THE GOLDEN WEDDING.
Thus, amid happy surroundings, in the new home, in the last leap-year
of this wonderful century, came the time of the golden wedding. God
had walked with these, his children, fifty years, while they had
walked with one another. Providence seemed to whisper, "Come, for all
things are now ready." The new home was finished and furnished, all
bright and cheerful, and suffused with the atmosphere of genial
companionship. The bride of a half century before, now with the roses
of health blooming under the trellis of her silvery hair, with
sparkling eyes beaming fun and sympathy, welcome and gladness, by
turns, was at this season in happy health. This was largely owing, as
she gladly acknowledged, to regular calisthenics, plenty of fresh air,
and complete occupation of mind and body. The thousand invitations in
gilt and white had, as with "the wings of a dove covered with silver
and her feathers with yellow gold," flown over the city, commonwealth,
and nation. On February 18th, the house having been transformed by
young friends into a maze of greenery and flowers, husband and wife
stood together to receive congratulations. In the hall were ropes of
sturdy pine boughs and glistening laurel, with a huge wreath of
evergreen suspended from the ceiling, and bearing the anniversary
date, 1846 and 1896. In the reception-room one friend had hung the
emblem of two hearts joined by a band of gold above the cornice.
Dining-room and library were festooned with smilax. In the archways
and windows were hanging baskets of jonquils and ferns. "An help meet
for him," the bride of fifty years was arrayed in heliotrope satin
with trimmings of point lace, making, as we thought, with her delicate
complexion and soft white hair, a sight as lovely as when, amid the
snow-storms of New Hampshire, a half century before, Charles Carleton
Coffin first called Sallie Farmer his wife.
Of Washington it has been said, "God made him childless that a nation
might call him father." In the home on that day were scores of nieces
and nephews, and children of several generations, from the babe in
arms, and the child with pinafore, to the stately dames and
long-bearded men, who, one and all, called the bride and groom "uncle
and aunt." From a ladies' orchestra, on the top floor, music filled
the house, the melody falling like a lark's song in upper air. In the
dining-room, turned for the nonce into a booth of evergreens, where
everything was sparkle and joy, new and old friends met to discuss,
over dainty cups and plates, both the happy moment and the delights of
long ago.
It was not only a very bright, but a noteworthy company that gathered
on that February afternoon and evening. Massachusetts was about to
lose by death her Governor, F. T. Greenhalge, as she had lost three
ex-Governors, all friends of Carleton, within the previous
twelvemonth, but there was present the handsome acting-Governor of the
Commonwealth, Roger Wolcott. Men eminent in political life, authors,
editors, preachers, business men, troops of lifelong friends, men and
women of eminence, honor, and usefulness, fellow Christians and
workers in wonderfully varied lines of activity, were present to share
in and add to the joy. Among the gifts, which seemed to come like
Jupiter's shower of gold upon Danae, were two that touched Carleton
very deeply. The Massachusetts Club, which has numbered in its body
many Senators, Governors, generals, diplomatists, lawyers, authors,
and merchants, whose names shine very high on the roll of national
fame, sent their fellow member an appropriate present. Instead of the
regular cup, vase, or urn, or anything that might suggest stress,
strain, or even victory, or even minister to personal vanity, the
Club, through its secretary, Mr. S. S. Blanchard, presented the master
of Alwington with a superb steel engraving, richly framed. It
represented the Master, sitting under the vine-roof trellis at the
home of Lazarus, in Bethlehem. "You knew just what I wanted,"
whispered the happy receiver.
During the evening, when the people of Shawmut Church were present, a
hundred or more strong, their former and latter chief servant being
with them, a silver casket, with twenty half eagles in it, was
presented by Dr. W. E. Barton, with choice and fitting words. So
deeply affected was this man Carleton, so noted for his self-mastery,
that, for a moment, those who knew him best were shot through as by a
shaft of foreboding, lest, then and there, the horses and chariot of
fire might come for the prophet. A quarter of a minute's pause,
understood by most present as nothing more than a natural interval
between presentation speech and reply, and then Carleton, as fully as
his emotion would admit, uttered fitting words of response.
