LIFE of ANDREW JUKES
BY HERBERT H. JEAFFRESON
(Published in “Letters of Andrew Jukes,” 1903.)
The family of Jukes resided in ancient times in Cumberland. Thence, early in the fourteenth century, one Sidward Jukes migrated to Shropshire and Staffordshire, in which counties his descendants have continued to live.
A member of this family, Andrew, who was born in 1776, married in 1814 a daughter of John Ewart, Inspector of Hospitals in India, whose wife was the second daughter of Ephraim Lopez Pereira, Baron d’Aguilar. Andrew Jukes took his bride to Bombay, where he practiced medicine; but being employed by the East India Company as an envoy to the Court of Persia, he died at Ispahan, November 21, 1821, and is buried in the Armenian cemetery outside that city.
His eldest child, Andrew John, was born at Bombay, November 5, 1815. He always remembered with pleasure that the day of his birth was the day on which the news of the battle of Waterloo reached Bombay.
His grandmother, Mrs. Ewart, had accompanied her daughter to India; and in 1820 she brought the little Andrew and his brother Mark home to England. Leaving the children under the care of their father’s sister, Mrs. Worthington, of Moorhill House, Stourport, Worcestershire, Mrs. Ewart returned to India, where she found her daughter a widow; and in 1822 she brought her and her younger children, Laura and Augustus, to England.
For his grandmother, Mrs. Ewart, Mr. Jukes always had a deep love and veneration. To her apparently he owed his first instruction in the Gospel of Christ. When, at the age of twelve, he went to school at Harrow, Mrs. Ewart went to reside there in order to provide him with a home. A letter written by him to the Rev. and Hon. Canon Bridgman in 1890 gives some details of his school life.
I went to Harrow in the October quarter of 1827, the same day with Frederick William Faber, when we and John Merivale were all three placed together at the bottom of the Third Remove of the Fourth Form. The next quarter saw us all at the top of the Remove. From that time till I left Harrow, we three always sat together in class, first one and then another being at the top. Faber first boarded at Dr. Butler’s; but when Dr. Longley came, in April 1829, Faber removed to Mr. Mills’s house, where I also boarded with him, though when I first entered the school I was a home-boarder. After he took his degree at Oxford, where he was Fellow of University, Faber, as you probably know, went over to Rome, and became an Oratorian. … After my leaving Harrow at midsummer, 1832, I went into the army for three years, which made me a year or two later at Cambridge than the other boys who were at Harrow with me. … But Robert Broughton, and his brother Henry, now of St. Mary’s, Leicester, were Cambridge men—the latter one of my closest friends there, and ever since.
What a flood of boyish memories those old names bring back to me! ‘All the burial-places of memory give up their dead.’ Faber, whom perhaps I knew as well as any one at Harrow, was a remarkable boy. He was the only boy in my time who stayed for Holy Communion. (Note: Andrew Jukes was himself a communicant at Harrow.) I remember how he used (partly, I think, to perplex old Mills, with whom we boarded) to go down after the eight o’clock evening prayers in the house to Mills’s study, and bore him with questions as to something in Sophocles or Aristophanes, which we might then be reading. … N. was one who often amused the school. After one of the holidays, when we were in the Sixth Form, he came back to Harrow in a wig. During the holidays he had, either for a fancy ball or for some private theatricals, had his head shaved to represent some character—if I remember right, he had appeared as the devil. His wig in school caused great amusement. Sometimes in construing, when he stuck at a word, he would pull the wig away or push it off, and cause a titter round the class. … If you care to go into the old school-room, you may see my name cut, just behind where I used to sit when I was in the Second Remove of the Fourth Form, at the south-west corner of the room, on the west wall. Faber’s name, I think, is cut larger on the opposite side.
