Chapter VIII: Appendix: 241 (7)

We have two great blessings at Winchester. We are a small school--only four hundred--and none of our men are very rich. There is a perfect friendliness between all the masters and the men. Of course, I have heard words of anger against Dons, but I have never known a real hard thought about one of them. It is an extraordinary friendliness, and this friendliness passes down into the whole school. There are generations of brothers, coming one after the other, sometimes three in the same house at the same time, the greatest safeguard possible. And, above all, a deep, wholesome, religious spirit--not perhaps what would satisfy exact theologians, but manly and straightforward. For as I believe of my own children at Landport, so I believe of Winchester men. All that is necessary for the soul’s salvation is all that it is necessary for a boy to learn--the power of prayer, the power of repentance, the power of the Sacraments, and these can be learned long before a boy comes to school--his mother the one priceless teacher. We need at school the opportunity of testing the religion learned, far more than of learning religion, and when the boy is equipped with the simple armour which I have spoken of, he is well prepared for every emergency of temptation. I remember a little lad once saying to me, when I saw him working late at night, “I am mugging John.” I suppose when boys reach the sixth form they are intellectual enough to understand criticism, even of the Greek Testament; but I deprecate myself the Bible in any case being turned into a school book, and I think the parents who imagine that they can impose upon the school-master their duty of teaching religion to their children, inflict on their children a cruel wrong, on the master an impossible task.

I would I had the power to write what I feel about Winchester. I would I had words to make you feel how I have realised the magnificence of its great tradition--an unbroken chain of upright English gentlemen, holding the most useful place in their nation’s history; not perchance the most brilliant, but certainly amongst the most dependable men of their time--and how earnestly I believe that this tradition is realised by almost every man in the school, and that the nation will realise it just as truly in times to come as in times past.

This intimate knowledge of men at school naturally led to my knowing many of their families, in Winchester language their “pitch-up”; and truly the Mission has discovered a new interpretation of that notion, if not perhaps its origin; for I think almost every family that I have known has contributed to the funds of the Mission, not only in money, but in clothes, in asking parties of us to spend the day with them, sometimes even in supporting cases that we were very anxious about. It has led, too, to a kind of association of prayer for the Mission’s welfare, composed of relatives of past and present Wykehamists. Miss Wigram, of South Lodge, Champion Hill, S.E., the sister of “The Cat” and “The Kitten,” would be glad to give particulars.

Once or twice a year, too, I was able to go up to Oxford, sometimes to Cambridge, and thus keep in touch with the men there. There is something especially charming in this hospitality, though I doubt if one could stand it for very long, unless one could discover the curious secret of Mr. Lucraft. There is perhaps nothing more attractive than seeing a man act host for the first time, especially when he has got the kitchens and plate-closet of Magdalen behind him. I remember on one visit a distinguished Low Church clergyman suddenly asking me what I had been doing for the spread of religion, and I could only answer, “Taking three square meals a day.” I think he was very much shocked; but you will likely understand that under this hospitality there was hidden a true generosity, and an interest in the Mission and myself. New College was naturally my head-quarters, and men took really extraordinary pains to arrange that I should see as many Wykehamists as possible at the different centres of hospitality, and I have always thought that taking trouble, certainly at Oxford, was the greatest proof of taking real interest. God, too, allows one to speak more plainly at Oxford than one could at Winchester, and there come into my memory now many conversations full of the deepest interest. At any rate, it is a great privilege to have won the right to speak, even if men did not always follow the advice given, and letters received years after the conversation--many received since men knew that I was leaving Landport--almost induce me to flatter myself that the Mission has been a much greater help than at the time I ever realised. Of course, it is natural that men who knew me at Winchester should have some interest in the Mission, one would have been disappointed if they had not; but to discover that a large number of old Wykehamists were cordially ready to befriend us, not only with money, but with sympathy, was a very astonishing revelation to me. The larger part of the money has come from them; and when you think that it was given into the hands of a socialistic Ritualist to use and to distribute, you can measure something of the generosity. It would not be becoming for me to mention names, but if this book falls into the hands of men who have been on the Committee, especially the Treasurers and Secretaries for the last ten years, I would like them to realise how their loyalty to us has been one of the chief factors in a generous Wykehamical support, which gave us the grace of perseverance in the most difficult time of our work. I am conscious, as no one else can be, how often my own actions have strained this loyalty. I know that not only old Wykehamists, but even the school authorities themselves, have often been very severely tried by things we have deemed it our duty to say or to do. Sometimes a word in a letter, or reading between the lines, might suggest caution to us, but never during the whole of these ten years has any single word been said by anyone in authority, or by others who had gained the right by having contributed to our funds, that could be construed into any other meaning than the tenderest love and the truest desire to help. Perhaps there could be no greater sign of that real liberalism that permeates every true Englishman, in whatever camp, either political or religious, circumstance may have placed him. To Wykehamists at Oxford or Cambridge, to men in the City and at the Bar, to soldiers scattered throughout the world, and to priests working at home and abroad, to schoolmasters, Indian civilians, and to Bishops, I, who have failed in my endeavour to do some work for Winchester, venture to offer my heartiest thanks for innumerable acts of kindness and generosity during these ten years.

