How far Mr. Hawker was a consenting party to the reception, how far he had gone towards contemplating such a change when incapacitated by paralysis from forming a decision, I cannot decide. The testimony is conflicting. I hesitate to believe that it was his intention to leave the Church of England before he died. He was swayed this way or that by those with whom he found himself. He was vehement in one direction one day, as impetuous in another direction on the day following. No one who knew Mr. Hawker intimately, not one of his nearest relatives, his closest friends to whom he opened his heart, can believe that he was a conscious hypocrite. If there was one quality which was conspicuous in his character it was his openness. He could not act a part, he could not retain unspoken a thought that passed through his brain, even when common judgment would have deemed concealment of the thought advisable. He was transparent as a Dartmoor stream; and all his thoughts, beliefs and prejudices lay clearly seen in his mind, as the quartz and mica and hornblende particles on the brook’s white floor. If there was one vice which, with his whole soul, he abhorred, it was treachery in its every form. Be true to Church, be kind to poor, O minister, for evermore! were his lines cut by him over his vicarage door. In 1873 or 1874 the rector of Kilkhampton was about to go to Exeter to preach an ordination service in its cathedral. The vicar of Morwenstow said to him: “Go, and bid the young men entering the holy ministry be honest, loyal, true.” Is that the exhortation of a man conscious in his own heart that he is a traitor? One day, not long ago, he was in Kilkhampton, and entered the house of an old man, a builder, there. The old man said to him: “You know, Mr. Hawker, what names you have been called in your day. They have said you were a Roman Catholic.” “Hockeridge,” answered Mr. Hawker, standing in the midst of the floor, and speaking with emphasis, “I am a priest of the Church, of the Church of God, of that Church which was hundreds of years in Cornwall before a Pope of Rome was thought of.” A clergyman in the diocese of London, who knew him well, thus writes:—