The "banquet hall deserted," the photographic camera was brought into
requisition, and pleasant souvenirs of a grand occasion were made.
Everything joyously planned had been happily carried out. This was the
culminating event in the life of a good man, to the making of whom,
race, ancestry, parentage, wife, home, friends, country, and
opportunity had contributed, and to all of which and whom, under God,
Carleton often made grateful acknowledgments.
It was but a fortnight after this event, in which I participated with
such unalloyed pleasure, that the telegraphic yellow paper, with its
type-script message, announced that the earthly house of the
tabernacle of Carleton's spirit had been dissolved, and that his
building of God, the "house not made with hands," had been entered.
The story of Carleton's last thirteen days on earth is soon told. He
had written a little upon his new story. For the _Boston Journal_ he
had penned an article calling attention to the multiplying
"sky-scraper" houses, and the need of better fire-apparatus. He had,
with the physician's sanction, agreed to address on Monday evening,
March 2d, the T. Starr King Unitarian Club of South Boston, on "Some
Recollections of a War Correspondent."
Carleton's last Sunday on earth was as one of "the days of heaven upon
earth." It was rich to overflowing with joyous experiences. It is now
ours to see that the shadows of his sunset of life were pointing to
the eternal morning.
It was the opening day of spring. At Shawmut Church, in holy
communion, he, with others, celebrated the love of his Saviour and
Friend. To Carleton, it was a true Eucharist. A new vision of the
cross and its meaning seemed to dawn upon his soul. At the
supper-table, conversation turned upon Christ's obedience unto death,
his great reconciliation of man to God, his power to move men, the
crucifixion, and its meaning. Carleton said, after expressing his deep
satisfaction with Doctor Barton's morning sermon, and his
interpretation of the atonement, that he regarded Christ's life as the
highest exhibition of service. By his willing death on the cross,
Jesus showed himself the greatest and best of all servants of man,
while thus joyfully doing his Father's will. On that day of rest,
Carleton seemed to dwell in an almost transfigurating atmosphere of
delight in his Master.
On Sunday night husband and wife enjoyed a quiet hour, hand in hand,
before the wood fire. The sunlight and warmth of years gone by, coined
into stick and fagots from the forest, were released again in glow and
warmth, making playful lights and warning shadows. The golden minutes
passed by. The prattle of lovers and the sober wisdom of experience
blended. Then, night's oblivion. Again, the cheerful morning meal and
the merry company, the incense of worship, and the separation of each
and all to the day's toil.
Carleton sat down in his study room to write. He soon called his wife,
complaining of a distressing pain in his stomach. He was advised to go
to bed, and did so. The physician, Dr. A. L. Kennedy, was sent for.
"How is your head?" asked Doctor Kennedy.
"If it were not for this pain, I should get up and write," answered
Carleton.
With the consent of the physician he rose from the couch and walked
the room for awhile for relief. Then returning, as he was about to lie
down again, he fell over. Quickly unconscious, he passed away. Science
would call the immediate cause of death apoplexy.
Thus died at his post, as he would have wished, the great war
correspondent, traveller, author, statesman, and friend of man and
God. He had lived nearly three years beyond the allotted period of
three score and ten.
Two days later, while the flag over the public schoolhouse in
Brookline drooped at half-mast, and Carleton's picture was wreathed
with laurels, at the request of the scholars themselves, in the
impressive auditorium of Shawmut Church, Carleton's body lay amid
palms and lilies in the space fronting the pulpit. At his head and at
his feet stood a veteran-sentinel from the John A. Andrew Post of the
Grand Army of the Republic. These were relieved every quarter of an
hour, during the exercises, by comrades who had been detailed for a
service which they were proud to render to one who had so well told
their story and honored them so highly. It was entirely a voluntary
offering on the part of the veterans to pay this tribute of regard,
which was as touching as it was unostentatious.
Nowhere in the church edifice were there any of the usual insignia of
woe. The dirge was at first played to express the universal grief in
the music of the organ, but it soon melted into In Memoriam and hymns
of triumph. The quartet sang "Jesus Reigns," a favorite hymn of
Carleton's, to music which he had himself composed only two years
before.