XIV.

=Our Method of Services.=

I hope through all this description of social work at Landport, Winchester, Oxford, and elsewhere, you have been able to read a deeper truth than mere Socialism even at its best. The lesson which is the foundation of all work like ours is that, however earnestly you may strive to change circumstances, you must realise that change of character is the thing to be aimed at, and practically if you do not achieve this, you have hardly achieved anything at all. And I know but one method by which this change of character can be effected, the method of Jesus Christ, not merely to show to people the perfection and beauty of His character--that oftentimes might lead only to despair--but to enable them, by the means which He Himself has ordained, to be partakers of His very nature. To say to a poor sin-ruled creature, whom you know all his old companions, every public-house door as it swings open, will allure into the ways of sin again, “Be like Jesus, be good,” is only making a demand that you yourself know can never be fulfilled. But to be able to say to him, “Here is this Jesus, Who for your sake became a real man, as you are a man, Who worked in the carpenter’s shop, earning, with the sweat of His brow, daily bread for Himself, His dear mother, and her husband, Who was disappointed and injured by His friends as well as by His enemies, Who was really tempted by the devil, Whose life in many respects was just like your own, Who never turned away His face from any poor wretched outcast, but spoke to them tenderly and gently words of love and hope, Who when He could do no more for you by way of example, willed to die for you: having nothing else to give, He gave His own life-blood, and in the giving of that, won for you a power of union with Himself, that though you must do your part, and be sorry for your sins, and try to be better, He will as surely do His part by letting His precious blood wash away your sin, and strengthen you to live an amended life. Here is this Jesus standing as it were between the living and the dead, so few, few living, so many, many dead, dead with a death more terrible by far than the worm and corruption can effect, for they but touch the outward covering of a man, with a death which has destroyed the real life, the knowledge that God was their Father, that they had souls capable of everything that was beautiful and true. Here is Jesus, Who can give even to the clumsy vulgar body the power of doing gracious acts, of speaking true words, Who can give to the intellect the power of realising true noble ideals, and so assimilating them, that they may become a very fibre of their thoughts.” In almost all our people there was this death, this living, hopeless, faithless death. Who could deliver them from the body of this death? One Who could restore to them faith in the supernatural, hope in themselves, love towards their fellow-men. No preaching can do this. I believe nothing can but the Blessed Sacrament. The compassion, which Jesus learned in the trials of His life, taught Him to realise that man, if he is to be touched, must be touched in his entirety, that an attempt to deal with him spiritually alone is bound to fail. How Christ-destroying is all that theology that tries to be wiser and more spiritual than the Christ! The Blessed Sacrament is not only the prolongation of the Incarnation in the world, but it is a means by which Jesus wills that He shall be apprehended by the multitude. And so ten and a half years ago I set before myself this as the method of my ministry. Some I know make the Blessed Sacrament the crown of their religion. I desired to make it the foundation as well. As the Incarnation is the revelation to us of God the Father, so the Divine Son wills to be known in the breaking of bread.

How far we succeeded in this, the following letter from Father Maturin will show:

“ST. ANDREW’S, N.B.,
“_April 1st, 1896_.

“MY DEAR DOLLING,

“The wrench from S. Agatha’s must be a great one for you, and
I deplore it very much. For I had exceptional opportunities of
seeing behind the scenes into the real work, and its effects
upon the people, during the mission which Robinson and I gave
there a few months ago. Some things have left an impression upon
my mind which I shall never, I think, quite forget.

“One was the extraordinary simplicity and reality of the
people’s worship. I do not think I have ever seen anything
quite like it in the Church of England, though I have had a
rather exceptionally wide experience of different parishes in
England and America. The stiffness and formalism which haunts
us and hampers us everywhere, was not known at S. Agatha’s.
You somehow succeeded in laying that ghost, and in teaching
the people that the church is their home, where they should
behave as if they are at home. Men came and went there as to a
place of rest which they loved. Some time ago the Archbishop
of Canterbury, and other bishops, made a move to have the
churches left open for private prayer, but the people seldom use
them. Somehow at S. Agatha’s they do use their church; it had
the appearance of being homelike and in constant use. I have
often gone into some of our best-known churches in London in
the daytime, and felt chilled and lonely. I have a very vivid
memory of two occasions, amongst others, at S. Agatha’s--one
was a Saturday during the mission, when I had to go over to
Southampton, and coming back in the afternoon I went straight
to the church, and found many people in the church on their
knees, and a constant stream of people coming and going. The
other occasion was your last day at S. Agatha’s. I got there
late in the evening, and found a large congregation saying their
own prayers, no service, and the people seeming to feel no need
of help, but knowing themselves how to lay their needs before
God. I shall never forget that devout congregation kneeling in
perfect stillness in the dark church, having apparently learnt
that lesson so hard to teach, especially to those who can’t
read, how to pour out their souls to God. It was the same at the
Masses and other services; the people seemed to know how to pray.

