i

V

Mp S. <i/

I

James Hannington

D.D., F.L.S., F.R.G.S.

FIRST BISHOP

8 V

OF EASTERN EQUATORIAL AFRICA

A HISTORY

OF HIS LIFE AND WORK

1847 — 1885

*\Y

E. C. DAWSON, M.A., Oxon.

INCUMBENT OF ST. TUOMJS'S CHURCH, EDINBURGH

4‘ Shou me seme one person formed according to the principles he professes .• Show me 'me who is sick and happy ; in danger and happy ; dying and happy; exiled and happy.”

EPICTETUS

THIRTT-THIRD THOUSAND

LONDON

SEELEY b9 CO., Limited

ESSEX STREET, STRAND

1891

All Rights Reserved

UBRARfcS

TO HIS CHILDREN

THIS RECORD

THEIR FATHER’S LIFE AND WORK

is

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

PREFACE,

No apology is surely needed for writing the life of James Hanning- ton. If it be true that every life which has been lived conveys to the world some message which should not be lost, much less can we afford to lose the record of a life like his — a devoted life crowned by a heroic death. With regard, however, to my own part in connection with this work, a word or two of explanation may be necessary.

It seemed to his relatives and friends to be especially desirable that his Memoir should be entrusted to one who had known him personally and intimately. Without this knowledge, his biographer must have failed in presenting him in any recognizable form before the public eye. A mere enumeration of his acts, such as might be easily culled from his diaries, letters, and published articles, or from printed notices regarding him, would convey scarcely any idea at all of the man himself. A verbatim record of his sayings would probably produce an impression utterly false, except to those who knew the speaker and understood the moods in which he uttered them. The materials of which Bishop Hannington was formed were not run into the mould in which ordinary men are shaped. In few things was he just like the majority. Almost everything he said or did was stamped with the impress of his own distinct individuality. That individuality his friends now treasure among their most precious memories. They can never dissociate his words from the tone of the voice which accompanied them, or from the sly twinkle, or it might be, the impatient flash of the grey eyes which introduced them. They can never think of his acts without recalling the active, energetic figure, so full of life and movement, which carried through with an inimitable enthu- siasm of forceful purpose whatever was uppermost in his mind. They would not have' had one thing about him different ; but his

vi Preface.

ways were his own, and his words were his own, and nothing would be easier than that a stranger, by separating his words and his ways from himself should be perfectly accurate in every state- ment, and yet represent him to the world in a manner which would not only be unsatisfactory, but even misleading and unfair to his memory.

When, therefore, his widow requested me to undertake the editorship of his Life and Work, I accepted the responsibility, trusting that my own intimate knowledge of the man might more than compensate for any want of skill which I might display in the treatment of my subject. Perhaps, also, hoping that my own love for him might enable me to make an appreciative study of his remarkable character.

It only remains for me to say that, in the compilation of this Memoir, the Bishop’s diary has been quoted whenever it has been possible to give the narrative in his own words. I have also to offer my warmest thanks to the Hon. Secretary of the Church Missionary Society, who has placed the whole of the Bishop’s official correspondence with the Society at my disposal ; and especially to Mr. Eugene Stock, who has most kindly revised such statements as refer to the history of the Society. Other friends have also contributed letters and personal reminiscences, for which I am grateful.

I now commit this book to the prayers of God’s people. It has been my endeavour, in the pages which follow, to let James Hannington reveal himself as he was, in order that those who did not know him in the flesh may learn the secret of that nature which laid so firm a hold upon the hearts of a large circle of devoted friends, and which seldom failed to leave its deep impres- sion upon all those with whom he was associated.

My own earnest desire is that the example of his noble self- denial may stir up others to emulation, and brace those who read to follow in his footsteps and to “ lay aside every weight, and run with patience the race that is set before them.”

E. C. D.

Edinburgh , Nov., 1886.

CONTENTS,

• —
PART I.
CHAPTER T. Parentage and Childhood (1847 — 60) . ,	* * »	FAOH « I
CHAPTER II. Schooldays (i860 — 62) . . . » ,	* t «	*3
CHAPTER HI. Business and Pleasure (1862—67) . . ,	• » »	. 17
CHAPTER IV. Emancipation (1867 — 68) . . . • *	t « #	• 32
CHAPTER V. Life at Oxford (1868 — 69) . . . x
CHAPTER VI.

Martinhoe (1870—73) . . . . * « , , * 56

CHAPTER VII.

- The Turning Point.— Ordination. — The Great Change (1873— .74) (g

CHAPTER VIII.

Work at Trentishoe and Darley Abbey (1875) * * 4 .88

CHAPTER IX.

St. George’s, Hurstpierpoint (1875) . , . , , .105

CHAPTER X.

Home Mission Work and Personal Diary ( 1875—79) 4 9 12 q

Contents .

viii

CHAPTER XI. page

Home Mission Work and Personal Diary ( continued) (1879 — 82) . 14 1

CHAPTER XII.

The Beckoning Hand (1878—82) . • • • 9 * . 160

PART II.

CHAPTER XIII.

The First Missionary Journey. Zanzibar to Mpvvapwa (1882) ; 175

CHAPTER XIV. Mpwapwa to Uyui (1882) . . . •	• •		188
CHAPTER XV. Uyui to the Victoria Nyanza (1882) . B	• ,	• s	202
CHAPTER XVI. The Lake (1882 — 83) * „ . . »	1 •	1 e	218
CHAPTER XVIT, Beaten Back (1883) » . e . 1	* *	f •	231
CHAPTER XVIII, The Second Missionary Journey (1883 — 84) *	« e	t-. e	252
CHAPTER XIX. Frerf. Town (1885) • « . . . „	e «	0 B	267
CHAPTER XX. The Kilima-njaro Expedition.— Visit to Chagga	(1885.	March,
April) . 0 8			285
CHAPTER XXI. 84 The Work of a Bishop” (1885. April— June)	• »	«	310
CHAPTER XXII. The Last Journey (1885. July — October) «	« *	» •	329

How It Came to Pass

CHAPTER XXIII,

363

JAMES HANNINGTON;

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD*

(1847—60.)

“ I judge him of a rectified spirit.”

Ben Jonson.

11 Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ;

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.”

In Memoriam .

There were Hanningtons in England in very early times. Domesday Book records their existence. Whether my dear old friend, whose too brief life I am now trying to set forth, was directly connected with any of these is likely to remain for ever uncertain. Nor does it greatly signify to know. The chief interest of pedigrees to the wise is, surely, to trace by their help the transmission of certain individual characteristics and the development of them. If, therefore, we do not possess a careful record of the lives and charac- ters of a manJs ancestors, we can easily dispense with their mere names. Those only are of any real value to us whose persons and deeds, manners and words, throw some light upon the life of the man in whom we are interested, and offer some clue to its unravelment.

The first among the ancestors of James Hannington who steps with any definable form out of the shadows is his great-grandfather. We find the following reference to him

J

2 James Hannington.

in his Journal : — cc About the middle of the eighteenth century my great-grandfather and two brothers sailed in a boat from Dover and came into Shoreham River to seek their fortunes ; in those days, doubtless, a very great under* taking. Here my great-grand father married a lady of high family. She was the last of the ancient stock of the De Meophams, Saxon nobles in the year 970 a.d., the best known to posterity of v/hom was Simon De Meopham, sometime Archbishop of Canterbury, whose tomb may be seen in Canterbury Cathedral.”

Of this great-grandfather we wish that more had been recorded, since he seems to have possessed at least one marked characteristic in common with his great-grandson. The diary continues u Almost all that I have heard of him is that he was a man of superhuman strength. On one occasion, passing by where a cart v/as stuck fast in the mud, and six men unable to move it, he bade them stand clear, and lifted it out by himself.” Like his descendant James, who was always eagerly to the fore in any accident, or upon any occasion when active assistance was required, he evi- dently could not resist the impulse to step in and bear a hand.

After his death, which took place early, the great- grandmother was left with two sons, Charles and Smith Hannington. The elder of these is described as u a man of brilliant talents and inventive genius, but who constantly failed in all his undertakings.” In fact, his careless extrava- gance drained his mother’s resources, and made it necessary that his younger brother should be apprenticed to a trade in Brighton.

This younger brother, the grandfather of James, was of different metal : steady, keen and industrious to a wonderful degree. His grandson writes of him : u He toiled in a most marvellous manner.” In after days the impression left by the old man upon the younger generation, who were often urged to take example by him and to walk in his steps, was that of u a shrewd man of business, who never wanted a holiday, and never thought that other people wanted one. Thoroughly liberal, upright and religious ; no man more so ; a firm and strict master, greatly loved, but also greatly

3

Grandfather and Grandson .

feared.” In which description in spite of the unlikeness, we cannot but recognize the texture of the stock from which the subject of this biography was hewn. One trait very remarkably characterized both grandfather and grandson, — a devoted attachment to the mother. This mother-love was a controlling influence of great power in the life of James. He can never write of his mother but his pen frames some new term of endearment. She is to him a the gentlest mother, the sweetest, dearest mother that ever lived. ” If he is in any trouble, u her darling hand ” has always power to soothe him.

And it is told of the grandfather that, when quite a young man, he had a highly advantageous offer of partnership from the owner of a large business in the North of England, but he refused it, tempting as it was, because his mother could not accompany him, and he would not leave her alone.

Mr. Smith Hannington married a lady of renowned beauty, of which traces remained even in James’s time, and by her had five children, the eldest of whom, the father of James, settled in Brighton and carried on the business which had been there commenced. For some time he continued to reside in Brighton, in accordance with the wise old adage too often neglected in these days, u Prepare thy work with- out, and aftenvards build thine house.*” * There seven children were born, but in the year 1847, just before the birth of James, ability and attention to business having produced their usual result, Mr. Charles Smith Hanning- ton purchased the property of St. George’s, Hurstpierpoint, which henceforth became the home of the family.

James Hannington writes: u I was born on the third of September, 1847. The only peculiar circumstance con- nected with my birth was the fact that my father was in Paris at the time. Can this have anything to do with my passionate love of travelling ? Because none of my brothers seem thus affected.”

Hurst, as the inhabitants call it for brevity’s sake, is a pretty little village in the south of Sussex. On the side next

# Prov. xxiv. 27.

4

James Hanning ton, [A.D. 1847—60,

to Brighton, from which it is distant some eight miles, the horizon is bounded by the wavy line of the high downs. Beyond these, hidden behind their windmill-crowned ram- parts, is the sea. On the other side lies a wide stretch of fair view — such a view as is peculiar to the south of Eng- land. Pretty undulating country, well wooded, here and there the warm red of old brick farm-steadings catching the level rays of the setting sun, and glowing into crimson on tall chimney-stalk and tiled roof ridge ; everywhere free flowing curves topped with foliage, melting, in the far distance, into the dim uncertainty of broken tree-line.

The mansion of St. George^s is pleasantly situated near the entrance to the village. It stands within its own large garden and grounds. At the back a glass door opens upon a flight of wide steps descending to the lawn. All around are shrubberies full of deep nooks, wherein children may hide and play. Not far off are two lakelets, among the spreading weeds of which, and between the broad lily leaves, myriads of mysterious creatures skim and dart, and send up bubbles to the surface from strange and unknown depths. Then, outside the iron railings which bound the lawn, are the fields spangled with golden buttercups, and beyond all stretches the illimitable country that opens out upon the world. A very child’s paradise !

Here, there, and everywhere, through this pleasance, went little baby James, with the keenest of inquiring eyes : of that we maybe sure. There was no nook in the grounds, from the holly bush where the blackbird had swung that cunning nest of hers with the four mottled eggs in it, to the bank where the humble bee burrled out from some hole behind the broad dock leaves, into which his paddling, sturdy little feet had not taken him. Before long there was no secret of moss or flower or hidden chrysalis, in garden or shrubbery, that had not been probed by his busy, eager fingers. He was a born naturalist. One of the earliest sayings of his, treasured up and recorded by his father, is, a I have just seen a big bird, which could only be a thrush or an eagle ! ”

To the end of his life he could not resist turning aside to see some strange insect or to note some new plant, or

5

JE t. i— 13.] A Young Naturalist .

examine some interesting geological specimen. Of this faculty for observation and interest in that book of Nature, the pages of which are opened wide-spread before him who has eyes to see, we shall find many traces in his letters and journals. u Beetles ” and u mosses ” always bulked largely in his estimate of the desirability of any spot in which to spend a holiday.

His very youthful peccadilloes took their form from this early developed love of “ specimens.” Other boys might steal sugar or jam when the cupboard was by chance left unlocked ; his baby hands itched for the wondrous things behind the glass doors of the library museum. He says, “No portfolio or cabinet was safe from my nasty httle fingers.” Once it was a rare Babylonian seal, at another time a trayful of selected minerals, which were abstracted, and with much glee hidden away among the miscellaneous articles which formed his peculiar treasure.

This tendency to observe and “collect” was both in- herited from and encouraged by that “ sweetest, dearest mother,” who made a companion of her wayward, erratic little son, and both fostered and directed his natural love of science in many branches. As he grew older, the delight of James was to pore over the treasures of his ever- increasing cabinets with his mother, and to arrange and classify the specimens and relics which they had collected, during their travels, from land and sea.

Taking his education, however, as a whole, we can- not feel satisfied that the best plan was adopted in the upbringing of the child. There seems to have been much liberty, checked by an occasional vigorous application of the birch rod, but little systematic teaching or sustained and orderly training. Now, liberty tempered by the birch rod can never be a very safe system under which to bring up any lad, especially a headstrong and passionate boy with a marked individuality like that of our little James. We are inclined to think that a little less of both in the days of his childhood would have saved him the necessity for more than one lesson hard to be learnt in the days of his manhood.

He himself blames the old-fashioned severity with which

6

Janies Hannington . [A.D. 1847—60.

any fault, when brought home to him, was punished. u I am not quite certain, ?? he says, u that it did not destroy my moral courage. I have none, and I think that it was from fear that I lost it. To this very day I am afraid out of my wits to ask my father for the simplest thing ; and yet I know that there is no likelihood of his refusing me/’ He also attributes a certain reserve of character and unwilling- ness to unfold himself to the inspection of others, to the same cause. With regard to this self-criticism we may say that he perhaps may have been reserved to this extent, that he never found it easy, either by letter or in conversa- tion, to convey to another what he felt most deeply. He was not given to unburdening himself, except to his most chosen intimates, who were the privileged recipients of his confidences. This may have been natural, or it may have been the result of his peculiar training. We are inclined to think that both may be held, in a measure, responsible for it. Lacking in moral courage I do not think he was — certainly not to any conspicuous extent : rather the reverse. It may have been that moral courage was not natural to him. In that case there belongs to him the greater honour of acquiring it.

The man who is naturally gifted with physical courage has no fear of exposing his body to rude assaults. And perhaps we may define moral courage as a certain fearless- ness in exposing the inner self to possible laceration or rebuff. Insensibility to fear is popularly accounted bravery ; but he, surely, is no less brave, rather more so, who, though he vibrates through all his nervous system, and shrinks from exposure to pain or violence, yet schools himself to en- counter them without flinching. And as the courage of that general, who, preparing to lead his men into the hottest fore- front of the battle, thus addressed his trembling knees: uAh! you would quake worse if you only knew where I am going just now to take you/’ — is justly considered to have been of a higher order than the stolid insensibility which carried others calmly enough into the jaws of death — so, he who resolutely masters his moral cowardice, and faces his duty manfully, must be considered the most truly morally brave.

£t. i— 13.] Moral Courage. 7

[f it be true, then, that Janies Hannington, who possessed the attribute of physical courage in so marked a degree, was naturally deficient in that moral courage which is the more important of the two, we can only say that to him belongs the credit of overcoming his natural weakness in a very mar- vellous manner. To those who observed him closely, there were not wanting signs that it was an effort to him to expose himself— that is, his sensitive, inner self— speaking from the heart to the heart, as must be done when a man wishes to influence another souk But with whatever severity he may have judged himself, to his friends he always appeared as a man who might be relied upon to do his duty unflinchingly; to speak out what was in his mind, and to abide by the issue. He would sometimes class himself with such characters as Mr. Feeble-Mind, or Mr. Ready-to-Halt ; but to us he appeared rather Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, with his sword ever ready to his hand.

The mixed and broken nature of his early education had, at least, this advantage. It set him free to think for himself, and possessing as he did unusual powers of observa- tion, and naturally disposed to make use of them, he gained, while still a lad, a sturdy independence of character, and a knowledge of men and things, quite beyond those of his own age.

The first thirteen years of his life, then, were spent at home, and in travelling and yachting with his parents.

Many stories are told of his fearless and excitable nature. He was always, with the best intentions, in some mischief. Always on the verge of a serious accident; almost always escaping without much harm done, since the perfectly fearless rarely suffer by their own rashness. It is recorded how, at the age of seven, he clambered unnoticed up the mast of his father’s yacht, and was at last discovered high aloft, suspended on some projection by the seat of his trousers. And many other such adventures. He must have kept his mother constantly upon the tiptoe of nervous expectation as to what would happen next.

He was eleven years of age when he was permitted to make his first yachting trip alone with his elder brother.

8

James Hannington . [A.D. 1847— 60.

Samuel. He says : cc My father hired for us a small cutter, of about thirty-two tons. A very slow old tub she was, and, therefore, named the 4 Antelope/ Sam was at this time between sixteen and seventeen years old, but very manly for his age. Everything on board was of the roughest description. We used to wait upon ourselves, make our own beds, and do all that sort of thing. Sea pies and plum duff were our standing dishes. All this mattered little to us \ we were as happy and contented as the days were long. The first day, being slightly qualmish, I lay on the deck in the sun, and the next morning was in the most miserable plight, my whole face one mass of blisters, piteous to behold.” So, starting from Brighton, they went round the Isle of Wight, past Portland, and as far as the Land’s End ; visiting Torquay, Dartmouth, Penzance, St. Michael’s Mount, and almost every place of interest accessible to them. The brothers also made an excursion to the famous Loggan Rock, hard by the Landes End ; and James tells the story of that unfortunate practical joker who paid so dearly for his folly — that Lieutenant of a Revenue Cutter, who landed a party to throw the great rocking-stone over the cliff, “ to make a grand splash.” He only suc- ceeded in moving the mass a few inches, but it rocked no more. The owner of an inn, to which the balanced stone attracted visitors, sued the luckless lieutenant for damages, and he was condemned to replace the stone in its original position. This he did with partial success, but only by special machinery, and at such cost that “he was reduced to beggary.” James draws a suitable moral from this, and con- cludes : cc Alas ! I am scarcely in a position to preach ; I have been so fond of playing practical jokes myself.” He continues : cc We returned in our own time to the Isle of Wight. My father came down to Portsmouth and settled with Redman (the captain and owner). That very night I was awaked by a great disturbance on deck, a crash of bottles, and a sound as of fumbling in our wine locker. Ah ! I always told Sam, thought I, that our wine went too fast; there they are in the act. Urchin as I was, I don’t think that, in those days, I knew fear. I struck a light,

;£t. i — 13O

9

First Yachting Trip .

never went to see whether Sam was awake, but marched into the forecastle and looked at the men. They were both sound asleep, and a stranger lying on the floor asleep too. I then slipped up the forecastle ladder, and should have sallied right up to the offending parties, had not Sam waked and seen me, and called me back, fearing I might get hurt. I had, however, time to see old Redman fearfully tipsy ; a woman with him on deck, and a man in a boat holding on by the side. As I did not dare disobey Sam, I crept back into bed, and we heard the woman say, c I will have the silver spoon, uncle Joe ; give us the silver spoon.3 Here the boatman interposed, saying it was past three o^clock, and he would wait no longer ; so the female had to go without the spoon, and Redman stumbled down to his bin, amid straw and broken bottles. Next morning, daring young imp, I called him out of his berth before I was dressed. However, he did not appear until about one o’clock, and tried to look as if nothing had happened. Sam did not quite know how to introduce the subject ; we were both very young, and did not like to rebuke such an elderly sinner. At last I went up to him with all the assurance of eleven years, and asked him before everybody why his niece wanted our silver spoon. He tried to look surprised, and said, c I don’t understand you, sir ! ’ But Sam now found his opportunity, and opened up the subject till Redman was, I remember, ready to drop on his knees that nothing more might be said. We forgave him. We had enjoyed the cruise beyond measure, and the little adventure of 4 Uncle Joe ’ only added spice to it.”

