mm*® 
 
 rm 
 
 
 Cornell University Library ^*X J ^^g^ 
 
 BX9869.T57 A3 
 
 m 
 
 77dT $M 
 
 
 rv 
 
 #iL£ n 
 
 and personal tributes. 
 
 3 1924 029 481 128 
 
 ?&> . 
 
 
 '' II l/V »-!■ 
 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://archive.org/details/cu31924029481128 
 
WILLIAM PHILLIPS TILDEN 
 
 £u;tot>tograp^ 
 
 AND 
 
 pergonal Crflwtes 
 
 PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 Press of Geo. H. Ellis, 141 Franklin Street 
 
 1891 
 
B- <? ? 
 
 THIS VOLUME HAS BEEN PREPARED FOR THE FAMILY 
 AND NEAREST FRIENDS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Ancestry, . . . 
 
 II. My Childhood, . 
 
 III. My Boyhood, . 
 
 IV. Boyhood, . 
 V. Boyhood, 
 
 VI. Young Manhood, . . 
 
 VII. Crisis, 
 
 VIII. Preparation for the Ministry, 
 
 IX. Early Ministry, . . 
 
 X. Early Ministry, . . . 
 
 XI. Concord Ministry, 
 
 XII. Walpole Ministry, . 
 
 XIII. Fitchburg Ministry, 
 
 XIV. Church Green Ministry, 
 XV. Extracts from Journal, . 
 
 XVI. Extracts from Journal, . 
 
 XVII. European Travel, . . 
 
 XVIII. Charity Lecture, 
 
 XIX. Seventy, . 
 
 XX. Communion Service, 
 
 XXI. End of Boston Ministry, 
 
 XXII. Rowen, .... 
 
 XXIII. Rowen, . 
 
 XXIV. Rowen, . . 
 XXV. Rowen, . 
 
 XXVI. Last Days, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 5 
 10 
 
 19 
 
 3° 
 
 42 
 
 60 
 
 66 
 
 75 
 
 85 
 
 96 
 
 106 
 
 122 
 
 128 
 
 140 
 
 145 
 
 152 
 
 164 
 
 "83 
 
 190 
 204 
 211 
 217 
 225 
 230 
 244 
 2 53 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 263 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 ANCESTRY. 
 
 Having passed my seventy-seventh birth anniver- 
 sary, I have thought it might be well, while enjoying 
 a fair degree of memory and strength, to jot down some 
 of the incidents of my long and somewhat varied life. 
 
 I do this particularly for my children and grand- 
 children and hoped for great-great-grandchildren, think- 
 ing it possible that many years hence, when I shall be 
 to them only a memory or a tradition, they may like 
 on some stormy day, when they have nothing else to 
 do, to look it over, and possibly talk about it to their 
 children and children's children. 
 
 First, let me say a word of the old town in which I 
 was born, and tell you something of our ancestors as 
 far back as we can trace them. 
 
 Scituate is one of the old towns of Plymouth County, 
 Massachusetts. It borders on Massachusetts Bay, has 
 a coast line of seven or eight miles, and is about half- 
 way from Boston to Plymouth. Its aboriginal name 
 was "Satuit," the name of a brook that empties into 
 the harbor. It means "cold brook." That is the way 
 the town is spelled in the earliest records. Shortly 
 after it was written " Seteat," then " Cittewat." But 
 about 1640 the orthography was settled as "Scituate." 
 
6 Autobiography 
 
 The town was settled very early. It opened unusual 
 facilities through its harbor and the North River, which 
 formed the southern boundary line, for commerce, fish- 
 ing, and ship-building. These have been its leading 
 industries from the beginning until fifty years ago, 
 when all three began to decline. 
 
 But, when I was a boy, the North River was lined 
 with ship-yards, and the harbor filled with fishing vessels 
 and coasters. The first ship that visited the North- 
 west coast from this country was built on the North 
 River in 1774. She was called the "Columbia," and 
 commanded by Captain Kendrick, who explored the 
 river Oregon, and renamed it after his ship " Colum- 
 bia." It still retains both names. 
 
 Among the earliest settlers of Scituate was Nathaniel 
 Tilden, who came from England with his family before 
 1628. Just how long before is not known. But in this 
 year the old records tell of large tracts of land sold by 
 Henry Merritt to Nathaniel Tilden, showing that he 
 was a man of means. He was from Tenterden in the 
 county of Kent. Other gentlemen came with him from 
 the same place, and they were called " the men of Kent." 
 The first street laid out was called " Kent Street." 
 This was near the harbor. On this street Nathaniel 
 Tilden lived. A few years later he was chosen "Ruling 
 Elder" of the first church in Scituate, and after that 
 is known as Elder Nathaniel Tilden. All his children 
 were born in England. Their names were Joseph, 
 Thomas, Mary, Sarah, Judith, Lydia, and Stephen. 
 He died in 1641, and his will shows that he had prop- 
 erty, — "a stone house with lands in Tenterden, Eng- 
 land, with large possessions, in lands, in Scituate and 
 
Ancestry 7 
 
 Marshfield." In his inventory are "ten swarms of bees, 
 appraised at io,£." Rev. Samuel Deane, in his History 
 of Scituate, from which I have gleaned liberally, says, 
 " It is the earliest notice we have met with of the 
 keeping of bees in the Colony." So that, if any of my 
 children's children's children should choose commerce 
 in honey as a profession, they can quote their American 
 ancestor as a pioneer in the business. 
 
 From Elder Nathaniel's eldest son, Joseph, our branch 
 of the Tildens descended. He succeeded to his father's 
 estate on Kent Street. He was a member of the second 
 church, and was chosen deacon in 1655. He belonged 
 to the liberal or moderate class of Puritans. His father 
 had willed him lands in Scituate and Marshfield. He 
 married, and had nine children. His son Samuel, born 
 1660, settled on the North River in Marshfield, near 
 Gravelly Beach. He had a son Samuel, born 1689; 
 and he, living on the same homestead, had a son Samuel, 
 born 1718, who was the father of my grandfather Sam- 
 uel, who lived to about ninety-four, occupying the same 
 lands which had been in the family since 1640. After 
 my grandfather had passed his labor, he divided his 
 property, mainly in land, among his children, and they 
 became responsible for his support, — a common thing in 
 those days, but very unwise, as it always proves. So 
 the old estate was cut into bits, and has since passed 
 into other hands. 
 
 And now a word of our English ancestry. 
 
 Elder Nathaniel seems to have come from good stock. 
 My cousin, the late Thomas Tilden, of New York, when 
 he was in England, visited Sir John Maxwell Tylden, 
 knight of Milsted, county of Kent, and learned from 
 manuscripts in his possession that our American ances- 
 
8 Autobiography 
 
 tor traced his lineage in direct lines through a succes- 
 sion of Tyldens, among them Sir John, Sir Thomas, Sir 
 William (who fought in the van of the English army 
 under the Black Prince, at the battle of Poictiers), Sir 
 Henry (time of Edward II.), to Sir Richard Tylden, who 
 lived in the reigns of Henry II. and Richard I. of Eng- 
 land. He was seneschal to Hugh de Lacy, constable 
 of Chester during the reign of Henry II. He after- 
 wards assumed the cross, accompanied Cceur de Lion 
 to the Holy Land, and fought under him at the battle 
 of Ascalon against Sultan Saladin. 
 
 Thus we are enabled, from reliable sources, to trace 
 our English lineage back to the latter part of the twelfth 
 century. In Burke's "Landed Gentry," 1858, the Tyl- 
 den family is spoken of as one of great antiquity. 
 
 The Tylden coat-of-arms combines the insignia of 
 the Church, the military, and the nobility. St. Andrew's 
 cross on the shield denotes the Church, the battle-axe 
 upon the crest the military, the ermine on the cross 
 nobility. As our earliest known progenitor, Sir Rich- 
 ard, assumed the cross and fought under Richard the 
 Lion-hearted for the Holy Land, we see the appropri- 
 ateness of the cross on the shield and the battle-axe on 
 the crest, while the titles to the family names, from gen- 
 eration to generation, abundantly justify the "ermine" 
 as a token of nobility. 
 
 As native-born Americans, citizens of a republic 
 whose nobility consists in noble men and noble women, 
 we do not put a high value on titles : we prefer the 
 real thing ; and yet it is pleasant to know that our 
 English ancestors, living in an age when titles of dis- 
 tinction were highly regarded, and under a government 
 which conferred its honors on supposed real worth, 
 
Ancestry 9 
 
 were deemed not unworthy of an honored place in 
 society. We like to feel that we have a worthy ances- 
 try back of us ; and we can freely forgive their titles 
 in the assurance we feel that there was true nobility 
 among them. 
 
 Should we, as the American descendants of Elder 
 Nathaniel, our branch especially, ever devise a coat-of- 
 arms, while we should hold on to the cross as the sym- 
 bol of our Christian faith, we should want to substitute 
 for the "battle-axe" a "broad-axc" crest, as more fitting. 
 And we could do it with pride, as the battle-axe is a 
 symbol of destruction, while the broad-axe is a symbol 
 of iwzstruction. But real nobility is the same celestial 
 plant under whatever skies and whether named or 
 nameless. 
 
 Somehow, in his emigration from the county of Kent, 
 Nathaniel lost the "y'' from his surname. Before he 
 came he was Tylden, and after arriving he was Tilden. 
 Perhaps it was only because "i" is more easily written 
 than "y." 
 
 And now to return to my grandfather, Deacon Samuel 
 Tilden, who lived near Gravelly Beach on the North 
 River. He had ten children, nine sons and one daugh- 
 ter, all living to be married. My father, Luther Tilden, 
 was the seventh son, born Jan. 2, 1777. He married 
 Philenda Brooks, my own precious mother, born Oct. 
 3, 1778. They were married Sept. 18, 1800. My father 
 was a ship-carpenter, as were most of the men living 
 near the North River. 
 
 When I was born, May 9, 181 1, father was living in 
 a house, still standing and in good repair, about a mile 
 and a half from the ship-yard where he carried on ship- 
 building in company with his brother Jotham. 
 
II. 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD. 
 1811-1817. 
 
 Of the first three or four years of my life I remember 
 very little ; and yet all this time I was sunned beneath 
 my mother's smile and nurtured by night and day, in 
 sickness and health, by my mother's love, — all forgotten, 
 but not lost. My little brain was too soft to hold the 
 impression, but my infant nature absorbed the sweet 
 influence all unconsciously ; and these forgotten years 
 have been woven into the texture of my long life. A 
 mother's love is deathless, not only in itself, but in its 
 influence. 
 
 I have been told that I was rather a sickly child at 
 first. Fortunately, I have forgotten that, too. But I 
 remember hearing mother say that, when she told a 
 neighbor noted for her closeness how feeble I was and 
 that I would eat nothing but loaf sugar, the neighbor 
 exclaimed, " Why, can you afford it ? " Mother's eyes 
 always flashed as she told the story ; for, dear as loaf 
 sugar was in those early days, her sick baby was not to 
 be named for value with all the sugar refineries of the 
 country. 
 
 One of my earliest memories is of going out doors 
 after a shower and sailing the top of a little wooden 
 trunk in a puddle of water in the yard. This was my 
 first nautical experience. 
 
My Childhood 1 1 
 
 We lived about five miles from the seashore, and 
 could hear the dull roar of the surf after a storm. 
 Besides, my father built ships; and perhaps it was the 
 two put together that led me to extemporize my first 
 ship and launch her out upon a yard of rain-water sea. 
 I remember, also, looking out of the front window one 
 morning after a heavy wind, and seeing that the roof of 
 the barn had been swept away during the night by the 
 furious gale. I can see it now just as it looked then. 
 
 I cannot tell when I began to know father and mother 
 and brother and sisters. I guess I always knew them, 
 they looked so natural. There were four children in 
 the home before I came. The oldest, Philenda, was 
 named for her mother. She was a pretty little brunette, 
 of slight figure. The next, Luther Albert, took his 
 father's name, Luther, with Albert added to avoid the 
 Jr. He was my only brother, seven years older than I. 
 The next, Julia, with brown hair, rather delicate ; and 
 the next, Sarah, a two-year old when I came, with flaxen 
 hair and rosy cheeks, full of romp and frolic. So, when 
 I began to peep with the rest, we had five chicks in our 
 home nest. 
 
 Our sweet little home is still standing, and looks just 
 as it did when I sailed my first ship in the end yard. 
 The barn, too, is essentially the same as when visited 
 by the gale. 
 
 In due time I was sent to school to learn the alpha- 
 bet. The modern method of learning letters from pict- 
 ure-books or blocks with large letters on each square 
 was then unknown. The art of learning made easy 
 had not been, discovered. "The hill of science" was 
 hard to climb, and the gate that opened into the nar- 
 
12 Autobiography 
 
 row way was the alphabet. So, in charge of my older 
 sisters, I was sent a half-mile or more to learn how to 
 open that gate. It didn't look as if it could be opened, 
 and the teacher seemed to take the most unnatural and 
 awkward way possible of lifting the latch. 
 
 This was the process. "The school-ma'am," as we 
 all called her, sat in her chair, with Webster's Spelling 
 Book opened at the alphabet in her lap. Holding the 
 book in one hand and her open pen-knife in the other, 
 she called the urchin to be instructed to her. He 
 comes and stands by the teacher's side, bobs his head 
 in token of respect, and is told to look on his book. 
 He does so. She then, with her slender blade, points 
 to A, and says: "That is A. Say it after me, 'A.' " 
 He does it the first time. Then follow B, C, D, E, F, 
 in rapid succession, till the whole column of queer-look- 
 ing characters is finished. That is lesson No. i. It 
 wasn't so hard as the little fellow thought it would be. 
 He could call the letters after the ma'am every time, 
 just as easy. But the gate was just as fast as ever. 
 This process was repeated twice a day, for what was 
 deemed a suitable length of time, till the pupil, getting 
 the hang of the order, and knowing just what was com- 
 ing, could repeat after the ma'am with a glibness that 
 promised well for a high literary career. Soon he could 
 say his letters without any prompting by the teacher 
 and without looking on the book. But, alas ! a day of 
 trial came, when the teacher began to skip. That was 
 dreadful. Just as the pupil could say all the letters in 
 the alphabet in regular order without missing one, to 
 skip from A to D and from F to R was enough to 
 break down all previous attainments, and throw the 
 
My Childhood 13 
 
 poor child back to first principles, utterly discouraged. 
 Finally, after many days of struggle, with some boxing 
 of ears, and tears, it begins to dawn upon the pupil 
 that each letter has its own name, and he must learn 
 to call it by its own name whenever and wherever he 
 sees it, just as he calls Tom, Tom, and never Charles. 
 The mystery is solved. He opens the gate, and walks 
 through into pastures not always green. 
 
 My world during my early years was small, but it 
 was right in the centre of all things; for the highest 
 place in the great blue dome of sky was always directly 
 overhead. Some of our neighbors were queer old peo- 
 ple. Singularly enough, I remember them much better 
 than the children. 
 
 One was Uncle Lazarus, as we used to call him, who 
 with his wife lived in an old house near by. He was 
 a farmer, and she attended to the dairy and made but- 
 ter and cheese. He had a nice garden near the house, 
 open to the spring sun. I liked to see him work in it. 
 One day, I remember I was " helping him," when he was 
 preparing beds for sowing. Just as he had one nicely 
 smoothed for dropping in the seed, I carelessly stepped 
 on it. It was too bad. The old man flared in right- 
 eous indignation, as he exclaimed : " Go home ! Go 
 home, or I'll hang you ! " I was frightened, and 
 bounded off like a rabbit with a dog at its heels. For 
 a while I kept indoors at home ; but after a time I 
 ventured out, and saw Uncle Lazarus coming towards 
 the house, with a rope in his hand. With his threat 
 of hanging ringing in my scared ears, I verily thought 
 my time had come, and dashed into the house. But 
 my fears were assuaged when the dear old man came 
 
14 Autobiography 
 
 in to return the rope he had borrowed, having forgot- 
 ten probably all about the scolding, and little dream- 
 ing what a fright he had given me. 
 
 Another neighbor, in the opposite direction, was Mr. 
 George Cushing, a farmer with a large family of nice 
 children. They had a large barn, with attractive hay- 
 mows for boys and hens. One day, when I was per- 
 haps five or six years old, Ned Damon and I strayed 
 into this barn-yard. I think the cow-house door was 
 open, and we entered and soon began hunting for 
 eggs, — a very innocent and delightful thing to do in 
 one's own barn ; but this was in Mr. George Cushing's 
 barn, and that wasn't Ned's father's name nor mine. 
 
 But we didn't stop to think of that ; or, if we did, 
 we didn't stop hunting, and, alas ! we found. We had 
 never studied history, and knew nothing of the rights 
 of a discoverer. So there was no valid excuse for our 
 appropriating those eggs as we did, and bearing them 
 away to a convenient place, where we amused ourselves 
 with "thrashing" them, as we boys used to call it. 
 We would lay one down, walk off so many paces, and 
 then with a long switch march up, blindfold, and thrash. 
 Who hit first I don't remember. I only remember that 
 some of them were defective. But we thought them 
 sound when we took them. So I don't name that to 
 palliate the crime. At last the fun was over, and it was 
 time to go. 
 
 Ned left, and I went home alone. But somehow I 
 began to feel very lonesome. What would mother 
 think if she knew it ? If it had only been in our barn ! 
 But it wasn't. If it had only been in Uncle Ledard's 
 barn ! But it wasn't. The more I thought it over, 
 
My Childhood 15 
 
 the more troubled I was. I went home; but I couldn't 
 laugh, I couldn't play. Mother, with her quick eye, 
 saw something was the matter, and wanted in her 
 sweet way to know if I was sick. I told her I was, and 
 I told the truth. I was sick, — sick in a way I had 
 never been before. It wasn't the headache, it wasn't 
 the stomach-ache ; and yet it was some sort of an ache 
 that made me sick all over. Mother wondered what 
 could be the matter, and made me up a little bed in the 
 room where she was working. But the tenderer she 
 was, the worse I felt. At last, after rolling and toss- 
 ing, I could stand it no longer, and faltered out, 
 "Mother, what do they do to folks that steal?" She 
 looked at me an instant: "Do? They put them in 
 prison, to be sure. Why ? " The rock was smitten, 
 and the waters gushed. I told her all, and went to 
 prison forthwith, — the prison of my mother's arms, 
 God's first and best reformatory institution the world 
 has ever known. It was my first experience of the 
 voice of God in my soul; and, though I did not under- 
 stand it then, I have since regarded it as one of the 
 truest religious experiences- of my life. 
 
 Our nearest neighbor was Judge Nathan Cushing. 
 He lived in a fine old mansion, close to our house. He 
 was a distinguished man, a graduate of Harvard, a 
 brave patriot in the Revolution; and in 1789 he was 
 appointed judge of the Supreme Court. He married 
 Miss Abigail Tilden, of Boston, a relative of father ; 
 and this may have added somewhat to the neighbor- 
 hood ties, for he was a good friend. He died while I 
 was very young ; but his fine old home, with its pleasant 
 surroundings, was one of the attractions of my early 
 
1 6 Autobiography 
 
 childhood. Aunt Lizzie especially, a domestic in the 
 household, a sort of general-see-to-everything, was my 
 special favorite. Perhaps it was her seed-cakes and 
 other dainties which lent a charm to our intimacy that 
 has lodged her pleasant face in my memory. 
 
 The old judge was particularly fond of my little 
 brother Albert, and used often to take him out to ride. 
 One day, when the time was approaching for Albert 
 to shed his frock, the judge took him home, and, un- 
 beknown to mother, had the frock taken off and tied 
 up in a bundle, and the boy arrayed in a beautiful suit 
 of velvet he had bought for him. Thus changed from 
 petticoats to velvet pants and jerkin, proud as a pea- 
 cock, he was carried home to his astonished mother. 
 The tradition of this pleasant incident is remembered 
 as one of the fairy stories of home life. If one wants 
 to make himself a hero and attain to earthly immor- 
 tality, let him give some boy his first suit of jacket and 
 pants. 
 
 By and by I was old enough to go to winter as well 
 as summer school. The winter school was taught by a 
 "master" who could handle the big boys in case of 
 mutiny. It was quite an experience for a child to pass 
 from a "ma'am" to a "master." My experience was 
 not altogether lovely. Our winter teachers were often 
 Harvard students who were allowed a winter vacation 
 for teaching, to eke out college expenses. One of these 
 I have reason to remember. I remember even his 
 steel-gray coat, trimmed with black braid, which gave 
 him quite a military air. 
 
 If he taught me anything, I have forgotten it ; but I 
 have not forgotten a most unmerciful boxing of the ears 
 
My Childhood 17 
 
 he gave me for something, — I cannot tell what, — and 
 how they turned blue, green, yellow, and less gorgeous 
 colors as they passed through the various stages of 
 convalescence. I remember, too, how I vowed, as many 
 a whipped boy has done before me, that, if ever I got 
 strong enough, I would "lick him." But steel-gray 
 left us when the term was over, and my child wrath 
 soon subsided. 
 
 That little woodshed at the end of the house was the 
 children's play-room, where we pounded old nails and 
 young fingers. We had a flag-pond, too, in the lower 
 field, back of the barn, which yielded abundance of flag- 
 root and pussy tails. A nice place for running and 
 catching butterflies was a high sodded bank next the 
 wall between our house and Judge Nathan's. 
 
 Our stormy-day play-room was an unfinished chamber 
 where odds and ends of castaway things were collected. 
 The most noteworthy of these were father's old mili- 
 tary trappings. He had held a captain's commission ; 
 and in the war of 18 12, as it was called, his regiment 
 was called out to guard the coast. A British seventy- 
 four lying off the harbor had sent a boat's crew ashore 
 for fresh provisions. These the loyal farmers refused, 
 and in retaliation they set fire to the vessels in the har- 
 bor. Ten fishing schooners and coasters were burned. 
 A great sensation was created, and the militia was 
 called out. I was too young to remember, but mother 
 and the old military relics kept the story fresh. There 
 in our rainy-day play-room were the epaulets, brass- 
 mounted sword and scabbard, and scarlet sash father 
 wore, and the long spontoon he carried. 
 
 When I was about six years old, father sold our snug 
 
1 8 Autobiography 
 
 little home, which was all paid for, and built a new 
 house on the North River, where he and his brother 
 carried on ship-building. This proved an unfortunate 
 change financially, for the new house, which father 
 spared no pains in building, cost much more than he 
 got for the old ; and from the debts thus incurred, fol- 
 lowed by a decline in business, he was never able to 
 extricate himself. I remember how mother mourned 
 over it ; and how, in view of this experience, she used to 
 say to me, "William, never get in debt." But, child as 
 I was, I was delighted, as all children are, with the idea 
 of moving ; and remember going to the place selected, 
 close to the ship-yard, to see them break ground for the 
 cellar with oxen and ploughs and scrapers. Our mov- 
 ing from the old house to the new may mark the transi- 
 tion from my childhood to my boyhood. 
 
III. 
 
 MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 1817-1822. 
 
 Block House Built. — Coasting. — Skating. — Fishing on 
 the North River. — Tandem Fishing. — Outside Fishing. 
 
 The site of our new house was at a bend of the river, 
 just above Union Bridge, known from early days as the 
 "Block House," where there were a fort and garrison 
 in Philip's War. This was the dear spot where I spent 
 my boyhood. It is precious with a thousand memories 
 that can neither be told nor forgotten. The new house 
 was but one story, like the old one ; but it was larger, 
 and two chambers were finished. We had a large barn, 
 and convenient out-buildings for pigs, hens, etc., and a 
 garden plot. Soon after moving, we had a " house- 
 warming," a large company of old and new neighbors 
 being invited. Father and mother loved society, and 
 made the company enjoy themselves. We had danc- 
 ing, I remember, in the long kitchen, with yellow 
 painted floor. There was a colored man named John 
 Wood, who played the violin. He wore a tall bell- 
 crowned hat, and cut quite a figure. He was not 
 much of a musician. My Uncle Elijah used to say 
 that the only way he could turn a tune was by bearing 
 on harder. There were no pianos in our neighbor- 
 hood. I doubt if there was one in town. So we all 
 
20 Autobiography 
 
 depended on John Wood. We always gave him his 
 whole name. He was an important personage. Oh, 
 how long it did seem to us children for him to get 
 ready to play, to tune his fiddle ! How he would resin 
 his bow, and screw up the strings, and scrape away till 
 they were almost in tune ! One screw more, and twang 
 goes the string. Then a new piece of catgut is unrolled, 
 and fastened, and wound up. Scrape, scrape, scrape 
 again, till at last "all ready." "Fisher's Hornpipe" or 
 "Money Musk" is started, and partners balance and 
 twirl up and down the middle in hilarious joy. I think 
 there was more fun in dancing, when I was a boy, 
 than there is now. There is more skill at present. We 
 bad few dancing-schools. Our young people took it 
 the natural way, as their fathers and mothers did ; and 
 a jolly good time we made of it. 
 
 What a happy night that was to me ! I was the 
 youngest, and was permitted to sit up. I think it was 
 my first ball. I presume I bawled the next day from 
 fatigue after my late hours. 
 
 We had not been long in our new home when we had 
 a great surprise, — a sweet little baby. I had been the 
 baby for seven years, and I liked it. To be sure, my 
 growing legs reached nearly to the floor when I sat in 
 mother's lap ; but I liked the dear chair so well, I had 
 rather be laughed at than to give it up. But now a little 
 daughter had come, and I could play baby no longer. 
 She was called "Lucy Brooks," after a favorite maiden 
 aunt, a sister of mother. Two years later another 
 little sister came to keep her from being lonesome. 
 This was the richest furnishing we had for the new 
 house. Now we were a family of seven, — a sacred num- 
 
My Boyhood 21 
 
 ber, — and the golden chain remained intact till mother 
 died, seventeen years after. Mother was forty-two 
 years old when her youngest was born. She was called 
 " Caroline," and a darling child she proved. There was 
 so long a space between me and the two youngest that 
 father used to call them the children of his second wife. 
 
 My main work at first, before and after school, was 
 to bring chips from the ship-yard for our open fires. 
 We never had a stove, while I lived at home, in kitchen 
 or sitting-room. Everything was cooked by a large, 
 open fire. On one side of our wide kitchen fireplace 
 was a brick oven, heated once a week, for great dome- 
 shaped loaves of brown bread and pies, and sometimes 
 meat. The clean white-oak chips made splendid fuel ; 
 and, though there were plenty of them, it was no small 
 job to keep a full supply in cold weather. I did not 
 always go to my task willingly, I am sorry to say, and 
 would sometimes roar like a "bull of Bashan " when 
 mother sent me for chips if I was not in the mood. I 
 think my grandchildren are a great improvement on 
 their grandfather when he was a boy. 
 
 My brother Albert was seven years older than I, so 
 that our playfellows were not the same. He fraternized 
 with the big boys, I with the smaller ones. At school 
 they used to call us "Butt and Bill," for short. All the 
 boys were nicknamed. Our district school was a very 
 good one, care being taken to secure good teachers. 
 We had about four months' summer school and three 
 months' winter. This gave long vacations. But my 
 school-days were very happy, as was, indeed, my whole 
 boyhood. Within an eighth of a mile were two great 
 attractions : one, London Hill, grandly steep for slid- 
 
22 Autobiography 
 
 ing ; the other, Thatcher's Pond, a glorious place for 
 sailing boats in summer and sliding and skating in 
 winter. On one side of it was a high hill, slanting down 
 to the water's edge. When sliding was good, we would 
 start from the top of the hill, and, passing swiftly down, 
 strike the smooth ice of the pond and shoot across it. 
 It was real fun. We little folks had to scamper, when 
 we saw a sled coming ; and, when we got larger, other 
 little folks had to pay their obeisance to the kings. 
 
 Fortunately for our peril and consequent enjoyment, 
 there was a narrow cartway about half-way down the 
 side of the hill. It made a capital "jump." We went 
 over it with an exhilarating bound. Sometimes, on 
 moonlight evenings, the larger boys would take Mr. 
 Thatcher Tilden's ox-sled, — " Old Thatcher," I am 
 sorry to say, we all called him, — they would take his ox- 
 sled, throw the heavy tongue back on the bottom, drag 
 it with infinite pains and by main strength to the top of 
 the hill, and load it with boys, heaping them up into 
 a dome of squirming and shouting life. One or two 
 stout boys would keep off to start the loaded sled, 
 jump on, and steer. Sometimes a good deal of push- 
 ing and shouting — especially shouting, each one giv- 
 ing orders as if he were skipper — was necessary to 
 start. It was a kind of launching on a small scale. 
 Finally, she starts, the steerers jump on, and away she 
 goes, increasing her speed every moment with her 
 heavy load, so that, when she goes over the "jump," she 
 leaps clear of the ground and comes down with a whack 
 that scatters the little fellows on top over the snowy 
 sides of the hill, and rushes on with all who can hold 
 their grip till she strikes the glassy pond, and slides on 
 
My Boyhood 23 
 
 away, away across the pond, amid shouts such as fabled 
 Bedlam could hardly have surpassed. 
 
 There I learned to skate ; and such a time as I had 
 of it, and such skates ! My first were little low irons, 
 ground down on one side, — for what I never knew, ex- 
 cept to exercise small boys in tumbling. These were 
 tied on with strings. In a year or two I graduated into 
 straps and buckles. Perhaps they were an old pair that 
 "Butt" had outgrown: I don't remember. But at last 
 I became quite skilful, and could " cut rings " and 
 "figure eights" and "scull backwards" as well as for- 
 wards and sidewise with any of them, though I never 
 was an expert. 
 
 At the winter school the big boys had to cut all the 
 wood that was burned in the school-room. The wood 
 was dumped in the yard, and a delegation of boys was 
 selected by the master to cut and split and pile up in 
 the shed. To get appointed on this outdoor work was 
 regarded as a great favor. It was such a relief from 
 over-exacting studies ! Our chief article of luxury at 
 school recess was molasses candy. This brought a uni- 
 form price of one cent a stick, though, when molasses 
 was cheap and the candy merchant generous, we may 
 have had a longer or thicker stick. At first there were 
 a good many competitors in this line of business ; but, 
 here as elsewhere, genius tells. There was one family 
 that had a real genius for molasses candy. It was 
 always nice, well pulled, of delicate straw color, cut in 
 equal lengths, crisp, and brittle, — just the kind a boy 
 liked, not only to eat for himself, but to give to the 
 sweetest girl he knew. 
 
 I remember one day at recess I had a nice stick, 
 
24 Autobiography 
 
 and a flock of not-at-all-diffident girls pressed around me 
 with " Oh, give it to me, give it to me ! " As I was 
 holding them at bay, undecided which should have it, 
 a little plump hand was reached out from behind the 
 door. I knew the hand, though all else was hidden. I 
 slipped the candy into that hand, to the great annoy- 
 ance, no doubt, of the besiegers, and went my way. 
 When I grew to manhood, I took that little hand in 
 mine, and " vowed to love, cherish, and protect as long 
 as we both should live." 'Tis sweet, modest diffidence 
 that wins, if the girls only knew it. 
 
 The North River abounded in fish. Eels were 
 caught with bobs in the spring, from the banks, with 
 pole and line, and in winter through the ice, with 
 spears long enough to reach the bottom and draw them 
 out of their snug winter home. Herrings and shad 
 were caught in abundance in seines, in the spring of 
 the year. Perch and bass were not very plentiful, but 
 very delicious ; and the clam banks in the lower reaches 
 of the river, near the sea, yielded an abundance of very 
 sweet clams. These various kinds of fish, with smelts, 
 taken by hand nets from the herring brooks, formed a 
 large part of our food in winter-time. Taken right 
 from the water, with mother to cook them at an open 
 fire, they were superb. 
 
 The method of fishing for bass and perch through 
 the ice was peculiar. A large round hole was cut over 
 the channel, the deepest place in the river, where the 
 current was the strongest and the fish most likely to 
 swim. Into this hole, made very smooth at the edge, 
 was dropped a net attached to a long pole. 
 
 The iron bow to which the net was attached was 
 
My Boyhood 25 
 
 about four feet in diameter, the hole in the ice 
 about five, to give it easy play. First, the net was 
 dropped, as fast as it would sink, and the long pole 
 laid flat upon the ice ; then the end of the pole farthest 
 from the net lifted to an angle of about forty-five de- 
 grees, and the net run down till it touched the bottom. 
 Then the end with the pin was taken, breast high, and 
 swept round and round, the pole easily slipping round 
 the smooth-cut edge, the fisher making a circle at 
 about ten feet distance, like the path of a horse round 
 a cider-mill. After sweeping round about a dozen 
 times, — thirteen is a lucky number, — the long pole is 
 drawn up and laid flat on the ice, so that the bow of 
 the net will lie horizontal with the surface of the water 
 in the hole. It was fun, while the net was in this posi- 
 tion, its contents all unknown, to go and lift a section 
 of the net with thumb and finger, to judge by feeling 
 the twitches what sort of a haul had been made. One 
 soon learned to tell if there was a bass in the net 
 by the vigorous jerk. Perch were less demonstrative, 
 though some of the larger ones would beguile you with 
 the hope of a bass. After this process of prophesying 
 had been duly indulged, the net was lifted and drawn 
 out upon the ice. Perhaps a striped bass of three or 
 four pounds, though this was rare, and a number of 
 shiny perch, which was more common, would be spilled 
 out upon the ice or picked out of the meshes where 
 they had caught. This fishing was all done by night, 
 and at certain times in the tide. 
 
 After I got large enough, I used to help father in 
 this fishing. So we made a tandem team, with the colt 
 ahead. Father was the fill horse, and held the pole to 
 
26 Autobiography 
 
 his breast, pushing round and round the circle made 
 white by the irons attached to his boots to keep him 
 from slipping. But it was hard pushing against the 
 tide. So a rope was attached to the pole, and, taking 
 the end over my shoulder, I planted my little irons in 
 the ice and pulled away. But I confess I liked prophe- 
 sying with thumb and finger better than pulling. 
 
 Living so near the river, I early became expert in 
 the use of boats. Father had a float, as he called it, — 
 a large canoe, which was very easily upset ; but I soon 
 learned to manage it, and the first money I remember 
 to have earned was for paddling men, one at a time, 
 across the river in this float. There was a toll on the 
 bridge, a quarter of a mile below ; and carpenters wish- 
 ing to take a short cut to Marshfield would give me a 
 cent or two for paddling them across. So, like Vander- 
 bilt, I began my business career with "a ferry-boat." 
 But here the resemblance ends. When a little older, I 
 worked for the neighbors in haying-time, raking scat- 
 terings and stowing away on the load and haymow, at 
 a quarter of a dollar a day. That was good wages. 
 But the season for such exorbitant pay was short. 
 
 I well remember my first experience of outside fish- 
 ing, — outside the beach. Father was in the habit of 
 going out in the bay for cod and haddock, in spring 
 and fall. It seemed to me very attractive, and I begged 
 to go out with him next time. He consented, to my 
 great delight. We took a large whale-boat, and, with 
 four or five men and stores for two days, we rowed 
 down the river to the beach for the night, and went up 
 to a barn on the cliff, a corner of which was made into 
 a house occupied by "old Hyland." There we ate our 
 
My Boyhood 2 J 
 
 supper, and bunked for the night on his soft haymow. 
 As soon as the day broke, we were up and off to our 
 boat, stowing snugly away our water-keg, lines, and 
 reels, and superfluous garments, shipping the oars all 
 ready for use. The men then seized the boat by the 
 gunwale on either side, and slid her down the sandy 
 beach to the surf. 
 
 There was no land between us and Europe, so that 
 an east wind set into the bay with great force, and 
 sometimes the breakers were so high as to make a 
 launch through them difficult. A sea would strike the 
 bow of the boat on one side and throw her round 
 broadside to the beach and swamp her. But this 
 morning the wind was inshore and the breakers moder- 
 ate. Running the bow of the boat a little way into 
 the foamy surf, the men rested and waited for a good 
 time to launch. " Now is the time, boys ! Let her 
 run!" Father jumps in and seizes the steering oar. 
 Then strong men on either side wade in and push the 
 boat till, just as she clears her keel from the beach, 
 they spring in, out oars, and with a few strokes there 
 we are, the surf in a wreath of white foam behind us, 
 and three thousand miles of briny deep before us. 
 And, though we didn't propose going so far, yet to the 
 little shaver cuddled down in the bow it was a memo- 
 rable occasion, his first voyage to sea. Oh, how 
 delightfully the lapstreak boat rose and fell with roll- 
 ing waves ! 
 
 There were certain places two or three miles from 
 shore where the best fishing was supposed to be found. 
 These were indicated by certain objects on shore. 
 When old Hyland's barn was in range with some- 
 
28 Autobiography 
 
 thing on the hills, and Scituate light-house with some- 
 thing else, then we could ship our oars and drop our 
 stone kedge. Now we are still. The boat swings to 
 the wind. We pack the oars close to the gunwale, 
 stow things snug, bait our hooks with the clams dug 
 the afternoon before, and throw over our leads. Away 
 they run, ten fathom, twenty fathom, when we feel 
 the lead strike the bottom. The seines attached to 
 the lead and holding the baited hooks are about two 
 feet long. So we haul up the lead about two feet, that 
 the bait may rest on the bottom. They don't bite at 
 once. So we can take a view of the shore. How 
 strange the cliffs look from the outside, — like a half- 
 loaf of brown bread with cut side to the sea, as mother 
 used to put it to the fire to toast for my milk ! And the 
 beach, — how low it looked, the surf all gone ! Father 
 sits in the stern sheets, and draws his line up and 
 down. Ha ! a rub ! a nibble ! a bite ! Father's face 
 glows, he stands up, pulls away hand over hand, till by 
 and by we see the fish gleaming and whirling fathoms 
 below; and now over the gunwale it comes, — a fine cod 
 right from the briny deep. 
 
 " Hurrah for the first fish ! " 
 
 And now another and another. I don't remember 
 whether I caught any or not. I soon lost my ambition. 
 Somehow I grew pensive. I thought of home and 
 the nice shagbarks I gathered the day before under 
 the shady walnut-trees. I almost wished I hadn't 
 come. I didn't like outside fishing. I hauled in my 
 line : the bait was gone. I had had a bite without 
 knowing it. I lay back on the thwart. I looked into 
 the blue sky. It didn't look handsome as it used to at 
 
My Boyhood 29 
 
 home. I closed my eyes. Suddenly a peculiar sensa- 
 tion. I threw my head over the gunwale. My break- 
 fast was gone : I felt better. I raised my head. Oh, 
 how lovely the shore looked ! Should I ever tread it 
 again ? And again the beauty faded from shore and 
 sky. Again to the gunwale, and whatever was left of 
 breakfast was given without a murmur to old Neptune. 
 But how could I stand it? It was only nine o'clock in 
 the morning, and we should not go in till the afternoon. 
 Could I live ? It didn't seem to me that I could. So I 
 begged father to set me ashore, and I would stay on the 
 beach till they came. The indulgent man consented; 
 and, the other men being sympathetic, they hauled up 
 our kedge, rowed in, and landed me on the beach. 
 
 Oh, what a happy creature was I when my feet 
 touched the golden sand ! The boat pushed off again, 
 and left me there to roam up and down the surf- 
 smoothed, sandy floor, to gather shells and kelp and 
 bits of driftwood tossed ashore from the vasty deep. 
 At last, as the sun began to cast a longer shadow east- 
 ward, I saw the little speck of a boat, away off yon- 
 der, moving toward me. Now I could see the fleck of 
 the oars, now seethe men, now see father at the helm, 
 now hear their voices. Now I was bold as a lion. 
 I could rush into the surf to help haul the boat ashore, 
 and hurrah with the loudest over the fine fare of fish 
 we had caught. But I didn't ask to go the next time. 
 
IV. 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 1822-1824. 
 
 My Father. — Madame Cushing. — Death of Playfellow. 
 — Grandfather Tilden. — Old Church. — Grist-mill. — 
 Grandfather Brooks. 
 
 Though we had but little land, we kept a cow and 
 hired her pastured. I was cow-boy, and responsible 
 for finding and bringing her home at night. One after- 
 noon, I remember, a tempest came up. I went for 
 the cow, found her ; and, as I was driving her home, 
 the chain lightning ran in brilliant crinkles along the 
 ground, so close as nearly to touch my feet. I do not 
 remember to have seen the phenomenon since. 
 
 Every autumn father laid in his winter store, — pota- 
 toes, beef, and pork enough for the year. When he 
 killed his beef and pork, I remember how he always 
 selected some nice pieces for certain neighbors, not 
 very well off, and sent them around. Dear man, his 
 heart was always larger than his means. He was a 
 great gunner, a fine shot ; but, while he generally 
 brought home a good lot of birds, he derived more 
 pleasure than profit from his gunning. 
 
 One of the fine old places in Scituate was Madame 
 Cushing's, in the centre of the town. Her husband, 
 Judge William Cushing, was a relative of Judge Nathan 
 
Boyhood 3 1 
 
 Cushing, who gave my brother his suit of velvet. He 
 was quite distinguished in his day, — the friend of Wash- 
 ington, and selected by him for one of the Justices of 
 the Supreme Court of the United States at the organi- 
 zation of the government. He died before I was born, 
 but his widow continued to live on the place. She was 
 a lady of the old school, who had been accustomed to 
 the best society. She was known always as " Madame 
 Cushing"; and her fine old mansion and beautiful 
 grounds were a delight to my boyish eyes. There was 
 no place like it in town. Then, too, she was generous 
 to us boys, and at cherry time would invite us into her 
 beautiful garden, and give us the free range of her 
 magnificent "black-heart" cherry-trees, the largest and 
 finest I ever saw. But a boy's stomach, though capa- 
 cious, has its natural limits ; and I remember with 
 shame how, on one of these generous treats, I over- 
 stepped those limits, and lost my relish ever after for 
 that most delicious fruit. 
 
 When eleven or twelve, I met with my first great 
 sorrow in the death of a dear playfellow, — Harry Cush- 
 ing. He was a little older than I ; but we were neigh- 
 bors, went to the same school, joined in the same plays, 
 and he was very dear to me. Indeed, he was dear to 
 all his playfellows, — a general favorite. He got acci- 
 dentally injured, and died of lockjaw. His death made 
 a great impression upon me. It waked my better nat- 
 ure, and started deep resolves for a new life. Our 
 minister was deeply moved at the funeral ; and I re- 
 member to this day some of the things he said in his 
 prayer. 
 
 It was customary to select pall-bearers from among 
 
32 Autobiography 
 
 those near the same age. I was one of them. Before 
 starting in the funeral procession, we boys were invited 
 into a small room to take something to drink. It was 
 the custom of the time, and we thought nothing of it. 
 Its omission would have been regarded as a lack of 
 courtesy. But Harry, dear Harry! How truly we 
 mourned for him ! I think his going was an epoch in 
 my religious life. It made me thoughtful, — the first 
 step in the upward path. 
 
 Soon after we moved to the new house, father and 
 his brother — Uncle Jotham — built a fishing schooner 
 for Captain Josiah Ryder, of Chatham. The captain 
 stayed at our house some time while the vessel was 
 being finished. He was the tallest man I had ever 
 seen. Indeed, I don't know as I ever saw a taller man 
 out of "Barnum's Greatest Show on Earth." He was 
 six feet and — I don't know how many inches. His 
 long boots, worn over his pants and coming up to his 
 knees, were enormous. I used sometimes to try one 
 on before he was up in the morning. 
 