“If you ask me to what this quite exceptional power of prayer is
to be attributed, I think I can say without hesitation that, so
far as I could judge, I should trace it to two things:

“(i.) One is your constantly keeping up their interest in all
that was going on amongst them, by telling them of the needs and
troubles of others, and suggesting prayers, _extempore_ and
others, to them. I could feel myself its power, and the way in
which the people appeared to have grown used to bringing their
own and others’ difficulties constantly before God. Rigidity had
to bend and yield before this, and it did, and real personal
devotion took its place. At the same time the regular services
in no sense lost any of their dignity. I have never seen a more
dignified and devout Mass anywhere.

“(ii.) The other cause to which I attribute so much of the
spirit of prayer, and the chief one, was that the people,
however poor and ignorant, seemed to have a grasp upon and a
love of the Blessed Sacrament such as I have seldom, if ever,
seen elsewhere. Their worship and their Christian life centred
round it. You had wholly banished from their minds the idea
that the Presence was only confined to the act of communion.
It was enough for them to know the Blessed Sacrament was upon
the altar, to crowd to the church--that attraction which draws
Christendom was exercising its full sway over them, and the
result was what one would expect. I feel convinced by what I
saw, that we shall never get people to realise the Real Presence
in all its fulness without reservation. The poorest at S.
Agatha’s ‘knew what they worshipped.’

“No doubt along with all this there must have been careful and
thorough teaching, but of that I will not speak. Only one other
thing I will notice, though I might speak of many things. I
was very much struck with the very extraordinary conversions.
Some of those who had led very bad lives a few years before,
appeared to have broken from the past in a way I have seldom
seen before, and in the place of vice and degradation there was
an extraordinary refinement; the past seemed gone. I have some
cases especially in my mind at this moment. I believe--indeed,
I have no doubt--this was owing in part, at least, to the fact
that probably these poor people had never resisted; for they
had never had the offer of the grace of the Sacraments, and
with the first waking of conscience came the blessing of the
knowledge of the Catholic Faith in its fulness. I should like to
have taken some of those who criticise any departure from rigid
conformity to Prayer Book methods, to see what I saw. Certainly
no good results would justify anything that is wrong, but I
conceive that, so far as I could see, the methods of S. Agatha’s
were no greater a departure from Prayer Book ways than is used,
I suppose, in the vast majority of parishes in England.

“But I must not write more. I only hope that S. Agatha’s may go
on for the future upon the lines so well and so prayerfully laid
down.

“Ever affectionately yours,
“B. W. MATURIN.”

Dr. Linklater built a very fitting Mission Church; it seated about five hundred people, and I found Celebrations on Sunday at seven and eight, morning and evening prayer, and a children’s service; and on week-days, Celebrations twice a week, and evensong every night. I felt that it would be wiser to leave the Sunday services unchanged for two years, supplementing them if I saw it was needed. But the week-day services I took in hand very soon after I came. For my brother priests and for my workers, it was very soon necessary to have a daily Celebration, not only for the nourishment of our own souls, but to give us the opportunity of pleading that Sacrifice for the whole body of Christ’s Church, and especially for the wants of our own district. I say it with the fullest confidence, that this daily Celebration has been the chief strength of the parochial life.

But here, at the very outset, we were met by the difficulty of that rubric about three communicants, which seems to have become the shibboleth which proves loyalty or otherwise to the Church of England. Our numbers made it almost impossible for us to arrange for three communicants each morning, even if I could conscientiously have done this. I am told that there are churches which qualify for saying a daily Mass by arranging that three people will be responsible for each morning in the week. I can understand few customs that are so likely to injure souls. Very soon one and another beside the clergy and helpers began to drop in. Remember, the poor have no room where they can pray alone. The church becomes for them the customary place where prayer is to be made, except the very brief morning and evening prayer. The Celebrations, too, were offered on the different mornings with different intentions. Soldiers, sailors, and emigrants one morning, Penitentiary work another, and so on. Often the silent tears trickling down a woman’s face would show you she was praying for her own boy or her own girl. To these poor feeble folk, with no power of prayer or concentration of mind, with but few words which they can use, even in their daily intercourse, the knowledge that their just saying “Jack” or “Mary” as they knelt in silence, was the truest intercession, gathering all the sighs and tears of their heart in union with that all-sufficient Sacrifice, which alone could bring joy and peace to Jack or Mary. I had a better right to know this, for often as I went up into the vestry a name would be whispered in my ear, or a little piece of paper pressed into my hand. I think when I first told this to Bishop Thorold, he feared it was a kind of superstition, but when I could assure him that this grace of prayer gained before the Blessed Sacrament became the custom of the whole life, he no longer thought that we were making a superstitious use of it, or were training people to trust so in this great gift of God that they could not realise His presence elsewhere.

