“But his own pulpit was undoubtedly the vantage-ground from which he most effectively did battle for his Master’s cause. Armed with a forcible, lucid, and winning mode of address, with an incomparable command of Holy Scriptures, transparently in earnest, and known of all men to live the life he preached, by the elevation of his religious character no less than by voice and gesture, ‘he drew his audience upward to the sky.’ Even after his eyesight failed him, and he could with difficulty mount the pulpit steps, he continued to the last, like the Apostle of love, to deliver his Master’s message. And who shall say in how many hearts it found an echo among that changeful congregation, and in what remote parts of the world a generation which knew him not have been taught by their parents to call his name blessed? His beloved Mother Church has lost no more loyal, wise, persuasive, heavenly-minded son and servant—no more trusty guide of souls from earth to heaven—than our modern ‘Greatheart,’ Edward Hoare.” * * * * * “_The Record_” _Friday_, _July_ 13_th_. CANON HOARE. “The death of Canon Hoare removes from the front rank of Evangelical Churchmen a conspicuous and commanding figure. He took his degree in 1834—Fifth Wrangler. He was ordained deacon in 1837, {273} the year, it will be remembered, of the Queen’s accession. His jubilee coincided with that of the Sovereign whom he so truly honoured; and it is neither fanciful nor fulsome to say that he held a kind of sovereign rank amongst the Evangelical clergy. One of their kings is dead. It happens sometimes to all parties to lose a man who was much more to them than to the Church at large. We do not deny that this was the case with Canon Hoare. In spite of his conspicuousness, he was not naturally the sort of man who loves to be conspicuous. He grew to greatness amongst his fellows by the influence of character alone. His abilities were considerable; his training was excellent; his family traditions were of the best that the eighteenth century in its ripe benevolence handed on to the young religious energy of the nineteenth. That bright benevolence and beneficence shone in his face, unmingled with the eagerness of the combatant or the push and pressure of the ambitious candidate for leadership. His attitude to the Church of England at large was one of admiring loyalty, but he had no self-seeking thoughts. He dwelt, and loved to dwell, among his own people. He took his share, an honourable share, in the struggles of his own times; but the part which he took was, when it led him to scenes of controversy, always a strange and unwelcome work. But none the less, perhaps all the more for that, he did it well. The nephew of Joseph John Gurney and of Elizabeth Fry was not