Chapter XIII: The Borderland

The most important crisis of Canon Hoare’s life was now drawing near—a time which, though it seemed to be full of trouble, was really a period of blessing to himself, to his congregation, and to a far wider circle than his own devoted people.

In a former chapter there was a reference to the invitation which, issuing first from his old friend Bishop Perry of Melbourne, was taken up by other Australian prelates, viz. that Canon Hoare should visit Australia in about two years’ time and make a mission tour throughout their dioceses in the principal towns. The project assumed a tangible shape, and details began to be considered; the whole thing, including the journeys each way, was calculated to take ten months. He _was_ absent from his parish for almost exactly the very period, and at the very same time during which the Australian tour would have taken place, but his absence was due to the consequences of that Roman fever which nearly cost him his life. When Canon Hoare first spoke of this to the writer it was with the deepest solemnity; he said: “I am never quite satisfied in my mind as to whether the Lord had not a specially humbling message for me in that fever; the Australian plan was given up because I thought I ought not to be so long away from my parish, and it has sometimes seemed to me as if He, by laying me by for the very time that I should otherwise have been away, may have meant me to learn that my presence here is not so important after all, and that He can carry on His work by other hands.” This is thoroughly characteristic of the way in which our beloved friend seemed always on the alert to detect his own weak points, as well as to gain from trial its intended blessing. Australia was given up, and several months afterwards he decided to take a short holiday in Rome during part of Lent.

The following letters describe his enjoyment of the place, but at the same time we can detect signs of the penumbra of the dark shadow that was swiftly approaching.

To his eldest son:—

“ROME, _March_ 3_rd_, 1873.

“So after all my misgivings, doubts, and hesitations, here I am
really in Rome, and already profoundly interested in the place. We
arrived on Friday evening and put up at a new hotel opposite the
Russie, where alone we could find a resting-place; and to-day we have
moved into some lodgings at the top of one of the highest houses on
the top of the highest hill in Rome. We have been triumphing in the
thought of our fresh air, but the conceit of some of us has been a
little diminished this morning by being told that there is nothing so
unwholesome in Rome, that nothing is so healthy there as a low and
crowded situation, and that no Roman would accept our privileges for
love or money; but this we keep to ourselves.

“On Saturday K— and I went to St. Peter’s, and my expectations were
more than realised by the magnificent area and perfect proportions.
There is something most solemnising in the magnitude and vast open
space perfectly uninterrupted by any arrangement for worshippers, and
a second visit this afternoon has only confirmed my first
impressions. I thought to-day that it appeared to have grown since I
saw it on Saturday.

“Then we went to the Forum, which I have been feasting upon again
to-day. I imagine that the excavations have been extended since you
were here, but I doubt whether in the Forum much has been discovered.
And really nothing is wanting. But how strange that the villain
Phocas, whose edict has led to so much discussion, should be the one
whose one column should stand out by itself in the best preservation
of them all! But all one’s ideas of human greatness are dwarfed by
the Coliseum. What must the place have been when crowded with
people! It must have contained all the inhabitants of the city, and
a good many over, and must have illustrated St. Paul’s expression ‘so
great a cloud of witnesses.’ I suppose that Christian martyrs did
not much care for lookers-on, but had their minds wholly absorbed by
their God and the wild beasts which were to devour them, but it must
have been an awful ordeal to face such a host of enemies, and how
inconceivable it is that such thousands could be brought together for
the pleasure of seeing their fellow-men torn to pieces! Truly man is
a fallen creature, born far above the beasts, but fallen far below
them!

“I was greatly entertained by an American gentleman, who said to me
that as they had gone so far in America as to give the suffrage to
every man, they had better go a little further and give it to all the
horses, for intelligent persons might drive them to the poll, which
they could not do with ignorant men.”

To his eldest daughter:—

“ROME, _March_ 16_th_, 1873.

“We have all been greatly interested by your report of the
ordination. {190} It seems to me that everything was ordered for us
exactly as we could have wished, and if I had sat down to plan it for
myself I do not think I could have planned anything more completely
to my mind. So blessed be God for the abundance and carefulness of
His mercy! How I have thought of our young clergyman to-day! I
wonder whether he has been preaching. He has not written much to me,
but I cannot be surprised at that when I consider the absorption of
his mind. What a delightful birthday for him!