Soon, too, we found it necessary to arrange a special place for communicants. We had been able from the first to exercise a great deal of discipline in the parish. Remember the Church of England is the only religious body which exercises no discipline about Holy Communion. Of course, a great deal can be said on the side of the liberty of the communicant, and his being the best judge of his worthiness to receive. But surely something may be said on the other side, the duty of the priest to consider the Blessed Sacrament as a great trust. Practically I am sure it is a great hindrance to the authority of the Church among large numbers of people. Over and over again, in talking to earnest Nonconformists, they have expressed to me their wonder and amazement that we, who profess to honour the Blessed Sacrament so much, should actually take no pains to see it is not profaned. Their admirable system of letters of commendation at once puts the new-comer in communication with their church authorities, and it enables those authorities to judge about the man’s fitness for Communion. I received a curious letter bearing upon this from an earnest Christian the other day. “When I was young and strong I devoted myself to organising in certain fields of philanthropy. I was a Churchman, and I taught both in the Sunday Schools of Conformity and Nonconformity. It will seem to you, perhaps, terribly lax, but I saw no valid reason why I should not communicate in the chapel as well as regularly in my parish church. Before I was allowed to attend Communion at the chapel, I had to undergo a solemn probation. At the church no question of any kind was put to me, my fitness was entirely treated as either my own affair or a matter of indifference.” At any rate, I am perfectly sure of this, that it would be fatal in a Mission district to offer the Sacraments freely without fencing them round with all possible discipline.

There is another great inconvenience in not knowing the number of communicants; sometimes too many Hosts are consecrated, sometimes too few. I suppose that three week-day mornings out of the six we had no communicants. It seemed to me, therefore, a perfectly profane thing to invite people to receive the Communion, to turn round and say “to them that come to receive the Holy Communion,” when I knew no one was coming, most solemn, nay, awful words, then to allow my minister to make confession, perhaps the most grave and weighty possible in language, “in the name of all those who are minded to receive the Holy Communion,” when he and I knew that no one was so minded, and, still more profane, to pronounce an absolution over those who have made no confession, or if they have, had no right to make that confession. Thus one set of rubrics and prayers in the Prayer Book landed me on the horns of a dilemma; either I was compelled to say what I knew was a mockery, or to give up my daily celebration. Ninety-nine clergymen out of a hundred, finding another rubric as to giving notice of Communion and another exhortation a difficulty, get rid of the difficulty by disregarding the rubric and by leaving the exhortation unsaid. Why should I not do the same?

The same kind of difficulty had to be faced with regard to the week-day evening service. It was wretchedly attended, and I do not wonder. We are told that in pre-Reformation times people came readily to the week-day offices. But what proof have we of this? Was the daily office, of which our Matins and Evensong is a survival, ever frequented by the laity? Perhaps people will answer that there is no obligation for the laity to go to church on a week-day, though the obligation has from the earliest days, I believe, been binding on the clergy to say their offices. Therefore these offices were constructed for the use of the clergy. But in a Mission district, where the people are practically heathen, and where you have little chance of instructing them except in church, the service of necessity must be such that they can join in it with edification. I believe you want two kinds of worship--one very dignified and ornate, which enables them to realise that they are making an offering to the Lord of Heaven and Earth, the other very simple and familiar, that they are talking to a loving Father Who knows all their needs and wants to help them. If you had the ornate worship alone, there would be a danger of mere ritualism. If you had the familiar worship alone, there might be a danger of what some people seem to be so unnaturally afraid of--too much familiarity. At any rate, saying Evensong every night, you would certainly have neither of the dangers, but, on the other hand, you would have none of the educational or heart-touching power.

I am not venturing to make any suggestion about churches except such as those in my own district. But when we had said evening prayer to empty benches for a year, we thought the thing was hopeless. People would come to a prayer meeting in the Mission room, or in one of our own rooms, but they would not come to church, which was the very place where we wanted to get them. But directly we began a prayer meeting in church many people came, and God granted to us such visible proofs--His answer seen by all the people--that many times during the year, because we have continued the prayer meetings on Monday ever since, people would come with some special need, quite sure that, in some way or another, God would answer it. The Bishop of Guildford made it a strong point in his endeavour to arrange matters with the Bishop of Winchester that we should give up this extempore prayer, but I would rather have left the Mission than done so.

