The Henson Journals

[263]

Wednesday, April 28th, 1926.

Cecil Fortescue arrived. After five years in the East he has come back for 8 months leave at home. He has grown to be stout, & even more self–confident than he was as one of my incumbents in Hereford, but he has a frank, breezy manner, which (like charity) covers a multitude of sins.

Fawkes writes that he had read a report of my Brighton Sermon in a Sussex paper:

"What you say about the homogenous culture of Robertson's time, & heterogeneous culture of ours, is the key to all our troubles: if I were an ordination candidate, it would make me very doubtful: & it is a question whether such preaching as his is now possible. I never think you quite fair to Modernists! What you criticize is a matter of temperament, & it is true that the critical, historical, legal temper is seldom mystical. But the orthodox temper is frequently not so."

I have felt so dilapidated today, (partly because I slept very badly last night, partly because my cold is heavy on me, partly because it was a damp close day) that, beyond writing a few letters & talking with Cecil Fortescue, I achieved nothing!

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