From Death into Life Part 3

About this time the news reached us that the Vicar was dead; and thus ended my connection with Perranzabuloe. As the Dean and Chapter would not appoint me to succeed, I had no alternative but to make arrangements for my departure.

In one sense I was not sorry to go; but for various other reasons I much regretted having to leave a place where my health had been so wonderfully restored and sustained, and in which I had received so many tokens of G.o.d's favour. It is true that my labours were of an external character; but these I thought most important, and did them with all my might as unto the Lord. I took the work as from Him, and did it all to Him, and for Him, thanking Him for any token of success or commendation which I received.

I also regretted leaving the place before I had done any good to the people; for, with all my endeavours, I had not succeeded in persuading them to receive my idea of salvation by churchmans.h.i.+p.

However, the door was shut behind me; and this crisis happened at the exact time of another important event in my life. I was just engaged to be married, and therefore had an additional interest in looking for a sphere of labour which would suit me, and also the partner of my choice, who was in every respect likely to be an effectual helpmeet This was soon found and we agreed together to give ourselves to the Lord's work (as we thought) in it.

One of the "Peel" districts in the neighbourhood of Truro, which I had designed, called Baldhu, was on the Earl of Falmouth's estate: it came to his Lords.h.i.+p's mind to take an interest in this desolate spot; so he bought the patronage from the commissioners, and then offered it to me, to Be made into a new parish. This I accepted, with many thanks, and began immediately to dream about my plans for the future.

It was a time of great distress in that place amongst the tenants, on account of the failure of the potato crop; so his lords.h.i.+p employed some hundreds of the men in breaking up the barren croft for planting trees; there he gave me a good central site for a church.

Now I made up my mind to have everything perfect, and with my own rules and regulations, my surpliced choir, churchwardens, and frequent services, all after my own heart, it could scarcely fall to be otherwise. I thought that having free scope, mine should be a model place. The district was in a barren part of a large palish; three thousand souls had been a.s.signed to me; and I was to go and civilize them, build my church, school-house, and, indeed, establish everything that was necessary.

To begin with, I took a room which was used for a village school in the week, and for a service on Sunday. This succeeded so well, that in a few months I determined to enlarge the building in which we a.s.sembled, as speedily as possible. Having made all necessary plans, and procured stones, timber, and slate, we commenced operations at five o'clock one Monday morning, and by Sat.u.r.day night had a chancel (which I thought most necessary) ready for Sunday use!

All the world came to see this sudden erection. This temporary church now held three hundred people; and with the addition of a new choir and hearty service, it was a great success, or, at least, so I imagined, for in those days I did not look for more.

I entered upon my work here with renewed energy and sanguine hope. I had, of course, gained more experience in the various duties of my ministry, and had, moreover, a clearer perception, as I thought, how sacramental teaching, under the authority of the Church, ought to work.

I preached on holy living, not conversion, for as yet I knew nothing about the latter.

In 1847, I went on a visit to a very remarkable man, who had a great effect upon me in many ways. He was the Rev. Robert Hawker, of Morwenstow, in the extreme north of Cornwall.*

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* See his "LIFE," by Rev. Baring Gould.

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This friend was a poet, and a High Churchman, from whom I learned many practical lessons. He was a man who prayed, and expected an answer; he had a wonderful perception for realizing unseen things, and took Scripture literally, with startling effect. He certainly was most eccentric in many of his ways; but there was a reality and straightforwardness about him which charmed me very much; and I was the more drawn to him, from the interest he took in me and my work.

He knew many legends of holy men of old, and said that the patron saints of West Cornwall were in the calendar of the Eastern Church, and those in the north of Cornwall belonged to the Western. His own patron saint, Morwenna, was a Saxon, and his church a Saxon fane. He talked of these saints as if he knew all about them, and wrote of them in a volume of poems thus:--

"They had their lodges in the wilderness, And built them cells along the shadowy sea; And there they dwelt with angels like a dream, And filled the field of the evangelists With thoughts as sweet as flowers."

He used to give most thrilling and grand descriptions of the storms of the Atlantic, which broke upon the rocky coast with gigantic force, and tell thrilling stories of s.h.i.+pwrecks; how he saved the lives of some of the sailors, and how he recovered the bodies of others he could not save. Then in the churchyard he would show you--there, a broken boat turned over the resting-place of some; here, two oars set up crosswise over several others; and in another part the figure-head of a s.h.i.+p, to mark the spot where the body of a captain was buried.

The Vicarage house was as original as himself. Over the door was inscribed--

"A house, a glebe, a pound a day; A pleasant place to watch and pray.

Be true to Church, be kind to poor, O minister, for evermore!"