 The captain was as good as he was tall. He was 
 a fervent Methodist, and used to sing with enthusiasm 
 the Methodist tunes then current. The chorus of one 
 of them became quite popular with us children, and ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " Through grace, free grace, 
 Through grace, free grace, 
 To all the Jews and Gentile race." 
 
 We had little idea then of the Methodist devotion to 
 
 "free" grace; but the tune sung itself, and we liked it. 
 
 At that time my oldest sister was a pretty black- 
 
Boyhood 33 
 
 eyed girl of about sweet sixteen, and the schooner was 
 named for her, "Philenda." 
 
 A young sailor captain came to take charge of her, by 
 the name of Godfrey, — Captain George Godfrey. He 
 was a fine young man, handsome, good, promising in 
 every respect. Dear fellow, he was lost soon after. 
 He was coming in to Chatham with a full freight, and 
 foundered on Polluck Rip. All perished. But he left 
 a sweet, sad memory in our home. 
 
 My grandfather, Deacon Samuel Tilden, lived in 
 Marshfield, near Gravelly Beach, about a mile above the 
 Block House. He was a direct descendant from Elder 
 Nathaniel, and inherited land held in the family since 
 1640. The situation of the old house was beautiful, 
 with hills on the east and the winding river and fertile 
 meadows on the west. My grandfather was a very old 
 man when I was a boy. He was nearly blind for many 
 of the latter years of his life. I used frequently to be 
 sent over the river and through the pastures to his 
 house, on an errand. He was a dear, good old man 
 whom everybody loved. How plainly I can see him, in 
 a woollen cap to cover his bald head, and green baize 
 dressing-gown ! He was a small man, with a kindly 
 face and large, full eye. He had no stoop in his old 
 age, but was straight as an arrow. He was slow of 
 speech ; and his voice was thin, but tender and loving. 
 When I went in, he would call me to him, and, laying 
 his hand on my head, would say : " Who's this ? 'Tain't 
 William, is it ? " He always guessed right, blind as he 
 was ; for he knew the voices of his grandchildren. He 
 lived to be about ninety-four, and died universally es- 
 teemed. He had ten children, nine sons and one 
 daughter. My father was the seventh son. 
 
34 Autobiography 
 
 My uncle Jotham, father's partner in ship-building, 
 lived just over the river on a hill a quarter of a mile 
 away. He had a family of four sons and two daughters. 
 They attended church with us at Scituate. And it was 
 a pretty sight to my young eyes to see them winding 
 along, in their best attire, down the hill to the river, on 
 a Sunday morning, and across in the large, flat-bottomed 
 boat made for the occasion. Landing on our side, they 
 would come up by our house, where we would join them, 
 and all walk up through the pastures to the main road 
 together, and then a third of a mile further, to the old 
 church on the hill, the sweet-toned bell all the time 
 calling: "Come! Come! Come!" 
 
 On the roadside the sweet fern grew in great abun- 
 dance. I used to pluck it and chew it, as the disciples 
 did the ears of corn on the Sabbath day. Even now, 
 whenever I taste in the country that fragrant shrub, 
 I am carried back to those Sunday mornings when I 
 plucked it on my way to church. 
 
 In the church we had the old-fashioned square pews 
 of the period, with high backs to break the draught, 
 hiding the inmates from the view of all but the minister, 
 who could look down from his lofty pulpit, and see if all 
 his sheep and lambs were in their pens. Round the 
 tops of these high-backed pews there was a sort of 
 frieze of open work, four or six inches wide, divided into 
 narrow spaces by turned pieces of hard wood held by 
 a rail above and below. This seemed made for the 
 children to peep through, the little turned uprights 
 offering a great temptation to try to see how far they 
 could be twisted round without squeaking. Of course, 
 we could not tell till they did squeak ; and then — well, 
 
Boyhood 3 S 
 
 we mustn't do it again. But, then, how could we keep 
 our hands off ? The little rollers seemed to have been 
 made to turn and to squeak. The seats all round the 
 four-sided pews were without cushions, and hung on 
 hinges, so as to turn up and make easy standing during 
 prayers, when every one stood up. Such an indecency 
 as sitting during prayer had not then been heard of. 
 When at last the long prayer was over, along with and 
 drowning the "Amen '' of the minister, slam, bang, slam, 
 bang, went the seats all round the church, up and down 
 the long aisles and across the short ones, like the sharp 
 report of a platoon of soldiers on muster-day trying to 
 fire all together, but missing it. We had no stove in 
 church, even in coldest weather. Mother used to 
 bring with her a little foot-stove, with hard-wood coals 
 taken from the home fireplace. 
 
 Right under the pulpit there was a long, narrow pew 
 where the two deacons sat. They were literally under 
 the droppings of the sanctuary. The communion table 
 was a wide shelf, or leaf, hung on hinges to the front of 
 this pew, being lifted only when the table was spread. 
 
 Near the pulpit, on the right of the broad aisle, were 
 a few long pews, with oak backs and seats, for such old 
 men as were too poor to hire seats ; and on the left-hand 
 side the same provision was made for poor old women. 
 There was a wide gallery on three sides of the church, 
 where the seats were free ; and above that, in the 
 farthest corner, a little box, a sort of crow's nest for 
 the colored people, of whom there were several families 
 in our part of the town. 
 
 The bell was rung on a floor high up in the tower, 
 and from that floor there was a single square of glass 
 
36 Autobiography 
 
 away up close to the ceiling of the church through 
 which the sexton could look and see when the minister 
 was in the pulpit. Then, with three strokes of the bell, 
 all was silent, or supposed to be ; for the people kept 
 coming in for some time after the minister was ready 
 to begin. The fashion was to stay round the church 
 door, outside or inside, talking of national or neighbor- 
 hood matters, the vessels on the stocks, the condition of 
 the crops, etc., till the minister was in his place. And 
 it was not all irreverence. Sunday was the only day in 
 the week they met, and the meeting-house the only 
 place of rendezvous ; and, as theology was never a sub- 
 ject of much contention in our parish, they talked on 
 the subjects of most pressing interest. 
 
 The choir occupied seats right in front of the pulpit ; 
 and, as the pulpit was on the side of the church, not 
 the end, as is now the fashion, the singers and the 
 preacher were not far apart. Of course, we had no 
 organ or melodeon. The time for such instruments in 
 country churches had not yet come. But we had a 
 bass-viol and a double-bass, a flute, a clarinet, and 
 some other instruments. For the rest we depended on 
 human voices. And fine voices some of them were. 
 My aunt Lucy Brooks sang very sweetly. And one 
 man by the name of Oldham, who stuttered most dis- 
 tressingly in common conversation, had a splendid 
 tenor voice, and sang like an angel. 
 
 Our minister, too, Rev. Samuel Deane, was a superb 
 singer. On one of the Forefathers' celebrations at 
 Plymouth, he was selected to sing "The breaking 
 waves dashed high." That he did it grandly all who 
 had heard him sing in his own church will easily believe. 
 
Boyhood 37 
 
 He knew so much of music that he was inde- 
 pendent of the choir, and would strike in in unex- 
 pected places and sing round them, always in perfect 
 harmony. The choir, half through a line, would hear 
 his voice, clear and musical, begin at the beginning ) 
 give each syllable in distinct enunciation, and, bound- 
 ing over the spaces, come out with them on the last 
 word in time and tune as perfect as if he had been 
 with them from the beginning. It was a sort of musi- 
 cal sleight-of-hand that I never fully understood, but 
 greatly enjoyed. 
 
 A word more of the old bell that hung in the open 
 belfry, with wheel and rope exposed to all weather. I 
 hardly know why I loved that bell so well, for its tones 
 were not all happy. It sometimes had a "sweetly 
 solemn sound," especially on week-days. On Sundays 
 it sent forth a joyous call for worship " over the hills 
 and far away," as if there were an angel in the belfry 
 singing "Praise God from whom all blessings flow," "I 
 was glad when they said unto me, Come, let us go up 
 to the house of the Lord." But, whenever we heard it 
 on a week-day, it startled us. We knew it meant that 
 somebody had died. It was the custom in early morn- 
 ing, after a death, to give the sad intelligence by the 
 bell. It was the quickest and the most fitting way to 
 do it. Whether it was a child or man or woman was 
 indicated by certain strokes of the bell. Then, after a 
 short pause, if it was an adult, the age would be tolled, 
 giving as many strokes as the person had lived years. 
 As soon as the solemn sounds had ceased, began the 
 subdued inquiry, "Who can it be?" On the streets, 
 in the stores, in the fields, in the ship-yards, in the 
 
38 Autobiography 
 
 home, " Who can it be ? " I remember being out in 
 the pasture one morning, — perhaps I had been to drive 
 the cow, — when the bell began to strike the age. I 
 started to run home, counting as I ran, to be the first to 
 tell, and join the wonder, " Who can it be ? " Precious 
 old bell ! I remember how tame and flat other bells 
 in the towns around seemed when I first heard them. 
 
 In front of the old church, not far from the door, 
 was a horse-block for those who rode to meeting horse- 
 back, on pillions behind their husbands. But most 
 came in open wagons or walked. There were but few 
 chaises in town. One second-hand barouche, I remem- 
 ber, created quite a sensation. 
 
 The old grist-mill was one of the institutions of my 
 boyhood. It was a shackly old mill, with a small 
 pond, dry a part of the year ; but it did most of the 
 grinding of corn and rye in our neighborhood. It was 
 not far from father's, across lots ; and I was frequently 
 sent with a half-bushel on my back to get it ground. 
 The rocks in the pond served as a gauge of its capac- 
 ity. If the "bushel rock" was just in sight, the old 
 miller could grind a bushel ; and so down to the " peck 
 rock." When that showed its brown head, only a peck 
 could be ground. Below the "peck rock," there was 
 nothing to do but leave your grist and wait for a 
 shower. The old, dark flume, the rickety old gate, 
 lifted by a lever, the black wheel whirling around in 
 a tub away down below, were all deep mysteries to my 
 boyhood. What if I should fall into the flume, go 
 through the gate, round the wheel in the tub, — how 
 much of me would there be left ? The hopper-room, 
 where the grists were left to wait their turn, was on a 
 
Boyhood 39 
 
 level with the dam, over which the cart-path passed. 
 In the next room below was a long wooden trough, 
 breast high, into which the meal came down. There 
 the old miller, "Uncle Tom," used to stand, letting the 
 meal pass through his fingers to test its fineness. If 
 too coarse, he would turn a screw over the trough and 
 let the stones come closer together. If too fine, the 
 screw would lift the upper stone. How often have I 
 stood and watched and wondered ! There were gener- 
 ally a number of bags in the hopper-room waiting their 
 tarn, " first come, first served," being the rule. This 
 story used to be told of a little grandson of Uncle 
 Tom. The child's father loved a joke, and, when he 
 sent his boy to mill for the first time, he told him he 
 was sorry to say that his grandpa needed watching, — 
 that he had been known to take a small portion of corn 
 out of the hopper while it was being ground, and put 
 it aside for himself. The little boy thus set to watch, 
 and knowing nothing of toll, kept his eye closely on 
 his grandpa. When he got home with his grist, his 
 father said, with a twinkle in his eye, " Well, sonny, 
 did grandpa take any of it ?" "Yes, he did ; but, when 
 he went below, I put it right back again." I don't 
 know whether grandpa ever knew that he ground that 
 grist without compensation. Sometimes, in long 
 droughts, we had to go to the harbor, four miles away, 
 to get our grain ground at the tide-mill that never 
 failed. 
 
 In going to the harbor, we passed the post-office 
 near the centre of the town. It was kept at this time 
 by a respectable old farmer, on the upper shelf of his 
 kitchen closet, in a box about large enough to hold 
 
40 Autobiography 
 
 seven pounds of sugar. The mail came once a week, 
 I think ; and the letters were safely boxed till called for, 
 when the postage must be paid. Neither envelopes 
 nor stamps were then known. Nothing was prepaid, 
 and the postage was high, depending on the distance. 
 Twenty-five cents was often paid for letters. Many 
 curious and ingenious methods were adopted for fold- 
 ing letters so as to give space for the largest amount of 
 writing without a word showing on the outside. All 
 this ingenuity lost its stimulus when the envelope 
 came into use. 
 
 In 1822 my sister Philenda, then twenty, was mar- 
 ried to a young man, — Joseph Bond, — a druggist from 
 Boston, who had come to Scituate to visit a relative. 
 He saw Philenda, and fell in love with her, as well he 
 might ; for she was very handsome, and as smart as 
 she was good-looking. She did not care for him at 
 first, and once, I remember, when she saw him coming, 
 ran away from him, jumped over a gap in the wall, and 
 went into the school she was then teaching, some dis- 
 tance away. Perhaps he didn't know why the bird had 
 flown. But he believed "faint heart never won fair 
 lady," and persevered till he won. And as kind and 
 pure and noble husband he made as ever a woman had. 
 He settled as a druggist in Waltham, Mass. ; and the 
 visits I used to make to their new home, so tasteful and 
 neat, are among the pleasant memories of my boyhood. 
 
 I have told you of Grandpa Tilden : let me tell you 
 also of Grandpa Brooks, mother's father. Captain 
 William Brooks, as he was called, lived nearly opposite 
 Grandpa Tilden, on the Scituate side of the North River. 
 His children were : William, Sally, Seth, Philenda, — that 
 
Boyhood 41 
 
 was mother, — Temperance, Elijah, Lucy, and Nathan. 
 All married but Lucy. She was a favorite maiden aunt, 
 the one who sang in the choir so sweetly. Mother 
 used frequently to take me with her when she went to 
 see her father ; and it was a charming place to visit. 
 There was a sweet and never-failing well on the hill- 
 side near the house, and the water was brought down 
 in an open wooden spout. I loved especially to go 
 there in the autumn, for there were two immense pear- 
 trees whose fruit was delicious. The apples were good, 
 but the pears were the never-to-be-forgotten luxury. 
 My mouth waters at the remembrance of them. 
 Grandpa Brooks was a ship-carpenter, as nearly all 
 were, — a large, rosy-cheeked man, of an English build. 
 He owned a large farm, and worked on the land as well 
 as in the ship-yard. I was a small boy when he died. 
 
V. 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 1824-1832. 
 
 First leaving Home — Schooner "Hope." — Great Storm. 
 — "Rising Middle." — South-west Harbor, Mi. De- 
 sert. — Roxanna. — High Line. — Mackerel Fishing, 
 Seines, Trailing, Jiggering, Dressing and Salting the 
 Mackerel. — Cooking. — Stores. — Preserved Bloaters. 
 — ■ Packing Day. — Learning Trade. — Twenty-one. 
 
 The summer I was thirteen was eventful to me, as 
 it was that summer I first left home, — not for a long 
 season, but long enough to be an event in my home 
 life. 
 
 Mackerel fishing at that time was a great source of 
 revenue among the coast towns, from Portland on the 
 North shore to Plymouth and Provincetown on the 
 South. Scituate Harbor, Cohasset, and Hingham Cove, 
 each fitted out a large fleet. It was an honorable and, 
 at times, quite lucrative calling, — not quite equal in 
 dignity to "going to sea," but a step in a nautical 
 direction. As I had picked chips for years from the 
 yard where father had built fishing vessels, I seemed 
 foreordained to the calling. 
 
 A favorite skipper, sober and kind, in whom mother 
 had confidence, lived in the neighborhood. I wanted 
 to go with him, and she consented. So I shipped as 
 
Boyhood 43 
 
 " monkey.'' The smallest boy on board had the poor- 
 est place to fish assigned to him, and was called "mon- 
 key.'' It was an appropriate name. 
 
 When it was decided that I was to go, then came the 
 fitting out. I must have a pea-jacket, with pants to 
 match, red flannel shirts, cowhide boots, and a tar- 
 paulin hat. 
 
 All but the boots mother made with her own hands. 
 If I was a little proud in my new rig, it was only 
 because I was human and susceptible to human ambi- 
 tions. We sailed from Hingham in the schooner 
 "Beaver," owned by Thomas Loring, Esq., — "Old Tom" 
 we irreverently called him, — a fine-looking old man, 
 wearing short-clothes, and plated buckles on knees and 
 shoes. Hingham Cove was about eight or nine miles 
 from our house, but we used to walk back and forth, car- 
 rying our bundles. We went over the mountain road, 
 as it was called. On the highest point there was a 
 large beech-tree we used to call the " Half-way Tree," 
 where we could rest awhile in its welcome shade. 
 After the " Beaver " was fitted out, we sailed first for 
 Boston to "take in salt." This was my first visit to 
 the new city. It received its city charter only two 
 years before, and then had a population of about forty- 
 five thousand. But it was the biggest place I had ever 
 seen, and seemed to me very wonderful. We were 
 rather unfortunate in our fishing that summer, and I 
 had nothing coming in the autumn, but it was a mem- 
 orable experience ; and, when we " cleared out," I con- 
 sidered myself a regular "Old Tar." If I "rolled" in 
 walking like a sailor, and " trimmed ship " and went 
 "in stays" and "let go jib sheets," and cried, "Helms 
 
44 A utobiography 
 
 alee!" and "Land ho!" when there seemed to be no 
 occasion, it was only as a Freshman in college talks of 
 Virgil and the classics to his mother, on his first home 
 vacation. 
 
 The next season I went with another neighborhood 
 skipper in an old schooner called " Hope." If I had 
 known as much about vessels then as I did afterwards, 
 I should have thought " Fear " a more appropriate 
 name ; for she was a rickety old craft, scarcely sea- 
 worthy, and the wonder was that she did not spill us 
 all out before the season was over. She was a long, 
 low-decked vessel ; and, standing on the quarter, in a 
 heavy sea we could see her bend and twist like an old 
 basket to adjust herself to the waves. And yet she 
 carried us safely through one of the severest gales I 
 ever experienced. We were off Sandy Hook as the 
 storm began to brew, and our mate was very anxious to 
 run in for the night. But the skipper was opposed, and 
 laid her head off shore, into the gathering storm. Oh, 
 how homelike the houses looked on the shore as we 
 left them behind ! Soon it blew a gale, so that we had 
 to take in all sail save a close-reefed foresail, and lay to. 
 Under this sail, we made little headway, but drifted 
 almost dead to leeward. This drift was nearly in a 
 line with the coast, and along the coast lay the danger- 
 ous Barnegat Shoals. We could not tell whether we 
 should clear them or not. But on the other tack, we 
 should be sure to be wrecked ; so there was nothing to 
 do but to keep on, and take whatever might come. I 
 rather think the skipper wished now he had taken 
 counsel and gone in to Sandy Hook. But, of course, 
 he didn't say it. As the darkness deepened, the gale 
 
Boyhood 45 
 
 increased, and the sea swept over our main deck so 
 that no watch could stand against it. Indeed, watch 
 was useless, for nothing could be seen in the pitchy 
 darkness. Every now and then a heavy sea would 
 break upon the quarter-deck and pour down the gang- 
 way. The skipper saw we were entirely helpless. 
 The helm was lashed hard down. If we came in con- 
 tact with a vessel, there was no help, for we could do 
 nothing. If we struck on the reef we knew we were 
 near, there was nothing to be done but to go down. 
 So at last the skipper had the companion way closed 
 and fastened, and we were all shut in below, leaving 
 the crazy old basket to the mercy of the winds and 
 waves. It was a terrible night. Few words were 
 spoken. We all knew the danger. The sea swept 
 over us as over a log. Hour after hour passed, and 
 still we did not strike. The old hull bent and twisted, 
 but did not break. The short hours came, and we still 
 lived. At last there was a lull. We opened the com- 
 panion doors, and the day had broken, the wind was 
 going down, the sea was easier. We crawled out, one 
 after another, on deck, holding on for fear of being 
 wrecked or blown off. The wind was down, the danger 
 was over. Dear old " Hope," — she was well named 
 after all. She had brought us safely through the gale, 
 and we would never call her bad names again, — never, 
 no, never ! 
 
 Soon there was a dead calm, the clouds lifted, and, 
 when the next breeze sprung up, it was from the oppo- 
 site point of the compass, and we saw a ship coming 
 toward us under full sail, studding sails all set, as if she 
 had been running all night with a fair wind over 
 
46 Autobiography 
 
 smooth seas, as she probably had, our north-east gale 
 having spent itself before it reached her. How beau- 
 tiful that ship looked, — a white-winged angel coming 
 with a message of joy and gladness from "Him who 
 holdeth the waters in the hollow of his hand " ! 
 
 When we had caught our fare of fish, we went into 
 New York and sold them, packing them in Brooklyn. 
 This was the first time I was ever in New York. It 
 was in the summer of 1825, and I was fourteen years 
 old. Immense as the city then seemed, it extended 
 only from the Battery back as far as the City Hall. 
 Brooklyn was a quiet suburb of summer residences, 
 with extensive and beautiful gardens. The ferry- 
 boats, I remember, were side-wheelers, driven by tread- 
 mill horse-power. But it was the same beautiful 
 harbor as now, and even then alive with shipping. 
 
 When I began mackerel fishing at thirteen, I had, 
 of course, to give up my summer school. So all the 
 schooling I had after that was about three months in 
 the winter. The early mackerel fishing off Block Isl- 
 and and the Jersey Coast, was not profitable, as the 
 fish were lean and brought only a low price. So, on 
 my third summer, I waited till the mackerel were fat- 
 ter. I then shipped with a smart young skipper in a 
 vessel named "Rising Sun." She, too, was old and 
 crippled. She had been aground in early life and got 
 badly hogged. We used to call her the " Rising Mid- 
 dle." In this humpbacked craft with a beautiful name, 
 my fisherman's luck began to rise. We had a smart 
 young crew to match our skipper. It was his first 
 season as captain. He was ambitious, he was a driver, 
 he made good trips, and we made a good summer's 
 work. 
 
BoyJiood 47 
 
 We caught most of our fish wide off Mt. Desert ; and 
 once, I remember, we went in to the South West Har- 
 bor, so noted now as a watering-place, for potatoes. It 
 is one of the finest harbors on the coast. There were 
 only a few huts on the shore then, and no one on land 
 or sea dreamed of the beautiful place it was destined 
 to become. Blueberries were in their prime, and the 
 burned fields with a fresh growth of low bushes were 
 literally covered with them. But in substantial deli- 
 ciousness they were cast into the shade by the potatoes. 
 Growing on new soil, recently burned over, they were 
 superb, — especially to us hungry fishermen. We had 
 some finely cured salt cod on board. Boiled cod, with 
 such potatoes, was a luxury beyond description. No 
 circle of aldermen ever sat down to a Parker House 
 dinner with such gustatory satisfaction. Those new 
 potatoes went with us all through the trip, and were an 
 ever new source of pleasure till the last one was gone. 
 
 The next summer I went with the same skipper. 
 He had proved himself so smart that the same owners 
 gave him a larger vessel. "Roxanna" was her name. 
 She, too, was venerable in years, but stanch and 
 sound. The " Rising Sun," crooked as she was, was 
 fleet of foot. Few went by us, with a good breeze ; and 
 she would ride the sea as easily and gracefully as a 
 gull. But poor old " Roxy " was long past her prime, 
 and from never being swift had become so slow that 
 everything went by us, so that we needed a watch set 
 over taffrail instead of the bows, as the danger was not 
 in running over anybody, but in being run over. In 
 beating to windward when we tried to go in stays, " she 
 would bob three times to a sea, and then go round it." 
 
48 Autobiography 
 
 It was her courteous way of doing it. There was little 
 difference between her bow and stern. They were 
 both modelled for repose, not motion, suggesting the 
 fabled method of building ships by the mile, and saw- 
 ing off any required length, to suit the purchasers. 
 And yet in that clumsy old tub we were high line in 
 Scituate that summer, packing over a thousand barrels. 
 This was my most fortunate season. 
 
 The next year I went with a brother of the smart 
 skipper in a new schooner built at the Block House, on 
 which I had worked. She was called the " Rival," and 
 rivalled, by many a league, all the vessels I had thus 
 far sailed in. I continued this summer fishing till I 
 was about twenty, giving the rest of the year to my 
 trade after I was sixteen. 
 
 But I will not follow this farther, but tell you a little 
 more in detail of the mackerel fishing. Mackerel have 
 been found on our coast from its first discovery. 
 There is probably some food of which they are fond 
 in our bays and on our banks. They migrate in 
 schools, and it is not till midsummer and autumn 
 that they are taken in any great numbers on our coast. 
 The aborigines called this famous fish " Wawunneke- 
 seag," a big word, meaning " fatness," — an appropri- 
 ate name, for in its prime it is one of the fattest and 
 most delicious of fish. 
 
 There have been various methods of taking mackerel. 
 At first they were taken moonlight nights, with seines. 
 The schools rise to the surface, and, as they break the 
 water with their back fins, may easily be seen. In the 
 night they often show, also, a phosphorescent gleam. 
 Skilful fishermen, taking out their nets in small boats, 
 
Boyhood 49 
 
 run them under the schools, and then, gathering in the 
 edges of the net, bag them, and scoop them out with 
 hand nets. This method was given up long before my 
 day, though our fishermen have returned to it again 
 of late years. 
 
 After this method came what was called "trailing." 
 The vessel was put under easy sail, and the fishermen 
 ranged themselves on the weather side and let their 
 hooks, with light sinkers, trail out astern. 
 
 But trailing had its day, and was succeeded by jigger- 
 ing, which was the uniform method during my fishing 
 experience. In this method the vessel is so laid to the 
 wind as to have no headway and drift square off to lee- 
 ward. The fishermen were arranged, as in trailing, on 
 the weather side, their small jigs thrown square out 
 from the vessel's side. The drift dead to leeward 
 tends to keep them out. Still, they need to be drawn 
 in and thrown out often, to keep them near the surface. 
 The skipper's place was the first abaft the main 
 shrouds ; and the " second hand," or mate, was the 
 next, forward. The one farthest aft was the " mon- 
 key." Aside from these, the crew shipped for par- 
 ticular places, those of largest experience getting the 
 best, which were considered the nearest midships. 
 
 Mackerel are generally dainty and shy. A stamp 
 on the deck will make a whole school dart like a flash. 
 But they soon return. They seem to be very sensitive 
 to sound. Sometimes, when there are thousands along- 
 side, they will not touch a hook ; and then they will bite 
 so ravenously that every line will be straightened at 
 once, and the one most skilful in hauling in, striking 
 off, and throwing out the jig, will get the most. There 
 
50 Autobiography 
 
 comes in the skill. There is a special knack in strik- 
 ing off the fish into a deep tub and throwing out the 
 jig as a part of the same motion. It is only by experi- 
 ence this can be acquired, though natural gifts come 
 in play here, as in preaching. Long arms are impor- 
 tant, and to know how to use them still more so. 
 
 There are few things more delightfully exciting than 
 a hungry school of mackerel hanging round the vessel 
 for a quarter of an hour, seizing the hook as soon as 
 it touches the water, bare or baited, and giving to each 
 man on the vessel's gleaming side a chance to show 
 his skill. Seen from a little distance, when the strike 
 is on the side of the schooner, it seems all alive 
 with gleaming flecks of silver. Then in an instant 
 the strike is off, and the school sweeps on. Then the 
 fishermen leave their lines and go round looking into 
 each other's tubs, to see who has caught the most. 
 Though, after a few years' experience, I was generally 
 pretty well up with the best, yet many and many a 
 time after a smart spirt, I have felt, when looking into 
 other tubs, like a defeated politician after election, — 
 I had had a bad run. Perhaps a dog-fish took my jig 
 right in the midst, and I had to haul him in, throw him 
 on deck, put my cowhide heel on his horned back, and 
 cut the hook from his sharklike mouth. All that took 
 time, and never is it more true that time is money than 
 when mackerel are on a rampage. We usually baited 
 our jigs with a bit of uncooked salt pork rind, because 
 it was tough and wore longer than anything else. But, 
 when they were in dainty mood, we would coax them 
 with a thin slice from one of their own or their fel- 
 lows' tails. That would sometimes take them, when 
 they would turn like a Jew from swine skin. 
 
Boyhood 5 T 
 
 A skilful fisherman was allowed three lines, if he 
 could use them and not tangle his neighbors'. The 
 third line was called a fly, — a very light jig, just 
 weight enough to be thrown out with skill. It would 
 float near the surface on -the outer rim of the school, 
 and now and then pick off a noble fellow, to the great 
 annoyance of such as twitched their lines in vain for a 
 bite. Then we had gaffs, with long slender wire run- 
 ning down two or three feet below the wooden handle, 
 so as to pass easily through the water. When the fish 
 refused the hook, and would swim round the vessel's 
 side in a most provoking way, we would run our gaff 
 below them, and with the hook in the end take in the 
 most aristocratic among them in a most ungentlemanly 
 way. It wasn't fair. It was a shabby way of doing it. 
 It might do for a clumsy lobster under a rock ; but, for 
 a genuine wawunnekeseag of the shining ancient race, 
 it was a method of gouging that should not have been 
 tolerated. 
 
 Dressing and salting the fish were just as necessary 
 as catching them, but not so pleasant. To do this, we 
 divided in pairs. One split, the other "gipped," the 
 fish. To split, the mackerel is laid on a splitting board 
 about waist-band high, and a sharp, thin blade run the 
 entire length from nose to tail, with one drawing stroke 
 shaving close the upper side of the backbone. The 
 facility and ease and accuracy with which this is done 
 by a workman is quite wonderful. The fish thus split 
 is thrown with the same hand that held it in place into 
 a "cover," a shallow tub set on two wash-barrels, where 
 the gipper seizes it and with just three motions takes 
 out the entrails and gills, and, breaking the belly to 
 
52 Autobiography 
 
 show the depth of the fat, throws it, flesh side down, 
 into a barrel with two buckets of pure ocean brine at 
 the bottom. The rapidity with which a wash-barrel of 
 fish may be dressed in this way would astonish one who 
 witnessed it for the first time. When the fish are all 
 dressed, the barrels are filled with salt water and left 
 to soak for half a day or so. Then the water is turned 
 off, the fish thumbed and changed to another barrel, 
 which is again filled with fresh sea-water. 
 
 "Thumbing" is rubbing the thumb over the break 
 of the fat, to make the fish look fatter than it is ; for 
 it is the fat that decides whether the fish is No. i, 2, 
 or 3, the fattest being No. 1 and bringing the best 
 price. It is to mackerel what " deaconing " is to a 
 barrel of apples. The deception is so universal that it 
 doesn't deceive. After remaining awhile in the changed 
 water, they are poured out on deck, washed clean, and 
 thrown down the hatchway for salting. After a heavy 
 day's work, it would take a large part, at times the 
 whole, of the night to dress and soak and salt the catch. 
 Then there was no need of calling all hands in the 
 morning. We were all up to see the day break, but so 
 hungry and tired we hoped no one would feel a nibble 
 when the lines were flung out. But ordinarily there 
 was plenty of time, as there would sometimes be days 
 and even weeks that we would not take a fish. Then 
 we would strike large schools with a good appetite, and 
 take a full fare in a week. When every available barrel 
 and tub and bucket were salted full, we would salt as 
 many in the bait shovel as it would hold, hoist our 
 colors, make all sail, and head for home. That was 
 the happiest part of the trip, — homeward bound with 
 a full fare. 
 
Boyhood 5 3 
 
 I must tell you about our arrangements for cooking. 
 We carried no cook, as they do now ; but each man 
 had to take his cook-day in turn. The duty of the 
 cook was to make tea or chocolate for breakfast or 
 supper, and get dinner for all hands. The dinners 
 were usually fish, salt junk, or stewed beans, each one 
 finding his own hard tack. Whatever each one wanted 
 for breakfast or supper, aside from the common tea or 
 chocolate, he must cook for himself. In this private 
 cooking, as in carrying a grist to mill, "first come, first 
 served." We had no stove, but a brick fireplace, with 
 a barricade round the hearth to prevent things " fetch- 
 ing away." The funnel above the deck was of wood, 
 lashed firmly to the deck, with a cleated board we 
 could change round on the top to prevent the wind 
 from blowing down. 
 
 Our fuel was wood, stowed away in the forepeak, 
 where it was kept nice and damp for ready use. As 
 friction matches had not been invented, the vessel was 
 provided with tinder-box, steel, and flint. But, in the 
 dampness of a fisherman's cabin, it is not easy to keep 
 tinder dry. So it was often no small job to make the 
 spark catch and hold long enough to ignite the brim- 
 stone match applied. But the fire once built could be 
 kept along through the day, especially as there were so 
 many to use it, — some for frying fish, some for cooking 
 bloaters, or stir puddings or shortcakes. 
 
 We ate our meals in a very independent way. We 
 did not stand for ceremony. The skipper and second 
 hand usually sat at a movable shelf, called, from home 
 association, a table. The rest of us took it standing 
 or sitting, as was most convenient. As somebody 
 
54 Autobiography 
 
 must always be on deck, the hatches or weather side 
 of the quarter-deck where the spray didn't wet was a 
 good place for a mug of chocolate and a tin dish of 
 beans. It was not deemed important to wash our pri- 
 vate dishes as long as we could remember what we 
 used in them last. 
 
 We had to be very sparing of fresh water. A barrel 
 was always on top, lashed firmly beside the gangway ; 
 but we were allowed to use it for drink only, never for 
 washing face and hands or any article of clothing. 
 We carried about a dozen barrels for a four weeks' 
 cruise. They were always stored directly under the 
 main hatches, easy of access ; and one of the first 
 things to be done after getting fairly out to sea was to 
 visit the water barrels with a gimlet, and bore a hole 
 through every barrel near the bung. Without this 
 ventilation the water would become stagnant and ropy, 
 — unfit to drink. 
 
 As only the dinner was in common, each one carried 
 his own stores. Mine, as I remember, were generally 
 flour, meal, sugar, molasses, butter, eggs, pork, and 
 rum. This last was to treat with ; for fresh hands, 
 " monkeys " included, were liable to a call to " treat 
 all hands," when a cape or light-house not before seen 
 was made. However, as each one carried his gallon 
 keg, it wasn't so much the drink as the fun that de- 
 manded the payment of "duties." Still, we generally 
 had some hard drinkers ; but the harder they drank, 
 the sooner the keg was empty, and the sooner Dick 
 was himself again. 
 
 As I have recalled my fisherman days and the moral 
 as well as other atmosphere of my fisherman life, I 
 
Boyhood 5 5 
 
 have thought that nothing could tempt me to permit a 
 child of mine to be exposed to such influences. But 
 a boy of thirteen who has had a good home can gener- 
 ally be trusted. Somehow, the wool grows on the 
 naked back of a spring lamb, so that, when the Octo- 
 ber winds come, he has a nice warm coat to protect 
 him from cold. " In heaven their angels do always 
 behold the face of my Father." The angel on earth 
 that waved her mystic wand over my exposed head 
 was my mother, whose last words to me always were, 
 "William, be a good boy." If I wasn't always good, 
 I never was as bad as I should have been without 
 those precious words. 
 
 Passing from exposed boys to preserved bloaters, let 
 me tell you what a bloater is, and how it is made. The 
 finest and fattest mackerel are selected, and, after 
 being dressed as described, the backbone is taken out 
 and the head and tail cut off. Then they are salted a 
 couple of hours, just to harden the flesh. Then the 
 salt is washed off carefully, and the fish laid, flesh side 
 up, in the sun and wind to dry and ripen. After they 
 are "done brown," they are ready for use; and, when 
 cooked before an open fire, set up on skewers made for 
 the purpose, they are delicious. 
 
 We generally managed to have a few ready to take 
 home when we arrived. Sometimes, when we got into 
 the harbor in the night, and I walked home with a 
 happy heart under the stars, I would hang a nice 
 bloater on the front-door handle of a certain house 
 where a certain sweet girl lived, — the very one whose 
 little hand took the candy from behind the school-room 
 door, — to let her know as she swept off the doorstep in 
 
56 Autobiography 
 
 the morning that somebody got home from fishing in 
 the night. Who said she expected me the next even- 
 ing ? I didn't. It was your guess. 
 
 Packing day was a great occasion, especially when 
 we brought in a full fare. Our colors were run up, and 
 snapped joyfully in the breeze, and sometimes a long 
 pennon would float out gracefully over the water. The 
 skipper was happy, the crew was happy, the inspectors 
 were happy, the packers were happy, and the owners 
 were happy ; for a full fare meant a full purse all round. 
 
 Then on that day it would be decided, with govern- 
 ment sealed scales, who was high line. Generally, it 
 was the skipper, — he prided himself on that ; but the 
 summer I was sixteen I zvas high line, — not for a single 
 trip only, but for the season, taking with my own hands 
 a hundred and thirty-four barrels. I think I must 
 have grown an inch that year. But this promise of my 
 boyhood was not fulfilled, I regret to say, in after life. 
 I never have been high line in anything else that I 
 have undertaken. 
 
 On packing day the owners gave the whole crew a 
 dinner at the hotel on shore. And such a dinner! 
 Roast ! boiled ! baked ! with all the richest vegetables 
 and fruits from garden and field, finishing up with 
 plum pudding rich enough for Thanksgiving. It was 
 a dinner to tempt the appetite even of a well-fed lands- 
 man ; but for a dozen hungry fishermen who had lived 
 on hard tack and beans for a month, without the smell 
 of a fresh vegetable, it was simply celestial. We could 
 go another whole trip on the memory of it. I feel like 
 thanking those owners, long since in heaven or some- 
 where, for their superb packing dinners. I can smell 
 
Boyhood 5 7 
 
 and taste them even now, though more than sixty-five 
 years have passed since we feasted upon them. 
 
 But I must leave my fishing experience, though it 
 continued, for a part of the summer, till I was twenty. 
 But, when about sixteen, I graduated from the district 
 school, and began learning the trade of a ship-car- 
 penter with my father, as my brother Albert had done 
 before me. 
 
 Just before this father had given up building for him- 
 self, and was taking jobs of work from other builders, 
 sometimes "timbering and planking," sometimes "put- 
 ting in a deck," and the like. He took me with him. 
 I began work on the North River, which at that time 
 was dotted with ship-yards all along its serpentine 
 course. It was one of the earliest industries of that 
 region. A large part of the young men became ship- 
 carpenters. 
 
 In the early days the forests around yielded an 
 abundance of white oak, the best material for ships, if 
 we except the live oak, which is found only in the 
 South. These forests of white oak, however, were not 
 inexhaustible ; and before my day they began to fail, 
 and building on the river to decline. Besides, the 
 shifting sand-bars at the mouth of the river, and shoals 
 inside, became more and more troublesome, so that it 
 was with difficulty a large ship could be got down the 
 river and out to sea. At first many Nantucket whaling 
 ships were built here ; but the shallowness of the river 
 and the growing scarcity of old-growth timber at last 
 drove the business into deeper water, where timber 
 from abroad was more accessible, and Medford, Chel- 
 sea, and East Boston became the great places for ship- 
 
58 A utobiography 
 
 building on our Massachusetts coast. I had not worked 
 long for father before he took jobs of work in other 
 places ; and, being ambitious, I soon earned for father, 
 who needed my aid, a man's wages. We used to work 
 in those days from sun to sun, even in the long days of 
 summer. The halcyon days of "eight hours" or even 
 " ten " had not then dawned. 
 
 At one time, when we worked at Braintree and went 
 home Saturday nights, mother would get breakfast 
 for us Monday morning by about three o'clock. Then 
 we would start off, and, walking twelve miles, often 
 be the first in the yard. After that a long day's work. 
 As I look back on those days, I don't see how we 
 stood it ; but we did, and I don't remember ever to 
 have thought that I had a hard time. 
 
 In the ship-yard as well as on board the fishing 
 vessel, rum was a common beverage in those days. All 
 hands were called at eleven o'clock and at four for 
 grog. Besides this, many kept a private bottle in their 
 tool-chests ; and it was interesting to see how often 
 such men would want a particular tool in that safely 
 locked chest. 
 
 In those days fathers claimed the wages of their 
 sons till they were twenty-one, clothing and feeding 
 them, of course, in the mean time. I was glad to give 
 father my wages, for I knew he needed them ; but, 
 when I was twenty, I told him I would like to buy my 
 time for the remaining year. I would give him one 
 hundred dollars, as I could earn it, to let me off, and 
 begin the world for myself. He knew I was worth 
 more to him than that; but he was a dear, generous 
 father, and to my great delight accepted my pro- 
 
Boyhood 59 
 
 posal. I was a fair workman, took jobs of work, so 
 making more than day wages, and at the end of the 
 year paid over the hundred and had more than another 
 hundred, if I remember rightly, in the locker. Now I 
 was free. Now I was twenty-one, that goal to which 
 my boyhood had looked with longing eyes. 
 
VI. 
 
 YOUNG MANHOOD. 
 1 832-1 834. 
 
 Fever in Medford. — Brothers and Sisters. — Marriage. — 
 Housekeeping. — Gunning. 
 
 Andrew Jackson was President. I name this, not 
 because I was interested in politics, but to let you know 
 how long ago it was. 
 
 Soon after I was free, I had a fresh experience of the 
 power and blessedness of a mother's love. I was at 
 work on a lower deck, in company with others, in Med- 
 ford, in the hot month of August, and was suddenly 
 smitten down with what threatened to be brain fever. 
 The doctor was sent for, and gave transient relief to 
 my bursting brain by bleeding. In my boarding-house 
 my fellow-workmen were ready to watch, and kind as 
 they could be, and as clumsy as they were kind. I 
 grew worse so rapidly that, becoming alarmed, my 
 dear good Uncle Elijah Brooks, a brother of my 
 mother, took a private team and drove to Scituate to 
 bring mother, all unbeknown to me. He went with 
 speed, returning in the night. I felt a gentle hand on 
 my pained head. From that hour I began to grow bet- 
 ter. Never was such medicine as I found in mother's 
 face, and mother's hand, and mother's love. It acted 
 like magic. In ten days I was up, and resumed my 
 
Young Manhood 61 
 
 work, though pale and weak enough to make my fellow- 
 workmen exclaim, as they saw me take up my tools to 
 help them finish the job. I should not have gone to 
 work again so soon ; but it was the first year of my man- 
 hood, and I was ambitious to do the best I could. 
 
 The older children at the Block House home were 
 scattered by this time. Philenda, the black-eyed fairy, 
 had been married to Joseph Bond, Jr., of Waltham, for 
 ten years. My only brother, " Butt," had married Sarah 
 Foster — Sarah Albert, as we have always called her — 
 four years before. Sarah, the rosy-cheeked blonde, had 
 married William Turner, of Scituate. One year later, 
 and the year I was twenty-one, Julia married Captain 
 James Southworth, of Scituate. So only Lucy and 
 Caroline, fifteen and thirteen, were now left in the old 
 home with father and mother. I never want to forget 
 what a pleasure it gave me to use some of my first earned 
 money for my young sisters, who had few ways of earn- 
 ing money for themselves. They were lovely girls. I 
 shall tell you more about them by and by. 
 
 When I had laid up a few hundred dollars, I began, 
 as young men do, to think about a home for myself. 
 But one cannot make a home alone, any more than a 
 single bird can make a nest. Only mates build nests 
 or make homes. Did I think of anybody in particular ? 
 Well, maybe so. 
 
 Her name was Mary Jacobs Foster, and she was then 
 living with her sister, Aunt Tempie,* at Brookline, 
 where Turner and Magoun were building ships. 
 
 We were married on the 15th of May, 1834. 
 
