When a young man distinguishes himself by taking a brilliant degree, the question is asked, “What profession is he going to adopt?” No doubt many were curious to know how Edward Hoare intended to make use of the talents that he possessed and the position which he had attained, and the following letter to his father, dated “May 17th, 1834,” supplies the answer:—

“. . . Now as to plans. With respect to the opening in business, I feel quite satisfied in declining it entirely. I am well aware that it might lead to an extensive field of usefulness and to many and great advantages in every point of view, but still I have long looked to the Church as my profession, and feel every day more and more decided in my desire to devote myself to it; and I earnestly hope that I may be strengthened in the feeling, and that when, if ever, my hopes should be realised, I may be taught to be a useful minister both to myself and others.”

In reply his father writes as follows:—

“Your letter conveyed the intelligence which I fully expected to receive. I have only to pray God to bless you and make you a bright and shining light in His sanctuary.

“You have chosen the better part, and I confidently hope and expect that a blessing will rest upon it, and although you may not be blessed with the fat of the land, that you will be with the springs of living water springing up into everlasting life.”

This was a distinct turning his back upon wealth, and perhaps social or even future Parliamentary distinction; but he had made up his mind. “The joy of the ministry” was the object of his young life, and surely thousands have had good reason to thank God for his choice, for thousands by his means have become sharers in that joy.

He did not, however, seek ordination at once. Being still too young for Holy Orders, and having been strongly urged to read for a Fellowship, he determined to set to work for another year of diligent study, and arranged at once to take a reading party of undergraduates to Killarney for the summer.

Many entertaining letters describe this period. We are rather alarmed in these days by the Race to the North between the trains of rival railway companies; the same spirit was not unknown sixty years ago, and showed itself in racing coaches!

The first letter describes such an event: two opposition coaches raced down a Welsh valley; one passed the other at full gallop, but soon began to sway fearfully, and at last went over with a terrible crash. Providentially and most marvellously no one was injured; had it happened a few yards farther on several lives would have been lost. Our travellers were deeply thankful for their escape, and proceeded on their journey vi Holyhead to Dublin, and thence, after a short stay in the Irish capital, which they much admired, travelled southwards to the famous lakes. The exquisite scenery made a great impression upon the young Englishmen. “Fairy-land” was the first brief summary of opinion, and they agreed that it had surpassed all their expectations.

Great thankfulness is expressed frequently for the excellent parish clergyman, Mr. Bland, and his sermons are often described with interest. All were reading steadily, but frequent excursions were made, and rowing, fishing, and climbing of mountains kept them well occupied. One difficulty not met with on former occasions was the great hospitality of the surrounding gentry, who would have entertained them at dinners and balls every evening of the week if they had been disposed to go. Some of the young men could not resist the social charms of the place, and their chief writes a little despondently of the responsibility upon him of managing so large a party. He does not shrink from it, however, and the first letter mentions the regular “family reading” every day, to which they invited their landlord and his family. The condition of the poor Celtic population around served to excite at different times feelings of amazement, humour, and almost of disgust. It must be remembered that some considerable changes have taken place in the manners and customs of the poor of Ireland since then; still much that is said in the following letter is true, not only of that neighbourhood, but also of large portions of the South and West; and yet, as he used often to remark in later years, this ignorant, pauperised, and superstitious population have proportionately more representatives in Parliament than the intelligent artisans of England!

“I had no idea of such want of comforts. You may travel for miles and yet meet with scarcely any one whom a Brewhouse Lane pauper would condescend to speak to. I do not complain of their having no shoes and stockings, because that is not their misfortune but their choice, but what few clothes they have are a mere bundle of rags: you see women about in worn-out men’s coats, and the men do not cast them off till no strings can hold them together any longer. And then their cabins! you never saw such places; they generally consist of one room, though sometimes there are two. In the better sort there is a hole in the side by way of a window, but nowhere any glass in it; then there is a large aperture above the fire, which I believe is intended for a chimney, but the smoke decidedly prefers to proceed (after it has spent some time with its masters) by the more fashionable entrance of the door. This is a great convenience, as they smoke all their dried meat on the ceiling instead of in the narrow passage of the chimney. Their furniture consists of perhaps a table, two or three low chairs, a long box which serves for a bed for two or three by night and a seat by day, and a long bench for the younkers. Besides this there is some straw in one corner for those of the family who have no room in the box, and in another for the pigs; a large coop to fat the young chickens in, and some bars across the top which serve to dry the hams on and as roosting poles for the hens. In the third corner they may stow a young lamb, and in the fourth throw a heap of potatoes. I went to a place arranged as I have attempted to describe. At first I could not see for the smoke, but was soon told that if I were to stoop low enough I could breathe if not see; I accordingly sat me down on the low form, and when I was accustomed to the darkness I perceived the form of my hostess, bustling about with no shoes or stockings, and scolding hard at all the little urchins. Then there ensued a conflict with the pig, who could not understand on what grounds he was to be excluded, more especially when he saw the woman pour out a whole pot of hot potatoes on the table, and give a basin of goat’s milk to each of us, which I can assure you that we and the chickens feasted on with no inconsiderable relish. Now for mathematics!

