It is a common practice amongst remarkable men to leave on record some of the circumstances which have led to the formation of the leading features of their character.

But as the greater part of mankind is not remarkable, I think it just possible that some may be interested, and possibly some profited, by a few details of the life of one whose life has not been marked by incident so much as by abundant mercy, who has been led on step by step in the happy life of a parochial clergyman, and who at the close of it can say with reference to the past, “Surely goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life,” and can add with reference to the future the blessed hope and determination of David, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Of all the many mercies of my life the one that must ever stand first and foremost is the gift of my beloved father and mother. No words can describe the blessing of such parents, and I never can look back on the unspeakable privilege of such a parentage without adoring the sovereign grace which placed me under their parental care. When I observe the carelessness of some parents, the inefficiency of others, and the terrible training for evil to which I see multitudes of poor children exposed, I can only adore the sovereignty of God which on June 5th, 1812, committed me as a sacred trust to the very best of parents.

My father, Samuel Hoare, was a banker in the City. Both he and my mother, Louisa Hoare, [2] had been brought up in the Society of Friends, and had not formally left it at the time of my birth, so that I was registered by that body, and at the time of my ordination I had to apply to the Westminster Meeting for a certificate of my birth. But they were both greatly influenced by the ministry of some devoted Evangelical clergymen, such as the Rev. E. Edwardes of Lynn, and the Rev. Josiah Pratt, and I believe it was very soon after my birth that they were together baptised. We young people were therefore all brought up as members of the Church of England, though, as my father never completely lost his early Quaker prejudice against infant baptism, we were not baptised till about the age of fifteen, when we were considered able to judge for ourselves.It was probably the result of his own Quaker education that my father had a strong objection to public schools; so that his plan was to engage a private tutor, some young man from Cambridge or Oxford, to educate us at home till we attained the age of fifteen, and then send us to a private tutor, preparatory to our going up to Cambridge. This arrangement answered well so long as there were four of us boys at home, and some of our cousins were united with us both in the schoolroom and playground; but as the elder boys went off, there was a sad want both of healthy amusements and intellectual stimulus for those that were left behind. I was the third, and I remember how difficult it was for my dear brother Joseph and myself to keep ourselves well employed when our elder brothers Samuel and Gurney had been placed under the care of the Rev. H. V. Elliott, the most able and gifted tutor to whom we three eldest brothers were sent, and to whom we were all indebted far more than I can describe. He had a wonderful power of bringing the interest of the University to bear on the education of his pupils, and I never can forget the effect on my own mind, for I never really worked till the day I entered his house; but I began then, and I have never been habitually idle since. He was a grand illustration of the principle, that the great office of an educator is not merely to cram a boy’s head with knowledge, but to kindle a fire in his soul, which will go on burning brightly when the tutor himself has long since passed away.

But though there were great disadvantages in our home education, there were also immense advantages. It was not so effective as my dear parents hoped it would be in preserving us from impure and defiling information, and to this day I rarely pass the back door of what used to be my grandmother’s house without a sense of loathing at the wickedness of her corrupt old butler, who on that spot did his utmost to pollute my boyish mind with filthy communication.

But in many other respects I have never ceased to feel the blessed results of those years at home. In the first place, we were all brought under the constant influence of our father and mother. He was a man of great strength of character, and of marvellous perseverance in all that he undertook. He was deeply interested in the improvement of prison discipline, and was one of the “Governors” of the “Refuge for the Destitute.” This he used to visit once a week with the utmost regularity, rising early so as to be able to complete his visit before his attendance at the Bank, and I have seldom seen a more affecting sight than when he used to ride off week after week in all weathers, even after the Lord had laid him so low by an attack of paralysis that he could not attempt to ride beyond a walking pace, and it was indeed unsafe for him to ride at all; but he was a man tenax propositi, and nothing would turn him from his purpose. It was his determination of character that made him a most valuable coadjutor with his brother-in-law, Sir T. F. Buxton, in the great anti-slavery struggle, as may be seen in the graphic account given in the Life of Sir Fowell of the great debate which virtually decided the question. Sir Fowell himself was a man of courageous determination; but it was my father that, during that debate, sat under the gallery of the House of Commons and upheld his hands by his decided and unwavering judgment. It was a great privilege for us boys to grow up under the influence of such a character.

Once a week, on the day of his holiday from the Bank, he used habitually to visit the schoolroom, and hear us repeat what we had learned during the week; and every Sunday afternoon he used to read with us some good religious book. I fear sometimes one at least of his pupils greatly tried his patience by supineness and inattention, but there were not then the same interesting books for young people that there are now, and such books as Wilberforce’s “Practical View” or Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress” were not calculated to attract the attention of a set of boys whose hearts were set on cricket.

