To his daughters:—
“York, May 27th, 1888.
“I know not why it is, but my heart is so full for you all that I cannot forbear from writing to tell you. You have been constantly in my thoughts since I left home, and oh, how I have desired that the Lord may give to each one of you every possible happiness! I thank God that I believe He has given us a very happy home, and one that can stand comparison with others; but I long to make it happier still and to do all that a father can do to help each one of you and to promote that loving, joyous spirit which is the sacred privilege of a Christian home. Certainly it has entwined itself very closely round my own heart; and now that I am away I seem to feel it more than ever. May the Lord be with you all, not only while I am with you, but when I am gathered to my own Home with the Lord Jesus!
“I am thankful that I have been prospered, and am quite well and had an easy journey. Everybody has been most kind, and I hope the Lord has accompanied the ministry. The morning sermon was a long way off and not exciting: I felt for the good man, for he seemed discouraged.
“The Evening Service in the Minster was magnificent. There was a grand congregation, and what with the noble building and fine music there was enough to make a profound impression, even if there had been no sermon.
“But I hope they had the Gospel in addition; I certainly desired to give it to them, and they appeared to me very attentive. I do not feel in much heart for speech-making to-day, for I am utterly out of practice. But ‘what have I that I have not received?’ so I must open my mouth to receive my message, and I hope the Lord will give it me.”
“Tunbridge Wells, August 22nd, 1888.
“I rejoice to hear that you are prospering and enjoying Chamounix. I cannot doubt that you have a most pleasant, happy, and loving party, and I shall heartily enjoy a few bright days with you and another look at those lovely mountains. There they stand unchanged, while all their admirers pass by and are gone. What a picture of what is going on in life! There is only One who is not a mere passer-by; but, thanks to God, He is unchangeable, and we need never pass away from Him.
“We had a very comfortable Sunday. I preached in the morning about Jehoshaphat, to my own great interest. But in the afternoon I had a very poor attendance of men, and preached the feeblest of sermons. I hope it may have confounded the mighty, for it certainly was one of the weak things of the world, and contributed nothing to the self-elevation of the preacher.
“I am now off to church to preach on holiness. May God make us partakers of His holiness!”
In the autumn of 1888 his blindness began. The doctors stated that it was due to no illness, but just a sudden failure of power. He could at first see figures and large objects more or less, and detect a placard on a wall, but faces were indiscernible and reading and writing an impossibility. Yet it made no difference in his manner or character, and his life was immediately adjusted to the new state of things. The writer well remembers coming into the Vicarage study one morning, and finding the vigorous old man of seventy-six commencing the task of learning the Bible by heart! “It was so important to have all quotations exact.” This work was continued for some months, but when it was suggested that there would be less labour and more profit in learning the raised type for the blind, the former plan was discontinued, volumes of the latter sort were procured, the characters mastered, and for the seven years remaining the beloved study was resumed under circumstances that would have discouraged most men of his age. Blindness did not stop his work—nothing of the kind; the regular Bible and annual Confirmation classes were continued as before, the weekday and Sunday sermons as regularly prepared and preached. His daughters read to him passages from books bearing upon the subject that he had in hand, and he arranged and classified it in his own mind. Gentlemen and ladies in his congregation gladly undertook to come at stated hours and read to him books of various sorts, and so he kept abreast with all that was going on in the world of literature, and, as was his wont, met it for praise or censure in his sermons.
On Sundays it was touching to see the venerable old man ascending the pulpit, giving out his text, and then preaching with all his old fire and vigour. The accuracy with which he quoted his texts made it hard to believe that the preacher was blind. The same accuracy was remarkable in another way. There were few things in which Canon Hoare took more interest than in helping the younger clergy. All through his career his Greek Testament readings have been sources of great blessing and help. In the last few years of his life, since his blindness, he revived these readings, going rapidly through a book or group of passages dealing with a subject. There are several now in Tunbridge Wells who remember gratefully and lovingly those early half-hours once a week; they can see him in his study-chair, surrounded by six or eight of the junior clergy with pencils and note-books—the mortal eyes sightless, but the eyes of his understanding being opened, and from his lips pouring forth a stream of words almost too rapid to take down, as he sketched forth the scheme, say, of the Epistle to the Hebrews, and then going into the details chapter after chapter, pointing out the notes of exegesis and different readings, and the light thrown by the Revised Version on each.
It was at this time, as the first birthday after his blindness drew near, that several members of his loving congregation subscribed together and purchased a splendid gold repeater watch, striking the hours, quarters, and half-quarters, as a birthday present for their old Vicar. The following letter, written with the aid of the typewriter which he had also learned to use after the loss of his eyesight, shows how much he appreciated this further proof of their affection:—
“Trinity Vicarage, June 5th, 1889.
“My dear Mrs. Perkins,—I hear that you have been the one chosen by your friends to convey to me the beautiful gift which I received this morning, so to you I must send my answer, and ask you to be so very kind as to assure all the dear people who have taken a share in it of the very great pleasure that their gift has given me. It was so kind of you all to think of me, and to mark by a birthday offering your loving interest in my welfare. But, as for your sending me such a beautiful present, I never for one moment thought of such a thing. You have, however, selected a most useful and valuable form for your kindness.
“For many years I have been dependent on a repeater for securing, day by day, the sacred morning hours before breakfast; and many an hour has been secured to the study of God’s most holy Word through the use of an old repeater left to me (as a legacy) by the dear uncle who gave me my title to my first curacy.
“But the old watch, like the old master, has worn out, and I have been put to the greatest inconvenience; so that, if ever I have left home, I have been obliged to carry two watches—one for the day and the other for night.
“But now, by your gift, the difficulty is removed; and, if ever it please God to restore to me the privilege of spending my winter mornings in the study of His Word, I shall find it to be of inestimable value.
“Most heartily, therefore, do I thank all our friends through you, and trust that they may enjoy as happy and sacred morning hours as our Heavenly Father has so often given to me.
“Believe me, my dear Mrs. Perkins,
“Very faithfully yours,
“E. Hoare.”
In 1889 Canon Hoare was laid low by a severe illness which all expected to be the last. His family assembled around him, and his people thought that they never would see him again.
At this time, when all his friends thought that his call had really come, many letters were received at the Vicarage expressing the warmest sympathy and containing assurances of fervent prayers. The Archbishop of Canterbury wrote as follows to the Rev. J. Gurney Hoare, who was at Tunbridge Wells:—
“Lambeth, June 12th, 1889.
“My dear Mr. Hoare,—Pray give my love and the assurance of my loving prayers to your dear father.
“I had your letter this morning at Hereford.
“As some old writer says, it is ‘like the descending of ripe and wholesome fruits from a vigorous and steadfast tree’ when God calls to Him so single-minded and true a servant—all contests over, and charity having triumphed more and more to the end. Tell him, as you think fit, how much I have always felt that he helped and comforted me in my trying place. I have always had his sympathy and genial counsel, and his prayers. And his strength has been consecrated to the last. In what honour he passes to the last peace! May it be wholly ἀνώδυνος, as the old Greek prayers say. Once more you are all sure of our prayers, and of the prayers of how many through Christ who loves him ever.
“Most sincerely yours,
“E. W. Cantuar.”