 I was twenty-three six days before, and Mary was 
 
 * Mrs. Francis Turner. 
 
62 Autobiography 
 
 twenty-three the 6th of the next October. When 
 any one inquires of me the proper age to marry, I 
 say promptly, twenty-three. On the morning of that 
 eventful 15th I was at South Boston. I had just fin- 
 ished a job of work there. I took the stage for South 
 Scituate as it came out of the city, and at about four 
 in the afternoon we passed through the door of the 
 venerable old house where I left my cod on the handle 
 when I was a fisher-boy, and, taking a country chaise, 
 we rode to the residence of the minister of the First 
 Parish, — our parish was then without a pastor, — and 
 were married by Rev. Edmund Q. Sewall. Mary's 
 sister Hannah, and a dear playmate of my boyhood, 
 Tom Southworth, went with us as bridesmaid and 
 groomsman. I thought it a beautiful service, though 
 I am not sure that I could tell a word of it the next 
 day, or even that afternoon. But it was beautiful, very 
 beautiful, — I know it was; for then we were joined 
 in a holy wedlock, which was the joy and blessing of 
 my life for over forty years. 
 
 After remaining a few weeks with father and mother 
 at the Block House as boarders, I took a job of work 
 at Commercial Point. Having finished that in August, 
 I went mackerel fishing for old associations sake. But 
 I had lost my luck, and left before the season was 
 over. In November I found work in Medford, took 
 Mary with me, and there, in a part of a new house built 
 and occupied by my uncle, Gilbert Brooks, we first 
 went to housekeeping. We had the upper part of the 
 house, and furnished it as neatly as good taste — of 
 course we had that — and a reasonable amount of hard- 
 earned money could do. Oh, it was a charming, cosey 
 
Young Manhood 63 
 
 little place for a young mechanic to start out with ! 
 It was near where I worked ; and it was so nice, when 
 the day's work was over, to go home, and feel that it 
 was my home. No, our home ; for there was Mary at 
 the window to greet me. 
 
 One day, having worked steadily for a long time, I 
 concluded to take a half-day's recreation. Meadow- 
 birds sometimes came up on the banks of the Mystic ; 
 and, being used to gunning on the North River, I 
 thought I would recreate that way. But I had neither 
 gun nor ammunition. So I borrowed the first, and went 
 up town and bought the second, and started out for 
 birds enough for a pot-pie, such as mother used to 
 make from the gray-backs and plovers father brought 
 home. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, and I went out with high 
 hopes, leaving Mary to make ready for the pot-pie, tell- 
 ing her how mother did it, and making both our mouths 
 water in anticipation of the rich dish that would carry 
 us back to the days of our youth ; for by this time we 
 began to feel quite old. 
 
 But, alas ! the fondest hopes are liable to disappoint- 
 ment. The birds that morning were scarce, — not a yel- 
 low-leg or a gray-back on the meadows. How far and 
 long I wandered in vain search, through how many 
 muddy swales I waded, over or into how many ditches 
 I jumped, how often I left a shoe in the mud, and lost 
 the other in trying to recover it, I will not attempt to 
 tell ; for it was a good while ago, and memory is treach- 
 erous, like the salt marsh. 
 
 But this is clear. The peeps were few and shy, as if 
 they had a suspicion that my father was a good shot ; 
 
64 Autobiography 
 
 though, if they had known his son, they need not have 
 been afraid. At last the sun grew hot, and I grew 
 tired ; and, knowing that Mary was waiting with all the 
 anxiety of a new housekeeper for the birds, I sighted 
 a lonely, melancholy-looking flock, and brought down 
 two, — two peeps, about as large as English sparrows. 
 
 I took them home in crestfallen sadness, feeling 
 much as I have often done after making a very poor 
 speech. Mary was lenient. She knew it wasn't a good 
 day for birds, and that I hadn't used a gun for years. 
 Indeed, she was probably so glad to see me home again 
 with that gun, alive, and with none of my fingers miss- 
 ing, that she was more disposed to rejoice than to re- 
 buke or make fun of me. So she set herself to work to 
 do the best she could for the pot-pie with the material 
 she had. The birds were small, to begin with ; but, 
 after they were picked and dressed, they were smaller 
 still, — scarcely discernible with the naked eye. But 
 I assured her mother had made good pot-pies out of 
 peeps, and it was true. I think I didn't name the 
 quantity. Of course, it was natural for a young house- 
 keeper to think that what was lacking in bird-flesh 
 could be made up, in a measure, in seasoning. So a 
 liberal use was made of salt and pepper. It didn't 
 take long for the frail creatures to cook. 
 
 So the table was spread with a dainty white cloth, 
 our new plates and new knives and forks were laid in 
 order, and the smoking and savory pie brought on. We 
 tasted, prepared to exclaim, and we did ; but it was not 
 with gastric joy. Salt ! salt ! salt ! Pepper ! pepper ! pep- 
 per ! It was seasoned with a vengeance. We could not 
 eat a mouthful. The invisibility of the birds deceived 
 
Young Manhood 65 
 
 us both. We were willing to share the mistake. But it 
 was a memorable experience. I had lost a half-day's 
 work, clean cash, lost the price of my powder and shot, 
 we had both lost our dinner; but it may have proved, 
 after all, the best half-day's work I ever made, for it 
 was the last of my gunning, and the fun we both got 
 out of it was seasoning for many a jolly reminiscence. 
 
VII. 
 CRISIS. 
 
 1834-1837. 
 
 Religious Experience. — Longing to Preach. — Study. — 
 Moving to Scituate. — Visit to Cambridge. — Rev. 
 S. J. May. — School-teaching. 
 
 I now approached what proved the great crisis of my 
 life, — a crisis that changed radically its whole course, 
 and opened to me a field of labor entirely different 
 from what I had regarded as my life-work. 
 
 As the change in all my plans and purposes was so 
 sudden and so great, I must try to tell you a little 
 about it, though in doing it I shall have to speak of my 
 religious experience, — a subject on which reticence is a 
 virtue ; for too much handling rubs the bloom from the 
 most delicate fruit. 
 
 But you are my own dear children and grandchildren ; 
 and, as I love you, I want you to know about these deeper 
 experiences in life, which made a new man of me and 
 led me into the Christian ministry. 
 
 I was never an entirely thoughtless boy. Though 
 full of fun and jollity, I had, like most other boys, 
 seasons of serious thought. I was brought up to go to 
 church, and soon came to love it. I even remember 
 just where I sat in the old church, when I first began 
 to listen to the sermon and to understand that it had 
 
Crisis 6 J 
 
 something for me, child as I was. It was an epoch in my 
 child-life when I learned that the sermon was for me. 
 It led to the habit of listening, — a habit that has clung 
 to me through life ; for, however limited my power to 
 instruct has been, I have always been a good listener, 
 and owe as much to that, perhaps, as to good reading. 
 Conscience began to speak to me early. I have told 
 you how it thrashed me after I "thrashed " those eggs. 
 I have told you of the impression the death of a dear 
 playfellow made upon me. But I was a rubber ball, 
 and easily bounded out the impression made. The old 
 parish where I was brought up was " Arminian," so 
 called, at the beginning, but had gradually grown into 
 the first type of Unitarianism. It was anti-Calvinistic, 
 very decidedly, though the main stress was always laid 
 not on doctrine, but a good life. Good, wholesome 
 doctrine was preached, but it did not move me much. 
 It did not rouse and stimulate me. When I left home, 
 I still held to my church-going and enjoyed good 
 preaching. But by and by I had an inward awakening. 
 I cannot tell what started it. Maybe it was the same 
 voice that spake to me when a small boy. But it 
 said to me : "Be a man. Live a truer and nobler life." 
 I knew what it meant, for I had some intimate asso- 
 ciates whose influence was not good. Not that they 
 were bad. They were very fair, average young men, 
 with no very bad habits. I liked them, enjoyed their 
 companionship, and we spent many happy evenings to- 
 gether. But I wasn't satisfied with them or myself. I 
 wanted other associates, to talk of other things ; and so, 
 when the voice came, saying, "Come up higher," I 
 resolved I would quietly break away from this sort of 
 
6S Autobiography 
 
 companionship. To do this, I saw I must change my 
 boarding-place. I had an uncle and aunt in the town, 
 who were good, earnest Baptists ; and, although I had 
 no liking for the sect, I liked them, and thought I 
 would be glad to board in their quiet home. 
 
 So one evening I stood alone at their front door, in 
 the moonlight, ready to lift the latch. But, after all, 
 was I ready to take the step ? What would my com- 
 panions say ? I couldn't tell them why I left. They 
 would think it very strange in me. Should I go in or 
 should I go back ? I thought of a good many things as 
 I stood there under the light of the serene heavens. I 
 thought of mother. At last I think some good angel 
 decided it for me ; and I lifted the latch, and was cor- 
 dially welcomed, engaged board with them, and became 
 an inmate of their family. It broke an entangling spell, 
 and I was happy. 
 
 As I had no place in particular to go to church, I 
 went with them. The preaching was very differ- 
 ent from what I had been accustomed to. I didn't 
 like it. But gradually it took hold of me. My soul 
 was already awake before I heard it. I was receptive ; 
 and, although my intellect rebelled against the harsh 
 doctrine, my conscience was moved, my moral and 
 spiritual nature was quickened. I was overwhelmed 
 with a sense of sin ; and, after some weeks of great spir- 
 itual agony, a sweet peace stole into my soul. 
 
 I had passed through what was regarded as a real 
 evangelical conversion. Oh how kind the friends all 
 were ! how they rejoiced that I had passed from death 
 unto life ! Soon I felt a strong desire to join the church 
 and take up the cross of duty, which seemed no cross 
 
Crisis 69 
 
 now, but a crown. But I soon found that it was only 
 my heart that had been converted, not my head. 
 
 When the doctrinal statements were given to me, I 
 found I could not subscribe to them. I was Unitarian 
 still. My friends labored with me to show me my error. 
 They gave me a copy of their articles of faith, with ref- 
 erence to the passages of Scripture where they were 
 proved true added to each one. I seized on this with 
 avidity, for I wanted to satisfy my mind. But, after 
 turning to the passages, I could not find the proof. I 
 was told it was because I was totally depraved, that I 
 must not trust my reason, but accept the creed on faith. 
 But this, strange as it may seem, did not convince me. 
 This was before I was married. Had I been married, 
 Mary would have helped me out. As it was, I struggled 
 on with a converted heart and an heretical head. Had 
 the new school of Orthodoxy, that puts Christ above 
 creed, been in existence then, I should undoubtedly 
 have joined them. But something better than that was 
 in store for me. After I married and moved to Medford, 
 Mary not enjoying the Baptist preaching, we went one 
 Sunday to the First Parish Church, Rev. Caleb Stet- 
 son, pastor. We were both pleased. We went again. 
 We were still more pleased. He was a Unitarian, but 
 not of the old kind. It was such Unitarianism as I had 
 never heard before. It was transcendental Unitarianism. 
 He preached the immanence of God in nature and in 
 the soul of man. He emphasized the divine fatherhood 
 and human brotlicrhood, sin its own sorrow, and good- 
 ness its own eternal reward. Orthodoxy had given me 
 the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, which old-fashioned 
 Unitarianism said little about ; but it was linked with a 
 
jo Autobiography 
 
 trinity I could not understand. The doctrine o'f the 
 " Immanence of God " gave the Holy Spirit to me in 
 sweeter, tenderer, more rational form, — an ever present 
 holy influence from God, not going and coming like a 
 revival preacher, but a perpetual, indwelling presence. 
 
 My head and heart were satisfied. I could still hold 
 on to my "new birth" as a divine reality, for which I 
 have always devoutly thanked God, and hold on to my 
 reason, too, as equally divine with conscience and the 
 moral sense. 
 
 Through all my religious interest and experience 
 thus far I had never had the most distant thought of 
 preaching. Indeed, I think my whole nature, intellect- 
 ual and spiritual, had never been in complete harmony 
 before. But now the gospel of Christ shone with new 
 beautv, and came over me with new power, as a fresh 
 revelation from on high. Now a longing such as I had 
 never felt before came over me to preach. Oh, I 
 thought, if I could only fit myself for the humblest pul- 
 pit, in the humblest parish, to preach this gospel of the 
 immanent God and the Eternal Life, here and now, it 
 would be the greatest joy of my life. But could this 
 ever be ? Did not my lack of early culture forbid ? It 
 would indeed seem so. But the vision haunted me. I 
 could not order it away. So I wrote a letter to the 
 dear minister whose preaching had, under God, waked 
 this longing and inspired the vision, and told him all. 
 He kindly encouraged me. Mary encouraged me, too. 
 Without that encouragement I should have been help- 
 less. But even with it there were most serious diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 Since leaving the winter district school at fifteen or 
 
Crisis Ji 
 
 sixteen, I had paid no attention whatever to study. I 
 had liked to read, but only read what I liked, with no 
 method. Indeed, I had found little time for reading of 
 any kind. The old romances of that day, " Robinson 
 Crusoe," "Arabian Nights," "Thaddeus of Warsaw," 
 " Children of the Abbey," and later Scott's " Waverley 
 Novels " had their charm for me as for most young 
 people. But I had given little attention to history, 
 natural or national, and none at all to literature. This 
 seemed a poor and weak foundation to build on. But 
 my soul was alive with a great purpose, and I resolved, 
 God helping, to try. Mary was a better scholar than 
 I, and we two started a little school together in our 
 cosey sitting-room. We began at the beginning, Eng- 
 lish grammar and the common branches. I kept at 
 work in the yard a part of the time, to pay our way, 
 and studied the rest. The flame of interest burned, 
 blazed, and every fresh sermon I heard added fuel. 
 Mr. Joseph Angier taught a private academy in Med- 
 ford at that time ; and I engaged Mr. John Buttrick, 
 his assistant, to hear me recite at certain odd hours. 
 He helped me greatly. He entered at once into all 
 my fond hopes and aspirations; and, seeing I was in 
 real live earnest, he offered me every facility in his 
 power. I made rapid progress during the three months 
 I recited to him. 
 
 In the spring of 1836 we decided to leave Medford 
 and return to Scituate, where we could live at less 
 expense while I continued my studies. It would have 
 been very hard, giving up our dear little home, but for 
 the end we had in view. That made it easy. A fellow, 
 workman was about being married, and he took our 
 
72 Autobiography 
 
 house with all its furnishing, except the beds and 
 bedding, just as it stood, paying us nearly the cost ; for 
 it was all new and fresh. 
 
 Soon after going to Scituate, I learned of a house to 
 be sold very cheap, near my father's ; and I bought it, 
 putting into it all the money I had. It was a good 
 investment. We began keeping house again, with spare 
 furnishing, but luxurious hopes. Here I renewed my 
 studies. 
 
 The Rev. E. Q. Sewall, who married us, became 
 interested in my purpose, and heard me recite in 
 Whately's "Logic and Rhetoric." Here, too, I began 
 the study of Latin and Greek; for my purpose then was 
 to enter the Theological School at Cambridge as soon 
 as I became qualified. I still had to work with my 
 hands a part of the time, to keep along. I undertook 
 to make shoe-boxes in my father's barn. This was 
 while I was learning the Greek alphabet ; and I chalked 
 the letters on the collar beam before me to jog my 
 memory. 
 
 But my shoe -box enterprise yielded small profit, and 
 I gave it up. Once in a while I could get a small job 
 at my trade. At last I thought I would go to Cam- 
 bridge and see just what the requirements were, and 
 what aid, if any, I could get. I went and had an inter- 
 view with one of the professors. No doubt my general 
 appearance — a countryman, a mechanic with hard 
 hands — was against me. Besides, I was married; 
 and, although I brought a letter from Rev. E. Q. 
 Sewall, it might have been written out of the kind- 
 ness of his heart rather than his good judgment. I 
 never blamed the professor that he didn't "thuse" 
 
Crisis 73 
 
 over me. There was small reason that he should. 
 His remarks were cool and judicious. He was evi- 
 dently not inclined to raise any false hopes. He was 
 kind, but cautious. He told me the qualifications re- 
 quired, and the aid I might expect if I proved worthy 
 of it. It was probably just the thing to say to me. 
 But I was expecting something different, and left dis- 
 appointed. I saw the few hundred dollars I had would 
 soon be gone, and I should leave the school heavily 
 in debt ; and mother's warning, "William, never get in 
 debt," rung in my ears. 
 
 I went home feeling as if I had been wrapped in a 
 wet sheet. It took long and patient rubbing to get up 
 a reaction. I even thought of giving the whole thing 
 up. Of course, I never could have given it up ; but for 
 the time I was utterly discouraged. 
 
 I returned, not to study, but to work. I took a 
 windlass to make at Scituate Harbor for thirty dollars. 
 I needed the money to live upon. But I did not give 
 up my hope. It was waiting for a providential breath 
 to kindle it to a flame. 
 
 Our parish had been, since the death of Mr. Deane, 
 without a pastor. We had had many candidates, to 
 whom I had listened with great interest. At last the 
 Rev. Samuel Joseph May, who had served for a year 
 as the agent of the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society, 
 came as a candidate ; and, although there was not much 
 anti-slavery among us, we were all delighted. While 
 he was perfectly outspoken on the great questions dear 
 to his heart, he was so genial, so kind, that he won us 
 all, and disarmed prejudices so completely that he re- 
 ceived a unanimous invitation to become our pastor, 
 which he at once accepted. 
 
74 Autobiography 
 
 I was strongly drawn to him from the first. I could 
 not keep my secret from him. I soon told him all, — 
 my fond hopes, and my disappointment at not being 
 able to go to Cambridge. He took my hand in his, 
 that warm, loving hand so full of blessing, and told me 
 not to be discouraged. Cambridge, good as it was, — and 
 he knew how good, for he graduated from the Univer- 
 sity and the Theological School, — was not absolutely 
 necessary to a useful ministry. Frederick T. Gray, 
 educated in mercantile life, had studied with him. He 
 would help me, and I could help him in many ways. It 
 was the old method of studying for the ministry, and 
 most gladly I accepted the proposal. 
 
 He soon put me on a course of preparatory reading, 
 opened his large library and his great, loving heart to 
 me, and I began again, with a new hope of fitting 
 myself for some humble field of labor in the Christian 
 ministry. 
 
 The following winter I taught the district school, 
 where I used to attend, for thirty-two dollars a month. 
 
VIII. 
 
 PREPARATION FOR THE MINISTRY. 
 
 1 83 7- 1 840. 
 
 Mother's Death. — Reforms and Reformers.— Our First- 
 born. — Dr. Walker's Church.— Charlestown. — " Unto 
 us a Son is given." — Supplying Mr. May's Pulpit. — 
 First Sermon. — Teaching. — Approbation to Preach. — 
 Labors of Love. 
 
 The next spring, March 7, 1837, my dear mother 
 died. It was our first great family sorrow. But it did 
 not come suddenly. She had been slowly declining for 
 two or three years. But, oh, she was so good and true, 
 so unselfish and loving, it was hard to let her go even 
 to heaven ! She knew, of course, all my fond hopes of 
 entering the ministry, and rejoiced in them. I used 
 sometimes to bring with me a little poem I had written, 
 and read it to her, as if from a newspaper. After get- 
 ting her approval, I would tell her of the innocent cheat, 
 which she enjoyed as well as I. She was a sweet 
 soul, — everything to father, everything to her chil- 
 dren. She died before the Daguerrian art was dis- 
 covered, so that we have no picture of her. This I 
 deeply regret. But I suppose no picture, could we 
 have it, would equal the one she left on our hearts. In 
 her days of health, she was bright, full of humor and 
 Brooks wit, the life of company, and making all around 
 
76 Autobiography 
 
 her happy. Her religion was of the quiet and unobtru- 
 sive kind. She said little about it, but let it run into 
 her daily life. Her "William, be a good boy," was 
 Bible plenarily inspired with human and divine love. 
 She was patient and trustful, and willing to go, if it was 
 the Father's will ; but she knew, as every true wife and 
 mother knows, how much she was needed, and longed 
 to stay. She had suffered so much and so long that the 
 suffering had impressed itself upon her face. She had 
 grown old fast, though she was only fifty-eight. But 
 when the angel of death had gently taken the spirit out 
 of the sick form, and touched the wan cheeks with his 
 celestial fingers, the old sweet look came back again. 
 She was young and fair once more, and a sweet smile 
 as if from visions of peace and beauty rested on the 
 dear face. It was a real comfort to look upon her. It 
 was not death. It was rest in a higher life. 
 
 I have spoken of Philenda's marriage. Luther 
 Albert and Sarah and Julia had also married and made 
 homes for themselves, so that dear father was left alone 
 with Lucy and Caroline for his housekeepers. But 
 they were noble girls, and did all they could to make 
 his home comfortable. 
 
 When I began my studies under Mr. May, I dropped 
 my Latin and Greek ; but, as I had not given much 
 attention to either, they had not far to fall. I enjoyed 
 my winter school-teaching, and think I was successful. 
 It was a great advantage to me, as it enabled me to 
 make up the deficiency of my early education, and lay 
 a good foundation for English study in all depart- 
 ments open to me. But my best text-book, intellectual, 
 moral, and religious, was Mr. May. He set me at 
 
Prepamtion for the Ministry J "J 
 
 work ; made me superintendent of his Sunday-school ; 
 took me with him to school-house meetings, educational, 
 temperance, anti-slavery, and religious. 
 
 Mr. May had a wide acquaintance with the leading 
 reformers ; and they all came from time to time to Scit- 
 uate to confer with him, to enjoy his fellowship, or to 
 lecture, so that I was privileged to see and hear the 
 foremost reformers of the day. He believed that 
 women who felt they had a word to say for " truth and 
 right and suffering man " should be encouraged to say 
 it. The first woman I ever heard speak from the pulpit 
 was Miss Angelina Grimkd, afterwards Mrs. Theodore 
 D. Weld, whom Mr. May invited to speak in his church. 
 She was very eloquent and persuasive, and proved her 
 right to speak to be divine. 
 
 Garrison was one of Mr. May's intimate friends, and 
 A. Bronson Alcott, his brother-in-law, used to spend his 
 summers there with his family, so that I probably had 
 a richer variety of all sorts of opinions than I should 
 have got at Cambridge, had I entered. Transcenden- 
 talism, non-resistance, anti-slavery, woman's rights, 
 teetotalism, Emerson, Carlyle, Theodore Parker, were 
 my daily meat and drink. And it was good, nourishing 
 food, especially as served up by Mr. May on Sundays. 
 He was always most eloquent on these matters. On 
 ordinary Christian themes he was sometimes dull. But 
 on the great reforms dear to his heart he would blaze 
 and burn with an interest that would set the congrega- 
 tion aglow. 
 
 In the summer of this year I opened a private school 
 to eke out our living. I had nineteen scholars at three 
 dollars a quarter. I did not bear well the confinement 
 in hot weather, and continued only three months. 
 
78 Autobiography 
 
 On the 30th of June this year, only a few months 
 after mother's death, a great event transpired in our 
 little home. A sweet child was given us, our first-born, 
 a daughter. We had been married over three years, 
 but had only a house. Now we had a household ; and 
 how fondly we did hold the new treasure, and how ear- 
 nestly we prayed for grace to train the little one to 
 nobleness of life ! 
 
 After I had closed my private school, not feeling very 
 strong, I went for a few months mackerel fishing, as 
 that had always benefited me. My health was im- 
 proved, but my purse only slightly replenished. I had 
 lost my luck. It was my last fishing voyage. 
 
 The winter following I kept school again in my 
 native district. This brought me in $120, but hardly 
 sufficed for the year, as we had now a family of three. 
 So in the following April I went to Charlestown and 
 took a job of work of Magoun & Turner, which lasted 
 two months. During this time I attended Dr. Walker's 
 church (Unitarian), took a class in his Sunday-school, 
 and attended his Bible class meetings. It was a rare 
 privilege to sit under his preaching, and come into close 
 contact with him. While there, I gave a lecture in 
 a Methodist chapel, I think on anti-slavery, and kept 
 my mind active as well as my hands. 
 
 Returning to Scituate in July, I took work, to the 
 amount of $26, on a schooner built on the North River. 
 
 Giving what time I could to reading and study in the 
 autumn, I again, for the third time, took charge of the 
 same winter school, for the same compensation. About 
 this time Horace Mann, as Secretary of the Board of 
 Education in Massachusetts, had worked a real revival 
 
Preparation for the Ministry 79 
 
 in common-school education, and the interest spread all 
 through the State. Educational conventions were held 
 all round, to which Mr. May, with his family carriage, 
 an omnibus which would always hold one more, would 
 carry all who wished to go. Our little district school 
 caught the awakening, and I would sometimes wonder 
 whether, after all, teaching were not quite as high a 
 calling as preaching. 
 
 After closing my school, I set myself to the study of 
 Norton on the " Evidences of the Genuineness of the 
 Gospels," and became deeply interested. I doubt if any 
 student at Cambridge studied it with any greater inter- 
 est. Mr. May's large library, and his larger wisdom and 
 experience, were my constant counsellors. 
 
 On May 25 of this year, 1839, tne heavens were 
 again opened in benediction on our little home, and 
 "unto us a son was given." Now we had a pair in the 
 home nest. We called him Joseph. It was the name 
 of the eldest son of Elder Nathaniel from whom our 
 branch of the Tildens descended. He was a lovely 
 boy ; and our hearts were happy, never for a moment 
 doubting that means would come to meet our growing 
 needs. 
 
 I continued my study of the Bible, Old Testament and 
 New, critical and exegetical, read Paley, Verplanck, 
 Whately, the German theology, and Professor Norton's 
 criticism of it, the best published sermons and essays 
 in Christian literature and doctrine, — in short, did what 
 I could, with the best of teachers, to make myself ac- 
 quainted with the best thought going. I did not aspire 
 to be a scholar, only, if possible, a useful Christian 
 minister. 
 
80 Autobiography 
 
 Mr. May had told me, when he first spoke his great 
 word of encouragement, that the way to learn to preach 
 was to preach. But so far I had not attempted to con- 
 duct a public service of worship. I had spoken with 
 Mr. May at school-house and town-house, and given a 
 lyceum lecture, but had never attempted a Sunday ser- 
 vice. 
 
 This summer Mr. May decided to visit his old society 
 at Brooklyn, Conn. He was to be gone two Sundays. 
 I was already the superintendent of his Sunday-school ; 
 and he said to me, " Mr. Tilden, you must supply the 
 pulpit while I am gone." I saw there was nothing to 
 do but attempt it. But I had never written a sermon, 
 and could not do it on so short notice. So I read a 
 printed sermon each Sunday, and conducted the other 
 services as best I could. It was a hard thing to do in 
 the parish where I was brought up. It seemed to me 
 I could have done it more easily anywhere else. But 
 I saw I must, or give up all idea of ever preaching ; 
 and the kindly feelings of the people, especially the 
 encouraging words of Mrs. May, cheered me greatly. 
 When Mr. May returned, he was so pleased with the 
 result that he gave me out of his library Home's " In- 
 troduction to the Old and New Testaments " in four vol- 
 umes, — a very valuable work in its day, and one which 
 proved of great service to me in the earlier years of my 
 ministry. Soon after this I wrote a sermon, that I 
 might have something of my own to say in case I should 
 have another invitation. 
 
 But I still had to work occasionally at my trade to 
 "keep the pot boiling." As I was working on a job on 
 the North River one Saturday afternoon, the Rev. 
 
Preparation for the Ministry 8 1 
 
 George Leonard, of Marshfield, came into the ship-yard. 
 I dropped my broad-axe to greet him, for I knew him 
 well. After the usual salutation, he told me he had 
 come to ask me to give him a labor of love the next 
 day. I felt a little queer about my left breast, and I 
 presume looked warm ; but I wiped my sweaty brow, 
 and told him I would come. My hands had clasped 
 the broad-axe handle for so many years that I could 
 not possibly straighten them so as to touch my palms, 
 but the Bible requirement was for " clean hands," not 
 straight ones ; and, having now a sermon, I promptly 
 consented. I went, and in Mr. Leonard's church, at 
 East Marshfield, in June, 1839, preached my first .ser- 
 mon. I have it now, — not for inspection, but as a relic 
 which I highly prize. I find, on looking on the back of 
 it, that I gave it twice the next month, once at Pem- 
 broke and once at Scituate. It contains no evidence 
 of ever having been preached since. 
 
 The next winter I taught our district school for the 
 fourth and last time. These winter schools of boys and 
 girls of all ages, from six to twenty, I greatly enjoyed. 
 I look back upon my work as a teacher with great pleas- 
 ure. The minister of my boyhood, Rev. Samuel Deane, 
 used to say of a certain teacher that "he could really 
 teach more than he knew." I don't know as I ever 
 quite came up to that, but I did have the gift of teach- 
 ing all I knew, and of greatly interesting the pupils in 
 their studies. My youngest sister, Caroline, who was 
 afterwards distinguished as teacher in one of our 
 State normal schools, was my pupil. There was great 
 pleasure in starting her in her brilliant career, though 
 she soon left me far behind. 
 
82 Autobiography 
 
 At this time the schools were not graded, save as I 
 graded them naturally into classes. One of these, 
 in which I took great delight, I named "my class 
 without books." I called them into the floor, and 
 asked them questions in geography, beginning with the 
 geography of South Scituate, and widening out to all 
 the towns in the county, all the counties in the State, 
 all the States and Territories in the United States, capi- 
 tals, chief mountains, rivers, etc., the class answering 
 in concert. So with other branches, together with 
 questions "on common things" not in the books. This 
 was a new thing at that time, and as richly enjoyed by 
 the children as by myself. All the common-school 
 studies were fresh in my mind from recent attention to 
 them, and the new methods of teaching waked new in- 
 terest in the school. 
 
 But, much as I had come to love teaching, the old 
 call which first lured me from the ship-yard still 
 sounded in my ears, and drew me on in my ministerial 
 studies. 
 
 In the summer of 1840 I read a sermon before the 
 Plymouth and Bay Association of Ministers, at one of 
 their regular meetings. In the kindness of their hearts, 
 the brethren were pleased to consider it satisfactory, 
 and they gave me what was called an " Approbation to 
 Preach." As it is my only "theological diploma," I 
 here give it in full : — 
 
 [copy.] 
 
 This may certify that Mr. William P. Tilden has been appro- 
 bated as a preacher of the Gospel of Christ, by the Plymouth and 
 Bay Association of Ministers, and is hereby recommended to the 
 
Preparation for the Ministry 83 
 
 churches and societies that may wish his services as a man, in the 
 estimation of the members, well qualified, intellectually and morally, 
 to advance the interests of the Redeemer's Kingdom. 
 
 Attest: Josiah Moore. 
 
 Coh asset, Aug. 12, 1840. 
 
 During the spring, summer, and autumn of this year 
 I wrote a few sermons and gave labors of love to nearly 
 all the ministers in the Association. I was everywhere 
 kindly received. But, while words of encouragement 
 were sweet, my diffidence made my early efforts very 
 embarrassing. I was not trustful enough to be calm 
 and self-possessed. I was afraid, of what, I conld not 
 tell. I used to run away before service, and try to 
 walk and whip myself into courage. This held on so 
 long that I began to fear it would conquer me, and that 
 I should have to give up my chosen life-work. But I 
 kept on fighting against it, till by and by the natural 
 diffidence began to yield, and I became more trustful. 
 One sharp experience helped me. I was conducting 
 the Sunday service in Hingham for Rev. Mr. Stearns 
 (afterwards D.D.). I was offering prayer, when all at 
 once my thoughts failed me. My mind was a blank ; 
 not a word could I speak ; I was dumb ; I seemed sus- 
 pended in mid-air. How long I was in this condition I 
 could not tell. At last it came to me, " Pray for a 
 thought." I did pray, silently ; and the answer came. 
 Thoughts and words came, and I went on with the ser- 
 vice under a sweet sense of relief and assistance. It 
 was a lesson of trust, and it gave me confidence in the 
 divine aid. 
 
 Late in the autumn of 1840 I went to West Bridge- 
 water, to spend a Sunday with the Rev. R. Stone, the 
 
84 Autobiography 
 
 pastor of the Unitarian church, and give him a labor of 
 love. Mr. Stone had a charming wife and a large 
 family of promising children. He was very cordial, and 
 seemed so well pleased with the ship-carpenter minis- 
 ter that he recommended me to the Unitarian parish 
 at Norton, whose minister, Rev. Asarelah Bridge, was 
 about leaving. 
 
IX. 
 EARLY MINISTRY. 
 
 Invitation to preach in Norton as Candidate. — Drunk- 
 ard's Funeral. — Unanimous Call. — Ordination. — Wine 
 at Communion. — Adin Ballou. 
 
 Soon after this, as Mary and I were sitting in our 
 quiet little dining-room and kitchen, both in one, we re- 
 ceived a letter postmarked Norton, Mass. We knew 
 not a soul in that town. 
 
 We broke the seal, and, lo ! it was a letter from Mr. 
 Leonard Hodges, asking me to supply the Unitarian 
 pulpit four Sundays, as a candidate. This was my first 
 invitation to preach as a candidate or for pay. It was 
 what we had been looking for and hoping for from 
 some source before long ; but this came so unexpectedly 
 that it set our hearts beating and our tongues flying. 
 What sort of a place was it ? What sort of people ? 
 Would they listen to me when they learned that I had 
 no diploma from college or divinity school ? All was 
 uncertain. But we were full of gratitude and hope. 
 The invitation had come without our seeking it. It did 
 seem as if " He who feeds the ravens when they cry " 
 had something to do with it. I was to begin the next 
 Sunday. We could think and talk of nothing else. 
 Mary packed my carpet-bag with unspoken prayers for 
 
86 Autobiography 
 
 my success, and on Friday, Nov. 6, 1840, I left home, 
 arriving in Norton that evening. I was to board with 
 Captain Dauphin King, and went directly to his house, 
 where I was kindly received. He had married for his 
 second wife the daughter of Rev. Dr. Allen, of Pem- 
 broke, one of the Association that approbated me, so 
 that I found myself, though among entire strangers, not 
 utterly unknown. 
 
 The next day I looked round and took account of 
 stock. I found a pleasant village, with a broad, shaded 
 street, with two churches, small, but neat, and nearly 
 new. The old parish church was still standing, used 
 for a town house, in which a political meeting was held 
 that very afternoon. An attractive feature of the vil- 
 lage was the Wheaton Seminary, established a few 
 years before by Judge Laban Wheaton, the oldest and 
 richest man in the village. 
 
 Sunday came, my first Sunday as a candidate. Only 
 the week before Mr. Bridge had preached his farewell. 
 So I was their first candidate. I felt awkward and 
 constrained. Had a hard day of it, in which the peo- 
 ple doubtless shared. I made a melancholy record in 
 my journal. I could not call my d^but a success. 
 
 The week following I went round among the people. 
 I found them mostly farmers and mechanics, plain, kind- 
 hearted people, in moderate circumstances. I liked 
 them, and as they said nothing disparaging of my ser- 
 vice, I plucked up new courage, and perhaps did a little 
 better the next Sunday. 
 
 Half of my engagement was now out, and it might 
 seem to some folks that I should have stayed the other 
 two Sundays before going home. But I couldn't do it, 
 
Early Ministry 87 
 
 with Mary and the children within thirty miles, and so 
 much to tell them. I was homesick, and so started for 
 home early Monday morning. Oh, what a delightful 
 week that was with my family, and how we canvassed 
 the Norton parish and speculated of coming events ! 
 The next Sunday I was in the pulpit again, and did de- 
 cidedly better, so that I wrote in my journal, "I have 
 had a very happy day." 
 
 Between this and the next Sunday came Thanksgiv- 
 ing, and I wrote and preached my first Thanksgiving 
 sermon, which proved so satisfactory that I repeated it 
 in the evening in the neighboring church at Mansfield. 
 
 The next Sunday I finished my engagement and held 
 my breath. I was the first candidate. Would they 
 hear others before deciding ? It was the common 
 course. It seemed reasonable. But the parish invited 
 me to continue with them till the 1st of April. 
 
 This was a great encouragement. Here was a four 
 months' engagement, which I accepted at once. I 
 thought that, whatever might be the result of this fur- 
 ther candidating, I could not be separated from my 
 family through the winter. So I engaged board with 
 one of my parishioners, James O. Messenger, who with 
 his wife became fast friends, and whom we have always 
 held in high esteem. 
 
 I returned to Scituate, we packed up such things as 
 we needed, and, taking a good, full draught of Mr. May's 
 spiritual " Elixir of Life," we came to Norton early in 
 December, 1840. 
 
 As I had but few sermons to begin with, and had 
 already used nearly all that were worth preaching, I saw 
 hard work before me. I had few books, and my mate- 
 
88 Autobiography 
 
 rials for sermons were scanty ; but I loved the religion 
 of Jesus as I apprehended it, and felt a reasonable assur- 
 ance that, if I was loyal to Christ, it would "be given 
 me what I should speak." 
 
 Four years' study and labor with Rev. S. J. May, four 
 years' fellowship with his great-hearted, philanthropic 
 spirit, had imbued me thoroughly with the reforms of 
 that period. The trinity of public evils against which 
 I felt called to wage unceasing warfare were war, in- 
 temperance, and slavery. Against all war, offensive and 
 defensive, I took the ultra, and, as it seemed to me, 
 Christian ground. 
 
 The New England Non-resistance Society, formed 
 while I was studying, adopted literally the words of 
 Jesus : " Resist not evil. Render not evil for evil, but 
 overcome evil with good." Quite a large number of the 
 early anti-slavery advocates joined this society, and came 
 out from all participation in the national government 
 because it was based, as a dernier ressort, on the right 
 to take human life. William Lloyd Garrison, Edmund 
 Quincy, Adin Ballou, Samuel J. May, and many others, 
 became Christian non-resistants. Others withdrew from 
 all participation in the government because the Consti- 
 tution was interpreted so as to sanction human slavery, 
 that crime of crimes against God and humanity, — that 
 " sum of all villanies," as Wesley had called it. 
 
 The temperance reform was waking the people to a 
 solemn sense of the sin of intemperance, such as was 
 never so widely felt before or since. We were in the 
 midst of the great Washingtonian movement, as it was 
 called, whose only method was moral suasion, which 
 proved more effectual in winning inebriates from their 
 
Early Ministry 89 
 
 cups and in stopping the sale of intoxicating drink than 
 any of the methods since adopted. Not only the adult 
 portion of the community became deeply interested, but 
 " Cold Water Armies " for the children, with badges and 
 banners and music, became so popular that it did seem 
 as if the next generation would grow up free from the 
 temptations of this appalling evil. 
 
 As I entered the ministry breathing this moral at- 
 mosphere, I counted it joy to make my voice heard and 
 my influence felt against this devil's trinity of evils. 
 
 Fully recognizing the necessity of the gospel for in- 
 dividual regeneration of heart and life, I felt that a tes- 
 timony must also be borne against these wide-spread 
 national and social evils, clear and unmistakable. So I 
 was carefully and prayerfully watchful over myself lest, 
 through that "fear of man which bringeth a snare," I 
 should fail to declare the whole counsel of God against 
 these sins. 
 
 This winter opened to me the real work of the min- 
 istry. I had had no experience in pastoral duties. I 
 had attended one or two funerals while I was at Scituate, 
 and visited a few sick people, but only as a lay acquaint- 
 ance, not as a pastor. Now my visits to the sick and 
 bereaved assumed a more intimate and responsible 
 character. There was only the usual amount of sick- 
 ness and death in the parish. But the ministry to sor- 
 row these experiences involved, becoming a personal 
 matter, bore heavily upon me. One death especially, 
 in the course of the winter, was most painful, not only 
 to the friends of the deceased, but to myself, as the 
 officiating minister. 
 
 A middle-aged man, of intemperate habits, was 
 
90 Autobiography 
 
 missed from his home in cold weather. Several days 
 passed with no tidings. At last he was found in a by- 
 path near the woods, frozen to death, with an empty 
 bottle by his side. This termination of his intemper- 
 ate career was a dreadful blow to his family and a great 
 shock to the community. The funeral at his father's 
 house was very largely attended. Some came from 
 real sympathy, and others from curiosity to know what 
 that young carpenter-minister could say. It was a try- 
 ing service for me. There sat father and mother, 
 brothers and sisters, in heart-breaking grief. Sym- 
 pathy with them whispered, " Oh, do not say one word 
 to lacerate their stricken hearts !" But the neighbors, 
 friends, and townsmen filling the rooms, and grouped 
 in the yard around the door, — some of them, I feared, 
 still tampering with the seductive foe, — how could I 
 be true to my conscience without trying to voice the 
 solemn warning to them? I was in "a strait betwixt 
 two." Sympathy pleading for silence as to the cause 
 of the sad event, and conscience calling, as by a voice 
 from heaven, to interpret truthfully this solemn warn- 
 ing, I felt the full force of Pierpont's lines, written 
 under similar circumstances: — 
 
 " But oh ! 
 If thou'st a heart that pity e'er hath touched, 
 
 Pity him who sacrifice of prayer must offer at a drunkard's 
 funeral." 
 
 I spoke as it was given me, in heartfelt sympathy and 
 faithful warning, and I believe no offence was given. I 
 seemed to be swept through the strait by the force of 
 the current, rather than by good steering, so that I 
 escaped being wrecked on either Scylla or Charybdis. 
 
Early Ministry 91 
 
 As the winter wore away, I tried to give full and free 
 expression to all my reform views, so that the people 
 might fully understand my position before the time 
 came for them to say whether or not they would call 
 me to be their pastor. As I had not been ordained, I 
 could not legalize a marriage. But some of the young 
 people, being more sure of my remaining than I was, 
 were willing to wait. 
 
 Finally, on the 15th of March, two weeks before the 
 expiration of my engagement, the parish held a meet- 
 ing, and I was invited, by a very large vote, — fifty-nine 
 yeas, two nays, — to become their pastor for two years. 
 The limit to two years was at my own request. My 
 salary was fixed at six hundred dollars per year, one 
 hundred more than they had given their former minis- 
 ter. 
 
 Having already become attached to the people, and 
 highly gratified with the unanimity of the call, I readily 
 and gladly accepted. 
 
 The time for my ordination was fixed for April 14th, 
 1840. On the 1 2th we began keeping house in the 
 parsonage, built by Madame Bowen, who permitted the 
 parish to use it without rent. On the 13th we had a 
 violent snow-storm, which so completely blocked the 
 ways as to render passing next to impossible. This, 
 for the middle of April, was very unusual. The next 
 day, the day set apart for my ordination, was bright and 
 clear, the snow-drifts wreathed with diamonds shining in 
 the sunlight like gems of the first water. But only 
 three ministers and one delegate put in an appearance 
 from the thirteen churches invited. 
 
92 Autobiography 
 
 But the day was so delightful overhead that our 
 parishioners broke through the snow, and made a fair 
 show in the church. So, while the ordination was post- 
 poned for one week, it was decided to hold a service, 
 and the Rev. Mr. Arnold, of Fall River, one of the three 
 present, gave an admirable sermon. When the day to 
 which the ordination was adjourned came, April 21, it 
 proved about as copious a rain-storm as the snow-storm 
 of the 13th. But, as some of the pastors and delegates 
 came the day before, we had enough to form the coun- 
 cil. 
 
