To Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham at Lowestoft Rectory:—
“Richmond, February 19th, 1837.
“My dearest Uncle and Aunt,—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 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.”
To Mr. Cunningham:—
“Richmond, Surrey, September 24th, 1838.
“My dear Uncle,—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 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.”
“December 7th, 1838.
“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 the compass of its minister, so that he is able by perseverance to gain an influence.”
To Mr. Cunningham:—
“Richmond, Surrey, March 14th, 1839.
“My dear Uncle,—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 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?
“Your most affectionate Nephew and Curate,
“Edward Hoare.”
To Mr. Cunningham:—
“Hampstead, April 6th, 1839.
“My dear Uncle,—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 prayerful spirit, and that we may look for God’s abundant blessing on us. We both particularly beg that you will marry us.
“Your most affectionate Nephew,
“Edward Hoare.“Give my dearest love to my aunt, Frank, etc.”
To Mrs. Cunningham:—
“Richmond, Surrey, May 30th, 1839.
“My dearest Aunt,—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 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.”
A letter from one of his sisters describing the wedding:—
“Broom Park, July 9th, 1839.
“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 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. We are in Mr. Brodie’s room, and, as Laydon says, there is so much shooting tackle ‘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 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 very amusing. 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,
“Most affectionately,
“C. E. H.”
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 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.
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 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.
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.
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,—
“I tell you what, Edward; you must go to the seaside.”
“Well,” said I, “I did think of going for a short trip after Easter.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said he. “You must go to the seaside for a year at least.”
“But what,” said I, “is to become of my parish, my work, my family?”
“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?”
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.
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.
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: “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.
Letter to his Uncle Cunningham:—
“Hampstead, November 28th, 1844.
“My dear Uncle,—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. . . .
“I fully sympathise in what you say of the Church. I can imagine nothing more deplorable than the foolish 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! . . .
“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: How our Lord will come; when; what to do; and what we should be doing till He comes. 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 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.’ . . .
“Your most affectionate Nephew,
“Edward Hoare.”
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 [98] 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.
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 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 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.”
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.
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 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!”
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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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 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 some muslin ball-dresses! 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
But the chief interest was in the sailors themselves. I was deeply impressed at the hardness 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.
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 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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
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 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.
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, “Must you be holy first, or forgiven first?” 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.
She left the house declaring that nothing should 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.
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.
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. 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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
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 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.
Thus the wicked outrage of those men who violated the sacredness of our church was overruled 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.