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.—Ed.
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.
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.
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 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 enable the preacher to see the whole of his congregation.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 how 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 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.
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 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.
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.
In addition to the deep interest of my own parish, the proximity to London brought me into 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.
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.
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 treatment from those in authority, but will find a grand opportunity of spreading the truth through the length and breadth of the land.
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.
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.
But I have known none that I have regarded as 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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
Thoughts about Personal Holiness.—Nearness to Christ. Likeness to Christ. Singleheartedness to Christ.
The Whole Work of the Holy Spirit.—In Christ. With Christ. For Christ.
Peculiar Importance to Ministers.—Because we are acting under a strong religious stimulus which may be mistaken for true holiness.
Must not expect to draw souls nearer to God than we are ourselves. “Be ye followers of me.”
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.
By-ends strike at the root of faith. “How can ye believe?” etc.
Nearness to God carries a man humbly through success, and peacefully through discouragement.
If we live in Christ we shall be carried through the dying hour.
The Visible and Invisible Life.—Men see Christ’s Gospel in us. We are the visible representatives of an Invisible Presence. Thousands read us who never read their Bibles.
Questions.
Is there the same desire for salvation of souls when others preach?
Is there never pleasure in finding others less than ourselves?
Is there real gratification in the progress and success of others?
“Search me, O Lord” (Psalm cxxxix.). “Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts.” Lev. xxii. 2: “Profane not,” etc.
“Pardon iniquity of our holy things.” “Be ye clean, ye that bear the vessels of the Lord.”
Pardoned sinners the only witnesses to converting grace.
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.
The close and topical study of the Scriptures to which allusion is made in the Autobiography, and in which, no doubt, the mathematical training 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.
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:—
“York, May 28th, 1856.
“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.
“I have felt the last three months to have been a profitable time for us both, and I trust it has brought 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!
“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 Leeds. I am quite concerned about baby. Dear love to your mother.
“Your most affectionate Father,
“E. H.”
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.
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, 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.
“Cork, May 26th, 1862.
“ . . . However, I am repaid by the affection of the dear old Dean [137] 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.
“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.
“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.
“Most affectionate
“E. H.”
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 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.
There was no reading round, but a little friendly questioning to bring out the thoughts of the men.
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.
Mr. Hoare loved to address men, and was never more at home than when preaching at Cambridge to the undergraduates or addressing meetings of 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, e.g. 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.
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.
At the close of the first ten years of work in Tunbridge Wells came the great sorrow of his life.
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 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.
On July 27th, 1863, she passed away, her last words calmly uttered—“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”
The journal ends with her last message to her children: “I shall look for you at heaven’s gate.”
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.
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.
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:—
“T. W., November 27th, 1863.
“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!”
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:—
“September 19th, 1858.—Very much interested to-day by — [one of his younger boys]. I was talking at dinner about the great geological periods of creation. 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!’”
How God blessed his efforts is known to all who are acquainted with his family.
The following letter refers to these happy relationships:—
“T. W., March 3rd, 1864.
“My dear Daughters,—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 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.
“Your most affectionate Father,
“E. H.”
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?”
The following letters were written at this time:—
“My dear Girls,—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.
“Dearest love to all.
“Most affectionate
“E. H.”
“St. Luc, August 16th, 1864.
“My dearest Sons and Daughters,—‘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.
“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.
“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 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.
“Dear love to all.
“Most affectionate
“E. H.”
Letter to his sons:—
“Sierre, August 16th, 1864.
“My dear Boys,—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:—
“‘When all begin to seek their own,
Then each must seek it quite alone;
But when all seek to please each other,
Then each is helped by every brother.’“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 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, 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.
“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!
“Most affectionate
“E. H.”
The following letters have an individual interest of their own:—
“Tunbridge Wells, February 1st, 1866.
“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.”
“Tunbridge Wells, May 20th, 1867.
“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. [151] 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.”
“Woodford Green, September 5th, 1867.
“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.”
On hearing of the sudden death of a friend:—
“York, May 24th, 1869.
“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, but what we can see on the threshold is enough to fill the soul with praise and gratitude.”