You so often hear it said now, “Only a rich man can afford to take that living.” I doubt if there could be any more dangerous idea about the position of the parish priest. Once let the parishioners, and the Church at large, imagine that the Vicar is going to pay everything out of his own pocket, and you destroy that most needed of all Christian duties—systematic giving. The false idea, so largely believed—that the clergy are all State-paid, and, therefore, well paid—is one of the reasons why, in so many places, members of the Church of England are utterly wanting in the duty of almsgiving. When Dr. Fearon chose me, he chose the poorest man in England. As I have told you, I had to pawn my watch on my first visit to the Bishop. And I believe that this is the very reason why God has so wonderfully blessed us with money. If we lived in mediæval times, people might almost believe of the Mission the old legends of the miraculous multiplication of food and money, for there have been many occasions when we were literally without a penny; but those were the very times when money came to us the most strangely. And why should we doubt that miracles are wrought to-day? Though I could nearly always make a shrewd guess as to where the money came from, even if it came anonymously, still I know it came in answer to those two powers by which all miracles have been wrought—faith and prayer; not my own, indeed, for that often failed, but those of my helpers and my own people. I think the Bishop of Winchester must have felt something like this when he kindly came and saw round the Mission the week before we left. I could not, of course, show to him our real treasures—men and women, clothed, and in their right mind, sitting at the Saviour’s feet, a few years back lost to all sense of shame and decency. I could not show him our Communicants’ Society: it would have been putting too great a strain upon my people’s patience. But I could show him the outward signs of our success—the changed streets, and the unmurmuring attitude of those who at once saw that he was the Bishop. Many years before I had helped to save his predecessor, when he was Bishop of Rochester, from being stoned in Lorimer Square; but I had no fear that even one rude word would be spoken to him. This, at any rate, was a discipline that our people had learned. I was able to show him, too, our wonderful gymnasium, the parsonage, the day-schools, the alms-houses, the Mission-house, old S. Agatha’s, and new S. Agatha’s, nearly all of which had been built by my begging. I wonder if any thought passed through his mind that he was actually, at that moment, killing the goose that had laid the golden eggs—truly a goose, for was it wise to lay out ten years of one’s life in effecting all this; indeed, to entail upon one’s self future years of begging, without any assurance more than the implied consent of the Bishop for the time being that I should be permitted to finish it? But, surely, it is only the faithless who would think it was foolish. For to labour, and to know that others will enter into your labour, is but a necessary consequence of being the servant of a Church whose work is one and continuous, whomsoever it is done by; and our part is only to be as grateful as our niggardly natures allow us, because we have been permitted to share, ever so little, in the glorious work by which, to-day, the Church of England is restoring to herself her lapsed children. Whether it is prudent of rulers to kill the goose, is a different question; they know their own business best, and, at any rate, one admires those who have the courage to act upon their convictions. They, too, who see the poor at second-hand—that is, through the appeals which come to them—can hardly be expected to realise the awful burden and difficulty of begging. I calculate that I have devoted one day out of every week that I spent at Portsmouth to this work alone.

You will notice in the accounts, which I hope you will read, a very large item for postage and for travelling. This represents my begging machinery. Every quarter I sent out to every subscriber, and to every man at Winchester, an account of the quarter’s work. Few duties were more irksome than the writing of these reports. One was bound to tell the truth, and to tell it so as to interest. The days of writing these reports will be remembered by every inmate of our house. I have often heard new inmates told by old ones, “I would not ask him anything. He is in a raging temper to-day.” At meals we all sat perfectly silent; even George Kerr, drinking his cod-liver oil between meat and pudding, or the antics and blandishments of the latest Buddha, could not make us smile. And if Mary heard a piano-organ coming anywhere near, she would run out with twopence to bribe them to go away. Everyone knew I was writing the report; everyone knew how much depended upon its success. I expect lots of the subscribers never read them; I am sure the majority of Winchester men did not. But, still, I believe they were the great means of keeping alive the knowledge of the Mission, and interest in it.