 Among those who took part in my ordination were 
 my dear Mr. May, who preached the sermon, my kind 
 neighbor, Dr. Bigelow, who offered the ordaining prayer, 
 and my true friend, Mr. Samuel Sewall, who gave me 
 the charge. My sister Lucy wrote two beautiful hymns 
 for the occasion, and it was a happy day. 
 
 So I was launched into the ministry, after having 
 been on the stocks four or five years, giving time for 
 the green timber to season, but with an outfit of spare 
 sails and rigging too limited to justify any ministerial 
 " insurance company " in taking the risk. 
 
 I preached the next Sunday morning from the text, 
 " Do the work of an evangelist " ; and, in looking it over 
 the other day, I could but wonder that I did so well. It 
 was a broad, earnest statement of the work of an evan- 
 gelist, as I apprehended it, a fervent plea for a higher 
 life in the individual and in the church, a life more con- 
 formed to the teaching and life of Christ. 
 
 The second Sunday after I was ordained I performed 
 my first marriage service by joining two of our young 
 people, who afterwards became members of the church, 
 
Early Ministry 93 
 
 Earl C. White and Elizabeth A. Sweet. They are still 
 living, — 1888, — with children and grandchildren to 
 " rise up and call them blessed." Several others, as if 
 waiting for the opportunity, followed before long. I 
 soon began to preach on the proper way of bringing up 
 children, the common theme for young ministers. As 
 they grow older and gain a larger experience, the con- 
 fident tone of these juvenile efforts is usually quite sen- 
 sibly modified. 
 
 I was made a member of the school committee, in the 
 duties of which my four years' experience in teaching 
 made me feel at home. 
 
 Soon the wave of temperance interest, sweeping over 
 the eastern part of Massachusetts, broke in refreshing 
 on our village. Pierpont, Dr. Jewett, and others from 
 abroad, visited us ; and, with the cordial co-operation of 
 ministers and laymen, there was a wide-spread awaken- 
 ing, in which many, young and old, signed the pledge, 
 among whom were some hard drinkers. 
 
 The use of alcoholic wine at the communion had 
 long troubled me ; and for some time I had refused the 
 cup when it was presented to me, feeling that the cause 
 of the Master was better served in the breach than in 
 the observance. I could not deem it right to com- 
 memorate the world's Redeemer by the use of an in- 
 toxicating beverage which was deluging the world with 
 woe. Knowing that my own hands must soon present 
 the symbols, I was greatly anxious to substitute some- 
 thing else for the deleterious compounds often sold for 
 wine. I laid the matter before the church with great 
 solicitude, for I knew the power of old custom and the 
 difficulty of breaking away from old usage. I presented 
 
94 Autobiography 
 
 the case to them as it lay in my mind, and, to my great 
 joy, there was not one dissenting voice to the proposal 
 to substitute the pure juice of the grape from bloom 
 raisins for alcoholic wine. So that at the first com- 
 munion administered by myself I had the great satis- 
 faction of using the fruit of the vine, free from all in- 
 toxicating elements. 
 
 The national Fourth of July came on Sunday this 
 year. It was my first Fourth as an ordained minister, 
 and the way I improved the occasion is indicated by 
 this brief note in my journal : — 
 
 Sunday, July 4, 1841. — Have celebrated Independence by 
 preaching all day upon the heaven-daring sins our country is 
 committing by continuing to make merchandise of the image 
 of God. I pray that I may not have spoken in vain. 
 
 This was in the early stages of the anti-slavery 
 movement, when Church and State were united to hold 
 the slave in his chains, and put down the incendiary 
 fanatics who believed in a "higher law" than that on 
 the statute book. 
 
 This summer I exchanged with Rev. Adin Ballou, of 
 Mendon, and became acquainted with this remarkable 
 man. He belonged to what was then called the 
 " Restorationists," a branch of Universalists who 
 believed, as all Unitarians do now, that all God's 
 children will finally be restored to holiness in this 
 world or the next. He was the finest Scriptural 
 interpreter I have ever met. He knew the Bible by 
 heart, and in textual criticism was a " well-instructed 
 scribe." He often encountered Orthodox believers in 
 public debate, and both on account of his rational views 
 
Early Ministry 95 
 
 and his intellectual power was a formidable opponent. 
 He was an uncompromising non-resistant, deeply inter- 
 ested in all reforms. He and a small company of kin- 
 dred spirits started a " Practical Christian Community" 
 at Milford, in which they hoped to realize a higher and 
 purer type of Christian life. I visited with him the 
 lovely spot where they endeavored to found the new 
 kingdom, and rejoiced with them in the experiment of 
 faith. But, alas ! like most other attempts made at that 
 time to lift human life by association and withdrawal 
 from the world, it failed, and in a few years the com- 
 munity was dissolved, giving place to a rapidly growing 
 and very beautiful village. 
 
 It was a great grief to Mr. Ballou, who, in giving up 
 the "community" on which he had set his heart, still 
 retained, and holds to this day, in serene old age, his 
 loyalty to non-resistance as the clear doctrine of Christ. 
 He is the American Tolstoi, with as deep a conviction 
 as his Russian fellow-believer that evil can be over- 
 come only by good. 
 
X. 
 
 EARLY MINISTRY {continued). 
 
 1 840-44. 
 
 Death of Little Joseph. — Collins and Douglass. — Lati- 
 mer.— Religious Awakening. — Death of Mr. Bond. 
 — Birth of William Phillips Tilden, Jr. — Death of 
 Mrs. Turner. — III Health. 
 
 The weeks swept on, and I was happy in my work. 
 But a cloud was gathering in our clear home sky that 
 we wot not of. On the morning of September 6 we 
 perceived that our darling Joseph was ill. He had 
 always been a very healthy child, full of overflowing life, 
 just beginning "to talk in broken words, which were 
 music to a mother's ear," and father's, too. He was not 
 very sick at first, but on the third day he suddenly left 
 us. Even on the morning of that day he did not seem 
 dangerously ill. When the doctor came, he said he 
 could check the disease soon. He gave medicine, and 
 in a few hours little Joseph died in convulsions. It 
 was so sudden it seemed unreal. But we found it 
 a dreadful reality. It was our first household sorrow. 
 To add to our grief was the haunting fear that there 
 had been a misjudgment in regard to the medicine, the 
 darling went so soon after taking it. With some other 
 treatment might not his sweet life have been spared ? 
 The idea was anguish. We found relief at last in the 
 
Early Ministry 97 
 
 thought that, supposing our dreadful fears to be true, 
 we could not help it. We had done what we thought 
 was right in committing him to the doctor's care. He 
 had done what he thought was right, and there can be 
 no higher rule of action for us than to do what seems 
 right at the time. More light may show us a better 
 way ; but, when we do what seems right with the light 
 we have, it is right, whatever the result. The lesson 
 so painfully learned has been a comfort through life. 
 But the sorrow was great. The dear God only knew 
 how sick our hearts were. Oh, how sweetly he looked 
 in his little casket ! It was a comfort to sit with 
 him alone. It did not seem like death, but an angel 
 asleep. Sometimes, as I thought of him in heaven, 
 a sweet peace would come; and I would feel as if I 
 should never be so wretched again ; and then, even as 
 the peace was upon me, my great sorrow would roll 
 back like a wave, and I could only bow my head and let 
 it break, till the sunlight again appeared through the 
 blinding spray. 
 
 He was indeed a precious boy, so intelligent, so 
 affectionate, so full of life and joy and gladness. He 
 was so handsome, too. His large, full eyes were open 
 windows for his soul, and his smile and rollicking laugh 
 were enchanting. Dear angel boy, you did not leave 
 us utterly. You rose out of our sight, but still re- 
 mained in our hearts to make real the unseen and eter- 
 nal. We had much still to be thankful for. One was 
 taken, but the other was left ; and dear Laura became, 
 if possible, still more precious, now her little brother 
 had gone to "join the choir invisible." 
 
 The ladies of the parish united in the erection of a 
 
gS Autobiography 
 
 chaste marble shaft over his grave, on which are in- 
 scribed only the two words 
 
 LITTLE JOSEPH. 
 
 It was enclosed with a circular wooden fence, which has 
 been kept by fresh painting from the wear and tear of 
 time by our good friend James O. Messenger for now 
 forty-seven years. 
 
 Up to this time I had often been called to sympathize 
 with such sorrows as ours, and thought I did so. But 
 this experience was a new revelation to me of the depths 
 of such sorrow, and I think my ministry ever after took 
 on a new tenderness born of this great experience. 
 
 About a month after this we were glad to receive a 
 visit from my father and his new wife. After remain- 
 ing a widower more than four years, he married Mrs. 
 Benson of Scituate, a widow with two children. I was 
 glad to have father marry again, for he was a dear 
 lover of home. 
 
 Caroline had been preparing for a teacher at the 
 Bridgewater Normal School, and Lucy felt the need of 
 doing something for herself. 
 
 Father's visit was brief, — he never could bear to be 
 away from home more than one night ; but it cheered 
 our hearts to know that henceforth he would have a 
 companion for his old age. After we left South Scit- 
 uate, I invited father to take my house, which was 
 more convenient and comfortable. 
 
 Not long after this the old house took fire from 
 some unknown cause one night, and was burned to 
 ashes. Now there is nothing left but the old cellar, 
 well, and enclosed walls to tell of the dear spot where 
 the most of my boyhood and early manhood was spent. 
 
Early Ministry 99 
 
 A few Sundays later, as I was speaking to our Sunday- 
 school, a gentleman came in whom I knew as the agent 
 of the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society, — John A. 
 Collins. He came to say that he and Fred Douglass, a 
 man just escaped from slavery, would hold an anti- 
 slavery meeting on Wednesday evening next in our 
 church. I was glad of the announcement, and due 
 notice was given. 
 
 The time came, and the meeting was a grand one. 
 Collins was a man of marked ability, but the fugitive 
 slave Douglass was the great attraction. He was just 
 out of slavery. He had spoken at an anti-slavery meet- 
 ing a little while before at New Bedford, where he was 
 working, and the friends of the cause were so impressed 
 by his spirit that they engaged him at once to speak 
 at their meetings. We saw he was no ordinary man. 
 Though born and bred in slavery, he had the manners 
 and speech of a gentleman. There was no lingering 
 of negro dialect. He spoke good, honest, trenchant 
 Saxon, with great calmness and self-possession. The 
 leading characteristics which have since distinguished 
 him as a debater and orator were manifest then. He 
 was born to them. His pose and power were Web- 
 sterian, and, although we little dreamed then that be 
 would one day be Chief Marshal of the city of Wash- 
 ington, still we saw that he was a man of unusual power 
 and promise. They spent the night with us, and we 
 found Douglass as charming in the home as on the 
 platform. He was a lover of children. Laura was 
 then a little girl of four. I remember how he swung 
 her on to his shoulder, and marched round with her 
 as a conquering hero. 
 
 I had a nice parsonage garden. As the soil was 
 
ioo Autobiography 
 
 light and the hoeing easy, I kept it quite free from 
 weeds. But on another part of the acre lot, where the 
 soil was heavier and the weeds more persistent, the 
 appearance was not so pleasant to the eye of a careful 
 farmer. When my brother Albert, who always loved 
 a joke, came to see me, he said he knew when he got 
 to my house by the weeds in the garden. 
 
 I must confess to my grandchildren that I was never 
 much of a farmer, and that I grow no better as I grow 
 older. The part of gardening I like best is laying 
 down to grass. That requires no hoeing. 
 
 In the spring-time of this year I bought a little 
 black pacer at auction for twenty dollars, and my friend 
 Mr. Messenger, who was a painter, fitted up a light 
 covered carryall. We put the two together, and used 
 them in common. The team was not gay, but very 
 convenient for parish calls, visiting schools, and making 
 exchanges. 
 
 Another Thanksgiving came and found us well, but 
 lonely. We missed little Joseph so much all the time, 
 but especially at the dear old home festival. My duties 
 as school committee, occasional lectures on temperance, 
 and other reforms out of town, in connection with my 
 ordinary parish work, kept me constantly occupied. 
 But I was well, and enjoyed my labors. Occasional 
 letters from dear Mr. May, and one good visit from 
 him and sister Caroline, were a real refreshment. We 
 talked over the new thought of the times, criticised 
 everybody but ourselves, and set the wayward world to 
 rights with great satisfaction. 
 
 The next year, 1842, Mr. May received and accepted 
 an earnest invitation, made well-nigh imperative 
 
Early Ministry 101 
 
 through the entreaty of the Secretary of the Board of 
 Education, Hon. Horace Mann, to become the princi- 
 pal of the Normal School at Lexington. He insisted 
 that my sister Caroline, who had been educated at the 
 Bridgewater Normal School, and had proved herself a 
 promising and competent teacher, should go with him 
 and take the charge of mathematics, in which she ex- 
 celled. After this I saw little of Mr. May, and even 
 his letters were infrequent from his arduous duties. 
 
 During this year my labors were unremitting. I 
 don't remember whether I had ever heard of "a sum- 
 mer vacation " at that time ; but I am sure I had none, 
 nor for many years after. 
 
 A deepening religious interest began to show itself 
 in the parish generally this year. We held social re- 
 ligious meetings at the parsonage and private houses, 
 and the Sunday attendance was cheering in numbers 
 and interest. 
 
 The year 1842 opened auspiciously, and I worked on 
 in faith and hope. I began to get accustomed to my 
 changed life, and the professional harness came to set 
 easier and chafe less. 
 
 The anniversary meetings in Boston were occasions 
 of great interest to me. The anti-slavery movement, 
 growing stronger every day, made them lively occa- 
 sions. Only a small number of Unitarian ministers had 
 then espoused the cause, — S. J. May, John Pierpont, 
 Caleb Stetson, and a few others of less note. • The op- 
 position to these men and the cause they represented 
 was bitter and strong. There was a determination not 
 to hear them. Even Mr. May, honored as he was, was 
 not allowed to speak through the pages of our only 
 
102 Autobiography 
 
 monthly, the Christian Examiner. But the fierce oppo- 
 sition made the annual meetings all the more exciting ; 
 and they became to me, secluded from my brethren all 
 the rest of the year by constant home work, seasons of 
 great interest and quickening. 
 
 In the autumn of 1842 George Latimer, a fugitive 
 slave, was caught and thrown into jail in Boston, for 
 safe keeping, by his master. From the jail he sent a 
 petition to the churches " for their prayers." It was a 
 spark that caught wherever there was enough tinder 
 of human sympathy to hold it. The flame was seen 
 and felt in many churches where sincere prayers were 
 offered for the restoration of the imprisoned fugitive. 
 On the Sunday the request for prayer was read and 
 answered in our church I took occasion to preach from 
 the words of Jesus, " Inasmuch as ye have done it 
 unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have 
 done it unto me." 
 
 When the two years for which I was settled had ex- 
 pired, I was promptly and unanimously invited to con- 
 tinue my ministry, with no limitation of time. 
 
 I accepted ; for there was entire harmony of feeling, 
 and the religious interest seemed to be steadily deep- 
 ening. Many, both young and old, were waked to new- 
 ness of life. Among them was an old man whose ex- 
 perience was deeply interesting. He must have been 
 near seventy, and for many years had led a very intem- 
 perate life. Sometimes in his crazy, drunken fits we 
 could hear his wild cries in the night, though he lived 
 far away. He had probably not been inside a meeting- 
 house for years. But one Sunday he came, to the sur- 
 prise of everybody. Whether from anything he heard 
 
Early Ministry 103 
 
 or from the spiritual atmosphere of the place I know 
 not, but he came again. He was deeply thoughtful. 
 He gave fixed attention ; and soon he accepted the in- 
 vitation to stop after the morning service to the Bible 
 class. His soul was melted into contrition for his past 
 life. He said little at first, but the tears streaming 
 down his cheeks told of the inward struggle his soul 
 was passing through. Finally, as he began to speak 
 more freely, he told us how hard it was for him to be- 
 lieve that he could be forgiven. He had sinned so 
 long, sinned so deeply, it did not seem to him that 
 Divine Love itself could forgive him. At last the light 
 of a sweet peace shone through his tears, and the morn- 
 ing of a new life broke upon the old man's soul. 
 Awhile after, when we saw the change was real, he 
 was welcomed to the church, and remained to his 
 death, years after, a worthy member of the church and 
 a respectable citizen. It was one of the best possible 
 answers to Nicodemus : "How can a man be born 
 when he is old ? " 
 
 In the spring of 1843 the husband of my eldest sis- 
 ter, Philenda, died quite suddenly, leaving her with 
 three children. He was a strong, healthy man, and a 
 very true and noble character. I loved him as an own 
 brother. His father and mother and sister were of the 
 old Puritan school in theology, but he was an earnest 
 Unitarian, and was deeply interested in my studying 
 for the ministry. He gave me Clarke's " Commentary 
 on the New Testament," which at that time, when I 
 had but few books, was of great assistance to me. 
 
 Passing over the ordinary experiences and labors of 
 parish work, I come to a white day in our parsonage 
 
104 Autobiography 
 
 home. Aug. 23, 1843, — on this day another sweet boy 
 was given us. At first he looked like our little Joseph ; 
 but after a week or two the likeness faded. We did 
 not regret this ; for we were glad to keep the image of 
 that angel boy fresh in our remembrance, not absorbed 
 by or blended with any other. We wished to remem- 
 ber Joseph as our own dear boy, still a member of our 
 little family, though unseen. So we did not name our 
 new gift from heaven after him, as is so often done. 
 That would seem as if we regarded Joseph as lost to 
 us, and sought to fill his place with another. Mary 
 said, " We will call the little one William Phillips," and 
 it was done. Since he has grown up, he may not thank 
 us for making him a Jr. ; but it was with the hope and 
 prayer that he would prove senior in nobleness of life. 
 
 In January, 1844, my dear sister Sarah, Mrs. Will- 
 iam Turner, died. She had been sick for many months 
 of consumption, and left a husband and five beautiful 
 children, three sons and two daughters. She was a 
 true wife and mother, a sweet sister, a noble woman. 
 
 I visited her at her home in South Scituate a little 
 while before she died. I found her calm and trustful. 
 She knew she could not stay long, but, strong as her 
 love was for her family, she was willing to go, seeing it 
 was the Father's will. She was the first of the chil- 
 dren to go after dear mother. She was married when 
 about twenty, and died at thirty-five, — a life crowded 
 with household duties, which she performed with 
 marked ability, finding her highest joy in her home. 
 
 Early in 1844, as the winter broke up, my health 
 broke down. It was not strange, for the change in the 
 habits of my life since becoming a minister was great, 
 
Early Ministry 105 
 
 and the duties of the last year, especially, had been 
 very arduous and constant. The break-down was quite 
 sudden. It was a general collapse. It would now be 
 called nervous prostration. It had no name then, but 
 it was the same dread reality. I could not read, I 
 could not write, I could not work : even a paragraph 
 in a newspaper upset me. I saw I must quit for a 
 season, and asked release from duty for two months. 
 I supplied the pulpit largely by exchanges. Mary and 
 the children went to our old, sweet refuge, where we 
 always found a welcome, Aunt Tempie's in Charles- 
 town ; and I became a circulating medium, managing 
 to pass without challenge, though conscious of much 
 alloy in my constitution. I gave myself, as far as I 
 could, to recreation. The gate of thinking and writing 
 had been shut down for me, and I had no desire to lift 
 it. I simply rested, using old sermons on Sunday. 
 
XL 
 
 CONCORD MINISTRY. 
 
 1S44-1S4S. 
 
 Visit to Concord. — Stephen S. Foster. — Invitation to 
 Remain. — Farewell to Norton. — Birth of George. 
 
 — Christening. — Invitation to remain Another Year. 
 
 — Death of Mrs. Lewis. — First Published Sermon. — 
 Mexican War. — Military Convention. — White Moun- 
 tains. — Second Published Sermon. — Third Published 
 Sermon. — Farewell to Concord. — Dover. — Caro- 
 line's Death. 
 
 During my rest I was invited to supply the pulpit 
 at Concord, N.H., one Sunday, and, engaging a supply 
 for my own pulpit, I went. I had never before been 
 to this beautiful inland city on the Merrimack, the cap- 
 ital of New Hampshire. I was delighted with the 
 place. The Rev. M. G. Thomas, who was their first 
 minister, and had been with them fifteen years, had 
 just resigned, but still lived in a beautiful house on 
 a swell of land just on the fringe of the city. I found 
 a pleasant church, a good congregation, and had a de- 
 lightful time. 
 
 I was the guest of Brother and Sister Thomas. I 
 found them charming people. Then began a friend- 
 ship which proved life-long. 
 
 The parishioners were very kind in their expressions 
 of interest in my services; and I left them feeling that 
 
Concord Ministry 107 
 
 I had enjoyed a delightful season, in a delightful place, 
 with a delightful people. 
 
 The Concord people were anxious to hear me again, 
 and soon after they sent one of their leading men, Col. 
 William Kent, to Norton to talk with me about coming 
 to Concord, at least for the season. He knew I had 
 been off duty from illness ; and so he urged the healthi- 
 ness of the place, as well as the desire of the people, 
 with most persuasive eloquence. I yielded so far as to 
 say I would come again for two Sundays. 
 
 Being anxious to have them understand my reform 
 views, I took sermons which clearly expressed my 
 ideas in relation to the disturbing topics of the day. 
 I would have them fully understand what they were 
 doing in giving me a call. 
 
 One interesting circumstance gave me a fine oppor- 
 tunity for testing them. There had just been a great 
 excitement in town, and especially in the churches, on 
 the anti-slavery question. Stephen S. Foster, a young 
 man who had studied for an Orthodox minister, but, 
 becoming interested in anti-slavery, left the ministry 
 and the Church because of their opposition to the 
 movement for the slave, had felt it to be his duty to 
 go into one of the large Orthodox churches in Concord 
 and bear his testimony against the heaven-daring evil. 
 He did this without permission, in the midst of the 
 service. It was a most unwarrantable thing to do. 
 But the society met it in an unfortunate way. Certain 
 of their number, indignant at such disturbance of their 
 service, rose and dragged him out of the church. 
 
 As he was a non-resistant, he just " decomposed " 
 his muscles and left them to do it all, without any of 
 
108 Autobiograpliy 
 
 his assistance. It imposed a hard task on four men. 
 But they at last landed him on the outer steps. Of 
 course, it was town's talk; and, though few justified 
 Foster, many saw that the church method of dealing 
 with him could hardly be justified on Christian grounds. 
 Foster soon after married Miss Abby Kelly, another 
 come-outer. They were lecturing at this time together. 
 Hearing, probably, that I was anti-slavery in my senti- 
 ment, they both came one Sunday to our church. I 
 saw them in the congregation. As I closed my ser- 
 mon, I said, " I see we have with us to-day friends who 
 are giving themselves to the cause of the slave, and 
 who always count it a privilege to speak in behalf of 
 the bondman. And I venture to do here what I should 
 do in my own church, and to invite them cordially to 
 say anything which their hearts prompt." 
 
 Foster rose, and said, very modestly, "that he had 
 nothing special to say. He had listened to a sermon 
 that had interested him, and he hoped that the time was 
 not far distant when such sentiments would be heard 
 from all the pulpits in the land." 
 
 I thought that, if the people invited me to become 
 their minister after this, they would do it with their 
 eyes open, at their own risk. And they did. The 
 treatment was in such contrast to the " dragging out " 
 that the parishioners, instead of being disturbed by it, 
 were highly gratified, and gave me a cordial invitation 
 to remain with them. 
 
 I could not say certainly till I returned to Nor- 
 ton. I found my dear people very unwilling I should 
 leave. It was a severe struggle to decide to do so ; 
 but, as my health was so poor, and the change of cli- 
 
Concord Ministry 109 
 
 mate and scene was so desirable, we thought it best, on 
 the whole, to go for one year on trial. 
 
 They offered me seven hundred a year ; but it was 
 not the difference in salary, but the hope of regaining 
 my health, that influenced my decision. 
 
 But it was hard going. I had become strongly at- 
 tached to my people, and they to me. They were my 
 first love. I had been with them in sorrow and joy 
 nearly four years from the time of my first supply of 
 their pulpit. I was a member of the school committee 
 ever after I was ordained. This had made me inter- 
 ested in the children of the town. My interest in 
 temperance and other social reforms had given me a 
 wide-spread acquaintance ; and it was a real trial to 
 break all these ties. 
 
 The first Sunday in June we carried our dear little 
 William Phillips to the baptismal font, and consecrated 
 him in love and faith to the service of the heavenly 
 Father. The last Sunday of the same month (1844) I 
 preached my farewell. 
 
 My engagement at Concord was for one year only, 
 beginning with July. At first we boarded, but soon 
 found a cottage on the hill near Brother Thomas where 
 we went to keeping house. Our nearness to our 
 friends drew closer the ties of our friendship. 
 
 Here I found a field of labor very different from 
 Norton. There they were steady-going farmers, of 
 small means, living in a quiet way, with few things to 
 disturb the monotony of daily toil. Here was a grow- 
 ing city, full of business, enterprise, push, excitement, 
 the hot-bed of politics, the seething-pot of all sorts of 
 speculations. I was surprised by the liberality with 
 
no Autobiography 
 
 which young men, clerks and mechanics, contributed 
 to the support of the church, some of them paying as 
 much voluntarily as the richest men were taxed in my 
 Norton parish. 
 
 They were noble men and women, of various opin- 
 ions, religious and political, but kindly, and tolerant 
 generally of opinions they did not accept. They bade 
 us a cordial welcome to their homes and hearts. 
 
 I seemed to be in a new world, alive with fresh 
 thought, calling upon me for the best I could give 
 every Sunday. But the change gave me more time for 
 study, and I soon grew stronger, away from the east 
 wind, and breathing the soft summer air coming from 
 the " dark plains " of pitch pine across the river. 
 
 On the 19th of March, 1845, a new gift of Heaven 
 descended on our little cottage on the hill in the form 
 of another lovely boy. We hailed him with gratitude 
 and joy. Willie was only nineteen months old then, so 
 that we almost felt we had twin boys, and indeed they 
 were often taken for twins as they grew up together. 
 
 We had formed so pleasant a friendship with the 
 Thomases that we thought we would commemorate it 
 by the name of our new child. Mr. Thomas's name 
 was Moses George, so, dropping the Moses, we called 
 our boy George Thomas. 
 
 While they remained in Concord, they were not only 
 our nearest neighbors, but our most intimate friends, in 
 full sympathy with the general aim of my preach- 
 ing. They left for South Boston in October. The 
 night before they went away they spent with us. 
 Late in the evening of October 7 our baby George 
 awoke. The sudden thought came to us, Why not 
 
Concord Ministry 1 1 1 
 
 have him baptized now that Brother Thomas is with 
 us to administer the rite ? 
 
 Water was brought, and there around the social 
 hearth, in the enjoyment of that friendship his name 
 was given to commemorate, the sacred and beautiful 
 rite was administered. It was a sweet season. We 
 felt none of the anxious care attendant on infant bap- 
 tism at church. There were none to comment on the 
 child's dress or behavior. Just as we took him from 
 the cradle in his little flannel night-gown, we pre- 
 sented him. In his mother's lap, that sweet resting- 
 place for the little nestling, he received the pure drops 
 upon his brow. Then, as we sat together with clasped 
 hands, the fervent prayer of our brother went up to 
 Heaven for us all. 
 
 I was engaged only for one year; but, when the time 
 expired, they invited me to continue and voted my 
 salary for another year. The society was harmonious, 
 and I did not permit my interest in reforms to inter- 
 fere with my earnest efforts to promote personal piety. 
 We had some very interesting cases of the awakening 
 of souls to the higher life. 
 
 In the autumn of 1845 my sister Lucy, seven years 
 younger than I, who had been married only a little 
 more than a year, died, leaving an infant, — Helen. I 
 went to see her just before she left, and received into 
 my heart the benediction of her sweet trusting spirit. 
 She talked freely of her leaving ; said, " I have more 
 than everything to live for, — so good a husband, so 
 sweet an infant." She had, indeed ; but her trust in 
 the Father's love was unfaltering, and the breathing of 
 her soul was, "Not my will, but thine, be done." She 
 
H2 Autobiography 
 
 had been expecting me, and expressed the wish that, 
 when I came, the babe might be baptized. The little 
 one was brought to the bedside of its calm and prayer- 
 ful mother, and there in its father's arms, with a few 
 friends standing round, Helen received the baptismal 
 waters on her innocent brow. After the service was 
 over, Lucy's husband went to her and said, "You feel 
 happy now? " "Yes," she replied, "very, very happy." 
 The second day after she was with the angels. 
 
 Lucy — Lucy Brooks — was not only a very lovely 
 woman, but one of rare gifts. She had a highly poeti- 
 cal and deeply religious nature. The collection of 
 poems made by her husband after her death, gleaned 
 mainly from the Christian Register where they were 
 first published, shows how natural was her power of 
 sacred song. They are nearly all of a religious charac- 
 ter, breathing a sweet spirit of trusting faith. She 
 was a fine housekeeper, and had the rare art of think- 
 ing her best thoughts at her work. Very often, after 
 a morning at the wash-tub, she would hang out her 
 clothes, — and they were always white, — wipe her hands, 
 take pencil and paper and write out the poem she had 
 composed over the suds. She was as lovely in charac- 
 ter as sweet in song, deeply interested in anti-slavery, 
 human brotherhood, and all the reforms of the day. 
 In this, as in love of home, she found a congenial 
 spirit in her faithful and devoted husband. 
 
 In 1846 I preached a sermon on "The Evangelical 
 Alliance," then recently formed in England for the 
 promotion of Christian union. Its limitations of fel- 
 lowship were so inconsistent with union, in any true 
 Christian sense, that I felt it my duty to expose its nar- 
 
Concord Ministry 1 1 3 
 
 rowness and show a more excellent way. It was "pub- 
 lished by request.'' This was my first published ser- 
 mon. 
 
 Then the Mexican war clouds began to send forth 
 lightning and thunder. The annexation of Texas the 
 year before, had given rise to various disputes with 
 Mexico as to boundaries and border regions, and in 
 April a conflict of arms took place between Mexican 
 and United States troops on the Rio Grande. War 
 was at once declared by the President "As existing by 
 the act of Mexico." The bugle blast calling for vol- 
 unteers was heard all over the land. In Concord there 
 was great excitement. Not only the peace men, but 
 the anti-slavery men, regarded the war as unjust, and 
 waged in the interests of slavery. 
 
 I could not be silent. One Sunday, as I was giving 
 my view of the war, a prominent member, one Colonel 
 
 , rose, and, wrapping " his martial cloak around 
 
 him," marched down the aisle and out of the church. 
 Of course, it made a sensation, and the timid ones 
 were scared. 
 
 The anniversary meetings in Boston this year gave 
 me new courage and inspiration. They were full of 
 fervor. George S. Hillard and William H. Channing, 
 especially, spoke at the meeting of the American Uni- 
 tarian Association with clarion tongues in behalf of 
 pure Christianity. I returned from these meetings 
 with a song of joy in my heart. 
 
 I had told the society at the end of the second year 
 that I thought I had better go away, as some were leav- 
 ing the church, but they would not hear to it, and voted 
 my salary for another year. 
 
ii4 Autobiography 
 
 v 
 
 But the Mexican war furor deepened the excitement 
 and intensified the feelings on both sides. The news- 
 papers were ablaze with it. My ultra-peace principles 
 made me, not a "target" merely, but a live pigeon or 
 " goose " for them to shoot at. 
 
 There was a great military convention held in Con- 
 cord early in June, to enkindle patriotic zeal and enlist 
 recruits for the war. Several Independent Companies 
 came from a distance, in full uniform, — one from Ver- 
 mont. The old North Church was crowded to overflow- 
 ing, and flaming speeches were made in behalf of the 
 war and in eulogy of the military. A prominent law- 
 yer of the place, a pro-slavery democrat, Mr. Franklin 
 Pierce, was the presiding genius of the occasion. 
 
 I was present to hear what was said, with many other 
 anti-slavery and anti-war friends. Mr. Pierce, in the 
 course of his speech, said, looking directly at me and 
 shaking his finger as he spoke, that he saw some pres- 
 ent who sought to bring the military into contempt. 
 He then went on in mingled sarcasm and scorn of those 
 who opposed the war on principles of peace. There was 
 great applause and excitement. I was near the front ; 
 and, as he closed, I pressed through the crowd, and, 
 stepping to the platform, asked the privilege of a word. 
 When I began, I was hailed with hisses, but after a few 
 words they were still and attentive. I never knew just 
 what I said. I was too excited to remember. I only 
 know that I attempted to show how inconsistent this 
 war spirit they had been lauding was with the genius 
 and spirit of Christianity. I believe my word was not 
 in vain. It gave them something to think of besides 
 fighting to enlarge our slave territory. Soon as I closed, 
 
Concord Ministry 115 
 
 the large concourse of people dispersed quietly, with no 
 hisses or groans for the peace minister. 
 
 On the two following days the friends of peace held 
 meetings, and noble and truthful words were spoken for 
 "peace on earth and good will to men." Adin Ballou 
 and Samuel E. Coues were present from abroad, and 
 added much to the interest of the meetings. Brother 
 Ballou stayed over Sunday with me, and preached 
 gloriously all day of the real kingdom of God. 
 
 The next month Brother and Sister Thomas came up 
 from South Boston, where he was then settled ; and, 
 taking a four-seated carriage with a span of horses, we 
 went together, himself and wife, myself and wife, to the 
 White Mountains. We were gone about two weeks, 
 leaving the children in good hands, and had a most de- 
 lightful journey. Brother Thomas was a dear lover of 
 the mountains, knew them by heart. We could not 
 have had a better guide or more charming companions. 
 
 We spent many vacations among the mountains af- 
 terwards, but the first view of their grandeur and sub- 
 limity has never been surpassed, hardly equalled. No 
 scream of the steam whistle had then been heard among 
 these fastnesses of nature. We ascended Mt. Wash- 
 ington on horseback, by a bridle-path from Old Craw- 
 ford's, going over all the interesting mountains in the 
 long range from Webster to the summit of Wash- 
 ington. We went with a company of travellers : Theo- 
 dore Parker and wife were of the number. We spent 
 Sunday at Crawford's, and Mr. Parker preached an ex- 
 cellent sermon. Brother Thomas offered prayer, and 
 Mary and I led the choir. The music was not artistic, 
 but well meant. As we were not paid save in intrinsic 
 
116 Autobiography 
 
 satisfaction, and that could be expressed by the small- 
 est known coin, we were not criticised. 
 
 In the autumn of this year a young man, Lieutenant 
 Edward Eastman, who once belonged to our society, but 
 left some years before for the West, enlisted as a vol- 
 unteer in the Mexican War, and died at Camargo, taking 
 care of the sick soldiers. His brother in Concord 
 wished me to preach a sermon on the occasion, which I 
 did, — a thorough peace sermon in commemoration of a 
 soldier ! To my great surprise, the friends wished to 
 publish it. This was my second published sermon. 
 
 During the latter part of 1846, the Mexican war fever 
 was at its height. I was often attacked in the papers. 
 Party feeling ran high, and disaffection increased. Some 
 left and others were frightened lest the society should 
 be broken up. To brace up the courage of the society 
 and make clear my own conviction, I preached " A New 
 Year's Sermon," January, 1847, from a text in Paul's 
 letter to the Philippians : " Stand fast, in nothing 
 terrified by your adversaries." As I was preparing this 
 sermon, one of my right-hand supporters called. I told 
 him what I was doing, and read extracts from what I 
 had written. He, too, was afraid, and thought I had 
 better not preach it. But I had made up my mind, and 
 gave it. 
 
 If you will read that sermon, you will get a better idea 
 than I can give you of the nature of the opposition and 
 the way I endeavored to make plain what seemed to me 
 my Christian position. 
 
 To my surprise, this sermon was so well received by 
 a large majority of those who heard it that they re- 
 quested that it might be " Printed for the Use of the So- 
 ciety." This was my third printed sermon. 
 
Concord Ministry I r 7 
 
 Still, the opposition was so strong that, taking all 
 things into consideration, I thought it would be better 
 not to remain another year. I had been the first to 
 break the ice in preaching against war and slavery, and 
 I thought that a new man might come and preach the 
 same truth with less opposition. Those who had com- 
 mitted themselves against me might listen to another 
 complacently, even though he held the same views. 
 Still, I concluded not to resign till the annual meeting 
 should decide whether the majority wished me to stay. 
 The meeting was fully attended. There was free talk, 
 as I learned, for and against my remaining, but no vote 
 was taken. 
 
 At the adjourned meeting it was voted — 17 to 9, sev- 
 eral not voting — that I should be invited to remain an- 
 other year, provided my usual salary could be raised. 
 By this time some of my friends, seeing the strength of 
 the opposition and fearing the result, concluded it 
 would be unwise for me to continue longer than the ex- 
 piration of my third year, and the salary was not raised. 
 This relieved me from the necessity of resigning. 
 Cordially agreeing with them in their decision, I told 
 them I thought it would be wiser not to serve out the 
 year, but leave at once, as they would wish to be hear- 
 ing candidates and I should wish to be looking for 
 some other field of labor. 
 
 So on the 9th of May — my birthday — I preached 
 my farewell. I left without regret, as they did not 
 think it prudent to keep me longer, but with no ill 
 will, and for the over forty years that have inter- 
 vened since then I have nowhere found a more cordial 
 welcome, whether in their pulpit or their homes, than 
 among this charming people. 
 
1 1 8 A utobiography 
 
 My successor proved, as I had hoped, a stanch anti- 
 slavery man ; and, when the vote for his settlement was 
 pending, I was told that the very colonel who walked 
 out of church when I was preaching on the Mexican 
 War said that, as they had got to have ad — d aboli- 
 tionist or a d — d fool, he should vote for him. 
 
 Still making my home in Concord, I was for the first 
 time without a parish, and went forth to find a field of 
 labor where I could be free and yet wanted. 
 
 I preached at Woburn, Wayland, and Ware, finding 
 pleasant people and a kindly hearing everywhere. 
 
 The anniversary meetings of this year were very 
 quickening. The League of Brotherhood, then re- 
 cently organized, whose vignette was a white hand 
 clasping a black one, was particularly inspiring. Elihu 
 Burritt, the learned blacksmith, was deeply interested 
 in this movement, and labored earnestly in England to 
 advance its principles. The signers of its pledge 
 against all war and the manifestation of the war spirit 
 already, on both sides the Atlantic, were near thirty 
 thousand. Hopes for permanent peace on earth were 
 so bright we could almost hear the angels sing again 
 the advent song. 
 
 While I was wandering, I preached two Sundays in 
 Brooklyn, Conn., where Mr. May began his ministry, 
 and had a delightful time with his old people, still full 
 of love for their never-to-be-forgotten minister ; also, 
 I preached one Sunday in Lowell. 
 
 In August Mary and I visited Norton, and spent a 
 charming Sunday with our dear old friends there. The 
 reunion after three years' separation was a spiritual 
 refreshment. 
 
Concord Ministry 119 
 
 A little later I received an invitation to supply the 
 pulpit in Dover, N.H., for one year, during the absence 
 of its minister, Rev. John Parkman, in Europe. Though 
 the society in Wayland wished me to. remain with them 
 as their pastor, I thought it best to go to Dover for 
 one year, as it would give me rest and time for study. 
 
 Just before leaving Concord, some of our dear friends 
 there paid us a brief visit, leaving us a gift of silver for 
 the table, which we are still enjoying. 
 
 On Tuesday morning, August 31, having put our 
 household goods on board the cars, we started by rail 
 for Dover. On the way we heard of an alarming epi- 
 demic among the children of that town. We had with 
 us three as precious ones as any beneath the stars, but 
 we could not turn back. " Remember Lot's wife." We 
 went on, and, although many children were sick, our 
 dear ones were spared. We spent the first night at the 
 American House, and the next day moved into " our 
 own hired house," as Paul did, and I began my year's 
 work. 
 
 My stay at Dover was one of the white years of my 
 ministry. Knowing that I could remain only a year, I 
 felt at liberty to select my best sermons, and write only 
 when I felt like it, giving the remainder of the time to 
 rest and study. The people were very kind, even cor- 
 dial. 
 
 There was a strong anti-slavery feeling in the soci- 
 ety, and my best words on the reforms of the day were 
 welcome. Here I became acquainted with Hon. John 
 P. Hale, the stanch anti-slavery man. He was then a 
 Senator in the National Congress, where his voice for 
 freedom gave no uncertain sound. He was a member 
 
120 Autobiography 
 
 of the Unitarian church, and on his home vacations 
 was most constant in his attendance on public worship, 
 and took a class in Sunday-school. I honored and 
 loved him as a true and noble man. 
 
 While at Dover, I gave a lecture on Peace, at the 
 town hall, which was published. We formed many 
 sweet friendships here, and look back upon the "white 
 year" with unalloyed satisfaction. It was while here 
 that Will went into jacket and pants. His little plump 
 form looked so portly in tights, and he strutted round 
 with such an air that one of my neighbors used to call 
 him "Major Bagstock." 
 
 In May, 1848, my youngest sister, Caroline, only two 
 and a half years after Lucy left us, was called up 
 higher. She was not only the youngest, and so the 
 pet, but the flower of our family. She and Lucy were 
 brought up together from their cradles, and were every- 
 thing to their mother while she stayed, and to their 
 father when she went. They lived in each other's love. 
 Yet they were quite unlike. Caroline had none of 
 Lucy's poetic gifts. I don't know as she ever at- 
 tempted a rhyme in her life. Yet she was full of 
 poetic sentiment. Her nature was as sensitive to her 
 surroundings as an ^Eolian harp to the breeze. She 
 was a born teacher ; and the fine education she re- 
 ceived at the Normal School developed those natural 
 gifts, and fitted her in a remarkable degree for her life- 
 work. She had already won success in teaching, when 
 Mr. May, who was largely instrumental in raising the 
 means for her education, took her with him to the Lex- 
 ington Normal School, and put her in charge of the 
 mathematical department. Here her real genius for 
 
Concord Ministry 121 
 
 teaching was shown. Here she won her laurels, and 
 hosts of friends among her pupils, who have never for- 
 gotten her, but still "rise up to call her blessed." 
 
 I have often met with entire strangers who, on learn- 
 ing that I was her brother, have greeted me with hearty 
 cordiality, and told me with faces full of deep feeling 
 how dear she was to them, and what an inspiration she 
 had been in their studies. 
 
 Governor Briggs, who was present at a Teachers' 
 Institute when she gave a series of lectures on mathe- 
 matics, remarked that she had the most brilliant mind 
 he ever saw. Horace Mann, visiting the school and 
 listening to one of her recitations, said he had never 
 anywhere in the Old World witnessed anything supe- 
 rior to it. She gave her whole soul to her work. She 
 was a devotee. She lived for it, she died for it. Her 
 frail body, always frail from a child, was not strong 
 enough to bear the high pressure of her intensely ac- 
 tive brain. She was obliged to give up her school two 
 years before she died, but the Board of Education, 
 unwilling she should resign, continued her salary, hop- 
 ing that entire freedom from care might give her 
 strength to resume. But she had labored too long. 
 Her overtaxed powers were not restored by rest. She 
 even failed more rapidly now that the excitement of 
 teaching was over, and after a lingering illness, sweetly 
 borne, rose out of the body, worn out at twenty-seven, 
 into other mansions of our Father's house. 
 
XII. 
 WALPOLE MINISTRY. 
 
 1848-1855. 
 