Then on Thursdays we began the Vespers of the Blessed Sacrament. This Bishop Harold Browne also objected to till he had read it, and then he said it was one of the most beautiful and scriptural services he had ever seen. I expect a good deal of ecclesiastical troubles might be stopped if Bishops would see things before they condemned them. The same psalms being always sung in the Vespers, the antiphon drawing out, as it were, the sacramental meaning of the psalm, was a wonderful education; the cope, the acolytes, and the incense, added a great dignity, a dignity which, at S. Agatha’s, has never been stilted or unnatural; and the impress of this act of solemn worship upon many an ignorant heart left a true sense of the dignity of worship and a glimpse of the supernatural. Those who can read little, learn through ear and eye. These psalms, too, have been a great heritage to many of our people. I have known many a pain-stricken one recite them over and over again, a grace which certainly would never have been gained by saying different psalms every evening. And no one who has ever seen them at S. Agatha’s can doubt the power of the Stations. As I sit thinking now, I have not the courage to speak of them; but Friday after Friday they were like a great sob going up from the heart of this sinful place, to tell Jesus how sorry we were that we had been His very murderers, driving the thorns into His head, and the nails into His hands and feet. The objection to Compline, that the congregation absolved the priest, was so strangely ignorant, that the Bishop withdrew it at once. Thus our week-day services took their present form, which have continued the last eight years, with generally a little sermon added. The common people always hear gladly.

Very soon the difficulty about the children pressed upon us. They certainly had no conception of reverence or of worship. After much prayer and consideration, I determined that the only solution was to have a Children’s Mass. I wonder if any parish priest has ever been blessed with such Sunday School teachers as I have; many had taught for Dr. Linklater; and though I don’t think they liked me at all at first--they thought I was very rough and severe--they loyally stuck to me. At first, when we spoke of the Children’s Mass, many of them seemed to object to it; but a year’s hard work had well prepared the children for it. I was permitted to use the book in use at St. Alban’s, Holborn, and so got rid of that awful difficulty of inattentive children, for in this book they are employed from the time they come into church till they go out, either listening to the priest in those parts of the service which he says aloud, or, while he is saying his private devotions, being led by some responsible person in their own. What wonderful services these have been. How they have trained boys and girls naturally to come on to Communion. How they have impressed every child with the dignity and solemnity of worship. How they have taught them to realise God and the supernatural. And almost all this is due to the devotion of the teachers. It is invidious, perhaps, to mention names, but all the teachers will understand why dear Barratt’s name and Miss Damerum’s come to my mind; they stand as a kind of representatives of the rest. And, if I might add one special parochial benefit, the Children’s Mass gave us the first idea of the congregation singing their own Mass, for the children had no choir, and yet they sang Creed, Gloria, Benedictus, Agnus, everything.

This giving the children a service of their own mercifully got rid of them from Matins at 11 o’clock. Soon the older people, coming in at the end of the children’s service, began to ask why they could not have the same kind of service. There were, however, two difficulties in the way. I felt bound to make no alteration in the morning and evening services on Sundays until I had been in the parish for two years. What a blessed probation this was, for it gave us time to train choir, acolytes, and congregation. When I told the original choir that they would have to go out of the chancel, which was very small and confined, and virtually sit in a corner, and that there would be a Celebration instead of Matins, they nearly all objected to the alteration. I am afraid I had tried them very much before; I always have been very hard on choirs. I had made them give up singing Gregorians--I never yet heard congregational Gregorians. Then when Major Foote kindly joined the choir, when he was stationed at Portsmouth, and tried to teach them proper time, etc., with one accord they suggested that they could not learn to sing right, and he must accommodate his singing to theirs. I am afraid, as I have said, I was very hard on them, and not nearly patient enough. So we had to get a new choir ready when they would leave, train a set of acolytes, and teach the congregation. Nothing is more fatal than to introduce any change which people do not thoroughly understand. On Sunday nights, after Evensong, most of the congregation used to remain behind. I showed them all the vestments one by one, I made them follow in the Prayer Book every word of the service, I made them learn, to two easy settings of the Holy Communion, all the parts they had to sing, and this without any choir. I also explained to them all about the incense. I made them, either in rows, or individually, stand up and answer questions to show that they understood. At first, of course, they were shy, but Blind Willie, who, one might almost say, was divinely taught in these things, began by answering, and the others soon followed. We have never given up this habit of catechising, and so every change in worship has been well understood by the whole congregation. Some of our first acolytes have gone away from Portsmouth, some have married and given their place to others, some, like dear George Norton, are still upon the altar. Surely no place has ever been served like S. Agatha’s. Their wonderful simplicity, their utter want of mannerism, not a ritualist amongst them all. From the first we had given out notice that no one could receive Communion at the children’s service unless they had previously given in their names. This we had done in anticipation of the Sunday when Matins should be said at 9 o’clock, and the Holy Eucharist become the central act of our worship. No one had given in their names on that first Sunday morning, so we did not expect any communicants. But, while the children’s service was going on, three smartly-dressed ladies came in, and, not content to kneel like other people at the bottom of the church until that service was over, pushed their way up amongst the children, whispering and looking about, to the utter amazement of the children, who judged from their teachers that it was utterly impossible that a grown-up person could behave badly in church. Seeing them in the front pew before the service began at 11, I ventured to ask them why they had come, and they said they had heard that this was such a curious church that they would like to see it, and that they were going to receive the Holy Communion. I found that they had come from close to S. Jude’s Church. I saw by their manners that our church would disconcert them very much, and certainly not help them in preparing for a good Communion, so I whispered to the verger to get a cab, and, as soon as it came, I said, “It will be much better for you to make your Communions at S. Jude’s, as you have not given me notice.” So I walked down the church with them, put them into the cab, and paid the driver. Luckily this story got repeated, and that, together with the discomfort of the church, has largely kept sightseers away. Perhaps you will think I was very severe upon these ladies, but I am sure it was one of the most useful lessons I have ever given, both to them and to my people as well. Nothing can be so bad as going to a church because we hear that the preaching or the service is curious. One such person mars the whole atmosphere of religion, and, above all, I was anxious to keep Southsea people away, except those who worshipped with us from conviction.

