,’ <i>i.e.</i> deformed, and did not wish <a
name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>to be seen,
so that we were disappointed. When he had done with them we
thought that we must give ourselves and all the listeners a
treat, so we said he must play for us too; and as our room was
not large enough for the party, we adjourned to the kitchen,
which, though a large room, was soon as full as it could
comfortably hold. We had several famous tunes, to the great
delight of all parties. As I felt my own feet quite a-going
with the music, I proposed that those who wished should have a
dance. We soon had some volunteers, and a famous Irish jig
was the consequence. The partners were to me so
un-tempting, as by far the best was the cook-maid, that, though I
longed to dance too, my pride would not come down, and I looked
on. Upcher and Merivale, however, danced hard with two of
the maids, but they could not learn the jig, so the latter gave
up. Upcher, however, went on with more perseverance than
skill. But I can assure you it was a grand scene—a
fine old blind man, the best piper in Kerry, playing with all his
might, and the more active dancing in the middle of the room to
correspond, and, if any by chance had a pair of shoes, taking
them off to be the more active; while all along the walls were
the ragged Irish watching the dance and sucking in the music with
the greatest animation. Now just think what a difference
there is between our two situations: you sitting quietly in the
comfortable library with my father and mother, and I giving a
ball in the kitchen, with nothing but a clay floor and naked
walls; with scarcely another sound coat in the room except our
own!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The summer at Killarney passed pleasantly, and October found
the travellers back at Cambridge, Edward Hoare reading steadily
for fellowship, but <a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
48</span>with a growing desire for the work of the ministry
evidently uppermost in his thoughts. There are hardly any
letters at this period, but his journal is full of the holy
aspirations of the young man’s heart.</p>
<p>The following June (1835) found him at Keswick intent upon his
studies, and at the same time full of increased longing to help
others in spiritual things. Writing thence to his mother,
he alludes to a brief visit to his rooms at Trinity, where he
spent a busy week preparing and collecting papers to take with
him. Almost all his old friends were gone, but his
influence had reached men of junior standing, and the consequence
was—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I was quite delighted and touched by the
warmth of affection which I received there. Goulburn and
Merivale were both out, but I could compare my reception to
nothing but the prophet’s in Israel. I thought there
were no friends left, but there were nearer seven thousand, and
most affectionate they were. Mr. Simeon especially was full
of love and kindness; he spoke of you with the deepest interest,
and said he longed to see you, and that he thought he could be a
help to you as the messenger of the Gospel; and he spoke to me
most beautifully about the Three Persons of the Trinity all
assuming to themselves at different times the character of our
Comforter, as also upon the fellowship existing between
Christians through the Saviour.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the same letter, speaking of Keswick, he writes:—</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
49</span>“I regard this opportunity as likely to be one of
great usefulness, and I look forward with great pleasure to the
prospect of quiet repose, withdrawn from all active service, as a
preparation of my own mind and a thorough sifting of the
foundations, before I enter upon the more active duties to which
I trust it may please God before long to call me.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>He was not content with mere meditation, however. Being
desirous to give some help to the parish clergyman, he was asked
to take some cottage lectures in a neighbouring farmhouse.
As an old man he often referred with great joy to this time as
the beginning of his ministry. The farmhouse was an old
building with low rooms, having great deep beams running across
the un-ceiled kitchen. The tall young figure could not
stand erect in the low-pitched room, except by <i>fitting his
head between the beams</i>!</p>
<p>But the difficulty and humour of the scene were both forgotten
in the sight of the crowded, attentive listeners, and the evident
signs of the presence of the power of the Holy Spirit in the
midst. Long, long afterwards Canon Hoare revisited the
place, found the farmhouse, entered the very room, and was
overjoyed to meet some who had never forgotten the addresses of
the earnest young collegian more than fifty years before.</p>
<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
50</span>CHAPTER V<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>ORDINATION AND FIRST
CURACY</i></span></h2>
<p>Having failed in his fellowship examination, Edward Hoare was
in perplexity as to the right course for him to pursue. His
heart longed for the ministry. On the other hand, his
former College tutor and many old friends urged him to stand
again, saying that it was impossible for him to fail in obtaining
fellowship. For three months he was in sore perplexity,
looking for guidance, sometimes inclining to one plan, sometimes
to the other. At last the leading came. The Rev. E.
G. Marsh, Incumbent of Well Walk Chapel, Hampstead, called upon
him, and his conversation settled the matter at once; the
fellowship was given up, and Edward Hoare began to think of a
curacy and speedy ordination.</p>
<p>Just at this time, and as if to try and hinder the young
earnest heart from entering upon active work, the great enemy of
souls assailed him with vehemence.</p>
<p>There was a long struggle, dark and intense. Probably
the most faithful have had to go through terrible times of
testing, and have known what <a name="page51"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 51</span>it was to endure dark hours, aye, and
days and weeks, “when neither sun nor stars appeared, and
all hope that we should be saved was taken away.” It
may be a comfort to many who in his ministry have been upheld by
the firm faith of their teacher to know that Edward Hoare once
passed through a time like this. It is no breach of
confidence to give here the following lines written in his
journal at this time:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Forsake me not, my God! my heart is
sinking,<br />
Bowed down with faithless fears and bodings vain,<br
/>
Busied with dark imaginings, and drinking<br />
Th’ anticipated cup of grief and pain:<br />
But, Lord, I lean on Thee; Thy staff and rod<br />
Shall guide my
lot;<br />
I will not fear if Thou, my God, my God,<br />
Forsake me
not.</p>
<p>“Forsake me not, my God!<br />
Though earth grow dim and vanish from my sight,<br
/>
Through death’s dark vale no human hand may take me,<br />
No friend’s fond smile may bless me with its
light;<br />
Alone the silent pathway must be trod<br />
Through that
drear spot—<br />
For I must die alone—oh there, my God,<br />
Forsake me
not!</p>
<p>“Forsake me not, my God! when darkly o’er me<br />
Roll thoughts of guilt and overwhelm my heart;<br />
When the accuser threatening stands before me,<br />
And trembling conscience writhes beneath the
dart,<br />
Thou who canst cleanse by Thy atoning blood<br />
Each sinful
spot,<br />
Plead Thou my cause, my Saviour and my God!<br />
Forsake me
not!</p>
<p><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
52</span>“Forsake me not, O Thou Thyself forsaken<br />
In that mysterious hour of agony,<br />
When from Thy soul Thy Father’s smile was taken<br />
Which had from everlasting dwelt on Thee:<br />
Oh by that depth of anguish which to know<br />
Passes
man’s thought,<br />
By that last bitter cry, Incarnate God,<br />
Forsake me
not!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But the storm passed, and was followed by “clear shining
after rain.” The adversary meant it for harm, but God
overruled it for good; and surely one of the secrets of Edward
Hoare’s great power of helping troubled souls, for which he
was so remarkable in after-life, lay in the fact that he had
passed through the time of spiritual darkness, and had come out
into the light.</p>
<h3>Autobiography (<i>continued</i>).</h3>
<p>After taking my degree at Cambridge I continued to reside
there for a time, taking mathematical pupils and reading for a
Trinity Fellowship; but not having succeeded in my first
examination, and being anxious to be at work in the great calling
of my life, I could not devote another year to the study of
mathematics. So I threw my whole heart into immediate
preparation for the ministry.</p>
<p>In those days there was no Ridley or Wycliffe, and I was
thrown upon my own resources for my study; but I worked hard and
brought all my Cambridge habits to bear on the great subject of
theology. If I had learnt nothing else at Cambridge, <a
name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>I had learnt
never to be satisfied till I got a clear view of what I was
about, and that habit of mine, acquired through mathematical
study, has been of the greatest possible benefit throughout my
life.</p>
<p>During those important months, to use Cambridge language, I
“got up” some of our best books, such as Butler,
Pearson, and Hooker. What I learnt from the latter
especially has been invaluable to me through life.
Butler’s “Analogy” has again and again been
helpful to me, when there has been a tendency to a shaking of the
faith. But that which helped me most during that time of
preparation was the study of great doctrinal truths from
Scripture itself. I took up such subjects as <i>The
Divinity of our Lord</i>, <i>Justification by Faith</i>,
<i>Baptism</i>, <i>The Lord’s Supper</i>, <i>Election</i>,
and <i>Final Perseverance</i>, one at a time; and I read the
whole New Testament through with especial reference to the one
subject which I was studying, carefully noting every passage
referring to it. I then analysed and grouped those
passages, keeping careful records of results. Having thus
dealt with one subject, I went on to the second, then to the
third, and so on. I have no words wherewith to convey the
immense value these studies have been to me throughout
life. They have told upon the whole of my ministry.
After more than fifty-two years I am habitually using the results
first obtained in that preparation period.</p>
<p>I cannot speak too strongly, therefore, of the <a
name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>vast
importance of our young men, when preparing for the ministry,
devoting themselves to the careful study of theology. I see
dear young men, full of zeal and holy earnestness, who seem,
indeed, so zealous that they cannot wait to study; and they are
to my mind like men who are in such haste to fire their guns that
they cannot wait to put any shot in them! The result is
that, when they are sent forth as ministers of the Gospel and as
teachers of the truth, they are themselves ignorant of the clear
definitions of the truth they are going to teach, and, while they
can make fervent appeals, are utterly unable to build up others
in great fundamental truths of the Gospel. It is not
fervour only that makes a minister valuable, but a fervent
exhibition of truth; and if we are to be able ministers, we
<i>must</i> be able ministers of New Testament truths.</p>
<p>I consider, therefore, that an immense benefit has been
conferred upon the Church of England by the foundation of Ridley
Hall at Cambridge, and Wycliffe Hall at Oxford. How
thankful should I have been myself to have been under the
teaching of either of the two able Principals of those Halls; and
how earnest should we all be to secure to our young men the
benefit of these institutions, and not to let them go forth as
evangelists or scripture-readers, to be giving <i>out</i> before
they have taken <i>in</i>, and to be teaching <i>others</i>
before they have learnt themselves.</p>
<p><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>At
length the day came for my ordination, and I had the inestimable
privilege of being ordained as curate to my revered and beloved
uncle, Mr. Francis Cunningham, Vicar of Lowestoft and Rector of
Pakefield. An ordination in those days was a very different
thing to what it is now. At that time Bishop Bathurst was
Bishop of Norwich, and too infirm to undertake his own
ordinations. He therefore gave his candidates dimissory
letters to the Bishop of Lincoln.</p>
<p>I cannot say that much was done to deepen the impression on
the minds of the candidates. As we all had to go to Norwich
first for examination, and to Buckden for ordination, it was
necessary to show some consideration for us, as there were no
railways then. I often think that the Chaplain showed a
great deal of good sense in his examination. It began on
Wednesday morning, and he told us that he should give us hard
questions at the beginning, that they would grow easier and
easier during the three days of the examination, and that he
should let us go as soon as he was satisfied. So we had a
good stiff paper on various subjects at the first sitting, while
he walked about the room and looked over the papers as we were
writing, but having nothing to look over from a great many of the
candidates. It was a great satisfaction to me, when that
first sitting was over, to be told that I might go, and that I
should find the necessary papers at Buckden.</p>
<p><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>Most of
us Norwich men had to put up at Huntingdon, as the little inn at
Buckden was full of the men from the Lincoln Diocese; and as I
imagine that the Bishop did not like to have the Norwich men in
addition to his own, he gave us no share of any of the privileges
that his own candidates may have enjoyed. We signed our
papers, etc., on the Saturday morning, and were told that we
Norwich men were not wanted any more till the next morning.
Accordingly the next morning we were in the church at the
appointed hour, and that evening, to my great joy, I read prayers
at the parish church of Huntingdon. How wonderfully
different is the careful pains taken by all our present Bishops
ere young men are admitted to the ministry, and what a wonderful
improvement has taken place in this respect!</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>Letter from Rev. E. G. Marsh, on his entering the
ministry:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>February</i>, 1836.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear
Friend</span>,—Knowing with whom you are connected in the
great work which you have now undertaken, I feel that I might
fairly excuse myself from saying anything to you upon an occasion
so interesting to all your friends; and my natural indolence
would readily yield to the suggestion, and withhold me from
interfering where others are more competent to advise. Yet
on the whole I could not be quite easy if I suffered you to enter
upon an office, far too high <a name="page57"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 57</span>and holy to be approached by a
sinner, but for that infinite condescension and love of our
Saviour which has called us to it, without saying to you, in the
words of St. Paul to Archippus, ‘Take heed to the ministry
which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil
it!’ This is indeed a solemn charge, even more so
than that which you have just received from the Bishop. I
can add nothing to its weight, and can only pray my God to
forgive all our deficiencies, and to supply all our need,
according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
Nevertheless there are one or two hints which I will venture to
suggest, in case they should help you in taking a practical view
of the obligations thus laid upon you. In the first place,
although this is a work which can only be successfully prosecuted
in the spirit of prayer and in the strength of the Saviour, it is
very desirable that the greatness of it should not dishearten us,
or render us insensible to the duty of doing what we can.
My simple advice to you in the beginning of your ministry is
this—never to let a day pass, if it be possible, without
doing some act in fulfilment of it. I mean some act having
respect, not to your own personal salvation, but to the salvation
of those to whom you are an ambassador for Christ: to your
parishioners, while you are among them; to others, when you are
absent. And this act, whatever it be, should be made the
subject of special prayer. My second advice is to give
sufficient time to each act, that it may be done properly, and
rather to let many be neglected than to do any one perfunctorily,
for on that which is performed indifferently and without due
attention we cannot consistently expect a blessing. To do
one thing at a time is the only way, either in spiritual duties
or in temporal, to do many things well. Do not, therefore,
attempt too much at once. Many break down and are
discouraged <a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
58</span>by this error. Again, I would say, ‘Attend
more to the living than to the dying.’ However
important may be the clinical department of ministerial duty, we
must always be greatly on our guard against encouraging the
notion that the work of religion may be done, as doctors’
degrees are sometimes taken, <i>per cumulum</i>, or that anything
can be done by a clergyman at the last hour which can reasonably
be expected to produce a change in the spiritual condition of a
person who has neglected to seek it before. Thus the
ministry which you have received may be continually carried
forward, independently of those occasional calls, caused by the
alarm of sickness or the apprehension of death, which are most
valuable seasons indeed, but on which too much stress may be
easily laid, to the neglect of more hopeful opportunities.
I hardly intended to say so much, and indeed, on what I have now
said you may naturally ask me whether these have been my maxims
in the course of my own ministry. But, alas! my dear
friend, I do not propose myself as an example to you. I
rather wish to see you avoid my errors and supply my defects; and
happy shall I be if, in the arduous duties on which you are now
embarking, you can derive the least aid from a single word of
mine. Commending you to God and to the word of His grace
who alone can make you an able minister of the New Testament,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“I remain ever, my dear
friend,<br />
“Your faithful and affectionate fellow-labourer,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. G. Marsh</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>From Mrs. Hoare to Mrs. Catherine Gurney on Edward
Hoare’s first sermon:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
59</span>“<i>March</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1836.</p>
<p>“I must send thee one line, dearest Catherine, to tell
thee what a remarkable day of interest we passed on Sunday.
Our dearest Edward read the service in Well Walk in the morning
and in the evening preached. It was deeply interesting, and
I longed to have my heart melted in love and gratitude.
Such heartfelt satisfaction to have this dear child so devoted,
and adorned with so childlike, lovely, and devoted a spirit, and
thus enabled in our own chapel, amongst our friends and
neighbours, to proclaim with grace and fervour the great
salvation of the Gospel of Christ! This appeared to me to
be remarkably the case with him, and, independent of a
mother’s feelings, his countenance and manner, his manly
grace and childlike humility and simplicity, were striking.
The congregation had, I believe, much fellow-feeling with us, and
the expression of it from different friends has been touching to
us. Never was I less disposed to boast, and deeply can
unite in that expression ‘Where is boasting?—It is
excluded’; and yet I <i>long</i> to say with the Psalmist,
‘My soul shall make her boast in the Lord,’ and in
the blessing He has been pleased to vouchsafe. Of course we
feel the prospect of parting with Edward; one of the many
cheering points in the prospect is his vicinity to Earlham, and
to thee and our dearest brother. How kind has Joseph been
to him, and what an opportune visit was his last to Earlham!</p>
<p>“I went to see Anna Tooten yesterday at Tottenham, as I
had left Upton before the arrival of thy letter. Catherine
has been very much cast down lately, and I am but a poor
helper. The dear babes are with me to-day, while their
mother is in Devonshire Street.</p>
<p>“My dearest brother and sister, nephew and niece, <a
name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>and dear
Rachel included, I know they will all unite with us in the
interest of Edward.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your truly affectionate<br />
“L. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>Autobiography (<i>continued</i>).</h3>
<p>It was not long afterwards that I went to my curacy.
Pakefield was a bleak village on the top of a cliff, and I never
shall forget what the guard on the coach said to me as I was
approaching it for the first time. I had complained of
cold, and he said to me, “Don’t talk about the cold
yet; wait till you get to Pakefield—there you catches it
genuine!” And so we did. Aye, and I witnessed
many a gale of wind, and during the year that I was curate, there
were no less than fifty shipwrecks off the coast of my own
parish.</p>
<p>But no words can express my thankfulness to God that He placed
me at the outset of my ministry in that village. My dear
uncle had laboured there for more than forty years. In his
day there were none of the new plans for evangelisation; the
high-pressure system had not yet dawned. He had worked hard
with parochial work, and he had faithfully preached the
old-fashioned Gospel. There was no particular brilliancy
about him; his sermons were not equal to his character, but they
were like himself, full of Christ, and he and his most remarkable
wife lived such a life of Christian holiness in the midst of <a
name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>those rough
fishermen, that the late Rev. Henry Blunt once told me that he
considered Mr. Francis Cunningham and Mr. Haldane Stewart to be
the two holiest men he had ever met with in his life. And
what did I find in that village? I found large
congregations of fishermen and their families; but more than
that, I went diligently about from house to house, and was soon
acquainted with every house in the parish, and there I saw
unmistakable evidences of the blessing that had rested upon my
uncle’s ministry.</p>
<p>There were noble men among the fishermen, nobly working for
God and for the cause of truth, and there were refined and
well-instructed women in the different homes, many of whom had
been brought up in those schools. There was a most marked
and unmistakable difference between the converted and the
unconverted, so that it was impossible for a young man to go from
house to house without seeing with his own eyes the manifest
results of a faithful Evangelical ministry. I have no words
to express what the benefit was to myself. I learnt in that
village what I was to expect, as well as what I was to do.</p>
<p>I saw in Mrs. Cunningham the most beautiful example of a
clergyman’s wife, and I saw in numbers of young women of
the parish the conspicuous evidence of God’s blessing on
her work amongst them.</p>
<p>There were amongst those men fine, noble, <a
name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>rough,
powerful fellows—men who, till Mr. Cunningham went there,
had been living without God in the world, but now devout
consistent believers, and splendid men for dashing through the
surf to save life from shipwreck, knowing not what fear was, yet
who would kneel together in devout Communion at the Table of the
Lord. I never can forget one fearful snow-storm accompanied
by a heavy gale. Two of these true men, Nath Colby and
Robert Peck, brought in their boats through the gale, wet, cold,
and half-frozen, but there I saw them at the service on the
Thursday evening, drinking in the Word of Life, and evidently
regarding it as their greatest pleasure to be able to be present
on that occasion.</p>
<p>That was the last time I ever spoke to dear Robert Peck.
He went out again in command of his large fishing boat, and early
in the following week I heard that his boat had been found bottom
upward. It was my solemn duty to walk through the village,
where, everybody being so awed by what had happened, no one spoke
a word, to go up to that cottage to tell the poor woman her
husband and her son were gone. As I went up the alley where
she lived, I heard voices in one of the cottages; turning in, I
found some Christian friends assembled there, praying for the
poor bereaved woman. I then went into her cottage, and I
suppose she read in my face what had happened, and she said to
me, ere I could open <a name="page63"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 63</span>my lips, “Then they are both
lost?” Then she added: “‘A bruised reed
shall He not break, and the smoking flax shall He not
quench.’ These were the last words that Robert spoke
to me—and I am sure the Lord will never fail
me!” Oh that every young curate had the opportunity
of learning as much from his Rector, and his Rector’s
family, as I did from Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham! I do not
hesitate to say that their example, and the blessing which God
gave to their ministry, have given character to the whole of my
own ministry for the last fifty-two years.</p>
<p>These were not the only advantages I enjoyed in Pakefield, for
I was within easy reach of Earlham, the seat of my dear Uncle
Joseph John Gurney. He was a very remarkable man, and his
home was one of the most charming homes in England. He used
to collect there many of the most distinguished men of the
day. Nothing could be more delightful than the great
gatherings under his hospitable roof on the occasion of the
Norwich Meetings which were held every autumn.</p>
<p>I had a horse at that time which taught me a great lesson in
practical life. It was a splendid trotter, but pulled like
a steam-engine if I pulled against it; but if I treated it gently
and with confidence it was as gentle as a lamb. How often
have I seen the same effect produced amongst mankind! Try
to force them, and they resist; deal <a name="page64"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 64</span>gently with them, and they will be
your most active and kindest helpers. So I used as often as
possible to ride over to Earlham.</p>
<p>There I had three friends. There was my uncle, who was
far in advance of the Quakers of his day in theological
knowledge, being a good Biblical critic and well made up in the
great doctrines of the Gospel. The great point in his
conversations with me was the Divinity of our Lord and
Saviour. It was he that taught me of the goings forth of
the pre-existent Saviour with the Name and Attributes of
Jehovah. Then there was Mr. William Forster, the father of
the late statesman, who was most earnest with me on the
importance of definite theology. He recommended certain
books for my study, and at his advice I purchased Brown’s
“Natural and Revealed Religion,” Guise’s
“Expositor,” and Dwight’s
“Theology,” which three books have been of the utmost
value to me throughout my ministry. The latter book indeed
has been made the text-book for my son’s theological
students in China. Thus is Mr. Forster’s advice being
still acted upon in that far distant region.</p>
<p>Besides these two men was my very dear friend the Rev. Robert
Hankinson, at that time Curate of Earlham. He was a man of
remarkably sound judgment, as well as fervent piety; and never
can I forget the profitable hours which I spent with him in the
Earlham Parsonage, learning from him <a name="page65"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 65</span>maxims of practical wisdom to carry
home for my ministerial work.</p>
<p>But that was not all that happened to me at Pakefield; for
while I was there it pleased God to take home to Himself my
dearest mother. My dear brother Sam had died of consumption
in the year 1833, and she deeply mourned his loss—nor could
we wonder, for he was a noble young man, full of high principles,
dutiful to his father and mother, and devoted to the Lord.
His influence over us his younger brothers was of infinite value
to us all, as we had ever before us a spotless example. He
had married most happily, was settled in his home near to our
father’s house, when he was suddenly seized with
hæmorrhage, and very rapidly sank, full of faith in
God. I remember well, when I sat up with him on the last
night of his life, how he spoke to me of the bright hope of the
coming Resurrection, how he exhorted those around him to be ready
for their Saviour.</p>
<p>I believe it was the shock as well as the sorrow of parting
with him that so deeply wrung my mother’s heart. She
was in his room with him on the morning of his death, and
thinking that his dear wife required attention, she went out for
a few minutes to see after her, and when she returned, to her
surprise, he was gone. That was in the autumn of 1833, and
for nearly three years we saw her gradually fail, till at length
in the summer of 1836 the end came.</p>
<p><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>There
was something most interesting in the character of my
mother. She was not one of those who spoke much of present
salvation and present peace; such subjects were not spoken of so
much throughout the Church in those days as they are now.
Good men in those times seemed to think more of the future than
the present salvation. I am not sure that we have not
drifted rather too much into the dwelling on the present, to the
forgetfulness of the future life, and surely it is important for
us to keep the balance. But while there was very little of
the modern language of assurance, there was in its most perfect
form the great reality of the hallowed Christ. I can never
forget the language of that dearest mother to me as I stood by
her bedside during her dying illness: “I can reverently
say, with the deepest humility, ‘Lord, Thou knowest all
things, Thou knowest that I love Thee.’” And
she did love Him with her whole heart and soul. How well do
I remember her words in the garden at Hampstead in the afternoon
of her son’s death! While she wept over his loss, she
exclaimed, “How little it is in comparison with sin!”
<a name="citation66"></a><a href="#footnote66"
class="citation">[66]</a></p>
<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
67</span>Pakefield Letters.</h3>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Pakefield</span>, <i>June</i> 20<i>th</i>,
1836.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest
Mother</span>,—Having paid my bills and seen after the
schools, I commence my usual Monday’s letter. . . .
As for myself, it is needless to give you my history, for you
know it already, the life of a country curate not being subject
to much external variation. The internal changes, however,
are indeed numerous—more frequent and uncertain than those
of our most changeable climate. I never had an idea how
many ups and downs there are attendant on the ministerial
work. At times it is delightful; all seems easy and
pleasant, and the only difficulty is to keep within bounds.
At others there is a deadness and barrenness which words cannot
describe. I speak under a very vivid recollection of this
low estate, for I was down at the very bottom yesterday. I
fought my way pretty fairly through the morning sermon (on Isa.
xxviii. 16), but in the evening I had a real trial of my
faith. I had good notes, and had well considered my
subject. But as soon as I began it all appeared to leave
me. I was much in the position that Robert Hall was when he
broke down, and I thought I must have stopped. There were
my notes, but they seemed to tell me nothing, and I had the pain
of going through my lecture hardly knowing while I was delivering
one sentence whether I should ever find another to follow
it. You may easily imagine, from such a description of the
performer, what was the character of the performance.
However, I can look back to it, painful as it was, with great
thankfulness: for (1) I know that in weakness He is strong, and
the good done may perhaps be greater than that which would have
followed a clear and well-delivered <a name="page68"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 68</span>lecture; and (2) if it did no one
else any good, it was a fine lesson for myself, and one that I
wanted. I knew I wanted to be kept down, and had prayed for
it. This was the appointed means.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Writing to his mother at various times upon his work at
Pakefield there occur passages such as these:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Preaching is becoming more and more a
pleasure to me. The great difficulty of addressing people
appears to pass away. The knowledge of all the congregation
is partly the cause, and also the encouragement derived from
visiting.”</p>
<p>“You see there is a good deal doing here, but what is it
all if the Spirit of God be absent?—a sounding brass and
tinkling cymbal. It is there that the difficulty
lies. Nothing is easier than to get through the duties of a
parish, and to get through them, as man thinks, well; but to go
to your work in the Spirit of Christ, carrying with you the
unction from the Holy One, there is the difficulty. May God
forgive my great shortcomings! Sometimes I dread Jeremiah
xlviii. 10.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Upon the spiritual life he writes to his sister:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“The characteristic of the new life is that
we have fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ;
it must therefore follow that all interruptions will increase a
deadness of faith, and total separation cause death. It is
one of the privileges of my office that all my work is for God
(though He only knows how little I keep this end in view), and
therefore the busier I am the more I am compelled to pray.
This, however, is not sufficient, though delightful. We
cannot <a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
69</span>live without that ‘freedom of speech,’
translated ‘boldly’ in Hebrews iv., in which we pour
out our heart before Him. When we know that we know in
truth that God is a refuge for us, this is the balm of Gilead
that can heal every wound, the power that can say to the troubled
waters, ‘Peace, be still!’ In order to the
attainment of it let us allow nothing to impede our private
communion with our God.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Writing one Sunday evening to his mother he says:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I have had somewhat to contend with in
myself from very cloudy views of the doctrines I was
preaching. At the same time I have found comfort in the
recollection that the work is not mine nor dependent upon my own
feelings. I began work at a quarter before nine by opening
the boys’ school; at ten I was really refreshed and humbled
by just dropping into the prayer-meeting; there was a most
beautiful spirit amongst them, and they were praying most
delightfully for me. I left them deeply impressed with the
sense of their far greater fitness to teach me than mine to be
their minister.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the postscript of a letter dated August 1st, 1836, he
writes: “Congratulate Uncle Buxton upon the glorious events
of this day.” An entry in his journal dwells joyfully
upon it also—and well might his and every
Englishman’s heart be stirred by the thought that from that
day every slave standing on British soil was free!</p>
<h2><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
70</span>CHAPTER VI<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>RICHMOND</i></span></h2>
<p>But my Pakefield curacy was soon to terminate. Whether
it was the cold, or whether it was the pressure of ministerial
interest, which I have often known to break down young men in the
outset of their ministry, or whether it was the death of my
dearest mother, or the three together, I cannot say; but I had a
bad cough, and I went away for a time to my father’s home
to nurse it. I had no idea at the time of leaving
Pakefield, but my kind and valued friend the Rev. J. W.
Cunningham, brother to my Rector, recommended me, without my
knowledge, to the curacy of Richmond, Surrey.</p>
<p>He was a true friend to me and to my family. He was a
very different man to his brother; he had taken a high degree at
Cambridge, and he was a polished scholar, one of the best writers
of the English language that I ever met with, an admirable friend
as a scholarly critic to a young man entering the ministry.
I am much indebted to his advice, and only wish I had followed it
more carefully. It was his doing that introduced me to the
<a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>Rev. W.
Gandy, Vicar of Kingston and Richmond; and through him the curacy
was proposed to me.</p>
<p>I must say that it was a desperate experiment on his part, for
there were peculiar circumstances connected with the position,
and I had never run alone in the ministry, but always had the
friendship and counsel of my beloved Rector.</p>
<p>The position of the parish was this. There were four
parishes lying together along the banks of the
Thames—Kingston, Petersham, Richmond, Kew—all in the
gift of King’s College, Cambridge. It had been
thought desirable that there should be only two Vicars instead of
four, and therefore it had been arranged to group them, two and
two. Of course the most natural arrangement would have been
to have put together the small parish of Petersham and the large
parish of Kingston to which it was adjacent, and the small parish
of Kew and the large parish of Richmond which also
adjoined. But in those days there used to be a good deal of
jobbery, and, for some reason or other which I never could
explain, it had been decided to unite together the two large
parishes, Kingston and Richmond, skipping over Petersham; and the
two small parishes, Petersham and Kew, skipping over Richmond; so
that the Rev. Mr. Gandy was Vicar of Kingston and Richmond, while
another gentleman was Vicar of the other two smaller ones.</p>
<p>Mr. Gandy was a man altogether incompetent <a
name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>to have the
charge. He was a most interesting man, and a deep student
of Scripture—a man of heavenly mind, one in fact who seemed
so occupied with heavenly views that he was unfitted for the
practical business of this lower world. Mr. Simeon once
said of him, “All of us are going stumping along on the
surface of earth, but Mr. Gandy rises right into
Heaven!”</p>
<p>It may easily be imagined that he found his great double
charge far too much for him, so Mr. Cunningham advised him
practically to give up Richmond into the hands of some
trustworthy curate, who should find his own assistant, and
undertake the entire responsibility of the work. This was
the charge to which I was called by the providence of God in
those early days of my ministry. I have just said it was a
desperate experiment, and looking back to that time I can see
plenty of mistakes, and I learn from my own experience that it is
a possible thing to mistake the irritation produced by our own
blunders for opposition to the Gospel which we preach; a man may
be true to the Gospel, but he may not infrequently make very
great mistakes in his mode of putting it forth.</p>
<p>In looking back to those days I am thankful to believe that I
went to Richmond true to my Master, and I am profoundly thankful
for the help given me; but I should make a great mistake if I
were to lead anybody to suppose that, in my <a
name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>earnest
desire to exalt my Saviour, I never did anything to
irritate. At one time I had great difficulty with one of
the churchwardens, which led to a considerable
correspondence. I kept that correspondence carefully, and
after ten years I looked it over. That revision taught me a
great lesson, for I found that in the heat of the controversy I
had written very differently to what I should have done in the
calmer review of ten years afterwards. That was one of the
lessons I learnt at Richmond.</p>
<p>That which I look back upon with the greatest thankfulness is
a confirmation by my Richmond experience of the great lesson I
learnt at Pakefield respecting the results to be expected from
the ministry. Mr. Gandy had been Vicar for some twenty-five
years, during which time he had appointed a series of curates,
the first of whom was the Rev. Stephen Langston, who resigned the
curacy about twenty years before I was appointed. But when
I set to work in the parish, the first thing that met my
observation was a body of Christian men and women who owed their
conversion, through God, to Mr. Langston’s ministry.
There they were living consistent lives and most truly glorifying
God, in some cases under sharp opposition, and the twenty years
that had elapsed since Mr. Langston left only tended to confirm
their faith and establish their character.</p>
<p>Both in Pakefield and Richmond, therefore, it <a
name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>was my
unspeakable privilege to see the effects produced by the faithful
ministry of the Word of God. And yet the two cases were
entirely different. Mr. Cunningham was an admirable pastor,
but not a particularly interesting preacher; Mr. Langston was a
poor pastor, but the grandest preacher I ever heard. I have
heard many able men preach many excellent sermons, but there was
a richness, a fulness, a power about Mr. Langston’s such as
I never met with in any other to whom I have listened. The
two instruments, therefore, were entirely different, but God made
use of them both. They were both blessed by Him; and it
taught me the lesson that I must be prepared to meet with great
differences of administration, but in the midst of those
differences it is our privilege to look for a blessing. God
did not withhold from Mr. Cunningham His blessing, because he had
not the preaching power of Mr. Langston; nor did He withhold His
blessing from Mr. Langston, because he had not the pastoral zeal
of Mr. Cunningham.</p>
<p>The lesson taught me was not the only blessing bestowed upon
me through the friendship of those excellent people. I had
in it the enormous advantage of the ripened experience and tried
wisdom of some of the most excellent Christian people
living. Never can I forget the friendship of Sir Henry and
Lady Baker, of Dr. Julius and of Mrs. Delafosse, to whose loving
sympathy and Christian counsel I used continually to resort; and
amongst <a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
75</span>the humbler classes there was Mrs. Abbott, a grand old
Christian who had loved the Lord before she heard the preaching
of the Gospel, and the moulding of whose faith was drawn from the
Prayer-Book. She often used to express to me her
astonishment that when people were brought to Christ it did not
make them love their Prayer-Book more.</p>
<p>And down a row of cottages at the bottom of Water Lane there
lived a blind woman named Mrs. Woodrow, whom I shall ever regard
as one of the best of my many friends. I had been preaching
one day on the importance of praying for the ministry, and when
visiting her a few days afterwards I said, “I’m sure
you pray for me.” “Indeed I do,” she
replied with great emphasis, “morning, noon, and
night.” She spoke with such earnestness that I could
not refrain from asking her what she prayed for, when she said,
“They tell me you’re a very young man, so I pray that
you may be kept from the sins of young men.” How much
do I owe to the prayers of that blind widow!</p>
<p>In addition to these advantages I enjoyed the intimate
friendship of my beloved and honoured friend the Rev. James
Hough, founder of the Tinnevelly Mission. After his return
from India he had settled in the incumbency of Ham, and I never
can forget his first visit to me. I had taken a lodging
just beyond the bridge, and I had scarcely finished my breakfast
on the first day <a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
76</span>after my arrival when the venerable man entered the
room. He spoke very kindly to me, and before he would say a
word upon any other subject, he told me that many Christian
friends had been praying that the right appointment might be
made, and afterwards for me when they heard that I was appointed,
and that he had come on the first possible occasion to commend me
solemnly to the Lord. He then fell on his knees and pleaded
for me before God that I might have grace and wisdom for the
difficult post to which I had been called. His subsequent
intercourse with me was in harmony with that beginning. His
house was always open to me, and whenever I wanted counsel I
always used to go to him, as I never failed to find in him one
who seemed to bring his wisdom fresh from the throne of
grace.</p>
<p>With these advantages I set to work. I wonder at the
grace of God that kept me from making more blunders than I did;
for having had no experience I had not the slightest fear of
difficulty. Things in those days were very different to
what they are now. Ritualism had not then been invented,
nor had that loose vague system now so popular under the name of
Undenominationalism.</p>
<p>Among those who professed to be Churchmen there were only two
classes—those whose Churchmanship consisted in maintaining
things as they were, who were living for the world; who, if they
cared for their own souls, were utterly unconcerned <a
name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>about the
souls of others; who showed not the slightest sympathy in any
Christian object, and who seemed to consider that anything that
disturbed them must of necessity be unorthodox. To avoid
such disturbance one of those gentlemen stumped out of church
every Sunday morning as I went up to the pulpit, and others used
to take refuge in the chapel of Archdeacon Cambridge on the other
side of the river.</p>
<p>On the other hand, there was a body of people, drawn from all
classes of society, who “had passed from death unto
life,” who had been quickened by the Spirit of God, and who
were taking their stand nobly on the side of their Saviour.