The interior was furnished with old-fas.h.i.+oned heavy furniture and the outside was conspicuous for its remarkable chimneys, which were finished off as models of the towers of churches where he had served. The kitchen chimney, which was oblong, perplexed him very much, till (as he said) "I bethought me of my mother's tomb; and there it is, in its exact shape and dimensions!"

He had daily service in his church, generally by himself, when he prayed for the people. "I did not want them there." he said. "G.o.d hears me; and they know when I am praying for them, for I ring the bell."

He had much influence in his parish, chiefly amongst the poor, and declared that his people did whatever he told them. They used to bring a bunch of flowers or evergreens every Sunday morning, and set them up in their pew ends, where a proper place was made to hold them. The whole church was seated with carved oak benches, which he had bought from time to time from other churches, when they were re-pewed with "deal boxes!"

On the Sunday, I was asked to help him in the service, and for this purpose was arrayed in an alb, plain, which was just like a ca.s.sock in white linen. As I walked about in this garb, I asked a friend, "How do you like it?" In an instant I was pounced upon, and grasped sternly on the arm by the Vicar. "'Like' has nothing to do with it; is it right?"

He himself wore over his alb a chasuble, which was amber on one side and green on the other, and was turned to suit the Church seasons; also a pair of crimson-colored gloves, which, he contended, were the proper sacrificial colour for a priest.

I had very little to do in the service but to witness his proceedings, which I observed with great attention, and even admiration. His preaching struck me very much; he used to select the subject of his sermon from the Gospel of the day all through the year. This happened to be "Good Samaritan Sunday," so we had a discourse upon the "certain man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," in which he told us that "the poor wounded man was Adam's race; the priest who went by was the Patriarchal dispensation; the Levite, the Mosaic; and the good Samaritan represented Christ; the inn was the Church; and the twopence, the Sacraments."

He held his ma.n.u.script before his face, and read it out boldly, because he "hated," as he said, "those fellows who read their sermons, and all the time pretend to preach them;" and he especially abhorred those who secreted notes in their Bibles: "Either have a book, sir, or none!"

He had a great aversion to Low Church clergymen, and told me that his stag Robin, who ranged on the lawn, had the same; and that once he pinned one of them to the ground between his horns. The poor man cried out in great fear; so he told Robin to let him go, which he did, but stood and looked at the obnoxious individual as if he would like to have him down again and frighten him, though he would not hurt him--"Robin was kind-hearted."

"This Evangelical," he continued, "had a tail coat; he was dressed like an undertaker, sir. Once upon a time there was one like him travelling in Egypt, with a similar coat and a tall hat; and the Arabs pursued him, calling him the 'father of saucepans, with a slit tail.'" This part of his speech was evidently meant for me, for I wore a hat and coat of this description, finding it more convenient for the saddle, and for dining out when I alighted.

He persuaded me to wear a priestly garb like his, and gave me one of his old ca.s.socks for a pattern; this I succeeded in getting made to my satisfaction, after considerable difficulty.

I came back to my work full of new thoughts and plans, determined to do what was "right" and this in spite of all fears, whether my own, or those of others.

I now began to think more of the reality of prayer, and of the meaning of the services of the Church; I emphasized my words, and insisted upon proper teaching. I also paid more attention to my sermons, having hitherto disregarded them; for, as I said, "the Druids never preached; they only wors.h.i.+pped."

I help up my ma.n.u.script and read my sermon, like Mr. Hawker; and I wore a square cap and ca.s.sock, instead of the "saucepan" and the "tails."

This costume I continued to wear for several years, though I was frequently laughed at, and often pursued by boys, which was not agreeable to flesh and blood; but it helped to separate me from the world, and to make me feel that I was set apart as a priest to offer sacrifice for the people.

In course of time I began to make preparations for my permanent church.

I drew the designs for it, pa.s.sed them, and obtained money enough to begin to build. There was a grand ceremony at the stone-laying, and a long procession. We had banners, chanting, and a number of surpliced clergy, besides a large congregation.

The Earl of Falmouth, who laid the stone, contributed a thousand pounds towards the edifice; his mother gave three hundred pounds for a peal of bells; and others of the gentry who were present contributed; so that upwards of eighteen hundred pounds was promised that day. Just twelve months after, July 20, 1848, the same company, with many others, and the Bishop of Exeter (Phillpotts) came to consecrate the "beautiful church."

In the meantime, between the stone-laying and the consecration, the Parsonage house had been built, and, more than that, it was even papered, furnished, and inhabited! Besides all this, there was a garden made, and a doorway, after an ecclesiastical mode, leading into the churchyard, with this inscription over it:--

"Be true to Church, Be kind to poor, O minister, for evermore."