On leaving school, in 1832, Andrew Jukes received a commission in the army of the Hon. East India Company, and was sent to Poona, whither his grandmother followed him. To the end of his life his gait bore witness to his military training, and he traced a nobler lesson to that source. ‘As a youth,’ he writes in 1862 to a friend who seemed to him disingenuous, ‘I was trained in a school—as a soldier, I mean—where to speak the truth without equivocation was almost the only virtue thought of.’ We may conjecture that the reason of his retirement from the army was the deepening of his desire to serve God in the sacred ministry. ‘Quite in my early years,’ he writes, ‘I was awakened to desire to live for God;’ but in several letters he refers to a time of more decided conversion, which in an inscription in a copy of Scott’s Bible he ascribes to the reading of that work when in hospital in India. In 1837 he returned to England, and the following year he entered at Trinity College, Cambridge. There it was his ‘daily practice’ to study the Bible in his rooms; and he was one of the undergraduates who taught in the well-known Jesus Lane Sunday-schools. He was too late to come under the personal influence of Charles Simeon, who died in 1836. He speaks of the help he received from Professor Corrie in the study, mainly historical, of the Prayer Book; and he has spoken of kindnesses rendered by J. B. Jukes, the geologist, with whom, however, he could claim no kinship. In 1840 he won the Hulsean Prize with an essay on ‘The Principles of Prophetic Interpretation.’
About that date he met and became attached to Augusta, the third daughter of Admiral Hole, a distinguished officer, who, after serving at Trafalgar, had settled at Barnstaple. As Mr. Jukes had offered himself to the Church Missionary Society for service at Sierra Leone, Admiral Hole at first refused his sanction to a marriage which would carry his daughter to so unhealthy a station. But the plan of missionary work fell through, chiefly because Mr. Jukes felt it a duty to provide a home for Mrs. Ewart; and the marriage took place on January 27, 1842. Mrs. Ewart accompanied the young pair to their new home, and remained with them until her death, at the age of ninety-two, in 1852.
It would be presumptuous if the present writer were to attempt to describe Mrs. Jukes’s character, the more because his knowledge of her extended over only the last six years of her life; but he recalls with affectionate veneration the sweet and gracious gravity of her careworn face as she would sit almost silent while her husband opened the mysteries of God, kindling at once when there was an opportunity of helping anyone. She was one who had learned prudence as well as love in the school of Christ; and many beside her children will rise and call her blessed.
On the second Sunday after Trinity, June 12, 1842, he was ordained Deacon by the Archbishop of York in his cathedral, and was licensed to the curacy of St. John’s Church, Hull, of which the Rev. Thomas Dykes was Vicar. He passed so good an examination that the Archbishop not only exempted him from the usual examination for the Priesthood, but nominated him as preacher at the ordination in the following year, when he should be raised to that degree.
But a very different course lay before him. The time was one of intense excitement in the English Church. The storm which arose about the ‘Tracts for the Times’ was at its height. Bishops, politicians, journalists were raging against the Oxford theologians; and the earlier secessions to Rome among Newman’s followers had begun. Mr. Jukes had not been to any considerable extent influenced by the Oxford Movement; though he already sympathised with its protest against the blasphemous Erastianism which made the Royal Supremacy a cloak for the tyranny of Parliament over the Church. He admired also the devotion and zeal for good works which were shown by the Tractarian leaders.
I shall never forget (he writes many years later) my first reading of Dr. Pusey’s first tract, in the ‘Tracts for the Times,’ on Fasting. In my poor way I had always tried to practise abstinence, but Pusey’s tract gave me direction and encouragement; for the good Pharisees among whom I then was cast had improved upon the old Pharisee’s prayer, and while they yet said, ‘God, I thank Thee that I am not as other men,’ they concluded by saying, ‘I do not fast at all; I do not gives tithe [sic] of all that I possess.’ What a change has come over the Church since then! It has been like spring-time after frost.
But he had not emerged from the tradition of his childhood, which identified regeneration with conversion; and probably the obligation which his office laid upon him of declaring that the baptised child is regenerate forced on his conscience the plain sense of words which in his study had seemed less cogent and less obnoxious. Nor was the language of the Baptismal Service the only difficulty which he found in the Prayer Book. He describes his difficulties in a letter which, though it bears no date, may be safely assigned to about the year 1860.