Thus there was a much wider line of demarcation between the
converted and the unconverted than we meet with in modern times,
and a clergyman’s work was simpler than it is now, inasmuch
as there was much less to entangle and confuse the application of
the message to individual souls.</p>
<p>But there was in some cases sharp opposition. It may
seem extraordinary to some that at the visitation of the late
Bishop of Winchester, <a name="citation77"></a><a
href="#footnote77" class="citation">[77]</a> then Archdeacon of
Surrey, I was publicly presented before the Archdeacon by one of
the churchwardens for having been guilty of giving a Wednesday
evening lecture in the infant schoolroom! What was more
extraordinary still was that, when I was <a
name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>called up
before the Archdeacon and all the clergy to answer for my fault,
the Archdeacon said with great solemnity that it was an important
matter, and he must refer it to the Bishop. And what is
more wonderful still, in consequence of that reference I had to
give up the lecture.</p>
<p>The Bishop was in a great difficulty. He thoroughly
approved of such lectures, and had advocated them in a charge
recently delivered, but he believed that they were not strictly
in accordance with the Act of Uniformity, so that he felt it
impossible to support me, while at the same time he did not at
all wish to have the responsibility of stopping me. This
led to a somewhat painful correspondence with that excellent man,
and after full consultation with my dear friend Mr. Hough, I
thought it best to give up the lecture, stating that I did so in
obedience to the Bishop’s wish. One blessed result of
that whole transaction was that a bill was carried through
Parliament distinctly legalising all such services.</p>
<p>But of all those whom God raised up as counsellors and
friends, there was no one to be compared to the beloved one whom
God gave me to be my loving wife, <a name="citation78"></a><a
href="#footnote78" class="citation">[78]</a> on July 10th,
1839. She combined the ability of her father with the
devotedness of her mother, and it is perfectly <a
name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>impossible
for me to say what she was to me in the parish, in her home, and
our own private intercourse. One thing only I would
especially mention respecting her, viz. that it was to her that I
owe what I believe to be the most useful characteristic of my
ministry—I am thankful to say that from the very beginning
I always quoted a great deal of Scripture in my sermons, but I
used to do so interweaving those texts with my own
composition. But she taught me the use of proof
texts—she said that my preaching was not so profitable as
that of the Rev. H. H. Beamish, to which she had been accustomed,
and instead of merely quoting a passage, he used to give a
chapter and verse, and allow the people time to look it out in
their Bibles.</p>
<p>As he was constantly engaged in the exposition of the Word of
God, and laid a solid foundation of the truth taught, I was
thoroughly convinced of the wisdom of her words; and for the last
fifty years I have systematically acted on her advice, so that,
although I never heard Mr. Beamish in my life, I have always
regarded his ministry as the model on which my own has been
formed; and when I have seen the blessing which the exposition of
Scripture has been made to very many souls, I have never ceased
to thank God for that dear young wife who did not shrink from
pointing out to her husband his defects.</p>
<p>It was during the period of my Richmond <a
name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>curacy that I
had the high honour of being invited by my dear friend the Rev.
Henry Venn to become a member of the Committee of Correspondence
of the Church Missionary Society. I think it was in the
year 1844. I am not quite sure respecting the date, but I
have no hesitation in expressing my thankfulness to our Heavenly
Father for the wisdom, the fidelity, for the true missionary
spirit with which the affairs of that great society have been
conducted during the many years of my intimate acquaintance with
its business and its leaders.</p>
<p>My love for it when I was at Richmond once brought me into a
serious difficulty with the late Bishop Wilberforce, and taught
me his marvellous power in controlling the minds of men. He
was at that time Archdeacon of Surrey, and as such he proposed a
scheme for doing away with all especial interest in particular
societies, and to raise one general fund to be laid “at the
feet of the Apostles,” and divided by them according to
their discretion.</p>
<p>We did not exactly know who the Apostles were. We
thought that probably they were to be the Archdeacon and the
Bishop, as they were to be the distributors.</p>
<p>Against this scheme the friends of the Church Missionary
Society rose as one man. We held a meeting to consider what
should be done. We decided that we would all attend the
Archdeacon’s <a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
81</span>meeting in order to oppose the plan, and engaged
conveyances accordingly. When the morning came I had such a
headache as I never remember to have suffered from, either before
or since, and I was utterly unable to leave my bed, so off drove
the others, full of zeal and holy courage. But what was my
astonishment when they returned in the afternoon, and one of the
most faithful, earnest, and trustworthy of the whole party came
to tell me the result. He said they had found the plan was
not so objectionable as they had thought, and at length
reluctantly acknowledged that the Archdeacon had not allowed them
to separate till he had made every one of them, dear old Mr.
Hough included, sign a paper agreeing to the introduction into
their own parishes of the Archdeacon’s scheme.</p>
<p>So then I stood alone, and thanked God for the headache which
had saved me from the fascination.</p>
<p>But Richmond was the parish that was doing more than any other
in the rural deanery for Missions, and it was most important for
the success of the plan that Richmond should be included.
So nothing was left undone that could induce me to join the
others. But I was still free, as all my other brethren
began to wish they were, and I stuck to my point. I was
invited in the most cordial manner for a visit, with my dearest
wife, first to Alvenstoke and then to Farnham Castle. I was
addressed in the language of warm affection, <a
name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>not only
towards myself, but to my beloved mother. But I considered
that by the Providence of God I had been preserved from the
fascinating power, and that my only wisdom was to keep clear of
it when I was free; so we went on independently till the next
visitation of the Bishop. My heart was filled with
thankfulness when I heard him announce in his charge that he had
advised his beloved friend, the Archdeacon, to give up his
scheme.</p>
<p>This curacy I held for more than nine years, for seven of
which I had the unspeakable help of my dearly beloved, most
faithful, and most able wife. During the time I had
different livings offered to me, and I believe that, if I had
regarded my worldly interest, I should have accepted some of
them. But I had a great conviction of the importance of my
position, and strong belief that the Lord had called me to
it. So we both agreed that we were most likely to do His
will if we persevered in the curacy.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>To Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham at Lowestoft Rectory:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <i>February</i> 19<i>th</i>,
1837.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest Uncle and
Aunt</span>,—You will be glad to hear that I am myself very
comfortable. Of course there is a large field of enjoyment
from which I am wholly excluded; I am no longer a social
being. In all the difficulties and responsibilities of this
place I am absolutely alone. I have no dear Rector within
two miles, whom I may consult over all my affairs and <a
name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
83</span>discouragements. I compare myself to a ship
finding its way alone across the ocean, and sometimes
well-buffeted in the journey. I certainly miss friendship
wonderfully, and I cannot say how greatly I long after you
all. My heart this day has been full of tenderness to
Pakefield. I think of that attentive congregation at
Kirkley, of the prayer-meeting, of the schoolroom lecture, and of
that close and, I trust, heavenly bond of union which God
permitted us to enjoy, and I know not how to bear the thought
that we are separated. However, the more I look at my
present position, the more am I satisfied that the change is of
the Lord. The need of this place is grievous. The
little flock is scattered and disheartened; the poor have been
totally neglected, the sick unvisited, and the societies are all
fallen to decay. The short time that I have been here has
not been without its encouragements. Our tender Father has
been pleased to favour me with some cases in which my private
ministry has been greatly valued, and I hope blessed. I
think also He is with me in the pulpit; the evening congregation
is rapidly increasing, and we have had some very solemn
occasions. All this is encouraging, but I desire not to
build upon it, for I well know that such encouragement has not
strength enough to bear weight. In health I think I am
better than I have been since August. I find my power for
work increases, and the cough is gone. Join with me in
praising a merciful Father. ‘Praise God, from
whom,’ etc.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To Mr. Cunningham:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <span class="smcap">Surrey</span>,
<i>September</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1838.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Uncle</span>,—You ask
how we are getting on here, and you must know how difficult it is
to answer such a question. I think that, whenever God
permits <a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
84</span>encouragement, He sends at the same time some drawback,
as if to prevent encouragement lapsing into self-confidence, and
self-gratulation taking the place of a spirit of
thankfulness. And this is just the case with our parish:
there is much to call forth the most unfeigned
thanksgiving—great kindness amongst the people, large
congregations, a capital collection yesterday for the Pastoral
Aid Society—but on the other hand a continual worry about
our schools, and, what is most of all to be considered, very
little evidence of the regenerating power of the Holy Ghost in
individuals. I see that the messenger has a far wider
influence than he once had, but I do not see the message itself
attended with the same saving power. This is a cause of
great sorrow to me, and the more so because I fear it may be in a
great measure explained by a want of spirituality in
myself. There is a wonderfully close communion between the
power of preaching and the power of feeling, and when a
man’s own heart is very dead, he is not likely to produce
much life in others. I think, moreover, there is great
danger of spending our energy on our machinery. I am doing
all I can to work the parish efficiently, and set all the machine
in active operation, and I feel the effect of it in a
forgetfulness of the spiritual end of the whole. It is
something bordering upon leaving the Word of God to serve
tables. However, in the midst of all, I trust there is a
real progress. I find unspeakable comfort in Hebrews xii.
2, and whether a want of spirituality in myself or a want of
spiritual power in my ministry be the cause of sorrow, I find the
universal remedy in ‘looking unto Jesus,’ and I
believe that to be the whole of the Christian’s
secret. The more we can keep our eye on Him the stronger
shall we be in every point of view, and one moment’s
forgetfulness of Him must produce weakness, if not a
fall.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>To his
uncle:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<i>December</i>
7<i>th</i>, 1838.</p>
<p>“I should be inclined to question how far it was well to
leave a curate altogether to himself, so as not to know what he
is doing. There seems to me a great difference between
keeping him under orders, and so checking his independent action,
and by constant intercourse maintaining a vigilant
superintendence. The plan that I adopted with —,
—, and Frank himself was to point out clearly at first
their line of duty, and then to leave them entirely to themselves
in the discharge of it, at the same time making the pastoral
ministry a subject of constant conversation, so that I always
knew exactly what each was doing. By this means you get (1)
the advantage of division of labour; you (2) know exactly what is
going on, which parts are comparatively neglected, and which have
an extra supply, and, like a general, you can by a recommendation
apply your forces just where they are wanted. There is
another thing which I should be inclined to suggest, especially
with a beginner, viz. that you follow out the territorial system
and assign him a district. My own plan is this. I
divide my visiting into the aggressive and the
extraordinary. By the aggressive I mean the regular stated
visiting from house to house. By the extraordinary I mean
those visits which I pay in consequence of some providential
call, such as sickness, affliction, religious impression,
etc. I then divide the parish into two parts, and give
— the whole aggressive work for one district, and take it
myself for the other. For the extraordinary I make no local
divisions. I find then in practice that the calls are
sufficiently frequent to keep a measure of connection with the
whole parish, while the limitation of the aggressive brings each
district tolerably within <a name="page86"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 86</span>the compass of its minister, so that
he is able by perseverance to gain an influence.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To Mr. Cunningham:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <span class="smcap">Surrey</span>,
<i>March</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1839.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Uncle</span>,—I am
always greatly rejoiced to hear of your well-doings at Lowestoft,
but I am more pleased than ever now, for I have something of a
parental as well as filial interest—filial because I was
trained amongst you myself, and parental because Frank stayed six
months with me. I have no doubt that the change of ministry
is likely to prove a real refreshment to your people, and I
should not be surprised if it were to be the means of calling out
some, and leading to true conversions. You must not let all
the ladies turn Frank’s head by flattery, of which there
always appears to me great danger for young clergymen, for good
people seem to suppose that religious interest gives a licence
which is allowed in nothing else, and make the Gospel an
occasion, rather than a check, for unwholesome
conversation. I have felt the danger of it very much here,
and though I have been very much preserved by a culpable want of
sentimentality, I fear that I have suffered from the evil.
I find that I often return from my intercourse with them thinking
better of myself instead of worse. I was much interested by
your remarks about the country. How completely does it
prove that ‘Christ is the head over all things to the
Church’! Men appear with wicked designs and ungodly
purposes, but Christ is Lord, and when they are just ready to
strike He paralyses their aim. I regard these failures of
wicked men not so much as the effect of a state of society as
evidences of the controlling power of the Lord. He allows
them to form their wicked <a name="page87"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 87</span>schemes, and just when all is ready
for an explosion, He defeats them, that so He may prove His power
and their nothingness. Thus it is that these very men who
are most opposed to the Church of Christ become the occasions for
adding to its strength, for they call forth the protecting power
of God, and so increase faith by experience. I have been
inexpressibly cheered lately, amidst the sins of this ungodly
world, by the thought of the final triumph of the Church.
‘The God of Peace shall bind Satan under your feet
shortly.’ It is therefore certain that the day will
come when Satan and all his agents will be overthrown, when we
shall no more suffer from sin and its effects, and then all the
elect people of God shall be visibly gathered under one Head,
enjoying a perfect union with each other and with Christ.
All this must take place. Popery, atheism, infidelity, and
the spirit of schism may unite their unholy ranks and lend all
their strength for the overthrow of our Lord’s kingdom, but
‘the gates of hell shall not prevail against
it.’ How is it that our hearts are not filled with
holy joy at the prospect, and that we do not ride triumphant over
all the fears, the sorrows, the sins, with which on every side we
are beset?</p>
<p>“Your most affectionate Nephew and Curate,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">Edward
Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To Mr. Cunningham:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>April</i> 6<i>th</i>,
1839.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Uncle</span>,—How are
the mighty fallen! I am going to be married!! I have
been spending a delightful week with the Brodies, and am come
home engaged hard and fast to Maria. I am exceedingly
happy, though I scarcely can believe it. I have the
greatest hope that the thing has been undertaken in a <a
name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>prayerful
spirit, and that we may look for God’s abundant blessing on
us. We both particularly beg that you will marry us.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Nephew,<br />
“<span class="smcap">Edward Hoare</span>.</p>
<p>“Give my dearest love to my aunt, Frank, etc.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To Mrs. Cunningham:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <span class="smcap">Surrey</span>,
<i>May</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1839.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest Aunt</span>,—As
for myself, I am exceedingly happy, though so unusually busy that
I hardly know how to think much about my happy prospects.
Never was a person less loverlike, for I am expecting a
confirmation here next week, and having more than one hundred and
thirty young persons under my care, I am so busy from morning
till night that I find my whole mind occupied. I think it
is a good thing for me, for it fixes my thoughts upon my work,
which otherwise they would be very much disposed to wander
from. I am every day more and more happy in the thought of
my marriage, and more and more thankful for the prospect of a
wife who, I fully believe, has given herself to God. There
is not a single feature in the whole thing that I could wish
otherwise, and, besides all living circumstances, the
recollection of my dearest mother’s wish makes the
connection to my own mind quite a hallowed one. I only hope
that we may be enabled to devote ourselves unitedly, as we have
desired to do separately, to the service of that Heavenly Father
who has laden us with so many blessings. We expect to be
married on the 2nd of July, about ten days after their return; we
then hope to go to the Isle of Wight for a fortnight or three
weeks. I do not wish <a name="page89"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 89</span>to take a long holiday, because of
the expense, and because I am very anxious to take the lady into
Norfolk and to Lowestoft in the autumn. I doubt, however,
whether I shall be able to accomplish it.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A letter from one of his sisters describing the
wedding:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Broom Park</span>, <i>July</i> 9<i>th</i>,
1839.</p>
<p>“Here we are in peace and safety, Edward shut up with
Maria, Kate and I looking tolerably neat in white poplin, having
just dressed in our little room, our only misfortune being that
we have no gloves. We found dearest Edward most bright and
sweet; the drive down with him has been not a little pleasant;
nothing could have answered better than our journey with him, and
we did quite enjoy it. Here is Maria come for us! She
looks so quiet, and is so nice, only she has got a bad
cold. When we went downstairs the Buxtons were just
arriving; they had joined our phaeton party, and all arrived
together. The only mishap has been that by going to London
for her gown Miss Foreman entirely missed them, and we are
fearful that there is but little hope of her arrival now; it is
most provoking and quite a tribulation. Caroline arrived
from Bury Hill, looking most sweet with a beautiful bouquet of
orange flowers. Lady Brodie very kind and like herself, Sir
B. B. detained in town by patients. When we had had a
satisfactory tea, some went back to the drawing-room, others for
a walk; the party consisted of all our own clan, and, as in most
parties, there was a flock of girls in white, the belle on the
Brodie side being Miss Beamish, on ours of course Chenda.
Mr. T. Hankinson arrived in the middle of the evening, having
stopped to climb up Box Hill and ford a rivulet. The house
<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>is
beautiful, and the whole place pretty and cheerful. Maria
behaves herself capitally—so much spirit, yet so quiet, and
thinking little of herself; she looks two years younger than when
we saw her last. <i>We</i> are in Mr. Brodie’s room,
and, as Laydon says, there is so much <i>shooting tackle</i>
‘she don’t know where to put away our
things.’ Edward is most happy; it truly is a pleasure
to look at his beaming face. How I wish you could see them
both together, dearest sister; it is most interesting. . .
. The party now assembling for church all in good heart;
Mr. Hankinson making the eight bridesmaids and about six other
ladies laugh in the dining-room, the rest dispersed. . . .
Half-past five o’clock (in the room which we had at
Gurney’s wedding). After the above followed a lengthy
waiting—people arriving, but no Bishop. Maria and
Lady Brodie appeared, quite ready, but had to abide for a long
time till the Bishop had arrived and arrayed himself. About
eleven o’clock we went to the church, six bridesmaids in
one carriage, and two with Caroline in another, all the gentlemen
having walked previously and were ready at the churchyard gate to
receive us; four bridesmaids with their gentlemen stood on each
side of the path till the bride had passed and then closed in
behind her. In the church the positions were
capital—the relations round the altar, and her bridesmaids
standing on a step behind her. The Bishop read the service
beautifully, and they both spoke very clearly—she was
perfectly composed. Signing and kissing as usual
afterwards, with the bells ringing, and home as we came.
After some congratulating in the drawing-room we all sallied
forth for a walk, stimulated, as in everything, by Mr. Tom
Hankinson. Maria then went in to rest awhile. We
gathered in a group round Mr. Hankinson (in the garden) and heard
all the poem about Sir Rupert and Lorline; then down <a
name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>to the water,
where all the eight bridesmaids were put into the boat and our
dear bridegroom (taking off his coat) rowed us about. This
filled up the time capitally till the breakfast, for which we
were very ready, though we had to wait some period for the
Bishop, who was lost on the strawberry beds. The breakfast
was very nice and <i>very amusing</i>. The first health was
proposed by the Bishop in a most nice little speech; it was of
course ‘Mr. and Mrs. E. Hoare.’ Our sisterly
vanity was amply satisfied, and how I wish you could have heard
Edward’s reply. It was so gratifying and nice to have
him make such a truly nice speech, which he ended by proposing
‘Sir B. and Lady Brodie.’ A most feeling reply
from Sir Benjamin, speaking so highly of both bride and
bridegroom, but he could scarcely get on once or twice from
feeling it so much. He proposed the Bishop of Winchester,
and that was greeted by another three times three; which he
thanked for, observing that ‘he had not expected to make so
much noise in the world.’ Then Gurney proposed
‘The Bridesmaids,’ and Mr. Goulburn thanked for us,
though, alas! he nearly stuck. Then
‘Papa’—and he made such a nice speech in
return, observing that his three daughters-in-law being an
increasing and untellable blessing to him, he had no small reason
to rejoice in his new acquisition. Breakfast done, we went
away, Maria to dress. The parting scene with her father and
brother (in tears) upstairs was trying; but she passed by all of
us who were waiting in the hall and went off very brightly.
But I must leave off, though I fear this is an unsatisfactory
history, though in all the muddles we have done our little
best. Ever, dearest Sister,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most affectionately,<br />
“C. E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
92</span>CHAPTER VII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>HOLLOWAY AND RAMSGATE</i></span></h2>
<p>In the year 1846 the time came for a change. My friend
the Rev. Daniel Wilson wrote to invite me to the Incumbency of
St. John’s, Holloway, about to be vacated by my dear and
honoured friend the Rev. Henry Venn, one of the wisest, the
ablest, and the most trustworthy men I have ever known in this
life; and there were many circumstances, amongst others the
illness of my beloved father residing at Hampstead, that led both
of us to the conclusion that we ought to accept the offer.
It was one of deep interest in many respects, more especially in
consequence of its connection with the Rev. Henry Venn. In
early days he was curate or lecturer at Clapham, when he used to
attend the Committee of the C.M.S., and was urged by some of the
fathers of those days to undertake the Secretaryship; but his
heart was devoted to parochial work, so he accepted the living of
Drypool, near Hull, and so broke away altogether from the work of
the C.M.S. And then it pleased God that he should meet
with, and ultimately marry, a lady of some <a
name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>property, in
consequence of which he was no longer absolutely dependent upon
his profession for his maintenance. He was led, however, to
return southward, where the Vicar of Islington offered him the
Incumbency of St. John’s, Holloway, a new church just built
out in the fields. To the interests of that parish he
devoted his whole great energy, and he returned, as might have
been expected, to the old committee room in the C.M.S.
There his power was felt more and more, while his own heart
became more and more drawn into the deep interests of missionary
work, till at length he decided to give up his parochial work, as
he could now live without the income derived from it, and devote
the remainder of his life, without one farthing of salary, to the
sacred work of the Secretaryship of the Society.</p>
<p>I felt it a great honour to succeed such a man under such
circumstances, as it was a great privilege to be brought into
closer contact with him, as he continued to reside within the
parish. The time at Holloway was not one of
encouragement. I met with a great deal of kindness, and I
had most interesting Bible classes—not merely one for the
young people, but one for the gentlemen after their return from
business in London—but still I longed for more of that
marked decision which I had left behind me at Richmond.
Evangelical truth was “the proper thing” at
Islington, so that it was very generally preferred; but I often
<a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>wondered
how far it was a reality in the souls of the people, and
sometimes I used to think that the spirit of antagonism at
Richmond was really more healthful than the spirit of assent at
Holloway. It certainly brought out more decision of
character.</p>
<p>But I have learnt many lessons respecting that period. I
have often said that I regarded that year as the most fruitless
period of my ministry, but as I have gone on in life I have met
with so many who have ascribed their conversion to the ministry
of that short period, that I have been taught the lesson that a
clergyman is utterly unable to form any estimate of what God the
Holy Ghost is doing through his ministry.</p>
<p>However, we were not to remain there long, for the Lord
Himself made it perfectly plain that it was His will for us to
remove. My dearest wife was very unwell, and I was lame in
the right knee. My father also was quickly gathered to his
rest in Christ Jesus, so that one of the great motives in going
to Holloway was removed. Though I had great difficulty in
walking, I was able to ride, and one day I rode in to call on my
father-in-law, Sir Benjamin Brodie, whom I consulted respecting
my knee, and he said to me,—</p>
<p>“I tell you what, Edward; you must go to the
seaside.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said I, “I did think of going for a
short trip after Easter.”</p>
<p><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
95</span>“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said
he. “You must go to the seaside for a year at
least.”</p>
<p>“But what,” said I, “is to become of my
parish, my work, my family?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he replied, “but this
I know, that if you don’t go to the seaside for at least a
year you will die, and so what will become of it all
then?”</p>
<p>This was indeed a very heavy blow to me, and I rode home that
day solemnised in spirit, and thinking how I should tell my
dearest wife what her father had just said to me.</p>
<p>It was a very solemn and sacred ride that I had that morning,
but on my arrival, before I went upstairs to her, I opened my
letters that had arrived during my absence, and almost the first
one was from my friend John Plumptre, in which he said that he
was one of the trustees of a new church nearly complete at
Ramsgate, and it would be a great satisfaction to him and his
colleagues if I would undertake the first Incumbency. To
describe the mixed emotion with which I went upstairs to tell my
wife, both of her father’s opinion and Mr. Plumptre’s
letter, is impossible.</p>
<p>But the remarkable coincidence did not at first thoroughly
satisfy the sound judgment of my friend Mr. Venn. When I
spoke to him on the subject, he said that the text which had
guided him in his important decisions was Prov. xvi. 3: <a
name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>“Commit
thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be
established.” He said that at first he would
frequently be divided and perplexed in judgment, but that as he
went on waiting on the Lord for guidance and trusting Him, the
whole matter would gradually appear to him so clear that it left
no possibility of doubt. How often, acting upon his advice,
have I found it true, so that I have seen my way perfectly clear
in cases in which there seemed at first nothing but
perplexity! Was not this the secret of that singular wisdom
which he showed in the affairs of the C.M.S.? and is there any
one who sat with him habitually in the committee room who does
not remember the frequency with which he put his hand over his
eyes, without doubt “committing his works unto the
Lord”? But his thoughts, which were as mine, were
established with reference to our removal to Ramsgate, and we
never had reason to regret the change.</p>
<p>Letter to his Uncle Cunningham:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>November</i> 28<i>th</i>,
1844.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Uncle</span>,—I quite
agree with you that it is a bad thing never to write to those we
love. Real good, strong affection can stand the long lack
of communication, as strong plants can stand a long drought, but
it is an unwise thing to put it to the test. . . .</p>
<p>“I fully sympathise in what you say of the Church.
I can imagine nothing more deplorable than the foolish <a
name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>men, both
curates and bishops, scattering the very best of the laity from
her fold, and all for their empty, worthless baubles. Oh,
what a blessing it would have been for our Church and country if
people had spent half the strength in lifting the Cross and
spreading the Bible that they have wasted over surplices and
ubrics! But it is not mere waste. As far as I can
see, it is downright suicide, a wilful destruction of the
Church’s influence over her people. But do you not
think God is teaching us a lesson? Are not His waiting
children taught by all this to rally round their risen and
reigning Lord, and to cease from man whose breath is in his
nostrils? Is not the Church always exposed either to
pressure from without or delusion within? And are not those
the two great instruments by which He keeps His elect people
pure? Oh, may God grant that we may be amongst the
Lamb’s faithful followers! . . .</p>
<p>“In our parish we have had but little visible
encouragement since our return from Norfolk. Before we went
out we were blessed with several interesting cases, but since our
return we have not known of one. It is a great sorrow to
me. I hope, however, the Lord is really owning His
word. We are desiring to honour Him and to set forth Christ
crucified, and though our labours are most miserable, I delight
to think that from the inmost soul it is our desire to honour
Christ in them. I have just finished a course of four
practical sermons on the Bible, in which I found great interest,
and am now preparing another course for Advent on the following
subjects: <i>How our Lord will come</i>; <i>when</i>; <i>what to
do</i>; and <i>what we should be doing till He comes</i>.
Our prophetical meeting this November was one of the most
delightful hours I ever knew. It was so sober, so serious,
so practical, and so full of Christ that I think all felt it a
time of true blessing to be there. I never heard <a
name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>anything more
completely to my mind than the addresses of Mr. Auriol and Mr.
Goodhart on the ‘practical bearing of the expectation of
future reward.’ . . .</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Nephew,<br />
“<span class="smcap">Edward Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>Autobiography (<i>continued</i>).</h3>
<p>The position was one of the greatest possible interest.
The circumstances of the town were quite peculiar. The
Vicar of St. George was a High Churchman who did not hesitate to
employ curates who went far beyond himself in their opinions, and
the result was that two of them went over to Rome. There
was an amiable man in Trinity Church who had no sympathy with St.
George’s, but yet had but little power in satisfying the
hearts of those who loved the Gospel, and the result was that
many of the most devoted people in the place were driven either
into the dissenting chapels or into general unsettlement of
mind. Meanwhile Mr. Pugin <a name="citation98"></a><a
href="#footnote98" class="citation">[98]</a> was erecting a large
establishment on the West Cliff, and the chapel was already
opened, and an active priest at work amongst the distracted and
unsettled flock.</p>
<p>Then it was that God raised up a very remarkable man with
wonderful energy to erect the new church. He formed a small
committee, but he himself was the moving spirit and the one
centre <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>of
power. He was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with no
general acquaintance and nothing of what the world calls
influence, but he was God’s powerful instrument. I
refer to Lieutenant (afterwards Commander) Hutchinson, R.N.
As he knew nothing of Church matters, he wisely took counsel with
Mr. Plumptre, who put him in communication with some London
lawyer, I forget who, who might direct him in the use of what was
then called the Church Building Act; so he served the proper
notices on the Vicar and patrons, and having secured to trustees
the patronage of the new church which he proposed to build, he
set to work single-handed to raise the funds and to complete the
undertaking. He wrote countless manuscript letters all over
England. He was a man of wonderful energy, as he afterwards
proved by reducing Balaclava to good order, and all that energy
he devoted with unsparing zeal to the great work to which God had
called him. How many letters he wrote I do not know; I know
that I received several. His first letter would be a
general application; if that brought him a contribution, it would
be quickly followed by another rejoicing that the work was so
much appreciated, and asking for a second gift; but if it brought
no reply, then came a second convinced that the only reason for
delay was the great importance of the work, and earnestly
appealing for the help which he was sure was contemplated.
Thus letter <a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>followed letter in quick succession; the contract was
signed on his own responsibility, and Christ Church was quickly
reared as a monument to show what might be done by one man whose
heart was in earnest, and who, like Mr. Venn, “committed
his works unto the Lord.”</p>
<p>It is not to be supposed that these letters written were in a
very complimentary strain with reference to the existing order of
things in the Parish Church, nor were they likely to make Christ
Church acceptable in the eyes of the Vicar or his staff. I
myself went to the Parish Church in the afternoon previous to the
opening of Christ Church, and I heard a sermon descriptive of the
persons who would attend the new church, upon the text “He
went away in a rage,” and I there heard my future
congregation all classed with Naaman. But apparently there
were a great many such Naamans in Ramsgate, for the church was
well filled on the 7th of August, the day when it was consecrated
by Archbishop Howley, and I may say has been so ever since.</p>
<p>I found Ramsgate to be a most interesting sphere of
ministry. There were three great sources of interest.
First, the shipping. My original Pakefield interest in the
English boatmen was more than revived by my acquaintance with the
“hovellers,” two hundred of whom were dependent for
their bread on helping ships in difficulty off the Goodwin
Sands. I fear that some of them <a name="page101"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 101</span>thought more of their own earnings
than they did of the lives they were so brave in saving. I
can never forget the reply that I received from one of the best
of them when I asked him one bitterly cold winter’s morning
how he was getting on; upon which he replied that now they had
got all their lights, and buoys, and chain cables, there was
nothing left for an honest man to do. He said: “There
we were at the south end of the sands about three o’clock
this morning, when up came one of these foreign chaps, and was
running as pretty upon the Goodwin Sands as ever you’d wish
to see, when, all of a sudden, he saw one of these here nasty
staring buoys—port helm and off!”</p>
<p>But though it was a pretty sight to them to see a foreign chap
go straight upon the Goodwin Sands, it was a magnificent sight
for any one to witness the skill and daring courage with which
they handled their luggers and dashed through the breakers in
order to save the lives of the shipwrecked men. They were
noble fellows, and when their hearts were touched by the grace of
God, they were fine, manly witnesses for Christ.</p>
<p>Then there were the sailors on board the various ships that
put in for shelter. As the harbour was at that time free,
it was sometimes crowded with vessels, and I used to have a grand
opportunity for out-of-door preaching. At first I used to
go down in my cap and gown on Sunday afternoons, but I found that
a sermon out of doors, combined <a name="page102"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 102</span>with a walk on the pier, was more
agreeable to many people than either Church or Sunday School, so
I had to give it up, and seize such opportunities as wind and
weather permitted. But I never was at a loss for a large
congregation, and when I took my place on the poop of one of the
ships, I had the deep interest of seeing crowds of people, some
on the pier and some on the tiers of ships and some on the
rigging, amongst whom I had the sacred opportunity of scattering
the seed, without the least idea to what point the wind would
carry it.</p>
<p>On one occasion I was greatly solemnised. I selected the
ship best suited for my purpose, and the Captain and his men gave
me the kindest possible reception; the only inconvenience to
which they put me was that they would insist upon my preaching
against the wind, as they did not consider it sufficiently
dignified for me to stand in the hold of the vessel. There
they listened most attentively. In the evening the wind
changed, and all the ships hurried out of harbour, and how deeply
affected was I to hear next morning that the one on which I had
received so kind a welcome had been lost with all hands during
the night.</p>
<p>The advantage of the harbour was that throughout the winter
months there was always something going on in it, so that we
could not settle down into stagnation. One morning, for
example, my friend the harbour-master, Captain Martin, sent up to
me to say that he expected a crew of shipwrecked <a
name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>emigrants
to be very shortly landed; so I hurried down to the harbour, and
there I saw one of the most piteous sights I have ever seen in my
life. There was a small schooner just entering the harbour,
with one hundred and sixty German emigrants crowded together on
the decks. Their ship had been wrecked over-night, and one
boat containing seven women was sent off soon after the wreck,
but was supposed to have been lost in the breakers. The
remainder were subsequently taken off by the schooner that
brought them into Ramsgate. There they stood, huddled
together, in the clothes in which they had sprung from their
berths on the striking of the ship—that is, almost in a
state of nakedness. The sea had been breaking over them
from the time the ship had struck, and they had no food.
What was to be done with them was indeed a question, but all
parties set to work with vigour.</p>
<p>An infant schoolroom was set apart for their accommodation,
and another large room was obtained in connection with one of the
public-houses; so they were very quickly housed, and such vigour
was shown by the ship agents, consular agents, and all connected
with the harbour, that something warm was provided for every one
of them, even upon their landing.</p>
<p>But they were still unclothed, and to meet this difficulty
bills were put out, so soon as possible, to request gifts of
clothing, cloth, or flannel, and <a name="page104"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 104</span>also the help of any persons who
could assist us in making up clothing. It was wonderful to
see the zeal and liberality with which piles of goods were poured
in upon us. These were not always very suitable, and I
remember seeing amongst the goods sent <i>some muslin
ball-dresses</i>! There was a great quantity of good useful
clothing, added to which numbers of ladies came together and
worked hard all through the day, while the various agents
laboured at the distribution, so that I believe that not one of
those hundred and sixty emigrants lay down that night without
having some warm, comfortable piece of clothing provided for him,
and without being well fed with a comfortable meal and well
housed for the night’s rest.</p>
<p>For this they were most grateful, and I had a grand
opportunity of preaching the Gospel, as they stayed with us about
ten days. But here, alas! was the grievous difficulty, that
I did not know German; but this was met by the ready help of two
young ladies in my congregation, to whom German was as familiar
as English, and, as far as preaching and other addresses were
concerned, a great difficulty was removed.</p>
<p>At length, however, there arose one for which I was not
prepared. The poor emigrants, in the fulness of their
hearts, were not satisfied with the service provided for them in
the schoolroom, but were anxious to come together to the Holy
Communion. But here a fresh difficulty arose. They
could not <a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
105</span>be satisfied to come to the Lord’s Table without
first coming to confession. This appeared to me to be a
matter of mere formalism, as they insisted upon it that it would
not make the slightest difference whether or not I understood
their confession, nor did they even see any objection to their
confession passing through the medium of the young lady who was
kind enough to act as my interpreter; and I fear they were but
partially satisfied when I told them that confession to a priest
was not required in the Church of England, but that in it we were
taught to confess direct to God.</p>
<p>I have seldom known a more solemn and sacred service than when
we all knelt together in one spirit, if not in one tongue, to
commemorate the dying love of that blessed Saviour who shed His
precious blood that whosoever believeth in Him should receive
remission of sins. The next day they were sent off to
London, and I have never heard of any of them since. But I
believe the record of those days to be written in heaven, and I
must say I took great delight in the testimony borne by the
German Government to the zeal and hospitality of the good people
of Ramsgate, more especially as particular mention is made of
that dearly beloved one to whose zeal and loving-kindness the
whole movement was chiefly due.</p>
<p>But the chief interest was in the sailors themselves. I
was deeply impressed at the hardness <a name="page106"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 106</span>of the life of those engaged in our
coasting trade, and I met with many who, living in the midst of
every possible temptation, seemed wholly abandoned to utter
recklessness, both for time and for eternity. But they all
appeared to have a heart, and some of them were eminently
Christian men.</p>
<p>I never can forget one fearful Sunday morning, when it was
bitterly cold and blowing such a north-easterly gale as it can
blow at Ramsgate, before church I went on to the cliff to see
what was going on, and there opposite the mouth of the harbour I
saw one ship sunk, not very far from the entrance of the harbour,
with its crew clinging to the masts. Our brave hovellers
were doing all they could for their rescue, and I saw another
smaller vessel, “with sails ripped, seams opened wide,
compass lost,” struggling if possible to make the
harbour. Oh, how I longed to run down and take my part in
the efforts that were being made for their rescue! and I cannot
answer for my thoughts during the time that I was obliged to be
at church. No sooner was the service over than I was again
on the cliff, and not a trace could I see of the sunken ship or
crowded mast. It had fallen before any help could reach the
poor fellows who were clinging to it, and all hands had been
lost; but the little sloop was just entering the harbour, and I
cannot describe the scene I witnessed when I went on <a
name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
107</span>board. There were five poor fellows completely
worn out, wearied, hungry, cold, and frost-bitten, and I never
shall forget the master of that vessel. As long as he was
in the harbour I had a great deal of most happy intercourse with
him, and in the course of it he gave me the following narrative
of his voyage.</p>
<p>He said he had one very dear friend, the mate of a collier
brig, and they were together at Sunderland. His friend came
to him in the evening of Christmas, and they had a delightful
evening together, till at length his friend returned to his ship,
and both vessels sailed for the South. All went well with
him till he reached the mouth of the Thames, where he was caught
by the gale and took shelter behind the long sand; but after a
time the wind shifted, and his position became one of the utmost
danger. He found his only hope of escape was to pass by the
end of the sand, and he doubted whether this would be possible,
and he knew that if once stranded on it he must be lost without a
hope. The first thing was to hoist a sail, but in order to
do this they had to clear the ropes of ice with their axe.