It reminded me of the burst of melody which, from the belfry of the
church in a Moravian town, announces the soul's farewell to earth and
birth into heaven.
In the audience which filled the pews downstairs were men and women
eminent in every walk of life, representatives of clubs, societies,
and organizations. Probably without a single exception, all were
sincere mourners, while yet rejoicing in a life so nobly rounded out.
In the pulpit sat two of the pastors of Shawmut Church, and Dr. Arthur
Little, friend of Carleton's boyhood, and a near relative. The
eulogies were discriminating.
The addresses, with the prayers offered and the tributes made in
script or print, with some letters of condolence received by Mrs.
Coffin, and a remarkable interesting biographical sketch from _The
Congregationalist_, by Rev. Howard A. Bridgman, have been gathered in
a pamphlet published by George H. Wright, Harcourt Street, Boston.
From this pamphlet we extract the following:
After prayer and a brief silence, Dr. Little said:
"There are few men, I think, engrossed in the affairs of
life, for an entire generation, to whom the Word of God was
so vital and so precious as to our friend, Mr. Coffin. Let
us open this Word, and listen while God speaks to us, in Ps.
23; Ps. 39: 4, 13; Ps. 46: 1, 5, 7.
"I will read from Ezekiel 26: 1-5, which was a favorite word
with Mr. Coffin, and the passage which he himself read, as
he was journeying in the Eastern land, at the very spot
concerning which the prophecy is uttered. Mr. Coffin was
sitting there with his open Bible, and saw the literal
fulfilment of this prophecy,--the fishermen spreading the
nets in the very neighborhood where he was sitting."
The continued readings were from John 11: 21, 23; John 14:
19; 2 Cor. 5: 1, 8; Rev. 21: 1; Rev. 22: 5; 1 Cor. 15: 51,
57. The quartet sang "In My Father's Arms Enfolded."
Dr. Barton then read a letter from Rev. E. B. Webb, D. D.,
who was unable to be present. The following are the closing
paragraphs. They recall the Oriental travels enjoyed by
pastor and parishioner in company.
"Together we visited the home of Mary and Martha, and the
tomb from which the Life-Giver called forth Lazarus to a new
and divine life. We stood in Gethsemane, by the old
olive-trees, beneath the shadows of which the Saviour of men
prayed, and sweat, as it were, great drops of blood. We
climbed together to the top of the Mount of Olives, and
looked up into the deep heavens to which he ascended, and
abroad to the city over which he wept; and both our words
and our silence told how real it all was, and how the
significance of it entered into our lives.
"From the city we journeyed northward,--up past Bethel,
where Jacob saw a new vision, and got a new heart, and on,
past the blue waters of Galilee, and across the great
plain,--battle-ground of the ancient nations,--and over the
Lebanons to Damascus and Baalbec, and then to the sea, and
homeward thence; and always and everywhere scrutinizing the
present, or reaching back into the past; drinking from the
sparkling waters of Abana and Pharpar, or searching for the
wall over which Paul was let down in a basket; impressed by
the ruins of half-buried temples and cities, or looking
forward, with sublime faith in the prophecy and promise, to
the time when all things shall be made new;--Carleton was
always the same thoughtful, genial, courteous companion and
sympathizing friend.
"I honored, loved, and esteemed the man. His life is a
beautiful example of devout Christian steadfastness. The
history of his small beginnings, gradual increase, and final
success, is one to inspire noble endeavor, and ensure
reward. He honored the church, and the church does well to
honor him.
"Affectionately yours,
"E. B. Webb."
The Rev. Dr. Little paid a warm tribute to the memory of his
friend:
"At eleven years of age he [Carleton] entered the church.
Think of it! Sixty-three years devoted to the service of
his Lord and Master! He seems to me to be an illustration of
a man who, when he is equal to it, finds a hard physical
environment united with a wholesome moral and spiritual
environment of supreme advantage. To a weak nature it would
very likely mean only failure, but to a man of the heroic
mould of Mr. Coffin it meant opportunity, and it only nerved
him to more strenuous effort; and it was everything to him
that the atmosphere in the home, the community, and the
church was what it was,--so warm, so Christian, so
spiritual, so sympathetic, and so suited to furnish just the
right conditions for the moulding of his very responsive and
susceptible nature.