I could not honestly say that I unfeignedly assented to all in the Baptismal Service. I could not say, as the Second Article declares, that ‘Christ died to reconcile His Father to us.’ On the contrary, I believe that the Father freely gave the Son, even when we were enemies, to reconcile us to Himself. Again, I could not say, as the Twenty-ninth Article asserts, that the ‘wicked eat not the body of Christ in the use of the Lord’s Supper.’ So far from believing that ‘they are in no wise partakers of Christ,’ it is, I believe, their reception of Him which is their condemnation. ‘If I had not come unto them, they had not had sin.’ So, as to the Athanasian Creed, though I most fully believe the Catholic doctrine of the ever-blessed Trinity, I could not say that I give my unfeigned assent and consent to the assertion that ‘to be saved’ a man ‘must thus think of the Trinity.’ If I understand the Gospel, a man may be saved by Christ in spite of many mistakes in his creed and his opinions. So much as to some of the things ‘contained in the Prayer Book.’ But I had further to ‘give my unfeigned assent and consent to all prescribed by it.’ I well remember often asking, Do you really know ‘all that is prescribed,’ for instance, by such a rubric as that which precedes the Order for Morning Prayer, respecting the ‘ornaments of the Church and of the Ministers thereof’?
These difficulties were, as we have seen, pressed upon him by the declaration required by the Act of Uniformity of Elizabeth from all those who were to be inducted to benefices, and endorsed by the Act of Charles II., of ‘unfeigned assent and consent to all and everything contained and prescribed in and by the Book’ of Common Prayer. The present writer has no love for those Acts; yet it must be owned in candour that no such relaxation of the terms of the declaration as has since taken place would have removed Mr. Jukes’s difficulty; nor is it pertinent to remark that the declaration was only required of persons accepting a benefice, and thus could be escaped at the light cost (if it be any) of remaining unbeneficed. Expressions were placed in his mouth which he thought to be false; and a man of his candour could not say what he did not believe to be true.
He writes in 1896 a letter to the grand-daughter of his old Vicar about this time of perplexity:
There is no place in the world so dear to me as Hull. The best years of my life were spent there, and I have left directions in my will that I wish to be buried there, in the grave where my dear wife already lies. I shall never forget your dear old grandfather, and all his kindness to me. … How well I remember your brother and X. (then Curates of Holy Trinity, Hull) coming to me about their perplexities respecting the subscription which in those days was required of all the clergy. I could not help them, for I felt their difficulties as keenly as they did. But I could not follow them to Rome. X., I think, came back. But what they and I suffered was not in vain. The old subscription, which had for generations wrung tender hearts and consciences, was after a few years done away. There are still, and will always be, difficulties for tender consciences. But we have in the Church of England what it would be difficult to find elsewhere.
To another correspondent he writes in 1893:
After many talks with my dear old Vicar, I went direct to the Archbishop to tell him what my difficulties were. Thus I never took Priest’s orders.
Another letter, of 1870, gives further particulars about this time:
When, thirty years ago, my mind was first exercised about the constitution, position, and services of the Church of England, the question seemed simpler to me than it does to-day; though even then, while I felt the evil in the Church, I shrank from schism or making a sect, and foresaw that many of the difficulties I groaned under in the Church would probably follow me in any separation from it. I remember a verse that greatly touched me then was Isa. 24:18, speaking of the day when the Lord would break up existing things, and bring in His promised kingdom. Since then I have seen in countless cases how he who was fleeing from the fear has fallen into the pit, and he who came up out of the pit has been taken in the snare; for the windows on high are open, and the foundations of the earth do shake. My way, however, at the time I speak of, was providentially hedged up, or, rather, opened. As my tract, ‘The Way which some call Heresy,’ will have shown you, I was suspended from my curacy, and thus a time of quiet was given me to wait upon God. I then began preaching the Word in the open air. The result was, souls were gathered round me. What was to be done with them? We began meeting in a room; and, as I then desired with all my heart in everything to be guided by the Word, and by the Word only, we met simply as brethren for mutual edification, leaving an opening for any brother to speak and pray as the Spirit might direct him. … It would take days to tell you the sort of things which used to occur—what pretence, what assumption, what folly came to the top—how all real gifts were crushed and silenced by the hasty talk of the most ignorant among the brethren—how all sorts of false professors came among us, only to get out of us all the money they could; for at that time I had money, and tried literally every day to act up to the words, ‘Give to him that asketh of you, and from him that would borrow turn not thyself away.’ I proved in a way I cannot describe the truth of the words in Isa. 59:15, that ‘He that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey.’ I saw how, under the pretence of spiritual gifts and spiritual ministry, our meetings for mutual exhortation and communion became opportunities for the most manifest and miserable self-will, and even of self-deceit, for some of the talkers evidently thought they were speaking in the Spirit. But it was not in God’s Spirit. The fruits showed this. … One result was that the majority of the godly quiet brethren begged me as their spiritual father not to permit what used to take place in our meetings. I was urged to allow none to speak except such as had proved by ministry elsewhere that they could speak to edification. You may imagine the protests of the self-made prophets, the strifes and separations which followed. Gradually I learnt that one cannot act upon a mere direction of Scripture without power, and that the assumption of power may be a great pretence. … For a fallen Church, or for a section of it, to attempt or pretend to take the ground or do the work of the Church in Apostolic days was about as absurd as to pretend to make an old man young.