They then hauled in the anchor, and the little vessel was soon in
the midst of the boiling surf. The master himself took the
helm, and said to the crew that their only help was in God, and
bade them come and kneel around him while he steered and
prayed. Very soon a huge wave appeared to lift the little
<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>ship
right upon the bank, and let her down with a fearful scrape upon
the sands. A second followed, which did the same, and then
came the third, which seemed to carry them with still greater
fury than either of the others; but when it let them down, what
was their joy when they found that the spur of the bank was
passed, and that their vessel was safely afloat. Their
Heavenly Father had heard their prayers and saved them. But
though immediate danger was past, everything was so shattered
that the ship was almost unmanageable, and they were driven about
in the Channel for some three or four days before they could
reach Ramsgate Harbour.</p>
<p>And what was the sorrow that awaited my excellent friend when
he found himself safe. As he entered the harbour he passed
through the wreckage of the vessel I had seen before church, but
when he learnt the particulars he found that it was the ship of
that dear friend with whom he had spent that happy Christmas
evening, and that he was one of those who had perished in the
wreck. But in the midst of it all he was kept in a calm,
hallowed, peaceful communion with God, which proved indeed how
the Lord sitteth above the waterflood, when the Lord can give
peace unto His people.</p>
<p>It was one of the sorrows connected with Ramsgate that we
seldom saw those brave men a second time. So my friend
stayed awhile till his <a name="page109"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 109</span>ship was refitted and his men cured
of their frostbites, but the wind shifted and she was gone, so
that we parted never more to meet till we stand together before
the throne of the Lord.</p>
<p>Another great object of interest at Ramsgate was the conflict
with Rome. I had had some little experience in the
controversy when at Richmond, as a zealous man had given some
controversial lectures there in favour of Romanism, and so
compelled me to get up the subject. This had led me to
preach a course of Sunday Evening Lectures, which I afterwards
published under the title of “Our Protestant
Church.” I have had reason to believe, with great
thanksgiving, that God has made them useful to others, as, I
thank God, He made the study of the subject exceedingly useful to
myself. I remember a remark of Dr. McNeile, that nothing
tended more to set forth the glories of the Gospel than the dark
background of Popery.</p>
<p>At Ramsgate the conflict was in full activity. A chapel
had been recently erected through the liberality of Mr. Pugin,
and the Roman Catholic party had all the enthusiasm of a new and
hopeful enterprise; so we were soon brought into collision,
sometimes in private conversation, and sometimes in public
lectures, in which I freely invited any one who could to answer
me.</p>
<p>And there are four lessons which I learnt and which possibly
may be useful to my brethren. Firstly, the Romish
controversy does not require <a name="page110"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 110</span>a great amount of learning.
The Romanists themselves are exceedingly ill-instructed in the
principles of their Church, and there are very few points on
which their convictions rest. Secondly, it is of essential
importance to be perfectly accurate in every statement made and
every quotation given, so as to be able, if need be, to give
proof of that accuracy. Thirdly, it is essential that all
quotations should be made direct from the original documents, and
not taken second-hand from any Review, Catechism, or
Handbook. Those books may be extremely useful for our own
instruction, but they are worse than useless if we are in
conflict with a Romish controversialist; if we wish to be strong
on such an occasion we must appeal to the “ipsissima
verba” of some authoritative document, such as the decrees
of the Council of Trent, or the Creed of Pope Pius IV.
Fourthly, we must bear in mind that numbers of those who are led
away by Rome are truly and conscientiously seeking peace. I
believe that there is no state of mind so open to the persuasions
of Rome as when a person is awakened but not at peace in Christ
Jesus. It is then that Rome steps in with a promise of
peace, and the more earnest the awakening, the more dangerous the
seductive power.</p>
<p>I had one fearful instance of this at Ramsgate, in the family
of one of our tradesmen, who had taken sittings in my
church. I heard one day <a name="page111"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 111</span>that his daughter was in habitual
attendance at the Roman Catholic chapel. So I went at once
to pay a pastoral visit to the mother, and she confirmed all that
I had heard, and more than that, she told me that on the Sunday
following her daughter was to be publicly received into the
Church, and that her dress was already prepared.
“Oh,” I said, “how I wish I could see her
before she joins!” and I invited her to come to me that
evening at eight o’clock. The mother said she would
give my message, but did not think it very likely that her
daughter would come.</p>
<p>However, at eight o’clock precisely the bell rang, and
the daughter was there. She was a woman between thirty and
forty years of age, fine features, and strong in intellectual
expression of countenance. She confirmed all that her
mother had told me, and when I asked her what had led to it, she
informed me that she was engaged to a young man of very superior
position to her own, that when walking together one evening the
year before they had turned into Christ Church, and there heard a
sermon that had made them both so uneasy that neither of them had
ever been happy since. They were afraid to go again, for
fear that their trouble should be increased; so they had wandered
hither and thither, seeking rest and finding none, till at length
somebody told them that if they only joined the Church of Rome
they <a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
112</span>would be at peace. She added that the young man
had joined already, and that she hoped to be received on the
Sunday following, when she trusted that both their hearts would
be at rest.</p>
<p>It was clear that the poor thing was really anxious about her
soul, so instead of saying one word to her about the Romish
controversy, I asked her the question, “<i>Must you be holy
first</i>, <i>or forgiven first</i>?” She was very
much surprised and almost affronted by my asking her anything of
so simple a character. “Of course I know that,”
said she. “I daresay you do, but it will do you no
harm to tell me what you know.” “Of course I
must be holy first,” was the reply. “Then there
is the secret of all your difficulty: you have been for the whole
year striving to be holy, and you have utterly failed, so that
you have had no peace, and could have no peace in the forgiveness
of sin.” “Do you mean to say then,” said
she, “that I can be forgiven first?” I said,
“That is exactly what the Scripture teaches,” and I
set before her a series of passages, showing first how the
forgiveness is bestowed through the perfect propitiation of the
Son of God, and then how it is granted at once, before the fruits
of faith can possibly be developed. The poor thing was
amazed, and I believe that that very evening, before she left the
house, she was enabled to trust her blessed Saviour for the
present perfect forgiveness of all her sins.</p>
<p>She left the house declaring that nothing should <a
name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>induce her
to join the Church of Rome, and now followed the most fearful
struggle that I ever met with in the whole course of my
ministry.</p>
<p>The young man had been already received, and the more she saw
of her Saviour, the more she felt the impossibility of their
union. What was to be done? She could not go forward
to unite with him, and he would not go back to be one with
her. Rome brought all its armoury to bear upon her.
Bishop, priests, and Romish friends united all their strength in
persuading her to give way. But God helped her to stand
firm, and though she passed through a most fearful conflict, she
lived and died in great peace of soul, resting in Christ
Jesus. The young man became a Jesuit priest, and died
suddenly when officiating at the mass. The case taught me
the lesson, which in fact I had learned before, that in a great
number of Romish perversions there is a real desire for the peace
of God, and that our wisest course is in all such cases to go
direct to that one point, instead of perplexing the mind with the
erroneous points of Romish teaching.</p>
<p>But the chief interest of all consisted in the blessed
privilege of carrying the Gospel of salvation to a number of
persons who were really hungering for the Word of Life.
There is no class of persons in the world that has a greater
claim on those who know the Lord than that consisting of real
inquirers after the way of life. <a
name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Now I met
at Ramsgate with many who had had sufficient knowledge of the
truth to make them utterly dissatisfied with the Tractarianism in
the Parish Church and the Chapel of Ease, but who were longing
for something more than they had already found. It was most
interesting to see them flocking back to the Church of England
after having been driven hither and thither, and I can never
forget a conversation I had with one of the curates of St.
George’s some two or three years after Christ Church had
been opened. I was remonstrating with him on the bitterness
which was still shown toward us, but he justified it by saying
that we were working against the Church of England.</p>
<p>This was too much for me to take in silence, so I asked him
whether he would bear with me if I told him plainly what each of
us had been doing since our residence at Ramsgate. And I
then told him that I had been occupied in winning back to the
Church those whom he had driven away from it. This
surprised him very much, and he replied, “Yes, they will
come to hear you preach, but not become communicants,” to
which I replied that I could not speak with accuracy, as I had
never counted, but that it was my firm belief that on the
previous Sunday I had administered the Lord’s Supper to no
less than fifty persons who had been driven from the Church of
England by the teaching of St. George’s. My <a
name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>friend was
deeply impressed by that fact, and our future relationship was of
the most friendly character. Would that all clergymen would
consider what they have to answer for, when by their own
erroneous teaching they scatter the flock committed to their
charge.</p>
<p>But if it was a joy to see the dispersed of the flock brought
back to the Church of their fathers, how much greater was the joy
of seeing precious souls brought into living union with the Lord
Jesus Christ Himself; and this, through the great mercy of God,
we were permitted very quickly to do. They were of two
classes. There were many who had looked forward in earnest
hope, and often prayed for a blessing on the new church, and we
cannot be surprised that, when the church was opened, they
received that for which they had been praying; but there were
others who had no such expectation, but were rather prejudiced
against the Gospel, and altogether astonished when for the first
time they heard its blessed language.</p>
<p>Let me give two cases in illustration of what I mean.
About two miles off there was a mill, at which was working a
young man named John Brampton. On the day of the
consecration of the church, he left his work to attend the
service, and in that service it pleased God to open his heart, so
that he received the blessed message of life in Christ
Jesus. He became at once one of the most active of our
helpers, and was amongst <a name="page116"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 116</span>the first, if not the very first, of
the teachers in our new Sunday School. During the whole of
our residence at Ramsgate he was a zealous, faithful
fellow-labourer, and when we moved to Tunbridge Wells, and I
wanted a Scripture-reader, I considered that there was no one who
would help me more effectually than my zealous young friend from
Ramsgate, so invited him to join me, which he did with his whole
heart, labouring most diligently till after twenty-four years the
Lord took him to his rest. He had had no experience as a
Scripture-reader before he came, but the Lord taught him, and he
was most effective as a helper. He identified himself so
completely with all that we were doing that he would sometimes
entertain those who did not know him by speaking of “our
house,” “our field,” “our grounds,”
etc., etc. It was a pleasure to me to hear him, and it was
an evidence of that oneness of heart which he felt with us in
everything. He was indeed a helper to his Vicar, and for
many a long year have I had to thank God for the gift bestowed on
that young man, on occasion of the first service ever held in
Christ Church.</p>
<p>The other case was altogether of a different character.
I have already mentioned the bitter hostility that some persons
showed toward the new church. This was manifested not very
long after the consecration by some bad fellows, of whom we know
nothing except that they wore the coats of <a
name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>gentlemen,
climbing over the iron fence by which the church was surrounded,
breaking down the young trees which had been recently planted in
the enclosure, and throwing several stones through the windows
into the church. The outrage excited, as might be expected,
a great deal of conversation in the town, and a few days
afterwards I was told that Colonel Williams and Mrs. Williams had
called to see me. I had no idea who they were, and on my
entering the room he told me, with that remarkable honesty and
directness which characterised all his conversation, that he had
come as the representative of several of the Parish Church
congregation to express their extreme disapproval of the recent
outrage. He told me also that he was a great friend of the
Vicar, and had extremely disapproved of the erection of Christ
Church. He also added that, in order to show the sincerity
of his protest, he intended to take two seats in the church, and
that possibly, as he then lived in the neighbourhood, he might
sometimes attend, but that he had no intention of doing so
habitually, and merely took them to assure me of his
sincerity.</p>
<p>I assured him that I did not require any such evidence, but
the seats were taken, and it was not very long before I saw him
seated in one of them, and I was deeply interested that his
attendances became more and more frequent, until at length one
day he was again announced as calling at the <a
name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
118</span>house. But this time he wished to see me in my
own study, so he came, evidently full of deep emotion. He
opened the conversation by saying that he was not come to ask for
help, as he did not want it, but to tell me what the Lord had
done for his soul. He said that he had been deeply
impressed by something he heard in church, and for the last six
weeks had passed through agonies of soul. He had been
walking all over the Isle of Thanet, earnestly seeking peace,
till at length God had brought him to see the fulness that is in
Christ Jesus. Now he had come to me to ask me to unite with
him in giving thanks for the blessed peace which God had bestowed
upon him in Christ Jesus. He then fell on his knees, and we
both poured out our hearts in thanksgiving to God for the
wonderful mercy which He had shown, and the blessing of His
salvation in Christ Jesus the Lord. From that day forward
he took his part boldly as an earnest advocate for the
truth. He was a man of strong convictions, and, when
convinced, he carried out those convictions with prompt and firm
determination. So he did on this occasion. To myself
he became one of my most warm, faithful friends, and in the
support of every good and holy work carried on at Ramsgate, for
the rest of his life, he was the faithful and unwavering
standard-bearer.</p>
<p>Thus the wicked outrage of those men who violated the
sacredness of our church was overruled <a
name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>by God to
the giving to me one of my most faithful friends and efficient
helpers, and to the town of Ramsgate one of its most active,
energetic, and faithful maintainers of the great Protestant
principles of the Church of England.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>The schools at Christ Church were built by Mr. Hoare when at
Ramsgate. The Seamen’s Infirmary and General Hospital
in that town also owes its existence to his
exertions.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
120</span>CHAPTER VIII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>TUNBRIDGE WELLS</i></span></h2>
<p>But these bright and stirring days at Ramsgate were at length
brought to a close by Sir Charles Hardinge inviting me to
undertake the living of Holy Trinity, Tunbridge Wells, in the
year 1853.</p>
<p>At first I thought very little of the offer, as I expected Sir
Benjamin Brodie to put his veto upon my removal from the
sea. But when I went to consult him upon the subject, I was
not a little surprised by his saying that, as in 1847 he had
judged it necessary for me to go to the seaside, so now he
considered it very desirable that I should leave it. So
that impediment was removed, and I had to face the question
whether I was called to remain where I was or to remove.</p>
<p>It was a very difficult question, and I was greatly perplexed
as to the decision. But, according to Mr. Venn’s
principle already referred to, my thoughts were ultimately
established, and I have never seen reason for a single moment to
<a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>regret
the change. I can scarcely imagine a better sphere for the
ministry than that which I have been permitted to occupy for
nearly thirty-six years. I have had a large parish, which,
after four parochial districts have been taken from it, still
contains more than six thousand persons, the population
consisting of a well-proportioned mixture of gentry, tradesmen,
and poor. I have had in my church a stream of visitors from
all parts of England, and not from England only, but from India,
Australia, and America. I have had very many most kind,
faithful, and affectionate friends ready to help me in
everything, so that, on the whole, I believe we have been able to
keep pace with the rapid growth of population; and I have had an
excellent church, which, though I do not suppose it would satisfy
the ecclesiologist, I have found to be most commodious for the
worship of God. There are three things in it quite at
variance with modern fashion: instead of an open roof to generate
cold in winter, heat in summer, and echo at all times, we have
had a flat ceiling to protect us from all changes of the climate;
and instead of having the people spread far and wide on the
ground floor, there are deep galleries along three sides of the
church, containing nearly six hundred persons, all within
ear-shot; and instead of a low pulpit scarcely raising the
preacher above the heads of his hearers, there is an
old-fashioned “three-decker” of sufficient height to
<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>enable
the preacher to see the whole of his congregation.</p>
<p>At Tunbridge Wells was much less to excite than at
Ramsgate. There were no shipwrecks, and no such activity on
the part of the Church of Rome, but there was a great increase of
solid pastoral work, and I firmly believe that our removal was of
the Lord. In no period of my life have I experienced
greater mercies.</p>
<p>After ten years of happy work together, it pleased the Lord to
take from me my dearest wife, at which time He showed His
abundant mercy in so strengthening her faith, that she gave a
glorious testimony to the power of that Gospel which she had
earnestly desired to teach, and which had been the subject of our
whole ministry. She was kept at perfect peace through a
long and suffering illness, and fell asleep in full and unbroken
trust in the blessed Saviour whom she loved. Shortly before
she died, she quoted to me the words of Mr. Standfast: “I
have loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wheresoever I have seen
the print of His shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to set
my foot too,” and He was faithful to her to the end.</p>
<p>But, speaking of mercies at that period, I must not omit to
mention the help He raised up for me in my valued friend Dr.
Richardson, and my beloved sister-in-law Lady Parry. Dr.
Richardson was the greatest help to me in the management <a
name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>of my large
family, and would come in again and again as a friend to give me
any advice he thought necessary, and tell me whether he thought
it important I should call in medical help, and again and again
has he told me that they wanted no more than their faithful nurse
could give them. As for my dear sister, she was everything
that a widower could desire, tender, wise, considerate, the best
of counsellors and the truest of friends. What she was to
me at that time of my bereavement no words can ever describe.</p>
<p>Then amongst my many mercies at Tunbridge Wells I must reckon
the severe illness which I had ten years afterwards, which I am
thoroughly persuaded my Heavenly Father sent me as a
blessing. It called forth the same unbounded
loving-kindness from my parishioners and fellow-townsmen which I
am now experiencing while dictating this sketch of my history,
and I felt at the time that it brought us into a closer
relationship with each other than we had ever known
previously. But, above all, it burnt into my heart those
words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Timothy i. 12: “I know whom
I have believed.” Those six words contained the whole
of my religion as I lay for weeks unable to think and pray, for
they do not say, “I know <i>how</i> I have believed
Him,” nor do they refer to any qualification in my own
faith, but simply to this qualification as taught in the
following words, “And am persuaded that He is <a
name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>able to
keep that which I have committed unto Him against that
day.” It was the entire persuasion of His perfect
sufficiency that kept my soul at peace, and has made me ever
since thankful to God for having brought me into the happy
experience of that sufficiency for one who, like me, was
altogether insufficient in himself. I enjoyed also many
proofs of the Lord’s providential care, one of which was so
remarkable that I think it ought to be recorded.</p>
<p>After my degree in 1834, I continued to reside at Cambridge
and took mathematical pupils. One summer I took a
long-vacation party to Killarney, and in the course of our
residence there a young man came over from Cork to see me.
He had a great wish to go to Cambridge, and having heard that
there were Cambridge men at Killarney, he came over in order to
obtain information. The result was that he came up the next
October, and I was glad to help him in his work, in which he made
good progress. But after some time he told me that the
expenses had exceeded his estimate and that he feared he should
not be able to complete his University career. If richness
be measured by the proportion of income to expenditure, I was a
richer man then than I have ever been since, as, in addition to
my father’s allowance, I received a considerable income
from my pupils. I therefore told him that he must go on to
his degree, and with the help of my dearly beloved <a
name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>friend
Henry Goulburn gave him a cheque which he considered would be
sufficient. The result was that he took his degree and left
Cambridge. After that I altogether lost sight of him, and
wondered what had become of him.</p>
<p>Thus twenty-six years passed by, and I was very much
interested at Tunbridge Wells in the erection of St.
James’s Church, and had issued a circular requesting that
all subscriptions might be paid in by January 1st, 1862.
But though the world gave us credit for being extremely rich, my
account at the bankers was so low that I found I could ill afford
the £100 which I had promised. That 1st of January
was therefore to me a day of real anxiety, and in the early
morning I committed the matter solemnly to God, and my Heavenly
Father was “thinking upon me” when, after our family
worship, my letters were brought to me, and there was one from my
young Irish friend in which he said that, though I regarded the
money given at Cambridge as a gift, he had always considered it a
loan and now wished to repay it, so enclosed a cheque of
£100. It was that cheque that I paid into the bank
with a thankful heart that morning, as my contribution to St.
James’s Church. So my young friend was employed by my
Heavenly Father to take care of the money until the time when I
should require it.</p>
<p>In addition to the deep interest of my own parish, the
proximity to London brought me into <a name="page126"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 126</span>contact with various movements of a
more public character. This involved a conflict between my
duty to the parish and my duty to the Church of which I was a
member. But I firmly believe that the parish was the
gainer, not the loser, by my interest in those general objects,
and nothing tends more to wither up a man’s ministry than
such an isolation as brings him into contact with his own limited
surroundings, and leads him to stand aloof from the general work
of the Church of God.</p>
<p>Then it has been my desire to attend as far as possible to
diocesan interests, those connected with the rural deanery, the
archdeaconry, and the diocese, such as ruri-decanal meetings,
visitations, and diocesan conferences. It has appeared to
me that when, by our position, we have a right to attend on such
occasions, we ought to do so, and that if we hold back from
taking our legitimate part, we have no right to complain if
things are said and done of which we disapprove.</p>
<p>On the same principle I have attended Church Congresses, and
have been thankful for the opportunity of publicly maintaining
those great principles which are inexpressibly dear to my own
heart. I have never hesitated to state what I have believed
as clearly as I knew how to put it, and my experience is that, if
a person will attend them in the Name of the Lord and as a
witness for Christ, and will speak without either reserve or
compromise, he will not only receive courteous <a
name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>treatment
from those in authority, but will find a grand opportunity of
spreading the truth through the length and breadth of the
land.</p>
<p>I have myself received letters, from all parts of England,
thanking me for words which I was enabled to speak at one of the
Church Congresses, and I have known more than one instance in
which words so spoken have been blessed to the permanent peace of
conscientious inquirers.</p>
<p>I have been deeply interested in the large lay and clerical
meetings of the Evangelical body. When I was quite a
beginner I listened to an address at the Islington Clerical
Meeting, by the Honourable Baptist Noel, which has affected the
character of my whole ministry. He was speaking on the
subject of spiritual power, and said that, whenever any attempt
at ornamentation became apparent, power ceased. On those
words of his I have acted ever since I heard them, and I am
persuaded that those meetings are frequently the means of making
permanent impression on many of those who are brought together by
them. Thus I have always availed myself of every
opportunity of attending such meetings. In the course of
fifty-four years I have missed the Islington Clerical Meeting
only three times, and then from no choice of my own, and they
have led to a very sacred relationship with many of my beloved
and honoured brethren in all parts of the country.</p>
<p>But I have known none that I have regarded as <a
name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>a greater
privilege than our own Aggregate Clerical Meeting at Tunbridge
Wells. From that I have never been absent, except when
detained by severe illness, and nothing can exceed the sacred
privilege which I have enjoyed in those happy gatherings.
We have met as brethren in the Lord Jesus, as one in the great
privileges in which we live, as fellow-labourers in our happy
ministry, and as fellow-partakers of the grace of God. We
have often taken counsel together, and though in the course of
thirty-four years almost all the original founders have passed
away, there is still the same spirit of brotherly harmony, and
the same loving interest in each other’s welfare. I
often wonder how it is that some dear brethren appear to me to
undervalue such gatherings of those who fear the Lord.</p>
<p>But of all the objects away from home there was none that
called forth my deepest interest like the Committee of the Church
Missionary Society. I do not know exactly how long I have
been a member of it, but I was invited by Mr. Venn when I was
Curate of Richmond to join the Committee of Correspondence, and
as I left Richmond forty-three years ago, I consider that I must
have been at least forty-five years a member of that body, and I
regard that membership as one of the great blessings of my
life.</p>
<p>It has been the practice of its management to be always on the
look-out for men who had distinguished themselves and could bring
to the <a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>Committee their own experience of the work of the
Gospel in those countries where their lot had been cast, and the
result has been that there have been in that committee room a
body of men, many of whom have filled highest positions under the
Crown, but who gladly gave their time and talents to the patient
consideration of the many difficult questions that have arisen in
the progress of the work.</p>
<p>I can quite believe that the business of the Committee might
be conducted with more despatch, and I have myself desired to see
some changes in that direction, but for calm, patient, and
prayerful consideration of the business before them, I have never
known anything to exceed the conduct of the C.M.S.
Committee. I cannot express the confidence that I feel in
the fidelity of that Committee, and when I have heard men finding
fault with their decisions, I have often wished that, before
finding fault, they would attend our deliberations and see for
themselves the prayerful process by which they have been led to
their decisions. Again and again have I known them kneel
down in the midst of their business, and plead with God for His
guiding hand. And although it would be absurd to expect,
upon every difficult question, forty or fifty independent minds
should think exactly alike, yet I do not remember ever to have
known an interruption of the unity of spirit, and there are few
things that I have felt more, since it <a
name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>has pleased
God to lay me very much aside, than the necessity of quitting my
place in that committee room, and losing the privilege of uniting
with such a body of men in such a work as that of the Church
Missionary Society. I trust God will bless them with His
own rich and abundant blessing. They have a noble work
before them, not merely in spreading the Gospel amongst the
heathen, but in uplifting the banner of truth at home, and I
trust it may never happen again that dear brethren, in their
earnestness for the maintenance of a pure Gospel, will ever think
of weakening the Church Missionary Society by forsaking it, and
so rejoicing the heart of the great adversary of souls.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>With these words the brief Autobiography is closed, and it is
characteristic of the writer that his faithful heart, like the
compass-needle ever pointing to the North, should, after a brief
deviation to his personal affairs, turn finally to the
contemplation of the glorious work of that Society whose cause he
loved to plead.</p>
<p>It is, however, impossible to close the volume at this
point. The forty-one years of ministry at Tunbridge Wells
were the most fruitful and important of his life, yet their
events are barely noticed in the last pages that he
dictated. We must therefore devote some space to the work
and character of Edward Hoare in that sphere where <a
name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>he became
best known, in which he bore the greatest trials of life, and
whence from pulpit and press that teaching flowed forth by which
the Holy Spirit blessed thousands of anxious souls.</p>
<h3>Extract from the Journal, May 1858.</h3>
<p><i>Thoughts about Personal Holiness</i>.—Nearness to
Christ. Likeness to Christ. Singleheartedness to
Christ.</p>
<p><i>The Whole Work of the Holy Spirit</i>.—In
Christ. With Christ. For Christ.</p>
<p><i>Peculiar Importance to Ministers</i>.—Because we are
acting under a strong religious stimulus which may be mistaken
for true holiness.</p>
<p>Must not expect to draw souls nearer to God than we are
ourselves. “Be ye followers of me.”</p>
<p>Because by-ends mar and impede God’s blessing.
“My glory will I not give to another.”
“Ye ask and ye receive not,” etc. God has too
much regard for the minister to trust him with success.</p>
<p>By-ends strike at the root of faith. “How can ye
believe?” etc.</p>
<p>Nearness to God carries a man humbly through success, and
peacefully through discouragement.</p>
<p>If we live in Christ we shall be carried through the dying
hour.</p>
<p><i>The Visible and Invisible Life</i>.—Men see
Christ’s Gospel in us. We are the visible
representatives of an Invisible Presence. Thousands read us
who never read their Bibles.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Questions</i>.</p>
<p>Is there the same desire for salvation of souls when others
preach?</p>
<p><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>Is
there never pleasure in finding others less than ourselves?</p>
<p>Is there real gratification in the progress and success of
others?</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>“Search me, O Lord” (Psalm cxxxix.).
“Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts.” Lev.
xxii. 2: “Profane not,” etc.</p>
<p>“Pardon iniquity of our holy things.”
“Be ye clean, ye that bear the vessels of the
Lord.”</p>
<p>Pardoned sinners the only witnesses to converting grace.</p>
<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
133</span>CHAPTER IX<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>WORK IN VARIOUS PLACES</i></span></h2>
<p>Those who knew the subject of this memoir only in his later
years were often struck by his physical strength and
vigour. Yet from his earliest years and up to middle life
there were signs of constitutional delicacy which caused
anxiety. On various occasions he was laid by through
attacks of illness, and it is plain from passages in his journal
that, although physically an athlete, he quite expected that his
life would be a short one. But God had other plans for His
young servant: true, he was to be disciplined by frequent
illnesses—Pakefield had to be resigned in a year owing to
delicacy of the chest; his work at Richmond (where he caught
smallpox in his parish-visiting), and Holloway, and Ramsgate, was
interrupted by periods of ill-health; but these were perhaps the
training by which faith was strengthened and spirituality
deepened for the great work of middle life, and a hale and
saintly old age.</p>
<p>The close and topical study of the Scriptures to which
allusion is made in the Autobiography, and in which, no doubt,
the mathematical training <a name="page134"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 134</span>of the University was a great
assistance, gave him a clear view of the doctrines of the Church
of England; combined with this was an intimate acquaintance with
the formularies of the Prayer-Book and the writings of the
Reformers, also the result of years of careful
reading,—consequently Mr. Hoare was in great request all
over England to speak at gatherings of the clergy and devotional
meetings of various kinds. Soon after his appointment to
Tunbridge Wells, we find in his letters, of which a few extracts
are given in the following pages, references to these journeys;
in fact he literally seemed to go up and down the country
speaking and preaching. It was no unusual event for him to
address great audiences in remote towns on the same day.</p>
<p>The following letter, written to one of his daughters just
after her Confirmation, for which he had prepared her, alludes to
this kind of work, but it is inserted here more particularly as a
specimen of his tender interest in the spiritual welfare of his
children:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">York</span>, <i>May</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1856.</p>
<p>“I do not yet know whether or not I shall be wanted at
Pontefract to-morrow, and if I am not I may reach London as soon
as this letter; but you have been so much in my thoughts lately
that I cannot forbear sending one line of affectionate
remembrance.</p>
<p>“I have felt the last three months to have been a
profitable time for us both, and I trust it has brought <a
name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>us into a
closer union with each other than we have had before. I
consider that as dear girls grow up they become not merely the
children, but the companions and fellow-helpers with their
parents, and therefore I rejoice at all that brings us together,
as I believe the Confirmation has done, and as I believe that our
uniting together in the Lord’s Supper will yet further tend
to do. I cannot tell you with what a deep feeling of
interest I look forward to the joy of receiving you as a
Communicant on Sunday next. I trust that it may be a help
to you in drawing nearer to God than you have ever yet done, and
in feeding on Christ by faith to the very end of your
course. I am sure of this, my dear girl, that there is no
joy like that of knowing Christ, no place like that to be found
in His love, no happiness like that which springs from His grace,
and it is no small comfort to me to rest assured that you feel
this yourself, that you have not merely felt the importance of
it, but have also known something of the joy. It is a great
thing to have the knowledge of our real and great necessity, but
that cannot give us peace; it is the sweet assurance of His
sufficiency that can really give rest to the soul. That
sufficiency, dear girl, is for you, freely offered to you in Him,
without money and without price, and I trust sweetly enjoyed by
you through the teaching of the Holy Spirit. May He lead
you forward day by day, and graciously prepare you for His
kingdom!</p>
<p>“Since beginning my letter the post is come, and your
letter with it. I knew the good news before I came away;
but I am not quite sure whether I shall come, for I do not know
whether I am wanted here. Tell your mother I am very well,
and am taking the greatest care of myself. I got on very
comfortably yesterday, and was not overdone. This afternoon
I go (D.V.) to <a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
136</span>Leeds. I am quite concerned about baby.
Dear love to your mother.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Father,<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>His love for the Church Missionary Society made him ready to
go anywhere in its service, and in 1862 Mr. Hoare visited Cork
for this purpose; some mistakes appear to have been made about
dates by local friends, and accordingly there were one or two
days in which there was no work for him to do. This, which
would have been a natural source of vexation at all times, was at
this juncture particularly hard to bear. Mrs. Hoare’s
serious condition had just been discovered. It was
therefore with considerable unwillingness that he had consented
to leave her at all; but when, through the mistakes alluded to in
the early part of the following letter, some days had to be spent
in doing nothing, it is easy to imagine how his spirit chafed at
what appeared to be a needless absence from home. Yet this
had its compensation, as it gave him more of the company of his
host, a venerable saint of God.</p>
<p>Not only so, but Mr. Hoare used to tell of the remarkable way
in which his aged hostess comforted him concerning the great
trouble which was just beginning to overshadow his life.
Making him sit beside her on the sofa, she persuaded him to open
all his anxiety and grief to her; and then, <a
name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>in a
motherly way, gave him such loving advice and deep consolation
that he was enabled to look forward more calmly to the sorrow,
and returned home strengthened in faith to meet the trials which
were thickening around him.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cork</span>, <i>May</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1862.</p>
<p>“ . . . However, I am repaid by the affection of
the dear old Dean <a name="citation137"></a><a
href="#footnote137" class="citation">[137]</a> and Mrs. Newman,
with whom I am staying. I have greatly enjoyed my visit,
and she has been most loving and sympathising. Indeed she
has done me real good, and given me valuable help by the
way. It is a pleasant and profitable thing to be with those
whose race is nearly run, and to hear their views of life, when
they look back on it from the borders of eternity. She
seems to take a different view of it to what I do, who am in the
midst of all the cares of my pilgrimage.</p>
<p>“I thought of you and home all day yesterday with much
affection, though without much time for especial prayer, for I
was about all day, having preached twice, and been two hours in
the afternoon to hear Mr. Denham Smith. I must tell you all
about it when I get home; but it is a curious thing that I heard
him tell precisely the same stories about conversion that Miss
Saunders mentioned. There was something very pleasing about
it all, and parts of it were very powerful. But I confess I
did not see wherein lay the secret of that remarkable success
which God seems to have bestowed on him. Perhaps he is more
in prayer than we are. But let us be thankful for what God
has done, and take courage.</p>
<p><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
138</span>“I fully hope (D.V.) to be at T. W. on Saturday,
but I shall not expect any of you dear daughters to meet me then,
as I expect to find the house thoroughly uncomfortable, and shall
most probably take up my quarters with some of the people.
I rejoice to think of our settling at home again before very
long, and am quite of opinion that the change home may do your
dearest mother as much good as the change away. But how we
are to take care of her and prevent her overfatiguing herself I
know not. Of one thing, however, I am sure—viz. that
we have dear, loving, and most helpful daughters, whose delight
will be to be helpful. Most fully do I appreciate it, and
most heartily do I thank God for it. Give my dearest love
to all, and most especially to your mother; to Gurney also if he
is with you. I am quite delighted at his Greek.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most affectionate<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It must not be supposed, however, that the parish suffered
because other places profited. On the contrary, these brief
trips were fitted in between his parochial duties, and by his
work for others fresh energy seemed to be diffused into things at
home. The newspapers might record his name at a meeting at
the other end of England, but the following evening would see him
at the night school or in his pulpit, or at what he seemed to
love best of all, his Men’s Bible Class. He had a
genius for teaching; whether it was children, or ladies, or
undergraduates, or working men, it made <a
name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>no
difference—the instruction was suited skilfully to every
sort of mind. Many a former curate who reads these words
will remember the Men’s Bible Class on Tuesday
evenings. “All sorts and conditions of men”
were there, a score or two at least: labourers, shop-assistants,
artisans, clerks; there perhaps an ex-Indian judge, here a
medical man; beside the Vicar sat his curates, who were always
present; and then, after a hymn and prayer, the subject of last
week was resumed, and in a simple conversational way the story of
Abraham, or some other Scripture character, seemed to make the
individual stand out before us like a man of our acquaintance,
with difficulties and temptations which we felt were like our
own.</p>
<p>There was no reading round, but a little friendly questioning
to bring out the thoughts of the men.</p>
<p>On one of these occasions an elderly man of remarkable
appearance made some striking observation on the subject of the
evening; subsequent inquiries revealed a former student for the
priesthood in the Romish Church, who, being unable to
“swallow” the dogma of the Immaculate Conception when
first promulgated, had been turned out of the College in Rome and
afterwards joined the Church of England.</p>
<p>Mr. Hoare loved to address men, and was never more at home
than when preaching at Cambridge to the undergraduates or
addressing meetings of <a name="page140"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 140</span>clergy, or, best of all, speaking in
his own church at the monthly Men’s Services on Sunday
afternoons. His choice of subjects and of texts was very
striking, <i>e.g.</i> to the Mayor and Corporation upon
“The wisdom that delivered the city,” to the Fire
Brigades upon “Escape for thy life, lest thou be
consumed,” to the Volunteers upon “Soldiers of
Christ,” to the Friendly Societies on “A workman that
needeth not to be ashamed,” etc.</p>
<p>These discourses were delivered with a solemnity, earnestness,
and simple eloquence peculiarly his own, and were accompanied by
gesture and tone of voice that made them intensely
striking. No one who heard these addresses could ever
forget them.</p>
<p>At the close of the first ten years of work in Tunbridge Wells
came the great sorrow of his life.</p>
<p>Mrs. Hoare had been his truest help in the family and the
parish, bringing up her ten children with wise and loving care,
ruling her household and holding open house for every guest, and
yet holding mothers’ meetings and visiting the sick and
dying of the large parish of Holy Trinity (which then included
the whole town). No one ever saw her in a hurry, none who
wanted advice were turned away, and not a single duty seemed ever
forgotten. In 1862 alarming symptoms appeared.