"And then he possessed what I think might very well be
called the spirit of aggressiveness, or, possibly better,
the spirit of sanctified self-assertion. He never thought of
self-assertion for his own sake, or for the sake of honor or
promotion, but he had in him a kind of push and an
earnestness of purpose--you might almost say audacity--that
somehow stirred him and prompted him always to be in the
place of greatest advantage at a given time for the service
of others. He seemed always to be just at the point of
supreme advantage in a crisis, just where he could give the
world, at the right time, and in the best way, the fullest
report of a battle, or a conference, or any other matters of
supreme moment. This was characteristic of him. It appeared
all through his New Hampshire life, and was indeed in part a
native endowment."
After an address by the author of this volume on "Charles
Carleton Coffin as a Historian," Dr. W. E. Barton, in
felicitous diction, reviewed the earthly life of him with
whose career many memories were then busy.
"Grief is no unusual thing. There is no heart here that has
not known it. There is scarce a home where death has not
entered. We weep the more sincerely with those that weep,
because the intervals are not long between our own sorrows.
The whole Commonwealth mourns to-day our chief magistrate.
God comfort his family! God save the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts! God bless him in whose elevation to the
Governor's chair Providence has anticipated the will of the
people.
"A very tender sorrow brings us here to-day, and we turn for
comfort to the Word of God.
"Text: With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my
salvation.--Ps. 91: 16.
"It is not because of his unusual age that this text seems
to me appropriate for the funeral of our friend. His years
were but little more than threescore and ten, and his step
was light, and his heart was young, and we hardly thought of
him as an old man. Nor is it because his work seemed to us
completed, that we think of the measure of his days as
satisfied. His facile pen dropped upon a new page; and
before him, as he ceased to labor, were tasks midway, and
others just begun. It is because our first feeling is so
unsatisfied, it is because there was so much more which he
wished, and we wished him to do, and that we are constrained
to measure the length of his life, and to find, if we may
find, in spite of this sudden break in our hopes and his
plans, a completion that can satisfy. Measured by its
experiences and accomplishments, it may seem to us that this
life, so abruptly terminated, was one whose length and
symmetry well deserve to be considered a fulfilment of the
promise of the text."
Following the prayer, Dr. Barton said:
"It was the purpose of our organist, Mr. Dunham, a true and
honored friend of Mr. Coffin, to play, as the postlude to
this service, the stateliest of funeral marches, but I
dissuaded him. This is a Christian funeral. Our music is not
a dirge, but a jubilate. The hope of our friend in life is
ours for him in death. Instead of even the noblest funeral
march expressing our own grief, there will be played the
most triumphant of anthems, expressing his own victory over
death,--Handel's matchless 'Hallelujah Chorus.'"
The organ then played the "Hallelujah Chorus," and the
benediction was pronounced by Dr. Barton.
It had been intended to deposit the mortal relics of Carleton in the
ancestral cemetery at Webster, N. H., the village next to Boscawen,
but Providence interposed. After all preparations for travel and
transportation had been made, heavy rains fell, which washed away
bridges and so disturbed the ordinary condition of the roads in New
Hampshire that the body had to be deposited in a vault at Brookline
until a more convenient season for interment. Meanwhile, the soldiers
of the Grand Army, adult friends, and even children, united in the
wish that the grave of their friend and helper might be within easy
reach of Boston, so that on the National Memorial Day, and at other
times of visitation, the grassy mound might be accessible for the
tribute of flowers. And so it eventuated that what was once mortal of
Charles Carleton Coffin rests in Mount Auburn.
The memorial in stone will be a boulder transported from more northern
regions ages ago and left by ice on land which belonged to Mrs.
Coffin's grandfather. On this rugged New Hampshire granite will be
inscribed the name of Charles Carleton Coffin, with the dates of his
births into this world and the next.
Both of the man and this, his last memorial, we may say _Deus fecit_.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Charles Carleton Coffin, by William Elliot Griffis