Soon we added a dignity to the Evensong by vesting the officiant in a cope, and offering incense at the Magnificat. But I think I can say that there have been no changes in the services or ritual of S. Agatha’s during the last eight years, except that we have added services for men and women alone, a second Celebration daily, and an extra one on the first Sunday in the month, and evening prayer daily at 6.30; so that when we went into our new church we had five services daily, eight services every Sunday, and ten on the first Sunday in the month.

During the winter, too, late at night, so as to catch the impossibles, my dear friend Hobbs, chief school-master on the _Vernon_, enabled us to give a magic-lantern service, which was extremely valuable.

Very largely, too, we have been helped in all this by our blind organist, dear Richard Whittick. There is a wonderful tenderness in the sympathetic touch of a blind player, and he has given a note of refinement to the whole of our services, playing on the worst organ that ever was built, and yet bringing music out of it. The services made a great demand upon him, because we required him almost every night, and so it was very lucky for him that Mr. Attree, the organist of the Dockyard Church, relieved him on Thursday evenings, and at two of the Sunday services. We owe to Mr. Attree many of the beautiful photographs with which this book is illustrated. By the way, among the other things I have to pay, though I only had the use of it for six weeks, is £225 to Messrs. Hill for our new organ. Perhaps it is to our present choir that my greatest apologies are due, for they have quite willingly altogether effaced themselves, content merely to lead the congregation, and to have whatever music and hymns I thought best. And yet we all felt that in moving into a new church the choir needed strengthening, and so, when dear Mr. Roe left us because his health had broken down, God sent the Reverend Stanley Gresham, the exact man we needed. With the boys and the choirmen he really did wonders, and he is only just another instance, if we needed one, how from September, 1885, till January, 1896, we have never lacked either the persons or the things which we needed. There were ninety-nine communicants on our first Easter Sunday, and over five hundred on our last Easter Sunday. “Increase Celebrations, encourage non-communicating attendance, and you will lessen the number of communicants.” How often this is said. Let S. Agatha’s answer it. “Teach too much about the Blessed Sacrament, give people an exaggerated belief about it, and you will train them to neglect other church services; their objective worship will destroy their subjective faith in God.” Let S. Agatha’s answer. “Have all these ornate services, increase this ritualism, press confession, and you will alienate the lay people, and drive worshippers away from their own church.” Let S. Agatha’s answer. For ten years we have taught and encouraged non-communicating attendance. Our communicants had outgrown our Mission Church. We had taught practically nothing else but that the Blessed Sacrament is the revelation of Christ, Who is the revelation of the Father. Not only our Eucharists but our other services were filled to overflowing, and faith in Christ as a personal Saviour, and the Father as a personal Providence, had permeated the whole of our parish. For ten years we have taught confession, heard confessions openly in church, for eight years we have had all these ritualistic services, and though five times the Bishop of the Diocese has seen fit to summon us to his presence, and to remonstrate with us upon some practice or doctrine, yet no single complaint has ever been made by one person in our parish.

XV.