In doctrine, then, and in practice Mr. Jukes and his followers resembled the Plymouth Brethren, a sect then about fourteen years old, which had for its distinctive mark the eschewing of all that was thought formal in religion, especially a stated ministry, and constant dependence on the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. We do not find, however, any indication that Mr. Jukes followed the Plymouth Brethren in another of their characteristics, the ‘Breaking of Bread’ every Lord’s Day. It is hardly surprising that Mr. Jukes and his wife submitted to rebaptism at the hands of Mr. Daniell, a Baptist minister. Few letters survive, or at least few have reached the present writer, which deal in detail with the difficulties and disappointments to which the letter last quoted refers. In some of those which have been preserved there may be noticed a tone of asperity and assertion of his own judgment which is strange to those who knew the writer at a later time, when gentleness and largeness of mind were among his most conspicuous qualities. Meanwhile, he was constantly studying the Bible and the Fathers, and mystical writers such as Boehme and Law; and at one time he was in frequent correspondence with Frederick Denison Maurice. In 1847 the first of his longer books appeared, ‘The Law of the Offerings in Leviticus.’ The substance of this book had been delivered in the form of lectures to his congregation. When the author was about to print his notes with corrections he received a letter from one of his hearers, who told him that he had taken down the lectures in shorthand and intended to publish them. The law of copyright gave the author no protection for sermons which had been preached; and Mr. Jukes had to purchase his own work for one hundred pounds. The thesis of the book is that the different sorts of sacrifice in the Old Law represent different aspects of the Sacrifice of Christ, and that the varieties of each sort of sacrifice typify the degrees in which different believers apprehend His work. In later years Mr. Jukes used to speak of this book as immature, and at one time he was disposed to revise it and enlarge it, especially with regard to the perpetuation of the Sacrifice of Christ in the Holy Eucharist and in the life of the believer. His next work was on the ‘Characteristic Differences of the Four Gospels,’ a less original and less interesting work, perhaps, but notable as displaying a much greater familiarity with the Fathers. His advance in this study was still more fully shown in the ‘Types of Genesis.’
Meanwhile, the congregation, which had passed from the street into a room, found its place too strait for it, and it was proposed to build a chapel. The events are narrated in a letter of 1864.
My difficulty is not so much about a chapel as whether, having gathered so many poor souls here, I am justified in leaving them. I can say from my heart that personally I have not the slightest wish to have a chapel. I rather shrink from it, knowing what the state of the Church is at this time, and fearing lest, if a chapel were built, it would only be a scene of failure. At the same time, seeing I could not gather the souls whom the Lord had given me in our present room, I was willing to make an appeal to friends as to a chapel, desiring to accept the response they made as an indication of what the Lord’s will might be respecting me. The result of my appeal to brethren was that I got nearly enough to buy the ground for a chapel; and for three years nothing more was sent me. Hence I concluded that it was the Lord’s will I should not go on with the work; and this, with other circumstances, led me to think my work in Hull was done. I therefore make some arrangements about moving to London; and then, just as I was about to go, the love of the poor souls here presses them to offer me nearly all they have if only I will stay and still minister among them. They have within the last fortnight or three weeks promised quite half of what a chapel would cost; and if I will stay they will work to raise the rest. But the question on my mind is this, Is this after all the Lord’s will? Has not the Lord rather seemed to show, by denying me a chapel for so many years, that it is not His will that I should serve in this manner? And might I not really serve Him, and serve His scattered children, better by writing than by making another sect, or even another congregation? My experience of what brethren are in these days; the trial, too, of watching for them—the frost by night and the drought by day, as Jacob said—and the grief, constantly recurring, of seeing some of them torn by wild beasts; my failing strength and spirits, too—all these have seemed to say, Do not attempt a new chapel; while, on the other hand, there is the cry of all the poor brethren here, Do stay and work with us, and build a chapel to gather us. So I am dragged hither and thither, nor do I know anyone who seems able to say a single word of advice one way or another. … You can, however, serve me by praying for me; and I have no doubt that, through God’s grace, I shall, even if I miss my way, have my error overruled to God’s glory.
