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Updated: May 8, 2025
But I had overheard another sentence from Mr. Andrewes' lips, which filled me with disquiet, "I know of one that will just suit you; a capital little fellow." So the tutor was actually decided upon. "'A capital little fellow. That means a nasty fussy little man!" I cried to myself. "I hate him!" For the rest of that day, and all the next, I worried myself with thoughts of the new tutor.
As I declared on occasion of Tract 90, I claimed, in behalf of who would in the Anglican Church, the right of holding with Bramhall a comprecation with the Saints, and the Mass all but Transubstantiation with Andrewes, or with Hooker that Transubstantiation itself is not a point for Churches to part communion upon, or with Hammond that a General Council, truly such, never did, never shall err in a matter of faith, or with Bull that man had in paradise and lost on the fall, a supernatural habit of grace, or with Thorndike that penance is a propitiation for post-baptismal sin, or with Pearson that the all-powerful name of Jesus is no otherwise given than in the Catholic Church.
My father gave us a handsome subscription; the farmers followed the Squire's lead. Mr. Andrewes was not behindhand. The tutor and I considered the object a suitable one for aid from our alms-box. There was no difficulty whatever. Only where were we to go? Finally, we all decided that we would go to Oakford.
Yet of all men professional students of the Bible should be freest from such a fault, seeing what a magnificent masterpiece it is of terse and vigorous simplicity. Mr. Brown and his "advanced" friends would do well to ponder that quaint and pregnant aphorism of old Bishop Andrewes "Waste words addle questions."
The Rector leant heavily on my arm. He made some joke about my height, I remember. Andrewes, the other hung at my side, into the hand of which Sweep ever and anon thrust his nose caressingly. "How well the garden looks!" I said. "And your birds are giving you a farewell concert." "Ah! You think so too?" said the Rector, quickly. I was puzzled. "You are going to-morrow, are you not?" I said.
I was reading Bishop Andrewes to myself last night and came upon this pertinent passage. "Sin: its measure, its harm, its scandal. Its quality: how often how long. The person by whom: his age, condition, state, enlightenment. Its manner, motive, time, and place. The folly of it, the ingratitude of it, the hardness of it, the presumptuousness of it. By heart, by mouth, by deed.
Andrewes could endure the churchwarden's tale of former destructiveness no longer, and he abruptly called us to come away. I was just running to join the rest at the door, when my eye fell upon a modern tablet of marble above a large cushioned pew. Like the other monuments in the church, it was sacred to the memory of members of the St.
A century so self-satisfied as the eighteenth would not have faced the difficulties involved in giving political expression to the High Church theory. Yet the protest remained, and it bore a noble fruit in the next century. The Oxford movement is usually regarded as a return to the seventeenth century, to the ideals, that is to say, of Laud and Andrewes.
And, if I may dare to touch on such a subject, is there not a mode of speaking and writing on the Holy Eucharist prevalent among some men now, which has no parallel in the Church of England, except, it may be, in some of the non-jurors, and which does not express the Church of England's mind; which is not the language of Pearson, and Jackson, and Waterland, and Hooker, no, nor of Bull, and Andrewes, and Taylor, &c.? I know very little of such things very little indeed.
There I say, "It still remains to be tried, whether what is called Anglo-Catholicism, the religion of Andrewes, Laud, Hammond, Butler, and Wilson, is capable of being professed, acted on, and maintained on a large sphere of action, or whether it be a mere modification or transition-state of either Romanism or popular Protestantism."
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