RETROSPECTION.
REV. Henry Washburn settled in the ministry at the age of twenty-eight
years. Soon after his graduation from the divinity school,—where we may
add he took first rank in his class—he was called to be Rector of St.
Mark's, a flourishing parish in Canterbury. There was no Rectory, and
he spent two-thirds of the small patrimony he had inherited from his
parents, in purchasing a small house at a short distance from the then
new church edifice. Connected with the house, and without which the
owner would not sell, were fourteen acres of land in a lamentable state
of starvation, for want of fertilization. For years this was only fit
for the growth of sorrel, with occasional tufts of coarse grass, from
which last it acquired the respectable name of pasturage.
To this home, the young Rector, a few months after his installation,
brought his bride Mary Lawton, as ardent and full of zeal for the
glorious cause of bringing souls to the knowledge and love of Christ,
as her husband. By the blessing of his great Master upon his faithful,
unwearying labors, his ministry had been eminently a successful one.
The list of names in the catalogue of church members, doubled and
trebled in the course of seventeen years, nor were they mere names, but
live, working men, women and children, the majority of whom let their
light shine to win others from darkness, instead of hiding it under a
bushel.
Every man has his hobby, and it was true that the Rector had his.
He talked about it in season and out of season. He preached upon it
directly and indirectly. His hobby was founded upon this text as
applied to Christians:—
"'By their fruits ye shall know them.'"
"It is of small value," he said, repeatedly, "for a man to make
professions of godliness, if he does not live a godly, righteous and
sober life. If he professes benevolence toward his fellow creatures,
and will not give a dollar to save them from starvation, what is his
profession worth? If he professes temperance, and is known to indulge
in the wine cup—to visit drinking saloons, and prefers for associates
men with bleared eyes and tottering limbs, will he be an honor or a
disgrace to his profession? If he professes love to the Saviour, who
shed his blood to procure pardon for the guilty, and never raises his
voice to warn or to win those around him, what is his profession worth?"
While the church flourished, and its members became an example for
others, the Rector's home grew more beautiful within and without. An
immense, ark-like barn, stood at the lower end of his land, at the
corner of two streets. At a convenient opportunity, he sold this and
ten thousand feet of land, to a gentleman who finished the building
off for a factory for painting oil-cloth. The money thus derived, gave
him the means of adding another story to his small house, and an L in
the rear of the kitchen; the room previously used for cooking being
converted into a sitting and dining room. One of the front rooms was
the Rector's study, the other a parlor, seldom used in winter. On the
South end, a wide piazza without a covering, ran the whole length,
including the portico covered with woodbine and prairie rose, which had
been built with the house.
From the dwelling, the ground sloped suddenly down to the street, a
distance of about fifty feet. Access to this had formerly been gained
by an awkward flight of stone steps, and an overgrown foot-path to the
front door. In the course of time, a pretty, shaded avenue was opened,
which curved up from a gate on one side to the door, and then down to
a gate at equal distance on the other. Then the old path was ploughed
up, enriched and sodded with grass like the rest of the lawn—the stone
steps given to a neighboring farmer in payment for the work on the new
lawn.
Another year saw little patches of flowers in the form of rhombuses and
rhomboids, and various other mathematical figures to suit the taste of
the ladies: for by this time there were small duplicates of our friend
Mary, the eldest, by name Emily, volunteering her opinion freely on the
subject of landscape gardening, without waiting to be urged to do so.
Still later, the dearly loved home was rendered perfect,—to the
inmates at least—by the bay window thrown out by Emily from papa's
study, while he was gone to Convention. The means to pay John Pratt &
Sons, carpenters and jobbers, being turned into this channel from the
original one of purchasing a black silk dress, of quality sufficiently
firm to stand alone, said silk to be a gift from Mrs. Emily Lawton, her
aunt for whom she was named.
During all these years, the sum of three thousand dollars remaining
from the Rector's patrimony, over and above the purchase of the farm,
had been left at interest in a bank in the neighboring city, where
it had swelled to what the owners considered a very neat little
fortune. From time to time, as his family increased, his people
had considerately added to his salary. He had a wife who was truly
a helpmeet, four children like olive plants around his table, an
affectionate, appreciative flock, and a wide field for usefulness in
the service of a Master, whom his soul loved.
He often asked himself, "Was ever man so favored of the Lord as I am
favored?"
Emily Lawton was in her eighteenth year, when her father, while
returning from evening service at his mission chapel, was overtaken by
a shower, and got so wet that a violent cold followed, which completely
prostrated him. An affection of the lungs succeeded, the worst symptom
being the entire loss of voice. A most pleasing solicitude was
manifested by his people, who generously hired a supply for the pulpit,
and allowed his salary to go on month after month. Then they voted
him a generous sum to pay the expense of his spending one winter in a
warmer climate, promising that his family should not want while he was
away.
It was not till the end of a year from the commencement of his illness,
that the parish with great reluctance consented to the sundering of the
tie which had so happily bound them to their Rector for twenty years.
Mr. Washburn, on his return from the South, finding his voice still
insufficient for the demands of the pulpit, sent his resignation to his
wardens, with an earnest request that they would accept it, stating
that his conscience would not allow him longer to remain their pastor,
while not able to perform a pastor's duties: and closing with a fervent
prayer that God would direct them to a man who would proclaim to them
the truth as it is in Jesus, as he had, though in a most humble manner,
endeavored to do.
This request caused great excitement in the parish. All the female
portion exclaimed against it, and many of the male members.
Churchwardens and vestry were inclined to the opinion that they had
better hire a preacher for a year, and allow their dearly loved Rector
time to recover. In the end, however, Mr. Washburn convinced them
that it was wisest both for them and him, that a new Rector should be
settled over them. He promised, however, to remain for the present
among them, assuring them that they would always be like loved children
to him and to his wife.
I wish to be minute concerning these facts, because of their connection
with after events.
When the separation finally took place, a large number of the church
and parish met at the house of their late Rector, and presented him
with a purse of money as a token of their deep affection. No man was
more prominent in expressing his regret at the resignation than a
member bearing the euphonious name of Barnes Bailey, who had once
incurred the censure of his Rector, and at length even expulsion
from the church. He had, however, forsaken his evil ways, and been
readmitted to the fellowship of the church.
If any one had ever doubted the sincerity of his penitence, and the
truthfulness of his grateful affection toward one who had checked him
in his downward career, his conduct on this occasion was calculated
to set their doubts at rest. He shed tears as he warmly pressed Mr.
Washburn's hand at parting, and thanked him for the faithfulness and
watchful care which had "plucked him as a brand from the burning."
Still there was one who secretly doubted him, who distrusted his piety
and his ready tears. This one was Emily Lawton, the Rector's daughter.
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