The chapel was built, a beautiful little cruciform structure, holding some six hundred persons, and was dedicated in the summer of 1866 to the service of Almighty God under the title of the Church of St. John the Evangelist. It is significant of the change that had passed over Mr. Jukes’s views that some of his more extreme friends among the Plymouth Brethren felt themselves unable to attend the dedication when they knew that he intended to use the Church service; for they feared that in ‘going down into the stream to reach others, he himself might be swept away.’ A Protestant newspaper commented sarcastically on the combination of ‘Ritualistic services’ and a Baptist chapel, though indeed the ‘Ritualism’ went no further than a hymn translated from the Breviary, and the use of the surplice in the pulpit. It is worth notice that he prepared a Hymnal for his congregation, which, though for the most part intensely subjective in tone, provided hymns for the Christian seasons, and for the festivals of saints. ‘He hoped,’ writes one who knew him most intimately, ‘his people would follow him, but comparatively few did so: the congregation was a new one.’
But another cause was about to put an end to Mr. Jukes’ life at Hull. An old friend of his, who had long been in the habit of consulting him about difficulties of faith, was perplexed by the popular doctrine as to everlasting punishment. The subject was by no means a new one to Mr. Jukes. He gives an account of the growth of his thought in an essay in the ‘Literary Churchman,’ March 20, 1891. Even as an undergraduate he had been impressed by the fact that, in the Old Testament, many ordinances and judgments are said to be ‘eternal’ which nevertheless came to an end. Thence he gathered that ‘eternal’ and ‘everlasting’ are not interchangeable terms. He passed on to the consideration that the work of God is carried on in successive ‘ages’ or ‘eternities.’ He had, further, learned that God does not save us from death but by death, so that the expression ‘the second death’ suggests that this, like the first death, is part of the scheme of the redemption of man from a world of sin. And, finally, his attention was called to God’s method of saving an election that through it He may save the whole body; and that the Christian Church, being an elect few, was chosen not only to inherit a blessing but also to convey that blessing to the non-elect. These views he expounded in a series of letters to his friend. The work was circulated in manuscript among a few persons; but for a long time he refused to publish it, not doubting its truth, but doubting whether the truth was one which was fitted to those times. Finally, he submitted the letters to certain persons in whose judgment he had confidence, and by their advice published them in 1867 under the title of ‘The Second Death and the Restitution of All Things.’ With none other of his works did he take so much care, revising it diligently for successive editions, and especially adding evidence that the hope which he advocated had been held and sanctioned in the early ages of the Church.