 Leaving Dover. — Settlement at Walpole. — Death of 
 Mrs. Bond. — Dr. Bellows. — Farewell to Walpole. 
 
 In leaving Dover, as we did in the early summer 
 of 1848, we were cheered in knowing that we left many 
 friends. Pleasant tokens of good will from the society 
 and the Sunday-school made our hearts glad for the 
 year we had been permitted to be with them. Brother 
 Parkman having safely returned with his family, there 
 was no need of our remaining longer ; and I gave my 
 farewell sermon June 4, and was again afloat. 
 
 Leaving my family at Dover, I preached at several 
 places, — Wayland, where the people were anxious I 
 should continue with them ; New Bedford, to a new 
 society ; New North, Boston ; and Framingham, Mass. 
 Here the committee wished to engage me further ; but 
 I had promised to preach at Walpole, N.H., where, 
 after three Sundays, I received a unanimous invitation 
 to settle. 
 
 It was during this season of transient preaching that 
 I received a most kindly and persuasive invitation 
 from my old parishioners in Norton to return to them 
 as their pastor. They offered me a higher salary than 
 before, and accompanied the offer with expressions of 
 
Walpole Ministry 123 
 
 earnest hope that I might accede to the wishes of the 
 society. My old affection for this church of my first 
 love drew me strongly ; but Mary and I both thought 
 that, taking all things into consideration, we had better 
 decline the kind proposal, generous as it was. 
 
 In accepting the call to Walpole rather than any 
 other near the coast, we were influenced largely by the 
 hope that the inland air would be more favorable to my 
 health, which proved to be true. 
 
 In September we left with all our goods for Walpole. 
 We spent two nights with our dear friends at Charles- 
 town on the way, where we always found a cordial wel- 
 come. 
 
 On our arrival at Walpole we went directly to the 
 hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. T. G. Wells, where 
 we were made welcome for three weeks, till we were 
 ready for housekeeping. Mrs. Wells was a niece of 
 my dear Mr. May. I had made her acquaintance on 
 my first visit. She was a member of the Church of 
 the Disciples in Boston, whose pastor, James Free- 
 man Clarke, was my favorite minister. Her pleasant 
 acquaintance had its influence in my acceptance of 
 Walpole. 
 
 I was installed as pastor of the church Sept. 27, 1848, 
 Rev. A. A. Livermore, of Keene, preaching the sermon. 
 
 Here we spent nearly seven very happy years. The 
 situation of the town on a beautiful terrace overlooking 
 the Connecticut River, and commanding a fine view of 
 the mountains of Vermont, was delightful. The air was 
 sweet and pure in summer ; and even in winter the 
 steady cold, giving us six months' constant sleighing, was 
 more healthy and enjoyable than the broken winters of 
 
124 Autobiogr^ 
 
 the coast. We were seldom visited by high winds ; and 
 when the thermometer fell, as it sometimes did, to thirty 
 or forty degrees below zero, it did not seem so cold as it 
 did in a high wind on the coast at ten degrees above. In 
 this pure, bracing atmosphere, free from the east winds, 
 which had always been my bane, I began slowly, but 
 steadily, to improve in health. The people were kind 
 and social, the pretty little church was well filled with 
 interested worshippers, our children were growing up 
 as " olive plants around our table," and the years swept 
 on with much general sunshine and few clouds. There 
 seemed little call in this quiet, retired parish for the 
 kind of preaching which the time and the place de- 
 manded in Concord. So my preaching was mainly on 
 personal religion and the need of a divine life to each 
 individual soul. A number joined the church during 
 these years, and among the young people our own dear 
 Laura. That was a happy day to us. 
 
 I was early chosen to serve the town as school com- 
 mittee, and continued in that service while I remained. 
 This made me acquainted with the children, and 
 opened to me a wide field for sowing such seed as I 
 chanced to have in my bin. 
 
 One difficulty was to find a suitable house to live in. 
 We had occupied three different ones, when the society 
 decided to build a parsonage on a lot adjoining the 
 church, which they owned. There was not only a home, 
 but a parish rejoicing when we moved into it, and the 
 jubilee gatherings we received from parents and chil- 
 dren testified to the joy all felt in having, at last, a 
 home for their pastor and his family. 
 
 It was while we were at Walpole that my eldest 
 
Walpole Ministry 125 
 
 sister, Philenda, — Mrs. Bond, — died at Waltham, where 
 she had lived, wife and widow, twenty-nine years. 
 After her husband died, she took charge of his drug- 
 store, and supported her family from it as long as she 
 lived. She was fifty-one when called away, honored 
 and beloved. She was a ministering angel to dear 
 Caroline in her last sickness. She had three children, 
 Philenda, Sarah, and Josephine. Only Josephine now 
 remains. 
 
 There was a beautiful and touching coincidence, as 
 we stood near sister's open grave, that seemed like a 
 voice from heaven to our hearts. There had been a 
 slight shower as the procession passed into the ceme- 
 tery, and just as the open casket stood waiting for its 
 last resting-place there appeared in the east a brilliant 
 rainbow, looking with its divine message of hope upon 
 her calm face. The place, the circumstances, gave it 
 almost articulate voice. The orphan children, as they 
 looked up from their dear mother's face, saw it through 
 their tears. Four out of our sacred seven had now 
 risen to the other mansion. Only three of us remained. 
 
 At the annual parish meeting in 1854 a good, hope- 
 ful, and generous spirit prevailed. The pews rented 
 for more than usual, and they raised my salary to $700. 
 This was most welcome, as I did not meet my expenses 
 the year before by more than a hundred dollars. 
 
 It was here in Walpole I first met Dr. Bellows and 
 listened to his eloquent preaching. Here, in his ances- 
 tral home, he had a summer residence where he spent 
 his vacation. He kindly offered to preach for me occa- 
 sionally. It was a great treat to me and to the people. 
 The only drawback was the contrast between his ser- 
 
126 Autobiography 
 
 vice and mine. When he gave one of his magnificent 
 sermons in the morning, and I had to follow him in the 
 afternoon, it required an amount of grace such as sel- 
 dom comes to ordinary mortals. But I stood it for the 
 love I bore him, for he was a very lovable man. Here 
 began a friendship with him, and a delightful corre- 
 spondence, which continued till his death. He was a 
 rare man. We had no one, when he rose, to fill his 
 place either in the pulpit or in social life. 
 
 Could I have lived on beautiful scenery and pleasant 
 surroundings, I might have been content ; but with 
 a growing family, and salary barely sufficient to make 
 two ends meet, I began to feel, during my seventh year, 
 that I must change. 
 
 In February, 1855, 1 preached two Sundays in Jersey 
 City, N.Y. But the society had already decided to 
 give a call to Rev. O. B. Frothingham, of Salem. In 
 March I preached two Sundays in Portland. Rev. 
 Alfred P. Putnam had also been there as candidate. At 
 the parish meeting held after my service the votes for 
 each of us were so near a tie it was decided, and no 
 doubt wisely, to drop us both. 
 
 In April I preached two Sundays in Fitchburg. 
 Directly after, I preached one Sunday in Haverhill, and 
 at the close of the sermon received a most cordial and 
 unanimous call from the parish to become its minister. 
 
 While considering this, I received one from Fitch- 
 burg. It was not so unanimous or cordial as the one 
 from Haverhill, though I was told that only one voted 
 against me. But the society was much larger, they 
 offered more salary, I liked the location better, it being 
 more sheltered from the east wind, and, having a com- 
 
Walpole Ministry 127 
 
 fortable hope that the missing cordiality would come 
 with acquaintance, I accepted. 
 
 Then came the trial of leaving Walpole, and it was a 
 trial indeed. Never did the dear old parsonage home 
 which I had planned, superintended in building, watched 
 over and cared for, the trees I had planted, the grounds 
 I had graded and beautified — never did it all seem so 
 beautiful as when I felt that I must leave it forever. 
 And friends, too, grew nearer and dearer as the time 
 drew nigh that I must bid them farewell. 
 
XIII. 
 
 FITCHBURG MINISTRY. 
 
 1855-1862. 
 
 Settlement at Fitchburg. — Death of Luther Tilden. — 
 Call to Jersey City. — Purchase of a Cottage. — Cin- 
 cinnati, Saratoga, Niagara, Fort Sumter. — Mental 
 Conflict. — James S. Greene. — End of Fitchburg Min- 
 istry. 
 
 Sunday, June 3, 1855, I was inducted to my Fitch- 
 burg ministry, Dr. Bellows preaching the sermon. 
 The next morning I had a delightful walk and talk with 
 him, which cheered and strengthened me. 
 
 Fitchburg I found an industrious, wide-awake place, 
 with large manufacturing interests, several newspapers, 
 and churches enough to meet the wants of a wide 
 diversity of religious beliefs. It was a very different 
 place from Walpole. There were rural peace and quiet, 
 here the clatter of machinery and the push of enter- 
 prise. The new conditions called for a new ministra- 
 tion of Christian truth. It was more like Concord, 
 N. H. National affairs came again into prominence, 
 and I felt obliged to run up the flag of liberty, temper- 
 ance, peace, and brotherhood. The response was not 
 altogether harmonious, but the general tone of feeling 
 was kindly. As we became acquainted with the peo- 
 ple, we found in them much to respect and honor. Soon 
 
Fitchburg Ministry 129 
 
 we began to feel at home, and to enjoy the new field of 
 labor. Here again I became a member of the school 
 committee, and continued in the service I always loved 
 as long as I remained in Fitchburg. I gave lyceum 
 temperance and peace lectures outside my regular 
 work, and inside tried as I best could to build up the 
 inward kingdom in the hearts of my people. The 
 First Parish was large, covering a wide territory. 
 Visiting my scattered parishioners and the schools kept 
 me busy. I lived on good terms with the other minis- 
 ters of the place, exchanged with the Universalist, 
 Methodist, and Trinitarian, or "Black Orthodox," as the 
 last was called, on account of the strong and earnest 
 anti-slavery position taken by the society. The Rev. 
 Elnathan Davis, pastor of this church, was my true and 
 intimate friend, as was Rev. Kendall Brooks, pastor of 
 the Baptist church, with whom I was associated on the 
 school committee. His house was on my way to the 
 post-office, and I often ran in to his study to see what 
 kind of a sermon he was writing, and compare notes. 
 Our fellowship was delightful. 
 
 I adopted one new custom at Fitchburg which proved 
 very successful. It was giving an occasional sermon 
 to the Sunday-school, letting it take the place of the 
 afternoon service. The school occupied the body pews, 
 and the members of the congregation sat where they 
 could. These addresses were given without notes, — 
 plain talks with the children, — and proved as interest- 
 ing to the old as the young.* 
 
 * No mention is made in this Autobiography of a small book entitled " Buds for the 
 Bridal Wreath," which he published in 1856. It contained wise and loving advice to 
 those just entered on the holy estate of marriage. 
 
 In a letter to his friend Mr. May at this time, he says : "It has at least one virtue : it 
 
130 Autobiography 
 
 March 6, 1857, my father died at South Scituate. 
 He was eighty years old the January before. He was 
 a good father, a kind husband, a dear lover of his home. 
 He was industrious and hard-working, but never fore- 
 handed, though always generous beyond his means. In 
 early life he and his brother Jotham were partners in 
 ship-building at the Block House. After they dis- 
 solved, he took contracts in Medford and Braintree 
 and other places ; but, save a short residence in Boston 
 when he was first married, he made his home in Scitu- 
 ate, within a few miles of the place where he was born. 
 
 Dear, precious father, peace to thy risen spirit! 
 
 I think I never quite fitted the Fitchburg parish. 
 There was more or less friction, mainly on account of 
 my anti-slavery views. Threatening clouds began to 
 loom up in our political sky, and I had to speak again 
 and again. The majority was with me, but a few 
 prominent members were greatly disturbed. Finally, 
 in the fourth year of my ministry, I thought I would 
 leave the first good opportunity. 
 
 Mr. Frothingham having left the young society at 
 Jersey City, where I preached about the time he was 
 settled, I was invited to supply the pulpit two Sundays 
 in January, i860. They at once gave me a unanimous 
 call at fifteen hundred dollars a year. 
 
 The next month I took Mary with me to Jersey City, 
 and preached two Sundays. The people were so kind 
 
 is small. It has also one other: it omits the wise counsels upon the vast importance of 
 making a right choice, which is common to such books. It seems to me rather late in 
 the day 10 talk to those already married of the importance of choosing wisely; and yet 
 how often this is done ! 
 
 " You see I have not given a separate chapter to religion, because I have wished to 
 infuse the religious spirit into every chapter, and thus show that piety belongs, not to a 
 single chapter of human life alone, but to every paragraph, line, and word of life's 
 sacred volume." 
 
Fitchburg Ministry 131 
 
 and cordial and really anxious for us to come that we 
 decided in the affirmative. When we returned, I sent 
 in my resignation. To my surprise, they voted not to 
 accept it, fifty-four to nine. A committee waited upon 
 me to report the vote, and see if they could not prevail 
 upon me to remain. But I had gone so far I thought I 
 had better not recall my resignation, and sent them a 
 letter to that effect. Many were greatly disappointed. 
 I was told that one man, when the note was read, laid 
 his face in his hands and burst into tears. The meet- 
 ing adjourned without taking any action on the letter. 
 Soon after friends came to me, saying they would can- 
 vass the parish and get the express wish of every legal 
 voter. The result was one hundred and seven wished 
 me to remain, eight would like to have me go, and some 
 five or six chose not to express an opinion on paper, 
 though some of these wished me to stay. 
 
 I yielded to the wishes of this large majority and 
 the earnest personal entreaty of individual friends, and 
 consented to remain. 
 
 It was a great disappointment to the little church 
 at Jersey City and to Mary, who thought it wiser to go. 
 We had formed delightful acquaintances there, espe- 
 cially with the Armstrong family, to whom we had be- 
 come much attached. On the day I had intended to 
 give my farewell I preached instead my inaugural of 
 the new dispensation. 
 
 After deciding to remain, we moved from the house 
 we had lived in for nearly five years to a cottage on 
 the hill, which I bought. 
 
 It was delightful to have a home of our own. We 
 had a large garden, good light soil, and many young 
 
132 A 7ttobiography 
 
 fruit-trees in the prime of bearing. It was a little 
 paradise, till the glittering sword of a destiny always 
 loving drew us out into broader, if not greener, past- 
 ures. 
 
 In the autumn of this year, i860, I was invited to 
 preach four Sundays at Cincinnati, Ohio. One of my 
 Walpole parishioners, Mr. William Bellows, had gone 
 there to reside ; and, as one of the Unitarian churches 
 was without a pastor, he was anxious to have me come 
 for a few Sundays. I had never been West, and was 
 glad to go. I went alone. It seemed best for very 
 obvious reasons, but it was a great drawback to the 
 pleasure of the trip. I had never been to Saratoga or 
 Niagara, and so arranged to take them on the way. 
 Spent the first night at Saratoga, drank of its medi- 
 cinal waters, and ate for supper the famous Saratoga 
 biscuits, made light as a clear conscience with water 
 only for yeast. 
 
 The next night I was at Niagara. The Falls filled 
 me with wonder and awe. It takes time to get ad- 
 justed to them. How I did long for Mary and the 
 children to share the grandeur with me ! It was too 
 much for one. I could only drink a drop of the cease- 
 less pouring, resistless flood. Oh, I thought, if the sick 
 ones of my parish could but look upon the sight, it 
 would give them strength to bear pain or die, as the 
 Father of this infinite majesty might choose. 
 
 Over an evergreen arch, thirty or forty feet high, 
 near Table Rock, was an inscription, " Welcome to 
 nature's grandest sight." It was designed to welcome 
 the Prince of Wales on his then recent visit. That 
 was well ; but every soul God has made capable of 
 
Fitchburg Ministry 133 
 
 enjoying this grandeur is a prince, and to him also the 
 invisible Spirit of the ceaseless wonder says, "Wel- 
 come to nature's grandest view!" 
 
 Going on by the way of Buffalo, Cleveland, and 
 Columbus, I arrived at Cincinnati Saturday, October 
 27, and went directly to the house of Mr. Kepler, where 
 I was to make my home; and it was a home, made 
 pleasant to me by generous hospitality. I soon met 
 my friends from Walpole, N.H., whose familiar faces 
 and cordial greetings swept away the homesickness 
 beginning to gather, and made me feel that I was not 
 among entire strangers. Here I spent four Sundays, 
 and formed many pleasant acquaintances. Politics ran 
 high. Abraham Lincoln was the Republican nominee 
 for President. Slave-holding Kentucky was separated 
 from Cincinnati only by the muddy Ohio stream. But 
 politics ran muddier than the river. A man said to me 
 one day on the ferry-boat that he thought it very 
 wrong to nominate a man for the Presidency who could 
 not safely cross that river. It was but a straw, but i 
 told the course of the stream, as events proved. 
 
 The two banks of the river told the stories of liberty 
 and bondage in large type that the dimmest eyes could 
 read. The slave bank was a century behind the free 
 in thrift and civilization. No threats of peril in 
 crossing the stream could intimidate loyal hearts. 
 There were noble anti-slavery men in Cincinnati. I 
 was introduced to one, — Hon. Salmon P. Chase, "the 
 founder and leader of the Liberty, afterwards Free 
 Soil, Party." He was a fine speciman of manhood, 
 physically and intellectually. He was then in his prime, 
 — about fifty, — had been Governor of Ohio and United 
 
134 -A utobiography 
 
 States Senator, and was widely known and honored by 
 all who believed with him that " slavery was sectional, 
 freedom national." 
 
 I enjoyed preaching to the "little flock," and en- 
 joyed the outing, but was glad to make a bee-line for 
 home when my engagement closed. 
 
 Immediately after Mr. Lincoln's election the slave- 
 holding States began the execution of their long-stand- 
 ing threat of secession. South Carolina took the lead, 
 passing the ordinance of secession in December, i860. 
 This action was rapidly followed in turn by Mississippi, 
 Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. Be- 
 fore Mr. Lincoln was inaugurated, the Southern Con- 
 federacy was organized, with Jefferson Davis president. 
 They had seized forts, arsenals, and other United 
 States property within their reach, together with large 
 quantities of arms, ammunition, and other military 
 stores, much of which had previously been removed 
 from the North. Up to this time anti-slavery people 
 did not believe that the seceders would make war with 
 the government so sure to liberate their slaves. But 
 on the 12th of April, 1861, the United States flag float- 
 ing over a small garrison on Fort Sumter was shot 
 down by a Confederate force, and the bloody war com- 
 menced. 
 
 Never can I forget the intense excitement and deep 
 solemnity of the day when the news of the attack on 
 Fort Sumter first reached us. It was as if a wayward 
 child had smitten its own mother on the cheek, — nay, 
 fired a bullet in her heart. Each felt the death-dealing 
 missile as aimed at him. "Then you and I and all of 
 us fell down, and bloody treason flourished over us." 
 
Fitcliburg Ministry 135 
 
 Over Main Street the stars and stripes waved slowly 
 and solemnly as if heavy with the tears of a nation's 
 grief. It seemed to me as if I never saw " our flag " till 
 then. The insult offered to it gave it a new meaning 
 and preciousness. As a disciple of Jesus, I had felt 
 myself forbidden to fight even in self-defence. But 
 here something far higher and greater than self was in 
 peril. Not I, but my country, was assailed. I would 
 not fight for my own life, for I would sooner lose that 
 than take another's ; but bow about our national, or 
 common mother's, life ? That was the question now. I 
 could not answer it at once. I had been a non-resistant 
 for years. I could not change in a day. I must be 
 silent, I must think, I must pray. I must go up into 
 the mount alone, and ask counsel of Him who guides 
 nations as well as individuals in paths they know not. 
 All the week I was in mental agony. What should I 
 say to my parishioners on the coming Sunday ? The 
 question was yet unanswered when I went into my pul- 
 pit, worn with anxious thought, and told them all my 
 struggles. I just opened my heart to them, and let 
 them see how it was torn by conflicting ideas and emo- 
 tions. My anti-slavery convictions had not been 
 deeper than my anti-war convictions ; but here was no 
 question of self-defence, but the defence of great 
 national principles, involving the liberty and highest 
 welfare of millions of people. I must wait till I could 
 adjust myself to the new conditions. 
 
 The people received the sermon kindly, for they 
 knew I was honest ; and I think they respected me 
 none the less for not being hasty in changing the con- 
 viction of years. I did not have to wait long. A 
 
136 Autobiography 
 
 new sense of the value and necessity of a just govern- 
 ment broke upon me, until I saw clearly that, when our 
 national life was assailed with brutal violence, and 
 especially for the purpose of perpetuating sectional 
 slavery and making it national, violence must be met 
 by violence, or the republic would fall, and Senator 
 Toombs would carry out his threat of " calling the 
 roll of his slaves in the shadow of Bunker Hill monu- 
 ment " 
 
 I came to this conviction, which seems so plain 
 to those who had never thought otherwise, only 
 through great tribulation and anguish of spirit. It 
 seemed like going down from some serene mountain 
 height into the valley of the shadow of death. But it 
 was there the great and final battle with slavery was 
 to be fought ; and as I heard the bugle-call, and saw our 
 truest and bravest men fall into line, and leave all for 
 the great conflict, not in defence of self, but in defence 
 of national honor and life, I felt that it was right, and 
 that a God of justice would not suffer our cause to 
 fail. 
 
 But I was spoiled for the war. I could not enter 
 into it with any heart. I had served too many years 
 under another banner to become enthusiastic. I 
 bowed to the stern necessity, and read the lesson so 
 difficult to learn, — that God has many ways of accom- 
 plishing his purposes, and may in great national crises 
 be as truly served on the battle-field as in the house of 
 prayer. 
 
 Since then I have had no trouble about voting, save 
 that of knowing whom to vote for. I learned by expe- 
 rience what most others take intuitively, that human 
 
Fitchburg Ministry 137 
 
 government is a necessity, and that as a dernier resort 
 it must have the right of resistance to the powers of 
 darkness and wrong. 
 
 Still, I believe in the divineness of overcoming evil 
 with good, and think that the less the government 
 governs, and the more the Christ spirit pervades the 
 hearts of the people, the better it will be for all. Hon. 
 Charles Sumner's strong and brave discourse on the 
 "True Grandeur of Nations" presents the highest 
 ideal for national ambition. 
 
 Seven days after the attack on Fort Sumter Presi- 
 dent Lincoln issued his first proclamation, calling for 
 seventy-five thousand militia for three months' service. 
 It was then believed that the rebellion could soon be 
 put down. Volunteers readily enlisted, and among 
 them a young man in our parish, who was studying 
 medicine in the Cambridge Medical School. His name 
 was James Sumner Greene ; and we had reason for 
 regarding him with special interest, as he was engaged 
 to be married to our own precious Laura. They were 
 married August 21 ; and he immediately left for the 
 seat of war, taking Laura with him as far as Fortress 
 Monroe. 
 
 Willie and Georgie were both at school, too young to 
 enlist. I was glad of it ; for the shock of war was still 
 upon me, and I could not look upon it with enthusiasm, 
 but only as a dark and terrible necessity. 
 
 It was a summer of great military disasters to our 
 small army. We were all unused to war, and many a 
 noble life had to be laid on the altar of liberty before 
 we were able to cope successfully with our formidable 
 foe. 
 
138 Autobiography 
 
 But I am not writing the history of the war, only 
 naming such incidents as touched my ministry and col- 
 ored its character. Though I saw the war must be 
 prosecuted to the bitter end, yet I should have made a 
 poor recruiting officer. The sermons most popular then 
 were those charged to the muzzle with powder and 
 shell. Mine were not of that character. No doubt they 
 seemed tame to those who had fathers, sons, brothers, 
 and husbands in the service. 
 
 Gradually, the impressions which led me to resign 
 the year before returned ; and I felt that, whether yield- 
 ing to the earnest request for me to remain were a 
 mistake or not, it was clear that the time had come for 
 me to go. 
 
 But the attendance at church morning and afternoon — 
 for we always had two services — was large, and appar- 
 ently interested; and I was reluctant to go. I have 
 never, in any part of my long ministry, preached to so 
 many people continuously. I only wish I could have 
 more fully met their needs. 
 
 At the annual meeting in 1862 my salary was not 
 voted in full. I knew this was not owing to pecuniary 
 inability ; and so, taking the gentle hint as kindly as it 
 was given, on the last Sunday in May, 1862, having 
 served them as their minister just seven years, I 
 preached my farewell. 
 
 Though my Fitchburg ministry had some inevitable 
 trials, it had many blessings ; and the friendships 
 formed there are still fragrant with pleasant memories. 
 But I fell so far short of my hopes that I felt some- 
 what as Jacob must have done, when, after serving 
 seven years for Rachel, he got Leah. But even Leah, 
 
Fitchburg Ministry 139 
 
 though "tender-eyed," was richly worth the seven 
 years' service of light and shade. 
 
 Now we were afloat again on the wide, wide sea. 
 But we did not forget who " holds the waters in the hol- 
 low of His hand." Laura had returned to us, leaving 
 her husband in the service, in the medical department. 
 We still occupied the little cottage on the hill, while I 
 went out as a rover. 
 
XIV. 
 
 CHURCH GREEN MINISTRY. 
 
 1862. 
 
 Church Green. — Note. — Removal to Boston. — Exd of 
 Autobiography. 
 
 The next two Sundays after my farewell I preached 
 at Exeter, N.H. Then one Sunday at Church Green, 
 Boston. The two following Sundays again at Exeter. 
 Here there was a movement to give me a call ; but my 
 last sermon, on "The Refining Power of Christianity," 
 so disturbed a certain few that the call was not given. 
 The next Sunday I conducted the service again at 
 Church Green, and administered the communion. The 
 Sunday after that I went to Norton, and had a delight- 
 ful season with old friends there. The next two Sun- 
 days I preached at Jersey City, and stopped with our 
 good friends, the Armstrongs. 
 
 Returning to Fitchburg for a few Sundays' rest, I re- 
 ceived an invitation to supply the pulpit at Church 
 Green for four Sundays. I greatly enjoyed preaching in 
 this old, octagonal stone church. The place seemed 
 made for worship. The people were reverential, devout, 
 and the singing was exquisite. I was pleased, there- 
 fore, when I heard they were thinking of giving me a 
 call, though their numbers were few, and everybody 
 seemed to think that the old society was going to slow 
 but sure decay. 
 
Church Green Ministry 141 
 
 Warehouses were beginning to encroach more and 
 more upon that part of the city, and the days of the ven- 
 erable church seemed numbered. Dr. Dewey had been 
 with them for two years. Though he was an old man, 
 his preaching was grand as ever ; and it was hoped that 
 that would arrest, at least, the steadily waning congre- 
 gation. But, when he left, the church was still declin- 
 ing. Still I hoped they would invite me to become their 
 pastor ; for I thought it possible for them to gather 
 strength enough to move and locate elsewhere, when 
 the absolute necessity for change came. 
 
 On the day when the pew-holders were to decide 
 on giving me a call, an incident occurred which I feared 
 would turn the tide against me. It was early in the 
 war, and, although I had not spoken on national mat- 
 ters, I had prayed each Sunday in a way that had dis- 
 turbed some of the congregation, and confirmed the 
 impression otherwise received, that I was a political 
 radical. 
 
 On the morning of my last Sunday's engagement I 
 found in my little room below the pulpit a note from 
 one of my best friends, one whom I knew was most 
 anxious for my settlement, expressing the hope that I 
 would be careful in what I said concerning the country, 
 as some of the people were sensitive on that subject, 
 and it was especially desirable that nothing should oc- 
 cur to disturb the harmonious action of the society. I 
 was greatly pained and deeply embarrassed. To yield 
 to the suggestion would be time-serving and cowardly. 
 To disregard it would seem like wantonly slighting the 
 counsels of a friend. What should I do ? In my per- 
 plexity the thought came, " Do this : go on with your 
 
142 Autobiography 
 
 service as if nothing had happened, and then, after you 
 have read the notice of the meeting to be held directly 
 after the service, stop yourself, and tell the people 
 openly and honestly just what your position is." I ac- 
 cepted the suggestion as from above, and went on with 
 my ministrations with peace of heart. 
 
 After reading the notice, I remained in the church ; 
 and, when the meeting had been called to order, I rose, 
 and told them why I had remained. I alluded to the 
 pleasure I had taken in preaching to them, and the 
 satisfaction I should feel in serving them in the minis- 
 try if they should desire it, but from a note re- 
 ceived that morning, informing me of the feelings of 
 some of the society concerning matters of vital impor- 
 tance to me, I feared there might be some reason for 
 not giving the call. At all events, I thought it was 
 right that they should all understand my position, and 
 so had stopped to make a clean breast, and let them 
 know just where I stood. 
 
 I then told them that my convictions on the great 
 questions of freedom and equal rights now agitating the 
 country were not of recent origin, — they were the 
 growth of years, they were a part of my religion, — and 
 that, wherever I ministered, I must be free in prayer 
 and sermon to give expression to my convictions in 
 such a way as my own judgment dictated. If, with this 
 frank statement, they felt they were willing to trust me, 
 and desired my services, I should be most happy to 
 serve them according to my ability. 
 
 I then left the church, and, meeting Mary outside, 
 we walked away, silent and sad, thinking, most likely, 
 that the call would not be given. We had both become 
 
Church Green Ministry 143 
 
 so attached to the church and the people it was painful 
 to think that this was the last time we should meet with 
 them. But I knew I had done right. There was com- 
 fort in that, come what might. 
 
 Soon, however, we were met in the street by a mem- 
 ber of the society, who told us, with evident pleasure, 
 that the call had been unanimously extended to me to 
 become their pastor. 
 
 I accepted, and preached my inaugural at Church 
 Green Oct. 12, 1862. We sold our cottage at Fitch- 
 burg, packed and stored our household goods, and came 
 to Charlestown to board with Aunt Tempie, where we 
 had spent so many happy days.* 
 
 The children now were scattered. Laura was with 
 her husband at East Boston, who was continuing his 
 course at the Harvard Medical School, having returned 
 sick, and obtained an honorable discharge. Willie was 
 left in a store in Fitchburg, where he was bravely 
 earning his living; and Georgie had gone to Exeter to 
 prepare for Harvard, so Mary and I were left alone 
 again. 
 
 The next spring we moved to Boston, taking a house 
 close to our church, 79 Bedford Street. Our parishion- 
 ers were very generous in helping to furnish the home. 
 
 •In a letter written about this time to his friend Mr. J. B. Smead, of Fitchburg, he 
 says : — 
 
 " We brought with us enough to furnish one chamber, which we have fitted up 
 quite cosily for sitting-room and study. Carpet, chairs, pictures, bookcases, etc., give it 
 quite a homelike air. But it isn't the old nest, and wouldn't be if every straw were 
 brought here and laid over again ; for the birds have flown. Sweet nestlings, how 
 much comfort we have taken in feeling them under our wings ! But they are fledged 
 now, and it is the ordering of the great Providence, without which 'not one sparrow 
 falleth,' that they should spread their wings. May the dear God guard and feed them, 
 and shelter with his love the boughs on which they build I " 
 
144 Autobiography 
 
 Here, the pen was laid aside for more pressing duties, 
 and the Autobiography was never resumed. 
 
 Another hand has tried to tell the story, as much as 
 possible in his own words, by extracts from journals, 
 private letters, and Register letters, newspaper cuttings, 
 etc. 
 
XV. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM JOURNAL. 
 
 1866. 
 
 Extracts from Farewell Sermon at Church Green. — 
 Ministry at Large. 
 
 His journal of 1866 says : " My salary, at first only fif- 
 teen hundred dollars, was afterwards increased to eigh- 
 teen hundred, and subsequently to twenty-five hundred. 
 A few friends have been disturbed by my preaching on 
 national affairs, but the great majority have been good, 
 warm-hearted friends. I fondly hoped that interest 
 enough in the society might be awakened to induce the 
 proprietors to sell the present church, and with the 
 funds build another in a more favorable location ; but 
 that hope was blasted by a vote of the proprietors, early 
 in the spring, to ask leave of the Supreme Judicial 
 Court to dissolve the corporation and divide the prop- 
 erty." 
 
 May 15 " I started on a tour to the ' Far West.' My 
 dear friend, George A. Blanchard, residing in Dubuque, 
 la., not only gave me the most cordial invitation to 
 make his house my home, but offered me generous fa- 
 cilities for travel. It was a delightful journey. The 
 immense extent of our country, its untold richness, its 
 inexhaustible resources, its beauty, the kindness of 
 
146 Autobiography 
 
 friends and the goodness of God, were all abundantly 
 manifest." 
 
 July 1, 1866, "Being the close of my ministry at 
 Church Green, and the closing of the church for re- 
 ligious purposes, I preached from the text, 'A voice 
 from the temple,' — Isaiah lxvi. 6." 
 
 A few extracts from this sermon tell the story of the 
 three years' ministry: — 
 
 " It is not strange that the old church where for 
 long years, in sorrow and joy, we have come up to 
 keep holy time with those we love, should have been 
 very sacred in our thoughts and to our religious affec- 
 tions, and that, when its portals are opened for the 
 last time, it should be filled with voices for the heart, 
 which, though silent, may be far deeper and more im- 
 pressive than any which come from choir or pulpit. . . . 
 
 " You are carried back again to those early days when 
 the church was thronged and every seat was filled. 
 Again you see the old familiar faces and forms. They 
 crowd the porch, they walk up the aisles, each with his 
 familiar step and air. They take their seats, some at 
 your side, some yonder, each in his place. You stand 
 again at the baptismal font with your children. You re- 
 member how fervently your heart prayed for a blessing 
 upon the little ones on whose brows the pure waters of 
 baptism were sprinkled. You come again to your first 
 communion, and are reminded of the freshness of your 
 vows, the fervor of your prayers, the entireness of your 
 consecration, the fulness of your love, the sacredness of 
 your purpose. You recall seasons of special religious 
 interest, when gospel truth was bread for your hungry 
 souls, and when 'your hearts burned within you' with 
 
Extracts from Journal 147 
 
 a new love, as he whom you honored and trusted 
 ' opened to you the Scripture.' You remember that 
 season of deep sorrow, when you came up here with an 
 overburdened heart and went away with the burden 
 lifted, and a comforting assurance that ' He doeth all 
 things well' . . . 
 
 "There is only one really sad thought connected with 
 the giving up of this old church of sacred memories, 
 only one. Changes are inevitable, they are good, they 
 are divinely ordered. They help on the soul and the 
 world, painful as they sometimes are. The one really 
 sad thought of the hour is that this religious society is 
 to become extinct, to die, — to die, with all the means of 
 living at its command ; to die of its own free choice, 
 voluntarily, suicidally. 
 
 " It has been plain for a long time to those who have 
 watched the rapid changes in the city, and the inevi- 
 table drifts of commerce, that this church edifice must 
 be given up. No efforts in the ordinary line of pulpit 
 ministrations could prevent the slow but sure decline of 
 the congregations. Even the eloquence and prestige of 
 Dr. Dewey were as unavailing as the faithful and able 
 labors of Dr. Young to change the ebbing tide. When 
 I first preached here, four years ago this summer, it 
 seemed about dead-low water, but, small as was the 
 hope of any permanent increase in numbers or interest 
 here, yet large and well grounded, as I thought, was the 
 hope that in due time this church would be removed to 
 a locality where it might look for a revival of its old 
 prosperity. . . . 
 
 " I seized upon that hope, and held it fast ; and, the 
 more I learned of the real condition of things among 
 
148 Autobiography 
 
 you, the more clearly I saw that this was the only rea- 
 sonable hope of continued life. You had already lost 
 the elements of continued growth. The Sunday-school 
 had been given up for sheer lack of pupils. Most of the 
 young people had left the church to go where they 
 could feel the breath of young life and worship with 
 their companions. Few remained save the aged and 
 those in middle life. . . . 
 
 "This perpetuation of the society by removal seemed 
 in itself so simply and plainly right, so in harmony with 
 all the hallowed and reverential associations of the 
 church from the beginning of its history, so accordant 
 with the natural promptings of a faith that feels its own 
 worth, — in short, so many 'voices from the temple' 
 all conspired in urging it, — that I was unwilling to be- 
 lieve, till constrained by painful facts, that it would not, 
 in some way, be done. . . . 
 
 " But a large majority of the proprietors of this relig- 
 ious society have voted to ask leave of the Supreme 
 Court to die, to dissolve the corporation and divide the 
 property. I rejoice to know that this contemplated dis- 
 solution is not by the general consent of all its mem- 
 bers. Indeed, had it not been for the votes and influ- 
 ence of the pew-holders who have ceased to worship 
 with us, it is doubtful if the measure could have been 
 carried. 
 
 " But my ministry here, though failing in this, its lead- 
 ing hope, has not, I trust, in all respects been a failure. 
 It certainly has not failed to bring to me, notwithstand- 
 ing its many discouragements, a large share of real 
 pleasure. I have enjoyed my pastorate from the first 
 hour I stood in this pulpit till the last. I well remem- 
 
Extracts from Journal 149 
 
 ber the peculiar feelings of that first hour. There was 
 something in the place, its venerableness, its fitness for 
 worship, that impressed me. There seemed to be mys- 
 terious influences around me, making me feel that it 
 was good to be here, and giving me the impression that 
 I was here for a special purpose ; and, though no fruit 
 of my ministry may seem to justify the feeling, it has 
 cheered me through all my labors, and even now, at 
 their close, gives me the hope that, little as I have 
 accomplished, my coming may have been a necessary 
 step to some other field of labor I may more worthily 
 fill." 
 
 His journal of that date says : — 
 
 " Some time previous, knowing that our society 
 would probably close its house before long, I had re- 
 ceived an earnest invitation to accept of a ministry at 
 large at the South End. My heart was strongly drawn 
 to it, but, after serious and prayerful deliberation, I de- 
 clined, and accepted instead the duties of a missionary 
 of the American Unitarian Association. 
 
 " I commenced this work Saturday, July 6, 1866. In 
 some respects, my Boston ministry has been the pleas- 
 antest part of my ministerial life. I have enjoyed 
 being in the city greatly. My health has been excep- 
 tionally good. My opportunities for fellowship with the 
 most cultivated ministers of our denomination unusu- 
 ally large. I have enjoyed the meetings of the Boston 
 Association and the Ministerial Union, and they have 
 been profitable to me. I have found many good friends, 
 and I am cheered with the hope that my ministry in its 
 higher aspects has not been in vain. Eighteen have 
 been added to the church, among them my own dear 
 
150 A utobiography 
 
 boys, William and George. This was a joy to my heart. 
 May God bless them, and keep them faithful to the end ! 
 And may he bless with his love and guidance all the 
 members of that ancient church and society, no more to 
 worship together in the dear old temple made sacred by 
 so many hallowed associations ! " 
 
 Thanksgiving, Nov. 29, 1866. "We spent the day 
 with Aunt Tempie. Laura and James with their two 
 children, Joseph and George, were here. Will also with 
 his Anna was with us at tea and in the evening, but 
 George was at Fitchburg. Laura's babe is a beautiful 
 boy, but I fear he is not long for earth : his eyes are too 
 bright. The little soul seems just ready to come out of 
 them. Perhaps he is in search of his baby sister Mary, 
 whom the angels took more than a year ago." 
 
 It was this little Mary whose birth anniversary was 
 always commemorated, and of whom the grandfather 
 wrote to the mother nineteen years afterwards : " I am 
 glad you continue that most touching custom. It was 
 sweet when you gathered the children of her age to keep 
 the advent. It is fitting, now that she is neither child 
 nor maiden longer, to have ripe womanhood repre- 
 sented. It helps to bridge the way between the two 
 worlds, so that the sweet intercourse can be continued 
 to heart and inward vision." 
 
 The fatigues attendant upon the constant travel and 
 the necessary absence from his family which the mis- 
 sionary work entailed induced him to accept the invita- 
 tion which was again proffered him by the Benevolent 
 Fraternity of Churches to a "ministry at large," at the 
 South End, Boston. He says : " The work has its at- 
 tractions for me. I have long felt that there is a large 
 
Extracts from Journal i 5 r 
 
 class of persons in the city whose wants are not met by 
 the ordinary ministrations of religion. We need more 
 free chapels. If this be the work for me, may the Holy 
 Spirit make it plain ! " 
 
 December 15. "To-day handed in my acceptance of 
 the call named above. I am to enter on my work the 
 first Sunday in January. I feel happy in my decision. 
 I trust it has been wisely made. But I shall need 
 strength and guidance from above. O Father, grant 
 it for thine own love's sake. Amen." 
 
XVI. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM JOURNAL. 
 
 1 867-1 876. 
 
 New South Free Church. — Extracts from Journals, 
 Annual Reports, etc. — Death of Mrs. Tilden. — 
 Death of Little Laura. 
 
 Jan. 6, 1867. "Yesterday I preached in Concord 
 Hall, Concord Street, Boston. Subject, 'The Neces- 
 sity of Free Churches.' It was a severe storm in 
 the forenoon. In the afternoon it brightened and 
 stopped snowing, though the walking was bad. I 
 walked from Charlestown Neck to the hall after dinner. 
 Got there in time to see how the little Sunday-school 
 was conducted, after which we held a service, some 
 twenty or thirty present. This is the beginning of the 
 pastorate which I have accepted of a free church. 
 
 " We commence with the remnant of the South End 
 Mission. It is a small remnant, very small. I judge 
 there are scarcely a dozen adults who may be relied 
 upon. But it is plain that a free church is needed, and 
 I have accepted the charge in faith and hope that with 
 God's blessing a church may be established, open alike 
 to rich and poor, where that class especially who first 
 heard Jesus gladly may find a religious home." 
 
 January 1 3. " We had an encouraging number at 
 our service this afternoon. Many of my old friends 
 
Extracts from Journal 153 
 
 were present. I think I can count upon some of them 
 for permanent members of the free church." 
 
 February 22. Waverly Terrace, Shawmut Avenue, 
 Boston. "We have once more a 'local habitation and 
 a name,' though it is not yet on the front door. We 
 have not waited in vain. We like our house much. It 
 is sunny, cheerful, roomy, and, what is very rare for 
 Boston, it has a pleasant front yard with trees and 
 shrubbery. It is sweet to feel that we have a home 
 once more. Mary is happy as a child in fitting up the 
 house and making it homelike. We hope the boys 
 will soon be with us again. Praise God from whom all 
 blessings flow." 
 
 March 7, 1867. "Yesterday the workmen broke 
 ground for the foundation of our new free church. It 
 sent a thrill of pleasure through me as I saw pick and 
 shovel going down to the hard pan, and the teams taking 
 the loose earth away. So with our moral and spiritual 
 picks and shovels may we go down to the hard pan of 
 God's truth, as shown in Jesus, and build our spiritual 
 church on that, — not on the loose earth of alluvial creeds, 
 the deposit of a spent epoch, or on the artificial base 
 prepared by theological pile-drivers, but on the hard pan 
 of the everlasting and eternal. A church built on that 
 will stand. No beating storm, or furious wind, or dash- 
 ing wave can move it." 
 
 April 24, 1867. "Our school is growing: our pros- 
 pects are bright. The Church of the Unity has just 
 contributed ten thousand dollars towards the building 
 of our new free church." 
 