The result of this trip was that young James quite made up his mind to u go to sea.” This might, perhaps, have been his lot, but the death at sea of an elder brother had determined his parents not to allow another son to enter the navy. So the country lost a daring seaman, but she has gained thereby the priceless legacy of the memory of a Christian martyr.

Another adventure we must chronicle, not merely as illustrating the courage of the boy, but as explaining a conspicuous physical defect— the absence of the thumb upon his left hand.

10

James Hannington . [A.D. 1847— 60.

He was bent upon taking a wasp’s nest, and had just been initiated into the mystery of making damp gunpowder squibs, or u blue devils.” Full of his new acquirement, he sought out Joe, the keeper's son, and together they got pos- session of a broken powder-flask. “ In a few minutes,” he says, “ blue devils were in a state of readiness, but we must needs, before starting, try one with touch-paper. The result was not so satisfactory as we had expected, and Joe Simmons says I tried to pour a little powder on the top of it. The spring of the flask was broken, and in an instant a terrific explosion took place. The flask was blown to atoms, and I was to be seen skipping about, shaking my hand as if twenty wasps were settling on it. Simmons senior rushed up at the report, and binding up my hand in his handkerchief, led me off to the house, about a quarter of a mile distant, my hand all the while streaming with, blood, so as to leave a long red streak in the road. When I reached the garden I was so faint that Miles, the gardener, took me up and carried me. The first person I met was my mother. She at once saw that something was wrong, and, in spite of my saying that I had only cut my finger a little, she sent off for the doctor. I was soon under chloroform, and my thumb was amputated. It was quite shattered, and only hanging by the skin. I was very prostrate from the great loss of blood, but, through the mercy of God, I soon got well again. 1 never suffered with the lost thumb, I may say, at all. I used to feel the cold in it; but that also has passed away, although even now I cannot bear a blow upon it without considerable pain. It is a great wonder that I was not taken off by tetanus ! ”

About a year after this, in the summer of i860, James went with one of his brothers and their tutor for a tour through Wales. One or two extracts from his diary are worth quoting, as instancing that keen sense of humour which was one of his striking characteristics. Upon the top of a coach, near Aberystwith, they encountered a certain Unitarian. At him the tutor, a young man reading for orders, straightway launched himself. The conflict was an unequal one. The stranger turned out to be the a fathei

/Et. i — 13.] Sense of Humour. 1 1

of two senior wranglers, whom he had educated himself.” The fiery orthodoxy of the tutor, in spite of his newly- acquired theological battery, was no match for the dogmatism of the father of the wranglers. James writes, evidently

with gleeful remembrance of the scene : “ Mr. rushed

at him single-handed ; words waxed very warm ; the Uni- tarian's arms flew about like the sweeps of a windmill. We were ordered not to listen to the profane babbler, but we could not help hearing our tutor scream in a very loud voice, c But you won't let me get a word in edgeways.’ c And I don't mean toj replied his adversary, in still louder tones. I fear he had the fight pretty much his own way, for our tutor said that he was a nasty, rude man, and forbade us to speak to him again.” Do we not see them ? That raw young man, with his thin veneering of theological lore, and that hot-blooded Welsh mathematician, butting against each other in direst conflict ?

Again, how graphically he tells the story of that abo- minable old Welshwoman, “an ancient dame, rheumatic and lame,” who u was got on top of the coach by means of a ladder and ropes, two or three men pushing and pulling with all their might” ! The driver, an ex-colonel in the army, rated at the old dame, and u vowed he would not stop the coach for such a time. However, they at last got her up, and she sat coughing and groaning. We soon began to speculate about her descent, and it became a matter of conjecture as to how she was to be got down. Two or three hours afterwards we arrived at Harlech, and the horses were changed. While this was being done the colonel and other passengers darted in to get some refreshment. Old mother was cruelly left on the box to take care of herself. Thinking, of course, that she was safely housed, the money for her fare had not been taken. Not two minutes elapsed — in fact, the colonel only gave himself time to swallow a hasty glass of beer, when he returned to look at his new team. Lo ! that ancient dame had jumped down, baskets, bundles, and all, and had given him the slip, if he cursed her in his heart because she took such a long time to get up, he cursed her ten times more because she took such a short time to

12 James Hannington . [A.D. 1847—60.

get down ! It was the joke of the day — even the colonel could not help laughing, although he had lost his money.”

Poor little James had now reached the age when children begin to be uncomfortably conscious of their own personal appearance and deficiencies. Though he was in later life singularly free from susceptibility of this kind, and never seemed to wince beneath any most pointed personalities that might be thrust at him by maliciously- minded friends, there is a touch of boyish pain in the fol- lowing record. An overflow of third-class passengers had filled their compartment with a number of roysterers, who cursed and swore forth profane vulgarities all the way home. “ I perfectly well recollect,” he writes, cc that one of these cursers, much to my annoyance, noticed that I had lost my thumb, and I was very impressed, as he was the first stranger” (brutal fellow !) “ that had remarked it to me.”

F”

CHAPTER II.

SCHOOLDAYS.

(l860 — 62.)

“ My bonnie laddie’s young, but he ’s growin’ yet.”

Old Scotch Ballad .

Very shortly after the Welsh tour referred to in the last chapter, the tutor left to take a curacy. What was to be done with the boys ? James was now thirteen, and not very easy for a tutor to manage. Good-natured and warm-hearted, but withal quick tempered, and an inveterate tease : capable of great industry when the subject — as that of natural history — interested him ; but otherwise seemingly incorrigibly idle, and utterly averse to apply himself to the dull routine of the classical mill : it was evident to his parents that he and his brother Joseph ought to go to school. It was only, however, after long thought and some demur that it was finally decided that they should enter the Temple School at Brighton.

u Alas ! 55 he writes, “ it was only a private school, and we were allowed to go home every Saturday to stop till Monday morning.”

The home-bred boy was at first, naturally enough, very unhappy. The memory of the day when he was left, pale, nervous, and shivering, in the schoolroom, among his new companions, always clung to him. Do not most of us recall such a moment ? The kindly manner of the head- master, however, made things easier for both the brothers, and they soon fell into their places.

Hannington criticizes with some severity the private tutor and private school system, with frequent visits home, under which, by a mistaken kindness, he had been brought up. He writes in his journal, u I knew absolutely nothing,

14 James Hannington. [A.D. 1860-2.

the result of private tutorage, and I was put into the fourth class, which was bottom but one.” Again, speaking of the time when he left school, he adds : cc I only remained at school until I was fifteen and a half, and then left for busi- ness, with as bad an education as possible ; I may say as bad as my father’s was good. I was no more fit to leave school than to fly, and yet I was then in the first class. So much for private tutors and private schools. I believe that both systems are equally pernicious.” All of which I transcribe without either endorsing the opinion or otherwise, except so far as to remind the reader that what is one boy’s poison may be another boy’s food. As regards a boy of Hanning- ton’s type, it can scarcely be doubted that the system he condemns was open to serious objections. As he says of himself : u I was naturally idle, and would not learn of myself, and I was unfortunate enough always to be sent to places where I was not driven to learn. Would that I had been driven ! ” In the later years of his short life, his industry and application were unwearied and immense. No one could accuse him of trifling with his time, or of the smallest degree of self-indulgence. He was scrupulously painstaking in the execution of any work which he under- took, and his undertakings he meted out to himself with no scant hand. But no one can doubt that his university course, upon which so much of a man’s future depends, would have been quite other than it was, perhaps even a brilliant one, had he possessed the advantage of a more thorough and systematic early training.

Hannington had plenty of intelligence ; was as sharp as a needle ; quick to learn what he chose to learn ; and what he once learned he always retained. Volatile and excitable as he was, he could be serious enough when the occasion seemed to demand it, and in the midst of all his extrava- gances a certain solid good sense generally kept him within bounds, so that he never committed any act which could cause himself or others serious regret. He soon became a prime favourite at school, both with the masters and boys. That the former should have been the case is more strange than the latter. He soon proved himself to be a confirmed

jEt. I3 — 15.] School Fights. 15

“pickle.” He thus reports himself : “I was always very excitable and noisy, and was called c Mad Jim.’ In fact, I was one day reported to the Head-Master as c verging on insanity/ and was severely punished.” He once lit a bonfire in the middle of his dormitory ; at another time pelted the German Master with his rejected papers \ and we are not much surprised to learn that, on one particularly unlucky day, he was cc caned more than a dozen times,” till, smarting in every inch of his body, he had serious thoughts of running away.

The Head-Master, however, was most judicious and kind. Whatever was lacking in his pupil’s education, the fault could not be laid upon the threshold of the pedagogue. He liked the giddy boy, into whose truly lovable nature he saw, and easily secured his affection in return. Hannington was sensitively conscientious and trustworthy. Hatred of a lie was inborn and inbred in him. He might always be entirely relied upon to carry out anything that he had once undertaken, and that not only in the letter, but in the spirit. His word was, in the most rigid sense, his bond. This fidelity of mind was developed in him very early.

The following instance seems quite a remarkable one of a schoolboy's endurance for conscience* sake.

Every school has its bully. A certain R. R. filled this role during the time Hannington was at the Temple School. Being rash enough to attack this boy, Hannington got, what perhaps upon that occasion he richly deserved, a tremendous thrashing. Both of his eyes were closed up, and sundry egg-like bumps upon his head bore witness to the hardness of his adversary’s fists. That same afternoon he, unluckily, had to go home to pay his weekly visit. Horrified at the dreadful appearance of her son, his mother made him promise that he would never fight again.

Now, there never was one more absolutely devoid cf physical fear than James Hannington. Yet, holding him- self bound by that promise of his, he returned to school defenceless. Everyone knows what must be the fate of a schoolboy when once the young imps about him have clearly ascertained that he will not fight. He was soon

1 6 James Hanningion . [A.D. 1860—2.

made thoroughly wretched. His pusillanimity, for such it seemed, was taken advantage of in every way. He went about like a muzzled mastiff, submitting to be treated by his tormentors like a coward and a cur.

At last he could stand it no longer. a One day/* he says, u I had allowed myself to be bullied nearly to death by B. Pv a boy about my own size, when all of a sudden I turned round and said, to the astonishment of the whole school, that I would fight him. He was backed by his cousin, only son of Baron P. ; I don’t think I had anybody to back me, but I very soon gave him a thrashing, and I never recollect being bullied afterwards.” He always remembered that act as a u broken promise,” but who can doubt that such a promise was a greater burden laid upon a schoolboy’s shoulders than he could be reasonably expected to bear !

CHAPTER III.

BUSINESS AND PLEASURE.

(1862 — 67.)

“ Always roaming with a hungry heart,

Much have I seen and known.”

Ulysses .

“One has to spend so many years in learning how to be happy.”

George Eliot.

It too often happens in life that the square man is put into the round hole ; and not only put there, but rammed down into the hole, and worked back and forth in it, until his angles have somewhat accommodated themselves to the misfit. So the wheels of life go round, somehow, not without a good deal of friction, and some exposlulatory creaking. Happily the subject of this memoir proved alto- gether too polygonal to be fitted, by any most careful easing whatever, into the hole which circumstances seemed to have prepared for him. He already possessed a moderate com- petence. The portion of goods that belonged, or would belong to him was likely to be sufficient for his wants. But the road to fortune lay plainly through the counting- house, and his father’s established and high-class place of business.

To the counting-house at Brighton, then, he was sent at the age of fifteen, and there he remained more or less during six years. He was wholly unsuited, by almost every characteristic he possessed, for the monotonous routine of a commercial life. Generous, impulsive, erratic, the careful men who managed that great business house, had thev taken him into partnership, would have discovered before long that they had bound a very zebra to their cart yoke. u Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow or will he harrow the valleys after thee ? ” The experi-

2

1 8 James Hannington . [A.D. 1863,

ment has often been tried. The result has, we venture to say, seldom been satisfactory. Happily, in Hannington’s case, the “ fork ” was not too persistently applied to that ever- recurring nature of his. After six years he was allowed to choose that path for which the Divine Hand had fashioned him.

On looking through the record of these six years they seem to have been filled up with almost more pleasuring than u business/” Hannington writes : u As soon as I left school I was allowed to go with my late master, W. H, Gutteridge, on a trip to Paris. I was intensely delighted ; so much so that at first I could scarcely realize it. Once, when a little boy, having caught an unusually fine fish, thinking that I must be asleep and dreaming, I pinched my- self as hard as I could, and repeated the pinch two or three times, to make quite certain that I was awake. And now, as I stepped on board the steamer at Newhaven, I felt much the same inclination to pinch myself, it seemed so impossible that I was really on my way to spend six or eight weeks abroad. Visions of cardinals shut up in cages, of the horrors of revolutions, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Morgue, magnificent chocolate shops, all these and more confusedly floated through my brain.” A marginal note to the diary, evident y written much later, adds what was always a dominant thought with him, u My dearest of mothers was pleased too, and I think that know- ing this gave me such great joy.”

This trip is described in his notes at great length. No doubt all the information those notes contain can be gathered from a guide book, but it is not too much to say that few guide books, drawn up by experienced and profes- sional travellers, could give much more information, or pay minuter attention to details than does the diary of this boy of fifteen. There was almost nothing in the towns he visited which he did not see, and, what is more, which he did not think worth the seeing. He was at this time very far from being a mere gaping schoolboy. If he did not yet see much beneath the shell of things, he at least took an intelligent interest in everything. He congratulates himself

JEt. 1 6.]

First Visit to Paris .

19

upon having had such an excellent travelling companion as Mr. Gutteridge ; but we might also congratulate Mr. Gutteridge himself upon the companionship of that uncon- ventionally fresh young mind.

They went to a boarding-house kept by a certain Madame Boys, from whence he writes to his mother : —

w Dearest Mamma,— You will be very glad to hear that we had a capital passage. We played chess on board the steamer all the time: neither of us sick. We went to church Christmas morning at the Ambassador’s Chapel, and to the Madeleine in the afternoon. We had a very grand dinner party in the evening. Madame Boys is a kind, good-natured, vulgar, blowing-up-servants little woman- all very desirable points to make me happy. I mean to bring you home six snails with rich plum pudding stuffing in them. With my very best love to all, especially papa, Your affectionate son, James Hannington.33

The Archbishop of Paris was just at this time at the point of death. The following thoroughly boyish remark occurs in one of James's letters home: CCI am rather glad that the Archbishop is dead ; we are going to see him lying in state.” Which they accordingly did, and his funeral afterwards. They missed nothing, these two.

A short six months were now spent in the house of business, and then another trip abroad with Mr. Gutteridge was planned and carried out.

This time they went to Brussels, Antwerp, Luxem- bourg, Treves, and many other places, about all of which Hannington has much to say. Nothing escaped his obser- vant eyes, and everything was carefully noted in his pocket- book. At Wiesbaden he notes (the gaming tables were then in full swing) : cc Those who seemed to be regular pro- fessional gamblers wTere the ugliest set of people that I ever saw in my life. A gambling table is a curious sight. I recollected those awfully eager and ugly faces for many a long day.33

From Wiesbaden and Frankfort the travellers made their way to Baden Baden, cc nestling in the heart of the Black

20

James Hannington . [A.D« 1863.

Forest like a beautiful but deadly snake on a bank of purple violets.”

Then on to Lucerne, whose fairy-like charms seem to have inspired the following not unmusical verse :

u Oh ! for a painter’s brush, or poet’s pen,

That I might now pourtray The glories I saw then.

The silver moon, the cloudless starlit sky,

The deep, the rippling lake ;

Grim Pilate standing by,

Hoar- white his rugged peak with glistening snow.

Like some fierce lion’s fang,

Unbared to meet the foe.”

From the Wengern Alp James saw his first avalanche, with which, having, like most travellers, formed marvellous conceptions of falling mountains, he was at first rather dis- appointed. He saw the great Rhone Glacier, not then shrunk to its present lesser proportions. From thence the two crossed over the St. Gothard Pass into Italy, saw the Lakes and Milan, and penetrated as far as Venice. Re- turning across the Simplon, they visited Chamounix, and made a glacier excursion as far as the “ Jardin,” an excursion no less fascinating because so often cc done.” Thence home by Geneva and Paris. The whole trip of two months (June and July of 1863) was evidently not wasted upon the boy, but was a real factor in his education.

The First of September that followed was a notable day in the lad’s diary. He was allowed to take out a game- license for the first time, and shot his first bird. The occurrence was, moreover, impressed upon his memory by the explosion of a cartridge in the opened breech of his gun, whereby his face was severely cut and burnt, and for some little time he was quite blinded.

Mr. and Mrs. Hannington had now taken to a yachting life, and spent much of their time on board. James, who Was devoted to the sea and its adventures, was frequently passing backwards and forwards between Portsmouth, where the yacht often lay, and Brighton.

u Sunday , Nov . 1^,1863. — Caught in a tremendous squall returning from church at Portsmouth. Never was

21

Alt 1 7, 1 8.] Yachting .

there such a churchgoer as my mother. She simply would go if it was possible. I wonder that we never capsized during those rough-weather journeys/5

The next entry in his diary records his commission as second lieutenant in the ist Sussex Artillery Volunteers.

u March 28th, 1864. — -My first day in uniform/*

“June 11///.— Rapid progress in soldiering. Battalion inspected, and I had command of my company/*

Hannington made an excellent artillery officer. He was a great favourite with the men, from whom, however, he exacted implicit obedience. He early displayed considerable organizing power ; and always gave that attention to seem- ingly trifling details which goes so far to ensure the success of any undertaking.

July and the first week of August of this year were spent on board the yacht Zelia , and in a continental tour with his parents through part of France, Germany, and Switzerland. His taste for travel was as keen as ever ; and everything was noted in the nevei -absent pocket-book for future reference.