The publication of this book led to bitter controversy. Many of his old associates held strongly the doctrine of endless pain; more, perhaps, were in favour of the doctrine of the annihilation of the wicked. Both sections assailed him with vigour, and perhaps with acrimony; nor can we deny that in Mr. Jukes’s own letters there is a tone of asperity. He seems to be surprised that the truth which had commended itself to him should not meet with instant acceptance at the hands of others. His letters at this period are plainly the words of one who was overstrained and in a state of nervous irritability. He had passed through twenty-five years of spiritual tension. He had borne the care of many souls who looked to him for guidance, and had learned what an exhaustive test of love it is to lay down life for friends. He had suffered the disappointment of an idealist who finds that the material with which he works does not accomplish his ideal. His own views had been greatly modified. On the appointment in 1860 of his old schoolmaster, Dr. Longley, to the See of York, he had been urged to return to the English Church, to be ordained Priest, and to accept the care of a parish; and the inability to accept his invitation caused him almost as much distress as his first secession. The strain of collecting money for the building of a chapel must have been burdensome to one who was never a man of business. He had adopted in the chapel the Church service, believing it would serve his flock, but they refused to follow him. And now, those with whom he had been in sympathy rejected him as one who denied the faith of Christ for which he gave his soul, and refused for themselves the doctrine which he conceived to be the vindication of the love of God and the hope of the anxious believer. Who can wonder that, under so complicated a strain, his bodily and mental health broke down, and that there are signs of his collapse in the irritable tone of his letters? Many years before, he had been thrown from his horse, and the skull had been indented, causing pressure on the brain which at times gave rise to acute pain, and to some of the symptoms of paralysis. In this condition of broken health he left Hull, never expecting to resume his work, and in the winter of 1867-8 he took a long tour in Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land. The chapel was sold to a congregation of Presbyterians.
From the tour he returned in better health, but still unfit for work. He was at this time only in his fifty-third year. In April 1868 he left Hull; and after spending a year at Bridlington, in March 1869 he moved to Highgate, in order to be near his younger son, who, as a solicitor, was required to spend a year in London.
The change was in much more than locality. He had resolved to seek restoration to the ministry of the English Church; and the earliest letter from Highgate which is preserved is one which he addressed to the Bishop of London (Jackson) on this subject. It is mainly concerned with the correction of a vague charge which had reached the Bishop, that he had been unsound with respect to the Holy Trinity. Whether he sought for ordination to the Priesthood or not, we are not able to say. He never became a Priest; but he received from the Bishop of London (as afterwards from the Bishop of Rochester) permission to officiate. The time, indeed, was not yet come for him to act on this permission, for he was still in very infirm health, suffering from pain and giddiness in the head and from numbness in the side. He attended some religious meetings, and began to hold Bible readings in his house. In time he recovered the power of preaching occasionally without injury, and, indeed, he felt himself refreshed by proclaiming again the Gospel which was his life. And he speaks with thankfulness, in 1871, of having been able to write three letters to the ‘Guardian’ on the subject of Restitution.
We have seen that, during his life at Hull, he had been a diligent student of Holy Scripture and of the Fathers. From these sources he had gradually learned to modify the theological views with which he began life. He had come to see the reality of sacramental grace, which, indeed, is implied in the conviction, so strong in his mind, that our salvation is to be traced rather to what Christ is than to what He has done. But at Hull Mr. Jukes probably had but few opportunities of coming into contact with the Catholic revival, which, starting from Oxford, had been permeating the English Church, but was perhaps less operative in the North than in the South. He had, indeed, some friendly intercourse with Archdeacon Robert Isaac Wilberforce, the most intellectual and learned member of a remarkable family; but this intercourse had been interrupted by the secession of Wilberforce to the Roman Church, and his death, which quickly followed. In London, Mr. Jukes came to form friendships with many men who were in a greater or less degree associated with this movement. His elder son became Curate to the venerable Rector of Clewer, and with him, as with Mr. Hutchings, then Chaplain of the House of Mercy, and now Archdeacon of Cleveland, Mr. Jukes was on terms of mutual affection and respect. About 1870 he was visited by Mr. and Mrs. Pearsall Smith, who came from America with the purpose of holding religious meetings; and through them he became acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Cowper Temple (afterwards Lord and Lady Mount Temple), at whose houses he met many men of schools from which he had stood aloof. It was the charitable design of Mr. and Mrs. Cowper Temple to gather together at their houses in Great Stanhope Street, and at Broadlands near Romsey, men of various ecclesiastical positions and tempers, who were agreed in love for our Saviour. These meetings grew into the well-known Broadlands Conferences, the first of which was held in 1871. At these there was not a little to justify the good-humoured description of a writer in the ‘Pilot,’ October 26, 1901:
The debate was animated, amiable, and desultory. No one kept to the prescribed subject. Everyone had his own gospel, and preached it. Everyone agreed immensely with the last speaker, and forthwith proceeded to launch some entirely novel theory of his own. There was no quarrelling, and the mutual admiration was perfectly sincere.