In this church there were super-altars, candles, triptych, and also a painted window; organ, choir, and six bells; so that for those days it was considered a very complete thing. "The priest of Baldhu," with his ca.s.sock and square cap, was quite a character in his small way. He preached in a surplice, of course, and propounded Church tactics, firmly contending for the Church teaching. The Wesleyans and others had their distinctive tenets, the Church must have hers: they had their members enrolled, the Church must have hers; therefore he would have a "guild,"

with the view of keeping his people together. Outwardly there was an esprit de corps, and the paris.h.i.+oners came to church, and took an interest in the proceedings; but it was easy to see that their hearts were elsewhere. Still I went on, hoping against hope, "building from the top" without any foundation, teaching people to live before they were born!

CHAPTER 6

The Awakening, 1848-51.

He more earnestly I wrought among the people, and the better I knew them, the more I saw that the mere attachment to the Church, and punctual attendance at the services or frequency of Communion, was not sufficient. I wanted something deeper. I wanted to reach their hearts in order to do them good.

Whether this desire sprang up in the ordinary progress by which G.o.d was imperceptibly leading me, or from a story I heard at a clerical meeting, I know not--perhaps from both. My mind was evidently as ground prepared to receive the warning. The story was about a dream a clergyman had. He thought the Judgment day was come, and that there was, as it were, a great visitation--greater than the Bishop's. The clergy were mustering, and appeared in their gowns, but instead of being alone, they had part of their congregations with them. Some had a few followers, others had more, and some a great many; and ail these received a gracious smile from the Judge when their names were called. The clergyman who dreamed was waiting, as he supposed, with a large number of people at his back When his turn came he went forward; but, as he approached, he saw that the Judge's countenance was sad and dark. In a sudden impulse of suspicion he looked back; and lo! there was no one behind him. He stopped, not daring to go any further, and turning to look at the Judge, saw that His countenance was full of wrath. This dream had such an effect upon him that he began to attend to his parish and care for the souls of his people.

I also was beginning to see that I ought to care for the souls of my people-at least, as much as I did for the services Of the Church. As a priest, I had the power (so I thought) to give them absolution; and yet none, alas! availed themselves of the opportunity. How could they have forgiveness if they did not come to me? This absolution I believed to be needful before coming to Holy Communion, and that it was, indeed, the true preparation for that sacred ordinance. I used to speak privately to the members of the Church Guild about this, and persuaded some of them to come to me for confession and absolution: but I was restless, and felt that I was doing good by stealth. Besides this, those whom I thus absolved were not satisfied, for they said they could not rejoice in the forgiveness of their sins as the Methodists did, or say that they were pardoned. In this respect I was working upon most tender ground, but I did not know what else to do.

I used to spend hours and hours in my church alone in meditation and prayer; and, while thinking, employed my hands in writing texts over the windows and on the walls, and in painting ornamental borders above the arches. I remember writing over the chancel arch, with much interest and exultation, "Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our G.o.d, and the power of His Christ." (Rev. 12:10).

I imagined, in my sanguine hope, that the kingdom of Christ was come, and that the "accuser of the brethren" was cast down. I thought I saw, in the power of Christ given to His priests, such victory that nothing could stand against it. So much for dwelling on a theory, right or wrong, till it fills the mind. Yet I cannot say that all this was without prayer. I did wait upon G.o.d, and thought my answers were from Him; but I see now that I went to the Lord with an idol in my heart, and that He answered me according to it (Ezek. 14:3).

One day I saw a picture in a friend's house which attracted me during the time I was waiting for him. It was nothing artistic, nor was it over well drawn, but still it engaged my attention in a way for which I could not account. When my friend came down we talked about other things; but even after I left the house this picture haunted me. At night I lay awake thinking about it--so much so, that I rose early the next morning, and went to a bookseller's shop, where I bought a large sheet of tracing-paper and pencil, and sent them out by the postman, with a note to my friend, begging him to give me a tracing of the picture in question.

I had to wait for more than a fortnight before it arrived, and then how great was my joy! I remember spreading a white cloth on my table, and opening out the tracing-paper upon it; and there was the veritable picture of the Good Shepherd! His countenance was loving and kind. With one hand He was pus.h.i.+ng aside the branch of a tree, though a great thorn went right through it; and with the other He was extricating a sheep which was entangled in the thorns. The poor thing was looking up in helplessness, all spotted over with marks of its own blood, for it was wounded in struggling to escape. Another thing which struck me in this picture was that the tree was growing on the edge of a precipice, and had it not been for it (the tree), with all the cruel wounds it inflicted, the sheep would have gone over and perished.

After considering this picture for a long time, I painted it in a larger size on the wall of my church, just opposite the entrance door, so that every one who came in might see it. I cannot describe the interest with which I employed myself about this work; and when it was done, finding that it wanted a good bold foreground, I selected a short text-"He came to seek and to save that which was lost."