Medical advice was taken; treatment and rest were tried, but in
vain; the disease rapidly progressed, and after a cure was
pronounced to be beyond <a name="page141"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 141</span>medical skill, Mrs. Hoare resumed
such of her parish work as was still within the compass of her
strength, with the remark that, since rest was useless and her
time was now short, she must work so long as power lasted!
The loss of such a wife was indeed a deep sorrow, and the entries
in his journal testify to the grief that wrung the
husband’s heart.</p>
<p>On July 27th, 1863, she passed away, her last words calmly
uttered—“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”</p>
<p>The journal ends with her last message to her children:
“I shall look for you at heaven’s gate.”</p>
<p>A few months afterwards Mr. Hoare wrote a touching and
beautiful sketch of his beloved wife entitled “Sacred
Memorials”; it was not published, but had a large
circulation, finding its way even beyond this country.</p>
<p>The one great consolation in this overwhelming sorrow was,
however, able to uphold him. The same truths which had
strengthened her for an active life sustained her in suffering,
and gave her unruffled peace to the end. The peace, the
presence, and the power of the Lord Jesus Christ gave power to
the faint and made him strong in the Lord. For twenty-four
years they had worked side by side, and in the thirty-one years
that remained he sometimes gently spoke of her as present though
unseen, and joining in prayer for his work.</p>
<p><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
142</span>Towards the close of the year, when sending a line of
welcome to his eldest daughter on her return home, he closes with
these words, which have a pathetic power when read in the light
of the recent bereavement:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“T. W.,
<i>November</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1863.</p>
<p>“If there is so much pleasure in meeting those dear to
us after these short separations, what will be the joy of the
great reunion at the coming of the Lord!”</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
143</span>CHAPTER X<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>DOMESTIC LIFE AND FOREIGN
TOURS</i></span></h2>
<p>It was a delightful thing to see Mr. Hoare in the midst of his
family. Some of us remember only the later years of his
life, but the enjoyment which he then took in the company of his
grandchildren was very charming to witness. Those, however,
who recollect the time when his ten boys and girls were growing
up around him, speak with much pleasure of the way in which he
threw himself into all their feelings and pursuits, and the skill
which he evinced in drawing out their characters. He tried
hard, as he touchingly says in one of his letters, to be
“father and mother in one.” In the bringing up
of his children religion formed such a bright part of their life
that allusions to it came in quite naturally into ordinary
conversation. On one occasion, five years before Mrs.
Hoare’s death, he makes the following entry in his
journal:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“<i>September</i> 19<i>th</i>,
1858.—Very much interested to-day by — [one of his
younger boys]. I was talking at dinner about the great
geological periods of creation. <a name="page144"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 144</span>He said, ‘But it took place in
one week.’ I answered, ‘Those days were
probably long periods, as it says, “One day is with the
Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one
day.”’ He said, ‘I thought that meant
that with the Lord we should be so happy that a thousand years
would seem like one day, they would pass so
quickly!’”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>How God blessed his efforts is known to all who are acquainted
with his family.</p>
<p>The following letter refers to these happy
relationships:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“T. W.,
<i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1864.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Daughters</span>,—I
cannot say how often we think of you, and how pleased I was to
hear of your safe arrival and enjoyment at Oxford. I know
few places in all England with more objects of interest than
Oxford, and I have no doubt you will thoroughly enjoy your week
there. We are getting on comfortably, though I have had
rather too much of clerical meetings, having one on Monday and
one to-day. But I hope it has been in the Lord’s
service. On Monday we went through Romans xi., and I
certainly thought that the Prophetics had studied the chapter
better than the Clericals. But I was quite confirmed in the
exposition at the Prophetical. I suppose Annie has told you
of all our home doings. We really have got on very
comfortably, but it seems very strange to have seven away out of
the ten. I suppose, however, if God preserves me, I must
look forward to more than that in future. The course of
life seems to be that a person begins alone, and then, when God
gives him the blessing of such a union as I have had, the house
fills year after year, till at length the tide turns <a
name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>and the
dispersion begins, till at last sometimes the question arises who
shall be the companion of the aged father. But we have not
come to that yet, or near it; and when it does come, if it ever
does, I am sure it will be to draw us heavenward, and wean me
more and more from earth to heaven. I am sure I have been
far too much tied down below. Truly I may say, ‘My
soul cleaveth unto the dust’; but I think I already feel
something of the weaning power, and I trust I may feel it more
and more. However, I scarcely ought to write so to you; but
rather to thank God for the present mercies, for the past
lovingkindness, and for my dear, dear daughters, who, I am sure,
do all that daughters can to make my home happy. Dear love
to you both, and to your uncle and aunt.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Father,<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In 1864 Mr. Hoare, accompanied by a brother and two of his
sons, went for a tour in Switzerland. It was on their
return that the first meeting took place between the writer and
his future Vicar (as has been intimated in the Preface); and Mr.
Hoare used to say, with reference to the mournful circumstances
connected with that day, that he often asked himself, “Why
should I be permitted to bring my boys back in health and
strength, while this other father brings back only one of the two
who went out on their holiday?”</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>The following letters were written at this time:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
146</span>“<span class="smcap">Lucerne</span>,
<i>August</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1864.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Girls</span>,—We
failed in catching the night train at Paris, so were obliged to
come on yesterday by day to Basle, and to-day to this lovely
place, which looks more beautiful than ever. I certainly
think it is the most beautiful place I know in the world.
To-morrow we strike into the mountains. . . . Everything
thus far has prospered with us, but my heart hungers after home;
and I don’t know how it is, but I always feel my loss most
when I am away. I hardly knew how to bear it at
Plymouth. I suppose the reason is that the thoughts are
always dwelling on home and all its interests, so that all
connected with it is more felt than ever. The boys are very
bright and very agreeable, Edward being full of his conversation
with the French, to his own great delight, and their great
amusement. He travelled many hours yesterday in a carriage
away from us, in order that he might ride with a large French
family who had a compartment to themselves. Gurney is not
so conversable, but has every appearance of being pre-eminently
happy. We are now preparing to go up the Rigi for the
night, and the whole party are gone to purchase
alpenstocks. Would not you like to be going with us?
But, oh! if it lasts so hot, I wonder how much there will be left
of us when we reach the top. Dear love to all. Tell
Lily I hope she will look after my garden as well as her own, and
tell the bees we are getting on well, and met with excellent
honey. Also you may tell — of this as the right time
of year to plant some Melilotus Leucantha, and also some good
strawberries. Let me know how the sunflowers are, and the
rose-cuttings.</p>
<p>“Dearest love to all.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most affectionate<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
147</span>Family-letter from abroad:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">St. Luc</span>, <i>August</i> 16<i>th</i>,
1864.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest Sons and
Daughters</span>,—‘Homeward Bound’ is always a
pleasant sound, and so it is on this occasion, however pleasant
our journey may have been, for I have been quite homesick for
some days, and, like a schoolboy, have been counting the days
till my return. I fully hope to be home on Saturday, but I
cannot say at what time, as we have lost all reckoning as to
hours. Indeed we may fail altogether, as we are acting
contrary to my general rule, and propose to travel by the last
train all the way from Basle, so that if anything fails at any
point we shall be thrown out altogether. But I trust we
shall arrive all right, and dear uncle with us. . . . I
hope we may be home by the 6.20, but I cannot say positively, as
I know nothing.</p>
<p>“I cannot say how I rejoice at the good accounts I hear
from you. I have thought of you all with the utmost
interest, and prayed for you with a father’s love.
Tell the dear boys how pleased I have been to hear such good
accounts of them. They little know how they have added to
the pleasure of my journey, for if I had felt an anxiety
respecting them, I could not have enjoyed even this beautiful
country. Tell — and — likewise how very much I
have been pleased with your report of them, and thank — and
— for their letters.</p>
<p>“We had a splendid week last week, and many sacred
remembrances of our happy journey together, and when we came to
Zermatt it seemed so like old times that I could almost have
looked out for you. The mountains seemed more beautiful
than ever; but there they stand fixed, and know nothing of the
changes that have taken place in the hearts and homes of those
that look at them. But there is one thing more fixed and
more permanent <a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
148</span>than they are; I mean the love of God in Christ
Jesus. In it therefore we will seek to trust more and more,
and I am sure He will never fail us, as He has never done yet,
and we shall never be disappointed. I have accepted the
Archbishop’s invitation, and I hope — will enjoy her
visit. As for myself, I had sooner remain at home.
But it is clearly right to go, and indeed I propose to make an
effort and go out more than I have done lately. The boys
send their very dear love, though they do not seem much disposed
to express it on paper. That they leave to me. If any
very nice person turns up who may be disposed to preach once on
Sunday, it would be very acceptable; but I hope to reach home
prepared.</p>
<p>“Dear love to all.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most affectionate<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Letter to his sons:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Sierre</span>, <i>August</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1864.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Boys</span>,—I have
been so greatly pleased by the good report that I have had of you
that I must write one line to tell you so. I am quite
thankful for it, and I have no doubt you have had a happy holiday
in consequence. I made some lines on the mountains to show
that the way to be happy is to seek each other’s
happiness:—</p>
<p>“‘When all begin to seek their own,<br />
Then each must seek it quite alone;<br />
But when all seek to please each other,<br />
Then each is helped by every brother.’</p>
<p>“We have found this to be quite the case in travelling,
for it is quite necessary when we travel to think of all the
party, and strive to please every one. But I must not
moralise, but tell you something of our journey. We <a
name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>have not
had many adventures; but we have climbed up some terrible hills,
and I can assure you it has been hard work. Up, up, up;
puff, puff, puff; grunt, grunt, grunt; and still the farther you
go, the mountains grow higher and higher. You think
sometimes you are near the top, and, when you get there, you find
another top higher still, and then another, till you get quite
tired of tops. And coming down is hard work too. The
mountains are covered with great loose stones, so that by the
time you are at the bottom you are glad enough of a
resting-place. We go to bed very early, the boys about
eight, and I about nine. But then we make up for it at the
other end, and by five o’clock, when you are all fast
asleep, we are all moving, and sometimes almost off. The
middle of the day is so hot, as our hands and faces will prove to
you, that we can scarcely travel in the middle of the day, unless
we be high up in the mountains, where the air is so beautifully
fresh that we can do almost anything. We meet with a great
many travellers, many of whom are wandering over the
glaciers. They are a queer-looking set, with immense boots
with large nails in them, with wideawakes and green veils tied
over them, with a long pole in their hand with a spike at one end
and an axe at the other. Then you see their guide marching
behind with a similar axe, and a long rope on his back, which is
used to strap the whole party together if they cross any
dangerous place, so that, if one falls, the others may hold him
up. And tremendous slips they sometimes have. A few
days ago four men slipped and slid four hundred feet, more than
twice the length of our garden, down a steep piece of ice with a
huge precipice at the bottom, so that they would have been dashed
to pieces if they had not stopped. But happily two of them
struck their axes into the ice just in time, and so they hung on,
close by the edge of the precipice, <a name="page150"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 150</span>and were saved. I suppose some
time or other I shall hear of you two being Alpine
travellers. Gurney and Ted seem quite ready to
begin;—but my time is past, and I must content myself with
going only to those places where I can climb with poor wind and
old legs. However, at Zermatt we met with Mr. and Mrs.
—, who had been wandering over the highest glaciers, she
being strapped by a rope to the guides. I suppose she liked
it; but I am not sure it was quite the right place for a
lady.</p>
<p>“Well! I hope we shall all be together, if God
permit, on Saturday, and bring all our things with us, but some
are already left behind, and others are waiting for us on the
road, as we have taken hardly any luggage, so that a good many of
our preparations were of no use at all. Since Monday
morning we have had only a knapsack between us, so you may
imagine we have not been very smart, and our evening dress has
not been of the gayest kind. I fear also it has not always
been of the cleanest, for we have not had things enough to change
nearly so often as we should have liked. But we look
forward to a glorious wash on Saturday. But one
disadvantage of our having so little luggage is that we cannot
bring home any Swiss curiosities. We have had enough to do
to get our own absolute necessaries across the mountains; so we
shall be obliged to come back quite empty-handed. But we
shall come not empty-hearted, but full of love to all my dear
ones. Good-bye. May God bless and keep you!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most affectionate<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following letters have an individual interest of their
own:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
151</span>“<span class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>,
<i>February</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1866.</p>
<p>“I am sure it is very profitable as well as pleasant to
have an occasional change in those we hear, and on the strength
of this conviction I propose to take a weekday holiday for next
seven weeks, as Mr. Burgess is to preach for me next Wednesday,
and other brethren during Lent. So I hope to buckle to and
get through Pusey on Daniel, if good friend Jacques is not
reading it. I quite enjoy the thoughts of it, though really
I ought to be thankful for our Wednesday evenings, though I must
admit they are an effort to me.”</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">Tunbridge
Wells</span>, <i>May</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1867.</p>
<p>“We have been getting on capitally, and had really a
very pleasant Sunday. Campbell’s sermon was quite
first-rate, and made a great impression on all who heard
it. But I greatly fear he will not come as curate. I
should esteem it a very great favour if the Lord were to send me
some one who would give a little fresh fire to me as well as the
people, for I sometimes find my own energies flag, and greatly
desire to have some fresh zeal infused among us. Numbers of
people wandered to other churches, but I believe no one regretted
their worship in the Hall or Schoolroom. <a
name="citation151"></a><a href="#footnote151"
class="citation">[151]</a> We sang the hymn ‘Jesus,
where’er Thy people meet,’ and I believe we beheld
His ‘mercy-seat.’ The girls are going to Mr.
— this evening with Brodie. I am going to stay at
home, for I do not like the thought of sitting there for three
hours. How strange it is the people think two hours too
long for church, but like three hours for a lecture! I
suppose they enjoy the one more than the other, and that makes
all the difference. I am afraid they will find Heaven very
dull.”</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><a name="page152"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 152</span>“<span class="smcap">Woodford
Green</span>, <i>September</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1867.</p>
<p>“It has been a great joy to me to hear such good reports
of all the party, and I hope you will tell them all so.
There is no text in the Bible which I can enter into more fully
than this, ‘I have no greater joy than to know that my
children walk in truth.’ To hear of and to witness
your well-doing is the greatest joy I have in life, and if it
please God to grant that we may all be one together for eternity,
it will take eternity to express my thankfulness.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On hearing of the sudden death of a friend:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">York</span>, <i>May</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1869.</p>
<p>“How rapidly and how unexpectedly do the greatest
dangers take place! Truly we are living on the brink of
eternity, and a few hours may find us in the midst of it.
May the Lord keep us with our loins girt and our lamps burning,
and we ourselves as those that wait for their Lord. I am
thankful to say I have got on very comfortably, but I am too old
to talk all day, and nothing suits me so well as home. I
sometimes think I must give up travelling altogether; but then
when I find how much my poor services seem to be valued I have my
misgivings. We have had really noble collections, no less
than £78 in one little church holding little more than two
hundred persons, the richest of whom were shop-keepers and
professional men; and £60 in another church where the
congregation, though rather larger, was very much of the same
character. We have therefore still much to learn at home,
and none more than I have. It seems that we are only at the
beginning, at the very threshold of heavenly knowledge, <a
name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>but what we
can see on the threshold is enough to fill the soul with praise
and gratitude.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>April</i> 26<i>th</i>,
1870.</p>
<p>“I have really been regretting your absence from the
feast of fat things which we have lately been enjoying at home,
for I consider we have had privileges of a very high order.</p>
<p>“Our Passion Week services were most profitable, and
following as they did on Mr. Langston’s Lent sermons, they
tended, I trust, to put a seal on impressions already formed,
though I cannot say I have yet had the joy of discovering any
cases of marked conversion as their consequence. I have,
however, met with those who I think have been aroused to further
progress, and who acknowledge the help given with real
thankfulness.</p>
<p>“I trust also that our C.M.S. anniversary may be
regarded as a token of progress. There has been an amazing
amount of interest amongst our younger parishioners on the
subject of the African Bishop, <a name="citation153"></a><a
href="#footnote153" class="citation">[153]</a> so that yesterday
the Mission-room was quite full, and again both the Trinity rooms
in the evening. There were so many last night that there
were several standing by the door of the girls’ room, and a
collection of £14, containing an immense amount of
copper. I confess I was anxious about our collection in
church, especially when I found that we had not exceeded that of
last year in the morning, but we picked up nobly in the afternoon
and evening. In the evening alone there was £45, so
that before we left church the collection reached £120, and
there were £11 additional sent on Monday morning. I
hope I may regard it as the fruit of all the <a
name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>admirable
sermons that we have lately heard, and if so I shall regard it
with peculiar thanksgiving, as showing that there has been not
merely religious excitement but true religious principle at work
amongst the people. And this is what we all want. It
is to be living under the combined influence of principle and
emotion, of deep feeling produced in the soul by strong
conviction of Christian truth.</p>
<p>“I have been very much urged to go to Cheltenham, and if
I go I should immediately set out for my long journey. But
I do so enjoy my quiet work at home that I sometimes think I must
never go out again. I ought, however, to be thankful for
the privilege of being permitted to do the Lord’s work
anywhere.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the autumn of 1870 Mr. Hoare, accompanied by one of his
daughters, crossed the Atlantic, and spent nearly three months in
a pleasant tour through the United States. It was a
delightful holiday, and was the means of greatly strengthening
and refreshing him for work at home. He had many good
introductions, and went about seeing all that he could of the
people, public institutions, and Church work, but beyond an
occasional sermon Mr. Hoare made it a time of rest. No
letters appear to have been preserved relating to this tour.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>To Lady Buxton, after her son’s death:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i> 22<i>nd</i>,
1871.</p>
<p>“I have thought of you so much lately and so
affectionately that I must send you one line of loving
remembrance, <a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
155</span>for I know how pleasant a thing it is to be remembered
by those we love, especially when the remembrance leads to
prayer. I am persuaded that very many have prayed for you
under this very heavy sorrow. There are so many who feel
the bitterness of it, all of whom connect you with it so
intimately that I am persuaded there has seldom been a mourner
more generally or more affectionately remembered before God.</p>
<p>“I think that solemn day at Fox Warren was, on the
whole, very satisfactory. To me it was inexpressibly
affecting to be surrounded by all the beauties of the most
charming place, with his mind speaking in every brick and almost
in every tree. I was so glad that I had paid him a visit
there only a few weeks before—such a pleasant visit, and so
remarkable for the charm of his society, although, poor dear
fellow, I confess I was terrified about his health. But now
all that is over, and, oh! how it does bring before us the
overwhelming interest of the Heavenly Home!</p>
<p>‘“My Heavenly Home is bright and fair;<br />
No pain or death can enter there.’</p>
<p>“I never remember to have felt more deeply the
difference between things which can and which cannot be
shaken. Oh, who can tell the blessing of an unshaken hope,
an unshaken safety, an unshaken inheritance, and an unshaken
home, all resting on unshaken promises and the unshaken covenant
of God! These things which cannot be shaken must remain,
and they will remain when all fair homes of this pleasant world
are passed away for ever. May God keep us by His own grace
grasping them with an unshaken faith, that, when Christ either
comes to us or summons us to Him, we may meet Him without
surprise and receive an abundant entrance into His
Kingdom.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
156</span>Extracts from family-letters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Patterdale</span>, <i>September</i> 14<i>th</i>,
1871.</p>
<p>“I have received two very earnest invitations to
Edinburgh, and one to Australia. I do not suppose that I
shall accept either of them, certainly not the latter until my
return; but if I accept the former it will delay my return a
week. But I do not think it likely.</p>
<p>“Our journey thus far has been most prosperous. We
have had beautiful weather, and a very happy party: Keswick and
Derwentwater on Tuesday, Helvellyn and Ambleside yesterday, and
Bowness and Patterdale to-day. As usual we have had several
affectionate greetings, amongst others one from Sir —
—, whom we met at Keswick. We were both very
friendly, but it was impossible not to feel that we were both
under constraint from the sense of great divergence. We
both scrupulously avoided any points of difference, but both
showed clearly that there were too many rocks on which we might
split at any moment. And yet I feel reproved by the zeal he
had shown in his endeavours to do good to his guide. I am
sure there are many lessons which we may learn from those who
widely differ from us, and the more we value the blessed truths
which God has made known to us, the more humbled we ought to feel
at the want of fervour with which we endeavour to maintain
them.</p>
<p>“To-morrow we hope to reach Carlisle, and I hope I may
be prospered there. But I find it very difficult to work up
much zeal about the Jews. What I do feel is entirely the
result of Scriptural conviction, and not of any personal
interest. The Jew in Scripture is certainly a much more
interesting character than the Jew in Petticoat Lane. But
we profess to act on Scriptural principles, <a
name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>and
therefore ought to persevere, even though it be in the
dark.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cromer</span>, <i>September</i> 28<i>th</i>,
1871.</p>
<p>“I am greatly pleased by your letter of this
morning. It was indeed a most profitable sermon of Mr.
Edmonstone’s, and I have felt the powerful influence on my
own mind of it and the life of Agnes Jones. I trust,
therefore, that my Cromer visit has been thus far really for
good, and I feel, myself, a fresh stimulus for the sacred work to
which the Lord has called us.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Ely</span>, <i>October</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1871.</p>
<p>“I have been thinking of you all day in your return to
the dear old home, and have almost felt disposed to envy you, for
I am satisfied with holiday-making and begin to long for
home. However, I have consented to return to Cromer from
Nottingham, to pay a visit of a few days to your Uncle Richard,
so that I expect to enjoy the hospitality of three of my
brothers, which is very satisfactory to me. Nothing could
have exceeded the kindness of all parties, and I am not without a
hope that there has been some blessing on my ministry. But
I cannot say it has been a time of rest, and I feel the want of
repose more than I do at home. I suppose this is why I
write so slowly, so badly, and with such difficulty that I am
sure I never should do for Secretary to the C.M.S. <a
name="citation157"></a><a href="#footnote157"
class="citation">[157]</a>: the first long letter would knock me
up for the day.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Nottingham</span>, <i>October</i> 10<i>th</i>,
1871.</p>
<p>“I have been venturing on a speech this morning in <a
name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>which I
think the Lord prospered me. I desired to speak for Him,
and I was certainly most kindly received.” <a
name="citation158a"></a><a href="#footnote158a"
class="citation">[158a]</a></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cromer</span>, <i>October</i> 16<i>th</i>,
1871.</p>
<p>“You need not be at all frightened about the Dean, for
it is on Wednesday the 25th that he comes to us. The
sermon, etc., is on the 26th, and on that day we ought to have an
S.P.G. luncheon. I think it would be well to ask the
Committee soon. The list may be found in the S.P.G. report,
under the head ‘Local’ on the top shelf.</p>
<p>“I feel doubly interested in the thought of my return,
and trust it may be with a greater realisation of our
completeness in Christ Jesus and of the blessedness of working
not merely for Him but in Him. I felt this most remarkably
at Nottingham, and I believe it resulted in power, at all events
on one occasion referred to in the paper which I have asked
— to send to you.</p>
<p>“The Congress was very interesting, but too
exciting. The week was one of great exhaustion, though I am
thankful I was there, and I believe God gave power to those who
were endeavouring to be witnesses for the truth. I cannot
doubt but on the whole they did well and carried the people with
them. With only one exception, they spoke with wisdom and
power, like men who were being prayed for, as indeed we all were
by many in the Hall. But the close attention, the hot room,
the many friends, and the anxiety as to the issue took a great
deal out of me, so that I am to-day really enjoying a quiet
morning over my letters.</p>
<p>“Amongst others I saw a great deal of the Bishop of
Sydney, and found him very strong about the Australian idea. <a
name="citation158b"></a><a href="#footnote158b"
class="citation">[158b]</a> He says it is the very thing
that he has long <a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
159</span>desired for his own diocese. But I do not yet see
the call of God sufficiently clearly to have my judgment really
inclined to it. If the Lord makes His way plain, I hope to
be ready to go, but God forbid that I should go one step without
His orders.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>From the Archbishop of Canterbury:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Addington Park</span>, <span
class="smcap">Croydon</span>, <i>September</i> 24<i>th</i>,
1868.</p>
<p>“To <span class="smcap">Rev. Ed. Hoare</span>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Hoare</span>,—It
will give me very great pleasure if you will accept the office of
Honorary Canon of Canterbury, to which your standing in the
diocese and the services which you have rendered to the Church by
your zeal and ability in the discharge of your ministerial
functions amply entitle you.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Believe me, dear Mr.
Hoare,<br />
“Very sincerely yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">C. T. Cantuar</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The offer of an Honorary Canonry in Canterbury Cathedral, made
in 1868 by Archbishop Longley, was the only dignity which he ever
received; why this should have been the case is a question that
has often been asked, and to which no satisfactory answer has
ever been made. Canon Hoare would have made an admirable
Bishop: he was a born ruler and administrator; his intellectual
powers and wide sympathies (for which those who knew him
superficially gave him no credit), together with his power of
inspiring enthusiasm in all his subordinates, would have been
good qualities for that high position, and not the least
advantages <a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
160</span>which he possessed were a fine presence and commanding
personality.</p>
<p>But he neither sought nor wished for promotion, and remained
to the last what he loved to be, a pastor in the midst of a
devoted flock, with more opportunities of preaching the Gospel of
Christ at home and throughout England than fell to the lot of
most men, and, as one remarked to him when the subject happened
to be referred to in a newspaper, “Man has not promoted
you, but God has, by permitting you to be the means of bringing
blessing to more souls than any one whom I know.”
Looking at the subject in that aspect, it is impossible to deny
that his exceptional talents were specially suited to the sphere
which he adorned, and thus we may believe that God overruled the
apparent neglect of men for the greater advancement of His
truth.</p>
<h2><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
161</span>CHAPTER XI<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>PAROCHIAL MISSIONS</i></span></h2>
<p>Five-and-twenty years ago parochial missions were in a
different position from that in which they stand at present.</p>
<p>There were very few mission preachers, and they had a good
many difficulties to contend with. Some looked askance at
the new movement and thought it savoured of Rome; others deemed
it “exciting,” and unworthy of the calm atmosphere of
the Church of England.</p>
<p>It had not then been reduced to a science: missioners adopted
their own individual methods, as seemed best to them. Canon
Hoare at an early stage of the history of the movement recognised
its vast possibilities, and believed that it was just what was
wanted to save the Church from stagnation, and arouse men from
that dangerous respectability which enables them to repeat the
General Confession, but which declines to particularise.
All through his ministry his aim had been to reach individuals,
and he saw the opportunities of so doing in the work of a
mission.</p>
<p><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>The
first invitation which he accepted was that given by the Vicar of
Holy Trinity, Nottingham, on the occasion of a general mission
throughout that town in 1872. Being his first, it was a
time of the most intense and thrilling interest, and the letters
describing it are therefore given at more length than those that
refer to later missions. Not that this work lost any of its
freshness to him; during the twelve years that followed he
undertook similar missions frequently, sometimes twice in a
year. The opportunity was always fraught with the deepest
and most prayerful interest to the preacher; his congregation,
moreover, will remember how he used to return to them after such
occasions, not wearied, but fresher than ever, and all aflame
with spirituality, power, and love.</p>
<p>His scheme of subjects for a mission was very wisely drawn up;
some of these have been printed, and evince great knowledge of
human nature. The writer well remembers how that, when he
was going to undertake a mission for the first time, Canon Hoare
sent for him and said, “Tell me your order of sermons and
Bible-readings.” It was mentioned in detail; he
replied, “I see very little about the ‘New
Life.’” He was referred to the subject of
“consecration.” “Well,” said he,
“if you will take my advice, you will leave that out.
I say little about ‘consecration,’ because that is
man’s work. Make the life which is God’s gift
one entire subject; its necessity, its source, and its reality;
and consecration <a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
163</span>will follow.” His advice was taken, with
the happiest results.</p>
<p>To his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Trinity Vicarage</span>, <span
class="smcap">Nottingham</span>, <i>February</i> 6<i>th</i>,
1872.</p>
<p>“I think I may thus far give a thankful report of my
journey. As I passed through London I had a most
interesting and encouraging conversation with Mr. —, and a
pleasant journey down to this place with —. We
arrived just in time to have a hurried cup of tea, and go off to
the public prayer-meeting in the Exchange Hall. This was a
wonderful sight: the large Hall was crammed full, and many were
unable to gain admittance. It was a very striking contrast
to the busy market outside. There was a great deal of
singing from a very nice little book of the S.P.C.K., and a
remarkable address from old Aitken. The best part of it was
an exposition of Asa’s prayer: the rest was awakening, and,
I hope, profitable, very earnest and very affectionate, but it
did not move me, though some people said it almost threw them
into hysterics. I offered a prayer myself, and three others
besides Aitken. I liked them all thoroughly, and came away,
I hope, the better, though the meeting had lasted nearly two
hours. So having come here and received a most warm welcome
from my pleasant host (Rev. Allan Smith) and hostess, I lay down
and awoke fresh and happy for the Sunday’s work. Mrs.
Smith is daughter of my old friend Mr. Linton of Oxford, and even
you could not make me more comfortable than she does!</p>
<p>“Well! Sunday dawned upon us, and at 10.30 service
began. The church is not so large as our own, and was not
so well filled, but they were pleased with the attendance.
I preached on the deep sleep in Isaiah xxix., and I believe the
Lord was with us. They were attentive all <a
name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>through,
and towards the close many of them were much affected, so much so
that I gave notice I would have a Bible class in the church at
3.45 p.m. for a re-consideration of the subject. The
Lord’s Supper was very solemn, and many were in tears,
especially two old gentlemen whom I hope to be able to see during
the week. So we went home thankful.</p>
<p>“The Bible class in the afternoon was well
attended. There must have been more than a hundred present,
including several gentlemen, so that I was well repaid for the
effort, though very tired when it was over and scarcely up to the
Evening Service. However, when the time came I was fresh
again, and I believe the Lord helped me. There was a larger
congregation than in the morning, but I did not see the same
evidence of impression. I preached on the old subject,
Exod. xii. 23, and, though there was deep attention, I did not
perceive the same emotion. Then followed the
prayer-meeting: this was most interesting. The large room
was quite full, and during certain periods of silence I heard the
sound of weeping in many parts of it. Mr. Smith gave a
short address and offered prayer; I did the same, and longed to
know how to manage such a meeting. After a time I dismissed
them, and invited any to remain who liked. But they all
seemed unwilling to go, and it was some time before they began to
move. But at last the room was cleared, and then what
should I see but two clergymen with their faces covered, in
trouble about their souls. One proved to be a most deeply
interesting case. He told me his difficulties without any
reserve, and at length went away declaring himself
satisfied. I really believe he learned the way of
peace.</p>
<p>“Meanwhile Mr. Smith was speaking to four adults one by
one, and I then found a row of five young people <a
name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>waiting for
me. In three of them, especially one, I thought there was
great reality, but I had not time to speak with them separately,
and I cannot say I was satisfied with the interview. I hope
to see one of them again to-night, when I trust there may be more
decisive results.</p>
<p>“All this quite freshened me up, so that I was ready and
in good heart this morning to start off for the service in
Adams’ Factory at eight. The place was quite full, so
that there must have been about three hundred present. As
they all dispersed immediately to their work, I had no
opportunity of any personal intercourse, but they listened with
great attention, and I can only hope the Lord gave His
blessing.</p>
<p>“I am now enjoying a quiet morning, writing, reading,
thinking, and praying; remembering with great affection my dear
friends at home who are praying for me, and most especially the
three dear daughters left at home to help their father by their
prayers and each other by their mutual help. May the Lord
be with you!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Trinity Vicarage</span>, <span
class="smcap">Nottingham</span>, <i>February</i> 9<i>th</i>,
1872.</p>
<p>“I can hardly tell you what an interesting week I have
had. It has been without doubt the most encouraging in my
whole ministry. I never knew so many persons awakened under
my sermons in so short a time, and I am thankful to say that many
of them, and many more who have been previously anxious, have
been brought to see the way of life in Christ Jesus their
Saviour. I cannot say how deeply I thank God for it, or how
it has stirred me up to look out more hopefully for a great
blessing at home, and also amongst the young men at
Cambridge. I hope you all continue to pray for me.</p>
<p>“Last night I had first a strong middle-aged man come to
speak to me under deep conviction of sin; and <a
name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>then a most
respectable woman who had no peace in her soul. These two
took so long that I was obliged to send for another clergyman to
come and help me with the remainder, as there were sixteen
waiting in the outer room to see me.</p>
<p>“The greater part of the morning has been occupied by my
Bible class, but I had one hour for inquirers, during which there
came one of the leading gentlemen of Nottingham, and a most
interesting inquirer who had been in deep anxiety for years, and
who, I believe, through God’s mercy left the vestry at
peace in Christ Jesus. Oh, what can I render unto the Lord
for all His goodness to me! Dear love to the dear sisters
and to all who pray for us.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cambridge</span>, <i>February</i> 12<i>th</i>,
1872.</p>
<p>“I hope to be home, if it please God, to-morrow by
express, and look forward with the deepest interest to my
return. One thing is clear, and that is—we must seek
to go forward, and look out for far greater results than
ever.</p>
<p>“Saturday was a sacred day. I went in the morning
on my way to church to see some of those who had been awakened,
and found them peacefully trusting in their blessed Saviour.</p>
<p>“I then went to the church to see any that might come to
me, and my whole hour was filled up by most interesting cases,
one of a most touching character. At 11.30 I gave a short
parting address in the church to about a hundred people, and at
twelve left for the train, after the most kind and grateful
farewells from numbers of people who wished to thank me for my
ministry. It has been a new era in my life, and I trust has
done me great good.</p>
<p>“I arrived here after five o’clock, swallowed some
dinner, and hurried off to the gownsmen’s meeting, which
began <a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>at
six. I did not know how to turn my mind to a new subject,
but still I hope the Lord helped me, and it gave me the
opportunity of inviting the young men to meet me on Sunday
night.</p>
<p>“Well! Sunday came, and I believe the Lord was with
us. There was a large morning congregation, and many of the
people were deeply moved. Oh, how I longed to ask them to
come and open their griefs! but the Vicar would not give me leave
to do so, so I was obliged to leave them to God, and perhaps that
was better.</p>
<p>“In the evening I stood up in dear old Simeon’s
pulpit. The church was crammed with gownsmen, and I believe
the Holy Spirit was with us. I then had a cup of tea in
Carlos’ rooms, and went off to the meeting of
gownsmen. The room was quite full. I gave them an
address on Justification and Sanctification, illustrated by some
facts in my Nottingham experience. I believe that I might
have had many coming to me for help if I had only invited them;
but I was stupid, and did not do it.</p>
<p>“But one dear fellow seemed as if he could not go away:
he came and took me by the hand, and would not let go. The
others all left the room, and then he poured out the troubles of
his soul. I thank God his difficulties were removed, and we
walked home together blessing and praising God. Oh, what
shall I render unto the Lord for all His goodness to
me!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following extract describes a return visit three months
later to the scene of his first Mission:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Nottingham</span>, <i>May</i> 30<i>th</i>,
1872.</p>
<p>“But I have no words to describe the interest of my
short visit here. Nothing could be more satisfactory.
<a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>I found
almost all those in whom I trusted a work was begun standing fast
and thankful in the Lord. Many of them were so transformed
from the look of gloom and depression which they had in February
to a look of peaceful, confiding thankfulness, that I could
scarcely believe they were the same persons; and their affection,
their gratitude, and their pleasure in meeting me again were
truly touching to my heart.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Leeds Church Congress:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Leeds</span>, <i>October</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1872.</p>
<p>“In almost an hour I am going down to the battle, as
weak as David, but I hope to find the help of David’s
God. There is an enormous gathering for the Congress, and
people of all classes will be there. Oh, how earnestly I
hope and pray that the Blessed Spirit will rest on all there who
are called to speak for their blessed Saviour!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mission at Hull:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hull</span>, <i>November</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1872.</p>
<p>“Many thanks both to you and — for your letters,
for I delight to hear from you, and think of you with most
heartfelt and loving prayers.</p>
<p>“I had a very pleasant, quiet, unfatiguing journey,
quite by myself all the way from London, so that I had no
temptation or obligation to talk. At Tranby I had a most
affectionate and brotherly welcome, and came on here on Saturday,
full of hope and thanksgiving for the privilege of speaking to so
many people about their souls.</p>
<p>“Immediately on my arrival I went to a meeting of
Communicants, very much like our own, and then to a <a
name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>very
uninteresting conference of the clergy; so we did not really
begin work till yesterday. In the morning there was a fine
congregation, and in the evening one still larger, with a
prayer-meeting after it, in a large hall which was so full many
could not get in. As a mode of intercourse with the people
it of course completely failed, but as an indication of their
interest it was very encouraging, and I am happy to say that, one
way or another, I have already met with several persons anxious
about their state, and I am thankful to be able to add that some
of them have gone home with the expression of great satisfaction
to their souls as the result of what they have been taught.</p>
<p>“I have therefore great reason to be thankful for a
beginning, and from what I have seen of the first droppings of
the shower I cannot help hoping that there is a real blessing in
store.</p>
<p>“Immense pains have been taken all over the town, and
much prayer offered, so that we have a right to look for great
things.</p>
<p>“My throat is not at all the worse for yesterday, and,
if anything, better; but I tumbled about all night with a very
hot head after the excitement of the day.</p>
<p>“My host and hostess are most kind and agreeable: they
make me exceedingly comfortable, and are people quite able to
carry out their hospitable intentions, so that I am very well
off; but I am not sure that Thorold is not wise in going into a
lodging, so as to avoid the necessity of conversation, for I
really believe that talking fatigues more than preaching, and I
sometimes long to be alone, or at all events to be able to get
away into my own study just when I please. But I ought not
to say so, for I am as comfortable as man can make me. Pray
for me, that I may have wisdom and power given to me.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
170</span>Specimen of one of Canon Hoare’s “Mission
Subjects”:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">St.
