Chapter II: 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.