“Aug, 11///. — My father gave me a single-barrel breech-loader gun ; 1 7 guineas. My delight is great.**

cc Sept, 3 rd, — My seventeenth birthday. Shot eighteen brace of birds, four hares, one landrail. 5 feet 10 inches high, weight 11 stone 6 lb. Sam gave me a garnet ring ; Phil a gold locket/*

In October of the same year he was with his parents in another yachting excursion. They visited the island of Alderney, and, in spite of very rough weather, managed to enjoy themselves. James writes while they were still off Portsmouth :

cc Saturday, the 22nd.- — Weather looks worse, though sea rather smoother. Landed in boat, and, returning, got caught in a terrific squall, and had great difficulty in reaching the yacht. Found mother and the crew greatly frightened for us; the former in tears. We were an hour behind our time/*

22 James Hannington . [A.D. 1864, 5.

u Sunday , 23*2/.— It blew furiously. No landing for

church. Which means that it <//V/blow.”

Coming home across the choppy waters of the Channel they were nearly cut down by the West Indian Packet just as they entered the Needles. uWe had watched her ap- proaching for more than an hour, and as we were beating up on the right tack, and every foot was of importance to us, the captain trusted to her giving way, but she evidently expected us to do the same, and kept on. The huge monster dashed by within a few feet of us. The men shouted, and my father as coolly as possible fired a blue light, and we were saved.”

The following entry appears in the diary for December 30th u Father went on deck with five sovereigns in one hand and the paper in which they had been wrapped in the other. He threw the sovereigns overboard and kept the paper. He was much vexed.”

The verses which conclude his diary for 1864 show that, though he might not at that time have had any real and vital religion, yet that he was religiously minded, and not dis- inclined to think seriously. They are worth quoting.

“ My heart, Lord, may I ever raise To Thee in humble thanks and praise For keeping me throughout this year.

Lord, guard and guide me while I’m here,

And when to die my time is come,

Oh ! take me to Thy heavenly home.”

A further proof that his mind was beginning to bestir itself, and his spirit to grope after something reliable upon which it might lay hold, is to be found in the remarkable entry made against March 6th, 1865. “Left off mourning for Cardinal Wiseman.” He adds a little later: uThe fact is that about this time I nearly turned Roman Catholic ; but my faith was much shaken by reading Cardinal Manning’s funeral sermon for the above. Also by his own last words, 6 Let me have all the Church can do for me.’ I seemed to see at once that if the highest ecclesiastic stood thus in need of external rites on his death-bed, the system must be

jEt 1 8J Nearly Turned Roman Catholic . 23

rotten, and I shortly after gave up all idea of departing from our Protestant faith/5

Only once again did he ever experience any leaning toward the Roman Church, when for a single moment he thought that he recognized in the quiet seclusion of a certain cloister the soil suitable for the growth of the spiritual life, then working still more restlessly within him. But, in sooth, James Plannington would never have made a u good 55 Catholic of the Roman type, much less a monk who would have been tolerated for a single day by any “ Superior.” Pie was never wont to u think by the bonnet,” * and his sturdy independence of reasoning, and sound, masculine common sense, would have soon burst through the cramping enswathements of the Roman system, or procured him a speedy and emphatic eviction out of that fold. All this time scarcely a single entry in the diary refers to the a business/5 Almost all his time seems to have been spent on board the yacht. Evidently James was far more keen to cultivate horny hands and weather - beaten haffets ” f in many a conflict with the salt-laden winds and blue racing waves of the open Channel, than a bold com- mercial style of penmanship, and an automatic accuracy in totting up figures. He says with some pride : u I can now sail a boat uncommonly well. To-day I proposed going across to France in the wherry, and got well scolded for the suggestion/5

In April of this year (1865) he paid a fortnight’s visit to a friend at Virginia Water, Capt. Welsh, “ Admiral of the Oueen’s Rowing-boats/5

cc April 8th.— After dinner a croquet party. Prince Alfred came in in the middle of it. Saw the Queen.

u April loth.— Another croquet party, which was sud- denly interrupted by the arrival of the Queen. We had to scamper off indoors ; but from my bed-room window I could hear the Queen laughing and chatting in a most merry way to Capt. Welsh.’

* “ He thinks by the bonnet, like a monk in Sorbonne.” f Cheeks. Pascac {Old French Provc?'l\

24

[A.D. 1865.

James Hannington .

u April 17th.— Rode with Vernon. Called on the Mills. Coming back, was playing the penny whistle, when sud- denly met the Queen. I wonder what she thought of my performance ! 99

The month of June was spent on board the Zelia . A family party was made up for a trip by sea to the west coast of Scotland ; and then once more the serious business of life began, and James turned his unwilling feet to the unwelcome warehouse. He says : u I left the dear yacht and returned to Brighton. I hoped to do well ; but, alas ! it was not from the bottom of my heart. I never could like the business/9 His head was full of the sunny western sea ; and great green Atlantic rollers breaking over the half-hidden fangs of treacherous reefs ; and the sloping deck of the yacht under pressure of sail, cutting her way through the seething water ; and rocky islands, purple against flaming skies ; and everything but the adding up of those never-ending columns of figures, and the acquirement of knowledge of the texture of merchantable fabrics in that terrible warehouse. Had a business career been seriously planned for him, he would, perhaps, have been kept more rigorously to the grindstone ; but no doubt his parents were at this time willing to allow him to discover for himself, by actual experience of life, in what direction his natural bent tended. He had, accord- ingly, far more liberty than is granted to most boys at the age of eighteen, who are not intended for a life of idleness.

It is very noticeable that, under this treatment, Hanning- ton never displayed the least tendency to pass his time Th lounging about, frequenting the clubs, or in any way leading a fast life. His time was never unoccupied — never hung heavy on his hands. He was never one of those who affect to be superior to the occupations and amusements of every- day life — who yawn, and find nothing to interest them in the world. He always had something to do — always some- thing in hand; and what he did undertake he carried through with a heartiness and delighted enthusiasm which never failed to infect others and stir them up to co-operate. It was this faculty which made him the very life and centre of any circle of society into which he was introduced. His

25

jEt. 18.J Receives His Commission as Captain .

friends often found themselves, under his influence, working might and main for the achievement of some object in which none of them had taken the slightest previous interest, but which Hannington had made the all-important object of the hour.

About this time he threw himself heart and soul into the work of his battery. He passed his examination for promotion, and about the end of the year received his com- mission as captain. His delight was boundless when, at the Artillery Volunteer Camp at Shoeburyness, the Brighton men won both the Palmerston Prize of 40 guineas and the Queers Prize of roo guineas. His own detachment behaved itself very creditably, and showed signs of careful drilling. I find this entry after the return from the camp : u I presented a gold pin to Bomb. C. for good shooting.” At this time, also, he began to show signs of that interest in the welfare of young men which in after years was so marked a feature of his ministry. He took a great deal of trouble in procuring for them suitable recreation rooms, and personally inspected, tested, and bought the various articles necessary for their equipment. He organized concerts, readings, and games, and made himself a prime favourite with the men under his charge.

Hannington was always fond of telling a good story against himself. Here is one : On Easter Monday, 1866, at the Grand Review, the Prince and Princess of Wales being present, he was appointed major to the battalion. Right proudly he jingled along upon his gaily-caparisoned charger. Scarcely, however, had they started, when that horse, unmindful of his own dignity or that of his master, took the bit between his teeth and bolted. Away flew James in full view of the admiring Prince and Royal party. First his horse made for a gap which led over the cliff ; from thence, being hardly turned by the waving arms of some fisherfolk, he dashed down the pavement and ran full tilt into a cart ; grazing this, he was nearly knocked from the saddle by violent contact with a cab horse ; and next, still sticking bravely on, he charged home into a mounted officer. A' last, not without effort, this mad career was checked, and

26 James Hannington . [A.D. 1866.

the major rode back to his post, girth broken and accoutre- ments all awry, amid the ironical cheering of the delighted crowd. So he tells us. But if he appeared, through hig charger’s misdemeanour, in a ridiculous light that day, he at all events seems to have enjoyed the occurrence as much as any of the onlookers.

The same spring, the Hanningtons made up a family party for a long yachting trip to the Mediterranean. James’s diary has the following : —

“ May gth. — Left Brighton with Sam and Jos, and found father and mother at Lymington, busy putting a few finishing touches. Among other things that they have added to one of the best fitted and most comfortable yachts afloat, is a steam launch. Scarcely another yacht has one.”

This, of course, was in 1866. They landed first at Belem, on the Tagus, and saw all that was to be seen. “ Got permission and went over the Castle, which is ex- ceedingly picturesque, and built of marble. They are much behindhand in gunnery — only some old 12-pounders on wooden carriages, painted red. The sentry sits about and smokes in the most casual manner. I got into conversation with the guard, and showed them the manual and platoon. One spied my thumb, and at once affirmed for me that I had lost it in warT

Gibraltar, Algiers, and many places are described with much patient minuteness. At the latter place he bought a young jackal, which was brought home with him as a pet. On this cruise his botanical notes begin to multiply ; and he evidently used the microscope systematically, and to good purpose. From Naples, James and his brothers ascended Vesuvius, and disported themselves in the crater, which was then in a slight state of eruption. At Civita Vecchia they went on board the Pope’s yacht, The Imma- culate Conception , cc handsome outside, but very dirty in.” The officer in command paid a return visit to the Zelia , and was much astonished at the completeness and sumptuous arrangements of the English vessel.

After some days spent in Rome, they directed their course to Genoa. James writes : “ The war has broken

JEt 19.] Yachting in the Mediterranean . 27

out, and the town is in great excitement. The citizens are garrisoning the place, but present anything but a military appearance. The Garibaldians seem, to the visual eye, an awful crew.”

But we need not enter into the details of this trip. The boy of nineteen chronicles all he saw, as though it had never been seen before, and never might be again by eye of mortal. He is still very boyish, pleased to be courted and admired by foreigners as u one of the lords from the English yacht.” He still has a great deal to learn, but he is evidently teachable, and by the grace of God he will learn his lesson.

On the last day of August, Hannington was again in Brighton ; and the next day, being the first of September, we find him, indefatigable and keen, carrying his single- barrel breech-loader over the turnips ana stubbles. He writes : cc Sam and I killed between us 25^ brace of birds.”

“A Tov. 3rd. — Riding over from Brighton to shoot, my horse fell, and rolled over with me on my leg. I never said anything about it, lest I should be forbidden to strain the leg by going out shooting. Killed eighteen brace of pheasants.”

“ Nov . gth . — Went to Mayor’s banquet, and delivered my maiden public speech, by returning thanks for the ladies ; received great eclat.”

“ 1867, Jan . 8 th. — Breakfast and meet at Sir J. Simeon’s. In at death.”

“gth.- — Went across in Royal yacht Alberta to Southampton, and returned with Sir Stafford Northcote.”

“ I ith. — Crossed again with Sir Stafford; inspected the docks. Treated with fearful civility, the effect of travelling in the Queen’s yacht. Returned in the evening with General Gray.”

“ \\th.— Left Cowes in the Alberta with Lady Caroline Barrington, and returned to Hurstpierpoint.”

And now follows a very singular entry. I quote it with some hesitation, as liable by the unthinking to be misunder- stood. Those, however, who have had some experience in

28

[A.D. 1867.

James Hannington .

tracing the strange and complex movements of the human soul, and who have noted how, side by side, are to be found there the workings of the trivial and the tremendous, will know how to read this passage. It runs thus :

“ Feb . tyth— I lost my ring out shooting, with scarcely a hope of ever seeing it again. I offered to give the keeper 10s. if he found it, and was led to ask God that the ring might be found, and be to me a sure sign of salvation. From that moment the ring seemed on my finger ; I was not surprised to receive it from Sayers on Monday evening. He had picked it up in the long grass in cover, a most unlikely place ever to find it. A miracle ! Jesus, by Thee alone can we obtain remission of our sins.” He adds, in a note written several years afterwards : u This is a quotation from my diary, written at the most worldly period of my existence.” It was written, remember, for the inspection of no eye but his own, and, therefore, expressed, without doubt, the unfeigned conviction of the moment. As we have seen before, he was, in spite of his volatile exterior, by no means devoid of religious thoughtfulness. If he had not, as yet, any intelligent apprehension of his true relation- ship to God, he never wholly neglected the externals of religion. He had always u a secret apprehension ” that there was a better way. Keenly as he enjoyed his sur- roundings— and no man ever entered with more zest into the pursuit of the moment — he was never wholly satisfied with a life apart from God. It is deeply interesting to notice in this strange, unreasoning appeal to the Unseen by the careless younker in his momentary vexation over the loss of a trinket, the early traces of that assured and reason- able, though childlike, trust in God which so distinguished him in later life, and marked him pre-eminently above his fellows as a man of faith .

He next mentions that he was u carrying on an interest- ing correspondence with Frank Buckland about a surface net when yachting.” I believe that he never became personally acquainted with the eminent practical naturalist. Had they met, they would have found in each other congenial spirits.

After a short trip to Paris in the spring, James

ALL 19.]

29

A Disciplinarian .

Hannington and his brothers started for a cruise in the Baltic, and a visit to some of the cities of Russia, The following entry in his diary marks the event

u June \th , 1867. — Yacht Zelia , 195 tons. Under way 9 a.m. Abreast Brighton, 3.40. Off Beachy Head, 5. 15.”

Christiania, Copenhagen, Stockholm, etc., were all in- spected with intelligent eyes. While at the latter place, he wrote : u The King, when we went over the palace, had just left a cabinet council, and during the discussion had sketched a tree and a face on a sheet of paper. The guide's contempt when I asked for this was supreme. If he was a fair example, Stockholmers are not overweeningly proud of their monarch.5’

They then spent a week in St. Petersburg and Moscow, keenly entering into the delights of everything that was going in the way of entertainment, and toward the end ot July set their faces again homeward. An incident which throws light upon Hannington' s character occurred on the return voyage. The elder brother, who was in command of the expedition, having been recalled home by domestic affairs which required his presence, the leadership fell to James. He at once took the reins, and held them with no uncertain hand. He writes : cc The men have of late been very disorderly, and getting worse, so, on my assuming command, I instantly gave them my mind on the subject, and told them that in future any man breaking leave would be discharged. The first to do so, as it happened, was the captain, who remained ashore, and, by his own confession, helplessly drunk.” The captain had no doubt that he would be able to make it ail right with the young commander. But he reckoned without his host. Discipline was at stake. Hannington felt that now or never was the time to assert his authority, and in such circumstances he was not accustomed to hesi- tate for a moment. To the astonishment of the whole crew, and not less so of the culprit himself, the captain was there and then sent ashore with all his belongings. After this dreadful example the crew gave no more trouble. They recognized the fact that they had one at the head of affairs

[A.D. 1867.

30 James Hanning ton.

who might be expected to execute what he threatened, and, after the manner of sailors, they liked him none the worse for it. He was fortunate enough not to suffer himself on account of this prompt act of justice. He writes : u I met Captain Van Deurs, a very gentlemanly man, and well recommended, whom I engaged, and an immense success he turned out.” The next day they stopped a fishing smack off the coast of Denmark to buy some cod. The fisherman asked whether the yacht belonged to the King of England. ac No, there is no King ; England is ruled by a Queen.’ cThen it must belong to the Prince of Wales. That ,5 pointing to me, c is the Prince of Wales.’ No answer on Van Deurs’ part confirmed them in their idea, and left them full of joy to return to their native village and pass the rest of their lives as the men who had seen and talked with the Prince who had married their own popular Princess! ”

u July 26th.— Fell in with a tremendous gale, which came suddenly upon us with a rising glass. All sails were set at the time, and I was alone on deck, the men being at tea. I rushed forward and shouted, c All hands shorten sail ! 3 and in half an hour’s time we were laid to with the water washing over us most uncomfortably. Carried away our jibboom while pitching into a sea ; it was a splendid stick too. Three men were washed overboard by a huge wave while clearing the wreckage ; but the next wave flung them back on to the deck. After laying to for sixteen hours, and drifting about helplessly, scarce knowing how matters would end, there was a slight lull. I ordered the jib to be set, but it was blown to ribbons ; so we waited a little longer, and then set the storm jib and were able to continue. For two days we were without the sun, but the captain made the land by our soundings. The soundings were very interesting. The lard at the bottom of the lead brought up light silver-like sand off the Danish coast, which gradually grew darker, until almost black off the coast of England.”

With this trip we may bring Chapter III, to an end.

jEt. 19.] “ That is the Prince of Wales” 31

It marks the conclusion of a period in his life. As his character was formed and his disposition became more marked, his nature asserted itself more and more definitely against a cc business ” career. Of whatever else in life’s arena he might be capable, in that at least he felt that he could never excel. His heart was not in it. Surely some- thing else might be found for him — some other vocation — a real vocation to which his heart might respond, as to that for which he was created and brought into this world ; not a mere line, grooved out for him by the industry of his forefathers.

But how the emancipation took place must be reserved for another chapter*

CHAPTER IV9

EMANCIPATION.

(1867—68.)

(i He was never a Sceptick in his Principles, but still retained a secret Apprehension that Religion . . was founded in Truth,

and this Conviction . . . could not but occasion some secret

Misgivings of Heart.”

Doddridge (Life of Colonel Gardiner ).

One thing, and one thing only, had, for some time past, prevented Hannington from shaking himself free from the harness which galled him, and in which he felt that he could not hope to run life's course with any prospect of credit or success. Both his training and temperament made him un- willing to run counter to the wishes of his father, and he could not bear the thought of inflicting the slightest pain, or even of causing the shadow of disappointment to fal] upon the mother whom he adored. About this time, how- ever, he made a tentative effort at freedom. He wrote to his father with regard to the general impression of his friends as to his unfitness for a commercial life, saying, “ I know that I am laughed at, and looked upon as fit for nothing but collecting curiosities/'' In fine, he desired that something else more congenial to him might be found, upon which he might exercise his superabundant energies. He says in his diary : u Sam proposed that I should take to farming ; and there was nothing I thought I should like better. But my father, who had had a taste of farming himself when young, would not hear of it. My mother wrote, saying : cYour letter was kindly and sensibly ex- pressed, but it brought floods of tears to my eyes. The bare thought of my sweet boy going where his father and mother could not see him from time to time distracts me ; father, too, said he could not bear it.' Seeing that my mother took

AL\. 20.] Joins the Church . 33

it so tremendously to heart, I was ashamed that I ever sug- gested giving up my work ; and so for the time I gave up all thought of leaving home, and endeavoured to settle down once more quietly and contentedly. My mother’s and father’s love devoted my heart to them. I felt that I had sinned grievously in even suggesting what might give them pain.”

The matter, however, was not to rest here. u There is a Divinity that shapes our ends,” and Hannington was not to be shaped by any parental wishes — dutiful resolu- tions on his own part notwithstanding — into the ordinary type of a British merchant citizen.