“I am sorry to say I cannot give a very good report of myself. Rome
has thoroughly disagreed with me, and the disagreement has brought on
so much pain in my back that between the two I have had very little
power of enjoyment. Still there has been so much to enjoy that,
notwithstanding everything, I have enjoyed a great deal very much
indeed. But the thing I should enjoy more than anything in the world
would be to get home, and I am very much disposed to turn my steps
homeward instead of going on to Naples. But nothing is fixed at
present, or even discussed. It is only a floating idea in my mind,
and may come to nothing.

“It has been strange to spend a second Sunday in retirement. I was
engaged to preach both days, but could not venture on either, and now
I should not be surprised if I left Rome without opening my lips in
public. How different God’s plans are from ours! My plan was that I
should be so very useful, and carry on here the same blessed work the
Lord granted at home. But God’s plan was to keep me still and to let
me learn quietly by myself. And I really hope He has been teaching
me, and that these two Sundays especially have not been without their
blessing. I am quite sure that those who teach most have the
greatest need of learning the deep things of God and the secret
windings of their own hearts.

“I have not told you about Rome, for you know a great deal about it
better than I do. The great, grand old ruins stand out as
magnificent as ever, speaking witnesses to the failure of the world’s
greatness. ‘Broken greatness’ seems written on them all. And modern
Popery goes on its way, I should really think, more idolatrous than
ever—the most vulgar, tawdry travesty of the simple Christianity of
the Catacombs. But I am not going to write a book, so hoping that
God has been teaching you at church as I believe He has been teaching
me at home, and wishing you every one every possible blessing,

“I remain, etc.,
“E. HOARE.”

Mr. Hoare returned to Tunbridge Wells for Passion Week, and was stricken down by the deadly fever which had taken hold of him in Rome. For several weeks he was desperately ill. Sir William Jenner came down two or three times to see him, and the daily bulletins were looked for by the whole town with the deepest anxiety. A daily prayer-meeting was instituted, and was thronged by those who joined in the most earnest supplications to Almighty God for his restoration. He recovered, being to all appearance simply prayed back to life by his people. The physician before named considered it a most remarkable case, for his patient had lingered too long on the Borderland to make recovery seem possible. In the summer, so soon as he could travel, he was taken away for change, and he did not return until the autumn, nor even then to work.

The following letter from Archbishop Tait was one of very many that poured in upon him at this time, and the Aggregate Clerical Meeting, which he had instituted several years before and of which he was President, presented him with an illuminated address signed by some hundreds of clergy, in which they thanked God for his recovery and welcomed him back to health.

From Archbishop Tait:—

“STONEHOUSE, ST. PETER’S, THANET.
“_June_ 6_th_, 1873.

“THE REV. CANON HOARE.

“MY DEAR MR. HOARE,—Your long and trying illness has made us feel
much for you and your family. I trust that now our Heavenly Father
is restoring you to health. May He long continue to you and to us
the blessing of your preservation in health and usefulness amongst
us; and may He in health and sickness give you every support from the
Holy Spirit.

“Yours sincerely,
“A. C. CANTUAR.”

To one of his daughters:—

“HAMPSTEAD, _August_ 13_th_, 1873.

“You and I have had so little correspondence lately that you must
almost forget the sight of my handwriting, and though, I am sorry to
say, the want of practice has led to a great disinclination to exert
myself or to take any trouble, I really must begin again.

“We are still here, and not at sea, as we proposed to be, for last
night it was so stormy that the family in general and your uncle in
particular decreed we should not go by ship. I do not think K— is
sorry. So now we propose to go by train, which I always declared I
would not do. But the pair of sons and daughters is more than any
resolutions can withstand, so (D.V.) we go to York to-night and
Newcastle to-morrow.

“On Sunday I hope I may hear Gurney preach: when shall I be doing it
again myself? It seems sometimes as if I had forgotten how.