 Until about the first of May there had been only after- 
 noon service and Sunday-school. Mr. Tilden wished a 
 
154 Autobiography 
 
 morning service. Some of the timorous ones feared that 
 the movement would go down if people could not go else- 
 where Sunday mornings. " Let it go down, then," he 
 promptly replied. " We will make a trial next Sunday 
 morning, and then we shall know how many really be- 
 long to us." The experiment was tried. There was a 
 larger attendance than usual, and henceforth no Sun- 
 day ever failed of a morning service. 
 
 June 6, 1867. Anniversary Week. "Having been 
 requested by Mr. Lowe to speak in regard to the mission- 
 ary work in which I had been engaged, I consented. Felt 
 badly, but, when the time came, was assisted, and suc- 
 ceeded better than I feared. It was my first speech in 
 Music Hall. I probably never addressed so many peo- 
 ple before. But, after all, what is an audience of two 
 thousand but one of two hundred multiplied by ten ? 
 The material is essentially the same, only more of it. 
 The difference is in size, not in sense." 
 
 August of this year (1867) was spent in Marshfield. 
 His journal says: "We have been twice to Scituate. 
 Last Sunday met Mr. May, and heard him preach. It 
 was refreshing to listen to his sweet voice once more. 
 In the afternoon a communion service was held, in 
 which Mr. May presided, Brother Fish and myself par- 
 ticipating by each offering a prayer. It was a delight- 
 ful occasion, a real Whitsuntide in our experience, a day 
 white with the tokens of God's love, bidding the tide of 
 sacred memories flow into heart and soul, a refreshing 
 flood." 
 
 Sept. 27, 1867. "I have preached twice without 
 manuscript since I returned from the seashore. I suc- 
 ceeded well, judging from what I heard said of the ser- 
 
Extracts from Journal 155 
 
 mons, though the second attempt was not so satisfactory 
 to myself as the first. I commenced another sermon 
 designed to be given without manuscript, but wrote it 
 out so fully that I concluded it was best to read it. I 
 find it isn't wise to make too elaborate preparation. 
 The preparation needed is of thought rather than words. 
 When I have plenty of thought, there is little difficulty in 
 putting it into form. It clothes itself. But, then, we 
 think so much in words that it is difficult to collect 
 thought without clothing it as we think; and just here 
 is the danger of writing too much, so that, when you 
 come to speak, you are fettered, perhaps tripped, by the 
 double effort of memory and original expression. I find 
 I am more easy and free in my utterance when I have 
 only the leading ideas, letting them clothe themselves 
 as they will." 
 
 Dec. 30, 1867. " Not a word in my journal for three 
 months. I hope there is some record in my heart, for 
 those months have been crowned with divine goodness. 
 If all blessings found record in manuscripts, ' the world 
 itself would not contain the books that would be writ- 
 ten.' My work progresses hopefully. On Thanks- 
 giving we had our children with us. 
 
 " On Christmas we were all invited to Laura's. We 
 had a delightful time, to be remembered with gratitude 
 to God for all his goodness, and especially for such 
 precious children and grandchildren as he has given us. 
 They are a joy to our hearts. May the dear Father 
 fold them all in his loving arms forever ! " 
 
 The society continued to meet in the hall, up two 
 flights of stairs, for more than a year, while the church, 
 corner of Camden and Tremont Streets, was being 
 built. 
 
156 A utobiography 
 
 Sunday, April 5, 1868, the first service in the vestry- 
 was held, the room above being still unfinished. 
 
 Of this he writes as follows : — 
 
 " It was stormy in the morning, but right in the 
 midst of the sermon the clouds broke, and a flood of 
 sunshine burst into the room. It came like a benedic- 
 tion from the skies, a baptism of light and cheer we 
 were glad to hail as a happy omen." 
 
 A few weeks later, on the evening of April 28, the 
 church was dedicated. 
 
 Of this work he says, seventeen years later, in his 
 farewell sermon : " Our numbers had so increased in 
 Concord Hall that we began our worship here with a 
 very encouraging attendance. We were not many, 
 it is true, but we were united and our hope was 
 large. Soon after the dedication the society held a 
 meeting and organized under the title of ' The New 
 South Free Church.' 
 
 " I came here to change the mission chapel to a free 
 church, seats free to all and welcoming all, rich and 
 poor alike. It had seemed to me that a church for 
 the poor alone was just as far from the spirit of the 
 gospel as a church for the rich alone, that both were 
 narrow and clannish, and that a true church of Christ 
 should be lifted above all outward distinction, and be 
 a church of humanity, whose doors should swing on 
 hinges of the most cordial welcome to all who would 
 come and worship, and work together for the grand 
 objects of a Christian church. 
 
 " On this broad plan the church was organized, on 
 this base we have worshipped and worked. It is not 
 a mission chapel, though we rejoice in our missionary 
 
Extracts from Journal 157 
 
 work, and think we can do all the more effectively with- 
 out the name. It is a free church, and to those who 
 think the free should be dropped we say this is our 
 special glory. It is our crown of rejoicing. For this 
 the church was built, for this it is sustained, — not as 
 a church on the ordinary close corporation plan, but as 
 a free church, absolutely free to all, without regard 
 to outward distinction of wealth, culture, or color, — a 
 church in which all are welcomed by virtue of their 
 simple humanity as the equal children of a common 
 Father. 
 
 " Our numbers have never been large. My early 
 hopes in this respect have never been fulfilled. For 
 I was sanguine enough to hope at the beginning that 
 a few years would see our church filled, and I even 
 imagined how, in case of need, we might push out a 
 wing towards Tremont Street, to seat a hundred or two 
 that could not be accommodated in front. But, alas ! it 
 was only the wing of a hopeful imagination, and was 
 never spread." 
 
 At one time Mr. Tilden could look over the congre- 
 gation and see one or more parishioners from every 
 parish over which he had ever been settled, who, 
 leaving their country homes for the city, had sought 
 out their old pastor, and gladly placed themselves once 
 more under his guidance and spiritual care. 
 
 Mrs. Judge Shaw, Mrs. Ann Gould, Mrs. and Miss 
 Wheelwright, Miss Russel, Messrs. Willis, Taggard, 
 and Taylor were among those who followed the retir- 
 ing pastor from Church Green, enabling him by their 
 presence and pecuniary assistance to change the char- 
 acter of the work from a mission chapel to a free 
 church. 
 
1 5 8 Autobiography 
 
 Others who did not attend the Sunday services 
 made glad his heart by their contributions to the 
 "poor's purse" and their aid in all efforts to meet the 
 necessary expenses of the work. 
 
 A few extracts from some of the Annual Reports 
 made to the Executive Committee of the Benevolent 
 Fraternity of Churches may be of interest. 
 
 In the Annual Report for 1875 he says : — 
 
 "The attendance on our Sunday morning service is 
 encouraging, both in numbers and in manifest interest. 
 As our doors swing both ways, and egress is as easy 
 as access, none stay with us except from choice. So 
 we have no grumblers, — a rare felicity, which we 
 highly appreciate. . . . 
 
 " We numbered on our Sunday-school roll at the 
 close of the year, including teachers and officers, two 
 hundred and eighty-three. 1 regard the Sunday-school 
 as a vitally important branch of our free church work. 
 As we hold our session in the afternoon, I am enabled 
 to take the superintendence of it ; and I am accus- 
 tomed to think that I could better be spared from 
 either of the other Sunday services than this. 
 
 " It is said sometimes that our free churches are too 
 much like the other churches. If the other churches 
 are all right, this should be to our praise. 
 
 " It is said there are no dirty or ragged children in 
 our Sunday-schools. We are delighted to have visitors 
 notice this, for, not believing in dirt or rags, our effort 
 is to clean and clothe. Again, it is said that well- 
 to-do people attend our free churches. We are very 
 grateful that they do. It is one of the brightest spots 
 in our work. We welcome all such, not merely for 
 
Extracts from Journal 159 
 
 the pecuniary aid they render, but as missionaries of 
 the gospel of brotherhood. . . . 
 
 " There is a wide difference between giving and min- 
 istering. With only money one may give ; but only 
 with love and sympathy can one minister. Desiring 
 to make our free church in some humble measure a 
 ministry, we have commenced another year in good 
 heart and hope." 
 
 One of the special features of this ministry was the 
 Friday evening conference meeting, of which he says : 
 "The various themes of Christian believing and living 
 are treated in a familiar way, inviting questions and 
 free conversation. Many who attend them count 
 very fondly upon this oasis hour coming between the 
 Sundays." 
 
 "We cannot report the number of conversions at 
 these or any other of our meetings. We leave all this 
 with Him who 'knoweth the heart,' content to hope 
 that some soul may be comforted in its sorrow, 
 strengthened to bear patiently the heavy burdens of 
 life, and inspired with a brighter hope and a warmer 
 love for God and man, by joining with us in prayer and 
 song and spiritual communion on these occasions." 
 
 Who of those who attended these meetings can for- 
 get the strength of his conviction of the immortal life, 
 as, with his face illumined and his soul aglow, he 
 seemed to be gazing into the open heavens, and mak- 
 ing it as real to us as the world in which we are now 
 living ? 
 
 No account of this ministry would be complete 
 which did not speak of his faithful co-worker, Mrs. A. L. 
 Mayberry, who was connected with the mission when 
 
160 Autobiography 
 
 he first took charge of it, and between whom and him- 
 self existed a sweet and strong friendship, lasting not 
 only through the seventeen years of his pastorate, but 
 to the end of his life. 
 
 In one of the Annual Reports he says: "I wish 
 to bear testimony to the fidelity of your missionary 
 Mrs. Mayberry, and to the marked ability with which 
 she has performed, and is still performing, her arduous 
 duties, and to her special fitness for her peculiar work, 
 — a work requiring a rare combination of Christian 
 sympathy with sound judgment and practical wisdom. 
 I count it a great favor to have for a co-laborer one so 
 well fitted for the work, and whose interest in the ob- 
 ject of the mission is so deep and hearty." 
 
 His journal for September, 1869, says: "We spent 
 our vacation at Whitefield, N. H. While we were there, 
 dear George sailed for Liverpool, on his way to Paris, 
 where he hopes to spend some time in the study of his 
 profession. It is hard to have him go ; but, still, I am 
 glad he has the ambition to desire it. May God bless 
 the dear boy, and make his stay abroad fruitful of 
 many blessings." 
 
 November 7. " We hear from our absent boy every 
 week. It is a cordial to our hearts. Our boy at home 
 has just started in business. He is a first-rate fellow. 
 May God prosper him ! " 
 
 December 7. " Had a charming letter from George 
 yesterday. We are thankful for these words from the 
 dear boy. They are meat and drink to his mother and 
 me. We are blessed in our children, the three on earth 
 and the one in heaven, immortal links in our golden 
 chain. O Father, may the chain that binds us all to- 
 gether draw us all closer to thee ! " 
 
Extracts from Journal 161 
 
 August, 1870. "Dear George returned the latter 
 part of June, enriched by study, travel, and — love. 
 We have such confidence in him we feel sure that the 
 one to whom he has been attracted must be pure and 
 noble, though we have never seen her. 
 
 " Dear Will and Anna had a daughter born to them 
 on the 19th of July. They have called her Mary Anna. 
 God bless the little darling with its father and mother ! 
 
 " We have now four grandchildren, two here on the 
 shores of time and two on the golden shores of eter- 
 nity. Joseph Tilden, now eight years old, a bright and 
 beautiful boy, Laura's first-born, and the little first-born 
 of Will and Anna, here in the flesh, and Mary Foster 
 and Georgie, children of Laura, now with the angels in 
 the spirit land. 
 
 "May the invisible arms of Love Divine, holding the 
 seen and the unseen in their embrace, fold them all 
 safely and lovingly forever! " 
 
 May 11, 1872. "Day before yesterday was my sixty- 
 first birthday. 
 
 " When I was young, in the early part of my ministry, 
 I thought a minister should retire from pastoral charge 
 at fifty, and preach only now and then as occasion 
 might call. As years went by I ran up the slide to 
 sixty as the period for retiring. But here I am at sixty- 
 one still in the harness, and hoping to hold on some 
 years more, if the good Father should spare my life. I 
 love the work, it is as dear to me as ever. And, al- 
 though I get tired in it, I never get tired of it, and, as 
 soon as I am rested, I long to take up again the old 
 staff of ministerial duty. It is a budding rod, and blos- 
 soms with many a joy as we clasp it, and climb with it 
 the ever-ascending path of common duties." 
 
1 62 Autobiography 
 
 In November, 1875, she who had walked by his side 
 for over forty years 
 
 " Passed through glory's morning-gate, 
 And walked in Paradise." 
 
 A brief illness, typhoid fever, ended on this earth a life 
 always delicate, but a life of untiring devotion to hus- 
 band and children. A sermon preached soon after her 
 going away has the following: — 
 
 "What this precious one was to me and to her chil- 
 dren my tongue refuses to tell. I could not speak it 
 if I would, and, with her native reserve and shrinking 
 from publicity so freshly before me, I would not if I 
 could. But you know how often, as we have prayed 
 together here, we have thanked God for our homes, 
 and asked his grace that we might be true to all home 
 loves and duties. What my home has been to me and 
 my children was owing much more than I can tell you 
 to the loving wife and mother, so faithful, so tender, 
 so true, who was so largely its light and joy. Home 
 was her earthly heaven, and her thoughtful care, her 
 wise counsel, her sweet and tender affection, made it 
 heavenly to us all. Few knew her beyond the circle 
 of her personal friends. She was quiet, retiring, in- 
 clined more to silence than to speech, but so pure and 
 chaste in word and thought and life, so transparently 
 truthful, so simply and naturally good and true, and 
 loyal always to her own highest convictions, that to 
 know her was to love her." 
 
 His journal has the following: "Some weeks after 
 mother rose, George and Alice kindly left their home 
 in Brookline to spend the winter with me. In Decern- 
 
Extracts from Journal 163 
 
 ber, feeling worn, I was advised to go away for a little 
 season, and went to Washington, D.C., for the first 
 time. I found much to interest me, and was benefited 
 by the change. On my return, I stopped in New York, 
 and there heard that little Laura Mary was sick in Bos- 
 ton of scarlet fever. When I returned, which was 
 early in January, 1876, she was very sick, and little 
 Charlie was taken ill the next day. After two weeks 
 of dreadful suffering little Laura became an angel. 
 
 " She was a very lovely child. I think that at times 
 she had the most radiant face I ever saw, in one so 
 young. She was full of exultant life, with robust 
 health, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, that flashed 
 through her golden hair as she shook it over her face 
 in glee. 
 
 " The very day we followed her dear form to the field 
 of peace little Charlie was so sick that it seemed as if 
 he might not live till we returned, but the next day he 
 was better, and as soon as possible his distressed par- 
 ents took him and the babe Alice out to their Brook- 
 line home, where he rapidly recovered." 
 
 " Will and Anna have now two beautiful girls, May 
 and Cora." 
 
 June 27, 1878. "I have another little granddaugh- 
 ter,* the child of dear Alice and George. The dear 
 God bless the sweet lamb and its happy parents, and, 
 whatever its name may be, may it be written in the 
 book of life ! " 
 
 * Edith Selina. 
 
XVII. 
 
 EUROPEAN TRAVEL. 
 
 1878. 
 
 In the summer of 1878 Mr. Tilden went abroad for 
 eleven weeks, his pulpit being supplied by labors of 
 love from brother ministers, Dr. Lothrop in his case 
 calling it "a toil of fondness." 
 
 In speaking of the proposed trip, Mr. Tilden says : " I 
 have no excuse for going on the ground of illness or 
 overwork. I am remarkably well, never having had 
 the ministerial sore throat and being in no special 
 need of a sea voyage or change of climate on account 
 of physical prostration. I go because I want to. I 
 take my daughter with me because I want her to help 
 me enjoy what may be enjoyable in the trip, for all 
 pleasures are more than doubled in being shared by 
 those we love." 
 
 " We sailed from New York in the steamer ' Devonia ' 
 of the Anchor line, June 29. The day was clear and 
 bright, like the hopes of the large party of two hundred 
 and forty odd, about to launch forth together on our 
 Musical and Educational Excursion, as it was rather 
 ambitiously called. The friends who came on board to 
 shake hands and say a parting word were unusually 
 numerous because of the unusual number about to 
 embark, so that the waving of handkerchiefs from 
 
European Travel 165 
 
 the hundreds on the pier, as we hauled out into the 
 stream, was prolonged and enthusiastic. But when we 
 were fairly off, and were conscious that three thousand 
 miles of ocean stretched out between us and the land 
 we were seeking, we did feel — I did, I confess — a 
 little bit, just a little, you know, as you would if you 
 had been one of us. 
 
 " But our noble steamer moved off stately and grace- 
 fully, till the last waving flash of white from the reced- 
 ing pier and city was lost. Then each wiped the — dust 
 from his eyes, and looked out on the beautiful view 
 which opened as, without a sail spread and scarcely 
 a ripple at the sharp prow, we glided down the harbor, 
 by Staten Island, through the Narrows, and out by 
 Sandy Hook." 
 
 Of the celebration of the Fourth of July on ship- 
 board he says : " Some one of our company had written 
 a half-seas-over poem, to be sung to 'America' and 
 ' God save the Queen,' and, as I was the only one to 
 whom the handwriting was familiar, it fell to my lot to 
 read. 
 
 " We had few to sing, but, with Carl Zerrahn for a 
 leader, it was bound to go. So, after the gun was 
 fired and the hurrah fitly rendered, I planted my feet 
 far apart, and with a stout man at my back with a hand 
 on each shoulder to keep me steady, the paper snapping 
 in the wind and wet with the spray, I read the verses, 
 the first and last only being sung. As we had only 
 one copy, I bad to deacon the lines two at a time, and 
 we pilgrims, ' while the breaking waves dashed high,' 
 sent out our voices on the wings of the grand old na- 
 tional air, with the roar of wind and sea for a chorus." 
 
1 66 Autobiography 
 
 " We arrived in Glasgow July 9, and our first day's 
 journey was over the principal Scottish lakes and the 
 region known as the Trosachs, to Sterling, the Royal 
 Castle, and thence past the historic Bannockburn to 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 "Giving only one day to Edinburgh and its attrac- 
 tions, we took a special train by the North British 
 Railway to Melrose, visiting the ruined abbey and the 
 home of Sir Walter Scott, then through Carlisle, Leeds, 
 Sheffield, Leicester, and Bedford to London. 
 
 "I think I never enjoyed a day's ride so painfully 
 as that day, in the little, uncomfortable box cars 
 made in the shape of an old-fashioned stage-coach, 
 with door on the side fast locked for fear of accidents. 
 The only redeeming features were the weather and the 
 views. The scenery was all new to us, and as interest- 
 ing as it was charming. 
 
 "The first thing that struck me was the almost en- 
 tire absence of forests, groves, and trees generally. But 
 the rich grain-fields were waving with golden harvests, 
 just then being gathered, and the grass on hill-slopes 
 and valleys had the same peculiar light green we had 
 observed on the lawns and domes of Ireland and on 
 the mountain borders of the Scottish lakes. It was 
 curious to an American eye to see how all the houses 
 in Scotland, in country as well as in city and town, 
 were built of stone. We do not remember a single 
 building of wood in all Scotland. Even the shanties 
 on the country hillsides and valleys have their walls 
 of stone with thatched roofs. The scarcity of forest 
 timber is the obvious cause. It gives to all structures, 
 great and small, an appearance of solidity and durabil- 
 
Emopean Travel i6j 
 
 ity, in singular contrast with our American deal and 
 clapboard method of construction. 
 
 "As soon as we strike the line separating Scotland 
 from England, we strike brick. All through England, 
 especially in the country, brick is the prevailing mate- 
 rial for building. But the views on either side, as we 
 sweep on in our lightning express, are 'dissolving,' 
 save those at a distance, which did not seem in such 
 earnest haste, and remained longer in the field of vi- 
 sion. These gave us a glimpse of the rural beauty of 
 England and the richness of her highly cultivated soil. 
 
 "Here, in the place of the stone walls of Scotland, 
 the eye is rested with the green hedges, which very 
 largely take the place of fences all through England, di- 
 viding the fields into parallelograms, rhomboids, and 
 other geometrical figures, creating a landscape quite 
 unlike anything we see in our country districts. 
 
 "But the New England eye searches in vain for a 
 barn in all England. This seems odd enough to a 
 Yankee, accustomed to regard the barn of the farmer 
 as quite as essential as his house, generally much 
 larger, and often better-looking and more cared for. 
 But the climate of England, so much milder than 
 ours, obviates the necessity of barns by permitting 
 farmers to stack their hay in the open air. But they 
 do it with great care, thatching the top of each stack 
 like a cottage roof, to shed the rain and keep the hay 
 fresh and sweet. The long rows of sheds, seen here 
 and there, tell of sheltered retreats for feeding flocks 
 and herds in storm and cold. 
 
 " But it is growing dark and we are getting tired of 
 looking, when the engine whistles and the brakes go 
 
1 68 Autobiography 
 
 down, and the guard cries out, 'Bedford.' This is only 
 forty-eight miles from London, and, if you have ever 
 read 'Pilgrim's Progress,' you will remember it was 
 in a jail in this old town John Bunyan, about two 
 hundred years ago, wrote his immortal volume. We, 
 too, are pilgrims now, glad enough that we are within 
 two hours of the 'hub' of England, which, however 
 foggy and smoky and dark it may be, we look for- 
 ward to as a 'celestial city' to our aching bones. 
 
 "An hour or two more of reticent nodding, jouncing, 
 and pensive contemplation, quite in contrast with our 
 jubilant spirits earlier in the day, and we are roused 
 by the cry of 'London.' It is eleven o'clock. But the 
 immense platform is crowded with hack-drivers and 
 policemen, and general confusion. In the crowd is 
 the junior member of 'Cook & Sons,' on whose 
 tickets we are travelling. He is there to meet us, 
 and greet us, and assign us to our quarters for the 
 night. The several divisions are called to gather in 
 companies, for the coaches in waiting. We could not 
 all be accommodated at one hotel. Each division had 
 been assigned, so we must guard against getting 
 mixed. My daughter and myself had enlisted in the 
 'Third Division.' We waited in vain for the call. No 
 Third Division, — what did it mean? We had heard 
 'Second Swiss' vociferated with unction, but had no 
 knowledge of it, — had never heard of it. We began 
 to feel anxious. The most of our party had gone. It 
 was getting toward midnight. 'Second Swiss' was 
 again shouted, as if by one looking up stragglers. 
 'That isn't our name!' 'Yes, it is.' Unknown to us, 
 our name had been changed some time on the 
 
European Travel 169 
 
 voyage, and we who left New York as members in 
 good and regular standing of ' Third Division ' ar- 
 rived in this hubbub of England at midnight as ' Sec- 
 ond Swiss.' 
 
 "We were relieved to find we had a name, though it 
 had been changed by our sponsors without our knowl- 
 edge. But it was not a pleasant experience. A good 
 night's rest, however, carried off the nameless sensa- 
 tion, and we awoke refreshed for London sight-seeing, 
 promptly responding ever after to our new name of 
 ' Second Swiss.' 
 
 "As we came into the city in the dark, perhaps it will 
 be well first to go out again a little way on one of the 
 elevated railroads and see how the city looks as you 
 approach it in open daylight. The view from the ele- 
 vated track is peculiar, not in landscape, but in roof- 
 scape. You look out on acres and over square miles of 
 roofs and chimneys spread out like a small Sahara, 
 with here and there a single building rising above the 
 rest. On each of the thousand chimneys standing like 
 grim sentinels on this waste of roofs there are as many 
 chimney-pots as flues. Multiply each stack by two, 
 three, four, five, or six, as the case may be. These pots 
 are of all sorts, sizes, shapes, and colors. There are 
 tall pots and short pots, straight pots and crooked pots, 
 round pots and octagonal pots, pots ornamented and 
 pots plain, pots in groups and pots single, pots black, 
 pots red, pots brown, with all the intermediate shades 
 which London smoke is capable of producing, — all 
 placed there simply to aid the draught, without the 
 slightest idea, probably, of how much they would add to 
 the picturesqueness of the roof-scenery of the great 
 city." 
 
170 Autobiography 
 
 Then follow visits to the Tower of London, the 
 Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, St. 
 Paul Cathedral, the Albert Memorial, statue of Lord 
 Nelson, and many other places of interest. Of the old 
 cathedral he says : " I should not care to worship 
 there save on great occasions. I love life better than 
 death, the living present better than the dead past. 
 Still, the place is full of solemn interest, and I am glad 
 to have trodden its marble floor and looked on its mon- 
 ument of departed glory." 
 
 "July 1 7 we embarked at Harwich for a twelve hours' 
 run over the North Sea. Landing at Flushing, but not 
 stopping, we take train for Antwerp. We pass through 
 only a little strip of Holland, but it is a good sample of 
 the ' hollow country,' for it lies below the sea-level, pro- 
 tected by embankments from the ocean tides. It is a 
 low, level plain, highly cultivated, with very few trees, 
 and these quite diminutive in appearance. 
 
 " Streets and avenues are often bordered with small 
 poplars, looking as straight and prim as the toy trees 
 of children and about as large. We did not see a good- 
 sized, respectable tree in this whole region. But what 
 Holland lacks in trees she makes up in windmills. 
 The reason why water doesn't run down hill in Hol- 
 land is not owing to any perversity of the water, but 
 only because there are no hills for it to run down. 
 So the winds that sweep in from the North Sea are 
 made to do the grinding and flouring of that rich grain 
 country. 
 
 " It was the season for harvesting, and the men and 
 women were in the fields, doing their level best. 
 Woman's right to do a man's work, wherever she can, 
 
European Travel 171 
 
 seems to be fully allowed all over the continent. 
 Whether she duly appreciates her privilege I don't 
 know, but the fields she joins the man in cultivating 
 give tokens of golden harvests. 
 
 " I was surprised to see the extent of the shipping in 
 Antwerp, and the splendid docks she has erected for its 
 accommodation. Its quaint old streets and market- 
 places, the large number of uniformed soldiers, the 
 curiously bonneted peasantry, and the street cafes, con- 
 verting the sidewalks and half the street into beer 
 saloons, seem very odd to an American eye. 
 
 "But its main attractions to an overnight tourist are 
 its cathedral and museum of art. In all the vicissi- 
 tudes of war to which the city has been subjected, the 
 cathedral, with its spire shooting up four hundred and 
 four feet into the sky, has been deemed too beautiful 
 to be destroyed. 
 
 " In the south transept is the great masterpiece of 
 Rubens, 'The Descent from the Cross.' It is wonder- 
 ful for its delineation of death, bloody, cruel death,— 
 wonderful as a work of art, but to me it is dreadful to 
 look at. It is like looking at the crucifixion itself. I 
 wonder how people can stand and admire the art, 
 the force and vigor of the muscular delineation, the 
 admirable foreshortening of a limb, or the exquisite 
 coloring, when the whole picture — just because it is so 
 masterly — is so ghastly and horrible. 
 
 "In the museum one is painfully impressed with the 
 dolorous character of most of the pictures. I did not 
 understand the reason of this till I learned they were 
 mostly collected from suppressed convents. I think a 
 large share of the pictures might have been suppressed, 
 
172 A utobiography 
 
 too, without harm. They perpetuated the old idea of 
 appealing to the religious sympathies through various 
 forms of the suffering and dead Christ. 
 
 "These painful pictures are so multiplied that at last 
 I walked by them with my hand for a screen to shut 
 them out, glad to find now and then some object of 
 sweet and happy life on which to rest the pained vision. 
 
 " Of course there are some beautiful pictures here, 
 but they are mostly of a character to make the bright 
 sunshine and pure air outside a particularly pleasant 
 change. 
 
 " Indeed, the air and sunshine, the moon and stars, 
 are about the only things here that seem homelike. 
 
 " But we must be off for Brussels, leaving many 
 things of interest unnoticed. 
 
 " Brussels is a very beautiful city, combining the old 
 and new, narrow, old-fashioned thoroughfares with broad 
 spacious avenues, old Flemish houses with fine modern 
 structures, in a very charming way. 
 
 " Two things everybody must see, however short his 
 stay and whatever else he misses, — the lace manufac- 
 tory and the cathedral. 
 
 " I must tell you a little about our dinner, or ' table 
 d'hote] as it is called. Here in Brussels it consisted 
 of twelve different courses. As there were just fifty of 
 us, it took six hundred clean plates to serve our party. 
 This sounds very luxurious. It gives a suggestion of 
 very high living. But it is anything but that, I assure 
 you. The first course is a few spoonfuls of soup of 
 some sort. Then perhaps a small piece of meat. Then 
 a potato as a special course. Then fifty more clean 
 plates, and a bit of cauliflower is served ; another fifty 
 
European Travel iy$ 
 
 clean plates, and a bit of something, you don't know 
 what, and so on, number eleven being generally a chick- 
 en's wing — where they get so many chickens' wings is a 
 mystery — and number twelve being a thin slice of ice- 
 cream, a mere suggestion, just enough to moisten the 
 mouth and make you think how nice it would be if you 
 could only have some to eat as well as taste. And after 
 all this clatter of dishes, called out of courtesy courses, 
 you rise faint and hungry, thinking what you would 
 give for one good, old-fashioned square meal. 
 
 "We have no time to speak of the museums, the 
 picture galleries, ducal palace, palace of the king, and 
 the like, but, before leaving, I must quote a word or 
 two which I find jotted down in pencil. 'It is funny 
 to see how we are stared at and jabbered about by the 
 people here, as if we were from New Zealand or the 
 interior of Africa. Even a dog harnessed to a milk-cart 
 barked at me this morning, showing that he perceived 
 I was an exotic. He evidently felt himself high above 
 me, though not too high to speak, in his own way, which 
 I understood better than most I heard.' 
 
 " After a day's ride, with the thermometer at 8o,° 
 we arrive at Cologne, and go at once to see the grand 
 old cathedral, not stopping to wash or sup. I name it 
 as a warning to all travellers never to be guilty of such 
 folly. We were too tired to see and too hungry to ap- 
 preciate if we could have seen. The next morning, 
 when rested and breakfasted, we went again, and, lo ! 
 what we were too tired to see the evening before came 
 out in all its grand old glory." 
 
 Then comes a wonderful day on the Rhine, the 
 beauty and grandeur increasing with every mile. His 
 
1 74 A utobiography 
 
 note-book says : "6 p.m. The last hour has exceeded 
 all the rest. I am full. I close my book, and content 
 myself with looking, looking, looking." 
 
 Then a night at Wiesbaden, a railroad ride from 
 Frankfort to Heidelberg, which, he says, "was about 
 as beautiful as anything this side paradise could be. 
 Heidelberg, the famous old university town, lies in 
 the charming valley of the Neckar, girt about with 
 everlasting hills. The university, the castle ruins, 
 with their old gardens and winding paths, the magnifi- 
 cent views from the legendary heights, no words can 
 fitly describe." 
 
 Baden-Baden, Strasbourg, a Sunday at Schaffhausen, 
 and the journey to Switzerland is entered upon. 
 
 " Our course through this wonderful land is zigzag 
 through the elevated plateau, leaving the long Jura 
 range on the right and the broad Alpine belt mainly 
 on the left. Our first stopping-place after leaving 
 Schaffhausen was Zurich, the Boston of Switzerland, 
 the hub of Swiss intelligence and industry. 
 
 "The next day's ride was to Lucerne, a queer old 
 town, with its buildings all jumbled together clear 
 down to the lake shore. Its old walls and watch towers, 
 and narrow bridges for foot people only, its church and 
 cathedral, the famous ' Lion of Lucerne ' by Thorwald- 
 sen, cut out of the solid rock, — these, and more things 
 than I have time to name even, are full of interest. 
 
 " On the afternoon of the last day of July we were 
 booked for the ascent of the Rigi, and must go then or 
 never, whatever the weather. But we were full of hope, 
 with just doubt enough mixed with it to prevent its 
 intoxicating influence. 
 
European Travel 175 
 
 " By the help of our kangaroo engine, we first mount 
 up over the little village, getting a balloon view of its 
 house-tops and church spires. And now we mount 
 higher and higher, opening out into a sky view of the 
 beautiful lake below and the valleys spotted with vil- 
 lages and waving with golden harvests. ' Oh ! this is 
 charming,' we all say, and keep saying it with emphasis, 
 just as if somebody had doubted our assertions ; but 
 there was no one to doubt, and we were all ready to 
 declare that this view alone would richly repay us for 
 a night on the summit, even if we saw nothing more. 
 No sooner said than done. A listening cloud near 
 by took us at our word, and closed in upon us forth- 
 with. The beautiful picture vanished. Our adjectives 
 changed to meet the changed conditions. Our spirits 
 fell with the barometer. Conversation took a more 
 subdued and serious cast. We were resigned, — of 
 course we were ; but how could we be jubilant? Our 
 little kangaroo, however, didn't seem to mind it, and 
 kept pushing us still on and up, till he landed us on 
 the summit. Here we alighted. We could see the 
 immense hotel, and for that we made our hungry and 
 thirsty way. Having found our rooms and refreshed 
 ourselves, we walked out into the dense cloud. I had 
 often wished myself in the clouds, when a child, look- 
 ing up as they floated over so gracefully. It didn't 
 seem nearly so nice now as it looked then. 
 
 " But we congratulated ourselves on being almost six 
 thousand feet up in the air. True, we could not see 
 anything, but we might if it should break away; and 
 so we strolled round, trying a sort of Swiss content- 
 ment and take-it-easy. 
 
176 Autobiography 
 
 " Soon I observed a group gathered on the western 
 brow of the summit, as if looking down at something. 
 Was it a goat on a sheltering precipice, or a gallant 
 young man gone down the perilous cliff to pluck a 
 mountain daisy for his lady-love ? I would go and see. 
 I went, and saw! Every now and then the strata of 
 the cloud below us, growing thin, would reveal patches 
 of the landscape below. The whole valley being 
 bathed in sunlight while we were in cloud, these little 
 gleams of beauty we got through the gauzy veil of mist 
 were the most charming I ever saw. There we stood 
 and watched for the openings in the veil. For a long 
 time the clouds would sweep by, so heavily laden that 
 nothing could be seen but the thick, impenetrable 
 leaden gray, extending far down the mountain side. 
 But we buttoned up our coats and hugged our shawls, 
 and waited till by and by another view of the transfig- 
 ured valley would suddenly break upon us, all the more 
 wonderful in its beauty for being seen in its golden ra- 
 diance through this veil of mist. 
 
 "Watching these dissolving views of Nature's own 
 making, time passed swiftly, and the sunset hour drew 
 nigh. Should we get a view of the mountains? No- 
 body could tell, but we were mostly Yankees, and 
 could guess. That we didn't guess alike or guess 
 right was of no consequence. There was a satisfac- 
 tion in exercising our gifts. But the clouds did settle, 
 and wander off, like herds on the mountain side going 
 home. The heavy cloud which the Rigi had worn all 
 the afternoon slipped off his head and wound itself 
 round his stalwart form as a mantle. The valleys 
 were filled with the billowy mist, and away off, where 
 
European Travel i JJ 
 
 we knew the snowy peaks must be, a ring of clouds 
 hung suspended, hiding all. But it was not quite sun- 
 set yet, and we waited. Here and there a spot in the 
 belt of cloud grew thin. Hundreds of eyes were look- 
 ing ; for ours was not the only party on the summit, and 
 groups of expectant faces on the knolls and elevated 
 platforms around were turned mountain-ward with 
 eager gaze. A shout of joy! Some one has caught 
 sight of a white peak through an opening in the cloud. 
 Another blessed rift, and another peak is seen. And 
 now another in a new direction ! And yet another ! 
 The excitement increasing as one after another dis- 
 covers a new peak in the breaking clouds, — a discov- 
 ery second only to that of Columbus, when from the 
 deck of the ' Pinta ' he sighted the longed for Western 
 shore. 
 
 "At last, when all had become discoverers, the ex- 
 citement abated, and we all settled down into a calmer 
 enjoyment of the scene, as peak after peak, range after 
 range, came into view. So clear is the air that they 
 seemed close to us, though some of them may have 
 been forty miles away. As the sun declines, the glory 
 deepens. At last he kisses one after another good- 
 night with his golden lips, and the gathering darkness, 
 hiding them from view, gives rest to our weary eyes. 
 
 " Congratulating ourselves as the most favored of 
 mortals, we go to our suppers and our beds with grate- 
 ful hearts. 
 
 "After a short, cold night, we were roused by the 
 blast of the mountain horn as the dayspring colored 
 the east, and, half dressing ourselves for fear we should 
 be late, rushed out into the cold, damp mountain air, 
 
178 A utobiography 
 
 and waited for the dayspring to brighten into dawn. It 
 seemed to be a long time brightening, but at last there 
 was light enough to see the white peaks just beginning 
 to show themselves on the dim horizon. They looked 
 cold and shivery. Perhaps it was the reflection of 
 ourselves. We stamped our feet, circulated in and 
 out among the queer-looking bundles of clothes hastily 
 tied up into a resemblance of men and women, and 
 tried to hurry up old Sol. But it was in vain. He 
 was slow as a Swiss in his movements, but sure ; for, 
 see, at last he has kindled a light on the tip of that 
 summit yonder. See it creep down the snowy sides, 
 and then suddenly leap over to another peak, and yet 
 another, and another, until the Bernese Oberland is all 
 ablaze with mountain glory ! It was a glorious sight." 
 
 Alpnacht, Brienz, and Giessbach were visited, a mem- 
 orable Sunday at Interlaken, then Freibourg, quaint and 
 curious, was reached. Of this he says : " It is built 
 largely on the steep slopes of a deep ravine, through 
 which runs a small stream, which is spanned by a gos- 
 samer-like suspension bridge, nearly a thousand feet 
 long, the longest, it is said, in Europe. 
 
 "Across another ravine close by is another suspen- 
 sion bridge nearly as long, and more than three hun- 
 dred feet above the water. I don't exactly know why 
 it was, but, when I went to the edge of that highest 
 bridge to drop a pebble into the stream three hundred 
 feet below, I stood off a little from the rail, and reached 
 over, so that I didn't see just how long it took for the 
 stone to fall. And, then, as I walked on and over alone, 
 in the rain, I found myself inclining to the centre of 
 the bridge, and walking very quickly. Of course it 
 
European Travel 1 79 
 
 was only because it rained. These tight rope bridges 
 over yawning chasms may be very safe, — I suppose 
 they are, — but it takes a little time so to adjust one's 
 feelings to them as fully to enjoy the landscape views 
 they give, — especially when a loaded team meets you 
 on the centre, and you feel the whole Swiss wire set- 
 tle beneath you. 
 
 "We were sorry to leave the odd jumble of a city 
 built on slopes so steep that the inmates of one tier of 
 houses look down into the chimneys of the next neigh- 
 bors below, where you can trace the old city walls of 
 the feudal age, and where the hotels are so accommo- 
 dating as to let you drive right in through the front 
 door, a whole omnibus load, and alight in the carriage 
 room and stable, which occupy the first floor." 
 
 The next day he was in Geneva. He says : " It is 
 the most densely populated of any Swiss town, and 
 since it slipped out of the hands of Napoleon, after 
 that little mishap at Waterloo, and was restored to the 
 Swiss Confederation, it has been one of the foremost 
 cities of Switzerland. 
 
 "Here John Calvin, that stern, strong, powerful 
 theological dogmatist, lived and wrought, fighting with 
 Luther, Melanchthon, and Zwingli the battles of the 
 Reformation. 
 
 " For every blow he struck for political and ecclesi- 
 astical liberty the world will hold him in honor, but 
 his unrelenting persecution of Michael Servetus for a 
 difference in the interpretation of Scriptures he was 
 pleased to call heresy, culminating at last in the burn- 
 ing to death of Servetus by a slow fire of green wood, 
 incited and sanctioned by Calvin and his associates in 
 
i8o Autobiography 
 
 Church and State, is a stain upon his character as well 
 as his name, which no palliating circumstances can 
 ever wash away. 
 
 "While there, I found, though with difficulty, the 
 spot where the shameful tragedy took place. My 
 first inquiries at the hotel were fruitless. No one 
 seemed to know anything about it. All knew about 
 Calvin ; but who was Servetus ? I finally went to the 
 American consul, and even he was obliged to inquire, 
 so sweetly forgetful the Genevese had become of that 
 little excitement caused by the burning of a heretic 
 three hundred years ago. At last I found the place 
 where the martyr to free thought was burned. No 
 stone, no token of the heroism or the hate there re- 
 vealed, marked the spot ; and, as I stood there alone, 
 how could I but thank God for the marvellous change 
 in human thought and religious toleration ? 
 
 "The ' Academie,' a fine building, contains a portrait 
 of Servetus, under which is written, ' Burned at Geneva 
 for the honor and glory of God.' 
 
 "But we look once more on the charming lake and 
 its surroundings, spend the last franc we can spare at 
 the persuasive stores where so many attractions tempt, 
 and, grateful for our thirteen days of never-to-be-forgot- 
 ten pleasure in this cloud-land of beauty and grandeur, 
 take the train for Paris. We pass out of the station, 
 catch a glimpse of the women washing their clothes in 
 the rushing Rhone, shoot out into the open country 
 and follow the river down the valley, where grandeur 
 and beauty still follow us, as if reluctant to part, till 
 twilight comes on, and after a night on wheels that 
 know no rest, and allow but little, we find ourselves in 
 
European Travel 1 8 1 
 
 the dim morning light in the midst of what is called 
 the finest city in the world." 
 
 A few days in Paris, a few days in London, and the 
 homeward bound voyage is embarked upon. 
 
 In his own church, September, 1878, he said : 
 "When I last stood in this pulpit, eleven weeks ago 
 to-day, to tell you a little of my proposed trip, I spoke, 
 from the words of a hopeful prophet, of 'going down 
 to the sea with a song.' For, while I was not unmind- 
 ful of the perils of the great deep, I was sure that, what- 
 ever might befall, it was always safest and best, every 
 way, not to anticipate calamity, but to go forth with a 
 song of trusting faith in Him ' who holdeth the waters 
 in the hollow of his hand.' 
 
 "And now, as I come again to meet you and greet 
 you, after nearly ten thousand miles of travel by sea and 
 land, without a single accident or an hour's serious 
 sickness in the whole journey, the precious old Script- 
 ure, ' If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in 
 the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy 
 hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me,' comes 
 to me with a new meaning. 
 
 " I have been borne on the wings of many mornings 
 and varying winds to the uttermost parts of our Atlan- 
 tic Sea, and back again with so rich an experience of 
 his protection and blessing that, if I have not felt his 
 invisible hand guarding, the fault must be looked for 
 in myself, and not in that providence of love which 
 overarches us all, and always. 
 
 " I have had a good time, have enjoyed much, have 
 seen many things new and foreign ; and yet I have seen 
 but a little streak of ocean waters, and only a narrow 
 
1 8 2 A utobiography 
 
 belt of Scottish, English, and continental scenery and 
 life, just enough to show what travel would reveal, of 
 interest and instruction, if one only had the time and 
 means to do it leisurely, reaping, binding, and binning, 
 on the way, all the rich harvests of historic associa- 
 tions waving luxuriantly on every hill and plain. 
 
 " But I stayed long enough. I had rather have my 
 bird's-eye view, taken on the wing, and home than a 
 long stay, with a longer separation from the only peo- 
 ple that care anything about me on the face of the 
 earth. I have always told you on returning from my 
 short vacations, spent at the mountains or the seashore, 
 that the best part of going away was coming home 
 again ; and this becomes more emphatic as the distance 
 increases. So that, as I have been about ten times as 
 far away as ever before, I am ten times as glad to be 
 at home again, to look into your faces, to give and re- 
 ceive the cordial greeting, and to know that the same 
 divine hand which reveals itself in the uttermost parts 
 of the sea is seen and felt, also, in its guidance and. pro- 
 tection on the land just as truly." 
 