Dunstan’s Mission</span>.—<i>November</i> 12<i>th</i>
<i>to</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1880.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 12<i>th</i>.—To Communicants. Psalm
cv. 40: “He satisfied them with the bread of
heaven.”</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 13<i>th</i>.—Prayer-Meeting. Psalm
xcvii. 5: “The hills melted like wax at the presence of the
Lord.”</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 14<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> Jonah ii. 9:
“Salvation is of the Lord.” A Divine Saviour;
Salvation; Revelation; Application.</p>
<p><i>E.</i> Gen. xlii. 21: “We are verily
guilty.” Conscience—may be seared, 1 Tim. iv.
2; defiled, Titus i. 15; aroused, John viii. 9; purged, Heb. x.
22.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 15<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> Propitiation:
(1) Divine, Rom. iii. 25; (2) Complete, Heb. ix. 12; (3) Final,
Heb. ix. 28; (4) Satisfies conscience, Heb. ix. 14; (5)
Sufficient, Heb. x. 18.</p>
<p><i>E.</i> Heb. xii. 24: “The blood of
sprinkling.” Speaks of complete atonement, full
remission of sin, Heb. x. 22, ix. 22.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 16<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> Forgiveness:
(1) Present, Psalm xxxii. 1; (2) Complete, Micah vii. 19; (3)
Dependent on atonement, Rom. iii. 25; (4) First gift of the New
Covenant, Jer. xxxi. 34—“for.”</p>
<p><i>A.</i> To Mothers. Heb. ii. 13: “I will
put my trust in the Lord. . . . Behold, I and the children
whom Thou hast given me.”</p>
<p><i>E.</i> Job ix. 29: “If I be wicked, why then
labour I in vain?” (1) The difficulty; (2) The
remedy—“the Daysman” or Mediator, ver. 33.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 19<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> Justification,
Rom. v. 1–10: (1) Five <a name="page171"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 171</span>blessings from, vv. 1–5; (2)
Through reconciliation, ver. 10; (3) To whom given, vv. 6, 8, 10;
(4) When given, vv. 6, 8—“yet.”</p>
<p><i>E.</i> John v. 28, 29: “The hour is
coming.” (1) The voice; (2) The resurrection; (3) The
separation.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 18<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> The New Birth,
John iii. 1–16: (1) The necessity, ver. 7; (2) A spiritual
change, ver. 6; (3) By the sovereign power of the Holy Ghost, vv.
5, 8; (4) Found before the Cross of Christ, vv. 14–16.</p>
<p><i>A.</i> To Church-Workers. Zech. iv. 1–10.
(1) “By My spirit”; (2) The mountain removed; (3)
Christ will finish His work; (4) Small things; (5) Christ the
King and Priest supplies all, ver. 3.</p>
<p><i>E.</i> John v. 25: “The dead shall
hear.” (1) Dead conscience; affections; hope, etc.;
(2) The dead hear; (3) The dead live.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 19<i>th</i>.—<i>M.</i> Sanctification:
(1) In the heart, Psalm xl. 8; (2) The standard, 1 John iii. 3;
(3) The difficulty, 1 John i. 8; (4) Progressive, 2 Peter iii.
18; (5) By the use of Scripture, John xvii. 17; (6) By the sight
of the Lord Jesus, 2 Cor. iii. 18; (7) Must follow, not precede
forgiveness, Jer. xxxi. 33, 34.</p>
<p><i>E.</i> Matt. xxvii. 46: “My God, My God, why
hast Thou forsaken Me?” (1) The imputation of sin to
Christ; (2) The certainty of complete satisfaction; (3) The
burden of unforgiven sin.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 20<i>th</i>.—Prayer-Meeting. Psalm
xxxiv.: The song of the delivered.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 21<i>st</i>.—<i>M.</i> Psalm cxix. 94:
“I am Thine.” (1) By the gift of the Father,
John xvii. 2; (2) By <a name="page172"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 172</span>redemption through the Son, 1 Cor.
vi. 20; (3) By the life-giving power of the Holy Ghost, John vi.
63; (4) By personal surrender to God, Rom. xii. 1.</p>
<p><i>A.</i> To Men only. 2 Cor. vi. 18: “I
will be a Father unto you.”</p>
<p><i>E.</i> Exod. xxi. 5: “I love my master; I will
not go out free.” (1) The new master; (2) The old
master.</p>
<p><i>Nov.</i> 22<i>nd</i>.—Jude 24: “Him that is
able to keep you from falling.”</p>
<p>Summary: (1) Finished propitiation; (2) Free gift; (3)
Life-giving power of the Holy Ghost.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
173</span>CHAPTER XII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>PARISH WORK</i></span></h2>
<p>Some men are in great request as preachers and speakers
outside their parishes, but for some reason or other they are not
very useful at home.</p>
<p>It was not so with the subject of this memoir. The
prophet in this case was honoured in his own country. On
Sunday mornings, three-quarters of an hour before service began,
many aged and poor parishioners might be seen making their way
into the church to secure good seats. In Holy Trinity the
free seats are more in number than those that are appropriated,
and some of the former are in the best part of the church; all
these were filled long before the hour for the commencement of
service. As eleven o’clock drew near the congregation
were in their places, and the aisles were filled with strangers
in every available spot waiting in the hope of some possible
seat. It was a common thing in the summer for as many as a
hundred to go away unable to get accommodation. The writer
well remembers the profound impression which the Sundays used to
make upon his mind. <a name="page174"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 174</span>The old Vicar and his curates were
in the vestry in good time robed and ready; <a
name="citation174"></a><a href="#footnote174"
class="citation">[174]</a> having knelt in prayer, there was a
silent interval, and exactly to the moment when the clock in the
tower struck, the vestry door was opened and they passed out into
the church.</p>
<p>Sometimes this was a slow work, as the people stood close
together; some were sitting on the pulpit stairs, and the clergy
had to thread their way to the chancel rails.</p>
<p>When service began the cushions at the rails were all occupied
by worshippers kneeling upon them. Canon Hoare generally
took part in the service, which was conducted in the simple
old-fashioned way, read, not “toned down” in the
manner now so prevalent.</p>
<p>When the preacher ascended the high pulpit it was an
impressive thing to see that great congregation, over sixteen
hundred in number, ranged beneath in the body of the building and
around him in the deep galleries, waiting for his words.
His prayer before the sermon was a very striking one, and it was
always in the following words: “Almighty God, our Heavenly
Father, who hast purchased to Thyself an universal Church by the
precious blood of Thy dear Son, and hast <a
name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>promised
that the Holy Spirit should abide with us for ever: may we now
enjoy His sacred presence! May He direct the word which
shall now be spoken, and apply it with Divine power to all our
hearts, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”</p>
<p>Those sermons were wonderful, delivered so well that few could
believe them to be written discourses, which they were; with
changes of tone which made the sentences impress themselves upon
the memory; the manner so solemn, as befitted the ambassador, and
yet so pleading, as became the father. The eloquent
language attracted the intellectual mind, and the remarkable
simplicity of expression appealed to the simplest
understanding. The <i>matter</i> of these sermons was,
however, their great charm.</p>
<p>The atonement wrought by Christ was their great theme.
Many preachers, when enlarging upon other subjects, bring in this
doctrine at the close of their discourse, but with Canon Hoare
the great foundation of our faith, viz. the substitution of
Christ for the sinner, and His finished work of propitiation
applied by the Holy Spirit, was always visible, not as a thing to
be brought in at the end, but <i>already there</i>, as the centre
and pivot of all that he said; hence no doubt the power of his
words, and withal as a thing much to be observed was the
extraordinary freshness with which he was able to present, Sunday
after Sunday, the old story of the Cross, old but ever new.</p>
<p><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>Very
powerful were those discourses, for they were full of
teaching. The preacher was a deep student of his
Bible,—“After diligently working down into it for
fifty years,” he used to say, “I am still only
scratching the surface!”—and he possessed moreover an
unusual power of imparting knowledge; he was pre-eminently a
teacher, and among the many privileges which his curates enjoyed
none was so great as the Scriptural teaching which they received
in their Vicar’s sermons. After the preacher had
concluded there was a short prayer, followed by the blessing, and
then, with nothing to take away the impression of the solemn
words to which they had listened, the congregation
dispersed. There were three or four services in the Parish
Church every Sunday, besides the shortened Morning Service in the
hospital and Mission Service in the large Parish Room; there were
also five Sunday Schools, and many classes on the same day for
old and young men, women, and senior girls.</p>
<p>Though in his vigorous days he always preached twice, he was
in the habit of opening the principal boys’ school every
Sunday morning, and in the afternoon visiting one or other of the
various schools and classes, finishing all by slipping into the
afternoon service in time to hear the sermon preached by one of
his curates. By these means he kept in touch with
everything going on in the parish.</p>
<p><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>The
weekday work was enormous and varied. The Parish Room, so
called—really a large building containing a hall and
different rooms—was occupied nearly every hour of every day
in some part or other; and in the parish at large every
conceivable kind of agency for the temporal and spiritual good of
rich and poor was to be found, all animated by real energy and
spiritual power. Many a time have the workers heard from
their Vicar’s lips, “Let us not be content with
machinery; what we want is <i>Life</i>.”</p>
<p>The Sunday Evening Services in the Parish Room were deeply
interesting. For half an hour beforehand the volunteer
choir sang hymns to attract the people in, and workers went into
bar-rooms and common lodging-houses to bring in any who would
come.</p>
<p>It was a very moving sight, about three hundred people, some
of them degraded in vice, packed close together, joining in the
familiar hymns, and listening with attention to the
speaker. Canon Hoare often said that, intensely as he
delighted in the opportunity, it was at times more than he could
bear to realise the depth of sin in which many lived who were
gathered together at these services—the responsibility of
the preacher seemed on such an occasion to be so enormous.</p>
<p>Except as occasional workers, he never would allow the regular
church-goers to attend the Mission Room services.
“This service is not for you,” he <a
name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>used to
say; “it is a stepping-stone to the church.”
And such it was. The process of transformation used to be
watched with interest in those cases where some poor degraded
creature, either there or at the Temperance meetings, was led to
“take the first turn to the right, and then go straight
on,” as Bishop Wilberforce once tersely put it. Soon
the ragged clothing improved, the whole appearance altered; after
a while it might be said of such that, clothed and in their right
mind, they sat at the feet of Jesus; and then by degrees moving
on to the church, they might be seen at the Lord’s Table,
or sitting in the adult Confirmation Class in preparation for
that sacred privilege.</p>
<p>There were low slums in that parish, but, as Canon Hoare used
often to say, “The Church of England can and does reach the
lowest of the low, and can bring the Gospel to bear upon the
vilest, <i>without the aid of a fiddle or a
flag</i>!” One practical difficulty met him at first
in the Parish (or Mission) Room services. Many a poor
tramp, weary and footsore, used to say when asked to come in:
“I have eaten nothing since the morning. Can you give
me food? I want that more than the service.”
When these answers were reported to him Mr. Hoare used to say,
“And if I were in their place I should make the same
reply.” It then became a matter of consideration what
could be done to remove this difficulty, and yet not give
anything like a bribe to induce people to come to <a
name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>these
services for a paltry motive. After a great deal of thought
and consultation with the workers, it was determined to give a
slice of bread and cheese to any poor hungry ones who were not
residents, but passing through the place, and in the cold weather
a mug of coffee was added. This plan worked admirably; only
a few asked for the food, but those received it, and what had
been a very real hindrance at the first was satisfactorily
removed.</p>
<p>Most if not all of our Religious Societies were well supported
in the parish, but the three in which Mr. Hoare seemed to take
the warmest interest were the Church Missionary Society, the
Church Pastoral Aid Society, and the Irish Church Missions.
For the first and last of these three there were, besides the
Great Hall meetings, crowded gatherings for the poorer
parishioners in the Parish Room. Canon Hoare was an
incorporated member of the S.P.G., and had an annual sermon for
that society, but of course the Church Missionary Society had the
love of his whole heart. What he was to that society every
one knows, and he infused some of his missionary enthusiasm into
the town, and especially his own parish.</p>
<p>The Church Missionary Society anniversary was indeed a
“field-day.” Long prepared for, it was
anticipated with keen interest; the best deputations came down,
and nearly every church in the town joined in the
celebration. Canon <a name="page180"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 180</span>Hoare generally preached in the old
Chapel of Ease in the morning, but always occupied his own pulpit
in the evening of that day, and what a thronged congregation
there was on these occasions! The whole soul of the
preacher seemed to go forth in his subject, and his hearers were
thrilled by the trumpet call of that missionary sermon. In
later years the thought of his dearly loved son and daughter
working for God in China brought a special and personal interest
into his words—not that he spoke of them, but somehow one
could feel that they were in his thoughts. The collections
on these occasions were very large; in former years £100
was thought the proper thing as the result of the Anniversary
Services in Trinity Church, but gradually the amount crept up
until about ten years before his death, when on one anniversary,
in his absence through illness, it was suggested by the evening
preacher that it would be a cheer to their beloved Vicar if
£200 were reached; and right liberally was the appeal
answered. After the sermon two gentlemen came into the
vestry to inquire the amount collected, “for,” said
they, “whatever the deficit may be, we will make it
£200”; but their kindly help was not needed, as more
than that sum was already counted out upon the vestry table!</p>
<p>From that day £200 was looked upon as the proper sum
from Trinity Church for the Church Missionary Society
anniversary.</p>
<p><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>The
parish schools for boys, girls, and infants were all first-rate,
and Canon Hoare prided himself upon having the best boys’
school in the diocese; but he was not content with the welfare of
his own schools—it was his wish to strengthen all Church
schools in the town. We hear now a good deal about the
confederation of Church schools. More than twenty-five
years ago the Vicar of Holy Trinity started such a
confederation. Every Church school in Tunbridge Wells
elected its members, and sent them to the periodic meetings,
where matters of interest were discussed, weak points
strengthened, and preparation made for dangers that
threatened. This was only one of the many things in which
his statesmanlike ability showed itself; Edward Hoare was one of
those “men that had understanding of the times, to know
what (the spiritual) Israel ought to do.” The power
of such men is readily felt and acknowledged. “All
their brethren are at their commandment.”</p>
<p>It would be impossible to write about the work in Holy Trinity
parish without alluding to the Ladies’ Bible Class.
This was a remarkable feature of his ministry, and, like most of
his works, was going on before it had been suggested or thought
of in other places.</p>
<p>This was not a Bible-reading, but a class for teaching by
preparation beforehand, and at the time by question and
answer. The answering was, <a name="page182"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 182</span>of course, not compulsory, but
nearly every one present in the large assembly of ladies took
part.</p>
<p>The teaching was marvellous; sometimes it was a topic or a
life in Scripture, sometimes a portion of the Prayer-Book or the
Articles. The mastery of the subject and the power of
conveying the same clear knowledge to other minds were very
striking. Some have even said that they considered this
class to have been his greatest work in Tunbridge Wells.
The enthusiastic letters which have been received during the past
thirty years from generations of young people who, having been
taught by him, went forth into life educated and fortified in
religious truth, testify to the fact that these classes formed in
many an instance the real turning-point of life.</p>
<p>Twice in the period that he was Vicar of Holy Trinity a
Parochial Mission was held, the respective missioners being the
Rev. Rowley Hill, afterwards Bishop of Sodor and Man, and the
Rev. H. Webb Peploe. Each time it was a grand success,
greatly owing, under God, to the prayer and preparation which
preceded it. The second mission was remarkable for the
number of men whom it reached; at the services for men only there
used to be two thousand listeners crammed into the church.
Being well followed up, these missions left a glorious mark in
the parish. Canon Hoare used often to quote the words of
some foreign pastor, “The Church of England is the best in
the world at <a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
183</span>throwing the net, but the worst at drawing it
in,” and he always added, “Let <i>us</i> not fall
into that error, but draw in the net”; and so he did.
How familiar to the ears of his old curates were the words that
he often said on Sunday morning from the pulpit at the close of
some instructive sermon, “If there are any who would like
this matter explained further, I shall be glad to see them this
afternoon in the Parish Room at a quarter past four”; and
he has often remarked, “I have never given this notice
without getting some earnest souls who wanted help.”</p>
<p>“Pray for people and look out for God’s
answer,” was the direction that he used to give to his
workers, and in this lay surely one of the secrets of his great
success as a pastor. The characteristic of Holy Trinity
parish was “Life”; the Holy Spirit was manifestly at
work in the place, blessing the various agencies among rich and
poor, young and old, arousing, renewing, converting, and
edifying.</p>
<p>One of his loving fellow-workers thus recalls an experience of
this in the earlier years of Canon Hoare’s ministry at
Tunbridge Wells:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I recollect well a great spiritual movement
that took place over the whole parish, then undivided except by
St. John’s. People, men and women, came to us,
chiefly of course to him, asking for help in their spiritual
state—people who had been living entirely secular
lives. There seemed to have been no special cause for
it—no mission—no exciting preaching; it was caused by
his <a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
184</span>careful parish work and ministry. This went on
for, I think, about two months; we kept it very quiet, spoke of
it only to a few prayerful people, but they were praying for it;
at length, however, it got out, and a few unwise
persons—some of whom were Church people and some were
not—got down Revivalists and hired the Town Hall to throw
excitement into the work. Immediately it ceased! I
build no theory or argument upon the fact, I merely say what I
noticed.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The same writer continues thus:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“About that time we began the Evening
Communion, and I recollect well our astonishment at the
result. Such a number of new faces whom either we did not
know or never saw at Holy Communion! Servants,
lodging-house keepers, wives of working men, whom practically we
had been excommunicating by having the Holy Communion only at the
hours when we had hitherto celebrated it.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>All who had the sacred privilege of working with Canon Hoare
in his splendidly ordered parish will agree in this, that two
clauses of our Church’s Creeds were ever before his eyes:
one was the note of all his preaching; the other, the motive and
reward of all his work.</p>
<blockquote><p>“I believe in the Forgiveness of
Sins.”</p>
<p>“I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord, and Giver of
Life.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This chapter, which describes some of the parochial work of
the parish, would not be complete without a reference to a great
organisation <a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
185</span>which, though not of the parish, yet annually assembled
in it, viz. “The Aggregate Clerical Meeting.”
Shortly after his appointment to Tunbridge Wells, at a time when
no conferences of clergy, now so common, had been thought of, the
idea of the great spiritual benefit to be gained by such an
annual gathering made Mr. Hoare determine to try the
experiment. Having consulted with some friends, he sent
invitations to the members of seven “Clerical
Societies” in the neighbouring parts of Kent, Sussex, and
Surrey, to assemble in Tunbridge Wells in the month of June for a
series of meetings, not for the public, but for themselves,
lasting over two days, with a sermon in Trinity Church on the
evening of the first day and a celebration of the Holy Communion
in the morning of the day following. All invited guests
were given hospitality in the houses of kind friends. The
Conference thus assembled met annually for about forty years, and
from the first to the last meeting Canon Hoare was its President,
although on two occasions illness obliged him to depute another
as the chairman. From its small beginning it soon spread,
sending its invitations through the South-East of England,
although drawing the greater part of its members (who numbered
altogether nearly five hundred) from the three counties named
above. Laymen too, “introduced by a clergyman,”
were invited to attend, and gladly <a name="page186"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 186</span>availed themselves of the
opportunity. Most of the great Evangelical men have
preached at its annual gatherings, and papers and addresses of
the greatest possible interest have been given at these
meetings. All however who have attended on these occasions
will agree in this, that the one thing to which every one looked
forward was the closing address of the President. Precious
words were always given him to speak, full of spiritual
experience and loving exhortation.</p>
<p>The value of conferences like these is now acknowledged
everywhere, but it is only due to the one whose memory we
affectionately cherish that the credit of originating them should
be here given to him whose foreseeing mind recognised the
blessings such meetings would confer.</p>
<h2><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
187</span>CHAPTER XIII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>THE BORDERLAND</i></span></h2>
<p>The most important crisis of Canon Hoare’s life was now
drawing near—a time which, though it seemed to be full of
trouble, was really a period of blessing to himself, to his
congregation, and to a far wider circle than his own devoted
people.</p>
<p>In a former chapter there was a reference to the invitation
which, issuing first from his old friend Bishop Perry of
Melbourne, was taken up by other Australian prelates, viz. that
Canon Hoare should visit Australia in about two years’ time
and make a mission tour throughout their dioceses in the
principal towns. The project assumed a tangible shape, and
details began to be considered; the whole thing, including the
journeys each way, was calculated to take ten months. He
<i>was</i> absent from his parish for almost exactly the very
period, and at the very same time during which the Australian
tour would have taken place, but his absence was due to the
consequences of that Roman fever which nearly cost him his
life. <a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
188</span>When Canon Hoare first spoke of this to the writer it
was with the deepest solemnity; he said: “I am never quite
satisfied in my mind as to whether the Lord had not a specially
humbling message for me in that fever; the Australian plan was
given up because I thought I ought not to be so long away from my
parish, and it has sometimes seemed to me as if He, by laying me
by for the very time that I should otherwise have been away, may
have meant me to learn that my presence here is not so important
after all, and that He can carry on His work by other
hands.” This is thoroughly characteristic of the way
in which our beloved friend seemed always on the alert to detect
his own weak points, as well as to gain from trial its intended
blessing. Australia was given up, and several months
afterwards he decided to take a short holiday in Rome during part
of Lent.</p>
<p>The following letters describe his enjoyment of the place, but
at the same time we can detect signs of the penumbra of the dark
shadow that was swiftly approaching.</p>
<p>To his eldest son:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1873.</p>
<p>“So after all my misgivings, doubts, and hesitations,
here I am really in Rome, and already profoundly interested in
the place. We arrived on Friday evening and put up at a new
hotel opposite the Russie, where alone we could find a
resting-place; and to-day we have moved into some lodgings at the
top of one of the highest houses on the top of the highest hill
in Rome. We have <a name="page189"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 189</span>been triumphing in the thought of
our fresh air, but the conceit of some of us has been a little
diminished this morning by being told that there is nothing so
unwholesome in Rome, that nothing is so healthy there as a low
and crowded situation, and that no Roman would accept our
privileges for love or money; but this we keep to ourselves.</p>
<p>“On Saturday K— and I went to St. Peter’s,
and my expectations were more than realised by the magnificent
area and perfect proportions. There is something most
solemnising in the magnitude and vast open space perfectly
uninterrupted by any arrangement for worshippers, and a second
visit this afternoon has only confirmed my first
impressions. I thought to-day that it appeared to have
grown since I saw it on Saturday.</p>
<p>“Then we went to the Forum, which I have been feasting
upon again to-day. I imagine that the excavations have been
extended since you were here, but I doubt whether in the Forum
much has been discovered. And really nothing is
wanting. But how strange that the villain Phocas, whose
edict has led to so much discussion, should be the one whose one
column should stand out by itself in the best preservation of
them all! But all one’s ideas of human greatness are
dwarfed by the Coliseum. What must the place have been when
crowded with people! It must have contained all the
inhabitants of the city, and a good many over, and must have
illustrated St. Paul’s expression ‘so great a cloud
of witnesses.’ I suppose that Christian martyrs did
not much care for lookers-on, but had their minds wholly absorbed
by their God and the wild beasts which were to devour them, but
it must have been an awful ordeal to face such a host of enemies,
and how inconceivable it is that such thousands could be brought
together for the pleasure of seeing their fellow-men torn to
pieces! <a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
190</span>Truly man is a fallen creature, born far above the
beasts, but fallen far below them!</p>
<p>“I was greatly entertained by an American gentleman, who
said to me that as they had gone so far in America as to give the
suffrage to every man, they had better go a little further and
give it to all the horses, for intelligent persons might drive
them to the poll, which they could not do with ignorant
men.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To his eldest daughter:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>March</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1873.</p>
<p>“We have all been greatly interested by your report of
the ordination. <a name="citation190"></a><a href="#footnote190"
class="citation">[190]</a> It seems to me that everything
was ordered for us exactly as we could have wished, and if I had
sat down to plan it for myself I do not think I could have
planned anything more completely to my mind. So blessed be
God for the abundance and carefulness of His mercy! How I
have thought of our young clergyman to-day! I wonder
whether he has been preaching. He has not written much to
me, but I cannot be surprised at that when I consider the
absorption of his mind. What a delightful birthday for
him!</p>
<p>“I am sorry to say I cannot give a very good report of
myself. Rome has thoroughly disagreed with me, and the
disagreement has brought on so much pain in my back that between
the two I have had very little power of enjoyment. Still
there has been so much to enjoy that, notwithstanding everything,
I have enjoyed a great deal very much indeed. But the thing
I should enjoy more than anything in the world would be to get
home, and I am very much disposed to turn my steps homeward
instead of going on to Naples. But nothing <a
name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>is fixed at
present, or even discussed. It is only a floating idea in
my mind, and may come to nothing.</p>
<p>“It has been strange to spend a second Sunday in
retirement. I was engaged to preach both days, but could
not venture on either, and now I should not be surprised if I
left Rome without opening my lips in public. How different
God’s plans are from ours! My plan was that I should
be so very useful, and carry on here the same blessed work the
Lord granted at home. But God’s plan was to keep me
still and to let me learn quietly by myself. And I really
hope He has been teaching me, and that these two Sundays
especially have not been without their blessing. I am quite
sure that those who teach most have the greatest need of learning
the deep things of God and the secret windings of their own
hearts.</p>
<p>“I have not told you about Rome, for you know a great
deal about it better than I do. The great, grand old ruins
stand out as magnificent as ever, speaking witnesses to the
failure of the world’s greatness. ‘Broken
greatness’ seems written on them all. And modern
Popery goes on its way, I should really think, more idolatrous
than ever—the most vulgar, tawdry travesty of the simple
Christianity of the Catacombs. But I am not going to write
a book, so hoping that God has been teaching you at church as I
believe He has been teaching me at home, and wishing you every
one every possible blessing,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“I remain, etc.,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. Hoare returned to Tunbridge Wells for Passion Week, and
was stricken down by the deadly fever which had taken hold of him
in Rome. For <a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
192</span>several weeks he was desperately ill. Sir William
Jenner came down two or three times to see him, and the daily
bulletins were looked for by the whole town with the deepest
anxiety. A daily prayer-meeting was instituted, and was
thronged by those who joined in the most earnest supplications to
Almighty God for his restoration. He recovered, being to
all appearance simply prayed back to life by his people.
The physician before named considered it a most remarkable case,
for his patient had lingered too long on the Borderland to make
recovery seem possible. In the summer, so soon as he could
travel, he was taken away for change, and he did not return until
the autumn, nor even then to work.</p>
<p>The following letter from Archbishop Tait was one of very many
that poured in upon him at this time, and the Aggregate Clerical
Meeting, which he had instituted several years before and of
which he was President, presented him with an illuminated address
signed by some hundreds of clergy, in which they thanked God for
his recovery and welcomed him back to health.</p>
<p>From Archbishop Tait:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Stonehouse</span>, <span class="smcap">St.
Peter’s</span>, <span class="smcap">Thanet</span>.<br />
“<i>June</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1873.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">The Rev. Canon Hoare</span>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mr.
Hoare</span>,—Your long and trying illness has made us feel
much for you and your family. I trust <a
name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>that now
our Heavenly Father is restoring you to health. May He long
continue to you and to us the blessing of your preservation in
health and usefulness amongst us; and may He in health and
sickness give you every support from the Holy Spirit.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Yours sincerely,<br />
“<span class="smcap">A. C. Cantuar</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To one of his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>August</i> 13<i>th</i>,
1873.</p>
<p>“You and I have had so little correspondence lately that
you must almost forget the sight of my handwriting, and though, I
am sorry to say, the want of practice has led to a great
disinclination to exert myself or to take any trouble, I really
must begin again.</p>
<p>“We are still here, and not at sea, as we proposed to
be, for last night it was so stormy that the family in general
and your uncle in particular decreed we should not go by
ship. I do not think K— is sorry. So now we
propose to go by train, which I always declared I would not
do. But the pair of sons and daughters is more than any
resolutions can withstand, so (D.V.) we go to York to-night and
Newcastle to-morrow.</p>
<p>“On Sunday I hope I may hear Gurney preach: when shall I
be doing it again myself? It seems sometimes as if I had
forgotten how.</p>
<p>“Remember me very particularly to the Parrys. I
have often thought of the Bishop’s <a
name="citation193"></a><a href="#footnote193"
class="citation">[193]</a> visits to me when I was ill, and
sometimes regret that I did not invite more good ministers to
visit me. But I doubt very much whether I was capable of
receiving much good. Indeed I am humbled to find even now
how little power of receiving I appear to have. I have been
talking to <a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
194</span>people with a view to my own improvement, but I am very
stupid. Some things I cannot understand at all, as,
<i>e.g.</i>, this new doctrine of ‘Perfection.’
I cannot criticise it, for I have not yet discovered what it is
or what its advocates really mean. I have been talking to
E—, A— G—, and Mc— about it, but I do not
know that I understand much more in consequence; and I have been
reading a very interesting American biography, but that has not
helped me much more. So I begin to think I must be content
with the old paths, those blessed paths in which so many saints
of God have walked and followed Christ. Let me and my dear
ones be found walking there in the new and living way, and we may
well indeed be thankful. May nothing ever turn us to the
right hand or to the left, but be taking a step forward!
For what other purpose has this sickness been sent? Oh,
thanks be to His Name!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cromer</span>, <i>October</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1873.</p>
<p>“I do not suppose I shall reach home till Friday or
Saturday. I am not surprised at your feelings about
yourself, for we have all had a shake which must leave its
loosenings. Besides which we are not going home as usual to
full work and happy activity, and it is impossible not to feel
the difference. But there is no reason why we should not be
returning to a winter of peculiar enjoyment. There is a joy
in work, but there is great peace in quiet, and if the Lord grant
His presence we may be more happy together than if we were under
the full pressure of the ministry. I believe that we shall
all be of one mind in the Lord, as we have ever been in former
times, and I am looking forward to very great enjoyment.</p>
<p>“It is delightful to me to hear how much God has <a
name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>blessed Mr.
Money’s ministry, <a name="citation195"></a><a
href="#footnote195" class="citation">[195]</a> and most pleasant
to find how God has made my absence such a blessing to the
people.</p>
<p>“I enclose you Robinson’s letter, as I think you
will be interested by it. Certainly he has been a capital
curate and friend, and I have to be most truly thankful for his
help. The Lord sent him when He foresaw I should need him,
and so He will always provide.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It has been mentioned that, during Canon Hoare’s
illness, the whole town was stirred with affectionate anxiety on
his behalf. Prayer was offered up for his recovery in the
churches and all the Nonconformist places of worship, and the
common testimony to his character, in the conversation that was
heard in the shop and the street, was that it was not his
preaching nor his intellectual powers which appealed to their
feelings so much as the sterling integrity and faithful
consistency of his Christian life.</p>
<p>Towards the end of November Mr. Hoare preached for the first
time after his recovery, and his friends rejoiced to see that few
traces remained of his long and alarming illness. His
sermon was entitled “The Best Teacher,” and in the
course of it the preacher said: “I believe that lately God
has been teaching us all. He teaches at different times and
in different ways. His teaching is not always <a
name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>the same in
form. Sometimes He gives His teaching by the voice of His
teachers, and sometimes by their silence; sometimes by giving
them power, and sometimes by taking it away. Now I believe
that He has taught us all by His blessing on the ministry in this
church during the twenty years we have worshipped together, for
it was twenty years yesterday since I became incumbent of this
parish. I thank God I believe He has taught many of you
during that time by my own preaching, and I thank Him with my
whole heart for the blessed results which He has given in His
mercy. But I am not sure that this last year has not been
the most teaching year of the twenty. I am not sure that He
has not taught us all more by laying me on one side than He did
by permitting me to preach. He has certainly taught us how
He answers prayer, in a manner that no preaching could ever have
done, and we meet this day with such an encouragement to pray as
many of us never had before. But that is not the only
lesson that God has been teaching us during the year. I
know not how it has been with you, but for my own part I
recognise many others which He has deeply impressed on my
convictions. I do not mean to say that He has taught me new
truths, but that He has made old truths, the grand old truths of
the Gospel that I have loved for years, more precious than ever,
and has filled my soul with an earnest desire, if it please Him
to restore <a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
197</span>me to my ministry, to preach those truths as I have
never done yet.”</p>
<p>After that sermon he never flagged, but steadily rose again in
health, and in the years that followed many a one was known to
say that, although his preaching had always been clear, powerful,
and convincing, yet after his illness it had gained a special
characteristic—now he always seemed to speak as one who had
come from the Saviour’s presence and had heard His
voice.</p>
<h2><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
198</span>CHAPTER XIV<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>BOOKS AND SPEECHES</i></span></h2>
<p>Canon Hoare never published any large theological work, but
whenever any event “was in the air,” or some
religious point was brought into special prominence, a small book
on the subject was sure to appear, written with his masterful
clearness and power, that just served the needed purpose and put
into men’s hands the teaching which they sought.</p>
<p>A few of the best-known of these little books are the
following: <i>upon the
Prayer-Book</i>—“Baptism,” “Doctrine of
the Lord’s Supper,” “Absolution and
Confession,” “Our Protestant Church,”
“Morning and Evening Prayer,” “Articles of the
Church of England”; <i>upon the
Bible</i>—“Witnesses to Truth,”
“Inspiration”; <i>upon
Prophecy</i>—“Rome, Turkey, and Jerusalem,”
“Palestine, Egypt, and Assyria,” “Egypt and the
Prophecies”; <i>upon the Religious
Life</i>—“Redemption,”
“Sanctification,” “Conformity to the
World”; and many others, some of which have had a great
circulation.</p>
<p>His papers read at Diocesan Conferences and before large
gatherings of clergy at Islington and <a name="page199"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 199</span>all over England were models of
clear thought and well-expressed ideas; if these could be
collected together they would form a valuable handbook upon the
most important spiritual and practical subjects.</p>
<p>But although Canon Hoare was widely known by his small books
and papers, and by the stream of visitors that attended Trinity
Church during their sojourn at Tunbridge Wells, it was as a
regular Congress speaker that he was familiar to members of the
Church of England at large. His writings were read by the
same sort of people who came to hear him preach, people for the
most part with religious views like his own; but at Church
Congresses all shades of opinion are represented, and although at
earlier gatherings of this sort violent partisans tried to put
down speakers of the Evangelical party by
“exhibiting,” as a witty Dean expressed it,
“symptoms of the foot and mouth disease!” yet better
feelings gained the day, and soon the calm and fearless speeches
of many whose names will readily occur to the reader caused them
to receive a welcome even from opponents. Ill-advised
attempts were made at first by members of their own party to
hinder Evangelical men from attending the Congress, but wiser
counsels prevailed, and Canon Hoare was one of those who felt
that, unless he and other leaders were willing and able to stand
up in defence of their principles on the Congress <a
name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>platform,
the days of Evangelical truth were numbered. The sagacity
of this view soon became apparent, and it has led to a kindlier
feeling between men holding different theological opinions, as
well as to a diffusion in unexpected quarters of teaching such as
that which men like Canon Hoare were well qualified to give.</p>
<p>The Vicar of Holy Trinity was asked on various occasions to
speak at the Devotional Meeting that always closes the Congress
week, and in reference to this the present Dean of Norwich once
said to the writer, “I always call Canon Hoare the Grand
Amen.”</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>Extracts from family-letters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Fareham</span>, <i>October</i> 12<i>th</i>,
1874.</p>
<p>“At Brighton I was most kindly and comfortably
entertained, but I cannot say I enjoyed the Congress. There
was an immense attendance, and such a crowd that it was almost
more than I could bear. The result was that I heard but a
portion of what was said, and with that portion I must confess I
was ill satisfied. The Evangelical clergy had to sit hour
after hour listening to all kinds of things without the
opportunity of saying a word. I was the only one called up
on the subject of Church services, though a great number had sent
in their cards, and I should think nearly ten Ritualists and High
Churchmen were called up one after another. I did not in
the least satisfy myself, though, as I had trusted it in the
Lord’s hands, I am satisfied that that which I said He gave
me, and there I leave it. But the result was very painful,
for as the audience <a name="page201"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 201</span>did not know of all the cards, it
appeared as if I was the only speaker on our side and my poor
words the best that could be produced. I am not surprised
at those who prefer to go quietly on their way and do the
Lord’s work at home. But are we not to fight
manfully? Yet how are we to do it if our hands are tied as
they were there?”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i> 6<i>th</i>,
1875.</p>
<p>“I hope you may have a happy Sunday. I propose to
preach on the Song of the Redeemed in Rev. v. 9, as the
winding-up of my course of sermons on Redemption. My
subject is ‘What do they think of it in Heaven?’ and
I fear there is a great contrast between their thoughts and
ours. If it fills the praises of those who know most about
it, surely it ought to fill the hearts of us who are saved
through its power!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>May</i> 26<i>th</i>,
1876.</p>
<p>“I fear I shall not be home to welcome you on Thursday,
but hope to arrive that evening if God prospers me on my long
journey to Southport and back. I am sure my paper ought to
be very good, if I go such a long way to deliver it! I am
thankful to say it is completed, and as good as I know how to
make it; so I hope the Lord will accept it and make it useful. <a
name="citation201"></a><a href="#footnote201"
class="citation">[201]</a> I certainly have been producing
a great deal lately, but by no means with uniform success.