Then my dearest mother was one of the most lovely women of the day. Beautiful in countenance, gentle in her manners, pure in her thoughts, and most loving in all her intercourse with her family, she exercised over us all a most sacred and refining influence, and one of the most abiding sorrows of my life has been that, when she was teaching me something, I was so negligent that I caused her to shed a tear.

Besides that, she had great intellectual charm. First-rate men such as Chalmers and Wilberforce delighted in her society. She was an excellent English writer. Her letters to her sons at College are perfect models of such compositions, and her admirable little book “Hints on Early Education,” containing the principles on which she brought us up, continues to this day, passing through edition after edition, unsurpassed, if I may not say unequalled, by the many more modern efforts to throw light on that most important subject.

It is to her that I am indebted for my first intelligent acquaintance with the Gospel. She used to have us boys to read the Scripture with her every morning at 7.15. Nothing can ever efface the lovely impression made on those occasions. There she used to be by a bright fire in her little room, in her snow-white dressing-gown, looking as pure and lovely as was possible in woman. I fear we boys were often late and sometimes inattentive. But I never forget one morning when she asked me if I knew what faith was, and, finding that I was utterly ignorant, proceeded to teach me those sacred lessons of a Saviour’s grace which have been life to my soul from that day till now. Oh, mothers! what an opportunity you have of sowing a seed which will never die!

Another great advantage in our home education was that we became interested in missionary work. Drawing-room meetings were not the fashion then as they are now, and my father and mother, without waiting for the fashion, threw open their large drawing-room to various devoted men. Thus we boys used to enjoy the no small privilege of becoming personally acquainted with many of the most devoted men of the day, as well as of being educated into an interest in missionary work.

But parental influence was not all, for one of the tutors engaged for our instruction was the Rev. R. Davis, of Queen’s College, Cambridge, a devoted young man, and deeply interested in the Church Missionary Society. It was he that enlisted the interest of my father and mother, so that I find, in turning to the report for the year 1820, the following entry, which was the sum-total of the then Hampstead Association:—

Having been one of those few children, I remember well the interest that the subject excited in our minds; and as that interest never died out in those beloved ones now gone to their rest, and as I trust it will never do so in myself, I realise how much I owe to that young man, and I see how much may be done by a young man who carries with him wherever he goes the unceasing desire to be engaged in his Master’s service.

This home education was continued until I reached the age of fifteen, when I was sent as a pupil to the Rev. H. V. Elliott of Brighton, where my two elder brothers had been before me. Before I left home arrangements were made for my baptism. That admirable man the Rev. Josiah Pratt kindly undertook my instruction, and I used to ride down to him at his residence in Finsbury Circus. He was a remarkable man, firm in his principle, faithful to the Gospel, true to his Saviour, zealous in Missions, and of remarkable soundness of judgment. I am not sure that he was altogether the best instructor for a spirited lad, but I never shall forget the venerable man, sitting on one side of the fireplace, finding, I fear, considerable difficulty in eliciting much response from his pupil. But I learnt one practical lesson from these interviews, which has been a help to many a lad under similar circumstances:—I was at that time thoroughly in earnest about my soul, and I looked forward to my baptism with great seriousness. It was a matter for much prayer and close examination. But my dearest mother showed me Mr. Pratt’s letters respecting me, in which he said, “I hope there is something at the bottom, but I find it very difficult to bring it to the surface!” How often have I thought of these words, when I have been preparing my young people for Confirmation; and when I have seen them nervous, agitated, and with small development of feeling, I have thought of myself and of Mr. Pratt’s letters, and remembered how earnest I was at the time, although he could discover but little trace of it.

The day of my baptism was a very solemn one, my cousin, the late Sir Edward Buxton, being baptised at the same time in St. Stephen’s, Coleman’s Street, and I think it was the next day that we left our homes together and went to Brighton, to enter upon a new mode of education. I cannot say how thankful I am that my father sent me to Mr. Elliott. He was a first-rate man in all respects, and he had been the means of kindling an intellectual fire in my eldest brother, who was passing through Cambridge at the time with high distinction. He (Mr. Elliott) had a faculty for inspiriting his pupils for work. I had been an idle boy until I went to him; but I had no sooner crossed his threshold than I felt an ambition for University distinction, and lost very little time when I was under his rule. As he took only six pupils there was the same difficulty that we found at home in getting good play, first-class cricket.