The first blow struck upon his shackles was, after all, dealt by the hand of his father. It happened in this wise. The family had been hitherto, at least nominally, Indepen- dents. Mr. Hannington had built a chapel in the grounds of St. George’s, in which Nonconformist services were held. Finding, however, after a wide experience of men and things, that they had no serious quarrel with the Church of England, he and his family decided that they would seek admittance into her communion. At the end, there- fore, of 1867, St. George’s Chapel was licensed for public worship by the Bishop of Chichester, and the charge of it became a curacy — virtually a sole charge — under the Rector of Hurstpierpoint. James writes :

cc Sunday , Oct . 26th . — The last Sunday of the dissent- ing ministers in St. George’s Chapel. Mr. Hart preached the farewell sermon with a good deal of true emotion. He and his wife were pensioned by my father, the pension to continue for the last survivor’s life. Little did I think that I was ever to occupy that pulpit. Perhaps the old man prayed for me.”

c< Dec. i\th . — Opening service at St. George’s. Mr. Carey Borrer, the rector, preached a splendid and most suitable sermon \ spoke very kindly of my father. Preached also in the afternoon to a crowded congregation.”

The consequence of this important step on the part of his father was that Hannington was brought much into contact with Churchmen of whom he had known little

3

34

James Hannington . [A.D. 1868.

previously. He says: “This year (1868) was most event- ful to me. Through the change from dissent to the Church I got to know the clergy of the parish church and college. I yearned for ordination. My mother had once or twice spoken about it, and felt my mind on the subject, so I knew that she would offer no objections."” After some self-examination, however, he was led to conclude that his increasing dissatisfaction with, and loathing for, the business at Brighton had more to do with his desire for Orders than any other motive. “ I had it fixed upon my mind that I was to be ordained,” he says, u but as for real motives I had none, or next to none. I was, I fear, a mere formalist, and nothing more.5’

However that may have been, there are not wanting in- dications in his diary that he was thinking seriously at times. His was far too honest a nature to permit him to take any step which did not secure the hearty concurrence of his will and intellect He could never have become a cc mere formalist.” He had too much humanity about him, and too much enthusiasm within him to have permitted that. A mere secular organizer he might have perhaps become ; enforcing zealously, and by the power of his own personality, dogmas which lacked the power of the Spirit of God to commend them. But from this, too, he was saved, as will appear in the course of our narrative.

To outward appearance he was still as gay, thoughtless, and reckless as ever. Delighting to startle his friends by some extraordinary feat of personal courage or endurance, by eccentric acts which could only emanate from u Jim,” it was not easy to associate with this madcap the serious business of life. But the following entry will show that in his heart he was neither, a careless nor indifferent spectator of the mystery of life, or of the set of the world-tide toward Eternity.

“ About this time,” he writes many years later, “John Thurston * came to stay with us ; very ill ; he lingered a long time ; when he was told that his case was hopeless, he

* A cousin*

JEt 20.]

First Communion .

35

not only seemed resigned, but, as far as one could tell, just touching the hem of the Saviour’s garment. He died on June 6th, 1868, and was buried in Hurst churchyard, in our family vault. I was in Brighton the night he died, and at the exact time of his death I had one of those peculiar warn- ings— an internal thrill — which told me certainly that he was gone. My diary reads thus :

“June 6th . — John worse; about one p.m. he took his leave of me. About four, at his own express desire, he received the Sacrament from Mr. Methuen, surrounded by us all. I was obliged to go to Brighton at five. As I was sitting at supper I had a. heavy palpitation of the heart. Something said to me, c John is dead ! 3 I took out my watch frightened. The hour was ten p.m.

cc 7 th^ Sunday . — Got up at 4.30 a.m. ; walked down to see John, if not gone, though I was sure he was dead. Went straight to the doctor’s room. Heard that he died at two, minutes past ten o'clock ! 33

The Lenten season of this year Hannington kept with much severity, fasting rigorously in private every Wednes- day and Friday.

On April 23rd he wrote to his mother, saying : u I have decided in favour of the Church. I believe that God is with me in this matter.”

On July 5th he received the Holy Communion for the first time. He wrote in his diary : “ I am afraid whether I am fit. I was not so fixed in thought as I wished.'” Shortly after, something that he read in a cc fairy tale,” or some train of thought started by some expression in the book he held in his hand, led him to self-examination. He came to the conclusion that his frame of mind was not what it should be, and that he needed bracing up to his duties, both religious and secular. He writes, u Prayer refreshed me.” It was not yet very intelligent prayer ; but it was the petition of a soul seeking, though with much blind groping, after a higher life, and, as such, was doubtless heard and answered by the Eternal Father.

The next day’s entry runs thus : “ I have to-day been

36 Janies Hannington . [A.D. 1868*

much better in work. It comes easier to me when I watch and pray.”

At this period of his spiritual development the functions of the Church evidently exercised a strong fascination over him. He made a point of being present when anything was being done by the clergy in the neighbourhood. Within a fortnight we find him at the laying of two foundation stones of ecclesiastical buildings, and listening with admiration to speeches made by the Bishops of Chichester and Oxford. He threw himself with his accustomed energy into this newly- found channel for his activity. He inaugurated, in connec- tion with the Church Harvest-Home Festival, the first sports that had been known in Hurstpierpoint. He was to be seen frequently at Services in the parish church, or at choral and other festivals. He waited diligently upon the lips of such distinguished preachers as might come within possible dis- tance of his home. His mind was apparently just in that condition in which a permanent bias, one way or the other, might have been imparted to it had he been brought into contact with one strong enough to exercise a controlling influence over him, and willing to use it.

But his time had not yet come. If the town of Man- soul was beginning to feel the stress of the siege, it was by no means yet taken, or even ready to be taken by assault. The volatile and fun-loving nature of the young man soon resumed its sway over him, the newly-fanned flame of ecclesiastical ardour soon paled and died down, and though he certainly never repudiated religion, it is equally certain that, for some years to come, he laid no claim to be esteemed u religious.”

One important acquaintanceship, formed shortly after he came of age, was destined to exercise a very happy and altogether beneficial influence upon his character. JHe was introduced to Dean Burgon, then Fellow of Oriel, at the house of his brother-in-law, Archdeacon Rose. Hannington writes concerning him : u He is so kind, and seems to take a great interest in me, and gives me kind advice, which I hope that I shall follow. He soon perceives a fault. He stops to play with all the small children he sees. Mrs.

jEt. 21.] Dean Burgon . 37

Rose frequently says to him, c Dear John, I wish they would make you a canon and he seems to regard himself as not at all worthy of such promotion. Sunday was spent by us all, Burgon and myself included, in taking classes in the Sunday-school. He preached in the afternoon, and then took me with him for a walk.”

Kind attention bestowed upon a young man is seldom wasted. In Hannington’s case his esteem for Dean Burgon helped to ballast him, and was no insignificant quantity in his University life.

His college friends used to watch him, with an amused surprise, wending his way every Sunday evening to the Greek Testament class which Dean Burgon held in his rooms in Oriel. But he was not to be dissuaded. I do not recollect that he ever missed that class when he could by any possibility attend it. How can it be doubted that, though his spiritual nature was not as yet sufficiently awakened to enable him to enjoy Bible study for its own sake, those Bible classes did him good ? They and the society of the good and sincere man who conducted them, and whose original personality commended him in an especial manner to the heart of Hannington, were safe- guards and a sort of sheet-anchors, which helped to keep him from drifting whither so many have suffered shipwreck.

So, then, with the full consent of his parents, the first step was taken which severed him from a commercial life, and it was decided that James Hannington should, in due time, seek for ordination as a clergyman of the Church o t England.

CHAPTER V.

LIFE AT OXFORD.

0868— 69.)

“ Not in the sunshine, not in the rain,

Not in the night of the stars untold,

Shall we ever all meet again,

Or be as we were in the days of old.

“ But as ships cross, and more cheerily go,

Having changed tidings upon the sea,

So I am richer by them, I know,

And they are not poorer, I trust, by me.”

Walter Smith.

On the 22nd of October, 1868, James HanningtoiPs name was entered as a Commoner in the books of St. Mary Hall, Oxford. My own personal recollections of him date from this time. Eighteen years have passed since then. Later events have crowded out from my mind many of the earlier memories of my life, and the lichen growth of time is slowly but surely effacing some of the most deeply-grooved impressions. Nevertheless I can still without difficulty recall the moment when I first heard the sound of his voice. Why the impression of that moment should have lingered with me I cannot tell, except that his voice was a singular one— in timbre quite unlike any other voice which I have ever heard.

I was seated, a solitary freshman, in a dark little room which was usually allotted to the last comer. The single lance-window looked out upon the u Quad,” with its paved walks, square patch of grass, and central clump of dwarf shrubs. A little disconsolate and lonely was I at that moment, wondering what sort of companions those might prove among whom my lot was to be cast during the next three years or so. As I sat in somewhat melancholy mood

Alt 21.]

His Voice .

39

amongst the cups and saucers, decanters, and tumblers, brand new kettle and teapot, and other paraphernalia of a student’s housekeeping, which had been sent in that after- noon by various tradesmen, my attention was arrested by a passing group of men who cast a heavy shadow through the narrow window. They were talking loudly, but one voice separated itself distinctly from the others. I was keenly alive to every new impression, and the tone of that voice remained with me.

It was half plaintive, half petulant, but, withal, wholly attractive. I fell to picturing to myself what kind of man the owner of that voice might be. The following day I was introduced to him, and for the first time set my eyes on James Hannington.

Let me try and describe him as he was when he made his first appearance in St. Mary Hall, as a freshman, in the autumn of 1868. A tall, well-proportioned young fellow, with somewhat loosely and pliably set figure, that gave promise of both activity and power. Careless in his dress — rathe-r affecting a soft white hat, broad-soled boots, and a general abandon of costume. His face was the very index to his character. I have before me, as I write, some dozen photographs which were taken between the years 768 and ’85. During that time the face has filled out and matured, but it is substantially the same. He was then in his twenty-first year, of pale, rather sallow, complexion. A mouth, the pouting lips of which seemed half-humorously to protest against life in general. A pair of clear grey eyes, which twinkled with latent fun, though deep set beneath projecting brows which suggested unusual powers of observa- tion and penetration. A nose not too prominent, but sharp and inquiring, the nostrils of it readily expanding when moved by indignation. (He used, after his first African journey, to delight in telling how the natives would com- pare it to a spear !) The chin firm set, and jaws square, without any too-marked massiveness. The ears, not lying close to the head, but set at rather an angle. A face com- bative, yet attractive. Volatile, yet full of latent strength. Assertive, yet retiring. Altogether, quite a noticeable face

40

[A.D. 1 868,

James Hannington .

and figure : not by any means to be ignored. The outer clothing of a nature capable of great things, if seized and moulded by the Divine Spirit. What otherwise — who might venture to prophesy?

Carlyle professes to attach much significance to a man’s laughter. He says, u How much lies in laughter; the cipher key wherewith we decipher the whole man ! ....

The fewest are able to laugh what we call laughing.”* Hannington would so far have satisfied his requirements. None who have heard his laugh can surely ever forget it. When he laughed the spirit of laughter took full possession of him, and shook him sorely before it would let him go. His laughter was contagious, he so evidently enjoyed it ; it came welling up with such wild, uncontrollable waves, that one found himself irresistibly compelled to give way and join in too, aye, till the tears ran down his cheeks, out of pure sympathy.

His voice was, as I have said before, unlike any other ; at least, any other that I have ever heard. It was not unmusical ; of considerable power too ; but with a certain plaintive quaver in it,* — a certain staccato thrusting forth of single words and short sentences that was strangely charac- teristic of its owner. A sort of intermittent fountain, it corresponded with his movements.

These, like his voice, were not smooth or even. He was far from being awkward ; there was even a certain easy power in all that he did which was not far removed from graceful bearing, yet it was as though he studiously avoided conventional attitudes. When he walked, he walked with his whole body and shoulders, but whether he walked, stood, or sat, he was distinctly himself — never quite like anybody else. When I first saw him, he was leaning against the lintel of the door which opened from his own staircase upon the Quadrangle. He was surrounded by a group of men, all seniors, with whom he was chatting, and evidently on the best of terms. To my freshman's eyes, beholding with awestruck reverence those second and third

# Sartor Resartus,

jEt. 21.] Takes the College by Storm . 41

year men, Hannington’s audacity in thus taking the college by storm seemed boundless. It was evident that, though a freshman, he had already been received into their circle, and that the seniors regarded him as an acquisition to their society.

Perhaps this was partly owing to the fact that he came up to Oxford with more experience of the world than many others ; it was more probably owing to the irresistible mag- netism of his genial good fellowship, coupled with his decided individuality and force of character ; but, from whatever cause, there can be no doubt that he aiinost immediately began to exercise an influence over his fellow- students, and that he shortly established for himself an ascendancy over them which he maintained without a rival until the end of his University course.

It cannot be said that Hannington was an industrious student. On the contrary, the golden opportunity of those undergraduate years was missed by him, as by so many others who vainly regret, but cannot recall, what they then despised. Not that he was ever a dunce. What he chose to learn — and he learned everything that interested him — he knew accurately and thoroughly. In chemistry, botany, natural history and general science he was singularly well grounded, and, as a student of medicine, he would probably have taken a high degree. But for classics he had very little taste. He had never gone through that course of patient gerund-grinding and grammar-grating by which public schoolboys are broken in, and he was by nature very impatient of any yoke which compelled him to plod con- tinuously along the line of a given furrow. Some seven years, moreover, had elapsed since he left school, and what slight smattering of classic lore he had there acquired must have, by this time, almost passed from him. Add to which fact the consideration that the whole previous training of his life had not been such as to fit him for close study, or to accustom him to endure the strain of continual intellectual effort.

We have it on no less an authority than that of Pliny, that “ the mind is aroused to action by the active exercise

42

fames Hannington . [A.D. 1868.

of the body.” This may be accepted if we understand by u active exercise ” sufficient exercise to counteract the evils of a sedentary life. But we are inclined to think that more than this is apt to have a contrary effect upon the mind, and by over-development of the bodily faculties, check the development of the mental. There is no time when we are less disposed to think continuously or deeply than when we are making some great physical effort, or enjoying the excitement of a life of constant movement. Hannington had hitherto given himself little time to think, while at the same time he had never been idle. That he was slow in developing those mental powers which, if earlier matured, might have secured for him the honours of the cC schools,” may be attributed largely to those constant excursions and voyages by which his love of adventure had been indulged. It must also be borne in mind that he had had, until now, no direct incentive, or even encouragement, to study. On the contrary, he had been taught that he might dispense with learning, the absence of which had proved no bar to the success of either his father or grandfather. It is not surprising, them, that it took some time for him to shake himself down into the course of the University curriculum, and that his degree was somewhat delayed in consequence.

Hannington' s rooms in St. Mary Hall bore witness to his wanderings. They were large and airy ; oak panelled from floor to ceiling. In one corner, over a drawer cabinet full of curiosities and specimens, hung two gilt and painted Icons from Moscow. Opposite was a curious drawing of a terrier's head, burnt with a branding iron upon a panel of some hard wood, and picked up 1 know not where. Conspicuous was a portrait of his mother, a dignified and handsome lady, with much facial likeness to her son. Else- where, a rack full of whips and sticks of every size and shape. A miscellaneous heap of narwhal's and swordfish’s horns, old weapons and what not, filled up a corner. A shady place was found for a considerable glass tank, wherein various fish, including a young jack, disported them- selves. Add to all this pictures, china, bric-a-brac, and ornaments of the usual type, a plentiful stock of lounging

43

JEt. 21.] An Undergraduate's Room .

chairs, with a good, capacious sofa of the old-fashioned square kind ; bookcases fairly well filled, especially with works on natural history ; portfolios full of scraps, and deep, red- cushioned window embrasures in which to double up the limbs and cozily con the same, and you will have a fair idea of what those rooms were like.

Here Hannington kept open house. Here his friends were wont to assemble, and here a frank and kindly welcome always awaited all who were congenial.

While Hannington had in him all the elements of popularity, and never failed to make himself liked, he did not go out of his way to make friends. He was not much inclined at this time to u suffer fools gladly.” He would form strong and apparently instinctive antipathies against certain persons, antipathies for which he could offer no more valid reason than that given in Martial’s celebrated epigram :

“ Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare ;

Hoc tantum possum dicere, Non amo te.5’ 0

Well, he may have been sometimes unjust, but, on the whole, I am inclined to think that he was not often at fault in his estimate of a man’s character.

Nor was he a man to be trifled with. He possessed a quick, passionate temper of his own, which it was never difficult to rouse, and those who thought to take advantage of his free and open manner, or of any eccentricity of his, were soon disabused ; they were rarely rash enough to tempt him a second time. When seriously angry, he was capable de tout, and was quite formidable. All his friends thoroughly understood this, and regulated their conduct accordingly.

But through all his actions there ran a strong under- current of genuine kindliness, unaffected simplicity, and genial love of his kind which at once attracted others to him. He was one of the few men who, while a leader in

* Which may be freely translated by the well-known couplet :

“ I do not like you, Dr. Fell,

But why I don’t I cannot telL”

44 James Hanningt on. [A. D. 1868.

an exclusive and hoi-polloi-despising college set, was acquainted with and popular with all down to the last- arrived freshman. He could be keenly jealous, too, for the prerogatives of his party, and his friends will recall some sufficiently stormy scenes when the authority of the “ Red Club ” was invaded by some daring revolutionary spirits, who objected to privileged oligarchies. Notwithstanding this, there was no man who succeeded better in effacing differences, and in creating among the community a healthy esprit de corps . Wherein his u great strength 5? lay did not appear at first, or upon a brief acquaintanceship. He seemed to be wholly given over to the spirit of fun — to de- liberately yield himself to the perpetration of nonsense. He loved to startle and shock the sensibilities of the staid fol- lowers of established precedent. When the mood was upon him, he could be as troublesome as a schoolboy, and his spirits were quite as untameable.

He must surely have tried to the utmost the patience of the much-enduring and long-suffering Principal, whose tact in dealing with him cannot be too highly admired, and who won for himself Hannington’s warm esteem and regard. He was accustomed, good-naturedly, to chafF everybody, and loved to play queer practical jokes upon his friends. But with all this there was an underlying earnestness of purpose which, coupled with an iron inflexibility of will, soon made itself felt. It was generally recognized, before he had been long in residence, that he had something in him, that he knew what he wanted, and that, when once he had made up his mind that a thing ought to be done, he was not to be denied.

He might, with boyish glee, bring a whole armful of fireworks into college on the 5th of November, and let them off in defiance of all rules and regulations ; he might complete a festivity by galloping round the Quad upon a chair at the head of his companions in riot; he might be known chiefly to the unthinking as the organizer of wild pranks, the getter-up of burlesque theatricals, the hospitable entertainer at noisy feasts ; but, beneath all this, were sterling qualities which soon left their impress upon the little world in which he moved, and caused his influence to

yEt. 21.3 A Noisy Undergraduate . 45

be more deeply and widely felt than that of many older and more talented men.

He was, moreover, unselfish, open-handed, and generous to lavishness. He was always ready to be paymaster when- ever his companions would consent to lay that burden upon him. Those who needed his assistance and made claim upon his purse seldom or never met with a refusal. This readiness to impart of course laid him open to the attacks of one or two “ notorious sponges/’ But only at first. He was, as we have said, a pretty keen judge of character. If once his suspicions were aroused they were hard to allay, and then his contempt would be bluntly outspoken. His caustic wit was not to be easily endured by those whose de- signs upon himself or others he thought that he had fathomed.