“Your most affectionate Son,
“Edward Hoare.”

Men who have not forgotten the sensations of College life will recollect the rapid way in which age accumulates at the University! This comes out amusingly in some of the Killarney letters, e.g.:—

“There could not be a place better suited to our purpose, nor a party better suited to each other; the worst of it is I feel such an old man in comparison to the other two. Still we get on uncommonly well.”

And again:—

“I am not reading hard, for we have all agreed that, as we have come so far, we will see the country well, and that I am too old and the others too young to fatigue ourselves with reading.”

A vast gap of about two years separated the leader of this reading party from his juvenile companions, and though the outer world may not recognise much difference between young fellows of twenty and twenty-two, University men will recognise at once the historical accuracy of the feeling and its expression! It is very hard to put aside all the amusing letters written at this time, with their picturesque descriptions of the exquisite scenery, their accounts of duck-shooting and stag-hunts and expeditions of various sorts, and their droll description of novel experiences in his present surroundings. The following extract from a letter to one of his sisters must suffice as a specimen:—

“I must tell you of our evening yesterday. I was reading away as hard as could be when I heard the bagpipe in the next room. I found it was Gandsey, the celebrated piper, and all the village crowded into the house to hear. However, the ladies who had him would shut the door, because, as our landlord said, ‘one of them was a dumpey,’ i.e. deformed, and did not wish to be seen, so that we were disappointed. When he had done with them we thought that we must give ourselves and all the listeners a treat, so we said he must play for us too; and as our room was not large enough for the party, we adjourned to the kitchen, which, though a large room, was soon as full as it could comfortably hold. We had several famous tunes, to the great delight of all parties. As I felt my own feet quite a-going with the music, I proposed that those who wished should have a dance. We soon had some volunteers, and a famous Irish jig was the consequence. The partners were to me so un-tempting, as by far the best was the cook-maid, that, though I longed to dance too, my pride would not come down, and I looked on. Upcher and Merivale, however, danced hard with two of the maids, but they could not learn the jig, so the latter gave up. Upcher, however, went on with more perseverance than skill. But I can assure you it was a grand scene—a fine old blind man, the best piper in Kerry, playing with all his might, and the more active dancing in the middle of the room to correspond, and, if any by chance had a pair of shoes, taking them off to be the more active; while all along the walls were the ragged Irish watching the dance and sucking in the music with the greatest animation. Now just think what a difference there is between our two situations: you sitting quietly in the comfortable library with my father and mother, and I giving a ball in the kitchen, with nothing but a clay floor and naked walls; with scarcely another sound coat in the room except our own!”

The summer at Killarney passed pleasantly, and October found the travellers back at Cambridge, Edward Hoare reading steadily for fellowship, but with a growing desire for the work of the ministry evidently uppermost in his thoughts. There are hardly any letters at this period, but his journal is full of the holy aspirations of the young man’s heart.

The following June (1835) found him at Keswick intent upon his studies, and at the same time full of increased longing to help others in spiritual things. Writing thence to his mother, he alludes to a brief visit to his rooms at Trinity, where he spent a busy week preparing and collecting papers to take with him. Almost all his old friends were gone, but his influence had reached men of junior standing, and the consequence was—

“I was quite delighted and touched by the warmth of affection which I received there. Goulburn and Merivale were both out, but I could compare my reception to nothing but the prophet’s in Israel. I thought there were no friends left, but there were nearer seven thousand, and most affectionate they were. Mr. Simeon especially was full of love and kindness; he spoke of you with the deepest interest, and said he longed to see you, and that he thought he could be a help to you as the messenger of the Gospel; and he spoke to me most beautifully about the Three Persons of the Trinity all assuming to themselves at different times the character of our Comforter, as also upon the fellowship existing between Christians through the Saviour.”

In the same letter, speaking of Keswick, he writes:—

“I regard this opportunity as likely to be one of great usefulness, and I look forward with great pleasure to the prospect of quiet repose, withdrawn from all active service, as a preparation of my own mind and a thorough sifting of the foundations, before I enter upon the more active duties to which I trust it may please God before long to call me.”

He was not content with mere meditation, however. Being desirous to give some help to the parish clergyman, he was asked to take some cottage lectures in a neighbouring farmhouse. As an old man he often referred with great joy to this time as the beginning of his ministry. The farmhouse was an old building with low rooms, having great deep beams running across the un-ceiled kitchen. The tall young figure could not stand erect in the low-pitched room, except by fitting his head between the beams!

But the difficulty and humour of the scene were both forgotten in the sight of the crowded, attentive listeners, and the evident signs of the presence of the power of the Holy Spirit in the midst. Long, long afterwards Canon Hoare revisited the place, found the farmhouse, entered the very room, and was overjoyed to meet some who had never forgotten the addresses of the earnest young collegian more than fifty years before.