CHAPTER VIII
TUNBRIDGE WELLS
But these bright and stirring days at Ramsgate were at length brought to a close by Sir Charles Hardinge inviting me to undertake the living of Holy Trinity, Tunbridge Wells, in the year 1853.
At first I thought very little of the offer, as I expected Sir Benjamin Brodie to put his veto upon my removal from the sea. But when I went to consult him upon the subject, I was not a little surprised by his saying that, as in 1847 he had judged it necessary for me to go to the seaside, so now he considered it very desirable that I should leave it. So that impediment was removed, and I had to face the question whether I was called to remain where I was or to remove.
It was a very difficult question, and I was greatly perplexed as to the decision. But, according to Mr. Venn’s principle already referred to, my thoughts were ultimately established, and I have never seen reason for a single moment to regret the change. I can scarcely imagine a better sphere for the ministry than that which I have been permitted to occupy for nearly thirty-six years. I have had a large parish, which, after four parochial districts have been taken from it, still contains more than six thousand persons, the population consisting of a well-proportioned mixture of gentry, tradesmen, and poor. I have had in my church a stream of visitors from all parts of England, and not from England only, but from India, Australia, and America. I have had very many most kind, faithful, and affectionate friends ready to help me in everything, so that, on the whole, I believe we have been able to keep pace with the rapid growth of population; and I have had an excellent church, which, though I do not suppose it would satisfy the ecclesiologist, I have found to be most commodious for the worship of God. There are three things in it quite at variance with modern fashion: instead of an open roof to generate cold in winter, heat in summer, and echo at all times, we have had a flat ceiling to protect us from all changes of the climate; and instead of having the people spread far and wide on the ground floor, there are deep galleries along three sides of the church, containing nearly six hundred persons, all within ear-shot; and instead of a low pulpit scarcely raising the preacher above the heads of his hearers, there is an old-fashioned “three-decker” of sufficient height to enable the preacher to see the whole of his congregation.
At Tunbridge Wells was much less to excite than at Ramsgate. There were no shipwrecks, and no such activity on the part of the Church of Rome, but there was a great increase of solid pastoral work, and I firmly believe that our removal was of the Lord. In no period of my life have I experienced greater mercies.
After ten years of happy work together, it pleased the Lord to take from me my dearest wife, at which time He showed His abundant mercy in so strengthening her faith, that she gave a glorious testimony to the power of that Gospel which she had earnestly desired to teach, and which had been the subject of our whole ministry. She was kept at perfect peace through a long and suffering illness, and fell asleep in full and unbroken trust in the blessed Saviour whom she loved. Shortly before she died, she quoted to me the words of Mr. Standfast: “I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wheresoever I have seen the print of His shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot too,” and He was faithful to her to the end.
But, speaking of mercies at that period, I must not omit to mention the help He raised up for me in my valued friend Dr. Richardson, and my beloved sister-in-law Lady Parry. Dr. Richardson was the greatest help to me in the management of my large family, and would come in again and again as a friend to give me any advice he thought necessary, and tell me whether he thought it important I should call in medical help, and again and again has he told me that they wanted no more than their faithful nurse could give them. As for my dear sister, she was everything that a widower could desire, tender, wise, considerate, the best of counsellors and the truest of friends. What she was to me at that time of my bereavement no words can ever describe.
Then amongst my many mercies at Tunbridge Wells I must reckon the severe illness which I had ten years afterwards, which I am thoroughly persuaded my Heavenly Father sent me as a blessing. It called forth the same unbounded loving-kindness from my parishioners and fellow-townsmen which I am now experiencing while dictating this sketch of my history, and I felt at the time that it brought us into a closer relationship with each other than we had ever known previously. But, above all, it burnt into my heart those words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Timothy i. 12: “I know whom I have believed.” Those six words contained the whole of my religion as I lay for weeks unable to think and pray, for they do not say, “I know how I have believed Him,” nor do they refer to any qualification in my own faith, but simply to this qualification as taught in the following words, “And am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.” It was the entire persuasion of His perfect sufficiency that kept my soul at peace, and has made me ever since thankful to God for having brought me into the happy experience of that sufficiency for one who, like me, was altogether insufficient in himself. I enjoyed also many proofs of the Lord’s providential care, one of which was so remarkable that I think it ought to be recorded.
After my degree in 1834, I continued to reside at Cambridge and took mathematical pupils. One summer I took a long-vacation party to Killarney, and in the course of our residence there a young man came over from Cork to see me. He had a great wish to go to Cambridge, and having heard that there were Cambridge men at Killarney, he came over in order to obtain information. The result was that he came up the next October, and I was glad to help him in his work, in which he made good progress. But after some time he told me that the expenses had exceeded his estimate and that he feared he should not be able to complete his University career. If richness be measured by the proportion of income to expenditure, I was a richer man then than I have ever been since, as, in addition to my father’s allowance, I received a considerable income from my pupils. I therefore told him that he must go on to his degree, and with the help of my dearly beloved friend Henry Goulburn gave him a cheque which he considered would be sufficient. The result was that he took his degree and left Cambridge. After that I altogether lost sight of him, and wondered what had become of him.
Thus twenty-six years passed by, and I was very much interested at Tunbridge Wells in the erection of St. James’s Church, and had issued a circular requesting that all subscriptions might be paid in by January 1st, 1862. But though the world gave us credit for being extremely rich, my account at the bankers was so low that I found I could ill afford the £100 which I had promised. That 1st of January was therefore to me a day of real anxiety, and in the early morning I committed the matter solemnly to God, and my Heavenly Father was “thinking upon me” when, after our family worship, my letters were brought to me, and there was one from my young Irish friend in which he said that, though I regarded the money given at Cambridge as a gift, he had always considered it a loan and now wished to repay it, so enclosed a cheque of £100. It was that cheque that I paid into the bank with a thankful heart that morning, as my contribution to St. James’s Church. So my young friend was employed by my Heavenly Father to take care of the money until the time when I should require it.