Even his “scout,” and the funny old Mother-Bunch of a bed-maker, while they found him the most considerate and liberal of masters, for his manner with servants was always courteous and winning, soon discovered that he was no fool, and not to be squeezed at their pleasure. Ah, me ! that bed-maker ! With her heavy wheezing voice in which she would perpetually cc beg parding,” and the slowly creaking shoes upon which she and her pails would ascend the groaning stairs ) Like all the other servants, she cc did like Mr. Hannington, but he were a curious young gentle- man— yes, that he were.”

In his younger days Hannington was a most inveterate tease. He would sometimes irritate his victim to the utmost verge of all possible endurance ; but then he thoroughly understood the principle of give and take, and never objected to be teased in return. I cannot recollect him to have lost his temper, or even to have shown signs of annoyance in this game of thrust and parry. If some friend’s own galled withers were wrung oftener than he liked, he had at least the satisfaction of knowing that he might try his hardest to find some sensitive spot in the skin of his tormentor. At this time he was very quick to resent and avenge an insult, but he seemed even to thoroughly enjoy to be made the target for whole sheaves of arrows of legitimate u chaff*.”

46

[A.D. 1868.

James Hanning ton .

Some men are privileged. By general consent they are allowed to say and do with impunity things which would not be tolerated from others. Hannington was one of these.

It was impossible to be cross with him. Even the Dons extended to him an unwritten licence. Upon one occasion, I recollect, the Principal remonstrated with him by letter upon want of attention to study, and inquired how long he intended to continue ua gentleman at large.” To this the irrepressible alumnus at once replied, “ I hope that you will in future regard me no longer as a gentleman at large, but a gentleman at c smalls ’ ! ” Who else would have dared such a rejoinder ?

His wit was quite unsparing. As I had at that time some small aptitude for catching likenesses, while he was an adept at rapid rhyming, he persuaded me to join with him in framing a book to be entitled the “ Skimmery Album.-” In this most of the men were to be found humorously depicted and described. Few escaped the pillory, from the Principal downward. In looking back upon that work of art, I am not quite sure that either the rhymes or the drawings were always polite, or even in the best of taste, but of this I am quite sure, that no one took the jest amiss. It was a only Jim.” None of his darts were poisoned. If, perchance, they caused a moment’s irritation, they left behind them no envenomed sting, or anything that could rankle or cause permanent pain.

The man who essayed to leave his room, and found that his cc oak ” had been firmly screwed to the doorpost by some stealthy practitioner from without, and himself a helpless prisoner, after vowing vengeance upon the unknown imper- tinent, would relent when he discovered that he had been victimized by the incorrigible Jim. The luckless one who returned from an evening party to find that some mischievous sprite had transformed his trim chambers into a very mis- cellany, and “ made hay ” of his goods and chattels, would smile resignedly when he traced the hand of the irrepressible joker.

The very boatmen at Salter’s would grin when he came down to the river, and make ready to smile at the plea-

A Stern Choice .

47

At 21.]

santries of the St. Mary Hall captain. He was well known everywhere, and I make bold to say, wherever he was known he was well liked.

Hannington’s thoroughness in carrying out whatever he undertook has already been alluded to. Under his captaincy the boat club throve and prospered. When the post of captain fell vacant and was offered to him as the result of a unanimous vote, he made a little speech to the effect that he would accept the position, and endeavour to do his duty in it ; but on one condition only. If he were to be captain, he should expect to be implicitly obeyed. He would resign the moment he failed to inspire confidence in the club, but he would never consent to be captain in name only. The boat needed a strict captain, and, if they elected him, he did not mean to give them cause to find fault with him in that respect. His speech was hailed with acclamations ; and he proved himself as good as his word. He not only sought out the best men and coached them assiduously, but he kept them close to their work. Absentees were hunted up, warned, and duly exhorted to mend their ways. Punc- tuality was insisted upon. Training was rigidly exacted, and rules made, which, like those of the Medes and Persians, might not be altered. However, if the captain made great demands upon others, it was certain that he never spared himself, and so gave no occasion for grumbling.

And how he would row ! Like everything else that he did, he did it with all his might. As he was wont to say: cc I would row my heart out sooner than that we should be bumped.” I find in his diary mention of one ludicrous scene over which we often laughed. The long line of u eights” that May morning lay like huge water-spiders, one behind the other, upon the surface of the still river. Each was held in its place by boathooks from the bank, and only waited for the signal gun to dart forward in pursuit of the boat ahead. We were all rather nervous. We knew that we were a better crew than the one above us, but strongly suspected that we might fall a victim to the still better boat below. We sucked our slice of lemon, stripped to the thin- nest of jerseys and flannels, and grimly determined to bump,

4§ James Hannington . [A.D. 1868.

if possible, before we were bumped. After the momentary confusion which followed the roar of the gun, and when we had settled down into our stroke, we soon found that we had our work cut out for us. The crew behind was working grandly; the eight backs swung to and fro like a well-balanced machine ; at each stroke their boat leaped from the water ; it was quite evident that they were over- hauling us hand over hand. Hannington was rowing just behind me at No. 7, and I knew that he was tearing at his oar like one demented, but felt too, without being able to see, that all was not right with him ; what it was I could not tell. As we entered u the gut, ” where the river makes a sharp turn, the cc stroke 99 of the boat below called upon his crew for a spurt, that they might catch us while we were held back by the drag of our rudder. The chace became exciting, the two boats almost overlapped, and the shouts from the crowd on the towing path, as the friends of the two crews mingled into one, swelled into a prolonged roar. As we, hardly escaping from our pursuer, emerged from u the gut ?? into the straight reach, I could not help noticing that the shouts of encouragement from the shore were intermixed with laughter, till by and by the laughter predominated, and, to my no small disgust, the grinning faces of the crowd, as we now hugged the Berkshire shore, were evidently directed upon our boat. What had we done ? Who was doing wbat? This was quite too dread- ful ! I was not long, however, left in doubt. As we passed the post, and I turned to congratulate Jim upon our escape, I beheld him overwhelmed with confusion and shame. In his immense energy he had worked his nether garments almost wholly off, and the latter half of that hard-fought race had been rowed by him, not without frantic snatches at his disappearing raiment, garbed almost as slightly as Ulysses and his crew, as depicted upon some ancient vase !

He was also a great canoe man. When the floods were out, and all the low country was one vast lake, from which protruded the tops of the highest hedges and the long lines of pollard willows which marked the course of streams, we

49

^t. 2i.] The Last Town-and-Goivn Row .

would betake ourselves to light canoes and seek adventures, shooting the boiling rush of the foaming u lashers,’’ and letting ourselves be whirled down by the mad waves of the swollen and straining river. Here, as everywhere else, Jim was always to be found at the post of danger. The ugly eddy which swirled with sullen roar beneath the arch of some sunken bridge, or the sweep of the deep and trea- cherous Cherwell, tearing madly through the branches of some submerged tree, which spread themselves like a net to catch and entangle the unwary canoeist as he rounded a dif- ficult corner — these were his delight. He became a perfect master of his tiny craft, and was soon able to paddle while standing upright almost as easily as when seated. How keenly he would enjoy the fun of a canoe race ! In this everyone is allowed to do his best to hinder or overturn his competitors ; and here Hannington’s mingled boldness and dexterity gave him a great advantage.

He had, too, the young Englishman’s love for a stand-up fight. The 5th of November, 1868, saw the last of those “ town- and -gown rows ” which had been so long a disgrace to the University. The authorities had determined to put an end to the unseemly spectacle, and a strong force of proctors and their myrmidons patrolled the streets. There was, notwithstanding, a good deal of fighting. One under- graduate was killed, and others were more or less injured Those few gownsmen who escaped the proctors and their “bulldogs” linked arms, and tried to drive the mob up the High Street before them. Hannington was, of course, in the thick of the melee. He had witnessed the fatal blow by which the student mentioned above had been struck down, and was filled with a Berserk rage and thirst for retribution. His friend, having just been himself u run in ” by a proctor, and secured within the Hall gates, has a vivid remembrance of that indignant figure, with the light of battle in his eye, and his avenging fist stained with the gore of his adversaries, struggling in the hands of those who conducted him back to his college, and compelled him to desist from the conflict.

There was an undefinable charm about this bright, queer,

4

50 James Hannington. [A.D. 1868.

passionate, fun-loving, unconquerable undergraduate. A mutual friend writes of him, u He was in some subtle way the life and soul of our set.” With all his seeming vola- tility, he possessed that indescribable something which Chalmers used to call “wecht,” and to which he justly attributed so great importance. That weight, without which no man can achieve greatness, but the possession of which makes its owner a force in the world.

And the influence which he exercised was always, even in his most careless days, in the main for good. We have seen, by the extracts quoted from his diary, that he was already accustomed to think at times deeply and seriously. It is true, if I may repeat what I have elsewhere written of him, u he was not, in his undergraduate days, a man with a definite purpose. He had not, apparently, any settled object in the regeneration of the society in which he moved ; his religion, as Doddridge says of Colonel Gardiner, c still hung loose to him.’ All the stops of his nature had not yet been pulled out by the consecration of his life to Christ; the tunes played upon that life were still, perhaps, purpose- less, yet they were, withal, harmless enough. I never knew him to fall into any of those vices common to young men. While he was eminently social, he never indulged himself to excess. During his residence at Oxford he exer- cised a real and entirely salubrious influence over his fellows. At the club c wines/ under his presidency, sobriety became the order of the day, and to exceed became discreditable. He was, in his wildest moments, sound at the core, and there are not a few who will have felt the better for his companionship.” *

We have already had occasion to remark that the boy James, however addicted to pleasure, was never given to “ loafing,” His very idleness was busy. We notice the same characteristic in the young man. He equally eschewed the society of the fashionable lounger, who voted energy to be u bad form,” who frequented the High Street, and there exhibited, with languid grace, the faultless cut of irre-

* C. M . Intelligencer^ April, 1886.

jEt. 21.] A Specimen Sunday . 51

proachable tailoring ; and that of the self-indulgent and beslippered novel-reader, as loth to seek his couch at night as to rise betimes from his bed in the morning.

The following extract from his diary gives the details of a single Sunday which may be taken as a not unfair example of many others : — ■“ 7 a.m., Holy Communion. 9 a.m., Chapel. 10.30, y Varsity Sermon by Dr. Gouldburn ; twenty-mile walk with E. Ashmead-Bartlett. 5.15, Chapel. 7.30, Service in St. Mary’s. 9 p.m,, Greek Testament Lecture under Burgon.” Which all must, surely, confess was a fairly well-filled day !

Hannington spent the Christmas vacation of 1868 — 69 in his usual energetic manner, by rushing over to Germany, and visiting Berlin, Dresden, and other continental cities in midwinter.

He was still, as the Principal put it, more disposed to play the part of the a gentleman at large ” than that of the student. During the ensuing term we find notes of two visits to Cambridge, which he, of course, compares un- favourably with his own dear Alma Mater. The rest of the term is occupied with sports of various kind. E. Ash- mead-Bartlett and he had struck up a great friendship; and Hannington threw himself heart and soul into his friend’s early successes in athletics, in which he then had an ambi- tion to excel. He records his pleasure when Ashmead- Bartlett ran third in the ’Varsity three-mile race, which secured to him the right to take part in the next Inter- University sports. He tried his hand at the u new French two-wheeled velocipedes,” then first introduced into Oxford, and which resembled the perfect bicycle of to-day not much more closely than u Puffing Billy” resembles the express locomotive of the cc Flying Scotsman.” He gave large wines, and got up and acted in the great hall doggrel Eng- lish versions of Greek plays. In fact, like other young men of high spirits and social gifts, he entered thoroughly into the enjoyments of this new life. He appreciated its freedom, made all the more piquant by the appearance of restraint imposed by college rules, and was disposed to make the utmost of its possibilities.

[A.D. 1869.

52 James Hannington .

Though he afterwards became an efficient speaker, and could even now, upon such occasions as that narrated above at his Boat Club election, speak pithily and to the purpose, he was not fond of speechifying. Like some of his contem- poraries, who have since found their tongues, he did not much affect the excellent college debating society, much less the debates at the Union. Action was more in his line than speech. Had he lived in the days of the Scotists and Smiglesians, he would have, doubtless, borne a good club in Logic Lane.* He had the young Briton’s thorough con- tempt for a u mug.”

To row in his college boat, and be captain of it, to be the most popular man in residence, and perhaps some day to be elected president of the then flourishing Red Club, these were things compared with which a good degree seemed but as the dust in the balance. Some little time afterwards, when these ambitions were gratified, he writes : cc I am now captain of the boats and president of the club. So I am at the head of everything.” Ah, well ! most healthy young minds pass through this phase of experience. The time was coming when those things which now seemed of least account would bulk most largely in his eyes — when he too would “ put away childish things.”

In the meanwhile his life went on as before, little changed by his adoption of those outward and visible signs of learning, the cap and gown. The Long Vacation of ’69 —as though his whole life hitherto had not been been one long vacation- — was spent in a yachting tour, during which he visited the coast and ports of Holland. Of this trip a few notes from his diary may be sufficient. While at Ant- werp, he writes : u I am rather astonished at myself, on viewing for the third time Rubens’ c Descent from the Cross.’ I have lately been studying continental pictures

* “The followers of Duns Scotus and Martin Smiglesius, who lived respectively in the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. The students used to adopt their tenets, md when argument failed, would try to cudgell each other into acquiescence. Logic Lane is ‘ a narrow defile where the partisans used to encounter,’ hence its name.”-— Addison ( Essay XCI. , “ On Managing a Debate ”).

JEt. 22.]

53

Ship on Fire .

very keenly, and have, I think, a better eye for merit than formerly. The first time I beheld it with disappointment, the second time with indifference, the third time with rapture. The figures I cannot help thinking too muscular, and the features coarse to vulgarity, but the lifelessness of the body and the colouring seem to me perfection. I could not take my eyes off the picture, until the man, thinking I had had enough for my money, covered it up.”

Hannington next took his steam yacht up the Rhine, and had some exciting adventures on the rapid waters of that treacherous river. Once the ship caught fire. u We had proceeded about two miles past Rommel, when the steward came to me and called me aside most mysteriously. He thought he had better inform me quite privately that smoke was pouring up through the ship’s floor. I darted down below and found, as he said, the cabin full of smoke. There was no doubt that the ship was on fire. c Send quickly for the carpenter, and don’t tell the others for a few minutes. Now, carpenter, keep your head cool : the vessel is on fire ! tear up this floor at once ! ’ Then, running on deck to the pilot : c Bring up as quickly as possible. En- gineer, draw fires, and be ready if [ want you for a stiffish piece of work.’ We could find no fire under the cabin, but everywhere smoke. Then we went to the coal bunk, and directly it was opened the smoke rolled out in volumes. My heart sank. The coals on fire ! Nothing could save her from utter destruction ! We turned the coals over, but found no fire, although the smoke kept rolling out. Next it began to burst out behind the donkey engine. Dreadful suspense ! Be calm ! With much difficulty we tore up the engine-room floor, and then saw the keel in a blaze ! Bad as this was, it was a relief to have found the enemy. I shouted to the men, who had gathered anxiously round, to stand to the buckets, and, stripping off coat and waistcoat, I took one myself ; and then, turning on all the taps, we speedily filled her with water to the floor, and thus extinguished the flame. It was an anxious time, however. The fire appeared to be in close proximity to the coals, of which we had a large supply. Had they been ignited our

54

[A.D. 1869

James Hanning ton.

chance of escape would have been small. It resulted from the ash-pan almost, if not quite, resting upon the wooden keel. The iron had become red hot, and kindled the wood. Why, indeed, this had not happened before I can- not tell.”

Next comes the following entry : — “ Brought up at Nimegen ; created a most profound sensation. It appears that the Queen's yacht, the Fairy , is the only one that has yet ascended the Rhine, so the people think that I must be of the blood royal. On landing everybody was so obsequiously polite that I had almost too much of a good thing. However, without assuming to myself any dignity beyond that of an ordinary English gentleman of great affability, I inspected with great interest all that is to be seen in this out-of-the-way little place, unnoticed by Murray or Bradshaw.”

Any generation of over-weening pride was, however, properly checked by the next adventure. “ We steamed on to the Prussian frontier. Here I had to land, and, in spite of explanations that the yacht was not either a mer- chant or passenger vessel, I had to make a manifest of everything on board — rice, salt, tobacco, wine, etc. Of course, I did not know in the least what we actually had. I, therefore, told the man whatever came into my head, as a pound or two of tea, two loaves of bread, fifty bottles of wine, etc. I then had to sign my name to four dif- ferent papers to vouch for the accuracy of my statement. Anybody can imagine my delight when, having solemnly made my declaration, I was informed that the custom-house officers would come on board directly to see if my statement were true ! It was an insult hard to brook without flying in a passion. In a few minutes ten officers arrived. I re- ceived them as if they were of the utmost importance, but at the same time as if I was more so. I then told the steward to take them round, but to show them nothing else but the joint of meat. I, in the meantime, got hold of one who seeemed the most officious, and although he declared in a loud voice that he would not touch a thing, I managed to pour a glass of my very best down his throat, while his

55

ALt. 22.] “ I Have Undertaken to be There”

subordinates were below. We shook hands repeatedly, and became sworn friends. They finally declared that they must have a bottle of wine to test its strength, which they did, and sent it back in half an hour with a charge of about

on my declaration, which I thought moderate.”

To his great satisfaction, Hannington was able to bring the yacht to Cologne at the time appointed to meet his father. He had had many difficulties to contend with. The navigation of the river proved both tedious and dangerous for a vessel of the Iole* s draught. Many times they stuck upon sandbanks, or were stranded upon hidden reefs. The pilot again and again urged him to tele- graph to his father to announce the impossibility of reaching Cologne by the day mentioned. To this he had but one reply: cc/ have undertaken to be there And there, on the 7th of August, to the surprise of all, he was.

All this was, no doubt, conducive to the formation of character. It helped to produce in him that self-reliance and readiness of resource which afterwards so remarkably distinguished him as a missionary pioneer. But it did not help him much to make up leeway in his classical education.

It is not surprising, therefore, to learn that, when he returned to Oxford in the autumn of ^69, and at once took up his old role as Master of the Revels, the Principal strongly recommended him to seek out a competent tutor in some quiet and retired part of the country, where there would be few distractions, and where he would have no temptation to seek other friends than his books.

For this purpose he suggested the Rev. C. Scriven, Rector of Martinhoe. He could not have selected a better man. But the place! Alas! how could the Principal, with all his kindly forethought, know that this perplexing undergraduate would find in Devonshire peasant folk, and still more in Devonshire cliffs and seas, distractions even greater than college life could offer him }

CHAPTER VI.

MARTI N'HOE.

(1870—73.)

" A great, broad-shouldered, genial Englishman.”

Princess.