The Lord has not let me feel that I have the power in my own
hand, and has sometimes thoroughly humbled me, more especially in
my speech for the Jews, which was a failure. But I was
encouraged in my sermon about them which I preached last Sunday
and which is being printed.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
202</span>“<span class="smcap">Ottery St. Mary</span>,
<i>October</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1876.</p>
<p>“I am writing this letter, though I am not sure that I
shall not be with you as soon as it is. But I know you will
be glad to hear from me if I can reach London in time for the
post.</p>
<p>“I rejoice to think the Congress <a
name="citation202"></a><a href="#footnote202"
class="citation">[202]</a> is over, and am thankful also that I
went to it. I believe that the paper was accepted of the
Lord. It provoked no controversy, and was most kindly
spoken of next day by one of the Ritualistic speakers: I had
great reason therefore to be thankful. Some of our people
did admirably, manifestly helped of the Lord, and I do not think
the truth suffered. But we sadly wanted more Evangelicals;
the Ritualists put on a number of young men, many of them foolish
fellows and poor speakers, but they got more people on their legs
than we did.</p>
<p>“Now for a race between my letter and myself; I wonder
which will win!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">(<span
class="smcap">Mission</span>), “<span
class="smcap">Manchester</span>, <i>January</i> 30<i>th</i>,
1877.</p>
<p>“You will be thankful to hear that the Lord is
prospering us. We have had some desperate weather, and the
congregations have of course been much less than they would have
been. But you know I am not dependent on numbers, and have
sometimes found the richest of blessings amidst a little flock on
a stormy night. I hope we had such an one last night.
It is almost impossible that the weather could have been rougher,
but there was a capital congregation, considering, and profound
attention. I believe also that there are many seriously
impressed and others already greatly helped in their
faith.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
203</span>“<span class="smcap">York</span>, <i>May</i>
29<i>th</i>, 1877.</p>
<p>“I am delighted to hear a good report of you all, and
rejoice to think how happy you must be now that the work is
finished and the scaffold down. Notwithstanding all
hindrances, it is an easier matter to beautify the outside than
to reform that which is within. We cannot set the heart
right with Portland cement!</p>
<p>“I cannot say much about myself. I hope the Lord
may have given His blessing, but I have not had the sense of
power as in former days: possibly I have not sought it so much
from the Lord; possibly people expect more from me, and are
disappointed at what they hear.</p>
<p>“It is curious to find how ‘Rome, Turkey, and
Jerusalem’ is read and thought about. I hear of it in
all directions, and people express a great interest in it.</p>
<p>“The owner of the enclosed letter was also interested
about ‘Inspiration,’ as he remembered the address
when originally given, and I promised to send him a
copy.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Caterham</span>, <i>April</i> 14<i>th</i>,
1878.</p>
<p>“I hope you are enjoying a peaceful Sunday; but I cannot
bear to be away from you, for I do not feel very happy about
you. I have felt afraid that I was not sufficiently
grateful for all your kind care of me, and that I sometimes
seemed cross when I ought to have been full of gratitude!
But I did not feel poorly enough to justify all the care that was
taken of me. I hope I may be all right by the time I come
home, and that if I am not I may at all events be in a more
thankful and submissive spirit. I think it is a very
possible thing that a man living with a party of young people
does not always realise what they are feeling, and so does not
show that tender sympathy which is the beautiful peculiarity of a
mother’s love. But I have often prayed <a
name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>that I may
be a mother as well as a father to you all, and, I trust, may be
enabled to meet your hearts’ desires more fully than I have
ever done yet.</p>
<p>“But, oh! what a wonderful mercy it is that in the
recollection of all our defects and failings we may fall back on
the finished Atonement! ‘The Lord hath laid on Him
the iniquity of us all.’ There is a resting-place for
sons, for daughters, and, blessed be God, for fathers.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">King’s Lynn</span>, <i>October</i>
9<i>th</i>, 1878.</p>
<p>“I hope that you have been interested about the
Congress, and have read carefully Canon Tristram’s most
interesting speech in the <i>Times</i> of Saturday. It is
one of the most remarkable addresses I ever met with, and I
rejoice to find how well it is reported in the secular
papers. Do read it together, if you have not done so
already.</p>
<p>“I do not know what to say of my own speech, and am
puzzled by the way in which it was received. My own friends
were most cordial, but what astonished me most was that —
— and — <a name="citation204a"></a><a
href="#footnote204a" class="citation">[204a]</a> came after the
meeting and thanked me for it. <a name="citation204b"></a><a
href="#footnote204b" class="citation">[204b]</a> What it
was for which they felt grateful I cannot imagine. I
delight to hope that God may have helped them to see His Gospel
more plainly than before; but He knows, and He only.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the year 1879 there came an earnest request for a Mission
Tour in some of the dioceses in <a name="page205"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 205</span>India, similar to the one alluded to
on a previous page as emanating from Australia. He was
anxious to accept the invitation, but his medical adviser in
London, Sir William Jenner, absolutely forbade the undertaking,
and it had to be given up.</p>
<p>The description of the death of an old and valued servant is
very characteristic. The writer well remembers the calm
that pervaded the household next morning, and the mingled sorrow
at the loss of a faithful friend and yet of thanksgiving at the
thought of one of their household being called to the Palace of
the King.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>March</i> 8<i>th</i>,
1880.</p>
<p>“I hope you all enjoyed a happy and peaceful Sunday
yesterday, as we did at home, notwithstanding the solemn, but
peaceful, event with which ours concluded. F— had
passed a bad night and felt poorly in the morning, but she came
to prayers as usual. She did not go to church, and H—
went to Dr. Marsack for some medicine. During the day she
lay on her bed a good deal; but when we went to evening church
she was in the kitchen with S—, sitting in her chair,
reading her Bible. S— went into the pantry for two or
three minutes, and when she returned there was our faithful
friend with not a muscle moved or a feature changed, but the
spirit gone. Her Bible was open at the text on which I had
been preaching in the morning (2 Cor. v. 1, 6); and so, gently
and without the slightest struggle, the knowledge by faith was
exchanged for that by sight and she entered into the visible
presence of her Lord. . . .</p>
<p><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
206</span>“When I came home from Southborough I found her
laid out in the little room, looking just the same as usual, with
a perfectly peaceful, tranquil appearance, with no more
disturbance of expression than a little child shows in its
sleep.</p>
<p>“I need not tell you what a sense of solemnity there was
last night throughout the house. We have all deeply felt
it, but I must say that thankfulness prevails, for all who knew
her had felt anxious for her future. How graciously does
God deal with His children! and how needless are our
anxieties!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the Ladies’ Bible Class, when going through Acts
xvi., he had urged upon his people the duty of ever looking out
for opportunities of speaking for God. “Lydia”
was the case in point, and the apostle’s readiness to make
a personal appeal was shown to be God’s plan for this
woman, who, residing in the very place which St. Paul was not
allowed to visit, was yet brought all the way to Philippi to meet
God’s messenger there. This will explain some
passages in the following letter to his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Scarborough</span>, <i>July</i> 12<i>th</i>,
1880.</p>
<p>“I have been thinking of you unceasingly ever since I
left home, and am more and more amazed at my ever having done
so. How I could bring myself to it I cannot imagine; but I
hope it is for the Lord’s service.</p>
<p>“I have been looking out for ‘Lydia’ all the
way, but not very successfully. When I got into the train
at Tunbridge Wells there was a nice-looking lady who fixed <a
name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>her eyes on
me so steadfastly, as if wishing to speak to me; so I soon opened
the way, but I found the poor thing was out of her mind, being
taken to London.</p>
<p>“In the next train there was a lady with her servant,
very tearful, so as she sat opposite me I took the opportunity of
a civil word about the window, but as soon as she could she got
away to the other side of the carriage, so there was no opening
there. But I am not sure that ‘Lydia’ may not
be in this house, for there is a lady staying here, and both she
and my hostess are eager for conversation on the great truths of
the Gospel.</p>
<p>“I had a pleasant, quiet Sunday. The place is
perfectly charming; the house and garden delightful, with the
most lovely view of the sea and the opposite hills, so that I do
not know how to tear myself away from my bedroom window.</p>
<p>“The church is very nice, but sadly small. . . .
There were good congregations, but not a crowd. I preached
in the evening, and I certainly could not have desired a better
congregation. I hope the Lord was with us, bestowing His
blessing.</p>
<p>“I heard in the morning a very good, practical sermon on
the causes of restraint in prayer:</p>
<p>“Allowed sin,<br />
“Unbelief,<br />
“Worldliness,<br />
“Business,<br />
“Temper.</p>
<p>“It was all true and profitable, but I should have been
more profited if he had helped us to overcome them.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Newcastle-on-Tyne</span>, <i>October</i>
4<i>th</i>, 1881.</p>
<p>“As for the Congress, I cannot say I like the thought of
it, though I hope the Lord will make use of it and of me in
it. I have been thinking of my text last <a
name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>Sunday,
‘Shall your brethren go to war, and shall ye sit
here?’ so I am rejoiced to act with my brethren, and I
trust the Lord may unite us in His service, and give us not only
meekness of wisdom but the wisdom of meekness.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cromer</span>, <i>October</i> 10<i>th</i>,
1881.</p>
<p>“I am rejoiced to hear of your happy visit to that dear
home at Canterbury. I cannot say with what thankfulness I
think on all the grace which our God and Saviour has shown there,
and how delighted I am that you all should have the unspeakable
joy of being employed as the Lord’s agents for conveying
the glad tidings of life to precious souls.</p>
<p>“I return you Mr. Stock’s letter, as you wish it,
though I am more inclined to put it in the fire, for it frightens
me. But I believe the Lord was with me on the occasion to
which he refers, and there was one very remarkable circumstance
about it which he did not know.</p>
<p>“Dr. Bardsley and I had both sent in our cards, and I
saw that he was eager to speak. About twenty minutes before
the close of the meeting the Bishop turned to me and said that he
could just manage to find a place for me. So I told him he
had better call Bardsley instead, which he did. So B.
spoke, and some other man after him, when the Bishop turned round
again and said, ‘I think after all I can find time for
you.’ All this made me the last speaker of the
day. Off I went, and I believe before the Lord; He seemed
to give me the ears and the good-will of the people at the very
first sentence. I was enabled to say exactly what I wished,
till at length, speaking of toleration, I said, ‘But if men
introduce a ritual intended to symbolise Rome—’ when
two or three persons cried out ‘No, no.’ But <a
name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>their
objection only roused the whole multitude to what seemed like an
almost unanimous cheer, which went on so long that at length the
bell rang without my being able to finish my sentence, and there
the discussion ended. So I lifted up my heart to the Lord
and thanked Him for His mercy.</p>
<p>“I sent in my card next day on ‘Reformation
Principles,’ but the Bishop of Carlisle, who was chairman,
did not call me up.</p>
<p>“On Friday I read my paper. <a name="citation209"></a><a
href="#footnote209" class="citation">[209]</a> Of course
there was no excitement about that, but quite as much cause for
thanksgiving, for several persons, amongst them Arch-deacon
—, came to me in the evening and thanked me for it as
having been a real help to them in their own souls. So I am
come away with a thankful heart and a longing desire to spend
what time remains as a firm and faithful witness for
truth.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Few speeches at a congress can have aroused more excitement
than Canon Hoare’s famous impromptu address at Derby in
1882, and none probably have been so far-reaching in their
effect. The enthusiasm aroused in the vast audience was
electrical; cheers and shouts of applause interrupted the speaker
at every sentence.</p>
<p>The same night it was being sold about the streets of Derby as
a separate publication, next day it was in all the papers word
for word, and during the twelve months that followed letters came
in large numbers from nearly every part of the world, thanking
him for his manly and vigorous words, in <a
name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>which he
did not merely “hold the fort,” but carried the war
into the camp of those who wished to bring our Church back into
the dominion of Rome.</p>
<p>Commenting upon it, the <i>Guardian</i> of that date said:
“No one, whether agreeing with Canon Hoare or not, could
fail to be struck with admiration at the courage and skill with
which he grappled his antagonist.”</p>
<p>The speaker who followed allowed himself to utter words which
in calmer moments he would never have said; it is hardly possible
that one who rose, as he expressed it, “to pour oil upon
the troubled waters,” could have otherwise stated that
Canon Hoare’s friends would hold up as a very “mark
of the beast such a frequent use of the Holy Communion” as
Mr. Wood and his friends advocated; and this said to one who
always had weekly Communion in his church, and who, when a young
man at Richmond, had been the first in his diocese to institute
an early celebration!</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Cromer</span>, <i>October</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1882.<br
/>
(<i>After Church Congress at Derby</i>.)</p>
<p>“I enclose you four letters received by this
morning’s post, and now, as that speech to which they refer
has manifestly made a great impression, I wish to put on record
the Lord’s dealings with me in the matter, for they have
tended very greatly to the confirmation of my faith, and, I hope,
given me a lift for the remainder of my life.</p>
<p>“When I was first asked to take part at the Congress the
Secretary asked me to choose a subject from a list <a
name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>sent to
me. I marked three, any one of which I should be prepared
to undertake, one being the Liturgy, to which my attention had
been directed at the Bible class and preparation for my Lent
sermons. Thus God was preparing me then.</p>
<p>“When the list came out I was disappointed that I had a
speech and not a paper, and felt the responsibility of my
position, as I was the only speaker on the list, and there were
four papers to precede me, by Hope, Bickersteth, Wood, and
Venables.</p>
<p>“You all know what difficulty I felt in
preparation. I did all I could to be prepared, and
continually committed it to God, but I felt doubtful all the way
through whether all my preparation would be of any value.</p>
<p>“So we went on till the day came. I awoke very
early under the sense that I had important work before me, and as
I lay still in the dark I was able to cast the whole matter into
the hands of the Lord. After breakfast I went to preside at
the prayer-meeting, and spoke to them of the Lord’s love
for the Church, in Ephesians v. The room was very full, and
when we knelt down to pray I was solemnised more than I can tell
you by all who prayed praying for me especially: I was the one
subject of their prayers.</p>
<p>“I never can forget the prayer of one of them that the
Lord would make me His mouthpiece and put His thoughts into my
mind. This was very delightful to me, but it made me think
something was coming; so I left the morning meeting and went home
for a quiet hour before luncheon. I then polished up my
weapons, finished off my opening and conclusion, and spread it
all out before the Lord, in happy remembrance of the good
man’s prayer.</p>
<p>“At length the meeting began. Hope was very bad,
but did not give much that I could lay hold on. But <a
name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>when Wood
began he at once pronounced our Communion Service to be a meagre
deposit of the ‘Use of Sarum,’ and said he did not
want to suggest the improvement of our Liturgy, but the adoption
as an alternative service of the First Book of Edward VI. I
sat listening to him, taking careful notes, and hoped that by the
time Venables had done I should be ready. But what was my
astonishment when I heard my name called by the Bishop as soon as
Wood sat down. I said to him, ‘It is not my
turn,’ but he replied, ‘You had better go
on.’ I do not know his motive; perhaps it was that he
wished Wood answered. So there I was in the face of the
vast assembly without a minute’s notice. But was not
the Lord with me? and would He not answer the good man’s
prayer? So I put down my Prayer-Book, notes and
everything—and away! The people gave me a most kind
welcome, and, as I have been told since, many dear friends
throughout the hall lifted up their hearts in prayer for
me. I saw in a moment what I had to say; it was as clear to
me as if I had studied it for months: nor had I the slightest
difficulty for words, except once when I failed in quoting
accurately the thirty-first Article. I was hissed and met
with noisy opposition. But that did not matter in the
least; the mass of the people was with me, and so was the
Lord.</p>
<p>“Mr. Wood had put a weapon in my hand which was
irresistible. I was encouraged as I went along with most
hearty and enthusiastic cheers, till at length when I had done
the people went on cheering as if they never could leave
off. Oh, how I thought of the good man’s prayers, and
how I realised the privilege of being an instrument in the hand
of the Lord! This thought has made me feel quite satisfied
since. I should have liked not to have slipped in the
Article, and there are <a name="page213"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 213</span>many things that have occurred since
to me, some that I might have added and some that I might have
said better, but I have been satisfied in the thought that the
Lord gave me what to say and that I said what He wished me to
have said. So I do not fret over the omissions or defects,
but accept it with thankfulness from Him.</p>
<p>“I cannot describe the expressions of thankfulness from
multitudes of my friends after the meeting, or the deeply solemn
feeling at the prayer-meeting next morning, when again I was the
principal subject of it, but this time in thankful acknowledgment
of the help which the Lord had given.</p>
<p>“Well! I have written you a long letter about my own
proceedings, but I would rather say about the Lord’s
dealings with me, and that justifies its length. I hope the
whole history will lead us all to trust Him more simply than ever
to put words into our lips and thoughts into our minds, and so to
employ us for His own most sacred service.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following is the text of the speech, taken from the Church
Congress Report:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Your lordship has called upon me before my
time; but I am prepared, my lord, to go on if you think it right
that I should. At the same time, I may add that I am called
upon by surprise, for I expected to have to discuss the
suggestions for Liturgical Improvements which it was likely would
have been made by the Rev. Mr. Venables. At the same time,
however, I am prepared to accept the position, as appointed for
me in the providence of God. I consider that this debate is
a most important one for the Church of England. I think
that the speech of Mr. Wood, to which we have <a
name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>just
listened, is one of the most important speeches that I have ever
heard delivered at a Church Congress. We used to be told
that what was originally called the Tractarian movement, but
which has since been called the Ritualistic movement, was an
effort of pious and devoted men to rise above our poor
Churchmanship, and to bring out in better development the true
principles of the Church of England. We always, with that
happiness which accompanies a clear conscience, maintained that
we were the true representatives of the Church of England.
We acted upon its principles, and taught its truth. But
still, we have had to bear a certain amount of reproach, and we
have not been able to overcome the old prejudices. This
day, however, we have been told by Mr. Wood, the President of the
English Church Union, that our beautiful English Church Service
is ‘meagre’: that there is nothing more meagre than
our existing Liturgy; that our Holy Communion Service—in
which we have taken so much delight—is a mutilated, an
inferior, and a defective Service. [Cries of ‘No,
no.’] I say ‘Yes,’ and this great
assembly has heard what Mr. Wood has said. We have been
told to-day that we are to go back to the Liturgy and to the
Communion Office of 1549, instead of accepting that of the year
1552, and finally revised in 1662. And, now, will you just
look for one moment at the first Liturgy of Edward the Sixth?</p>
<p>“We were told to-day that it was a falling-off from the
use of Sarum. We are therefore, it seems, to look upon the
use of Sarum—that old Popish Liturgy—I say that old
Popish Liturgy, which existed in the diocese of Salisbury, as the
model at which we are to aim. To this use of Sarum the
Reformers applied the pruning-knife, and I cannot say that they
left much of the Office of Sarum. There were certain very
fine passages <a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
215</span>in it, and they retained them. But they brought
out a new Communion Office in 1549. There were, however,
certain defects still left.</p>
<p>“But as time went on, and the Reformers saw more and
more of the blessed truth of God, they then said that the thing
must be thoroughly done, and it was of no use to carry out mere
half-measures. So, thank God, they did not stop at the
First Book of Edward. I am very much disposed to think
that, if Mr. Wood gets it, he won’t stop there
either. And now that we have enjoyed the Prayer-Book as the
Reformers gave it us for these three centuries past, we are told
that we are to hark back again. Of this I am fully
persuaded, that the Churchmen of England are not prepared for
such retrogression. You must consider what has been said by
Mr. Beresford-Hope on this subject; he and I have sparred about
this matter before now. Mr. Beresford-Hope knows just as
well as I do that there is no such thing as an altar in the
Church of England. And I will tell you also what Mr. Wood
and his friends know very well. They know as well as I do
that if they can but coax us back to those three years—to
1549, to the First Book of Edward—that there they will find
an altar. And that is one reason why they wish for
it. The Reformers knew very well that an altar was
essentially connected with a sacrifice. And they knew this
also, that while they were prepared to offer the sacrifice of
praise and thanksgiving, the sacrifice of propitiation was
completed for ever. And they believed, further, that the
doctrine of the mass was a lying abomination, or rather I would
say, a ‘blasphemous fable and dangerous
deceit.’ Now, then, my lord, we fully know our
ground, and where it is we have to stand. We have,
therefore, learned something at this Church Congress. We
know where we are. We go home <a name="page216"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 216</span>to-day knowing with what a power and
with what an intention we have to contend. We know what Mr.
Wood has told us. He has told us as plainly as possible
that the object is to bring back the Church of England from the
Reformed Church of 1552; to stop just a little by the way in the
refreshment room of 1549, and then we are to plunge head-foremost
right into the use of Sarum. Now, then, my lord, what shall
we say to this? Shall we have it? or shall we not?
What, I ask, shall we say to this? Shall we stick by the
blessed truths that we have received, and for which our Reformers
died? Shall we cling to the dear old Office Book, in which
we have hundreds and thousands of times poured out our whole
hearts before God? Shall we unite heart and soul as
witnesses for Christ while we come to His Holy Table, and hold
there communion with Him? or shall we begin by half-and-half
retrograde measures until we go right back into the arms of
Rome? My lord, I say no more; but I wish to thank Mr. Wood
for having spoken out so plainly on this subject, and for thus
having let us know this day what are the real intentions of the
English Church Union.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
217</span>CHAPTER XV<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>BLINDNESS AND SECOND
ILLNESS</i></span></h2>
<p>The annual Confirmation times were looked upon by Canon Hoare
as the most important occasions, and the ten or twelve weeks of
preparation as a season whose value was simply inestimable.</p>
<p>Large numbers were prepared by him personally every year, and
it was beautiful to see the tender individual interest which he
showed in every case. Before the day of Confirmation, at
the private interview with each, he noted down in a special book
his opinion of the case. He was once asked when he made
this diagnosis. He replied: “As they walk from the
door to the chair beside me, I get a view of their character and
disposition; the conversation which I have with them afterwards
gives me a further insight, and I hardly ever find the estimate
wrong.” Many who read these lines will remember the
earnest prayer, and then the fatherly grasp of the hand and
loving blessing with which those interviews ended.</p>
<p>All through the weeks and months of preparation the candidates
were remembered at the weekly <a name="page218"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 218</span>prayer-meeting in the Parish Room,
and on the Sunday previous to Confirmation they were commended to
the prayers of the congregation and a sermon was specially
devoted to the subject. On the day itself there was an
early prayer-meeting, to which all candidates came, and
afterwards every arrangement was made to keep the newly confirmed
free from outside influences that might too soon remove good
impressions; the evening was spent, after tea in the Parish Room,
in the singing of hymns and listening to various addresses.
Every year his interest in the subject was fresh as ever, and at
the age of eighty-one his sermon on Confirmation, which was
afterwards printed and a copy sent by him to the present
Archbishop of Canterbury (and acknowledged by him in one of the
following letters), was so remarkable in its power and teaching
as to receive a special notice in one of the Archbishop’s
recent Charges—an honour most gratifying to the preacher
and probably nearly unique.</p>
<p>To one of his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Balachulish</span>, N.B., <i>September</i>
13<i>th</i>, 1883.</p>
<p>“I hope you will enjoy a delightful Sunday at
Thun. I do not look forward with much pleasure to ours, for
I do not like the Scotch Church services. I was greatly
distressed last Sunday at Oban. Oh, how earnest I should be
that visitors to Tunbridge Wells should have the pure Gospel of
the grace of God! It is grievous to <a
name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>think what
many people are condemned to hear! May God make us faithful
to His truth!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>June</i> 4<i>th</i>,
1885.</p>
<p>“I am getting on very comfortably with Confirmation
candidates. The Trinity school-girls are improved.
They are excellent in their knowledge, well up in the Catechism,
in which they used to be so sadly defective. Of course it
is extremely difficult for an old man like me to get into the
secrets of their young hearts, but many of them, I believe, are
more than in earnest, for I feel sure they are really resting on
their Saviour. Poor dears! I hope they will be kept,
but they are likely to be terribly exposed to all kinds of
religious unsettlement. The Salvation Army is going to have
a grand ‘Battle’ next week, and the rank and file is
to consist of ‘saved drunkards, liars, swearers, poachers,
parsons, sailors, and nailers’!! So we are classed
with queer company! Is it of God? or is it strange fire?
that is the question. But who can wonder if our young
people are perplexed and confused?”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Written at the death-bed of his brother Joseph:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>January</i> 16<i>th</i>,
1886.</p>
<p>“I could not come home to-day, for I could not leave him
in his low estate, though I am not like some of them, in
immediate apprehension of any change. I fear there may be
still before us deeper depths than we have known yet, unless the
Lord mercifully lifts him over them, as He did Miss
Courthope. He is generally wandering, but frequently
revives in a most curious manner when I speak to him. I
firmly believe that minds clouded like his very often have a
perception of heavenly things, and most especially of the sweet
name of Jesus.</p>
<p><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
220</span>“I went this morning to C.M.S. on the subject of
the February Meetings. It was very edifying, but I had to
come away very quickly, as I wanted to be back. People were
all most kind, so much so that I hardly knew how to bear it.</p>
<p>“Since then I have been to see Bishop Perry, who was
very unwell yesterday, I believe from riding home after a tiring
day at Islington in a cold hansom-cab when he had a carriage and
pair in his stable wanting exercise! Such is mankind.
I tell him that I am obliged to knock about in cabs and
’busses because I cannot afford anything better, but he
ought not to think of it.</p>
<p>“When we shall be home no one knows. I do not
think I can come home for Sunday if things go on as they are now
doing, unless I am obliged to do so, and I see nothing to
indicate any immediate change. But we are in the
Lord’s hands, hour by hour, with eternity full in view and
the Lord Jesus almost visible. May we each one abide in His
love!”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Hampstead</span>, <i>January</i> 21<i>st</i>,
1886.</p>
<p>“Joseph at rest in the Lord.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>March</i> 5<i>th</i>,
1887.</p>
<p>“I hope you are still prospering and that you have had
as beautiful weather as we have had. I consider that the
beautiful bright sunshine of our dear old England is to be
preferred to that of the South of France, more especially if the
latter is accompanied by earthquakes as a variety, and certainly
we have all been enjoying it here. Last Sunday was one of
the most lovely days I can remember, and I hope it was one in
which we enjoyed some sunshine in our souls. All the week
too has been bright and happy, though we have had some fogs in
the morning—just enough to teach us <a
name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>how God can
clear away all that obscures the sunshine of His love. On
Wednesday we had a most profitable sermon from Mr.
Russell.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Marden Hill</span>, <span
class="smcap">Hertford</span>, <i>August</i> 30<i>th</i>,
1887.</p>
<p>“Nothing can be kinder or more affectionate than
everybody here. H— and M— are most pleasant,
and I would not have missed coming to them here on any account,
as I consider that at Cromer every one is in a non-natural
condition and here they are in their own home. I wonder
whether there is the same difference between myself at home and
abroad. I suppose there is, though I do not see it.</p>
<p>“I hope you are enjoying Brittany. You surely did
not leave Guernsey on your left as you were crossing. If
you did I suppose it was to avoid rocks; and maybe we should all
prosper more if we were more careful to avoid temptations as well
as to overcome them; and I hope the Lord may so direct the path
of every one of us that we may be kept from danger and guided
safe into the haven of peace. I have been exceedingly
impressed with these words in Jeremiah x.: ‘The way of man
is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his
steps.’ So my way, and your way, is not in ourselves,
and I trust the Lord may direct all our steps for His own
glory.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">St. Bernard’s</span>, <span
class="smcap">Caterham</span>, <i>October</i> 14<i>th</i>,
1887.</p>
<p>“I return Miss T—’s enclosure. Pray
tell her that her confidence need not be in the least shaken by
the proposed visit to the Old Catholics, for they are thorough
Protestants in many respects. They withdrew from the Church
of Rome on the decree of Papal Infallibility (I think in the year
1870), under that very remarkable man Dr. Döllinger, and
have been excommunicated by <a name="page222"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 222</span>it. They call themselves
‘Old Catholics’ to distinguish themselves from the
New, or Roman, Catholics, and they claim to hold the Catholic
faith as it was before Rome introduced its errors. We
ought, therefore, to rejoice at our Bishops taking them in
hand.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">York</span>, <i>May</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1888.</p>
<p>“I know not why it is, but my heart is so full for you
all that I cannot forbear from writing to tell you. You
have been constantly in my thoughts since I left home, and oh,
how I have desired that the Lord may give to each one of you
every possible happiness! I thank God that I believe He has
given us a very happy home, and one that can stand comparison
with others; but I long to make it happier still and to do all
that a father can do to help each one of you and to promote that
loving, joyous spirit which is the sacred privilege of a
Christian home. Certainly it has entwined itself very
closely round my own heart; and now that I am away I seem to feel
it more than ever. May the Lord be with you all, not only
while I am with you, but when I am gathered to my own Home with
the Lord Jesus!</p>
<p>“I am thankful that I have been prospered, and am quite
well and had an easy journey. Everybody has been most kind,
and I hope the Lord has accompanied the ministry. The
morning sermon was a long way off and not exciting: I felt for
the good man, for he seemed discouraged.</p>
<p>“The Evening Service in the Minster was
magnificent. There was a grand congregation, and what with
the noble building and fine music there was enough to make a
profound impression, even if there had been no sermon.</p>
<p>“But I hope they had the Gospel in addition; I <a
name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>certainly
desired to give it to them, and they appeared to me very
attentive. I do not feel in much heart for speech-making
to-day, for I am utterly out of practice. But ‘what
have I that I have not received?’ so I must open my mouth
to receive my message, and I hope the Lord will give it
me.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i> 22<i>nd</i>,
1888.</p>
<p>“I rejoice to hear that you are prospering and enjoying
Chamounix. I cannot doubt that you have a most pleasant,
happy, and loving party, and I shall heartily enjoy a few bright
days with you and another look at those lovely mountains.
There they stand unchanged, while all their admirers pass by and
are gone. What a picture of what is going on in life!
There is only One who is not a mere passer-by; but, thanks to
God, He is unchangeable, and we need never pass away from
Him.</p>
<p>“We had a very comfortable Sunday. I preached in
the morning about Jehoshaphat, to my own great interest.
But in the afternoon I had a very poor attendance of men, and
preached the feeblest of sermons. I hope it may have
confounded the mighty, for it certainly was one of the weak
things of the world, and contributed nothing to the
self-elevation of the preacher.</p>
<p>“I am now off to church to preach on holiness. May
God make us partakers of His holiness!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the autumn of 1888 his blindness began. The doctors
stated that it was due to no illness, but just a sudden failure
of power. He could at first see figures and large objects
more or less, and detect a placard on a wall, but faces were
indiscernible and reading and writing an impossibility. <a
name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>Yet it made
no difference in his manner or character, and his life was
immediately adjusted to the new state of things. The writer
well remembers coming into the Vicarage study one morning, and
finding the vigorous old man of seventy-six commencing the task
of <i>learning the Bible by heart</i>! “It was so
important to have all quotations exact.” This work
was continued for some months, but when it was suggested that
there would be less labour and more profit in learning the raised
type for the blind, the former plan was discontinued, volumes of
the latter sort were procured, the characters mastered, and for
the seven years remaining the beloved study was resumed under
circumstances that would have discouraged most men of his
age. Blindness did not stop his work—nothing of the
kind; the regular Bible and annual Confirmation classes were
continued as before, the weekday and Sunday sermons as regularly
prepared and preached. His daughters read to him passages
from books bearing upon the subject that he had in hand, and he
arranged and classified it in his own mind. Gentlemen and
ladies in his congregation gladly undertook to come at stated
hours and read to him books of various sorts, and so he kept
abreast with all that was going on in the world of literature,
and, as was his wont, met it for praise or censure in his
sermons.</p>
<p>On Sundays it was touching to see the venerable old man
ascending the pulpit, giving out his text, <a
name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>and then
preaching with all his old fire and vigour. The accuracy
with which he quoted his texts made it hard to believe that the
preacher was blind. The same accuracy was remarkable in
another way. There were few things in which Canon Hoare
took more interest than in helping the younger clergy. All
through his career his Greek Testament readings have been sources
of great blessing and help. In the last few years of his
life, since his blindness, he revived these readings, going
rapidly through a book or group of passages dealing with a
subject. There are several now in Tunbridge Wells who
remember gratefully and lovingly those early half-hours once a
week; they can see him in his study-chair, surrounded by six or
eight of the junior clergy with pencils and note-books—the
mortal eyes sightless, but the eyes of his understanding being
opened, and from his lips pouring forth a stream of words almost
too rapid to take down, as he sketched forth the scheme, say, of
the Epistle to the Hebrews, and then going into the details
chapter after chapter, pointing out the notes of exegesis and
different readings, and the light thrown by the Revised Version
on each.</p>
<p>It was at this time, as the first birthday after his blindness
drew near, that several members of his loving congregation
subscribed together and purchased a splendid gold repeater watch,
striking the hours, quarters, and half-quarters, as a birthday
present for their old Vicar. The following letter, <a
name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>written
with the aid of the typewriter which he had also learned to use
after the loss of his eyesight, shows how much he appreciated
this further proof of their affection:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Trinity Vicarage</span>, <i>June</i> 5<i>th</i>,
1889.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs.
Perkins</span>,—I hear that you have been the one chosen by
your friends to convey to me the beautiful gift which I received
this morning, so to you I must send my answer, and ask you to be
so very kind as to assure all the dear people who have taken a
share in it of the very great pleasure that their gift has given
me. It was so kind of you all to think of me, and to mark
by a birthday offering your loving interest in my welfare.
But, as for your sending me such a beautiful present, I never for
one moment thought of such a thing. You have, however,
selected a most useful and valuable form for your kindness.</p>
<p>“For many years I have been dependent on a repeater for
securing, day by day, the sacred morning hours before breakfast;
and many an hour has been secured to the study of God’s
most holy Word through the use of an old repeater left to me (as
a legacy) by the dear uncle who gave me my title to my first
curacy.</p>
<p>“But the old watch, like the old master, has worn out,
and I have been put to the greatest inconvenience; so that, if
ever I have left home, I have been obliged to carry two
watches—one for the day and the other for night.</p>
<p>“But now, by your gift, the difficulty is removed; and,
if ever it please God to restore to me the privilege of spending
my winter mornings in the study of His Word, I shall find it to
be of inestimable value.</p>
<p>“Most heartily, therefore, do I thank all our friends <a
name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>through
you, and trust that they may enjoy as happy and sacred morning
hours as our Heavenly Father has so often given to me.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Believe me, my dear Mrs.
Perkins,<br />
“Very faithfully yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In 1889 Canon Hoare was laid low by a severe illness which all
expected to be the last. His family assembled around him,
and his people thought that they never would see him again.</p>
<p>At this time, when all his friends thought that his call had
really come, many letters were received at the Vicarage
expressing the warmest sympathy and containing assurances of
fervent prayers. The Archbishop of Canterbury wrote as
follows to the Rev. J. Gurney Hoare, who was at Tunbridge
Wells:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Lambeth</span>, <i>June</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1889.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mr.