“Remember me very particularly to the Parrys. I have often thought
of the Bishop’s {193} visits to me when I was ill, and sometimes
regret that I did not invite more good ministers to visit me. But I
doubt very much whether I was capable of receiving much good. Indeed
I am humbled to find even now how little power of receiving I appear
to have. I have been talking to people with a view to my own
improvement, but I am very stupid. Some things I cannot understand
at all, as, _e.g._, this new doctrine of ‘Perfection.’ I cannot
criticise it, for I have not yet discovered what it is or what its
advocates really mean. I have been talking to E—, A— G—, and Mc—
about it, but I do not know that I understand much more in
consequence; and I have been reading a very interesting American
biography, but that has not helped me much more. So I begin to think
I must be content with the old paths, those blessed paths in which so
many saints of God have walked and followed Christ. Let me and my
dear ones be found walking there in the new and living way, and we
may well indeed be thankful. May nothing ever turn us to the right
hand or to the left, but be taking a step forward! For what other
purpose has this sickness been sent? Oh, thanks be to His Name!”

* * * * *

“CROMER, _October_ 2_nd_, 1873.

“I do not suppose I shall reach home till Friday or Saturday. I am
not surprised at your feelings about yourself, for we have all had a
shake which must leave its loosenings. Besides which we are not
going home as usual to full work and happy activity, and it is
impossible not to feel the difference. But there is no reason why we
should not be returning to a winter of peculiar enjoyment. There is
a joy in work, but there is great peace in quiet, and if the Lord
grant His presence we may be more happy together than if we were
under the full pressure of the ministry. I believe that we shall all
be of one mind in the Lord, as we have ever been in former times, and
I am looking forward to very great enjoyment.

“It is delightful to me to hear how much God has blessed Mr. Money’s
ministry, {195} and most pleasant to find how God has made my absence
such a blessing to the people.

“I enclose you Robinson’s letter, as I think you will be interested
by it. Certainly he has been a capital curate and friend, and I have
to be most truly thankful for his help. The Lord sent him when He
foresaw I should need him, and so He will always provide.”

It has been mentioned that, during Canon Hoare’s illness, the whole town was stirred with affectionate anxiety on his behalf. Prayer was offered up for his recovery in the churches and all the Nonconformist places of worship, and the common testimony to his character, in the conversation that was heard in the shop and the street, was that it was not his preaching nor his intellectual powers which appealed to their feelings so much as the sterling integrity and faithful consistency of his Christian life.

Towards the end of November Mr. Hoare preached for the first time after his recovery, and his friends rejoiced to see that few traces remained of his long and alarming illness. His sermon was entitled “The Best Teacher,” and in the course of it the preacher said: “I believe that lately God has been teaching us all. He teaches at different times and in different ways. His teaching is not always the same in form. Sometimes He gives His teaching by the voice of His teachers, and sometimes by their silence; sometimes by giving them power, and sometimes by taking it away. Now I believe that He has taught us all by His blessing on the ministry in this church during the twenty years we have worshipped together, for it was twenty years yesterday since I became incumbent of this parish. I thank God I believe He has taught many of you during that time by my own preaching, and I thank Him with my whole heart for the blessed results which He has given in His mercy. But I am not sure that this last year has not been the most teaching year of the twenty. I am not sure that He has not taught us all more by laying me on one side than He did by permitting me to preach. He has certainly taught us how He answers prayer, in a manner that no preaching could ever have done, and we meet this day with such an encouragement to pray as many of us never had before. But that is not the only lesson that God has been teaching us during the year. I know not how it has been with you, but for my own part I recognise many others which He has deeply impressed on my convictions. I do not mean to say that He has taught me new truths, but that He has made old truths, the grand old truths of the Gospel that I have loved for years, more precious than ever, and has filled my soul with an earnest desire, if it please Him to restore me to my ministry, to preach those truths as I have never done yet.”

After that sermon he never flagged, but steadily rose again in health, and in the years that followed many a one was known to say that, although his preaching had always been clear, powerful, and convincing, yet after his illness it had gained a special characteristic—now he always seemed to speak as one who had come from the Saviour’s presence and had heard His voice.