_HOLLOWAY AND RAMSGATE_
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_ 28_th_, 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.”
Autobiography (_continued_).
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.
* * * * *
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.