=Our Method of Religion.=

Of course, the actual church services must, in every well-ordered parish, be supplemented by a considerable amount of religious work outside the church, and our first object being to make Communion a real bond of union between us all, we strove by Bible Classes, and by private instruction, to either prepare for Confirmation, or, if people had already been confirmed, to restore them to their privileges. I differ, I know, from many of my brethren about the age of Confirmation. Very seldom has anyone been presented at S. Agatha’s under fourteen, and I should think that more than half of those confirmed were over twenty, many of them much older. The preparation took about four months each year, the lady-workers taking the girls and young women, I the married women, and my assistant clergy sharing with me the boys and men. Classes had often to be held at half-past nine, and even later, our younger people worked so late. It was possible to weed out a great many during the first two months, those who could but would not attend, and those who, though attending, showed by their manner that they had no real interest in it. I am sure it was far better to repress rather than over-encourage, and if there was any grit or desire, those who were refused were bound to offer themselves next year. It was of the utmost importance for their mates and companions not to make it too cheap. The individual work, if it was only ten minutes a week, was infinitely more precious than all classes, and then there were the three final preparations in church, of which I have spoken before. We never made confession compulsory--I do not think that it would be honest in the Church of England to do so--and though instances occurred in which one was sorry one could not, and believed that it would have been greatly to the benefit of the candidate, yet on the other hand, one realised the great danger it would have been if it had been forced, and therefore not really natural. On the whole, I am inclined to believe that the voluntary system in this, as in most other things, is really the best. It is wonderful what experience these Confirmation seasons gave to us. Last night I was preaching at Kennington, and the parish priest told me, “The people here say that you seem to know all about them and their lives.” I am quite sure all this knowledge came from my Confirmation work at Landport. There is a simplicity and naturalness in people without any veneer of society, so that, when they trust you, they will literally tell you anything about themselves, and very often those who, when they first came to us, would have scoffed at the idea of making a confession, practically made their confessions long before they formally did so.

We had ten Confirmations during my time, and 580 people were confirmed. And here you will see that the great difficulty of a parish like ours, and one of its chief sorrows, are the migratory habits of the population, especially amongst the men; 46 of these have become soldiers and sailors, 38 have been emigrated, 141 have left the town, 30 have moved too far away from the church to remain communicants with us, and 40 are dead. Thus more than half have passed away from our immediate influence, and no longer strengthen the parochial life. Of the 285 who remain, 46 have lapsed altogether from Communion, 37 are irregular communicants, about three or four times a year, and 202 are members of the Communicants’ League, most of them communicating once a month. It is over these lapsed ones that we sorrow most, and there come up before one’s mind, now that one has no further chance with them, so many wasted opportunities. It is only God Who is never hopeless about any single soul, but Whose divine excuse, “They know not what they do,” is said continually for even the most sinful in the moments of their greatest depravity. I am sure that if we could only have translated into our ministry something of this hope, this excuse, I should not have to write the awful words, “46 lapsed,” and yet, thank God, the judgment of their having lapsed is only our judgment, not His, and perhaps He might write over us, that if we were only more honest we would have lapsed too. Remember, nothing in their surroundings urges them towards religion. How many of us, especially the clergy, are religious because we needs must. Many of those who have gone away write to us continually, and we know all about them, but, except by their prayers, they can no longer strengthen S. Agatha’s. If all these had stayed our Easter Communion would have been over eight hundred instead of five hundred. The following letter just received will show how a boy we prepared for Confirmation fulfilled his obligations:

“SYDNEY, N.S.W.,
“_February 11th, 1896_.

“DEAR FATHER DOLLING,

“After a very long silence, I again write these few lines to
you, hoping to find you in good health; and also to let you
know that I am still alive and well, and (thanks to your kind
teaching) I am living a sober and quiet life, and have done so
since I came out here. But I should very much like to see you
again, and also dear old S. Agatha’s. I am making Melbourne my
home when I am on shore, and I attend Christ Church, South Yarra
(Canon Tucker). Do you know him? He is a good man. I have quite
lost sight of W----. I think that he must either be dead or gone
home again. The times are getting better out here, as there are
thousands of people flocking to the West Australian gold-fields.
But they die there by hundreds. I want to ask you one favour. I
should like to have one of your cabinet photos like you used to
sell at the shop. Do send me one. So now I think I must draw to
a close. With kind regards to all and best wishes,

“I remain, yours faithfully,
“W. H. L----.”

And here is a letter about a boy whom we emigrated three years ago, about whom we were extremely doubtful, but who has done so well that he is trying to emigrate his family.

“EAST END EMIGRATION FUND,
“_March 26th, 1896_.

“DEAR SIR,

“You will be glad to hear that I received the following report
from our agent in Montreal with reference to this family:--

“‘I went three times to Bluebonnets to see Stigant before I met
him. He married a few months ago; he and his wife seem very
happy and comfortable. He has only two rooms at present, but
has rented a good house for the 1st May. He is quite confident
he can procure work for Stevens and his brothers on arrival. He
seems an earnest, steady fellow, and I think his people will get
along very well with him. They might come on the first ship,
arriving here about May 1st.’