But there were other great advantages. There were some very choice lads amongst the pupils, one especially whom I can never forget—namely, Henry Goulburn. He was small in stature, but of marvellous ability: for quick perception, clear understanding, for never-failing memory, and a power of seeing through a subject, such as I never saw in any man. I shall never forget his influence when he first joined us as a pupil. There was at that time a good deal of quarrelling amongst us. There was one young fellow who was rich, but very foolish, who became the butt of his companions. I remember well one day, when Goulburn had just come amongst us, and we were all like a pack of hounds upon that young fellow, Goulburn got up from the table, walked round to him, and put his hand upon him, saying, “I will be your friend.” That act of his had such a power over the whole party that similar unkindness entirely ceased. I never saw a repetition of it.

But, besides the pupils within the house, we had the immense advantage of the friendship of Mr. Elliott’s mother and sisters, who lived close by. That mother was one of the most charming old ladies I ever remember. She was the daughter of Henry Venn, Rector of Yelling, the grandfather of the late Henry Venn, Secretary of the Church Missionary Society. She grew up amongst her father’s friends, Berridge, Fletcher, and Simeon in his early days, and nothing could be more charming, more delightful, than her reminiscence of the early struggle of those devoted men. It wanted a good deal to draw me from the cricket field, but she had the power of doing it. I could not have had a greater treat than to listen for half-an-hour to her anecdotes.

Then again it was one of the privileges that we enjoyed at Brighton that we attended St. Mary’s Church. Mr. Elliott’s preaching was valuable, full of truth, and most beautiful in composition. I used to listen to it with great interest, and from it I first learnt the great and blessed doctrine of justification by faith, which I have had the privilege of preaching throughout my ministry. I never can forget one sermon of his in which he pointed out that there were three great trials of Abraham’s faith: (1) His Call (Gen. xii.); (2) The Promise given him (Gen. xv.); and (3) The Sacrifice of Isaac (Gen. xxii.). He then pointed out that the first and last of these three trials involved immediate action, but that the middle one demanded no action at the time, but required simply a believing reception of the promise of God, and it was of it that the statement was made (Gen. xv. 6): “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him for righteousness.”

There was a fresh blessing given me in St. Mary’s. It was there one sacred day when Robert Daly, afterwards Bishop of Cashel, was preaching, that I was led by the Spirit of God to give myself up to the ministry. I do not remember exactly what he said; but I am sure that a permanent impression may be often made without any distinct recollection always of what has been uttered. So it was in my case, while that noble man was preaching; and I there and then gave myself up to the ministry of God, as I told him many years afterwards. I said nothing about it to anybody for a year, because I wished my determination to be thoroughly tested. At the end of the year I told my father. He informed me that there was a place open for me in his Bank, but at the same time he gave his cordial approbation; and so with his full consent and that of my dearest mother, I regarded myself from that day as one set apart to the sacred ministry. That must have been nearly sixty years ago, and never for one moment have I had reason to regret the decision.

From Mrs. Hoare to her son at Brighton:—

“August 22nd, 1829.

“How continually have I thought of you, dearest Edward, since you left us, with the truest pleasure and I hope thankfulness for the happy time we have passed together, with the greatest interest in your present settlement and earnest desire and prayer for your well-doing in future! You have, my love, gained the confidence and excited the sanguine hopes of your parents, and if you do not turn out the decided, noble, upright, and effective Christian character, we shall be disappointed. I consider the present juncture in your life very important. The more I consider the case, the more I am sure of Mr. Elliott’s intrinsic value to you, and the more I am convinced of the wisdom of giving up yourself in the present to his wishes; if you secure his friendship, you secure a treasure for life. In this as in every situation, you will have something to bear.

“1. Don’t stand on your own rights too much or be tenacious in little things.

“2. Be very slow in taking offence or fancying any disrespect or want of favour is shown to you.

“3. Never complain of anything to your companions.

“4. Encourage a spirit of content, and be determined (there is much in this determination of mind) to be comfortable.

“5. Promote, as far as possible, the pleasure of your companions by yielding in little things. I believe, dearest Edward, you are sensible that, to act with true wisdom, we must seek this precious gift from above, and day by day ask for help and strength and grace for the day.

“6. Write to me intimately, and the letters may be entirely private whenever you wish it.

“The books could not be despatched at once. Sam says the Shakespeare is a bad bargain, but we will talk it over again—oh how I should enjoy a half-hour with thee over this nice library fire!”