Marti nhoe and Trentishoe are two small sister parishes on the wild north coast of Devonshire, about half-way between Ilfracombe and The Foreland. Far from any railway station, they are shut off from the rest of the world by their inaccessibility. The population of the two parishes, at that time held by Mr. Scriven, does not much exceed three hundred souls. These are, however, scattered over a wide extent of country. A lonely place is this corner of North Devon, and out of the way. A place of wide-stretch- ing moorland ; dark, weather-scarped cliffs, and rocks worn and torn by the ceaseless sweep of Atlantic billows. Han- nington writes of his first impression of the district : u The country round is magnificent, and I soon fell in love with both place and people.”

The impression which he himself made upon the party at the Rectory is recorded in another note : u I found out that their opinion of me is that I am very eccentric.” However, in a very short time, not only they, but the simple country folk around, learned to love him, and to regard him as, in a peculiar sense, their own. He entered thoroughly into the pursuits of the people, and was soon widely known among them. Before he had been long at Martinhoe he was welcomed everywhere, in farmhouse and cottage, as a personal friend.

The strange habits and customs of the Devonians, almost unaltered through centuries, interested him greatly ; he studied them sympathetically, while he keenly enjoyed

jEt. 22.] Devonshire Superstitions . 57

the humour of them. The following is an extract from his diary : —

“Feb. 20 til. — We had a funeral this week. The bereaved gave a tremendous feast on the occasion to those who were invited ; and any others who chose to attend went to the house for tea and coffee. On Sunday they all came to church in a body. They came in very late, and sat together in a conspicuous place, remaining the whole time of the service with their faces buried in their pocket-handker- chiefs ; nor did one once look up. A short time since, the clerk at Trentishoe lost his wife. A few days after the funeral he asked for a holiday, borrowed a horse, and rode round the parish to sound aU the young women on the question of matrimony. He arrived at the Parsonage and proposed to both the servants, but was refused. At last he found a lady bold enough and willing to take the step, and she bids fair to make him a good wife.

“ There is an immense deal of superstition about here. Neither man, woman, nor child will enter a churchyard after dark, and on Midsummer night they say that the spirits of the departed move about the graves, and are to be seen. Many of the people know charms for different diseases, and are in great repute. Old John Jones can bless for the eyes: and afterwards offered to reveal the secret to me, in which case he would be able to c bless ’ no more, the gift becoming mine.

u Mrs. Jones c to the parsonage ’ has a seventh son, who has power to bless for the King’s evil. Numbers resorted to him, but finding that he did not get sufficient from them, and that every time he c blessed 3 virtue went from him, and left him weak, he has discontinued the practice.”

The belief in witches still holds sway over the minds of the people. They have unbounded faith in charms and spells. I remember once to have had a conversation with Hannington on the subject of the supposed miracles at Knock, Lourdes, and other places. Whatever might be the source of the alleged healings, he warned me against summarily concluding that no cures had taken place.

[A.D. 1870.

58 James Hannington .

He said that he had himself seen the strangest cures effected in Africa by medicine men with their fetish ; cures of which, to an impartial beholder, there could be little doubt. He then narrated some remarkable cases of persons who had, under his own observation, been healed by recourse to men or women who were supposed to be endowed with the power to u bless.” He was of opinion that certain diseases — in fact, all those diseases which were directly or indirectly nervous — might, in certain cases, be healed by a strong faith in — anything.

The reader will, no doubt, recall the case mentioned both by Pascal, and also by Racine in his history of Port Royal, in which a daughter of Madame Perier was cured of a lacrymal fistula of a very bad kind, which had disfigured her face for more than three years, by a touch from a supposed Thorn from the Crown.

Supposing this cure to have been really effected — and it is testified to by no less authorities than Pascal, Arnauld, and Le Maitre — there is no need to believe that any special virtue resided in the u Holy Thorn.” Rather that the extent to which it is possible for the mind to sway the body has not yet been accurately ascertained.

Upon one occasion, and I believe one only, Hannington was induced to experiment upon the credulity of the people. The result was notable. He had a decided taste for the study of medicine, and had ^picked up at different times no small practical knowledge of it. The country doctor, indeed, trusted him so far as to seek his assistance in re- porting upon and caring for many of the simpler cases of sickness. His repute as a “ medicine man ” among the country folk themselves was great. They placed unlimited confidence in him. Upon the occasion to which allusion has been made, he was asked to prescribe for a certain woman who appeared to be in the last stage of consumption. She had been under medical treatment for years, but had obtained no relief. Hannington filled a phial with water slightly flavoured and coloured, and attached to the cork a small leaden medal, such as is found on some bottles of eau- (je_C°l°gne* This he gravely presented to the woman.

59

JiLt. 22.] Amateur Engineering .

merely saying to her, “ When you take a dose, first turn the bottle round three times three ; and, whatever you do, take care that you do not lose that leaden medal , but return it to me when you are well .” From that hour the woman began to amend ; in a very brief time the medal was re- turned— -an apparently complete cure had been effected. I make no comment upon this, but give the story as nearly as possible in the same words in which he narrated it to me.

After some more or less spasmodic reading, Hannington returned to Oxford on March 19th, and went into the schools to pass his “ smalls.” During the first day of the examination he had good hopes of success; but on the second day an ill-conditioned organ-grinder took up his station outside the w theatre,” and with the horrible iteration of his popular airs drove all thoughts out of the distracted head of the unhappy student. In a fit of irritable despair he rushed out and withdrew his name.

The next term Hannington spent in residence. He was at this time elected President of the u Red Club,” which, with the captaincy of the Boat Club, was the highest social honour that we were able to confer upon him.

On the 10th of June he again tried to pass his Respon- sions, and this time successfully.

The next entry in the diary is again from Martinhoe. Hannington had discovered a new source of delight. The cliffs descended to the sea in sheer, precipitous walls of three or four hundred feet. In few places was access to their base possible, except to bold and experienced climbers. A perilous scramble from ledge to ledge in search for chough's eggs revealed the existence of some remarkable caves, the largest of which was then and there dubbed Cave Scriven. These caves, carved out by the foam-fingers ot the tireless sea, fringed with immense fronds of fern, pillared with stalactite, and floored with firm white sand, the safe and undisturbed citadel of birds, were quite inaccessible to any but a cragsman. Hannington at once resolved that they should be seen and explored by the party at the Rectory, and for that purpose set to work to make a prac«

[A.D. 1870.

60 James Hannington .

ticable path down to the shore. Into this business he threw himself with characteristic energy. The engineering dif- ficulties to be overcome were not small. The cliff was in many places a sheer precipice — nowhere could foothold be obtained except upon treacherous projections or crumbling ledges. However, he writes : cc On Sept. 1st we com- menced, and secured two able-bodied men and old Richard Jones to help. When Richard was a boy he had been the best hand in the parish at climbing the c cleve 5 (cliff), but now he was old and crippled. We thought, however, he might be useful to do odd jobs, so at 7 a.m. we all turned out with c pick-isses,’ c two-bills/ crowbars, and spades, and made our way to the scene of action.”

It will be observed that Hannington had, as usual, suc- ceeded in carrying along with him all his friends, the other pupils at the Rectory, and even the servants. His enthu- siasm was the most infectious thing in the world. The most ridiculous project became, when he threw himself into its execution, the all-absorbing business of the hour. Thus, for the time being, the interest of the parish was concen- trated upon this wonderful u path,” which was to lead down the face of a dangerous cliff, from nowhere in particular to nobody knew where.

Though the leader of this pioneer corps of sappers and miners was almost incapacitated by a severe attack of shingles, he refused to succumb, and himself marked out the first sec- tion of the path. The party, amateurs and hired labourers, then set to work in good earnest, and soon made the first part of a practicable zigzag. When they got well down over the edge, however, the rocks proved very rotten, and after several narrow escapes, the enthusiasm of some was damped, and the two able-bodied workmen refused to risk their lives further. Old Richard alone remained undaunted ; and, with his help, and that of George Scriven, the path was at last completed. Some graphic extracts from the diary explain how it was done. Old Richard was clinging on to a landslip, and plying his pick as best he could, when Hannington cried to him, “ c Hold on, Richard, till I come back to you \ I am going to climb down a bit further, and

JEu 23.] Devonshire Hospitality , 61

see where we can next take the path to.5 Old Richard, however, was a man who could not stand idle, as I found to my cost ; for when I had crept down some distance I heard the rush of a stone, and a considerable boulder shot past my head, within a foot of me. I had barely time to dodge as it whizzed by like a cannon-ball, accompanied by a volley of small stones, and I could feel the draught of air it made. With a shout I apprized Richard that I was below, and climbed up like a lamplighter, and stood by his side pale and breathless. He was quite cool. c I don’t like the look of that old rougey place where you have been climb- ing,’ said he. Nor do I, thought I to myself, when you are working up above. If you are not the coolest old hand

I ever met ! However, I said nothing ; but after

dinner George and I climbed across this c rougey place,’ with the assistance of a rope, and determined that we would not return until we had cut our own path back. Old Richard now gave in. He took back to the village the news that he was beaten now. So George and I did it by ourselves. Capital fellow is George, and just as determined as myself that we should succeed, even if the whole cliff came down about our ears.”

There was much triumph when the work was com- pleted. An opening day was arranged, and a party of twenty visitors descended the dizzy path down to

6( The murmuring surge That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes,”

and were introduced to the wonders of the new-found caves.

The following entry appears opposite January ist, 1871:

u Received the Holy Communion with great misgivings. Reflected upon the manner in which I had spent the past year, and made resolutions, which, alas ! soon failed.”

A day or two later he was almost drowned while skat- ing. The same evening, however, he went to a Devonshire farmer’s party, which he thus describes : “ I am going to c see Christmas,’ which is Devonian for c I am going to a party.’ We arrived at 6 p.m., when a hot supper was

62

James Hannington. [a.D. 1871-

ready — three hot roast joints, etc. ; after which, games, dancing, and the like went on till midnight, when there was another hot supper as substantially provided as the first. Then cards commenced till 8 a.m., when there was a hot breakfast.” Hannington does not say whether he saw this party out, but apparently it is not uncommon on such occasions for guests to remain even until noon, when they wind up the festivities with a final dinner. The habits of our beef-and-ale-consuming forefathers still linger in hospit- able Devonshire.

A week later Hannington found himself in nearly as awkward a position as that of the elderly gentleman who, while probing the clefts of the rocks for anemones at low tide, was seized by the finger and held fast in the tenacious grip of a huge crustacean. Tradition says that he was drowned. The same fate might easily have befallen our adventurous explorer of caves. He says : cc On the twelfth of January I asked Morrell and George Scriven to join in an excursion to a cave we called c The Eyes/ two small holes just large enough to creep through, which penetrated a headland. While there, we discovered below water mark a hole which seemed to penetrate some distance ; so, with no little squeezing and pushing, I wound my way in, and found myself in a large hollow chamber with no other out- let than the one I had entered by. It would have been a dreadful place in which to be caught by the tide. The water gradually rising in the utter darkness would drown one like a rat in a trap. I explained all this melodramatically to my companions outside till they grew quite impatient. i Well, come out then/ said Morrell, f for the tide is fast coming up, and we shall have a job to return/ So I crawled down to the entrance and essayed to come out head first. I soon stuck fast, and after great squeezing and squirming, barely managed to get back again inside. Next I tried to get out as I came in, and so worked my way down feet first. It was no go, I was again jammed tight. My two friends then got hold of my legs, and pulled and pulled till I thought my legs and body would part company. Matters really oegun to look serious. I was bruised and strained a good deal, and

Ai.t, 23.] Trip to Norway . 63

escape seemed impossible. And now the full horror of the situation flashed across us all. My mocking words were actually to be realized ! I said in the best voice I could that I must say good-bye ; but if ever I passed a dreadful moment it was that one. The tide was creeping up slowly but surely. Applying all their strength they pushed me back into the entrance that I might make one more effort head first. Then it suddenly occurred to us all that I might try without my clothes. No sooner said than done ; and after a good scraping I soon stood once more by their side. But it was a narrow escape ! ”

Nothing daunted by this adventure, Morrell and he set themselves to conquer u the champion climb amongst the natives/” Twice they were defeated. It seemed to them that uno mortal man could go up.” The third time they were successful, scaled the dizzy height, and u were made free of the cliffs.”

Hannington kept the next two terms at St. Mary Hall. He was now twenty-three, but the boyish spirit was not in the least abated. Vide the following :

“April 25th. —For abet I wheeled Captain Way up the High Street in a wheelbarrow, and turned him out opposite the Angel Hotel.”

The Easter Vacation was spent in a yachting trip with his own people. They all had a pleasant time on the bright waters of the south coast. Whenever there was a bit of rough work to be done, James always undertook it. “Now, men,” he was wont to say, “you remember me up the Rhine. No putting back to-day, mind ! ” On several occasions, while the rest of the party went by rail to avoid some stormy foreland, he took charge of the yacht ; never better pleased than when a real stiff sea had to be encoun- tered, or a difficulty overcome. As he was not in good health, he next took advantage of doctor's advice to make a yachting voyage to Norway. There he made the most of his time, appreciatively seizing upon all strange ways, quaint sayings, and queer surroundings, and making himself

64 James Rannington . [A.t>. 1871.

very popular with the Norwegians, whether pigge , post- boy, or boatman.

One story we may quote from his diary : “ The land- lord at Gudvangen, Herr S.,is quite a character. He dances round one, and his long hair flies about in a most ludicrous way. c He shall sit up all night if he shall make you com- fortable ; } and to commence adding to your comfort he pats you on the back. Then he is full of bitter remorse be- cause you tell him that the maid (pigge) will grease your boot-laces. c He shall send her away ; he shall do it him- self; it shall break his heart if you are not comfortable/ Herr S. speaks good English, but he likes to add to his vocabulary. Some one said that the Germans were fond of guzzling beer. The conversation dropped, but not the word. It dwelt in Herr S/s mind. The next morning we were at the river. Herr S. expressed a thousand regrets that it was so clear. Said he : ‘If only you could get a little guzzling water you shall catch fish/ We found that he thought that c guzzling ’ meant thick!”

On July 1 8th he was back once more at Martinhoe ; reading, clifF-climbing, and botanizing — chiefly, I imagine, the two latter. His zeal for exploring the wave- worn nooks of the perilous coast had infected the others. Parties were constantly made up to reach some new cave, or test the practicability of some hitherto impossible track. ITanning- ton never tired of describing these adventures. On one occasion they were creeping along a narrow ledge of rock overhanging a u vasty deep,” when they came to a place where the ledge turned at right angles, and was, moreover, blocked by a mass of jutting rock. A long stride over the obstacle is required. He writes : u As I knew the place best, I stepped on first, and then began to help the others

across. All got over safely till it came to R ;s turn.

I was sitting on the ledge, and held out my hand to him. He somehow missed the hand, slipped, and lost his balance. The fearful look of terror that flashed over his face, accom- panied by a low moan and gasp of despair, I shall not easily forget. I dashed at him, caught him by the arm, and, grip- ping the rock with one hand, held him for a moment dang-

ALL 23 .]

65

A Hair-breadth Escape .

ling in the air. Fortunately, George was at hand, and seized my wrist, otherwise we must, both of us, have gone over and been lost. Together we hauled him up, and 1 soon had the satisfaction of hearing him say, as he shook me by the hand : c Thank you for my life ! ’ I, however, was myself quite as much indebted to George.” Good Mr. Scriven did not half like these perilous freaks. But, while the mania lasted, there was no keeping his “ pups ” off the cliffs. To use his favourite expression, they were cc like moths buzzing round a candle.”

a Aug. . 5th. — Helped to put new east window in the church. J had recommended Baillie, and had obtained the design.

“ Aug. 26th, —Took Lord Tenterden, Mr. Justice Pollock, and some others to see the caves. They expressed the greatest astonishment at the engineering of the path5 and the magnificence of the caves.”

Next occurs the following : — -

a I suggested to Mr. Scriven that I should come to him at once as his curate, and read for my Degree afterwards.”

To this he adds in a note written long after : u Very fortunately the Bishop would not consent to ordain me until I had taken my Degree.”

Fortunately, indeed! In this, as in other things, we can trace the good Hand of his God upon him.

And now an event took place which moved him to the centre of his being. The controlling love of his life had been that of his mother. The boyish tenderness for his u dearest, sweetest mother,” had not been impaired by time. No other affection had ever usurped his heart. He was the least susceptible of men to the charms of women. No Adonis could have seemed more wholly unassailable by what is called love. His friends and companions were mainly, and, indeed, almost exclusively, of his own sex. Not that he was unpopular with women : far from it. But in what- ever light they may have regarded him, in his eyes they were but weaker men, to be treated with chivalrous consideration, but otherwise as companions— nothing more. His whole

5

66

James Hannington. [A.D. 1871, 2.

love was given to his mother. She, on her part, fully reciprocated his affection, and found an ever fresh delight in the devotion of her favourite son. Mrs. Hannington had, for some time, been seriously ill. On the 30th of Septem- ber of this year, 1871, her doctor pronounced that there was little or no hope of her recovery. James was in an agony of mind ; he could not believe that such grief was in store for him. In a few days the crisis seemed to pass, and his mother, to his intense relief, rallied. He determined, notwithstanding this, to remain by her side instead of return- ing to Oxford to keep Term. As the days dragged wearily by matters did not improve. It was evident that his mother was sinking. She was very happy and peaceful. As for James, he wrote: “We had but a melancholy Christmas Day, and mournfully closed the year. The doctor gives my mother no hope, and yet there seems to be hope. I cannot but hope — I must hope.”

He found time, in the midst of this racking anxiety, to run up to Oxford, at the urgent request of his friends there, to settle a quarrel which had occurred in the St. Mary Hall Boat Club. But, having set matters straight, and prevailed upon the then Captain to resign, he at once returned to Hurst. On February 14th his mother submitted to the operation of tapping. She bore it with a patient resignation which was deeply touching to her husband and children. She got, however, very little relief. On the 24th, James writes: u Very, very ill.” On the 26th : “ I went in to her at eight a.m., and at once saw that the end could not be far off. She was almost unconscious. She kept dozing and rousing, and commencing sentences. Especially she would repeat again and again : c I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh. I will take — I will take the stony heart away — away.5 ”

So the bright, active, brave spirit, which in so many points resembled that of her favourite son, went down, step by step, to the brink of the still river; and her son would hardly let her go — would have held her, but could not. About three o’clock in the afternoon she ceased her broken utter- ances ; at about five o’clock her arms, which had gently

JEt. 24.]

His Mothers Death .

67

swayed to and fro, moved no longer, and at seven she died in the presence of all her children. After the last reverent look, the others moved sadly away. As for James, he fell on her face, and kissed her, and cried to her, as though she could still hear him. Scarce knowing what he said, he besought her again and again to come back to him — not to leave him when he most wanted her. By and by came the faithful old nurse, and, with gentle compulsion, led him away.

Mrs. Hannington had always felt an almost morbid dread lest she should be buried before life was actually extinct. She had mentioned this to her son, and he had promised that he would assure himself that death had taken place before the interment. This explains the following note : u I promised my mother to see her six times after she was dead. I saw her seven, and there could not be the slightest doubt that she was gone/’

Indeed, it was almost impossible to tear him away from her bedside. He would sit there in the silent gloom, hour after hour, plunged in grief that refused to be comforted. Or he would be found kneeling by that figure so mysterious and still beneath its enveloping sheet. They had to coax and almost to compel him from the presence of the dead in order that he might take rest or meals. On Saturday, March 20th, the funeral took place in the Parish Church of Hurst- pierpoint. “ Hundreds attended, coming from miles round. ^

So the desire of his eyes was taken away at a stroke.