XVIII. 
 
 CHARITY LECTURE. 
 
 1879-1880. 
 Rest. — Marriage. — Charity Lecture. 
 
 After another year devoted to his chosen work, his 
 journal of Oct. 5, 1879, says: "I preached from the 
 text, ' I am weary.' I told my dear little flock I was 
 too weary to go on with my work, and must rest for a 
 season. It is a great step to take, but it seems the 
 right thing to do. God grant that so it may prove. 
 The Rev. Francis S. Thacher supplies my pulpit for ten 
 Sundays, occupying my rooms and serving the society 
 as its pastor. May the dear God bless him and his 
 labors ! " 
 
 Sunday, December 22. " Having recovered my 
 strength, I resumed my labors to-day with a Christmas 
 service and communion." 
 
 Feb. 19, 1880, he was married to Miss M. Louise 
 Haley, who had been for twenty-five years a parish- 
 ioner, his dear friend, Rev. Dr. H. W. Bellows, perform- 
 ing the ceremony. 
 
 On the first Sunday in December, 1880, he delivered 
 the annual " Charity Lecture " in Hollis Street Church, 
 and the following correspondence ensued : — 
 
184 Autobiography 
 
 Boston, Dec. 7, 1880. 
 Dear Sir, — After the conclusion of the exercises at Hollis 
 Street Church last Sunday evening it was unanimously voted by 
 the representatives of the churches having charge of the Charity 
 Lecture that a copy of your excellent sermon, and of the poem 
 with which it concluded, be asked of you for publication. They 
 thought that in no better way could they endeavor to recall the 
 public attention to this oldest charitable institution in Boston than 
 by giving a general circulation to your most interesting sketch of 
 this charity and to your touching poem. We hope that the 
 same exalted motive which inspired you to write them will prompt 
 you to comply with their request. 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 G. Washington Warren, Chairman. 
 John Capen, Secretary. 
 
 To this Mr. Tilden replied as follows : — 
 
 Dear Friends, — Your kind note, transmitting to me the vote of 
 " the representatives of the churches having charge of the Charity 
 Lecture," in which you are pleased to urge so persuasively my com- 
 pliance with the vote, gives me all the more pleasure that there 
 was not the most distant thought of such a request being made 
 when the hasty sketch of our city charities, beginning with the 
 oldest, was written. But surprised as I was by your request, and 
 inadequate as I know the paper to be, I cheerfully yield it for 
 print, if, on further thought, you may deem it desirable. 
 
 The "Christmas Story in Rhyme," with which I closed, was 
 written for another occasion, and printed a few years ago in the 
 Old and New. As it suggests a kind of charity that no organiza- 
 tions can fully supply, a charity to which all are called by the 
 Holy Spirit of Human Sympathy, I yield that, also, to your wishes. 
 Yours for all good things, old and new, 
 
 W. P. Tilden. 
 
 A few extracts from this lecture may be read with 
 interest. The text chosen was from Heb. xiii. 16 : 
 "To do good and to communicate forget not ; for with 
 such sacrifices God is well pleased." 
 
Charity Lecture 185 
 
 He says: "I have been so much interested and edi- 
 fied in looking over the ancient records that I beg the 
 privilege of noting some things which may prove of as 
 much interest to some of you as they have to me. 
 These records have been kept with remarkable fidelity 
 and legibility, showing the good penmanship of colonial 
 days, and making it easy to trace the stream of benefi- 
 cence which it chronicles, and which has watered the 
 wastes of poverty in our city for one hundred and 
 sixty years. 
 
 " The head-waters of the stream, like most head- 
 waters, are lost in obscurity; but the first recorded 
 spring bubbled up from a little circle of benevolent- 
 hearted folk who were accustomed to meet quarterly, 
 on Sunday evenings, for charitable purposes, at the 
 house of one Elder Brigham. After the Elder's death 
 they met with his son Henry, and still later at the 
 house of Deacon Jonathan Williams, such ministers as 
 they deemed desirable and could obtain being invited 
 to preach. 
 
 "But there is no record of these meetings up to 
 1720, when it was decided to request the ministers of 
 the town to take their turns in regular course. With 
 this new arrangement the record begins. Cotton 
 Mather, naturally enough, was the first to preach ; and 
 he took for his text the words that I have quoted : ' To 
 do good and to communicate forget not; for with such 
 sacrifices God is well pleased.' Dr. Mather was at this 
 time about fifty-seven, in the prime of his powers, a 
 colleague of his father, Increase Mather, in the pas- 
 torate of the North Church, the father being in ad- 
 vanced age. The first meeting was held March 6, 
 
1 86 Autobiography 
 
 1720; and a collection was taken of thirty pounds and 
 ten shillings, distributed among sixty-one persons. At 
 first these quarterly gatherings were known simply as 
 'Charity Meetings,' but subsequently as 'The Quar- 
 terly Charity Lecture.' Under the latter title the or- 
 ganization has come down to us. 
 
 " For twenty years after the new departure the meet- 
 ings were still held in the house of Deacon Williams ; 
 but in 1740 they went to the 'Chamber of the Town 
 House, where the Representatives meet.' Two years 
 later is this quaint record: 'March 7, 1742, Mr. 
 Crocker, a young gentleman, preached for Rev. Thomas 
 Prince. Such a thronged assembly of women, boys, 
 &c, that the gentlemen who usually attend could not 
 get in. Collected £7$. Lost by ye thronged assembly 
 at least £30.' This is interesting, as showing that 
 in those primitive times they thought more of the 
 amount collected than of the largeness of the con- 
 gregation. 
 
 "In 1785 it was thought best to remove to the Old 
 South Meeting-house. Here they continued to hold 
 the lectures until the great fire rendered it unfit for 
 use. 
 
 " I find by the record that I am destined to go down 
 to posterity, or up to the top shelves of the Historical 
 Society, as the last preacher of the Quarterly Lecture 
 in the Old South Meeting-house while it was yet a 
 church, and before it became itself an object of public 
 charity. To one whose prospect of posthumous dis- 
 tinction is limited there is some comfort even in this." 
 
 " All the Mathers — Increase, Cotton, and Samuel, 
 father, son, and grandson — were on the stage when 
 
Charity Lecture 187 
 
 the record of this charity began. Here we meet with 
 Wadsworth, Foxcroft, Chauncy, Colman, Checkley, 
 Peter Thacher, Joseph Sewall, and Thomas Prince of 
 the Old South, famous as a preacher and a man of 
 letters. This was the Prince whose quaint prayer, 
 when the French fleet was on its way with the inten- 
 tion of laying Boston in ashes, is thus thrown into 
 verse by Longfellow : — 
 
 "'0 Lord, we would not advise, 
 
 But if in thy providence 
 A tempest should arise 
 
 To drive the French fleet hence, 
 And scatter it far and wide, 
 
 Or sink it in the sea, 
 We would be satisfied ; 
 
 And thine the glory be.' 
 
 " The fleet never arrived. 
 
 " Here, too, we meet with Mather Byles, the first 
 minister of Hollis Street Church, ordained as its pastor 
 near a century and a half ago, who during the latter 
 part of his life, in Revolutionary times, was arrested 
 for his sympathy with the Tories, and put under guard, 
 which was changed from time to time, till his final re- 
 lease, leading him to say, with his usual wit, that he 
 had been 'guarded, regarded, and disregarded.' 
 
 " Here, too, we meet with Dr. Belknap, of hymnal 
 notoriety, and Howard, John Eliot, Dr. Cooper, Dr. 
 Kirkland, Channing, Buckminster : here, also, we meet 
 Greenwood, Ware, and Pierpont, and so on to those 
 who are still among us, honored and beloved. 
 
 " One of the many things noted in this record is the 
 
1 88 Autobiography 
 
 fact, very simple in itself, that 'June 7, 1830, Rev. 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson preached.' The title sounds 
 queer now. But we can almost hear his low, rich voice 
 repeat rather than read the text he chose for the occa- 
 sion : ' Let no man seek his own, but every man an- 
 other's wealth.' 
 
 "'Sept. 2, 1838, Rev. Mr. Bartol preached. This 
 being the first time he was ever called to preach this 
 lecture, he knew not the hour, and came late.' I know 
 of no one who can better bear this record, since in his 
 later youth no one has shown himself more free from 
 the charge of what has been called a ' belated theolo- 
 gian.' 
 
 "This ancient and honorable charity has raised and 
 expended, during its one hundred and sixty years of 
 work, two hundred and eighteen thousand dollars. It 
 must be said, however, that a large part of the annual 
 receipts, of late years, has come from the bequests of a 
 former generation, the interest of these bequests being 
 added each year to the collections. 
 
 "The smallest box-collection recorded occurred on 
 Dec. 6, 1863. It was one dollar and sixty cents. But 
 even then the shades of the departed came forward 
 and made up the amount to one thousand four hun- 
 dred and forty-one dollars and eighty-nine cents. The 
 worthy scribe makes this comment: 'The lecture was 
 very thinly attended, so that a similar occurrence will 
 probably stop the procession of the contribution-boxes.' 
 ' One dollar and sixty cents ! ! ' he adds, with two 
 scornful exclamation points." 
 
 Then follows an account of the various charitable 
 and beneficent organizations of Boston ; and the ser- 
 
Charity Lecture 189 
 
 mon closes with an earnest appeal for "the sweetest 
 and most blessed charities where hand and heart go 
 together, and the soul of the needy one is fed with 
 real sympathy, while the body is supplied with needful 
 food." 
 
XIX. 
 SEVENTY. 
 
 I88I. 
 
 May 9, 1881, "his generous-hearted parishioners 
 celebrated his seventieth birthday by inviting as many 
 of his old friends outside the parish as the church 
 could accommodate. 
 
 We copy from " Seventy," a little book printed, but 
 not published, and which was a record of the services 
 of that evening : — 
 
 "An informal meeting was held at which reception 
 and refreshment committees were appointed. Mrs. 
 Maybury, Mr. Tilden's assistant, though her name 
 does not appear, was, virtually, a most active and effi- 
 cient member of all the committees by her wise coun- 
 sel and invaluable assistance. 
 
 "Mr. Henry C. Whitcomb, who was the first man to 
 greet Mr. Tilden to his new field of labor in Concord 
 Hall, fourteen years ago, was selected to preside ; and 
 Mr. William Parkman, an active member for years, 
 born on the same day as Mr. Tilden, was invited to 
 speak a word of welcome to the assembled friends. 
 
 "THE OCCASION."— May 9, 1881. 
 
 "The weather was delightful, and the church well 
 filled with parishioners and invited guests. The Bos- 
 
Seventy 191 
 
 ton Association of Ministers, having been invited to 
 meet with Mr. Tilden, was largely represented. 
 
 "The pulpit and platform were tastefully decorated 
 with flowers, all gifts of love ; and the whole church, in 
 its chaste simplicity, seemed to reflect the smile of the 
 happy people gathered. 
 
 "The services opened with a voluntary on the 
 organ, followed by the Lord's Prayer, chanted by the 
 congregation. 
 
 " Mr. Whitcomb then rose, and said : ' Dear friends, 
 we have met together to-night, as a loving family and 
 its guests, to congratulate our dear pastor, friend, and 
 brother on this his seventieth birthday. It is not an 
 occasion for sadness, but rather for joy and gladness • 
 and may our hearts go out to God in thankfulness and 
 love that our pastor has been spared to us for so many 
 years, in the fulness of his strength and vigor, to guide 
 and counsel us to a better living and preparation for 
 the life beyond ! We can well say the world is better 
 for his living ; and may the Lord crown his coming 
 years with glory and strength ! Our pastor's twin (in 
 years), brother Parkman, will now give to the friends 
 present our word of welcome.' 
 
 " Mr. Parkman, in an off-hand, free-and-easy vein, 
 touched with humor, as is his wont, made a pleasant 
 speech of welcome, which was responded to by Rev. 
 S. K. Lothrop, D.D., in behalf of the Boston Associa- 
 tion, as follows: — 
 
 " ' Mr. Chairman and Friends, — It falls to my lot as 
 moderator of the Boston Association of Ministers to 
 thank you for the welcome you have given us to this 
 pleasant occasion, — the celebration of your pastor's 
 
1 92 A titobiografky 
 
 seventieth birthday. Let me assure you that all the 
 members of our Association, his brothers and co-work- 
 ers in the ministry in this city and neighborhood, feel 
 as deep an interest in this gathering and its purpose 
 as you do. We are as ready as you are to hold our 
 brother Tilden in grateful reverence and honor. We 
 dare not say that we know him as well you do, who see 
 him day by day, week in and week out, year after year, 
 as he discharges with singular wisdom, fidelity, devot- 
 edness, and success the duties of his ministry among 
 you. But we know him well. We know something 
 of his history and more of his progress, development, 
 power, and usefulness. We know, — at least I know, 
 for brother Tilden told me so many years ago, — and 
 I dare say it is known to all of you ; and, if it is not, I 
 am glad to tell it, for it is to his glory and honor. He 
 said to me many years ago, " Brother Lothrop, the first 
 time I ever heard you preach was in 1835 or 1836, in 
 Mr. Stetson's church at Medford ; and at that time I 
 was a journeyman ship-carpenter in one of the Medford 
 ship-yards." I have loved and honored Mr. Tilden ever 
 since he told me that. I believe, if I had been a jour- 
 neyman ship-carpenter at the age of twenty -four or five, 
 I should not have had energy or power enough to work 
 myself out of that ship-yard into the pulpit, much less 
 into an honored and eminent place in the pulpit. 
 Brother Tilden has done this. We know that he has 
 never been called to any duty that he has not dis- 
 charged thoroughly well to his own honor and the ac- 
 ceptance and satisfaction of those who called him to 
 perform it. We know that in every parish of which he 
 has had charge there the kingdom of God has grown 
 
Seventy 193 
 
 and enlarged ; that everywhere he has left impressions 
 upon hearts and consciences which time has not oblit- 
 erated, but life and character have given testimony 
 to their abiding power. And now, arrived at that ex- 
 cellent age which may be regarded as simply the full 
 maturity of human power, we find him here to-night, 
 surrounded by his loving parishioners and friends, in 
 the vigor of health and strength, with a glory in those 
 full white locks that fill us with reverence (and some 
 of us with a passing shade of covetousness; for why 
 should brother Tilden have such a quantity of those 
 locks, and I, his senior, so few?), and with the fulness 
 of experience, wisdom, and love beaming in his counte- 
 nance, with everything about him giving hope and 
 promise of long years of happiness, honor, and useful- 
 ness yet to come. . . . 
 
 " ' " God buries his workmen, but carries on his work." 
 In gratitude and thankfulness, let us remember the 
 fathers who have fallen asleep, and the legacy of hon- 
 orable fame they have left us. Let us imitate their 
 virtues and avoid their faults, if they had any; and let 
 us all, the elder and the younger, according to our years 
 and our strength, keep our hands at the plough, and 
 see that we cut a clean, deep furrow, straight for the 
 truth and by the truth. Sure I am that brother Til- 
 den will do this in the future as in the past. In the 
 name of the Association and in behalf of his brethren, 
 I congratulate him upon having reached this golden 
 period of life. May it last many years, in all its glory, 
 beauty, and usefulness ; and, when the end comes, may 
 it be like the launch of one of those beautiful ships 
 which he helped to build in his youth, — a. slow, grand 
 
194 Autobiography 
 
 movement, growing more and more grand and majes- 
 tic, till at last, like as it floats out upon the water, he 
 may float in peace and safety upon that mighty ocean 
 of spiritual life for which his soul has been so thor- 
 oughly prepared.' 
 
 "Rev. E. E. Hale, D.D., responded to the call of 
 Mr. Whitcomb as follows : — 
 
 "'It will hardly be believed that I am stepping so 
 closely upon our friend's footsteps that I could give to 
 this assembly anecdotes of his early ministry. For 
 when I was breaking the ice myself, in that curious 
 and fascinating experience when a young man begins, 
 one of the cheerful and happy prognostics for my pro- 
 fessional life came to me when I first heard his name. 
 I was in the city of Washington, detached thither to 
 take such care as a boy could of the Unitarian pulpit 
 in that city. As I made my first visit in one of the 
 stalwart households of that city, they told me of their 
 regret in leaving Concord, in New Hampshire, because 
 they had to leave our Mr. Tilden. It was to me a 
 charming picture of the tie knit, not in many years, 
 between pastor and people; and I know I did my best 
 to learn from them by what magic that tie was woven. 
 The impression I formed of this young man has never 
 changed, as to-night I need not say. And one of the 
 happinesses of life now is that we are thrown together 
 as two colleagues here, both still young men, and per- 
 mitted to do our work side by side.' 
 
 "The presiding officer called on Rev. C. A. Bartol, 
 D.D., who said: — 
 
 '"My Friends, my Bt other, my Brethren, and my Sis- 
 ters, — Dr. Lothrop spoke of our comparatively more or 
 
Seventy 195 
 
 less knowing Mr. Tilden. I was reminded of the mod- 
 ern positivist, materialistic, utilitarian, experimental, 
 scientific notion of knowledge, as of facts generalized 
 by the understanding from impressions of sense. But, 
 indeed, do we not know persons as well as phenomena, 
 appearances of things ? It seems to me we know them 
 even better. Properly speaking, in the strict meaning 
 of the word, we cannot be said to know things at 
 all, but only to know about them, to recognize certain 
 properties in them ; but persons are really known to 
 us. They are nearer to us, and things are farther off. 
 We go round anything as we go round a mountain. 
 But the person is close to us, and we know him or her 
 more truly, living in our sight or vanished away. The 
 affections know, the heart knoweth. Now, Mr. Tilden 
 is a man we know by our love and trust. I remember, 
 at the ordination of Charles Follen to the ministry, Dr. 
 Channing thanked God for a man in whom we could 
 confide. I have only to say that in Mr. Tilden we 
 can and do confide. We know him, with his radical 
 thought, conservative heart, courageous speech, rever- 
 ent and spiritual mind, uniting all extremes in a beau- 
 tiful proportion. May he long still live, and stay here 
 to teach and console ! ' 
 
 " Poems written for the occasion by Mrs. C. A. 
 Mason of Fitchburg, Mrs. T. H. Burgess of Boston, 
 and Miss Elizabeth Thacher, a teacher of the Sunday- 
 school, were then read. 
 
 " A few extracts from some of the many letters : — 
 
196 Autobiography 
 
 " LETTER FROM DR. BELLOWS. 
 
 " My dear Old Friend and Young Heart, — Please communicate 
 to your society my inability to join them on the gth of May in 
 celebrating their pastor's arrival at the canonical goal of human 
 life, and my extreme regret that I can only share in spirit the in- 
 terest of that occasion. I should so much like to give them in 
 person my testimony to the unchanging devotion of your soul to 
 the highest and purest interests of humanity, the constancy of 
 your friendship, and the enviable power of holding to you forever 
 those you once attached. I should dwell upon my happiness in 
 having been for seven years (when you were by no means so ripe 
 as now) your summer parishioner at Walpole, N.H., and of shar- 
 ing the universal feeling there, — what a lucky and happy people 
 they were to have so large a minister in so small a field. . . . 
 
 " I know what kind of a slip you have given old Time, and, 
 while allowing him to make his notches in his own record, have 
 carefully prevented his making them in your spirit. I sometimes 
 think you wear his outward livery (a great white head and beard) 
 only to deceive him, and make him think you his humble servant ; 
 for I find you very boyish and alert and enterprising when I look 
 beneath the disguise. I should like to take lessons against a re- 
 mote future, if you are really as young and gay as you behave. 
 "Affectionately your young friend, 
 
 " H. \V. Bellows. 
 
 " LETTER FROM WILLIAM T. BRIGGS, CONGREGATIONAL .MINISTER 
 OF EAST DOUGLASS, MASS. 
 
 •' My dear Brother, — I received the very kind and cordial in- 
 vitation from your church to join in the observance of your 
 seventieth birthday. The announcement was verv startling and, 
 Thomas-like, I refuse to believe that my friend is a whit older 
 than when we swung the broad-axe together. Do you remember 
 when, laying out frames and hewing heavy timber, we discussed 
 almost fiercely the high themes of 'fore-knowledge, free will, and 
 fate,' 'till, in endless mazes lost,' we ended about where we began? 
 Do you remember how cordially we differed on doctrinal points 
 and how you would hammer away on the hard side of Calvinism ? 
 
Seventy 1 97 
 
 Do you remember, — if you do not, I do, — when I was about leav. 
 ing Andover Seminary, your earnest invitation, twice repeated, to 
 preach in your pulpit at Concord, on the Sabbath ? It seemed to 
 me then, and does now, that was a liberal thing. But do you re- 
 member my reply? If you do not, I do ; and a pretty narrow and 
 mean reply it was, I think. I said : ' You must not expect me to 
 return this. I am willing to preach in your pulpit, but not willing 
 that you should preath in mine.' Nobly you accepted the terms, 
 and it has been a shame to me ever since. . . . 
 
 " Let me congratulate you at threescore and ten that your large 
 eye is undimmed and your natural strength unabated. 
 " Lovingly and fraternally yours, 
 
 " Wm. T. Briggs. 
 
 " Mr. Tilden, being now called upon, received a 
 warm welcome from the audience, and spoke as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " ' My kind Parishioners and Friends, — What a pity 
 a man can never be seventy but once, especially when 
 he comes to "the canonical goal," as Dr. Bellows calls 
 it, with blessings so many and so rich as greet me here 
 to-night ! 
 
 "'I do thank you all, — my ever thoughtful and gen- 
 erous parishioners for this birthday party, my kind 
 friends for accepting the invitation to share the oc- 
 casion with us, and for the cordial words and kindly 
 greetings from present and absent ones in prose and 
 verse. I am in a mood to-night to pardon all the 
 extravagance of friendship. I rather like it. I shall 
 make believe it is all true till to-morrow ; and even 
 then let in the light upon it very cautiously, the illu- 
 sion of being somebody is so sweet. A man's seven- 
 tieth birthday is no time to deny or even distrust 
 anything said in his praise. It is wiser to swallow it 
 all. It is probably his last chance. 
 
198 Autobiography 
 
 " ' And, now, what shall I say for myself ? It would 
 be safer to hide behind your fragrant screen of compli- 
 ments and say nothing. But I am seventy, the licro of 
 the evening ; and, though indebted to Father Time for 
 all these honors, I must speak. 
 
 " ' As nothing is set down to egotism after three- 
 score and ten, and as we are here in a free-and-easy, 
 pleasant-fellowship sort of way, I think I will venture 
 to tell you a little of my early life, and how it was, 
 with so poor an outfit, I squeezed into the pulpit. The 
 strong contrast of my early life with the early lives 
 of most of those who are in the ministry may give 
 some interest to the simple story it would not other- 
 wise have.' " 
 
 Then follows the story of his early life and struggles, 
 told substantially as in this Autobiography, and closing 
 as follows : — 
 
 " ' Dull and commonplace as my ministry may have 
 seemed to others, and little as there is to show for it 
 anywhere, I have nevertheless enjoyed it so completely 
 that, could I live my life over again, I should not hesi- 
 tate for a moment what profession to choose. It would 
 be the ministry. It would be the Christian ministry. 
 It never seemed grander, more glorious, or more hope- 
 ful than now. But I should want to be better prepared 
 for it. As there are no gifts, so there is no culture 
 too rich to be laid on its altars. I wonder that more 
 young men are not drawn to the ever-growing, ever- 
 deepening, ever-widening, ever more and more attrac- 
 tive ministry of redeeming love. I thank God afresh 
 on this my seventieth birthday that I have been per- 
 mitted to serve even as a drop in this mighty tide 
 
Seventy 199 
 
 of Christian influence, so manifestly lifted by the 
 heavenly orbs which, spite of all the sediment of error 
 and superstition mingling with it, are steadily lifting 
 the world to a higher life, and bearing it on its heaven- 
 appointed destiny. 
 
 " ' Dear friends, again I thank you for this delightful 
 occasion. You will never know how good a thing it is 
 to be seventy till you get there. And, when you do, 
 may you all have as true friends to congratulate you 
 and as many blessings to move your hearts with grati- 
 tude to God as I have to-night!' 
 
 "After Mr. Tilden had closed, during a moment's 
 pause in the exercises, Mr. Hale rose and said, ' I 
 think we shall agree that the world has not been wrong 
 for eighteen centuries and a half in thinking that a 
 carpenter's shop and a fishing boat are the best schools 
 for apostleship and ministry.' 
 
 "The congregation then united in the hymn, — 
 
 " ' Press on, press on, ye sons of light,' 
 
 which went gloriously to the tune of 'Missionary 
 Chant.' 
 
 "All present were then invited to a social tea in the 
 vestry below, which was filled with a happy throng of 
 people, who, as they greeted each other, were borne 
 along by the current to extend their congratulations 
 in person to Mr. Tilden, who received their cordial 
 greetings and good wishes as they passed on. 
 
 "The long table was richly decorated with elegant 
 flower-pieces and bouquets, — the tribute of kind friends 
 for the occasion, — and bountifully spread with refresh- 
 ments from the homes of the parishioners and friends. 
 
200 Autobiography 
 
 Back of the platform where Mr. Tilden stood to wel- 
 come his friends was his picture, wreathed with smilax, 
 and on either side, in figures wrought with flowers, 
 
 1811. 1881. 
 
 " During the collation the delightful fellowship con- 
 tinued. Friends anchored side by side in snug har- 
 bors for happy chat, or sailed round in small fleets, hail- 
 ing old acquaintances, and signalling some word of 
 good cheer in keeping with the happy spirit of the 
 evening. 
 
 "At last the time came for saying 'good-night' ; and 
 the large company retired to happy dreams." 
 
 The following letter from Dr. H. O. Stone, of Fram- 
 ingham, a former parishioner of Concord, N.H., was re- 
 ceived too late to be read at the birthday party : — 
 
 Dear Friends of our Beloved Scptuage?iarian, — I will address 
 you to the exclusion of the latter, lest his modesty be offended by 
 the plain, unvarnished tale unfolded. 
 
 In the year 1844, not long after Mr. Tilden's settlement over 
 the Unitarian society in Concord, N.H., I became one of his 
 parishioners, listening to his sermons, enjoying his society and 
 friendship, and blessed by his spiritual ministrations. During 
 the years of his service there anti-slavery and the kindred re- 
 forms of peace and temperance were discussed as never before. 
 Filled with the spirit of Jesus of Nazareth, and yearning with his 
 whole soul to preach the "glad tidings of deliverance to the cap- 
 tives " and oneness with the Father, Mr. Tilden faithfully delivered 
 the message impressed upon his conscience and reason. 
 
 One or two incidents of his career there will indicate his spirit 
 and conduct. 
 
 At that time Stephen S. Foster, who, by his fearless and per- 
 sistent rebukes of Church and State for their complicity with 
 slavery, had drawn upon himself the hatred and wrath of the 
 
Seventy 201 
 
 pro-slavery elements of society, was lecturing in New Hampshire. 
 He was feared and denounced by recreant ministers and time- 
 serving politicians. To fellowship him was to incur the displeas- 
 ure of these classes. This sturdy modern prophet one summer 
 Sunday went to hear our "son of a carpenter" preach. The ser- 
 vices were conducted with the serene consciousness of the Father 
 of all, habitual to the preacher; and his convictions of human re- 
 sponsibility and duty were uttered with his usual impressive ear- 
 nestness. In his sermon, he alluded to slavery in unmistakable 
 terms, and at its close, looking straight at Stephen Foster, said, 
 " I see one in the audience whose zeal and labors in the anti- 
 slavery cause are well known: I should be glad to hear a word 
 from him"; thus vindicating the freedom of the gospel he 
 preached, the freedom of the pulpit he stood in, and contrasting 
 them with the pro-slavery churches who had spurned Stephen 
 and dragged him out of their meeting-houses with violence. He, 
 all unused to having the courtesy of free speech tendered him, 
 rose and expressed the satisfaction he had received in listening to 
 the sermon, and said he had nothing to add. 
 
 In those days it required the courage of a hero to speak for 
 the slave, especially when persistency in demanding for him free- 
 dom as his birthright and as the duty of slaveholders and their 
 northern accomplices, aroused the fears of the timid, lest the 
 agitation should break in two the organizations which by some 
 persons were considered of more value than human liberty. It 
 was in such a crisis that spiritual wisdom and celestial insight 
 guided our pastor and lifted him to a plane of thought and action 
 where the fear of man is never a snare, but trust in the infinite 
 God enters the soul like a strengthening angel. 
 
 Well do I remember the occasion when, after one of his ear- 
 nest rebukes of the great national sin and stirring appeals to each 
 individual conscience, some who loved the old Unitarian Church 
 trembled as if an earthquake had unsettled its foundations. It 
 was whispered: "Such preaching will not do. We shall go to 
 ruin." Not so thought our preacher. The very next Sunday he 
 discoursed from the text, "Stand fast, in nothing terrified," in 
 which he reviewed the whole ground, in no defiant spirit, but in 
 a lofty strain of moral and religious enthusiasm, reassuring the 
 
202 Autobiography 
 
 timid and strengthening the faltering, and so set the old Unitarian 
 Church upon the rock of eternal justice. 
 
 When the encroachment of the slave power culminated in the 
 Mexican War waged for the extension of slavery, an impetus was 
 given to the cause of " peace " which resulted in the agitation of 
 that reform all over the North. Here, too, the pupil of May was 
 not behind his teacher. Without waiting for a fast-day privilege, 
 he spoke from the pulpit, in small gatherings outside, and in con- 
 ventions. 
 
 At this period there was the coincidence in Concord on the 
 same day of a Peace Convention and an assembly of New Hamp- 
 shire volunteers on their way to the seat of war. Mr. Tilden, 
 with Adin Ballou, looked in at the war party. Some of the 
 speakers referred to Mr. Tilden's well-known opinions of war 
 so pointedly and in such scornful terms that he felt called upon 
 to reply. He rose with a countenance pallid with emotion, and 
 in a calm and firm voice spoke to the assembly of the gospel of 
 peace as presented by Jesus in the New Testament. He told 
 them that it was his duty as a Christian minister to preach that 
 gospel, and they knew that the work they were entering upon was 
 directly opposed to the spirit and teaching of Jesus. He was 
 heard in silence. It seemed as if an angel had hushed the air 
 that the sweet tones of peace might enter the ears of that armed 
 multitude. Our preacher had conquered for the time an army 
 with muskets and banners by the sword of the spirit. New 
 Hampshire's quota marched out of the capital with this benison 
 ringing in their ears. 
 
 But time will not permit me to dwell further upon the fidelity 
 of our friend in every field of labor during his brief ministry in 
 Concord. He was as true in the temperance movement as in 
 other reforms, enlightening public sentiment and uplifting the 
 downfallen. 
 
 The same spiritual graces, social qualities, and tender sym- 
 pathies, the same ringing laugh, hearty pressure of the hand, 
 and words of cheer, the same trustful prayers uplifting afflicted 
 souls, endeared him then as now to all who came within his influ- 
 ence. Dear friends, you know all this better than any words can 
 express. 
 
Seventy 203 
 
 Now, my dear brother, come back within the hearing of my 
 voice, while I thank God for all your ministry in Concord did for 
 me, and for all your friendship has done and is still doing. The 
 light which surrounds the Infinite Spirit can alone reveal it in its 
 fulness. In that light may we walk to the end of time, and be- 
 yond enlarge and purify the affection which death cannot oblit- 
 erate ! 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Henry Orxe Stone. 
 
XX. 
 COMMUNION SERVICE. 
 
 Mr. Tilden had long been dissatisfied with the small 
 number of our worshipping congregations who were 
 interested in the communion service. 
 
 As one who loved the service and longed to see it 
 lifted out of "the letter which killeth " into "the spirit 
 which giveth life," he was continually asking himself, 
 "What shall be done with our communion service? 
 What can be done to awaken a rational and intelligent 
 interest in it ? Why is it that some of the best, or, if 
 not the best, just as good and just as Christian men 
 and women as any in the congregation, never partake 
 of the symbols ? They believe in Jesus just as truly 
 thank God for his mission just as deeply, desire his 
 spirit just as earnestly, and have the love of God and 
 man at heart just as sincerely. Why, then, do they 
 never stay to the commemorative rite ? or, if they stay, 
 never partake ? " 
 
 He says : " It is a serious matter, especially with such 
 ministers as believe in the rite, and long to see it ob- 
 served, not by a select few, but by the whole congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 " Possibly, with some other method of administration, 
 the observance may be made to seem more simple and 
 natural, and so win the favor of those who have hitherto 
 stood aloof from it. 
 
Communion Service 205 
 
 " Is there any such method ? We think there is. Dr. 
 Furness, of Philadelphia, was the first, as far as we 
 know, to suggest and adopt it. He proposed to his 
 church that the symbolic bread and wine should not be 
 distributed, but stand on the table to speak through 
 the eye to the heart, of the self-sacrificing love of Him 
 who gave himself for the world's uplifting, the minister 
 interpreting their significance. 
 
 " No one who knew Dr. Furness could doubt for a mo- 
 ment his reverence for Jesus, or his love of the wonder- 
 ful character he had made the study of his life. But it 
 was a change ; and changes, however rational and need- 
 ful, always come slowly. One who said that, if he 
 wished to give up the communion, he thought this a 
 graceful way of doing it, fairly expressed, perhaps, the 
 common feeling with which the new method was re- 
 ceived. But to me it seemed a step up out of the letter 
 into the spirit, and I hailed it with joy. I saw in it the 
 solution of many of our difficulties. It settled forever 
 the temperance question, so far as the communion was 
 concerned. We could still use wine as a symbol, if we 
 used it as a symbol only. All could then participate 
 in the service without any misgivings, just as all may 
 look upon the cross, and think their own thoughts of 
 its meaning and of Him who died thereon. Parents 
 and children could now come together, and none would 
 be disturbed by having the symbols offered to him, 
 when he desired only the bread and wine of devout 
 thought. All, absolutely all, of every shade of Christian 
 faith, could now together think of Jesus, and thank God 
 afresh for his living and dying love for man. 
 
 " Fully believing that this method was simpler, more 
 
206 Autobiography 
 
 natural and rational than the old, we have adopted it, 
 not without some dissenting views, of course ; for old 
 associations are strong, and we seldom pass without a 
 protest of the feelings, at least, from the old to the 
 new, even when reason tells us that the new is better. 
 
 " But, having passed, I am more and more gratified 
 with the new method. The expressions of satisfaction 
 that came to me after the first use of the symbols, as 
 symbols only, with the whole congregation as spiritual 
 communicants, filled me with a sweet assurance that 
 I was right in my hopes. I found that many felt as 
 I had often done, that the mere eating and drinking, or 
 rather the making believe eat and drink, — for to that 
 the old method is reduced, — was no aid, but a hin- 
 drance, to the spiritual enjoyment of the service. What 
 made the service quickening and helpful was not the 
 unnatural attempt at eating and drinking with no view 
 to physical nourishment, but the thought waked, the 
 aspirations roused, by the contemplation of the match- 
 less One. With tears on his cheek, one man told me 
 after that service that he had never before felt that he 
 had anything to do with the rite or the rite anything to 
 do with him. Now he began to /"n?/ its meaning. 
 
 " It should be said, however, that some of our people 
 would still prefer the old way, with all its disadvantages 
 and limitations. But, as the new method has the many 
 advantages already named, it has been adopted in faith 
 and hope of greater good to a much larger number 
 than was ever reached in the old method. 
 
 " The New South Free Church, therefore, instead 
 of having 'given up the communion,' as some have 
 intimated, has made this change in the sincere desire 
 
Communion Service 207 
 
 to make more of the service, not less ; to free it from 
 what to many seems artificial, and open alike to parents 
 and children, old and young, professors and non-pro- 
 fessors, even as many as ever think of Jesus with grati- 
 tude or feel the shadow of a desire for more of his spirit 
 of self-sacrificing love. 
 
 "Four times in a year — at Christmas, Easter, Whit- 
 Sunday, All Saints' and All Souls' — we keep our feast 
 of commemoration. We try to make these occasions 
 great days for our little church, — days of reverent joy 
 and gladness, not for a few, but for all, the children's 
 voices adding a note of gladness to our sacred songs. 
 We give our own interpretation to these old days, so 
 long held sacred by the Church, of which, though dis- 
 owned, we claim to be a part, however small, — a twig, 
 if not a branch of the living vine, — and would keep 
 them sacred to the great truths they stand for, and to 
 the memory of Him whose name we honor, whose spirit 
 we crave, and in whose blessed work of redeeming love 
 we would in some humble measure share." 
 
 The order of service on the Sundays when the com- 
 memorative rite was observed was as follows : — 
 
 Organ Voluntary. 
 Sentence and Prayer. 
 
 Hymn. 
 
 Scripture. Prayer. 
 
 Hymn. 
 
 Address (at the table). 
 
 Hymn. 
 
 Scripture and Prayer. 
 
 Responsive Service. 
 
 The congregation being seated, the minister, break- 
 ing the bread, will say : — 
 
2o8 Autobiografiky 
 
 "When Jesus broke the bread in the upper chamber, 
 just before his crucifixion, he said, 'This is my body, 
 broken for you.' And, when he took the cup, 'This 
 is the New Testament in my blood, shed for you.' 
 It is significant that, while the twelve who reclined 
 with him at the table ate and drank, Jesus himself 
 refused the cup, saying : ' I will drink no more of the 
 fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new 
 with you in the kingdom of God.' 
 
 " We use these symbols now as symbols only, as 
 Jesus used the wine, of which he did not drink. This 
 bread is only bread, this wine is only wine ; and, at 
 best, it could only nourish the body. To feed on these 
 literally 'is not to eat the Lord's Supper.' We would 
 discern the real presence in these symbols, and nourish 
 our souls on that. Through this veil of material things 
 we would commune with things eternal. We would feed 
 on that living bread which came down from heaven in 
 Christ, and which our Father is continually giving us. 
 We would drink of the heavenly wine of self-sacrificing 
 love for God and men, and all things true and good, 
 and so remember Jesus as to enter more fully into his 
 spirit, his Sonship, and his great work of Redeeming 
 Love. 
 
 "And now, that each one may have an opportunity to 
 think his ovvn thought, pray his own prayer, question 
 his own soul, commune with his own heart, and be still, 
 we will unite in a season of silence." This silence is 
 broken by the minister, when all unite in chanting the 
 Lord's Prayer. Benediction. 
 
 Mr. Tilden never lost his love for and his strong in- 
 terest in this method of observing the commemorative 
 
Communion Service 209 
 
 rite. In a lecture to the students of the Meadville 
 Theological School he says : "My counsel is, therefore, 
 to you who are studying for the ministry of our liberal 
 faith, do not attempt this new method unless you be- 
 lieve in it, — thoroughly believe in it. And, when you 
 do, you will make your people believe in it ; and you 
 and they, if I may judge from my own experience, will 
 enjoy it as never before. 
 
 " Dr. Furness's successor, Joseph May, did not believe 
 in it, and so went back to the old method. My succes- 
 sor in Boston has done the same. This is not at all 
 discouraging to one who is converted to the new method. 
 It is just what every change has to contend with, tem- 
 porary relapse into the old ways. It is a reflex wave, 
 which recedes for the time, while the ocean tide is all 
 the time rising. 
 
 "For one, I believe the new method is destined to 
 rise. I think it is linked with the heavenly orbs. I be- 
 lieve no crowned Canute of ecclesiasticism can order it 
 back. It will roll in by and by and cover our Unitarian 
 flats, and float our grounded barges and refresh us with a 
 new wave from that eternal sea of spiritual life that is 
 ever lifting us out of the bondage of the letter into the 
 freedom of the spirit. 
 
 " Whether this method be widely adopted in our day 
 or not, I feel a strong assurance that it will more and 
 more prevail in our liberal Church. It was born of us ! 
 born of the head and heart of one of the truest lovers 
 and most reverential students of Jesus our body has 
 ever produced. It fits our thought. It is spiritual. It 
 shows the rational meaning of the rite, and sweeps 
 away all the old objections to its general observance. 
 
2 1 o A utobiography 
 
 " Whatever a few may say against what they call a 
 destructive innovation, just as the Catholics regarded 
 the restoration of the rite to primitive simplicity by 
 Zwingli as dangerous and destructive, still if we fully 
 believe that the new method is better than the old, 
 should we not, in the spirit of Zwingli, make one 
 more change in this rite of the Church that has 
 passed through so many, and cut it clear of all mate- 
 rialism, making it a purely symbolic and spiritual com- 
 memoration ? 
 
 " I should be proud to belong to a church that would 
 venture to take this step, and glad and grateful to be 
 an instrument, however humble, in bringing about a 
 consummation so devoutly to be wished." 
 
XXI. 
 
 END OF BOSTON MINISTRY. 
 
 1883-1884. 
 
 Resignation. — Farewell Sermon. — Charge to Rev. 
 G. H. Young. 
 
 May 20, 1883, Mr. Tilden, at the close of his ser- 
 mon Sunday morning, read the following letter, which 
 he told his people he had sent to the Executive Com- 
 mittee of the Benevolent Fraternity of Churches : — 
 
 Boston, May 9, 1883. 
 
 Gentlemen, — I am seventy-two years old to-day. I am also in 
 the seventeenth year of my pastorate of the New South Free 
 Church. Putting the two together, and remembering that years 
 tell in more than one sense, I herewith send in my resignation of 
 the office I have so long held, to take place at the expiration of 
 the present year, Dec. 31, 1883. 
 
 I make this communication thus early that you may have abun- 
 dant time to select the best man that can be obtained to continue 
 the work. 
 
 I do not propose to withdraw from the ministry, which I love as 
 well as ever ; for, though an old man, I hope to do some further 
 service in some lighter field of labor. But I am beginning to find 
 the multiform duties of this position, which are more arduous and 
 constant than the pastorate of an ordinary church, rather too much 
 for my strength. And, besides this, I have a growing conviction 
 that a new voice and a fresh hand, especially the voice and hand 
 of a younger man, would do more and better service than I am 
 now able to do. I am happy to say that no lisp from any one of 
 your committee, or any delegate of the Fraternity, or any member 
 
212 A utobiography 
 
 of our Free Church, has ever come to me with the slightest sug- 
 gestion of a wish that I should retire. My resignation comes 
 solely from my own conviction that the time has come. 
 
 But I cannot close this note without most cordially thanking 
 you, gentlemen of the committee, and all who have preceded you 
 during my pastorate, for the uniform kindness you and they have 
 extended to me during my long and pleasant ministry. 
 
 That God may continue to bless you in the great and good 
 work you have in charge, and guide you to a wise choice in filling 
 the vacancy at the close of the year, is the heart's desire of 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 W. P. Tilden. 
 
 His last sermon as pastor of the New South Free 
 Church was given Dec. 30, 1883, in which he says, "I 
 choose a text that has not a drop of sadness in it, — 
 that inspiring word of Paul to his church at Philippi, 
 ' Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say, Re- 
 joice.' 
 
 " We will shelter ourselves this morning under the 
 brave words. Then, if we are tempted to sadness, we 
 will let in the gladness as well we may ; for surely a 
 seventeen years' ministry, with trials so few and bless- 
 ings so many, must hold in its wide arms abundant 
 cause for rejoicing in the Lord again, and yet again. 
 