But a more adequate estimate of the meetings may be drawn from letters written by Mr. Jukes in 1879 and 1875 respectively:
The Broadlands meeting this year was a very remarkable one. We reaped to the end what dear George Body sowed at the beginning. There were one or two little incidents which would have made you frown and smile. One dear very Evangelical soul who was present thought it his duty to tell Z., after one of his most beautiful addresses, that he (Z.) was not converted. Z.’s reply was like himself, ‘Well, then, it must be a beautiful thing to be converted; for if the sight of the Blessed Lord gives such joy to a poor unconverted soul like me, what must He be to us when we are indeed converted!’ P.’s answer, too, to L. (when the latter, wishing to prepare P. for any Ritualistic forms at the Abbey, told him that he must not be surprised if Mr. N., in celebrating the Holy Communion, made several bowings or genuflections) was beautiful: ‘Don’t say a word to me about that: I have seen Christ in that man (N.), and that is enough for me.’
Shall I tell you what I thought I heard after I left your door? I had just taken my seat in the carriage, and was lifting up my heart for a blessing on the house which we were leaving, when all through the park, as I sat silent with closed eyes, I heard, or seemed to hear, now rising, now falling, one reiterated strain of grand and stately music, and all through it just two words, and only two, came to my ears—’Praise Him, praise Him, praise Him’—till we had passed your lodge gates.
About this time I made the acquaintance of Mr. Jukes, and I cannot deny myself the pleasure of narrating the beginning of a friendship which has been among the chief blessings of my life. In the autumn of 1873 I was appointed to a curacy at Highgate, and the priest under whom I worked introduced me to a clergyman whom he described as a man ‘mighty in the Scriptures.’ He was a tall man, with a military gait, his long beard already grey, his eyes of that clear blue colour which seems proper to seers. A few days later, Mr. Jukes called upon me, and I returned his call. For a time our conversation flagged, until mention chanced to be made of a recent translation of Origen. ‘Do you love Origen?’ said Mr. Jukes; ‘then we must be friends.’ And a true friend he proved himself. It came to be our habit to take long walks together, during which he would talk over any subject he had in mind, and teach me still more by the Socratic method of drawing out my thoughts, helping me to see their defects, and leaving me with materials for a wiser judgment. After a lapse of more than a quarter of a century, I am not more impressed by the recollection of my own crudities than by the patient humility with which he would listen to them. It is characteristic of him that for a year at least he never spoke to me on the subject of Restitution, thinking that I ‘had enough on hand without it. There is a time for everything.’ Perhaps for the same reason he never spoke to me of the Bible-readings which he held at his house. Sometimes he would preach for us at All Saints’ Church, though he would say that his days for preaching were over. His preaching was a practical exposition of the words spoken about our Lord, that ‘He spake as One having authority, and not as the scribes.’ He was very simple, he used much repetition, he did not shrink from the most familiar illustrations. ‘We talk about our dear Lord,’ he would say; ‘what does dear mean? When we say that a cabbage is dear, we mean that we give much for it. Our Lord is dear if we give much for Him.’ He sometimes caused a smile. But he always spoke as one who saw the truth which he was describing, and did not report it on the authority of others. He was always present at the early celebrations of Holy Communion. The first time I had the privilege of worshipping by his side was at the Holy Eucharist at St. Barnabas’, Pimlico, when his devotion made me think of St. John when heaven was opened to him. That church was destined to be for him and for myself the place of much blessed worship. In 1877 he returned from Broadlands full of the beauty of face and character of a young priest, Alfred Gurney, then at Brighton, who in the following year was appointed Vicar of St. Barnabas’. To Alfred Gurney should have come the task of editing the letters of him whom we revered and loved as our master in Christ; but he was called early to his rest in 1898, and left the work to incompetent hands.
In 1879, Mrs. Jukes’ health, which had long been infirm, rendered necessary a removal from Highgate, and a house was taken on a hill above Woolwich. Perhaps the choice was not very wise, for the bleak air tried her, and it was impossible to leave the house without a steep walk up or down hill. Before the winter it became necessary to remove her to a warmer climate, and Torquay was the place selected. At first ‘the delight of getting down again to Devonshire, which was her native county,’ seemed to revive her; and Mr. Jukes was able to preach at Torquay and at Babbicombe, and once or twice to go to London. But her ‘delight in seeing the red cliffs and wooded hills’ could not restore her wasted strength.