It is clear to us now why this should have been. His heart was to be emptied that it might be filled with that only love which does not fade, and which cannot be taken away. Had James Hannington written an epitaph upon his mother’s tomb, it would have been couched in some such terms as that most touching inscription in a Paris cemetery — “ Do/s en paix , O ma mere ; ton fils t obeira toujour s” Her memory always exercised over him a hallowing influence. Nevertheless, it was, perhaps, needful for him that th© human voice should speak no more words of advice and sympathy, that he might be taught to listen for the sound of that “ still, small voice ” which whispers to those who have ears to hear: “ This is the way, walk thou in it."

68

James Hannington .

[A.D. 1872, 3.

In May, 1872, Hannington successfully passed his u Moderations,” and resided for some time in the house of Mr. Morfill, of Oriel, with whom he decided to read for his next Examination. After a short vacation he continued his studies with Mr. Rumsey, and determined that he would put an end to trifling, and pass the final examination for his Degree as soon as possible.

The following entry occurs for October 18th : — cc Father, Bessie, and Blanche Gould came to stop at Oxford a few days. Took them to hear Canon Liddon, who preached a magnificent sermon.” A few days later a letter appeared on his breakfast table, in which his father announced his intention of marrying again, and that the latter lady had consented to become his wife. This second marriage turned out very happily, and by and by Hannington, no doubt, understood that it was better thus than that his father should be left to brood over his grief in a house from which his children had flown to make homes for themselves. But coming so soon after the death of his mother, to whom he knew that his father had been tenderly attached, it is not to be wondered at if, at first, the new alliance troubled him, or that his diary should record his feelings in the words, “ I am terribly cut up and cast down.”

He set to work, however, in good earnest to bring to a close his already too prolonged University course, and, early in December, passed with credit the first part of u Greats.”

On May 15th, 1873, he rowed for the last time in the u eight.” cc Bumped Keble.” u Should have caught Exeter, but No. 3 caught a crab instead.” Apparently the crew rather fell to pieces towards the end of the week, for the next entry runs : “ Of all atrocious horrors, this is the

most disgusting. We have been re-bumped by Keble ! ”

u May 28th. — Lunched at Morfilks. 3 p.m., garden party at Morrell’s. 9 p.m., ball at Masonic Hall, given by Ashmead-Bartlett.” And so on through a list of “ Com- memoration ” festivities.

On June 12th Hannington took his B.A. Degree.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TURNING POINT. ORDINATION. — THE GREAT

CHANGE.

(1873—74-)

“ I have been from my childhood alway of a rumorous and stormy nature.” Luther.

“ We took sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of God as friends.” Ps. lv. 14.

“O most sweet Lord Jesus, by Thy holy Infancy, Youth, Baptism, Fasting, scourges, buffets, thorny crown, — Deliver us.”

St. Anselm.

“ About this time,” Hannington writes, cc a different tone began to steal over me insensibly. I prayed more.”

About this time also a certain friend of his who had recently received Holy Orders, and who was serving as Curate in a country parish in Surrey, began to think of him. In the solitude of his lodgings, when the day’s work was done, and he was alone with his own thoughts, his mind would rest lovingly upon old college friendships. He thought of James Hannington — gay, impetuous, friendly, fun-loving Jim — and gradually it was laid upon his heart to pray for him. Why, he could not tell; but the burden of that other soul seemed to press upon him more heavily day by day. He had not had much experience in dealing with souls ; he had but a short time before learned the meaning of a effectual, fervent prayer ; ” he would have been called a a babe ” by St. Paul ; not yet even a “ young man,” much less cc a father.” But his life had been transformed within him, and filled with a new and most radiant joy. He knew himself redeemed, and in union with the Father of Spirits with whom is no changeableness, neither shadow of turning. He could not now have lived over again that old college life

70 Tctmes Hanning ton, [A.D. 1873.

of his as once he had been content to live it. He thought of many friends. To some he spoke, and tried to make them partakers with him of his new-found benefit. For some he sought to pray, but for none can he ever remember to have prayed with such a distinct sense that he must pray as for James Hannington. I find the following entry in Hannington^s diary :

u July 15 t/i, opened a correspondence with

me to-day, which I speak of as delightful ; it led to my conversion.”

Young men are not, as a rule, good correspondents, and between these twain no letter had passed for nearly two years. Communication was re opened in the following manner. A pair of skates was the ostensible cause. The Curate found them, with other rubbish, in a box full of odds and ends, and, holding them in his hand, remembered that they had belonged to Hannington, with whom, after the manner of chums, he had held many things in common. Then and there he sat down and wrote to Hurstpierpoint, asking his friend in what quarter of the world he might be found, and whither he would wish those same skates to be sent. The letter was forwarded to Martinhoe. In due time came a kindly response. u Glad to hear from you again. Never mind the skates ; keep them, or throw them away — any- thing you like ; but tell me about yourself,” and so on. Then followed the news that he was meditating ordination ; was not sure that he was as fit as he ought to be, with more to the same effect, all written lightly enough, but with a certain something of seriousness which induced the Curate to think that the opportunity he had been seeking might have, perchance, arrived.

He resolved to avail himself of the opening thus given, though not without a certain dread. He was naturally loth to lose the friendship of one for whom he entertained a warm affection. He remembered Hannington* s openly ex- pressed dislike of religious enthusiasm, and his contempt for all canting protestations of superior piety. It was not with- put a mental struggle that he determined to lay bare his own

A Repulse .

7i

<Et. 26.]

heart to an eye only too probably unsympathetic. It seemed likely that this letter of his might open a wide gulf between them. Still, if friendship was to be lost, it should be at least well lost. So he reasoned, and, with prayer for guidance, just wrote a simple, unvarnished account of his own spiritual experience ; tried to explain how it had come to pass that he was not as formerly; spoke of the power of the love of Christ to transform the life of a man, and draw out all its latent possibilities ; and finally urged him, as he loved his own soul, to make a definite surrender of himself to the Saviour of the world, and join the society of His disciples. This done, the Curate walked, not without misgivings as to the wisdom of the course he had adopted, to the miscellaneous little shop which did duty in the village as drapery and grocery store, post-office, and what not, and dropped his letter into the box.

For thirteen months no answer was returned. Prayer was made without ceasing, and still under the sense of a burden imposed, but there was no response. The Curate concluded that his letter had been consigned to the obli- vion of the waste-paper basket.

He was, however, wrong. During those months events were happening at Martinhoe. The Hand of God was not idle, and the seed was germinating.

“ Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it :

Thou greatly enrichest it ;

The river of God is full of water ;

Thou providest corn, when Thou hast so prepared the earth ;

Thou waterest her furrows abundantly ;

Thou settlest the ridges thereof :

Thou makest it soft with showers ;

Thou blessest the springing thereof :

Thou crownest the year with Thy gladness.” — Ps . lxv.

But seed, whether sown in the heart of a man or in the furrows of the field, must be allowed time to develop and strike root. The husbandman must not be impatient, but wait for the u crown of the year/’

Seed had been sown in Hannington’s heart which was not destined to perish ; but that heart still needed further preparation for its upspringing. We may compare the

72 James Hctnnington* [A.D. 1873.

events that followed, with their wholesome laceration of his pride, to the harrow in the Hand of his God.

On September 8th he writes: “The Bishop has put the exam, a week earlier, which will, I doubt, entirely undo me, as I have left my Prayer Book for the last fortnight’s reading/’ He had yet, then, to learn that “ cramming,” however permissible in other cases, should have no place in an examination for such a charge as that. He goes on to record : —

“ Sept . ijth. — Exeter; in uncomfortable lodgings. Did a paper at 9.30; fairly well, 11.30, another paper; did well. 1.30, dined with the Bishop. 5.30, another paper. 8 p.m., chapel, with a sermon from the Bishop.

“ i$th. — Over-read last night. Passed a sleepless night ; woke exceedingly unwell. Three more papers, one of which was the Prayer Book. Unable to do anything; had been disappointed of a week’s reading, and was also very ill.

“ 19//^. — Another bad night. Three more papers ; and on the 20th was, as I thought, unkindly dismissed by the Bishop — c I am sorry to say that your paper on the Prayer Book is insufficient. If you go down to Mr. Percival, he will tell you all about it. Good morning.’ I was so confounded that I was nearly overwhelmed with despair. Mrs. Dovell told me afterwards that she thought I should have died or gone off my head.”

Hannington told me, some time after, that the shame and confusion of his failure came upon him at first as a sickening blow. He thought that he should never raise his head again. Then, as he thought of his own unwisdom and of the Bishop’s hard manner towards him, he gave way to an ungovernable burst of passion. He was filled with furious madness, partly against himself, and partly at the recollection of what seemed like an insult inflicted on him. He was suffering himself to be swept along upon the full tide of this stormy mood, when suddenly the thought struck him, as though he heard spoken words of warning, “ If you can give way like this , are you fit to offer yourself as a minister of Christ ? ”

JE t. 26.] Tempted to Draw Back . 73

He was sobered in an instant. It seemed to him that his defeat had been ordered in the providence of God. He resolved to accept it humbly, and to strive to approve him- self a more worthy candidate upon another occasion.

Hannington now went back to Oxford, in order that he might read with Mr. Morfill. The following sad occurrence impressed him : u Loyd, one of our men, cut his throat last night. This has thrown a gloom over the place. He is just alive. He did it from despair about the schools ; but his mind was evidently affected.”

He wrote, about this time : u How I dread ordination ! I would willingly draw back ; but when I am tempted to do so I hear ringing in my ears, c Whoso putteth his hand to the plough, and looketh back, is not fit for the kingdom of God.’ What am I to do ? What ? ”

When it is remembered that Hannington was possessed of a sufficient competency, and that at this time he had as large an income as ever in his life, it will be plain that he was not influenced in his decision to persevere by any monetary considerations.

The temptation to lead the independent life or a private gentleman, and to occupy himself with his favourite scientific pursuits, must have been very strong. Many young men in his position would have easily succumbed to it. As an explorer, or in independent research into the vast realm of natural history, he might easily have distinguished himself, and satisfied any thirst of ambition which might possess him. He was his own master. The whole world was open before him ; and he was one who would never have let time drag heavily, or have been at a loss for employment and interest.

It is characteristic of the man that he should have shaken this temptation from him, and, with steady deter- mination, faced what he now dreaded with an almost morbid fear. His conscience would not have absolved him else. u Whoso putteth his hand to the plough, and looketh back, is not fit for the kingdom of God.” Those words held him fast to his purpose.

The end of 1873 ^oun(^ Hannington back at Martinhoe,

74

[A.D. 1874.

James Hannington •

among the Devon farmers. He went to one of those parties described before, and danced the old year out. Having performed this rite, he returned to Oxford, where he took part in a series of gaieties, and then started for Exeter, to face once more the Bishop’s Chaplain and his papers.

He was terribly nervous and agitated; could not sleep at all that first night. He faced his papers next morning in such a frame of mind that it was impossible he could do his best. He was one of those men for whom an examina- tion has real terrors. What he knew best and most accu- rately, on such occasions fled out of his mind, and left him in a state of helpless blankness.

There are some men who never show their powers so well as across a green baize tablecloth, and confronted by two examiners. They pass everything with ease and credit, and afterwards disappoint the expectations of their friends. There are others who, though hopelessly stumbled under such circumstances, and able to bring to the front nothing that they know, yet leave their mark upon the world. Hannington was one of the latter sort.

On the present occasion he was thoroughly well prepared in his various subjects; but by the time the examination drew to a close he had worked himself into such a state of nervous excitement, that it was almost impossible for him to do himself credit.

On the fourth day of the examination he was summoned into the presence of the Bishop. Fie was told that his paper showed evidence of hard and conscientious reading, but that his matter had been badly handled (how could it be otherwise, poor fellow, when his ideas were utterly muddled and gone astray !) ; and, in fine, that he must remain a deacon for two years, and come up for an intermediary examination. With this information, and — u You’ve got fine legs, I see : mind that you run about your parish. Good morning” — he was dismissed.

The following day (March 1st) the Ordination took place in the Cathedral.

Through the silent aisles sounds the Archdeacon’s

voice — -

Ordination .

JEt. 26.]

75

“ Reverend Father in God , I present unto you these pei'sons present to be admitted Deacons

Then, after the heart-stirring petitions of the Litany, the Bishop is heard to ask : —

“ Do you trust that you are inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon you this office and ministration , to serve God for the promoting of His Glory , and the edify- ing of His people ? ”

A moment’s silence, and then from each candidate the answer—

a I trust so."

And there can be little doubt that Hannington made this answer with all sincerity, according to the light he then possessed. That Ordination was to him very awful, and full of solemnity. Behind Bishop and officiating clergy, he saw One to whose awful Majesty he had consecrated the service of his life,.

u So,” said he to himself, as he left the Cathedral, “ I am Ordained, and the world has to be crucified in me. O for God’s Holy Spirit ! ”

The next day he met the Principal in the Quadrangle of St. Mary Hall. u He, having known me in my wildest and noisiest times, said, in his dry way, c I am not certain whether you are to be congratulated or not.”’

On the Sunday following, Hannington assisted in the Services at Hurst, and preached his first sermon, which he pronounces — probably not without reason — to have been feeble, in fact, not quite sound.” In spite of the con- gratulations of his friends, he tore it up.

The next Sunday he commenced his duty as Curate of Trentishoe. The people crowded into the little church to see their old friend in his new garb. Alas ! he had not yet much to the purpose to say to them. Services in those parts were conducted in a primitive manner enough. Take the following example : — a I went over to Parracombe.

u Clerk : c We are going to have service in the school- room this evening, sir. We like it better/

76

[A.D. 1 874.

James Harming ton.

cc c Oh ; well, what does Mr. Leakey do ? ’ ucWhy, sir, he reads, prays extempore, and expounds. He don’t preach no sermon, and don’t wear no gown.’

“ I, dreadfully nervous : c I think I will read the Evening Service, Jones. Is there a Bible ? 5

“ ‘ No, sir, there aint ; he do bring his own with him/

“ More nervous than ever, I gave out a hymn. Then, while they were singing it, in came a surplice, which I put on. Next a lamp, which was most acceptable.

cc I then said I would read the Litany ; so I commenced. Then a Bible was found and thrust on to the table, so I was able to read a Lesson. Then came the most trying ordeal. The table was quite low. I had not my glasses, and did not like to hold my sermon-case up before me, so I had to lean on my elbows, stick my legs out behind me, and thus read painfully through my paper. Moral : cLearn to preach and pray without book/ 39

Ah, me ! Was there ever such a Curate before or since ! Let us hear him describe himself : —

u Here I am, a lone man, living in a singularly out-of-

jEt. 26.] A Country Curate at Home . 77

the-way place, Curate of Martinhoe and Trentishoe; clad in a pair of Bedford-cord knee-breeches of a yellow colour, continued below with yellow Sussex gaiters (c spats .’) with brass buttons. Below these a stout pair of nail boots, four inches across the soles, and weighing fully four pounds. My upper garment, an all-round short jerkin of black cloth, Underneath which an ecclesiastical waistcoat, buttoning up at the side. N.B. — The two latter articles of clothing I always wear. I am seated in as pleasant a room as you would wish to see. Wilton carpet, old china, piano, arm- chairs, numberless pictures, and large candelabras. Only there is no fire, and it is very cold — but alas ! my chimney smokes.”

That last item is not to be wondered at, as the cottage in which he took up his abode was close under a steep hill, and a strong down draught was almost inevitable.

Paying a visit to a parish in Essex where he had to respect the conventionalities and don the usual clerical habiliments, he says : cc I found it a great burden going about in black clothes and top hat ! I never could stop in such a place ! ”

I find just here a note of his first missionary meeting, which is interesting in view of his future life :

“July 30 th. — I went to my first missionary meeting at Parracombe. I was made to speak, much against my will, as I know nothing about the subject, and take little interest in it. There was an old Colonel Simpson, who spoke after me, and gave me such an indirect dressing, that I made up my mind never in future to speak on any subject until I knew something about it.”

The rough work of a Devonshire parish exactly suited Hannington’s temperament. Such adventures as the following were quite to his mind : —

u As I had ridden my pony more than fifty miles last week, and had a hard ride yesterday, I determined, instead of going round by the road, to cross Exmoor, to take duty at Challacombe. When I got on to the moor a dense fog

[A.D. 1874.

78 James Hanning ton.

came on, and I soon lost my way. I galloped up hill and down in mist and rain from nine till eleven, which was the hour of Church Service, and then was still as much lost as ever. I determined to give up church, throw the reins on the pony’s neck, and let him take me back home. Presently I struck a track which promised at least to lead somewhere, so once more clapping spurs to my pony, I galloped along, and soon came to a gate which led me off the moor. This track brought us to a farmhouse, and there a man volunteered to accompany me, “ for/'’ said he, u you will lose yourself again if I don’t/' I arrived at church, and found the people sitting patiently in the pews, discussing with one another whether I would turn up. They all thought I was lost. I whispered to the clerk how it had happened. ‘ Iss,’ said he in loud tones, c we reckoned you was lost, but now you are here, go and put on your surples, and be short, for we all want to get back to dinner/ Dripping wet as I was, I put on the surplice over all, and gave them a shortened service. In the afternoon I got back in time for church at Martinhoe/'

So he spent his time among those scattered hamlets, doing the best he knew ; and doing it with all his heart. Riding on his rough Exmoor pony with his Prayer Book in one pocket of his shooting jacket, and medicines for some sick person in another. Welcomed everywhere. Admired by the young men and beloved by the aged, to whom he was as a son. They forgot that he had come among them as a stranger, and treated him as though he were a born son of the soil.

The life was entirely after his own heart, and yet he was not happy. The people were content with him, but he was not content with his own ministrations to them. He was parson, doctor, family friend, all in one. He felt that he could be of some use to the poor and needy. He sat up long nights with the sick and dying. His purse was always at the command of those in want. He could and did sometimes preach vehement sermons against pre- valent vices, such as immorality, and excessive drinking at <c wakes” and feasts, but he could not preach the u Word

79

JEt. 26.] A Messenger without a Message .

of Life.” As he visited the sick and dying, or uread Prayers” in bald-looking, uncared-for country churches, and held up his manuscript sermon to his eyes in presence of sleepy audiences of tired labouring folk, he realized that ever more keenly. He was not giving them the Word of Life. How could he, when he did not himself possess the secret of that Life ! The burden of his great responsibility weighed upon him more heavily every day. He began to understand, as he had never understood before, that he was not right with God. God’s ordained Messenger with no Message to deliver — that was his position. A position, to his transparently-honest soul, altogether insupportable. He began to be in great distress.