Hoare</span>,—Pray give my love and the assurance of my
loving prayers to your dear father.</p>
<p>“I had your letter this morning at Hereford.</p>
<p>“As some old writer says, it is ‘like the
descending of ripe and wholesome fruits from a vigorous and
steadfast tree’ when God calls to Him so single-minded and
true a servant—all contests over, and charity having
triumphed more and more to the end. Tell him, as you think
fit, how much I have always felt that he helped and comforted me
in my trying place. I have always had his sympathy and
genial counsel, and his <i>prayers</i>. And his strength
has been <i>consecrated</i> to the last. In what honour he
passes to the last peace! May it be <a
name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>wholly
ἀνώδυνος, as the
old Greek prayers say. Once more you are all sure of our
prayers, and of the prayers of how many through Christ who loves
him ever.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most sincerely yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. W. Cantuar</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Again his congregation assembled in daily prayer-meeting, as
before; and when it was supposed impossible that he could live
out the day the C.M.S. Committee met and poured out their
petitions to God, asking that their veteran friend and adviser
might yet be spared if it were His will.</p>
<p>The prayer was answered, and once more he rose from the bed of
sickness, wonderfully unchanged. Compared with past years,
we saw that the outward man was perishing, but we saw also that
the inward man was being renewed day by day. Before long he
was again in the pulpit, and it was more than three years after
this that he preached the sermon upon “Confirmation”
to which reference has been already made, as well as one upon the
“Agnus Dei,” delivered after the Archbishop of
Canterbury’s famous judgment.</p>
<p>To Bishop Perry:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>January</i> 10<i>th</i>,
1890.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My very dear Friend</span>,—I
cannot tell you how much I have felt about dear Carus. When
we think of his age we cannot be surprised, and when we think of
his love, his fidelity, his maintenance of the truth, and his
great attractiveness we know not how to part with so valuable and
pleasant a companion. But as far as <a
name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>you and I
are concerned the parting is not likely to be for very
long. As we see one after another of our old friends
gathered to their rest, it would be madness in us to forget how
near we ourselves may be to the banks of the river, or to lose
sight for a single moment of the blessed Hope set before us in
Christ Jesus. I trust we may all be kept looking for that
blessed Hope and the glorious reunion of the Resurrection morning
and of the Coming of the Lord. I must acknowledge that for
my own part I find myself better able to realise the prospect of
that final reunion than the thought of our gathering before the
Throne in the intermediate waiting time; but I am persuaded that
both are taught in Scripture, and that when we are no longer
entangled in the body we shall see wonderful things in the
spiritual world, and when we do how shall we ever praise God
enough for His marvellous love in making a perfect atonement for
people so unworthy as we are! I don’t know how it is
with others, but I find myself there is scarcely any sentence in
the Prayer-Book which so expresses my own mind as those words,
‘We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under
Thy table’; but, thanks be to God! we depend upon the
worthiness of that blessed Saviour by whom every claim of the
whole law is more than satisfied. Remember me most
affectionately to Mrs. Perry, and believe me</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your loving and faithful
Friend,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Letter to Bishop Parry after seeing a report in the papers
that he was dangerously ill:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear
Edward</span>,—We are all truly sorry to hear that you are
not so well. . . . But how can we thank <a
name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>God enough
for the unspeakable privilege of knowing that all such matters
are safe in the hand of the Lord! I often think of those
words of St. Paul, ‘We know that all things work together
for good,’ etc. He did not say ‘we
think,’ or ‘we hope,’ but ‘we
<i>know</i>,’ thereby expressing the full persuasion of his
soul in the infinite love and perfect power of our blessed
Saviour in combining all things so that they may work together
for our good. I delight in the thought that it is our
privilege to rest in that full, calm, deliberate persuasion, and
that, looking away from everything in ourselves, we may look to
Him in peaceful trust, as an eternal object that will not vary
with our own variations of thought and feeling. May He keep
you in His own right hand, and raise you up if it be His will;
and above all, whenever the time of our departure comes, and it
must come to us both before very long, may He fulfil present
persuasion by giving us an abundant entrance into His everlasting
Kingdom.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Believe me most faithfully
yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To Mr. Storr, upon hearing of the wonderful collections for
the C.M.S. in Matfield and Brenchley:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<i>February</i>
24<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Storr</span>,—I
wonder whether there is any information respecting the things of
this world given to those who are at rest with their
Saviour? If there is ‘joy in Heaven over one sinner
that repenteth,’ may we not believe that there is also joy
when the Lord’s work is prospered among His people that are
on earth? If it be so, I am sure your dear father’s
heart will be gladdened by the good report sent me in your
letter. It is delightful to see the permanent results of
faithful work such as his was at Brenchley. He is gone, but
<a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>the
light which he lighted is still burning, and I hope will long
continue to burn to the glory of God.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To one of his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Newcastle</span>, <i>July</i> 31<i>st</i>,
1890.</p>
<p>“May the Lord grant you a very happy birthday, and
follow it up by the very best of new years! I wonder where
we shall all be this time next year; one thing only do I know,
<i>i.e.</i> that we shall be safe in the Lord’s hands, so
that all will be well. If safe in Him we shall be safe
anywhere, whether in Heaven or on earth, whether in the Home
above or in some dear old dwelling here. Let the Spirit of
God be on the tabernacle and all will be well.</p>
<p>“We are prospering, and hope to return on Tuesday.
I have quite given up all thought of Stirling, and am looking
forward to home with great pleasure.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">[Written with the aid of a
typewriter.]</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i>, 1890.</p>
<p>“What do you think of this? I have been contriving
a plan for writing without seeing: I hope it will answer, but as
yet I get on very slowly.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">[Also typewritten.]</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tenchley</span>, <i>October</i> 12<i>th</i>,
1891.</p>
<p>“I am thinking of you very much in your return to our
dear old home, and trust the Lord Himself is with you. I do
not like the thought of your being alone, but there is a great
difference between being alone and being <i>lonely</i>, and
lonely we need never be if only we have the companionship of our
Father in Heaven, and that I trust you are enjoying.</p>
<p>“We are hoping to return on Thursday, if God permit: I
trust it will please Him to grant it.</p>
<p><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
232</span>“Let us all pray that there may not merely be
three sisters, but the three sister-graces, Faith, Hope, and
Love, abiding together in our happy home.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“<span
class="smcap">Thoughts on Old Age</span>.—1891.</p>
<p>“Its temptations:—</p>
<p>“1. <i>Indisposition to exertion</i>.—In
many cases there is real physical inability. The old
muscles are worn out, so that ‘the grasshopper becomes a
burden,’ and every movement requires effort. The
natural result of this is, we move as little as possible and are
glad to have as much as possible done for us. But there is
very often a still worse result—namely, that we are apt to
leave things undone altogether; we do not like to give in, but
when the time comes for action we shrink from the exertion.</p>
<p>“2. <i>Selfishness</i>.—Aged people meet
with a great amount of attention; their comfort is a matter of
continual thought to many loving hearts. Household
arrangements are all made to suit them; young people are
exceedingly kind to them; they read to them, write for them, help
them in every possible manner, and do all in their power to
minister to their happiness and comfort. The result is that
the old man is apt to consider himself as much as
others.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In his latter years there was an added joy in visiting the
homes of his married sons and daughters.</p>
<p>The circle of interest widened in sympathy with the joys and
sorrows of his grandchildren, and it is no small proof of the
tenderness and strength of his character that a man of his age,
with so much to occupy his mind in public and private <a
name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>things,
could find time for letters to the boys and girls of the second
generation. The two following letters are instances of
this.</p>
<p>To one of his grandsons:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>February</i> 7<i>th</i>,
1890.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Chris.</span>,—I have
been thinking of you every day, and praying to our Heavenly
Father to make you a good and happy boy.</p>
<p>“I know it is a very sad thing for you to lose Louis,
but I have also been thinking what a delightful duty it puts upon
you, for now you have your father and mother all to yourself, and
are the only boy at home to attend to them and try to make them
happy. I think this is a great pleasure and privilege, and
I expect to have a nice letter some day from your mother to say
that dear Chris. is so good and attentive that he makes the home
quite cheerful. But we are such fallen creatures that you
cannot do this unless the Lord Himself helps you. So I
trust He will do so, and make you a joy to your father and
mother.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your affectionate
Grandfather,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To one of his granddaughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>February</i>
24<i>th</i>, 1891.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Lettice</span>,—I am
very glad to hear that you are so happy and prosperous, and I
often think what a happy arrangement it has been for your early
education. I am sure we ought all to be very grateful to
your uncle and aunt for their kindness in making it. How
much kindness we meet with in life! I am sure there is
kindness for the old, for I am receiving it every day, and I am
<a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>equally
sure there is kindness for the young, for I am constantly meeting
with persons who are spending their whole lives in making them
happy. But what are we to think of the lovingkindness of
the Lord? David says it is better than life, and so I hope
you will find it. You have a name that means joy, and I
hope the joy may be, not in your name only, but in your
heart. For the last two days I have had a great joy in my
home, and I shall leave it to you to guess what it is. It
is the visit of a lady for whom I feel a great affection.
She has sons and daughters who are great friends of mine, so that
I wish she had brought some of them with her. You must
guess who it can be, and also find David’s words about
lovingkindness (Psalm lxiii. 3).</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“The loving old
Grandfather,<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Extracts from letters to his married daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>November</i>
11<i>th</i>, 1890.</p>
<p>“I have thought a great deal of you in your
re-settlement at home, and I trust that you have returned for a
happy, holy, and useful winter.</p>
<p>“I look back with the greatest pleasure to my pleasant
visit when all the boys were at home, and I trust that the same
happy, peaceful spirit may be the abiding characteristic of your
family.</p>
<p>“. . . I often think of the promise, ‘They
shall bring forth fruit in old age,’ and most earnestly do
I desire that my old age may be a fruitful season, but I am
inclined to regard anything I can do as little more than the
gleaning of grapes when the vintage is done. I trust,
however, that whatever is left may be diligently used for the
glory of my Blessed Saviour.</p>
<p><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
235</span>“Give my dear love to Robert, and also to Chris.
and Lettice.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most affectionate
Father,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i> 29<i>th</i>,
1891.</p>
<p>“I have very much enjoyed your letters, though I have
been slow in acknowledging them, for I find typewriting to be
both slow work and very tiring to the brain. But I am glad
of it, as it makes me sometimes fancy that I am
independent. But independence is not the gift for me just
now, for I am dependent for everything, and have to be
unspeakably thankful for such loving caretakers on whom I may
depend.</p>
<p>“Above all, how ought my heart to overflow with
gratitude to that loving Father on whom it is my joy to depend
for everything! Daughters can do a great deal, and would do
more if they could, but He can do everything and does supply all
my need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.</p>
<p>“I trust all the dear sons are prospering, and the tutor
doing well. I wonder whether we shall meet anywhere this
autumn. I do not feel much pluck in me for Norfolk; my home
is so comfortable that I am not eager to leave it. But
there is an idea in people’s minds that we ought to go out
in the autumn, so I suppose I shall go somewhere, though I do not
at present know where. I am very thankful for my two visits
to the North. They helped me to realise better the great
interests for which to be continually in prayer. I was very
happy with you and your sons. May our gracious God bless
you all!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your loving Father,<br />
“E. H.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><a
name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
236</span>“<span class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>,
<i>December</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1891.</p>
<p>“ . . . Most heartily do I respond to all your
loving wishes for a rich Christmas blessing on our whole
party. We have enjoyed a very happy Christmas
together. We have had with us E— and his family, and
very pleasant have they all been. We have thought
continually of the homes of the absent, and many a time both by
day and by night has my heart been lifted for you all. I
have thought very much of you and all your boys, and cannot doubt
that you have had a very merry party. God grant that they
may all know the joy of the Lord! I am very sorry to hear
of your disappointment. . . . I never forget the advice
given me by my grandmother—never to act without seeking the
guidance of the Lord, and after acting never to re-open the
subject. She would have said that your great mistake is in
distressing yourselves now about your decision made two years
ago. So as you sought His guidance trust Him to have given
it, and push away regrets.</p>
<p>“The Lord be with you all!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your loving Father,<br />
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tenchley</span>, <span
class="smcap">Limpsfield</span>, <i>October</i> 6<i>th</i>,
1892.</p>
<p>“My typewriter is none the better for its journey, so
that I have been unable to write and thank you both for my very
happy visit. I most thoroughly enjoyed it, and throughout
the whole of my visitation tour there has been nothing on which I
look back with more genuine pleasure than I do on those happy
days at Chenies. I thought the village lovely. I was
greatly pleased with the meeting of Communicants and with the
Church Services. I delighted in the children, and am
looking forward with the greatest pleasure to their <a
name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>visit; and
I greatly enjoyed all my pleasant intercourse with you both,
which I valued the more as I have seen less of R— lately
than of you, so that I was glad to enjoy his thoughts on many
points of interest.</p>
<p>“May the Lord bless you abundantly both in your home and
in your parish! With dear love to the children,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most loving Father,<br
/>
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tenchley</span>, <span
class="smcap">Limpsfield</span>, <i>December</i> 28<i>th</i>,
1892.</p>
<p>“We had a very happy day at home, lovely weather, the
very perfection of a Christmas Day, and I trust a good deal of
sunshine within. I preached to the people on the sacred
Name of Jesus, and I gave them what was new to myself, and, if I
mistake not, new also to most of them, so we had fresh thoughts
on an old subject. What a remarkable feature this is in
Scripture! It is full of old truths, but is always bringing
them out in newness and freshness to those who will take the
trouble to study it.</p>
<p>“Dear love to Robert and the boys.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most loving Father,<br
/>
“E. H.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>From the Archbishop of Canterbury:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Deal Castle</span>, <i>April</i> 13<i>th</i>,
1893.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">To the Rev. Canon Hoare</span>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Canon
Hoare</span>,—It was very kind and thoughtful of you to
send me your two sermons, in which I was sure to take a great
interest. I have read them both with much
satisfaction. I think the ‘Agnus Dei’ ought to
be very useful. It puts that great hymn in its right
position, and it shows the fallacy of certain <a
name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>deductions
drawn from the fact that there were no legal grounds on which it
could be decided that it was impossible for it to be used.
I daresay you have noticed that Richard Baxter (not exactly a
Ritualist) did not hesitate to make use of that same passage from
St. John in his draft Communion Service.</p>
<p>“The sermon on Confirmation I think most serviceable;
its instruction most clear, and the remarks on what the Gift
<i>is</i> very impressive. I am glad you teach that that
beautiful passage in the Epistle to the Ephesians refers to the
event recorded in the Acts. And what a motive it supplies,
and what a basis for the Christian life!</p>
<p>“Thank you very much; I think no one can read that
sermon without feeling that Scripture and its true teaching
leaves more and more to us, in spite of all fears of
‘Criticism.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Sincerely yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Cantuar</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following letter was to a lady in the United States who
had written gratefully about some of his prophetical books, and
asked for guidance on various points, as well as for some larger
work on the same subject written by him:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>May</i> 29<i>th</i>,
1893.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">To Miss Gray</span>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Madam</span>,—I have
received your letter with very great interest and
thankfulness. How little do we know either the <i>where</i>
or the <i>how</i> or the <i>when</i> it may please God to make
use of any effort in His service, and how little I thought that
my two small books had found their way to the hearts of any of
God’s <a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
239</span>people in America! I am the clergyman of a large
parish, and they were printed chiefly for the use of my own
parishioners, and God has made use of them in His own way and far
beyond my expectations. I am thankful to say that the
coming of our blessed Lord is more and more the joy of my heart,
as I am persuaded it is the central part of our Christian
hope. I trust it has pervaded the whole of my ministry; but
I have not published anything to be called a book upon the
subject, though fragments have been occasionally printed in our
local press. I am sending you the sermons recently printed,
though only one refers directly to the Advent of our Lord.
I am very glad to hear of your meeting for the Study of the
Prophetic Word. At one time we had such meetings here, at
which we discussed with great brotherly freedom the bright hope
pointed out to us in Prophecy, and I believe I learnt more from
those Christian conferences than I have ever done from all the
books in my library. I trust the Lord may grant you all a
similar blessing, so that when our blessed Saviour returns in His
glory you may be able to greet Him with the words: ‘Lo,
this is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save
us.’ ‘This is the Lord; we have waited for Him:
we will be glad and rejoice in His Salvation.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Believe me very faithfully
yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To one who was losing her sight:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Marden</span>, <i>June</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1893.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dearest</span> —,—May
the Lord give you a happy birthday to-morrow! You have your
heavy trial hanging over you, but I trust that in God’s
leading you may have a bright and happy year, and may have a
clearer <a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
240</span>sight of your Heavenly Father’s boundless love
than you have yet enjoyed. I trust that we may both have
the eyes of our understanding enlightened, that we may know
better what is the hope of our calling, and what the riches of
the glory of His inheritance in the saints. It is my
unceasing prayer that I may see these things clearer and
clearer. And I am sure that, if He manifest Himself more
clearly to my soul, I shall be more than repaid for the failure
of my earthly vision. Your case is different to mine, for
you have every hope of complete restoration of sight. But
we are one in the desire for heavenly light, and I trust the Lord
<i>may</i> give it to you abundantly through the new year, and
that I too may enjoy a share.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Extract from a letter to one of his married
daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>August</i> 3<i>rd</i>,
1893.</p>
<p>“We thank Him also very heartily for the happy week
spent with you. It was absolutely impossible that greater
care and kindness should have been shown to the old man, and I
wish you to know how successful you were in giving me a
comfortable, pleasant, and happy week, so that I was well repaid
for the effort of the two long journeys, and shall ever retain a
happy memory of that pleasant visit.</p>
<p>“I was very glad to see as much as I did of the three
dear sons, and felt exceedingly interested for them all, as I
could see in each one that he had a special claim on our loving
and earnest prayers.</p>
<p>“It was also a great gratification to me to make the
acquaintance of your future daughter. Oh, how I hope that
the voice of rejoicing and salvation will be in their
‘tabernacle’! With dear love to them all, to
the two <a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
241</span>boys arriving from school, and above all to yourselves
at the head of such a family,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Your most loving Father,<br
/>
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The autumn of 1893 was remarkable for the number of visits
which Mr. Hoare paid among relatives in Norfolk and
elsewhere. He spoke of it as one of the pleasantest
holidays that he had ever spent.</p>
<p>Earlham, his mother’s old home, a name so familiar to
many through Mr. Hare’s recent volumes on the Gurney
family, was revisited, and he delighted in pointing out places in
the house that reminded him of childish romps and
adventures. A week was spent at Cromer, where, as usual, a
great gathering of the clans took place. Here he met his
beloved sister-in-law Lady Parry, and, at the house of his
favourite cousin, Lady Buxton, he gave a Bible-reading in her
spacious drawing-room to a gathering of some fifty or sixty
friends and relatives.</p>
<p>An eye-witness has described this impressive scene. The
old man, blind, but mighty in the Scriptures, took for his
subject the prayers for “teaching” contained in the
119th Psalm, and those who listened felt that he had been taught
of God, and that another prayer in the same Psalm had been
answered in his case: God had opened his eyes and permitted him
to see wondrous things in His law.</p>
<p><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>The
Sunday following he preached in the grand old church at
Cromer. Many remember that occasion; and when the writer
paid a visit to that place a year later, he met an old man who
spoke of this sermon with enthusiasm, and said that he thought it
one of the best that he had ever heard from the aged
preacher’s lips.</p>
<p>No less than seven homes of his children and relatives were
visited by him at this time, and it was from one of them, towards
the close of this pleasant holiday, that the following letter to
one of his daughters was written:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Aylsham</span>, <i>September</i> 21<i>st</i>,
1893.</p>
<p>“I am very glad to hear of your prosperous settlement at
Lynton. It is the place where your dear mother and I spent
our first Sunday after our marriage, and I preached in the
church, to the great satisfaction of the Vicar, who, I think, was
Mr. Pears, afterwards Master of Repton: you appear to have gone
to the other church. . . . Magee’s sermons have been
very interesting, though I doubt whether they would meet the
wants of those who are hungering and thirsting for life; they aim
too much at intellectual brilliancy, and it is not by excellency
of speech that souls are won.</p>
<p>“We came yesterday to this beautiful home.
Certainly the lines are fallen unto them in very pleasant places,
and I trust they have a goodly heritage in many souls won to
their Saviour. But they have their difficulties, and who
has not? As long as human nature is what it is, we shall
find them everywhere, though different in different
places.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following letter illustrates the affectionate <a
name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>feelings
between the pastor and his people so manifest in this
parish:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">The Vicarage</span>, <i>December</i> 13<i>th</i>,
1893.</p>
<p>“<i>My dearly beloved Friends</i>, <i>the Members of our
Communicants’ Union</i>, <i>and other Communicants in our
Church</i>,—</p>
<p>“I have been looking forward with the greatest possible
pleasure to the prospect of our Advent gathering arranged for
to-morrow, but it has pleased our Heavenly Father to take from me
all hope of being present.</p>
<p>“I have greatly enjoyed those gatherings on former
occasions, when it has pleased God to manifest Himself and His
own grace in a peculiar manner to our souls. They have also
been a source of especial pleasure, as they have given an
opportunity for that loving, friendly intercourse which is so
delightful amongst Christian friends, and so difficult of
attainment in large parishes and large congregations.</p>
<p>“I cannot be with you to-morrow in bodily presence, but
may I not thankfully adopt the first part of those words of St.
Paul in Col. ii. 5–7, ‘For though I be absent in the
flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit, joying and beholding your
order, and the steadfastness of your faith in Christ’? and
may we not all accept this exhortation in the latter part,
‘As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so
walk ye in Him: rooted and built up in Him, and stablished in the
faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with
thanksgiving’?</p>
<p>“You observe he does not address us as persons for the
first time seeking to know Christ, but as those who have received
Him, and are permitted to walk, or spend their lives, in union
with Him. If this be the case <a name="page244"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 244</span>with us, how should our
thanksgivings abound in every possible effort for His glory!</p>
<p>“With much affection, and many prayers,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“From your faithful Friend and
Vicar,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was at this time, when his bodily health was so feeble, his
step slow and head bowed, that a visitor who had never heard him
preach came to Trinity Church.</p>
<p>Knowing his reputation, the stranger had great expectations,
but at first sight his heart fell within him; as he afterwards
acknowledged, “I could not <i>believe</i> that old man in
the pew was going to preach, but he got up into the pulpit with
some difficulty, and <i>then</i>, it was the power of
God!”</p>
<p>A clergyman friend who had known him intimately for forty
years said of the aged preacher that “his ministry had
grown in power up to the very end.” The chief cause
of this was doubtless the life of prayer in which he moved and
had his being. All who knew him were aware of this, and
certainly he who has been permitted to peruse the sacred pages of
his journal can no longer feel surprised at the marvellous
success which attended that prayer-steeped ministry.</p>
<p>While upon this subject it is worthy of record that he often
told those whom he wanted to help in their preaching that he
<i>prayed over his sermons more even than he prepared them</i>,
and the latter <a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
245</span>part took several hours of his time. When
blindness came upon him, and others had to read for him and take
down his thoughts for the preparation of his sermons, it was his
custom to stand up by his study table and say: “Here is my
mind, Lord; take it and use it. Thou knowest who will be
there; give me the right thoughts and words, that I may speak as
Thy messenger, for Christ’s sake!” And this
prayer too was answered.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>The following letters, written in the last few months of his
life, show the clearness of his mind and width of his sympathy up
to the end.</p>
<p>To the Rev. C. H. Dearsly, who asks, “How far is it
Scriptural that female evangelists should address large mixed
assemblies—or men only?”</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<i>January</i>
19<i>th</i>, 1894.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Fry used to draw a wide distinction between
‘prophesying,’ as in Acts ii. 17, and
‘teaching,’ as in 1 Tim. ii. 12, as she believed the
former to be an appeal called forth in a special manner by the
Holy Spirit, and so she justified her own ministry. I have
often thought that there is some truth in her distinction, and I
have never felt able to put a hindrance in the way of what may
possibly be the movement of the Holy Spirit; so I have thought it
safer to be passive in the matter, and not to forbid even though
I have felt unable to support.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To the late Dean of Canterbury on the death of his
wife:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear
Dean</span>,—I trust the Lord is with you in your great
trial, and will be with you unto the end. <a
name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>I believe
that no one has the least idea of what the trial is, until they
are called to pass through it. Its depth is learned only by
experience. There were two lessons taught me when it
pleased my Heavenly Father to send it to me. I never had
any idea of the magnitude of the trial, and what it was to lose
one who had been for so many years a wise counsellor and a most
loving wife and mother. But I never knew the extent to
which a Heavenly Father could supply all my need ‘according
to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.’ I look back
upon the thirty years that have elapsed since my great
bereavement, and am utterly unable to count up the tokens of His
love and tender thoughtfulness during the whole of that
period. And so, my dear friend, I am persuaded that you may
trust Him entirely. You may trust Him for your eternity;
you may trust Him also for the short remainder of your pilgrimage
upon earth. You may trust Him to do well for yourself and
your daughters. You may trust Him as your faithful Friend
and your most wise Counsellor; and so trusting you will never be
disappointed, but He will be both with you and yours continually,
guiding you with His counsel, and afterward receiving you to
glory. Remember me very particularly to your daughters.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Most faithfully yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To the Rev. H. E. Williamson, Hon. Sec. of the West Kent
C.M.S. Union:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Tunbridge Wells</span>, <i>April</i> 11<i>th</i>,
1894.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Williamson</span>,—I am
exceedingly sorry to be quite unable to attend the Union of
Unions to-morrow at Canterbury. I have greatly enjoyed the
meetings of our own Union in former times, and firmly believe
that <a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>we
have been favoured with the presence of that loving Redeemer
whose Name we desire to make known throughout the world. I
should also have greatly enjoyed the meeting with our dear
brethren of East Kent under the presidency of our beloved Dean,
in his noble Cathedral; but I cannot venture upon the
undertaking, and must look forward to the gathering of that more
perfect Union which I hope is shortly to take place, at the
Coming of our Lord and Saviour. Remember me to all the dear
brethren, and believe me to be very faithfully yours,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">E.
Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<h3>NOTES OF CONFIRMATION LECTURES.</h3>
<p>These notes are intended to assist Candidates in preparing for
the Classes. Each of the Chapters mentioned contains a text
on the subject of the Lecture.</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> I.—<i>The Sinfulness
of Man</i>.</h4>
<p>Man is sinful.</p>
<p>,, 1. In nature: Psalm li.; Rom. viii.</p>
<p>,, 2. In heart: Matt. xv.; Jer. xvii.</p>
<p>,, 3. In thought: Gen. vi.</p>
<p>,, 4. In word: James iii.</p>
<p>,, 5. In act: Rom. iii.</p>
<p>,, 6. Under God’s wrath: Eph. ii.</p>
<p>Therefore requires two things, viz. Forgiveness of Sin and
Change of Heart.</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> II.—<i>Forgiveness
of Sin</i>.</h4>
<p>1. The blessing of it: Psalm xxxii.</p>
<p>2. Examples of it: Mark ii.; Luke vii.; Luke xviii.</p>
<p>3. Given us because our sins were laid on the Lord Jesus
Christ as our substitute: Isa. liii.; 2 Cor. v.; Gal. iii.; Eph.
i.; 1 Peter ii.</p>
<h4><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
248</span><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> III.—<i>Change
of Heart</i>.</h4>
<p>1. Necessary: John iii.</p>
<p>2. Compared to Birth: John iii.</p>
<p>,, Resurrection: Eph. ii.</p>
<p>,, Creation: Eph. ii.; 2 Cor. v.</p>
<p>3. Wrought by God the Holy Spirit: John i.; John iii.;
Ezek. xxxvi.</p>
<p>4. Prayer for it: Psalm li.</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> IV.—<i>First Promise
made in Baptism</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Renunciation</span>.</h4>
<p>We promise to renounce three things.</p>
<p>1. The devil: Gen. iii.; John viii.; 1 Peter v.; 1 John
iii.</p>
<p>2. The world: Rom. xii.; 1 John ii.; Psalm xvii.</p>
<p>3. The flesh: Rom. viii.; Gal. v.</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> V.—<i>Second Promise
made in Baptism</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Faith</span>.</h4>
<p>We promise to believe in the Lord Jesus.</p>
<p>1. The three articles of Christian faith: Catechism.</p>
<p>2. Examples of faith: Gen. xv.; Rom. iv.; Matt. viii.;
Matt. xv.; Luke i.; Luke vii.</p>
<p>3. Salvation given through faith: John iii.; Acts viii.;
Acts xvi.; Eph. ii.</p>
<h4><span class="smcap">Lecture</span> VI.—<i>Third Promise
made in Baptism</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Obedience</span>.</h4>
<p>We promise to obey the Commandments.</p>
<p>We should obey them In both their parts: Matt, xxii., and
Church Catechism.</p>
<p>,, From the heart: Deut. xi.; Rom. vi.; Eph. vi.</p>
<p>,, With delight: Psalm xl.; Psalm cxix.</p>
<p><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>,, In
all things: Josh. xxii.; Gen. vi.</p>
<p>,, From love: John xiv.; Rom. xiii.; 2 Cor. v.</p>
<h3>Lecture VII.—<i>Prayer</i>.</h3>
<p>Promises to prayer: Luke xi.; John xiv.; John xvi.</p>
<p>Prayer should be From the heart: Matt. xv.</p>
<p>,, Earnest: James v.</p>
<p>,, Persevering: Luke xviii.; Eph. vi.</p>
<p>,, In humility: Luke xviii.</p>
<p>,, In faith: Matt. xxi.; James i.</p>
<p>,, In the name of Jesus: John xiv.</p>
<h3>Lecture VIII.—<i>The Sacrament of the Lord’s
Supper</i>.</h3>
<p>Was appointed by the Lord Himself: Matt. xxvi.; 1 Cor. xi.</p>
<p>Is an act of obedience: Mark xiv.; Luke xxii.</p>
<p>Is a sign, or emblem: 1 Cor. xi.</p>
<p>Is an act of loving remembrance: 1 Cor. xi.</p>
<p>Is a means of feeding on the Lord Jesus: 1 Cor. x.</p>
<p>Is an opportunity of intercourse with the Lord; Luke xxiv.</p>
<p>Is a means of fellowship with each other: 1 Cor. x.</p>
<p>Is a help to joy: Acts ii.</p>
<h3>Lecture IX.—<i>On receiving the Lord’s Supper
unworthily</i>.</h3>
<p>Danger of receiving it unworthily: 1 Cor. xi.
“Damnation” here means “chastening”: ver.
32.</p>
<p>To receive it unworthily is to receive it—</p>
<p>Without repentance, without faith, without seriousness,
without love: 1 Cor. xi.</p>
<p>You may be young Christians, but not come unworthily: Matt.
xxvi.; Acts ii.</p>
<p>You may be unworthy to come, but not come unworthily: Luke
vii.; Luke xv.</p>
<h3><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
250</span><span class="smcap">Lecture</span>
X.—<i>Confirmation Service</i>.</h3>
<p>The laying on of hands: Acts viii.; Acts xix.; Heb. vi.</p>
<p>The blessing to be expected: Acts viii.; Acts xix.</p>
<p>Decision for God: Isa. xliv.</p>
<p>The prayers in Confirmation Service.</p>
<p> For the Holy Spirit.</p>
<p> For strength.</p>
<p> For defence.</p>
<p> For perseverance.</p>
<p> For growth in grace.</p>
<h2><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
251</span>CHAPTER XVI<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>REMINISCENCES</i></span></h2>
<p>There are numerous anecdotes and incidents connected with
Canon Hoare’s lengthened ministry at Tunbridge Wells, which
illustrate his many-sided character in a remarkable way. A
few of these selected from the great stock of reminiscence in the
minds of his people may be of interest to the reader.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>On one occasion banns of marriage were put up in Trinity
Church between a workman recently come to the town and a young
woman whose widowed mother lived in the parish of Holy
Trinity.</p>
<p>When the banns had been twice called an anonymous letter was
received by the Vicar, which stated that the man was already
married. Careful inquiry having proved that this was true,
and that his wife and family were living in another town, the
Vicar made up his mind to punish the delinquent in a novel
way. The couple whose banns had been called were sent for,
and Canon Hoare told the girl the whole story in her false
lover’s <a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
252</span>presence. It was received with indignant
incredulity, but the proofs were unanswerable. Turning upon
her companion, she sobbed out, “James, James, I never
believed you could have done this.” The man tried to
brazen it out, and laughingly said, “Well, I suppose we
need not have the banns published again?”
“<i>Indeed they shall be read again</i>,” was the
Vicar’s reply.</p>
<p>By this time the man was getting uncomfortable under the
piercing eye that was fixed upon him, and he said, “Well,
come along, Polly; it’s time for us to be
going.” “Indeed it <i>is</i> time for you to be
going,” said the Vicar, “and you had better be sharp
about it too, but Polly shall not go with you.” With
these words he pointed to the door, towards which the offender
made with remarkable rapidity. When he was gone Mr. Hoare
turned to the girl, and, taking her out on the other side of the
house from that by which the man had left, bid her go home with
all speed.</p>
<p>Next Sunday morning in the vestry Canon Hoare called the clerk
aside and gave him some directions; then, having said to the
curates “I’ll read the banns to-day,” he took
that part of the service in which they occur. Having
finished the second lesson, it was observed that in an unusually
loud voice and with great distinctness he read out: “I
publish the banns of marriage between James —,
<i>bachelor</i>, and Mary Ann —, spinster, both of this
parish. These are for the third time of <a
name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
253</span>asking. If any of you know cause or just
impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in
holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.” At this moment
the whole congregation were electrified by a loud voice at the
end of the church calling out, “I forbid the banns of James
— and Mary Ann —!” “Well, come into
the vestry after service and state your reasons,” was the
reply.</p>
<p>The news fled like wild-fire over the parish, and the man got
so unmercifully (yet deservedly) jeered and hooted by his
fellow-workmen that he had to fly from the town. It may be
added, as a curious and significant fact, that it was not the
immorality of the proceeding which aroused this feeling, but
“Jim — has let the parson do him out of three and
sixpence, for he paid for the banns, but couldn’t get
tied!”</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>Another anecdote which has got into print somewhat incorrectly
is the following. The parish clerk was one day in
attendance at a funeral in Holy Trinity Cemetery when he noticed
a gentleman walking about apparently looking for something.
He accosted him, and asked if he could help him in any way.
The other replied, in a very cheery and brisk way: “Yes,
you can; in fact I am looking for a nice sunny place for my
grave. I am going to die soon, the doctors tell me, and I
want to get a pleasant place to be buried in.” The
clerk <a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
254</span>was somewhat astounded at the tone and manner of the
visitor, but suggested various sites. One was soon
selected, and in the same cheerful way the gentleman went on,
striking the ground as he spoke: “Capital, just the place;
here it shall be; I shall be put in here, and that will be the
end of me.” The clerk responded quietly, “Are
you quite sure of that, sir? for I am not.”
“Yes, quite sure,” was the answer, and then a
discussion ensued between the two; when it had lasted a few
minutes the official said, “Well, sir, I may not be able to
convince you that you are wrong, but I know my Vicar
could.” “Oh, I want none of your
parsons,” said the visitor; “but who <i>is</i> your
Vicar?” “The Reverend Edward Hoare,
sir.” “Hoare, Edward Hoare—did he come
from Hampstead?” “Yes, sir, I believe he
did.” “How astonishing!” muttered the
gentleman, and then speaking aloud, “Why, he and I were
friends when we were boys!” Having asked the way to
the vicarage that he might call upon him, the visitor went his
way.</p>
<p>The meeting between the two old boyish acquaintances was very
interesting, but when the gentleman stated the circumstance of
his meeting with the clerk, Mr. Hoare replied, “You have
made arrangements about your body; have you been as diligent
about your soul?” It soon came out that, brought up,
like his old friend, as a Quaker, but without his religious
advantages, he <a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
255</span>had drifted into open scepticism. Now, however,
the loving, earnest words that he heard made a great impression,
and he begged Mr. Hoare to come and visit him.</p>
<p>Several weeks passed by, and one day the clerk received a
message from his Vicar, “There will be an adult baptism in
the service to-morrow.” His feelings can be imagined
when he saw quietly standing by the font the gentleman whom he
had seen in the cemetery! the defiant, cheery manner gone, but
instead of that a peaceful, happy look upon his face. The
illness soon progressed, but his friend of olden days visited him
continually up to the end, and had the joy of knowing that he
died resting happily upon his Saviour. In his will he
bequeathed to Mr. Hoare the valuable proof copy of
Landseer’s picture “Saved,” as a significant
memento of what he had been permitted to do for his old
friend.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>The writer once heard it remarked of a certain clergyman that
his many curates were like so many sentinels posted over the
country to warn people of the danger of approaching him!
The exact reverse was the case with Canon Hoare: if any one
wished to get an enthusiastic description of the Vicar, they had
only to go to one of his past or present curates. He was
“a hero to his valets”: so considerate and thoughtful
of their wants and circumstances, and yet so vigilant about their
work, <a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
256</span>knowing exactly how it was done, and never failing to
notice an omission, yet doing it all so kindly. The
quarter’s cheque was always enclosed in an envelope, with a
slip of paper on which were written words like these, “With
many thanks for all your invaluable help.”</p>
<p>This may be a trifling thing, but it means a great deal.