Rest came in May 1880. She was carried to Hull for burial; and Mr. Jukes returned to his solitary house at Woolwich, where his patience and faith soon enabled him to resume literary work, and to complete what seems to some of his readers the most perfect of all his books. During the months of anxiety he had endeavoured to write out the substance of a course of lectures on the passages in St. John’s Gospel in which the phrase, ‘Verily, verily,’ occurs, and which he regarded as describing various successive stages of the growth of the New Man in us. The book was published in 1881 under the title of ‘The New Man and the Eternal Life.’ This was followed in 1888 by ‘The Names of God in Holy Scripture,’ in which the various Names given to God in Genesis were regarded as displaying various revelations of Him. At this time, though his health was somewhat infirm, he was able to attend many meetings in London, especially those of a society called ‘Clerical Friends in Council,’ which had been founded by the Rev. G. H. Wilkinson and others, and consisted of clergymen of very various schools, who met monthly to discuss theological questions. At these meetings he was always an honoured speaker. He was also engaged in an enormous correspondence; for his works were widely read in England and America, and had been translated into several languages; and many of his readers wrote to him of their difficulties or, perhaps, their crotchets. His last literary work was a little volume on ‘The Order and Connexion of the Church’s Teaching, as set forth in the Arrangement of the Epistles and Gospels.’ This was published in 1893.
As old age advanced, it brought with it rheumatism and some affection of the heart, so that moving and writing were alike difficult. In other respects he was in fair health; he enjoyed visits from his friends, and at times was able to converse with them with little diminution of his mental power. He was always bright and thankful: the words, ‘Thank God, all things are for us, and not against us,’ were constantly on his lips. To one who loved him, and whom he had been the first to bless after her marriage in 1874, he continued his tone of affectionate teasing till she saw him last in 1896. As weakness increased, he was induced to give up his house at Woolwich, and to make his home with his elder son at Hackney. In the autumn of 1900 he went to visit his daughter at Southampton, from whose words is transcribed this account of his closing days:
In March (1901) he had a slight attack of faintness. It only lasted a few moments, but alarmed his maid very much. I was not present. When I saw him about ten minutes afterwards he said he was all right, but he looked strange. In a few days, however, he was as active as usual again, taking his walk daily in the little park near the house, or on the western shore, which he much enjoyed when the tide was up. He went there nearly every day. On May 1 he brought me two baskets of strawberries for my birthday, and was distressed that he had forgotten it until the evening. This was the last time he walked so far. Ten days afterwards he was again very poorly, and I noticed a distinct change in him. The intense restlessness increased; and this was a marked feature throughout his illness. He was never quiet, and even when taking a drive it seemed impossible to get him comfortable. … He generally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion after so much tossing; and then he wandered very much.
On Wednesday, May 22, he told me he knew he was very ill. … On this day he spoke to me much of my mother. His thoughts seemed much with her, as indeed they ever were. … On the 26th (Whitsunday) he remained in bed, and only once got up again for a few hours. The first few weeks in bed his mind was quite clear, and he enjoyed being read to, and asked every day if there were any letters. The last one I read to him was from Mr. Edward Clifford. He especially enjoyed hymns being read or repeated to him, and they seemed to quiet and soothe him more than anything else. … He was very peaceful and restful in spirit, though the poor body was in such discomfort. He did not, after the early days of his illness, allude to his departure, though he was quite aware it was drawing near. … One evening, after a day of unusual distress, I said to him, ‘You have had a very trying day.’ He said, so sweetly, ‘Oh, I could not say that. We must have trials here. Through the Lord’s mercy, I have no pain; but I am weary, weary, weary.’
The last week or ten days his mind seemed more cloudy … he gradually fell into a comatose state, and passed away peacefully, but quite unconscious, at 9.50 p.m. July 4. His body was laid at Hull, by the side of that of his wife.
PHOTO and BIOGRAPHY of ANDREW JUKES [Author of Document] 1