Then the begging by word of mouth. How extraordinarily kind people have been to us in this respect. I have got offertories in no less than eighty-one churches, and have spoken in drawing-rooms and public halls; I have been sandwiched into classical concerts and comic concerts; I have lectured in boys’ schools and girls’ schools, and have collected in this way £3137, and yet this sum does not all represent the actual amount received, for many a cheque came afterwards. I remember once preaching at a little church at Nice, and being very much annoyed with the clergyman for asking me, as there were only about ten people present; and yet there I discovered Mr. Dyer-Edwardes, who has been one of our greatest helpers, not only giving us money but supplying most delightful holidays for the clergy in his beautiful home in Gloucestershire. People at the meetings have always been so kind, but they generally remarked, “Oh, it evidently gives you no trouble to speak, you require no preparation.” They little knew the sleepless nights which evolved perhaps one single joke, and the tremendous difficulty of speaking time after time on the same subject without getting exaggerated or inaccurate. This living in the train, too, is terribly distressing, especially if you always want to get home at night, and I never felt that I slept at ease away from home. A house like ours was a responsibility, even greater than getting the money to keep it going. In Lent preaching seven or eight courses in London besides all my sermons at home, I have come home two or three times a week by the midnight train, so much so that at last I found it cheaper to have a season ticket. Yet even this was a reproach, for people seeing me travel second class thought I was proud and extravagant; as was also a fur coat, which one of my sisters gave me, as I suffer greatly from the cold when travelling at night, for I heard a lady, who passed me when coming out of a vestry, say, “If I had known he had a coat like that, I should not have put five shillings in the collection.” Then think of the moral deterioration of oneself. You look at everyone from the point of view, What shall I get out of him? Sneaking in at the vestry door you look round the corner to see if there are any carriages. And yet one does not grudge all this, for it means the larger part of £50,000 collected for the Church of England during ten years.

Of course in all this collecting Winchester has been our chief contributor. The men and masters were responsible for £150 of my salary. There is an offertory three times a year in chapel. The balance goes to a Central Wykehamist Fund, which is managed by a committee of members elected by present Wykehamists, with the Headmaster as chairman. This committee has sent me £11,292. But this does not represent at all what I have received from Wykehamists, past and present. Looking over the names of subscribers I should say I have received £15,000 more. I cannot be grateful enough for this money. Much of it has come from those, whom I know gave with difficulty. Much of it came from those who did not agree, some with my social, some with my religious, some with any of my opinions. But they gave it because they believed that a good work was being done in Landport, which reacted even upon the school itself.

A great deal of it has come, far more than one would believe, from the people of S. Agatha’s. Gold is an unknown quantity almost in S. Agatha’s offertories. When White and Claxon, who always counted the money, discovered a five-shilling piece, they nearly had a fit. And yet mostly in coppers, threepences, sixpences, and a few shillings, we averaged over £4 on general Sundays, with a considerable addition on any special day. Four years ago we started a parochial fund, every regular communicant subscribing to it each quarter any sum they liked, some a penny, some threepence, and some a half-crown. There were 286 members, and their subscriptions amounted to £380 in the four years. The benefit of this fund does not consist in the amount of money, but in the sense of having a stake in the parish, the possibility of using with reality the word “my,” as “my church,” “my service,” “my clergy.” The number would have been increased, but in many cases whole families are communicants, and the father would give for all, or at any rate for his wife, even if the children who were in work gave themselves.

Then the special funds were mostly collected in the parish; for a poor scavenger who was killed, £130; for Mr. Osborne, when he left us, £123; for the Victoria catastrophe, £114, the mothers giving up their treat that year; in the parochial sales also, both in the buying and selling departments, parishioners were largely represented. The last fund that they collected, amounting to £100 14s. 6d. in six months, was to buy a new altar for the church, and when, on leaving, I asked them whether I might use this for paying off part of the beautifying of the Lady Chapel, every subscriber but one willingly gave me leave. If the widow, who cast her mite into the Treasury, brought joy into the heart of the great Watcher of all men’s deeds, surely that heart has received joy over and over again in our poor Landport slum, for His eye saw the self-denial entailed. There are some who give that which costs them nothing. There are some who give that which costs them their pleasure. There are some who give that which costs them their daily bread. At that cost over and over again many of our people have cast into the Treasury of God.

