AMERICAN CHURCH REVIEW No. 151 DECEMBER, 1883 FERDINAND C. EWER, PRIEST AND DOCTOR. HE scene in St. Ignatius' Church, in the City of New York, about noon on Saturday, October 13th, 1883, was one of those which make an ineffaceable impression on the memory. Twice already on that day had the faithful and mourning people knelt before the altar, for the "Celebratio Coenæ Domini in Funebribus, si amici et vicini defuncti communicare velint,"* and at 11 o'clock, A. M., an immense throng, including upwards of one hundred vested priests, assisted at the final Offices for the Burial of the Dead. Who could have left the place without an impression that something altogether unusual and exceptional had come over our life in the Church? Every hour men die, whose departure is taken as a matter of course; it evokes no feeling beyond the narrow circle in which they lived; a thousand times we have seen the same type, with slight variation; the world and the Church take little heed, and seem no poorer for the loss. But on the occasion now referred to, what reflective person could have * Queen Elizabeth's Prayer Book, 1560. watched the scene without extraordinary emotions? He whose body lay upon that bier, beside which the pale lights flickered, and around which resounded the awful cadence of the Domine refugium and the Dies Irae, was one among a thousand. His had been a strange, a full, a sad, and a noble life. He was a master in Israel, a prince in the congregation where God standeth; one whose history was interwoven with a most memorable era in the life of our Anglican Communion; one who has left the impress of his consecrated power on the annals of his time. Nor was there lacking the element which gives to such scenes a tender pathos and sets the currents of human sympathy flowing through channels too often dry; the impressive suggestion of an inner sorrow and pain which endear men to that Divine Person who was "acquainted with grief," of patient "sowing in tears," of strife wearing out the combatant ere yet he could "see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied." That lifeless frame, stretched in darkness, beneath the cross, and soon to be laid in its own place among the "ruffled cells of death," was all that then remained on earth of one who merited, if ever man deserved it, the title of Soldier of the Cross; who had fought in turn the Spirit of doubting and unbelief, the Time-Spirit, the Spirit of the world; who had striven against the Evil One, as preacher of truth, pastor of the flock, guide of souls, teacher and doctor; who had, as it were, "fought with beasts at Ephesus," enduring hardship, suffering shame and reproof, risking the loss of all things for his convictions; and going down to the place of his rest bruised, battered, scarred, worn-out, prematurely old, passing suddenly away. Such was that remarkable man. I know not what element is lacking for a portrait which might keep his name and memory alive and influential for coming generations in that branch of Christ's Holy Catholic Church which he loved with all his heart, which he served with all his powers, and in whose communion God granted him a translation to the land of rest. I have two reasons for not giving this article a merely biographical cast. In the first place, the facts have been told already; they are, perhaps, more widely known than we think.* But, in the second place, I rejoice to be able to say that a work is in preparation which will give to those who loved and admired him, the full information which they naturally desire to possess. It appears that he has left us one of those precious legacies so thoroughly appreciated in our day, an autobiography, complete to the year when he came to this city as Rector of Christ's Church, and including, of course, the story of the boyhood and youth, the university life, the inner storms and conflicts with skepticism, the career as a journalist, the experiences of the stirring times in San Francisco when he acted with the Vigilance Committee and shared the public peril, the recovery of faith, the earlier work as preacher and priest, while the annals of later years will be compiled from such an ample supply of material as few men leave after them. There is, therefore, no need of a biographical sketch at this time; what we have already is accessible to any inquirer; what is promised will reward the great number who will seek it with avidity on the announcement of its publication. My own task will be to say, briefly, something about the man's work and what it brought to him by way of reward, and about the influence which he has already exerted and will continue to exert among us as one who "being dead, yet speaketh." We are just come to the semi-centennial of the "Oxford Movement," as it is called; a movement which has powerfully affected the entire Anglican Communion, and given to the world the proof of her vitality as an organic branch of the Catholic Church. The life of Ferdinand C. Ewer lies almost wholly within that half century. To a lively imagination it might appear that he did in a measure reflect the general outlines of the movement in his own career, as if his life had run on with it like a current in a deeper flood. Let us mark the correspondences, which I hope it may not be deemed fanciful to trace. * In Frank Leslie's Sunday Magazine for October, 1883, there is a biographical sketch of the "Rector of S. Ignatius." Originally prepared by a New York journalist for The Capital of Washington, D. C., it was carefully revised, and is now vouched for by his family as being "entirely correct in facts and dates, and as rectifying many misstatements formerly made." The life presents such points of comparison as these: 1stly. The reaction from skepticism. 2dly. The acceptance of the entire Church system as the refuge from doubt and despair. 3dly. The growing appreciation of that system under the influences of study, reflection, and practical experience in the work. 4thly. The personal sacrifice for convictions which provoke and irritate the public and make men "strangers to their brethren and aliens unto their mother's children.” 5thly. The patient labor in the Way of the Cross, gradually disarming adversaries and winning men back to their old admiration, if not to their former love, 6thly. The mellowing into a sweetness of spirit which has in it more of the next world than of this, and leads the man to desire, above all else, the knitting together of all God's children into one. Let me follow this article in a few suggestive illustrations, We are told, in the historical sketch already published, that after a religious youth, spent under strong influences, he fell into one of those places where the seas meet, and went through a period of agonizing doubt as to whether Christianity itself was true. Through God's grace he bore the trial well, and the noble mind and beautiful soul were saved, giving us another instance to add to those already in our possession, of the power of Religion to rule the noblest intellects, to calm spirits the most perturbed. Now it may be remembered that the great awakening in the Mother Church came to men in some such state of distraction or, at least, threatened by the adversaries of light and peace. The Evangelical school having fulfilled a mission in the world, had spent its powers; men needed a different kind of help. It is said that Pusey himself was at one time in danger; that he felt the subtle influence of the German rationalism, and was driven to close study of the foundations of the faith, ere he could recover his peace. Newman also passed through the same fire of temptation. That these men and multitudes with them, ended in accepting the Catholic system in some shape or other, is a fact which helps us to appreciate the great movement, and understand what it did |