Early Letters.

There are some interesting letters of this period, which have been carefully preserved. The earliest of these, written when he was eleven years old, is characteristic. It is addressed to his mother, who was away from home, and begins with an apology for not having sent her a letter before: this is based upon an accident at cricket, which he describes graphically, the ball “ascending to a great height” having fallen upon his thumb and so disabled him, etc., etc.; but the pathetic narrative is followed by a burst of honesty—“however, as that happened only yesterday it is not much of an excuse”! Another, a year later, written from Ryde, after describing a boating and fishing expedition, relates further a conversation with the boatman, whom they saw doing something to the dogfish that they had caught. “He replied” (and here the young scribe phonetically renders the local pronunciation), “‘O Lar, I’m only tormenting ’em.’ We asked, ‘Why?’ ‘Because ’em has a pisonous prick on ’em’s back.’ We asked him how they could help that. ‘Oh, I knows ’em needn’t have it if ’em didna like!’”

The letters that follow were written from Brighton, and describe his arrival at Mr. Elliott’s house, and sundry events that took place from time to time; they are full of affection to his mother, and abound likewise in touches of humour, but they show also a diligence and steadiness of purpose, and a liking for good things, remarkable in a boy of that age. Subjoined are a few extracts as specimens:—

“I suppose Jack told you of the famous hunt we had the other day when we were going out riding and met the hounds, half by accident? We had a run of above an hour, and the hounds were in full cry all the time; but, alas! the other day a bill came in from the horse-keeper, which informed us that we were to pay a pound for each of the horses because we had been with the hounds. . . . I like Abercorn [15] very much, but he is excessively idle, as my shoulders will bear witness, as it is his great delight to get up and thump Ted Buxton and me on the shoulders; but fortunately he is tired of hitting me, as I repay the blows tenfold with a singlestick, and the consequence is that poor Ted gets double his former allowance.”

“We have capital walks on the Downs almost every day, which are very pleasant, and capital exercise, as we go a considerable distance; the other day we went nearly to the Dyke. Before seven [a.m.] we three have delightful readings together—we have nearly done Matthew; at seven we come down and read till breakfast, and after that till two; we then go out for our walk till dinner. . . . On Thursday we are to have our debate about the battle of Navarino, in which I am going to be exceedingly eloquent—only there is one great barrier to my eloquence, which is that I can think of nothing to speak about. Robert and Jack are going to attack the battle; and Ted, Abercorn, and I are going to defend it. I think they have got much the best side.”

This extract, written in a boyish hand, is dated February 19th, 1828. The next, on October 4th in the same year, is remarkable for its transition into the formed hand of the young man, and its resemblance to the writing of all his later years. He was then sixteen. The letter is full of manly thoughts, kind sympathy for some relatives in trouble, great thankfulness to God for restoring him to health after an illness, and then the schoolboy reappears towards the close as he longs for a share in the partridge-shooting which his father and elder brothers were enjoying at that time, and “the plumcake after church, and then the walk on the lighthouse hills” at Cromer, concerning which he winds up by saying: “I do not know two things that live so pleasantly in my mind. How far superior to all the strutting finery of Brighton!”

The letters written during his residence in Brighton show that Mr. Elliott, besides being a very kind tutor, had the gift of inspiring his pupils with great diligence and love for their work. The year 1830 was the last spent under his roof, and they testify to a great deal of hard reading, with the University constantly in view.

At the end of a letter dated “Brighton, September 20th, 1830,” young Hoare writes:—

“I may tell you that this is the last letter you are ever likely to receive from me from Brighton. My two years and a half (that but yesterday I thought would never end) are now nearly come to a close; I am sure if I had time I ought and could write a long letter of gratitude to you and my father for having given me such opportunities of improvement. Oh that I had made full use of them! what a capital fellow I should be! At all events, of this I am quite certain, that if your sons turn out either rascals or blockheads (the latter of which I fear is the case with the third [17]), it can never be laid to your charge. And so, with regard to the course we are now likely to enter upon, I feel that every reason which ought to influence a person in the strongest degree binds me to read with thorough diligence and perseverance, and I only trust that I may be enabled to show my gratitude for your kindness by taking thorough advantage of it.”

“O si sic omnes!” is the thought that rises to the mind after perusing these schoolboy letters; they contain the germs of all the characteristics that made Edward Hoare the power that he afterwards became—manliness, gentleness, remarkable diligence, reverence for religion and the Bible, a loving and thankful spirit, and, last but not least, a keen sense of the humorous side of things.