Some thirteen months had passed since that letter bearing the post-mark of a Surrey village had reached him. It had not been answered. The friend who wrote that letter had concluded it burnt, perhaps with indignation, or, maybe, with scornful contempt. How could he know that it had been treasured up, read, and re-read, and that it would prove to be the turning-point of a life !

But Hannington’s own words will best describe the phases of his mind during this important period of his career \ —

u And now,” he says, u comes a tale of surpassing

interest to me. More than a year ago wrote me

a letter. I did not answer it, although the impression it made never left me. Time passed on, and I knew that I was not right. I sought and sought most earnestly, at times being in terrible bondage of spirit, and doubts, and fears. I began to despair of ever coming to the knowledge

of the Truth. At length I again wrote to , and

begged him to come and pay me a visit. Most earnestly did I pray that he might come and bring me light, as Ananias did to St. Paul.”

This letter ran as follows :

u My dear Colonel,* — Can you come and see me ? Even a short visit. I am in much distress of soul and want your advice. I am so sorry that I did not answer your last

0 A nickname by which his friend was known at college*

8q

[A.D. 1874-

James Hanning ton,

letter. It was not, I assure you, through want of interest in its contents. It has never been off my table during the past year, and I have read it again and again. Do come and see me if you can. — Yours,

“ James Hannington.”

Alas ! his friend was not master of his own time. He could not be spared from his work at the busiest time of the year to make a journey into distant Devonshire. He was strangely moved by this marvellous response to his prayers. He now understood how it was that the burden of that soul had never ceased to press upon him during all that time. He at once did what he was able. He wrote what he thought might be helpful to one in spiritual darkness and distress ; he invited Hannington to come and see him ; and laying his hand upon the only suitable book which he then happened to have upon his writing table, sent it with the letter to Martinhoe. This book was “ Grace and Truth,” by the late Dr. Mackay, of Hull. A book which, if somewhat crude and dogmatic in its statements, and apt thereby to repel, has at least the merit of stating its facts in a clear and forcible manner. The index finger may be a rude one, but it points plainly and emphatically where lies that narrow path which leads through the Cross of Jesus to eternal life.

Hannington was dreadfully disappointed. He writes : — - a I was in despair. It seemed to sound my death- knell. I thought the Lord would not answer me.”

He sent the following to his friend “My dear Colonel, — Many thanks for thinking of me. I cannot possibly come to you. I wish that I could ; and that for many reasons : one is that darkness, coldness and barrenness have seized hold upon me, and I cannot shake them off. I am, I don’t know in what state, unless I am being bound by the devil hand and foot. But I mean to fight him desperately hard, if only I am helped. I cannot do it alone. Oh, for strength to rise and triumph ! — Yours very affectionately,

“James Hannington.’*

JEt. 26.]

Crying for the Light . 8 1

Shortly after came the following, in reply to another letter : —

44 My dear Colonel, — I am so much obliged to you for remembering me. I can assure you that I appreciate it deeply. There are few to whom one seems united in a bond closer than that of relationship ; at least, I know very few to whom I can really open my heart as I can to you. ...... I feel depressed at the fact that, when I would

do good, evil is present with me. I have no faith, I can lay hold of nothing. I cannot believe that I can ever be saved ; and I feel that I have no right to preach to others. I try to feel that God willeth not the death of a sinner, but no, I can preach it, and feel it for other persons, not for myself. How few rays of light seem to shine upon me ! Will the sun ever break through the clouds so that I shall be able to say, 4 Jesus is mine and I am His ; ? I shall try and visit you if I can. Very many thanks for the book ; I will read it shortly. — Yours very affectionately,

44 James Hannington.”

As Hannington could not obtain an interview with his friend, he turned to the book which he had sent. In his private diary he writes : —

u I determined to read every word of the book. So I began with the preface. Here I soon perceived that the book was unscholarly, for the argument is built upon Matt. xv. 27, 4 Truth, Lord,5 which the author treats as aXrjdeia instead of the exclamation veil. This was enough for me. I therefore threw the book away and refused to read it.”

We may observe here that Hannington was wrong. Dr. Mackay does not make the mistake with which he hastily charged him. It might be possible for a reader to suppose that he confuses the two words because he does not take sufficient care to make it clear that the word rendered 44 Truth ” in Matt. xv. 27, is not the same word as 44 Truth ” in the passage 44 Grace and Truth.” He cer^ tainly does not take proper care to guard the reader against the supposition that no play upon the words is intended,

6

82

James Hannington „ [A.D. 1874

But it cannot be fairly urged that he has perpetrated in his preface a piece of palpable and gratuitous ignorance. He apparently intends to deduce from the Syrophenician woman’s 44 Truth, Lord,” no more than an unqualified assent to the statement of Christ with regard tc her.

But Hannington was in no mood to have mercy upon the book or its author. His heart was sore that he could not have his friend. The poor book had to stand the kicks. Moreover the blunt dogmatism of its tone, effective enough with a certain class of minds, did not fall in with his then line of thought. He was evidently glad of any excuse to condemn the book and throw it aside, on the principle that 44 any stick is good enough to beat a dog with.”

So 44 Grace and Truth ” lay in a corner unread for some little while. He shall himself narrate what followed.

44 When I left on the 16th of September for Exeter and

St. Petherwyn, I spied that old book and said, c is sure

to ask me if 1 have read it. I suppose I must wade through it;’ and so stuffed it into my portmanteau. At Petherwyn I took the book out and read the first chapter. I disliked it so much that I determined never to touch it again. I don’t know that I did not fling it across the room. I rather think I did. So back into my portmanteau it went, and remained until my visit to Hurst, when I again saw it, and thought I might as well read it, so as to be able to tell

about it. So once more I took the 4 old thing,’

and read straight on for three chapters or so, until at last I came to that ca led 4 Do you feel your sins forgiven ? ’ By means of this my eyes were opened.”

His anxiety had been great. His search for the “hidden treasure” had been long, continuous and painful. His joy was now correspondingly great. His pent-up feelings rushed forth in a torrent of thanksgiving. Like a 44 cer- tain man ” of old Jerusalem, who 44 entered into the temple walking and leaping and praising God,” so he could not contain his gladness within the bounds of quietness. He

jEt 27.] Conversion. 83

shook off the chains of darkness and bounded into the light. He says :

u I was in bed at the time reading. 1 sprang out of bed and leaped about the room rejoicing and praising God that Jesus died for me. From that day to this* I have lived under the shadow of His wings in the assurance of faith 1 am His and He is mine/’

And truly it was even so. Yet did he not immediately enter into the full assurance of faith. For some time after his enlightenment he was, to use his own favourite expres- sion, subject to fits of u bondage.” His old life would assert itself strongly. He could not all at once shake off the habits of thought which had become natural to him. He had his periods of darkness and light, despondency and rejoicing. But he fought a good fight, and little by little he made sure his ground, until finally he emerged from the mists into the full sunlight of the FatheFs smile. A de- lightful and altogether helpful little tract entitled cc Gripping and Slipping” describes the precarious state of a soul which has not learned the secret of maintaining its grasp upon the Hand of the ever-present Christ. Perhaps only they who have had some humiliating experience of the u slipping ” state can fully appreciate the boundless security of him who “grips.” To the end of his life Hannington refused to throw in his lot with those who apparently teach the possi- bility of Peace without Conflict ; but when once he had grasped that Hand, he followed the leading of the Spirit with the unfaltering faith of a little child. Thereafter he went straight forward, nothing wavering, to do the duty that lay nearest to him. That he had learned the secret ot <c the overcoming life ” could not but be recognized by those who watched him closely and noticed with wondering thankfulness how the old James Hannington was being, day by day, remodelled into a new man \ the same, and yet another.

* This note was written just before his second missionary journey to Africa,

84 James Hanning ton. [A.D. 1874.

The following letters will throw some light upon his state of mind at this time :

“My dear Colonel, — .... The chief object of my letter is to tell you how very useful those two books you have given me have been made to me. I have never seen so much light as I have the last few days. I know now that Jesus Christ died for me, and that He is mine and I am His. And all this you are the human means of teaching me. Perhaps to-morrow I shall be in doubt and despair, but not as I have been before ; for I know that I believe , and I can tremblingly exclaim, c Help Thou mine unbe- lief/ Dear Colonel, what thanks I owe to you, and incom- parably little with what I owe to God ! ”

“ 1 ought daily to be more thankful to you as the instru- ment by which I was brought to Christ, and to know that He died for me. Unspeakable joy ! }}

“I have been rejoicing so lately that I fear it may come from Satan puffing me up, for I do so little for Christ. My prayers and praise are so dead and formal. I love the things of this world so much, and Jesus so little, that 1 ought always to be mourning. c Sorrowful yet always re- joicing,’ I know. Yet latterly I have been rejoicing, and not sorrowful, although I have so much in me about which I ought to lament. Do write and tell me arn I wrong. Can that peace be false which comes from the knowledge of forgiveness of sins through the belief that Jesus died for me ? No, never. I feel that it cannot, it cannot be false (Tit. i. 2). ”

“ How wonderfully I have been led on from one thing to another, though at the time imperceptibly ! I speak of my choosing the Ministry when I was most unfit for it Then again getting sent back from Exeter, when I now see that to have passed the examination then would have been the very worst thing that could have happened to me. Again, our friendship, which for some time had been dor- mant, renewing itself, and proving so extraordinarily useful to me ! . . . I fear that the tone of this letter is shock- ingly boastful, and one which I am not worthy to adopt.

jEt. 27.] A Humble Disciple . 85

You will have to set me back into a lower seat ! The Lord keep me humble ! How much instruction I stand in need of! Cease not to pray for me.55

On the nineteenth of October in this year, 1874, Hannington paid a visit to his correspondent in Surrey. The stress of his great anxiety of mind had left its evident traces upon him. He was far from well, and tired too with his journey. He did not, moreover, find it so easy to talk to an old companion and sharer of his jests, as it had been to write to him about the secrets of his soul. This just at first:

“ Well, Colonel.55

“ Well, Jim.55

“ How are you, old fellow ? 55

rc Glad to see you, dear old man.5*

Then some conversation upon general subjects, old friends, and old customs. But, by-and-by, when both had settled into their chairs, and looked each other in the face, the subject uppermost in their hearts could no longer be kept in the background. The barriers of reserve were broken down ; and before long they found themselves telling each other without constraint how the Lord had dealt with their souls.

That evening the Curate held a Cottage Lecture in a distant part of the parish. Seeing that Hannington was worn out and haggard-looking, he tried to persuade him to remain at home. He, however, insisted that he should be allowed to go. So arm in arm the two sallied forth. His friend will not easily forget that walk. As they threaded their way among the gravel pits, and crossed the mile of rough com- mon and deep and muddy lanes, Hannington’s conversation was always upon the one subject. Having once conquered his shyness, he laid bare his heart in the confidence of that hour.

When they reached the cottage he would not be per- suaded to take any part in the service. He had come, he said, as a learner ; he would sit among the audience. So he quietly waited, while his friend went among the adjoining cottages to gather in some laggards, and then took his place, somewhere in a corner, among the group of poor folk who crowded the little room. He was still, in his own estima- tion, the humblest of disciples.

86 fames Hannington . [A.D. 1874.

I find the following note about this in his diary :

u Evening, — To my great astonishment ■ took a

Cottage Lecture. I feared that I never could do a thing of that sort.”

His friend now urged him strongly to try, at least when he was addressing small audiences of country people in Devonshire, to preach extempore. Hitherto he had been bound entirely and rigidly to his paper. Even in his private devotions he seldom ventured beyond his book of prayers. To his marked energy and decision of character he united depreciation of himself and distrust of his own motives to a singular degree. This made the study of his religious life peculiarly interesting. Every step made toward spiritual liberty was the result of close and unsparing self-examina- tion. He would remorselessly probe his feelings and every ramification of them before he would permit himself indul- gence in any new “ liberty.” Never did any apply the scalpel and dissecting knife more ruthlessly to his own u vile body ” than did James Hannington.

It was not long, however, before he saw plainly that it was his duty to tell people what he knew, as the Lord had told himself — and to tell it as simply as possible ; hence he soon decided to discard the manuscript sermon, and adopt the practice of taking his thoughts only into the pulpit, in the form of notes, leaving the words that were to clothe them to the inspiration of the moment.

That visit was useful to both the friends. The one had realized the meaning of that statement of Carlyle, u It is certain my belief gains quite infinitely the moment I can con- vince another mind thereof.” The other left, encouraged to go back to his charge among the Devonshire moors, and tell all men boldly what great things the Lord had done for him.

I may, perhaps, be permitted to repeat here some words written by his companion in recollection of this period : —

u Very touching is it now to me to think of those days in the light of his subsequent life. None who saw his strong nature thus receiving the Kingdom of God as a little

JEt. 27.] Old Friends New Brothers . 87

child can ever doubt that to him it was granted to see that Kingdom indeed. I shall not readily forget the morning on which he departed. Together we got into the little two- wheeled pony cart, and together we drove over the long stretch of breeze-swept common which lies between Hale and the Camp Station, at which he purposed to meet his train. As mental impressions sometimes interweave them- selves with scenery, and the memory of the one uncon- sciously revives the other, so can I never dissociate that drive from the interchange of thoughts for which it afforded the opportunity. The white road, which undulates, now past clumps of fir-trees, now between banks tipped with yellow furze, again over long stretches of common, and the bright freshness of that sunny morning, will be to me ever, as it were, the binding of the volume of the book wherein are written many precious words.”

1

CHAPTER VIII.

WORK AT TRENTISHOE AND DARLEY ABBEY.

(i875*)

“ There is small chance of truth at the goal when there is not child-like humility at the starting-post.” • CQLERIDGE.

Hannington returned to Trentishoe in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had quitted it. Like that captain of the host of the King of Syria who went back to his master with his flesh “like unto the flesh of a little child,” he felt himself to have become a new man. Some little further time, however, was to elapse before he would fully realize all the conditions of his new life, or dare to proclaim the Gospel of the Kingdom as one who had himself been admitted to the fellowship of the Founder.

I do not note that his sermons became all at once markedly evangelistic. It would have been very unlike him if they had. Whatever faults he may have had, preaching beyond his own experience was not one of them. Whether or no he had read old John Byrom’s advice to preachers, he so far followed it, that

a he never dealt

In the false commerce of a truth unfelt.”

In this lay much of the power of his preaching. He pro- claimed what he knew. But this very honesty of his forbids the supposition that his sermons were, at this time, upon a higher level of spiritual life than that to which he himself had attained. The freedom, the “ unction,” and the bless- ing were soon to follow. In the meanwhile he resolved that he would try what he could do without his hitherto inseparable pulpit companion, the sermon-case. He says :

“ Sunday Morning . — I determined, at the eleventh hour,

A “ Stickit Minister :

<£t. 27.]

89

that, by the help of God the Holy Spirit, 1 would preach extempore, in spite of myself and my protestations to the contrary. I had not, previous to this morning, prayed to

be led to do it, and so I felt it was in answer to — ’s

prayers. I succeeded a great deal better than I expected, and have only once since, for the last ten years ” (this was written in 1884), u preached a written sermon. My plan has ever since been to make rather copious notesT

Soon after he commenced extempore preaching he was warned by the following painful occurrence, that to preach without a manuscript entails not less preparation but more. He was paying a visit to his father at Hurst, and was, of course, asked to occupy the pulpit of St. George’s. He was very nervous, and, moreover, was not well, but, from one cause or another, that sermon never got beyond the text. The young preacher — on this occasion a “ stickit minister” indeed — had just sufficient presence of mind to dismiss the astonished and sympathetic congregation with a hymn.

His friends justly attributed the above incident to the fact that he was thoroughly run down in health ; and, indeed, he was, by the doctor’s orders, confined to his bed for nearly a week. He would not, however, let himself off so easily. He wrote to his friend: ctAlas! my spiritual father, what a sickly son you have ! — a Mr. Idlebones, Ease-in-the-flesh ; a Mr. Chat- and- do-nothing — a carnal professor.”

Similar misadventures have been chronicled of great men, from Massillon to David Livingstone ; and if this acci- dent were indeed the result of vain confidence and want of faith, ne soon experienced the blessed truth embalmed in the exquisite line of that old Latin hymn —

“ Mergere nos patitur, sed non submergere Christus.” *

A fortnight later he preached again in St. George’s, and this time with considerable power. His father, who now heard him for the first time, was deeply moved ; so he was encouraged to persevere.

In February he was back once more in Devonshire, and

# Christ suffers us to sink, maybe, but not to drown.

9o

James Hannington . [A,D. 1875.

had his first experience of a “ Parochial Mission.” This was conducted at Parracombe by Mr. John Wood and the Vicar., Mr. Leakey, with whom he formed ? friendship which lasted until the end of his life. Han- nington writes : cc I went over there, and was delighted.” The next Sunday, in spite of a terrific storm, and heavy snow-drifts which almost beat him back, he made his way again to Parracombe, and preached to the anxious from Rom. v. 1. He was now able to speak as one who had himself found u peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The text was an epitome of his own recent experience. We are not surprised to learn that his sermon was blessed, and made useful to several people.

This Mission gave him considerable impetus. He began to feel that the Great King might have some definite work for him too among His servants. That to him also had been committed a talent.

That wild, harum-scarum Exmoor pony of his, which was always falling, or otherwise putting his life in danger, but which he kept u because it was so game ” and u would go down a cliff' almost like the side of a house ” without flinching, carried him in every direction from cottage to cottage and farm to farm. And he no longer went among the people without a message. The Word of Life was now, of all subjects, the nearest to his lips. An old man known as cc Carpenter Richards ” died. There were not many deaths in Martinhoe. Old Richards had been, in his youth, in prison for smuggling. The last words he uttered were, cc I love Mr. Hannington.” cc Oh,” writes Hannington in his private diary, u that it had only been, c I love the Lord Jesus!’”

Opposite April 26th I find this entry :

u Sent for, instead of the doctor, to see a man ” (here he mentions symptoms), u a hopeless case. 1 pointed him to the Saviour. My name down here as a medical man is quite established, I am sent for in almost every case ; which gives me the opportunity to speak to them about their souls.”

JEt. 27.] Boundless Energy. 91

u May qtk , Sunday . — Rode about four miles to leave some medicine. Then preached at Parracombe. Rode to Walner. Saw man with inflammation. Found him already dying. He followed me in prayer, and said some nice things. Preached at Trentishoe. Returned to Walner. Found patient unconscious. Evening, preached and held a mission service in my own rooms, during which time, the man, I hear, died.” He thus rode some twenty miles that day.

u May 13 th. — Man came running to me to come at once. A child drowned. I ran straight off at my top speed, and found that the child had fallen into a tank only seventeen inches deep, but life was quite extinct.

“ May 15th. — Sat on inquest as foreman of the jury, and received a shilling for my pains ! ”

u 20 th. — Administered enema to a patient. Preached to the Club at Lynton. Dined with them and returned thanks for Bishop and clergy. Returned home with the doctor and assisted him to make a post-mortem on the child of the man who cursed me,” This latter was an ill-conditioned coastguard, who had, I imagine, taken offence at Hannington’s new views.

From the above extracts — and they are only samples of many such — it will be seen that, although the souls over whom he was placed in charge did not much exceed three hundred, Hannington