stifling things, and though I cannot say I felt irreligious, I was far from a Christian walk with God.  On Sunday morning Dr. Chalmers preached his sermon upon the enjoyment and preparation for heaven, and told us that the fruition of heaven was already begun in the Christian’s mind by the work of sanctification and regeneration in his heart.  I began to think how this work was going on with me, but I found it so difficult to bring my thoughts to bear upon the subject that I carried the process of examination very little way, but that little brought a whole array of irreligion before me.  I felt that my heart was not right with God, that I had not that love towards the Saviour, nor that detestation of sin, which it appeared to me that any one must feel who had in truth participated in the Christian covenant, and I was surprised and horror-struck at finding that I had been guilty, not only of neglect, but of some actual violations of God’s law.  Still, with all this I could not bring my mind to dwell upon its own state, and my serious thoughts were constantly supplanted by others of a trivial nature.  I tried to go and pray as an offending sinner, but I could not collect my thoughts, and though I daily said my prayers they were heartless and cold, and did not at all reach the deep sensation of need which I every now and then experienced, and I felt that I was making no progress, though I was growing very anxious.  Every now and then my faith almost gave way, and I thought that I had resisted the Spirit so long that God had taken it from me.  Then again I thought of some passages such as these: ‘It is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom of life,’ and those beautiful verses in the third of St. John, ver. 14; and I heard Dr. Chalmers’ morning reading upon the generality of the Gospel offers, when he dwelt upon the words ‘whosoever’ and ‘every one,’ and I thought too upon the great Sacrifice that had been made for sinners, and I had times of alternating hope and despondency, but I was never happy because I found I could not pray with my whole heart in faith, and I did not think I was under the influence of the Holy Ghost.  This went on till Sunday evening.  I then heard an excellent sermon from Mr. Fisk about the enthusiasm which a Christian must feel towards God and the Saviour, and I felt that the state of my own heart differed widely from this description.  I came home very unhappy, but even then I could not get rid of wandering thoughts, by which I was so discouraged that I began to think that God had cast me off.  Then I thought of the promises, especially ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest’; but then I felt that I could not number myself with them, for if really burdened with sin I could think of nothing else.  I walked about my room for a long time and I knew not what to do, for my faith was so weak that I felt a fear of approaching God.  At last, however, I felt that I could offer a silent prayer to Him to teach me to pray, and He heard me.  I knelt down and felt as if a thick cloud had been removed from me, and I was enabled to approach God and entreat Him to pardon and to sanctify me.  Oh, dear mother!  I cannot describe to you the joy I experienced when I felt that God had vouchsafed once more to hear me.

“I afterwards went and told Goulburn all that I had been going through, and was cruel enough to wake him up in the midst of his night’s rest.  He satisfied me very much upon the generality of the promises, and I went to bed full of joy and thankfulness.  The next evening we met together and read the ‘1st Ephesians,’ and he offered up a most satisfactory prayer that the Holy Spirit might manifest Himself in our hearts, and I am most thankful to say I do believe his prayer has been heard.  We have continued to read and pray together every evening, and I have found it perfectly invaluable, and I trust, dearest mother, I have been able to cast the whole burden of sin upon the Cross.  I feel still, however, that my heart is corrupt before God, and I feel a want of devotion towards Him, but I can pray that I may be strengthened with might in the inner man, and I know I shall be heard.  Oh how unspeakable is the love of God!  Oh may Christ dwell in my heart by faith, that I, being rooted and grounded in Him, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the length and depth and breadth and height, and to know the love of Christ that passeth knowledge!  I need not say that this letter is perfectly private.  I should, however, have no objection to my father or Elizabeth seeing it if they wish.  I will include too Sam and Catherine, but I don’t wish anybody to be told about it.

“Believe me to be
“Your most affectionate and grateful Son,
“Edward Hoare.”

Just at the same time in his journal he chooses as his “text for life” St. Peter’s words—“Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.”  But a great sorrow was at hand.  Shortly after those lines were written his eldest brother Samuel was struck down by a hæmorrhage, and in less than three months he had passed away peacefully.  This was a sore trial to Edward, and his letters abound with messages of deepest sympathy with his brother and the young wife soon to be left a widow.  The words which he writes to his mother read like the experience of an advanced Christian, and the firm trust inspired by the “text for life” breathes through them all.  The examination for his degree was rapidly approaching, so that study could not be neglected.  This year the reading party went to Derbyshire, and the letters thence give delightful accounts of visits to the Peak, etc., but the coming cloud casts its shadow across all his thoughts; yet even so faith triumphs, and passages like the following, in a letter to his father, occur from time to time:—

“Oh what a thing it is to think that the Peace which can never be taken away is not only bestowed upon you and upon him here, but that if it should please God to realise our fears, it will soon be bestowed upon him in perfection above!  Sometimes when I think of his prospects, as far as he is concerned, I can scarcely wish him well again, and, if it were not for all of you, could almost desire to go with him.”

On Sunday, October 23rd, 1833, the beloved brother passed away, and the journal records that Gurney and Edward sat beside him all through the night and to the end.  Early in November Edward Hoare was back at Cambridge.  His first letter is full of sympathetic thoughts concerning the bereaved ones at home, and it is not until the last paragraph that there is any mention of his work; this, however, is particularly interesting from one point of view.  The great anti-slavery struggle was nearing its climax; and, considering the prominent part which Sir Fowell Buxton took in the movement, it was not remarkable that his nephew should have thrown himself warmly into it.  Accordingly we read:—

“I believe you were interested in my declamation.  I have not got the prize, but they put me up on the paper as having made a very good one.  The other three men, however, made better.  I believe if I had not been so hot about slavery I might have got the prize, for at the time they expressed their great dissatisfaction at what I said about it.”

Even as a young man he was not afraid to champion a cause which was unpopular with some who were in authority.

As the year draws near its close he describes