_WORK IN VARIOUS PLACES_
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_ 28_th_, 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_ 26_th_, 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_ 27_th_, 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!”