On the day before I left, and they had only been collecting about three weeks, they gave me £175, making me promise to spend it upon myself. I need not say the great Godsend it has been to me, for I left S. Agatha’s as poor as I went there, even poorer, for once, when in dire necessity, I had to sell all my books. And so, as I am now without salary or employment, I am living on that money. I remember their generosity at every meal I eat, and every time I lie down in bed, and it is a joy to me beyond all joys that I owe this, as very nearly all else during this last ten years, to their love and forethought. For I still have to be very busy. You will see by this account that I have a debt of over £3000 to pay. I thought at one moment of his interview that the Bishop would have said something about this debt, for I am paying for the church in which I shall never minister again, for an increased playground for the school in which I shall never teach again, for the bad house next the parsonage, so that it may be enlarged, though I may never live there again, for an organ for the new church. And then there are some boys whom I am still bound to help, and one or two other cases, which I consider depend on me. At any rate, the practical question arises, the builder, the lawyer, and the architect must be paid. I am specially anxious about the builder. The head of the firm is just dead, and of necessity they must arrange business matters. They have been most upright and honourable, completing their business in a most satisfactory manner. I have overdrawn my bank account, I have borrowed from friends, I have even borrowed from money which was given me to spend upon myself, and by these means I have paid £800 more than I have received. I still owe them £1200. I am preaching ten courses of sermons a week this Lent to try and raise this money.

An old Wykehamist, overcoming his shyness, penetrated into the vestry of a church where I was preaching, and asked me if he could do anything for me. He had only just left school, so he could not give me money, but he proposed that his mother should get up a drawing-room meeting. Lord Encombe kindly came and took the chair, and Mrs. Burton sent me £58, the proceeds of the meeting. I think I am proudest of all that her servants, who hear me preach in London, all contributed to that result. A kind friend has taken the Pump-room at Tunbridge Wells, to give me an opportunity of lecturing, as well as preaching at S. Barnabas there. A lady is giving me her drawing-room in Chester Street early in May. I cannot take the holiday which I need so much, far less think of undertaking any new work, even if anybody would offer it me, until I have collected this £3000. And I am afraid that it will be very hard for me to get this money. The action of the Bishops of Durham and Worcester, and of the Rector of Croydon, not only prevent me getting money in these actual places (though I have just heard from the Vicar of Evesham, where the Bishop inhibited me, that the good people there, whom I have never seen, are going to send me their Lent savings), but have a tendency to prejudice me in the minds of other people. But I am sure if anybody would go down to see S. Agatha’s, walk round the parish, examine our buildings, etc., they would discover that there has been no waste in our expenditure, and that we have taught our people not only to give, for they subscribe to all our funds, but, however mistaken I may be myself in my own opinions, to be loyal and dutiful members of the Church of England. Of course, if I had left after another two years there would have been no difficulty about the money; indeed, I do not think that, even if I had left at Easter, there would have been much. At any rate, everything that is there now belongs to the Church of England. The Bishop has approved of the priest-in-charge. If I wished it, I could not interfere in one single ceremony, or give one single instruction, and so I do think that, if there is anyone who admires our work, or thinks it has been useful and done good, now is the time that they should prove it by helping me to pay these debts. A meeting was once held to sympathise with a poor woman, who had lost her husband. Two gentlemen delivered very eloquent speeches, which drew tears from the eyes of those who heard them. The third speaker said, “I have no eloquence, but I sympathise £10,” which he put down upon the table. The kindest things imaginable have been said about me by all sorts of people, and written in all sorts of papers. I am extremely grateful and gratified, but I think I should now appreciate a little of the other kind of speaking.

BALANCE SHEET.