“I feel sure that you will be glad to hear this satisfactory
report of young Stigant.

“Yours truly,
“WALTER BARRATT.”

I do not suppose that anyone considers that the Tractarian movement, in its later developments, has been a pure gain to the Church of England. I can remember, when I was a lad, a week’s preparation for the monthly Communion, in which all the family shared, the mentioning of it at daily family prayer, the putting off of engagements during the week, the private talks both with my father and my mother, and thanksgiving at family prayer the night after. We who talk so condescendingly of the past have very grievous need to ask ourselves whether, while religion has increased, piety has decreased; and whether the multiplication of weekly communicants really and truly means better Communions, and does not often mean a Communion without preparation before, and without thanksgiving after. God forbid I should say that this is the case, but we all know that every privilege entails an increased responsibility, and that the body is in danger just as much from over, as from undernourishment, unless that nourishment be perfectly assimilated to the whole system. At any rate, I endeavoured to keep this thought before me when planning our only parochial society, which we called our Communicants’ League. It was unique, at any rate, in one respect: it had no rules. I have so oftentimes found, in hearing confessions, how burdensome the rule becomes even of saying a daily collect, and there is nothing more fatal to the progress of the soul, especially to the timid soul, than incurring unnecessary responsibilities. I believe that no member of the League ever passed a day without thinking of S. Agatha’s, and oftentimes among the ignorant, who have so little power of expressing themselves, thoughts are the best prayers. But the League had four suggestions: first, to be present at Mass every Sunday; secondly, to prepare for Communion on the first Sunday in the month, if conscience taught, to go to confession, and, if possible, making the Communion; thirdly, to make it fasting, if possible; fourthly, to contribute something to the expenses of the parish every quarter, the sum being left wholly to the conscience of the contributor. None of these rules were obligatory, but they were almost universally kept, except as regards making the Communion, because some only came to Communion once in two months. In order that there might be no difficulty about the preparation, there were services on Mondays, for women alone, at 3 p.m.; on Wednesdays, for lads, at 9 p.m.; on Thursdays, for girls, at 9 p.m.; a general preparation of conscience, for women, at 8 p.m. on Fridays, for men at 8 p.m. on Saturdays; and I sat in church practically the whole of the last four days of the week to hear confessions. The preparation of conscience was very valuable. I said aloud a commandment, then asked eight or ten questions about it making a little pause after each question; beyond getting drunk, doing wrong as they call it, and stealing, the poor have very little knowledge of what sin is. This system of examination prepared many for their first confessions. The League has 441 members. On the first Sunday in the month everybody gives their name as they come into church, and their Communions are marked in a book. We are able thus to test their attendance, and also mark change of address, a very important matter in a migratory parish. The League was responsible, also, for the Day of Perpetual Intercession, of which I have spoken, and for a service for men alone on Sunday afternoons.

Once a year, in S. Agatha’s week, we kept a great festival, when we all supped together, anyone sending what they liked in the way of food. Sometimes there was too much, though our appetites were generally good. Sometimes we had not enough. But that was all part of S. Agatha’s system. At these meetings the whole of the secrets of the parish for the coming year were disclosed. How splendid our great gymnasium used to look, filled with tables covered with all kinds and sorts of things, the most curious puddings, the most extraordinary cakes, in the funniest plates and dishes. Such an intense union and harmony amongst us all. Even when I had to say, as I often had, hard, really hard, things, with what love, what tenderness, were they accepted. I, at any rate, shall never see the like again, for it is seldom granted twice to a man in his life to be called to a work like this, for they were all, in the truest sense, my own children; I had begotten them nearly all in Jesus Christ, and they have proved their loyalty not, I thank God, to me, but to our common Master. When I had to leave, all our farewells were said in church. During those last few days, when they saw us in the street, they went within doors themselves. And yet, with all that, not one was absent from their duty to the priest who came to take temporary charge. No single one said, “Because Mr. Dolling has left I leave.” They knew their duty was to Christ and His Church, not to me. And yet it was a very grievous trial to them, so grievous that, to many of them, it almost meant shipwreck. I think I am committing no breach of confidence if I let you read one or two of the letters which I received just after I left.

“DEAR FATHER,

“I went to church on friday night no stations of the cross. I
went on Sunday it looked nice to see the Bishop their for he
looked like us very much cut up. our text was Jesus weep and God
shall wipe away all tears from every eye. it do not matter were
we look weather up high or down low the very bricks seem to say
you cannot do without him but we are all going to be very good
to this father because he speaks so good of you so you must make
haste and get better. I hope Misses Dolling are better.

“I remain yours truly.”

The Bishop referred to is the Bishop of Southwell.

“DEAR MR. DOLLING,