Canon Hoare was like a father to his curates, and was beloved by
them; he never lost an opportunity of putting them forward, and
if need be of standing up in their defence. There are some
who remember well an incident at a general meeting of subscribers
to the hospital many years ago. Some one present had spoken
very wrongly and impertinently of one of the curates, making
suggestions of evil in his remarks.</p>
<p>At the close of the speeches that followed, the chairman got
up. He was watched closely as he slowly took off his
overcoat, and with great deliberation folded it up and placed it
on the back of his chair. The room was very still as,
drawing himself to his full height and looking keenly round the
room, he fixed his gaze upon the former speaker, and gave him in
words the most terrible castigation that the unfortunate
individual ever received in his life. It was well
administered, and equally well deserved.</p>
<p>The fact that in all parochial work he was leader, not
director—saying “Come” instead of
“Go”—was one of the causes of his influence
with <a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>his
curates. It is related that at some wedding in the parish
church, when the bridegroom, a stranger to the place, was paying
the fees in the vestry, he made the remark, “I think the
man who does the work ought to get the pay.” This
greatly tickled the two curates present, who could not help
laughing at the idea of their Vicar seated in his arm-chair while
they laboured in the parish, and simultaneously both exclaimed,
“The Vicar does more than both of us put
together!”</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>The simplicity of the services at Holy Trinity have been
already noticed. The preacher wore the black gown, not that
he had any objection to the surplice in the pulpit, as he used
that dress without hesitation in other churches, but because he
felt that he was too old to make changes. “I knew
many of the old Evangelical Fathers,” he used to say;
“I preached Charles Simeon’s funeral sermon in his
own church at Cambridge; so that I feel as if I were connected
with them, and I will keep up the old gown which I have been used
to all my life.”</p>
<p>But although this seemed but a trifle to him, he never ceased
to express his disapproval of what are commonly called
“musical services.” On one occasion, at some
conference or meeting of clergy, he followed the reader of a
paper who had advocated the introduction of an intoned service,
and commenced his reply with these words: “For the
discussion of this subject I possess the important <a
name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
258</span>qualification of being an <i>unmusical</i>
man!” He then continued in the same strain, and
impressed this point upon the clergy, that they had to deal with
as many unmusical people as musical in their congregations.
All could speak, but only a limited number could sing; therefore,
by arranging a service for the musical, they really closed the
lips of those who were not so. At another time, also in
public, he said: “The proper use of music is in praise and
thanksgiving. People are so eager in these days to
introduce as much music as possible that they have applied it to
prayer, the reading of Scripture, and even to the Creed.
All this I believe to be a mistake. We delight in thorough
congregational singing, but the essence of prayer is to be
perfectly natural, to realise that we are speaking to God, and
forget all beside. Who can imagine the poor publican
waiting to hear the note of the organ, or the trumpet, before he
smote upon his breast and said, ‘God be merciful to me a
sinner!’”</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>As a chairman Canon Hoare was unequalled. His kindness
to opponents and his fairness in stating their case disarmed
prejudice and won their approbation. A barrister who had
been contending vigorously against some project which Canon Hoare
was anxious to advance said at the close of a meeting in which he
was taking part: “I have no more to say. Mr. Hoare
has handled his brief ably, and I retire from my former
opposition.”</p>
<p><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 259</span>Some
now in Tunbridge Wells will remember a meeting of publicans who
had been invited by the Vicar to come to the Parish Room and
discuss in a friendly way the Bill for the Sunday closing of
public-houses. They proved an unpleasant audience, and
often indulged in bitter and insolent observations, all of which
he took in the most gentle Christian spirit. At last one
fellow shouted out: “You clergy are the biggest
Sabbath-breakers going; you are working hard all Sunday, and why
shouldn’t we?” “No, no,” answered
the chairman with a beautiful smile, “what we do on Sunday
is not work; it’s <i>happy rest</i> from first to
last.” A Nonconformist who was present remarked
afterwards to the writer that he would never forget that look nor
those words as long as he lived.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>In questions relating to the interests of the town or of the
country at large he was always to the front, gauging public
opinion and leading it in the right direction. In actual
politics he took no part until the Home Rule question was brought
to the front by Mr. Gladstone; then he lectured in the Great Hall
against it, and more than once spoke in public on the same
topic. Again, when in 1885 the Liberation Society announced
a lecture by Mr. Guinness Rogers, and the Great Hall was filled
with a noisy, excited audience, at the close of the lecture Canon
Hoare ascended the platform; and though at first his words could
scarcely be heard in the <a name="page260"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 260</span>tumult of cheers and hootings, yet
his manliness and skill in debate soon gained way for him, and
though the lecturer and chairman both made insulting remarks, he
so entirely turned the tables upon them that, when the
Liberationist motion was put to the meeting, it was rejected by a
majority, and the whole thing collapsed ignominiously.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>Many years previous to the event just narrated, when the
Volunteer movement was making itself felt throughout the country,
a large meeting was held in Tunbridge Wells to consider the
question of establishing a Volunteer Corps. The chairman, a
local magistrate, threw cold water on the proposal by reminding
them that all their strength was needed for foreign service.</p>
<p>Mr. Hoare then got up and said that he entirely disagreed with
the chairman; proceeding in a very vigorous speech to show the
horrors of a foreign invasion, and the duty of every true
Englishman to defend his country, he concluded by declaring that
he hoped the first invader who landed on the shores of Kent might
be shot by a Tunbridge Wells Volunteer! The speaker was
well supported by the Rev. B. F. Smith, then Vicar of Rusthall
(now Archdeacon of Maidstone).</p>
<p>A well-known medical man in the town then got up and said:
“I came to the meeting in a doubtful state of mind, and
though my courage failed under the depressing remarks of the
chairman, <a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
261</span>it has now completely revived under the bold leadership
of Captain Hoare and Lieutenant Smith!” The motion
was carried by acclamation.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>The following anecdote has reference to the extraordinary
influence which he wielded over the town of Tunbridge Wells at
large. His strong religious character may be said to have
moulded the place. Two gentlemen were conversing at
Sevenoaks Station, just before the train left the platform.
One was heard to say to the other, “How is it that you have
no theatre at Tunbridge Wells? A large town like that
should have a theatre.” “Oh,” responded
his companion, “it would never pay. Tunbridge Wells
is too religious a place for a theatre.”</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>Yet this man, when he came first as Vicar of Holy Trinity, met
with much discouragement. The District Visitors came in a
body and tendered their resignations, and the first remarks which
he overheard about his sermons as he passed a group of
parishioners at night on his way home from church were,
“Oh, what a dreary sermon!” “Yes, and
<i>I</i> thought it would never end!” It is hard for
us now to believe this possible, and still harder perhaps to
remember that even in late years, after all his services, two of
the Evangelical newspapers used to write suspiciously of
him,—one sneering at “the three Canons” Ryle,
Garbett, <a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
262</span>and Hoare as “Neo-Evangelicals”; the other
in a flaring leader actually calling him and the writer of these
lines (who was proud to be in such company) “traitors to
the Church of England”! Both these journals are now
in different hands, but it is a humiliating thought that one who
had done so much for Evangelical truth should have been thus
treated by those who professed to aid its progress. It has
often been noticed that a lofty mountain seems nothing very
remarkable when you stand at its base, but as the traveller
departs and it recedes from sight, it towers above the lesser
peaks and almost seems to stand alone. So the character of
a truly great man, although valued, cannot be measured during his
life; it is as the years pass by that we see how much higher he
was than all his fellows.</p>
<h2><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
263</span>CHAPTER XVII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>PROMOTION</i></span></h2>
<p>During the last year of his life it was evident to all that
“old Mr. Valiant-for-truth” as some one had aptly
named him, was growing more feeble in body, and it was apparent
that the end of his faithful warfare could not be far
distant.</p>
<p>Some thought that he ought to resign and leave the parish in
younger hands, but it was more generally felt that the grief of
leaving his work would be too much for him, and many believed
that he would be allowed to die in harness: and so it was.</p>
<p>At the Easter Vestry he spoke feelingly of his approaching end
and his desire for a suitable successor, and when he thanked his
hearers for what he described as their toleration of the failings
of an old man who was doing all that his strength would allow,
all present were visibly affected.</p>
<p>The next week he went for a few days to Eastbourne, and thence
dictated the following letters. How descriptive were their
closing words of the continual attitude of our beloved
friend’s mind!</p>
<p><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span>To
one of his daughters:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Eastbourne</span>, <i>April</i> 18<i>th</i>,
1894.</p>
<p>“We have had a comfortable night in our very comfortable
quarters; I think you did indeed do well for us. I cannot
imagine anything that would have suited us better.</p>
<p>“The day seems most beautiful, the sun shining brightly;
those we love most hearty in their welcome, and everything
cheerful all around us, so that I hope we may go home at the end
of our week refreshed and invigorated for any work that the Lord
may have in store for us. But at present our work consists
in idleness, and I propose to devote myself to it with much
diligence!</p>
<p>“All whom I have seen recommend a bath-chair, and I
should not be surprised if I were to follow their advice before I
go home, but I little know what is in store for me. Only
let me enjoy the lovingkindness of my Heavenly Father, and we may
safely leave the rest in His loving hand.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To a friend who was in ill-health:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Eastbourne</span>, <i>April</i> 21<i>st</i>,
1894.</p>
<p>“I can heartily sympathise with you in the pain of
giving up one after another the different objects in which you
have been interested, and I can feel for you the more as I have
been lately passing through the same process.</p>
<p>“I am obliged to hand over to others a great deal of the
work in which I used to take delight. But I believe it is
good for us, and that the ties to earth are being loosened in
order that we may be the more ready for the Lord’s summons
when He shall call us to depart and to be with Christ.</p>
<p>“So let us think more of what we are likely to find <a
name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>in Heaven
than of the pain of parting with those things which have been a
joy to us upon earth. . . .</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">E.
Hoare</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On Trinity Sunday, May 20th, he preached for the last
time. The occasion was the anniversary of the British and
Foreign Bible Society, of which, as we have seen, he was ever a
staunch friend. At the close of the sermon he seemed to be
rather exhausted, and his faithful parish clerk (who had served
under him all through his ministry in Tunbridge Wells) hastened
up the steps and helped him down. He never again entered
that church where for forty-one years he had faithfully declared
all the counsel of God. Of that ministry it may be truly
said that its “record is on high.” Few men have
had so many opportunities of preaching the Gospel, and few have
used them as he did.</p>
<p>After this there was a marked decline in strength. He
knew that the tabernacle was being taken down, and made
preparations accordingly. Two of his brother-clergy were
asked by him to pay a pastoral visit weekly, and they will always
thank God for this privilege; it was beautiful to see the calm,
steady trust—“I know <i>whom</i> I have
believed.” On these occasions they received more than
they gave, and as some passage of help or comfort was dwelt upon
the old saint of God would himself go on, and bring out some new
light upon the passage, for to the very last he was “mighty
in the Scriptures.”</p>
<p><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>On
St. Peter’s Day, a week before his death, when the Sunday
School Teachers’ Association met as usual for their annual
gathering in his garden, he saw them for a few minutes, and then
from his room sent out this touching message: “Earthly
pastors pass away, but remember Him of whom it is said,
‘<i>He</i>, <i>because He abideth ever</i>, <i>hath His
priesthood unchangeable</i>.’” Surely this
public testimony was a fitting sequel to his life’s
ministry!</p>
<p>A few weeks of weariness, and then the end came. The
usual “Good-night” was said the night before, and
early in the morning of July 7th, as he slept peacefully, the
brave and faithful spirit passed away.</p>
<p>When a man’s whole career has been given to God, we are
not careful to ask for his last words, yet his were
characteristic of the humble but unwavering trust that filled his
heart. Replying to some inquiry he said, “I am
perfectly at rest on every point.”</p>
<p>God had bestowed many privileges and honours upon His servant
during his life; the greatest of all—even to be with
Him—He granted during that quiet slumber, for “so He
giveth unto His beloved in their sleep.”</p>
<h2><a name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
267</span>CHAPTER XVIII<br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>TRIBUTES</i></span></h2>
<p>It is impossible to describe the feeling exhibited in
Tunbridge Wells when it was known that Canon Hoare had passed
away, and on the day of the funeral the town witnessed such a
display of universal sorrow and respect as it had never seen
before. To enumerate even the deputations from different
parts of England and to describe the component parts of the huge
procession of mourners would occupy pages of this book.</p>
<p>It is enough to say that everything which could be done by the
Mayor and Corporation and inhabitants of the town to declare
their loss and emphasise their respect was done. More than
one Bishop and over a hundred clergy walked in the ranks of the
mourners.</p>
<p>All testified as with one voice: “A prince and a great
man is fallen this day in Israel.”</p>
<p>His mortal remains were laid beside those of his beloved wife,
and he who in those thirty-one years of bereavement used
sometimes to say, “In spirit <a name="page268"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 268</span>we have never been parted,”
was now in spirit reunited to her, and that for ever.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>A little book published at this time <a
name="citation268"></a><a href="#footnote268"
class="citation">[268]</a> contains in full all that was said and
done with reference to him who had passed away. There are
to be found in it the funeral sermons preached all over the town,
in church and chapel alike, as well as sketches of his character
and career in their special bearing upon the town, whose
particular reputation had been so much formed by him. It is
a touching tribute of affection and respect, and is well worthy
of perusal.</p>
<p>Hundreds of letters poured in upon the bereaved family, from
all parts of England, and indeed from the ends of the
earth. Extracts from these interesting tributes of
affection would form of themselves a volume; it is therefore
impossible to give them to the reader, but all testified with one
voice to the esteem and admiration in which he was held by those
who differed from him, and to the warm love and devotion which he
inspired in all who knew him, and whom he had guided into the
ways of peace. One expression may be mentioned which was
overheard in the conversation of two gentlemen on the day of the
funeral (one of them a man of light and leading in the
world). Said the first, <a name="page269"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 269</span>“We ne’er shall look
upon his like again,” to which the other made reply,
“Did we ever see his like before?”</p>
<p>The beautiful letters which follow, written on the day of
Canon Hoare’s death, speak for themselves:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Lambeth Palace</span>, S.E., <i>July</i>
7<i>th</i>, 1894.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Miss
Hoare</span>,—One word only of intense sympathy; but
intense in something which swallows up sorrow.</p>
<p>“No one will ever have looked more joyfully on the face
of Christ in Paradise.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Sincerely yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">E. W. Cantuar</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span
class="smcap">Lambeth Palace</span>, S.E., <i>July</i>
7<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Miss
Hoare</span>,—The news has this moment reached us, and I
cannot resist sending you one word of deepest sympathy. I
know the Archbishop will write for himself, but the thought of
the beauty into which that holy and beautiful spirit has entered
lives in one so, and in spite of all your personal sorrow and
loss I cannot help feeling that you are living in that thought
now.</p>
<p>“You know how we loved him—how could we help
it!—and that we do know something of all he was and is and
how the joy of the Lord has been the breath of his life; and so
we may give thanks with you, may we not? though the heart must
ache and the grief be keen. I must not trouble you
more—God bless and keep you.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Affectionately yours,<br />
“<span class="smcap">Mary Benson</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
270</span>Notices of Canon Hoare’s death and sketches of
his life, longer or shorter, appeared in countless newspapers in
England, America, and Australia. The <i>Record</i>
published several articles upon his career and influence in the
Church of England. One of the most happily written appeared
in the columns of the <i>Guardian</i> under the familiar initials
“B. F. S.”</p>
<p>Few in the diocese of Canterbury had better knowledge of the
man whom he described than the dignitary who penned those
lines.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">(<i>From</i>
“<i>The Guardian</i>”)</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>In Memoriam.<br />
<span class="smcap">Edward Hoare</span>.</h3>
<blockquote><p>“By the death of Canon Hoare the Evangelical
party in the Church of England loses, perhaps, its doughtiest
champion in our generation. But long before his death
experience and advancing years had so suffused his views with
catholicity that he was even more conspicuous as a pillar of his
Church than as the leader of a party.</p>
<p>“Born in a family in which piety was a tradition, and
predisposed by his Quaker blood to think little of public opinion
where it came into conflict with convictions, he inherited a
vigour of mind and body of which he early gave proof when, as
stroke of the Second Trinity boat, he raised it to the head of
the river, and became a high Wrangler. But though a
Fellowship at Trinity was fairly within his reach, he entered at
once into the active duties of the ministry to which he had <a
name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>devoted
himself, and thenceforth his energies were wholly bent on
pastoral work, though not to the exclusion of the Mission cause
abroad and the furtherance in England of those views which he
believed most faithfully to reflect the mind of its Church.
To the successful study of mathematics he doubtless owed the
habit of boldly pressing his principles to their logical
conclusions, undisturbed by those many side-issues which often
perplex minds less vigorously trained in the exact sciences;
though in his case a sturdy common sense and native shrewdness
did not suffer him to be betrayed thereby into practical
mistakes, while his large and loving heart would never permit the
strongest of his opinions to impair his affection for men whose
conclusions differed from his own, if they were otherwise worthy
of it.</p>
<p>“It was on a foundation thus broad and solid that his
commanding personality was built up, becoming a tower of strength
to those who resigned themselves to his religious guidance, and
attaching marvellously by its strength and sweetness converts to
the religious principles which he held and advocated. How
important a place he held at his best in the esteem of his
neighbours those will remember who witnessed the universal
demonstrations of sympathy when his life was in danger from Roman
fever, and the whole town was quivering with anxiety lest they
should lose one whom they could so ill spare. And though
the wane of his physical powers and the inevitable changes of a
watering-place population may have narrowed the circle of his
influence towards the last, the striking demonstrations of
respect which marked his funeral bore witness not only to the
deep attachment of his own congregation, but also to the
widespread conviction of his brother-clergy and of all the
country-side that a shining light <a name="page272"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 272</span>had been quenched, whose witness for
God had penetrated far beyond the range of his personal
ministrations.</p>
<p>“Of the endeared relations between him and his
congregation, who had looked up to him for spiritual direction
for over forty years, only those within the magic circle of that
pastoral connection could form an idea. The well-spring of
personal affection which flowed forth from his loving heart
towards the humblest of his flock was repaid by a personal
devotion which might have proved injurious to a weaker character,
less firmly rooted on the rock of truth. But there was an
element of generous appreciation in a remark let fall at his
funeral, that there was probably no more ‘personally
conducted’ congregation in England than that of Trinity
Church, Tunbridge Wells.</p>
<p>“But on wider platforms Canon Hoare’s ascendency
of character had been in his time not less conspicuous. In
his own ruri-decanal meetings, in which he continued to take part
up to within a few weeks of his death; in the diocesan
conferences, at which only a year ago he bore his solemn and
memorable testimony to the value of Church Schools; and at Church
Congresses, where he was ever ready to step gallantly into the
breach in defence of the principles of the Church which he
thought to be assailed,—in these various fields of
encounter the manliness of his advocacy, set off by his manifest
sincerity, and by his charity towards those who differed from
him, commended itself to the admiration even of those who
remained unconvinced by his arguments.</p>
<p>“But his own pulpit was undoubtedly the vantage-ground
from which he most effectively did battle for his Master’s
cause. Armed with a forcible, lucid, and winning mode of
address, with an incomparable command of Holy Scriptures,
transparently in earnest, and known of all men to live the life
he preached, by the <a name="page273"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 273</span>elevation of his religious character
no less than by voice and gesture, ‘he drew his audience
upward to the sky.’ Even after his eyesight failed
him, and he could with difficulty mount the pulpit steps, he
continued to the last, like the Apostle of love, to deliver his
Master’s message. And who shall say in how many
hearts it found an echo among that changeful congregation, and in
what remote parts of the world a generation which knew him not
have been taught by their parents to call his name blessed?
His beloved Mother Church has lost no more loyal, wise,
persuasive, heavenly-minded son and servant—no more trusty
guide of souls from earth to heaven—than our modern
‘Greatheart,’ Edward Hoare.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h3>“<i>The Record</i>” <i>Friday</i>, <i>July</i>
13<i>th</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Canon Hoare</span>.</h3>
<blockquote><p>“The death of Canon Hoare removes from the
front rank of Evangelical Churchmen a conspicuous and commanding
figure. He took his degree in 1834—Fifth
Wrangler. He was ordained deacon in 1837, <a
name="citation273"></a><a href="#footnote273"
class="citation">[273]</a> the year, it will be remembered, of
the Queen’s accession. His jubilee coincided with
that of the Sovereign whom he so truly honoured; and it is
neither fanciful nor fulsome to say that he held a kind of
sovereign rank amongst the Evangelical clergy. One of their
kings is dead. It happens sometimes to all parties to lose
a man who was much more to them than to the Church at
large. We do not deny that this was the case with Canon
Hoare. In spite of his conspicuousness, he was not
naturally the sort of man who loves to be conspicuous. He
grew to greatness amongst his fellows by the influence <a
name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span>of
character alone. His abilities were considerable; his
training was excellent; his family traditions were of the best
that the eighteenth century in its ripe benevolence handed on to
the young religious energy of the nineteenth. That bright
benevolence and beneficence shone in his face, unmingled with the
eagerness of the combatant or the push and pressure of the
ambitious candidate for leadership. His attitude to the
Church of England at large was one of admiring loyalty, but he
had no self-seeking thoughts. He dwelt, and loved to dwell,
among his own people. He took his share, an honourable
share, in the struggles of his own times; but the part which he
took was, when it led him to scenes of controversy, always a
strange and unwelcome work. But none the less, perhaps all
the more for that, he did it well. The nephew of Joseph
John Gurney and of Elizabeth Fry was not without a strong element
of what is sturdy and staunch. That side of his character
found useful expression when, at the Church Congress at Derby in
1882, he was suddenly called upon to meet the suggestion of Lord
Halifax that the Bishops should allow the alternative use at the
Holy Communion office in the Prayer-Book of 1549. Then, in
his own name and in the name of the Evangelical party, he spoke
his apologia. . . . That scene illustrates the man; and
though a good deal has happened since, and the Lambeth Judgment
must not be forgotten, yet that interpretation of the signs of
the times remains the only reasonable reading of them, and the
alternative—the Reformers or Rome—is still the only
possible alternative if England is to remain a Christian
country. And yet, as we have said, this was an
incident.</p>
<p>“His work, his real work, was of another kind.
Perhaps no other position in England would have suited <a
name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>him quite
as well as the post he held at Tunbridge Wells. He made
Tunbridge Wells the Canterbury of West Kent, and he was the
unofficial primate. For forty years this watering-place,
the once fashionable and frivolous resort of people half whose
complaints were due to the too easy conditions of their life, has
come more and more to be the home of people whose leading purpose
is to find out how to do most for the Kingdom of God, and have
found there that a plain English clergyman was for the most part
at the back of all its missionary energies. ‘I am but
one of yourselves, a presbyter,’ said Newman in his first
tract. So, in his <i>last</i> tract, might Canon Hoare have
said. For forty fruitful years the overshadowing influence
of a good man’s life has been a kind of visible sign of a
yet higher overshadowing. Prayers and alms have marked the
life of the place, and, whatever the future may have in store,
there has been peace and truth in Tunbridge Wells in Canon
Hoare’s days. Outside his own parish, his next most
influential place was, no doubt, the Committee-room of the Church
Missionary Society. There was a time, indeed, when week by
week two able men came up to Salisbury Square, each in his own
way exercising a powerful influence upon the Cabinet
deliberations. One was the pen more than the voice, the
other the voice more than the pen, of missionary counsel.
But those were the days of Henry Venn, and in his days
counsellors for the most part found themselves anticipated.
But when those days had passed away, and the increasing
missionary activity of the Church brought new conditions, new
problems, new agencies, new methods into view, then came a time
in which counsellors who had within them a living spring of
energy, readiness of mind, elasticity, hopefulness, breadth of
view, a firm belief in the future as well as a firm grip <a
name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 276</span>upon the
past, were invaluable, and such a man was Canon Hoare.
Things new and old were in him, as they always are in the men who
by the force of character become guides of their fellows.
The man of routine, the mere pedant, the mere deprecator of
mistakes, asks always for a precedent. He does well to ask
for it; it is a finger-post to him. The man of wisdom makes
precedents, founding them on principles of which he is
sure. In such a man the inner sight is clear, the eye is
single. When he speaks there is the ring of authority in
what he says, the highest expression of the common sense of
men.</p>
<p>“Who shall estimate the value of such a career?
Who shall gauge the loss to the commonwealth of the Church of one
such counsellor? It is pleasant to think that, priceless as
Canon Hoare was to his party, and thoroughly as he was in
sympathy with its aims and sentiments, there is no deduction to
be made for bitterness, for narrowness, for sour alienation from
human interests. It was his privilege to touch the life of
his times at many points: in the abundance of his interests he
multiplied himself.</p>
<p>“Happy in his family, in the narrower and the wider
sense of the word, happy in his friendships, happy in his
opportunities, happy in his wide sympathies with humanity, his
heart went out expansively to all who challenged his
attention. The world became one wide field, to which he
gave himself, his children, his substance, his time, his
prayers. He was heart and soul an Evangelical. But we
are greatly mistaken if the Church of England generally does not
recognise in Canon Hoare one of her truest children, not the less
for that which was part of his inheritance, the knowledge that
Christ our Lord has other sheep, not of the fold in which he was
so distinguished an under-shepherd.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h3><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
277</span><span class="smcap">The Church Missionary
Society</span>.</h3>
<p>The following minute, which was passed by the Committee of the
above body at their first meeting after Canon Hoare’s
death, records, as far as words can do so, the deep loss that the
Society has sustained by this event:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“In addition to the deaths of long-honoured
and attached friends of the Society within the last few weeks,
the Bishop of Bath and Wells, Canon Lord Forster, Lord Charles
Russell, and Howard Gill, the Committee record with affectionate
and thankful remembrance a life consecrated to the service of our
Divine Master in the removal of their beloved brother Canon
Edward Hoare.</p>
<p>“Trained in the days of the Evangelical revival at
Cambridge under Simeon, Scholefield, and Carus, Edward Hoare
commenced his ministry in 1836 as curate to the Rev. Francis
Cunningham, at Pakefield, where he found the genial and warm
sympathy of those who were at the time engaged in the religious
movement, and where he gave early evidence of the bright living
missionary spirit which was so prominent a feature of his
ministry in his after-life at Richmond, Ramsgate, and, finally,
at Tunbridge Wells; where, for forty-one years, he was by the
grace of God ever at the front of all missionary work both at
home and abroad. The remarkable position of influence which
he attained was not from his gifts, which were considerable, but
from his grace. The features of his character may be
briefly summed up as they were known in his private life, in his
parochial work, in the pulpit, on the platform, and in the
Committee-room of the Church Missionary Society: <a
name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>godly
simplicity and unflinching courage, clearness of judgment and
expression, loving sympathy and consideration for others,
unfailing diligence and soundness in the Faith, and supreme
reverence for and delight in the Word of God. These
gracious qualities made his counsels and co-operation wise,
weighty, and practical. He was in the highest sense a
faithful witness to the principles of the Reformation and the
doctrine and discipline of the Church of England, and a zealous,
popular, and attractive advocate at all times of the work of his
beloved Church Missionary Society.</p>
<p>“The Committee commend the members of his family,
especially those who are in the Mission-field, to the very
special prayers of the Church, in the hope that a double portion
of his spirit may be imparted to his successors.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>The beloved son in the Mission-field was the only one absent
when the aged father was laid to rest. His visit with his
wife and children, three and a half years before, had been an
unspeakable joy in the old home. During Canon Hoare’s
latter years all who knew him remember the interest and delight
that he took in the work at Ningpo, and how continually his
thoughts turned to those dear ones who had dedicated themselves
to labour for God in China. Yet—who can
tell?—perhaps when the River has been crossed time and
distance have ceased to be, and the blessed dead, being with
Christ, are nearer those who are in Christ than when they moved
among us here on earth.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
279</span>“After this it was noised abroad that Mr.
Valiant-for-truth was taken with a summons by the same post as
the other, and had this for a token that the summons was true,
‘that his pitcher was broken at the fountain’
(Eccles. xii. 6). When he understood it he called for his
friends and told them of it. Then said he: ‘I am
going to my Father’s; and though with great difficulty I
have got hither, yet now do I not repent me of all the trouble I
have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him
that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill
to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me
to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now
will be my rewarder.’</p>
<p>“When the day that he must go hence was come many
accompanied him to the river-side, into which as he went down he
said, ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ and as he went
down deeper, he said, ‘Grave, where is thy
victory?’</p>
<p>“So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him
at the other side.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<blockquote><p>“I passed from them, but I found Him whom my
soul loveth” (Canticles iii. 4).</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
281</span>APPENDIX.</h2>
<p>As an illustration of the hold which the name of Canon Hoare
has upon the Church at large, it may be mentioned that when the
suggestion was made to call the proposed New Wing of the
South-Eastern College at Ramsgate after him, and to erect it as a
memorial of his principles and the teaching of his life, the
proposal was warmly received; contributions flowed in from India
and the Antipodes, as well as from England, and in about ten
months’ time the needed sum of £5,000 was in the
Treasurer’s hands.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<div class="gapmediumline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by Hazell</i>,
<i>Watson</i>, <i>& Viney</i>, <i>Ld.</i>, <i>London and
Aylesbury</i>.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2><a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
283</span>ADVERTISEMENTS.</h2>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Crown</i> 8<i>vo</i>,
<i>Cloth</i>, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
<h3>SPIRAL STAIRS<br />
<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br />
THE HEAVENWARD COURSE OF THE<br />
CHURCH SEASONS</h3>
<p style="text-align: center">A Series of Devotional Studies on
the Christian Life</p>
<p style="text-align: center">By the Rev. J. H. TOWNSEND, D.D.<br
/>
<i>Vicar of Broadwater Down</i>, <i>Tunbridge Wells</i></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">WITH AN
INTRODUCTION BY THE</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">REV. HANDLEY C. G. MOULE, D.D.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Principal of Ridley Hall</i>,
<i>Cambridge</i></p>
<p><i>Dr. Moule says</i>:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I think your chapters delightful, with
their clear exposition, their bright and, so to speak, friendly
style, and above all with their fulness of witness to the Lord
Jesus.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<blockquote><p>“A volume of which it is impossible to speak
too highly. . . . Dr. Townsend has a cultured and refined
style. . . . We heartily recommend this volume,
particularly to the younger
clergy.”—<i>Record</i>.</p>
<p>“A series of striking chapters. . . . Eminently
comprehensive. . . . Scriptural and spiritual are the two
characteristic qualities of Dr. Townsend’s teaching.
At the same time intellectual force and apt illustration give an
added weight to the lessons drawn. . . . The thoughtful
reader will find the ascent of the ‘Spiral Stairs’ a
happy and most helpful exercise through the coming
year.”—<i>The News</i>.</p>
<p>“Expository in method and Evangelical in outlook. .
. Not merely earnest and thoughtful, but well-reasoned
appeals to the heart and conscience.”—<i>The
Speaker</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="gapmediumline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">London</span>:
HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, <span class="smcap">Paternoster
Row</span>.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h3><a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
284</span>GREAT PRINCIPLES OF<br />
DIVINE TRUTH</h3>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY THE
LATE</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Rev.</span> EDWARD HOARE, M.A.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Vicar of Holy Trinity</i>,
<i>Tunbridge Wells</i>, <i>and Hon. Canon of Canterbury</i></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EDITED BY
THE</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Rev.</span> J.
GURNEY HOARE, M.A.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Vicar of Aylsham</i></p>
<p style="text-align: center">With Portrait. Crown 8vo,
cloth, 6s.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span
class="GutSmall">CONTENTS—</span></p>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">I.—THE SOURCE
OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF DIVINE TRUTH.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>1.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Holy Scripture. Its Inspiration,
Supremacy, and Sufficiency.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>2.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>,, ,, Inspiration. Its Nature and
Extent.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>3.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>,, ,, The Study and Use of.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">II.—CHRIST
AND THE SINNER.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>4.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Propitiation.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>5.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Redemption and Salvation.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>6.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Repentance.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>7.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Justification.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>8.</p>
</td>
<td><p>Forgiveness.</p>
</td>
<td><p>No. 1.—Judicial and Parental.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>9.</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>No. 2.—Present.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>10.</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>No. 3.—Application of.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>11.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Connexion of Holiness with Atonement.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>12.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Nothing between.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>13.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Personal Religion.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>14.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Present Privileges of the Justified.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>15.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Joy of the Lord.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">III.—THE HOLY
SPIRIT.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>16.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Personality of the Holy Spirit and His
Present Work in the Administration of the Church.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>17.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>New Birth.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>18.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>Holiness of Heart and Life.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align:
center">IV.—WORSHIP.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>19.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Holy Spirit the Author of Acceptable
Worship.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>20.</p>
</td>
<td colspan="2"><p>The Province of the Emotions in the Worship of
God.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">London</span>:
J. NISBET & CO.</p>
<h2>Footnotes</h2>
<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2"
class="footnote">[2]</a> Sister of Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, the
famous Christian philanthropist.—<span
class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15"
class="footnote">[15]</a> The late Duke of Abercorn, one of
his fellow-pupils.</p>
<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17"
class="footnote">[17]</a> Himself.</p>
<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24"
class="footnote">[24]</a> Killed by lightning.</p>
<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26"
class="footnote">[26]</a> In later years so well known as a
Vice-President of the British and Foreign Bible Society.</p>
<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27"
class="footnote">[27]</a> Afterwards Lady Parry.</p>
<p><a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66"
class="footnote">[66]</a> An old friend relates that, when
he was going to be ordained Deacon at Ely, Edward Hoare, with
whom he was not then acquainted, was to receive Priest’s
Orders at the same time, and as they passed into the Cathedral he
heard young Hoare say with great solemnity, “Now may the
Holy Ghost fill this place!” The words and tone made
a profound impression upon the younger man.—<span
class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77"
class="footnote">[77]</a> Wilberforce.</p>
<p><a name="footnote78"></a><a href="#citation78"
class="footnote">[78]</a> Maria Eliza, only daughter of Sir
Benjamin Collins Brodie, Bart., the eminent surgeon. Her
mother, Lady Brodie, was Ann, youngest daughter of Serjeant
Sellon.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98"
class="footnote">[98]</a> The eminent Roman Catholic
architect.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<p><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137"
class="footnote">[137]</a> The Very Rev. Horace Townsend
Newman.</p>
<p><a name="footnote151"></a><a href="#citation151"
class="footnote">[151]</a> Trinity Church being temporarily
closed for repairs.</p>
<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153"
class="footnote">[153]</a> The Right Rev. Samuel Crowther,
D.D.</p>
<p><a name="footnote157"></a><a href="#citation157"
class="footnote">[157]</a> A subject on which he had been
approached by the Committee.</p>
<p><a name="footnote158a"></a><a href="#citation158a"
class="footnote">[158a]</a> Nottingham Church Congress.</p>
<p><a name="footnote158b"></a><a href="#citation158b"
class="footnote">[158b]</a> An invitation from some of the
Australian Bishops to undertake a series of Missions in their
dioceses.</p>
<p><a name="footnote174"></a><a href="#citation174"
class="footnote">[174]</a> Over the door in the vestry
there hung the well-known lines:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“I’ll preach as though I ne’er
should preach again,<br />
And as a dying man to dying men.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190"
class="footnote">[190]</a> Of his son the Rev. J. Gurney
Hoare.</p>
<p><a name="footnote193"></a><a href="#citation193"
class="footnote">[193]</a> The Bishop of Dover.</p>
<p><a name="footnote195"></a><a href="#citation195"
class="footnote">[195]</a> The Rev. Canon Money, who took
charge of the parish during the summer.</p>
<p><a name="footnote201"></a><a href="#citation201"
class="footnote">[201]</a> The title of the paper was
“The Effect of the Externals of Religion on Public
Worship.”</p>
<p><a name="footnote202"></a><a href="#citation202"
class="footnote">[202]</a> Exeter.</p>
<p><a name="footnote204a"></a><a href="#citation204a"
class="footnote">[204a]</a> Two of the most advanced men of
the opposite party.</p>
<p><a name="footnote204b"></a><a href="#citation204b"
class="footnote">[204b]</a> The words used by one
(accompanied by a cordial grasp of the hand) were, “You
little know how much I owe to you; I thank God for truths which
you have taught me”—words that reflected equal lustre
upon the speaker and him to whom they were addressed.</p>
<p><a name="footnote209"></a><a href="#citation209"
class="footnote">[209]</a> On “Helps and Hindrances
to the Spiritual Life.”</p>
<p><a name="footnote268"></a><a href="#citation268"
class="footnote">[268]</a> “In Memoriam: Rev. Canon
Hoare.” <i>Courier</i> Office, Tunbridge Wells.
Price 6<i>d.</i></p>
<p><a name="footnote273"></a><a href="#citation273"
class="footnote">[273]</a> He was ordained priest in
1837—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDWARD HOARE, M.A.***</p>
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