 " Seventeen years is a long time when it is front of us, 
 and we look expectantly along its waving and uncertain 
 lines. But when we have passed over and through, 
 and have left them behind, they dwindle into a span, 
 and seem almost as shadowy as a remembered 
 dream. . . . 
 
 " But we are happy to-day in looking forward as well 
 as backward, — happy in having with us not only the 
 angel of memory with the closed volume, but the angel 
 
End of Boston Ministry 213 
 
 of hope also, with her open book, pointing her prophetic 
 finger to the new ministry with which the new year 
 will open." 
 
 After a retrospective view of the work of these years 
 he says : — 
 
 "And now, my dear friends and parishioners, what 
 shall I say in view of all your kindness and forbear- 
 ance, your lenient judgment and patient listening, — 
 some of you for the whole term of my pastorate and 
 others for a shorter time, but just as kindly ? I might 
 as well say nothing, and let your own hearts interpret 
 the gratitude I feel for all your many kindnesses. I 
 shall bear away with me also a sweet assurance of your 
 real friendship and best wishes, given in so many ways, 
 as one of the evidences that my ministry has not been 
 in vain. . . . 
 
 " I count it a most felicitous arrangement that my 
 successor, Rev. George H. Young, is to be installed on 
 the evening of this my last Sunday with you, giving 
 me the privilege of joining with you all in bis inaugura- 
 tion, not leaving you a single hour without a minister, 
 his work beginning the very moment mine will end, 
 when, at the same stroke of the time, the old year and 
 the old ministry are rung out as the new year and the 
 new ministry are rung in. 
 
 " To make this ministry a useful and a happy one, 
 something else will be necessary besides his devo- 
 tion to his work, — your devotion to your work; for 
 he comes not to do your work for you, but to help you 
 in doing it for yourselves, that you all, working together 
 as a band of Christian believers, may not only continue 
 the work of a broad, free church we have begun, but 
 
214 A utobiography 
 
 carry it forward and lift it higher and strike its roots 
 deeper until, through God's blessing, the fruits of Chris- 
 tian life will grow in such sweet clusters that all will 
 know without asking that this is a living branch of the 
 living vine. 
 
 " Oh, there is a great work for you to do here, if with 
 united hearts and willing hands you all take hold and 
 help your new minister to do it ! He can do nothing 
 alone; but, with God's grace — never withheld — and 
 your cordial co-working, you and he together can do all 
 things, — all things that Heaven requires, — and that 
 will be a work large enough to make the very angels 
 long to share it with you. 
 
 " I hear it whispered that one and another are think- 
 ing of leaving when I go. That is the worst compli- 
 ment you can pay to my preaching. Go away because 
 I go ! Why, if you have loved the little church of our 
 libera] faith, where we have worshipped and worked 
 together so long, if you have rejoiced in its Christian 
 hospitality, — rejoiced that here outward and artificial 
 distinctions are cast out, and all invited to come as the 
 equal children of a common Father in a faith as bright 
 as Christ's own, and a spirit of humanity like that 
 which led him to go about doing good, — then my going 
 only because I feel myself not fully equal to all the 
 work required would seem to be a new reason for your 
 staying to strengthen the hands and encourage the 
 heart of him who comes to give to the cause here the 
 freshness of his manliest powers. . . . 
 
 " If you let the thought of usefulness as well as pleas- 
 ure enter into the question, could you do as much good 
 anywhere else ? No : stay, all of you stay, cheering 
 
End of Boston Ministry 215 
 
 the new minister with your hearty and cordial co-opera- 
 tion and cheering also the heart of the old minister, 
 when he is away, with the glad tidings that the church 
 of his love and prayer is rising through your united 
 labors into a higher Christian life and broadening its 
 field of Christian usefulness." 
 
 In his charge to the new pastor the same evening he 
 says : " Take a kindly and tender care of my little flock. 
 I have been with them in their joys and sorrows, hopes 
 and fears ; and now I am about to leave them I feel very 
 solicitous for their real religious welfare. Somehow, 
 my own shortcomings loom up before me in such for- 
 midable shape that I feel like charging you to shun all 
 my faults and bring all your own virtues to aid you in 
 taking the tenderest care of them. You are to be 
 their spiritual helper, their religious friend. You are 
 to be a counsellor to the young, a brother to those in 
 the prime of life, a son on whom the aged may lean 
 with confidence and trust. 
 
 " But remember that in this free church, as in other 
 churches, you must give your best strength to your 
 pulpit sermons. There is no church in Boston where 
 a good, stirring, earnest Christian sermon will be more 
 highly appreciated than here. You come with a large 
 stock of old sermons : I charge you to use them spar- 
 ingly. A new sermon is better than an old one, if it 
 isn't so good. Somehow, our sermons, like ourselves, 
 bear unmistakable signs of the year of our Lord in which 
 they were born. They may have been good in their 
 day, but the day is past, and to lean on them is fatal. 
 Saul, in his great strait, fell forward on his sword, and 
 committed suicide that way. It was common among 
 
2 1 6 A utobiography 
 
 old warriors. But many a minister from middle life on 
 has committed suicide by falling back on his old ser- 
 mons. It is an easy death, to be sure ; for the old 
 sermons have seldom point enough to hurt, but the 
 result is just as sure as the old method. As you would 
 live, then, and have your people feel the throbbing of 
 your fresh life, keep studying, keep thinking, keep 
 writing. 
 
 "And I charge you to do your best every time. 
 Don't save your great thoughts for great occasions. 
 Fresh thoughts, like fresh peaches, should be used the 
 day they drop. Keep them for a great party, and they 
 spoil. One of the most successful ministers we have 
 ever had in our liberal faith said to me that he told 
 his people all he knew every Sunday. He emptied 
 himself, and left it to the next week to fill up. Of 
 course, it was playful exaggeration, for it was Dr. Bel- 
 lows who said it ; but there was a great truth in the 
 playfulness. The stream must be kept running if the 
 water is to be kept pure. 
 
 " Look aloft, open your soul to the Holy Spirit, follow 
 the highest light, and so by pureness, by knowledge, 
 by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by 
 love unfeigned, by the word of truth, by the power of 
 God, by the armor of righteousness on the right hand 
 and on the left, do the work of an evangelist, and make 
 full proof of your ministry ! " 
 
XXII. 
 ROWEN. 
 
 Sermon on Old Age. — Meadville. — Red Cottage. — Invi- 
 tation TO RETURN TO MEADVILLE. — FREDERICK DOUG- 
 LASS. — Letter from Dr. Livermore in "Register." 
 
 The book in which he kept the record of his preach- 
 ing after this date was headed " Rowen." 
 
 In a sermon on " Old Age," he said : " I wish to 
 emphasize the healthiness to mind and heart, too, of 
 regular work of hand or brain. It does more than we 
 know to keep the faculties bright and the mind actively 
 interested in the world of thought and duty in the 
 midst of which we live. It vitalizes the blood in brain 
 and limbs. It helps to make old age happy and useful. 
 Active minds under healthy pressure often shine the 
 brightest after the mid-day of life, as the sun in the 
 heavens often pours out its warmest rays after it has 
 passed the meridian. Illustrations of this are seen 
 everywhere. Every city and town and neighborhood 
 boasts its old persons who have kept on ripening till 
 the angel of the harvest came. . . . 
 
 " Every time we meet an old friend, after a few 
 years of absence, we see the marks left on face and 
 form by the footfall of time; and how gently and 
 gradually dear Mother Nature lays her white crown 
 
2 1 8 A utobiography 
 
 upon our heads or draws new lines on the face, — so 
 gently and gradually that we never know just when it 
 is done, any more than the oak knows just when 
 its leaves are changed, or the golden grain when the 
 husks are bleached." 
 
 He was unconsciously drawing his own portrait in 
 these words, and also giving the key to his perpetual 
 youth. 
 
 Mr. Tilden, believing that the people would more 
 readily become attached to the new minister in the 
 absence of the old one, and consequently the best inter- 
 ests of the church promoted, accepted the invitation 
 which had been previously tendered him to preach for 
 two months in Meadville, Pa., and on the next Sunday, 
 Jan. I, 1884, stood in that pulpit. 
 
 He became immediately interested in the church, 
 the people, and the Theological School. The two 
 months grew into four under the hospitable roof of 
 Professor Frederic Huidekoper. 
 
 A letter in the Register, which he wrote from Mead- 
 ville, speaks of the School as " beautiful for situation," 
 and says: "If it be not the 'joy of the whole earth' 
 quite yet, it is surely the joy of a zealous group of 
 young prophets, who aspire to be ' a joy to the whole 
 earth,' when they shall have completed their course, 
 and have become the true prophets of the Lord. 
 
 " Meadville is a delightful town. True, it is not Cam- 
 bridge; but it has a college as well as a theological 
 school, and a French creek nearly as large as the 
 Charles River, and subject to overflows such as that 
 little classic and aristocratic stream never experienced. 
 Nevertheless, Cambridge has some advantages, espe- 
 
Rowen 2 1 9 
 
 cially for such as graduate from the university. But 
 for the young men out in the country, who in farming, 
 lumbering, or at the carpenter's bench hear a voice 
 calling, ' Come over into Macedonia, and help us,' and 
 who, if they ever respond, must do it at once, without 
 a college preparation, — for such hard-handed but warm- 
 hearted young men, whose eyes are opened to the glory 
 of our liberal faith, and who are not afraid of hard study 
 and hard work in making preparation for a useful life, 
 Meadville is the place. It is quiet, it is healthy, it is 
 central, — in short, just the location for a school of 
 robust prophets who come to study, not the literature of 
 religion merely, but how to do brave service for the 
 kingdom of God. We need more of this class of Chris- 
 tian workers in our liberal Church. There cannot be 
 too much learning if it be all consecrated to the world's 
 uplifting. But, when learning makes a man dainty and 
 fastidious, when it makes him sigh for the flesh-pots of 
 rich societies, and look scornfully on small places with 
 low salaries, however great their need of a spiritual 
 helper, then the learning is a clog, a hindrance, a stone 
 around neck and heels, which has sunk many a man, 
 leaving only a few bubbles on the stagnant waters to 
 tell where he went down. The learning for ministers 
 is the learning which enlarges the heart while it 
 broadens the intellect, which brings one into closer sym- 
 pathy, not with the refined and the cultivated merely, 
 but with that class who first heard Jesus gladly, — 'the 
 common people.' Religion in white gloves is not the 
 kind for which humanity waits. It is bare-handed, 
 muscular piety that isn't afraid of hard work in hard 
 soil that we most deeply need. 
 
220 Autobiography 
 
 " We have ministers enough for our large and rich 
 congregations, more than enough. A long file of them 
 is always waiting for a vacancy in the delectable 
 places. They would rather wait ; for death is always 
 busy, and disaffection, swifter than death, is always 
 dissolving ties and opening doors. They would rather 
 wait till the lottery is drawn, in the forlorn hope of a 
 prize, than accept the call of that little struggling 
 church, where the pay is small, however large the pros- 
 pect under undismayed and manly labor. 
 
 " We have, according to our Year Book, seventy-five 
 parishes without ministers. The most of these, of 
 course, are small and poor. We want ministers for 
 these seventy-five small, poor churches, each one of 
 which may grow into a mighty power for spiritual life 
 under the guidance of a brave soul touched with the 
 spirit of God. 
 
 " We want as many more to fill new openings and 
 calls for live, earnest, self sacrificing men, to break the 
 bread of our liberal faith to those who are hungering 
 for it. Who will come to Meadville or go to Cam- 
 bridge, to prepare for such a work ? The schools are 
 one in spirit and purpose, in aim and end. Each 
 should rejoice in the prosperity of the other, as they 
 both do in every token of deeper religiousness on the 
 part of those they send out to work for God and man 
 in the great field of the world. 
 
 " Young men, in city and country, rich or poor, from 
 farm or mechanic's bench or academy, who among you, 
 to whom our liberal faith is dear, will come and enter 
 on this broad field of hard work and poor pay, — a work 
 whose reward is in itself, and whose check only the 
 bank of heaven will honor ? " 
 
Row en 221 
 
 As Mr. Tilden had no longer a Boston parish, he no 
 longer needed a Boston home, and, besides, he wanted 
 to be nearer the children and grandchildren he so 
 dearly loved, and who filled so large a portion of his 
 heart. His daughter Laura, with her husband and 
 son, lived in Dorchester. His eldest son and family 
 were near, and his youngest son had a home in Milton 
 (the Hawthornes). And these three households were 
 all within little more than a mile of each other. 
 
 His heart had already decided the location, even be- 
 fore his son George sent to Meadville the plan of a 
 cottage, with the offer of land in his own garden to 
 build upon. A letter written at this time says : "You 
 see, I can't preach much longer. We must have a 
 home somewhere. That corner of the garden is made 
 on purpose, and George's plan is inspired. Happy 
 man that I am ! such children and grandchildren, and 
 a cot for our old age in prospect. The hope is blessed. 
 The fruition with Him who doeth all things well." 
 
 This home, the ground for which was broken by his 
 little grandchildren March 13, 1884, was christened the 
 "Red Cottage." It more than realized all his fondest 
 hopes, and was to him the harbor of refuge after all his 
 wanderings, the dearest spot in all the world, the place 
 from which his spirit took its upward flight. 
 
 Before leaving Meadville, he received the following 
 letter : — 
 
 Rev. Wm. P. Tilden : 
 
 Dear Sir, — In the name of the congregation of the Independent 
 Congregational Church of Meadville, I take great pleasure in in- 
 viting you to return after the summer vacation, and continue the 
 ministrations which have been so acceptable for the coming 
 year. 
 
222 Atttobiography 
 
 In sending this invitation, I am especially gratified at being able 
 to accompany it with such a complete list of signatures, which 
 will prove to you the entire unanimity with which your return is 
 desired by the whole congregation. 
 
 I do not know that we can offer you any inducement to remain, 
 longer with us, save the very simple one that we need you ; and, 
 since it is so much more " blessed to give than receive," I can but 
 hope that our very necessities will plead eloquently in our behalf. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Lucy T. W. Tyler, Secretary. 
 Meadville, Pa., March 27, 1884. 
 
 Many things contributed to make the stay in Mead- 
 ville delightful, not the least of which was the renewal 
 of his old acquaintance with Dr. A. A. Livermore, 
 President of the Theological School, through whose 
 influence, probably, the first invitation to preach in 
 Meadville came, and by whose invitation also he bad 
 given a course of lectures to the students. So he con- 
 sented to come for a part of the next year, from Oc- 
 tober, 1884, to May, 1885. 
 
 On his homeward journey he spent a few days at 
 Old Point Comfort, and was for a short time the guest 
 of Rev. R. R. Shippen, of Washington, preaching for 
 him morning and evening. While in the city, he dined 
 one day with Frederick Douglass, who says in a letter 
 afterwards : "I see the kind-hearted and brave minister 
 of the gospel who had the courage to invite me, an un- 
 known and despised fugitive from slavery, into his new 
 pulpit in Norton, Mass., to plead the then much perse- 
 cuted cause of the slave. More than forty years have 
 passed since this, to me, important event, and I rejoice 
 that I live to speak of it, and you live to note my grate- 
 ful mention of it. I like to look over the field of the 
 
Row en 223 
 
 past and recall such incidents ; and I rejoice that I 
 have lived to have your dear white head once under my 
 roof." 
 
 After a summer in the Red Cottage, Milton, he re- 
 turned to Meadville Oct. i, 1884. 
 
 The hospitality of the Huidekopers was boundless. 
 Two delightful months were spent with Mr. Alfred 
 Huidekoper, and four months and a half with Miss 
 Elizabeth G. Huidekoper, who opened to the pastor and 
 his wife her large house and larger heart. Saint Eliza- 
 beth he ever afterwards called her. In both house- 
 holds everything possible was done for his comfort and 
 happiness. 
 
 In preaching and lecturing and in delightful social 
 intercourse the winter sped swiftly. At its close the 
 following letter appeared in the Register from the pen 
 of Dr. A. A. Livermore : — 
 
 We have a sad farewell to say to-day to our venerated pastor, 
 Rev. William P. Tilden. He has for two seasons ministered to 
 the Unitarian church, but of his rich spiritual experiences, and 
 from the fountains of a warm, loving heart. These qualities make 
 him one of the youngest and freshest of our ministers. If the 
 advanced in years like him because he carries a white head and a 
 fully stored history of more than forty years of usefulness, the 
 young love him because he is young as the youngest in cheerful 
 spirits and fond sympathies. How wonderfully various are the 
 gifts of men ! How every man is a new world in himself, unlike 
 any that went before or any that shall come after ! Brother 
 Tilden is a world in himself; and the peculiarity of his world is 
 that it possesses to an unusual degree the attraction of gravita- 
 tion, — he is one of the drawing kind. In that respect he re- 
 sembles the great Master himself, who drew all men to him, and 
 whom the people heard gladly. He has done much to revive our 
 church, increase the Sunday congregations, add members to the 
 
224 Autobiography 
 
 church, and harmonize and spiritualize conflicting religious views. 
 He takes a sensible, practical outlook of the times, and gives a 
 charitable interpretation to aspects of thought and speculation 
 which some regard as boding no good to the future of our Zion. 
 Not only in the church have we had beautiful and deeply 
 Christian discourses and services, Sunday after Sunday, — for he 
 has made only one exchange since he has been here, — but in the 
 Theological School, both last year and this year, he has given 
 lectures on the duties and aims of the ministry of the most useful 
 and telling character. To specify no other, that on " Sealed 
 Orders " would make a column in the Register that would benefit 
 not only every theological school in the land, but even the lords 
 of the pulpit themselves. Especially in setting the duties of the 
 preacher and those of the pastor in due and true perspective with 
 one another, he has done excellent service. Nor is he the man 
 who says one thing and does another. His ministry here has 
 been distinguished not only for constant industry, fresh new 
 sermons, eager and wide reading, but helpful calls on every possi- 
 ble son or daughter of the parish, the looking up of the stray 
 lambs of the flock, and hearty mingling in social gatherings, both 
 in the society and in other churches. In one word, it has been all 
 along the renovation of the ministerial office, in church and parish, 
 brought down to date, filled out in its opportunities of usefulness, 
 and breathing the Christ-like and helpful spirit. It is not the new 
 wine in new bottles so much as the good old wine, mellowed by 
 time and experience, in new bottles. But our blessings brighten 
 as they depart ; and now we have to bid farewell to our friends, 
 and to wish them all manner of happiness in their Milton home, 
 which they abundantly deserve. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 ROWEN. 
 
 1 885- 1 886. 
 
 Brighton. — Atlanta. — May Memorial Sermon.— Lectures 
 and Baccalaureate in Meadville. — Close of Ministry 
 at Brighton. 
 
 September, 1885, he took the supply of the Brighton 
 pulpit for a few months, and while there made an ex- 
 change of seven Sundays with Rev. George L. Chaney, 
 of Atlanta, Ga. From the latter place he wrote to the 
 Unity : "We are not 'marching through Georgia,' only 
 in camp for a time. We are here in this city of roses 
 and balmy air on an exchange with brother Chaney, 
 who is at the North with his sick wife, now happily re- 
 covering from a long illness. We find they have 
 together been doing a noble work here, winning the 
 honor and love not only of their own people, but of out- 
 siders, by their earnest work in behalf of a Christianity 
 that is deeper and higher and broader than any ' ism.' 
 Their return to Atlanta will be hailed with joy. The 
 Church of our Father has a fine chapel, with a corner 
 lot in the centre of the city reserved for a church edifice 
 when the time shall come. It must come at no distant 
 time ; for the city is rapidly growing, and minds and 
 hearts are opening to the glory of our growing faith. 
 This pioneer movement inaugurated by the Chaneys is 
 
226 Autobiography 
 
 no longer an experiment. It is an established fact. 
 We have one church of the future in Georgia, and may 
 confidently hope that the ten times one will come 
 through hard working and patient waiting. We have 
 spent a most delightful season here with the saints and 
 sinners of our own and other faiths, and shall bear away 
 pleasant memories and bright hopes of our brave little 
 church planted here and planted to grow." 
 
 In June of that year, 1886, he went to Meadville and 
 gave a course of eight lectures to the students of the 
 Theological School, and two sermons, the last being the 
 Baccalaureate, in ten consecutive days. On September 
 12th he gave a sermon in Syracuse, N.Y., on the unveil- 
 ing of a mural tablet to the memory of his dear friend, 
 Samuel J. May. 
 
 A brief extract from that sermon is given here : — 
 " Calm as a June morning, but firm as Gibraltar, he 
 was a moral hero. No wonder a phrenologist, on 
 examining his head, told him he should have been a 
 soldier. Indeed, he was a soldier. He had not missed 
 his calling : only his warfare was of the higher kind, 
 and his weapons 
 
 " ' Those mild arms of Truth and Love, 
 Made mighty through the living God.' 
 
 "Then he came to you, — fortunate people, — and 
 blessed you for more than a quarter of a century. I 
 say more than a quarter of a century, for he blessed 
 you after he resigned his pastorate just as he did before, 
 until a voice from heaven whispered to him, ' Come up 
 higher,' and, with a faith in the immortal life scarcely 
 less clear than sight, he rose. 
 
Rotven 22 J 
 
 " What he was to you in all those ripest years of his 
 ministry, in the church, in the home, in the schools, in 
 the city, in the nation, what a son of consolation he 
 was in all your sorrows, how sincerely he rejoiced with 
 the rejoicing and wept with the weeping, what a 
 preacher he was of truth and righteousness as he saw 
 it, how loyal to his highest light, how ready to meet 
 danger and death in obedience to the higher voice, 
 how, when the great hour of emancipation struck, his 
 soul leaped forth in joy and gratitude at the glorious 
 consummation of his life-long labors and prayers, and 
 then the growing beauty and glory of his life as the 
 shadows lengthened and the sunset hour drew nigh, — 
 all this, and more, you know so well that I can only 
 hint at what, to you, is open vision. 
 
 " It was my privilege to be with you fifteen years ago, 
 — oh, how the years fly! — when we met in the old 
 church for the last offices of faith and affection. I 
 never witnessed such an occasion. Dearly as I loved 
 him, it did not seem like a funeral. It was rather like 
 a grand and solemn apotheosis, the crowning of a noble 
 soul with the highest honor man can ever receive, — the 
 revered love of his fellows, won by noble living. 
 
 "Many of those who gathered around the grave, and 
 looked up, not down for him, have since passed on, 
 leaving only a few of the old-time veterans in the moral 
 fight to gather now and then, with ever-narrowing cir- 
 cles, to talk over the 'times that tried men's souls.' 
 
 " But still you keep his memory green. In the grati- 
 tude of your hearts, you have made this new church of 
 your love and prayer a ' May Memorial,' that his name 
 and memory may still mingle with your best thoughts 
 
228 Autobiography 
 
 and highest aspirations. And now his kindred in flesh 
 and spirit have asked the privilege of placing on these 
 walls their memorial of honor and affection, to show 
 their personal love of the man you have so delighted to 
 honor. 
 
 " ' He was a good man.' Yes, and a great man, — 
 great in Christ's idea of greatness, when he said to his 
 disciples, Whosoever will be great among you, 
 let him be your minister, — the greatness of service. 
 
 " That he fought not with carnal, but spiritual weap- 
 ons required not less courage, but more, as it calls for 
 more heroism to be stoned for truth than to stone 
 him who assails it. His courage was tempered with 
 the Christ spirit. With no cry of ' Lord, Lord ! ' he 
 followed closely in the Master's steps. With what a 
 mighty ' Amen ' in our hearts we heard those words of 
 his dear friend, President White, spoken at his grave : — 
 
 " ' Here lies before us all that was mortal of the best 
 man, the most truly Christian, I have ever known, — 
 the purest, the sweetest, the fullest of faith and hope 
 and charitv, the most like the Master. Had our Lord 
 come upon this earth again, and into these streets, any 
 time in these thirty years, he was sure of one follower. 
 Came he as black man or red man or the most 
 wretched of white men, came he in rags or sores, this 
 one dear friend would have followed him, no matter 
 what weapons, carnal or spiritual, were hurled at the 
 procession.' 
 
 " Golden words ! History and epitaph in one. We 
 cannot add to them if we would. We can only repeat 
 the text, — 'He was a good man.'" 
 
 On the last Sunday in December, 1886, Mr. Tilden 
 
Rowen 229 
 
 closed his engagement in Brighton, feeling that the 
 society had been long enough without a resident 
 pastor. 
 
 It was a pleasant year of ministerial service, though 
 a good deal broken into by the Southern trip and the 
 Meadville lectures. 
 
 The drive of one hour from Milton to Brighton was 
 through a delightful part of country and city, and was 
 most enjoyable. A choir of young girls and boys was 
 organized while he was there, in which he took great 
 interest, calling them always "my choir." 
 
XXIV. 
 
 ROWEN. 
 
 1887-1S89. 
 
 Plymouth, Atlanta, Chattanooga, New Orleans, Nash- 
 ville, Charleston, Savannah. — Plymouth. — Illness. 
 Notice in '-Watchman." — Wilmington. — Invitation to 
 settle in Wilmington. — Call declined. — Letter to 
 C. G. Ames. — Another Course of Lectures at Head- 
 ville. 
 
 The first Sunday of the new year 1887 he was in- 
 vited to preach in Plymouth, Mass. This was followed 
 by eight delightful Sundays in the same parish, the 
 people wishing him to supply their pulpit for a time 
 after his return from another Southern trip. 
 
 In March he writes from Atlanta to the Register: 
 " Forty-eight hours apart, as the cars fly ; but the cli- 
 matic change, as we experienced it, was from winter 
 to summer. Sunday, 6th inst., we waded, knee-deep, 
 through driven snow to the Church of the Disciples, 
 Boston, to speak a word to the lonely flock who missed 
 the voice of their good shepherd. Soon may they hear 
 it again! Sunday, 13th, we are here at Atlanta, in a 
 perfect spring garden, peach-blossoms in all their glory, 
 crab-apple and pear-trees just putting on their deli- 
 cately tinted robes, the blue-green grass carpeting the 
 lawns, and the young wheat almost tall enough to 
 
Rowen 231 
 
 wave. The change seems magical as well as delightful. 
 Atlanta is really a very beautiful city. We thought so 
 last year. We think so this year still more vigorously. 
 It is constantly growing, not only in population and 
 business enterprise, but in that architectural finish and 
 beauty which one hardly expects to see in a city so 
 young. 
 
 "Mr. Chaney is just now holding services in Chatta- 
 nooga, another rapidly growing city, four hours away, 
 where he hopes that the corner-stone of a new liberal 
 church may be laid. He thinks that the time has fully 
 come for 'church extension' in these new fields." 
 
 A few weeks later Mr. Tilden writes from Chatta- 
 nooga as follows : "This rapidly growing city is known 
 as 'The Southern Gateway of the Alleghanies ' ; and, 
 although it sounds slightly ambitious, there are solid 
 terra firma reasons for so regarding it, since the Ten- 
 nessee River, on a graceful curve of which the city is 
 built, pushes its way between the mountains, marking 
 the only natural path to the region beyond. The In- 
 dians called it Chattanooga, or 'crow's nest,' because, 
 doubtless, of its being such a cosey retreat, hemmed in 
 by the surrounding heights. But its natural advan- 
 tages as a landing near the 'Gate' for receiving and 
 shipping the primitive products of the surrounding 
 country led to its settlement by the whites, who ob- 
 tained a charter in 1852. 
 
 "The war, sweeping away everything in the settle- 
 ment, slaves and all, left the soil clean for a fresh 
 beginning. Since then the growth of the place in 
 commerce, in manufactures, in numbers, and in wealth, 
 has been wonderfully rapid, and is still rising in a per- 
 fect freshet of prosperity. 
 
232 Autobiography 
 
 "During the last few months there has been a boom 
 in real estate here, which has made some small land- 
 owners comfortable and large ones corpulent. But 
 the freshet is subsiding, and those caught on the bars 
 will have to wait for another boom to take them off. 
 But our chief interest in the city just now is not in its 
 commerce or its corner lots, but in its religious needs. 
 We are here, by advice and counsel of Bishop Chaney, 
 to see if there be any call for Unitarian church exten- 
 sion. Of course, everybody else is here before us, 
 Catholic and Protestant. ' If you had only come last 
 year,' it is said, 'you could easily have started a 
 church; but now the liberals have joined the other 
 churches, and really,' etc. But, remembering who gave 
 the cheering promise, ' The last shall be first,' which 
 fits our tardy habits as if made for our special benefit, 
 we went to work. The bishop came here for three 
 Sundays, while we supplied his pulpit in Atlanta ; and 
 then we came for three Sundays more. Our place of 
 meeting is an 'upper room,' up two flights, not 'large' 
 or 'furnished ' like that at Jerusalem, but with numbers 
 most encouragingly akin to that early Christian gather- 
 ing. But, if numbers were few, opinions were many, 
 ranging all the way from old-fashioned Uhitarianism to 
 new-fashioned nothingarianism, with a freedom of ex- 
 pression that was sublime in its transparent honesty. 
 One would have hardly deemed it possible to get so 
 many opinions from so few persons. It was a unique 
 company. It was plain that the creed must be very 
 simple and general that could unite them. But, fortu- 
 nately, we had no creed to offer, only a purpose of 
 getting good and doing good ; and on this broad 
 ground we found a cordial response. 
 
Rowen 233 
 
 " Here is a grand chance for some young Eliot or 
 Chaney to give himself, soul and body, to founding 
 and building up a liberal church — a church of the 
 spirit, a church of humanity — in this charming 'Gate- 
 way of the Alleghanies.' " 
 
 April 24 he preached in New Orleans for Rev. C. A. 
 Allen, in whose charming home and in that of Mr. C. 
 Holloway a week was spent, — the week of the South- 
 ern Conference. This in itself was a great delight ; 
 and both gentlemen were unwearied in their kindness 
 to the strangers, showing them the attractions of their 
 lovely city, its homes, its typical gardens, its cathedral, 
 market, old French and Spanish houses, its many pres- 
 ent beauties, and the traces of its historic past. 
 
 The next Sunday was spent in Nashville, Tenn. A 
 letter to his daughter at this time says : " We have 
 been here nearly two days, and have found but one 
 Unitarian, and he doesn't know whether he is one or 
 not. But I have engaged the Olympic Theatre for 
 next Sunday morning and evening, and then and there 
 hope to make my debut as an apostle of our blessed 
 faith. Should there be only that one present, who 
 doesn't quite know where he stands, I shall hope to 
 drive him from the fence, and make him see where he 
 is before I get through. But I guess there will be two, 
 possibly three, so that we may claim the blessing prom- 
 ised to that number. That we are homesick goes with- 
 out saying; but we bear it, promising to each other, if 
 we ever do get home, we ' won't do so again.' " 
 
 The next Sunday was spent in Birmingham, where 
 he preached only in the evening, as he was unable to 
 procure any place for morning service. He returned 
 
234 Autobiography 
 
 to Atlanta the next day, May 9 (his birthday). He 
 writes home as follows : — 
 
 Dear Children and Grandchildren, — Thanks, thanks, thanks, for 
 telegram and letters. Oh, how refreshing they were, when I 
 reached Atlanta after a seven hours' ride from Birmingham, in a 
 hot sultry, dusty day ! I could sit and think of you all, and of what 
 you were thinking and doing, for I knew we poor estrays would 
 mingle with your thoughts. 
 
 I was all alone, so I jolted, and mused, and thought, and loved, 
 and longed amid a crowd of tired travellers, comforted with the 
 sweet thought that we were pointing homeward, though fifteen 
 hundred miles away, and that every jolt and lurch brought me 
 a little nearer to the " little Red " and all it stands for. 
 
 So far we have had, on the whole, a good time, though fatiguing. 
 But you may be assured, my dear ones, that after this we shall be 
 as glad to stay at the "little Red " as you will be to have us. 
 
 If we didn't love you all so well, we could stand this being away 
 better, but love is a great pull-back to the missionary zeal of an 
 old man. 
 
 After two more Sundays in Atlanta he went to 
 Charleston, S.C., where a warm welcome awaited him 
 from Rev. and Mrs. E. C. L. Browne, whose two hearts 
 he had made one some twenty-five years before. He 
 supplied the pulpit for Mr. Browne one Sunday, and was 
 introduced by him to the congregation as the " good 
 gray head which all men knew." 
 
 A letter from Mr. Browne at this time in the Register 
 says: "Father Tilden, the loved bishop of souls, has 
 touched our south country with his episcopal benignity, 
 a spirit more genial than our breezes, and a smile, not 
 prostrating like our sun, but carrying the strength of 
 faith. After establishing several churches (potential) 
 in partitas infidclium, strengthening the faith and 
 
Row en 235 
 
 zeal of the congregations in Atlanta and New Orleans, 
 cheering the Southern Conference with the optimism of 
 his experience, giving his hearty benediction and charge, 
 as well as example, to the young evangelist, now work- 
 ing alone in the far South-west, last of all he brought the 
 treasure of his presence to Charleston, lingering with us 
 in a whole restful week of communion before his final 
 ascension to Boston. We can still hear his voice, 
 though his presence is gone. What a peculiar thrill 
 is in it, vibrating with a mingle of human sympathy 
 and divine hope. He came as we have known him 
 of old, — as when, twenty-three years ago, in the April 
 freshness of a New England town, he preached in the 
 old church on the hill my ordination sermon. He came 
 the same, unless one is reminded of Jones Very's 
 thought, — • 
 
 " ' Father, there is no change to live with thee, 
 Save that in thee I grow from day to day.' 
 
 But he goes in another character. He will hereafter 
 be Rabbi Ben Ezra to us ; for no one ever more persua- 
 sively said, in obedience to this law of fulfilment, — 
 
 " ' Grow old along with me ! 
 The best is yet to be, — 
 The end of life, for which the first was made. 
 Youth shows but half. See all. Trust God, nor be afraid ! ' 
 
 But, whether bishop or rabbi, or brother or father, 
 whether growing old or in perpetual youth, his good 
 works follow him, and our love must crown him." 
 
 Mr. Tilden's letter from Savannah, June 2, 1887, 
 says : " We had a delightful stay with the Brownes. 
 
236 Autobiography 
 
 Preached for him Sunday. Came here Tuesday. Did 
 the city yesterday, and it surprised us with its beauty. 
 Sail to-day at about three in the ' Gate City ' for dear 
 old Boston and the dearer children, grandchildren, and 
 friends. 
 
 " We hope to arrive at the Hub some time Sunday 
 afternoon, if all goes well. And all will go well, what- 
 ever comes, for ' Our Father's at the helm.' Oh, shall 
 we not be glad to see Boston Light, and the light in so 
 many heart windows ashore waiting for us ! " 
 
 After his return he accepted an invitation to supply 
 the Plymouth pulpit for six months ; but, before that 
 engagement was quite concluded, he had a serious ill- 
 ness (bronchitis) which kept him in bed many weeks, 
 and from which, though he apparently recovered entirely, 
 he never regained his former vigor. But he still loved 
 his chosen work just as well as ever, and said after 
 every service, " I thank God that I have been able to 
 preach once more." 
 
 About this time the following statement appeared in 
 the I Vatchman : — 
 
 Every now and then somebody gives us a moving picture of a 
 happily settled pastor, sexagenarian, who is the idol of his congre- 
 gation and "doing his best work," as a living refutation of the 
 nonsense about " the dead line of fifty," which limits the useful- 
 ness of ministers. This, however, is raising a false issue. No- 
 body charges upon churches that they summarily dismiss or get 
 rid of their pastors as soon as they are fifty years old. No doubt 
 a man who is well preserved physically, and able for his work, 
 may often live on with the same people for years after that date. 
 But suppose a man on the shady side of fifty to be (from no cause 
 that is to his discredit) without pastoral charge : what are his 
 chances of receiving a call, or even of being asked so much as to 
 supply a pulpit for a Sabbath or two ? When somebody will in- 
 stance such a man whose services are in brisk demand, we will 
 
Row en 237 
 
 admit an exception to a very general rule. When two are named, 
 we will reconsider the question." 
 
 The Register says, — 
 
 " If the Watchman is willing to count Unitarians, we will move 
 a reconsideration, and mention two men past seventy in constant 
 demand among us, — Dr. A. P. Peabody and Rev. W. P. Tilden.'' 
 
 Oct. 8, 1888, he commenced a six months' pastorate 
 in Wilmington, Del. 
 
 A Register letter says : " There is a large Quaker 
 element in the society here, which is very interesting. 
 The Hicksite Friends are essentially Unitarians, and 
 easily and naturally affiliate with us, especially the ris- 
 ing generation. They bring what Matthew Arnold 
 called 'sweetness and light.' We welcome both. 
 
 "Our little vine-clad brick church is delightfully situ- 
 ated on a street abounding in churches. We have a 
 Sunday attendance of near a hundred, sometimes more. 
 
 " Wilmington is a rapidly growing city. Its rolling 
 surface gives picturesqueness to its billowy streets, and 
 limits horse-cars to the more level lines. The quaint old 
 houses of a former generation, sprinkled in here and 
 there among the new ones, are very interesting. But in 
 the prominent streets and out on the hills are some ele- 
 gant structures of the modern style, showing how wealth 
 and taste are united in making the city beautiful. The 
 bird's-eye view from high points of the Brandywine and 
 Christiana Rivers, that encircle the city in their liquid 
 arms, and pour their united waters into the broad Dela- 
 ware as it sweeps on to the capes, is very grand. As a 
 seaport, Wilmington has great advantages. Its ship- 
 building interest in wood and iron is most refreshingly 
 
238 Autobiography 
 
 prosperous. One vessel is no sooner launched than an- 
 other keel is stretched upon the blocks. The yards are 
 so full of men as to remind me of Medford fifty years 
 ago. Wilmington is sure to grow, and the first Unita- 
 rian society to grow with it." 
 
 His home letter for December 25th says: "Hail! 
 and a merry Christmas to you all, — Laura and the 
 doctor, Will and Anna, George and Alice, Joseph, and 
 May, and Cora, and Charlie, and Elsie, and Edith, — 
 thrice merry, merry, merry Christmas to you all. 
 Well, it is good for the inward eyes to see you. You 
 look as if you had had a good dinner. The turkey and 
 pudding shine through. How did we come? Not on 
 the wires or through the telephone, but in the good 
 old way of thought and affection by which Adam and 
 Eve held intercourse the first time they lost sight of 
 each other among the trees of the garden. We talk 
 of abolishing time and space with electricity and tin 
 tubes: bungling inventions they are in comparison 
 with the electrical battery of the brain and heart by 
 which we can girdle the globe in less than thirty min- 
 utes, and dine with our loved ones whenever we please, 
 however far away. But we didn't come to talk phi- 
 losophy or eat dinner, though we should like a bite, 
 — it looks so nice and smells so Christmasy, — but 
 just to take your hands and look into your eyes and 
 tell you all that we don't get over loving you a bit, 
 and don't want to, though, if we only could ease up 
 a little, it would be more comfortable when we are 
 away down in Delaware." 
 
 At the end of six months the Register contained the 
 following notice : — 
 
Row en 239 
 
 Wilmington, Del. — This society lias been enjoying the minis- 
 trations of Rev. William P. Tilden for the past six months ; and 
 during that time the attendance upon the Sunday services has 
 steadily increased. Mr. Tilden has won the hearts of all alike, 
 young and old, conservative and radical. His eloquent preaching, 
 his gentle and manly spirit, his fatherly interest and tender sym- 
 pathy, have so attracted to himself and to the religion he so 
 thoroughly represents in his walk and conversation, that the action 
 of the society at its meeting on Sunday, March 10, was both 
 natural and logical. The following preamble and resolutions 
 were on that occasion unanimously adopted : — 
 
 Whereas this society has enjoyed for the last six months the minis- 
 trations of Rev. William P. Tilden, and during that time it has learned 
 to love and respect his character, and appreciate his high spiritual and 
 intellectual qualities ; and 
 
 Whereas we feel that our spiritual perceptions have been quickened 
 and our intellectual faculties enlarged and strengthened by his eloquent 
 and impressive teachings, — therefore, 
 
 Resolved, That this society extends to Rev. William P. Tilden a 
 unanimous call to become its pastor. 
 
 Resolved, That the trustees be requested and authorized to make such 
 arrangements with Mr. Tilden as may be necessary to secure his services 
 to the society, pledging themselves to sustain and support him in his 
 pastoral work. 
 
 Resolved, That a committee of three be appointed to wait upon Mr. 
 Tilden, and present to him this call, and urge upon him its acceptance. 
 
 Mr. Tilden's decision has not yet been ascertained, but every 
 member of the society and congregation awaits it with undis- 
 guised anxiety. It is, perhaps, unusual for a call to be extended 
 to a minister seventy-seven years of age; but this society asks no 
 better service than he can render. And it will be their greatest 
 pleasure to sustain him with their love and sympathy during the 
 remaining years of his ministerial work. If he should remain, the 
 future prosperity of this society will be assured. 
 
 Gratifying as this call was, Mr. Tilden, feeling that 
 the society misjudged his strength, and knowing his in- 
 ability for continuous work, felt obliged to decline, 
 which he did in the following letter : — 
 
240 Autobiography 
 
 Messrs. George W. Stone, Daniel W. Taylor, and Hey- 
 wood Conant, Committee of the First Unitarian Society of 
 Wilmington, Del. : 
 
 Gentlemen, and Brethren, — Your kind invitation to the pastorate 
 of your church is before me. It is remarkable for its cordiality 
 and for the largeness and entire unanimity of the vote. I feel sure 
 that such a call to one of my age, who came not as a candidate, 
 must have warm hearts behind it, and that I may confidently rely 
 on its pledges of support and co-operation. It demands most 
 serious consideration. This I have tried to give it. I sincerely 
 hope I have been guided wisely, and that you will all see, on due 
 reflection, that my decision is best for you as well as for myself. 
 
 When I left my church in Boston five years ago, it was with 
 the fixed and, as I think, wise purpose of not taking another 
 pastorate. I left for rest and change, intending still to preach as 
 long as strength and opportunity continued. Both have been 
 granted to a remarkable degree, so that these years of here and 
 there preaching have proved the happiest of my long ministerial 
 life. Three of the churches to which I have ministered for a 
 longer or shorter period are now rejoicing in acceptable pastors 
 and going on prospering and to prosper. When I came to 
 Wilmington, although an entire stranger to you all, I hoped that 
 here also I might pave the way for some good man in whom you 
 could all unite ; but, lo ! in the abounding kindness of your hearts 
 you wish me to stay as your permanent pastor. This is as gratify- 
 ing as it is unexpected, for we all love to be loved. Were I not 
 remarkably wise, I might yield to my feelings rather than to my 
 judgment, and accede to your generous proposals. But I know 
 my inability for prolonged and continuous service too well to take 
 such an advantage of your kindness. I owe my present health 
 and strength very largely, I think, to my migratory habits. I do 
 not stay long enough in a place to get tired or for the people to 
 get tired of me. I seem to thrive best on the wing, and should 
 not dare to light for any length o£ time, lest I should not be able 
 to rise. Should I stay longer with you, you might love me less 
 and think less of my preaching. I prize your good opinion too 
 highly to run the risk. Be assured, therefore, that I am doing 
 you as well as myself the greatest kindness in declining your per- 
 suasive call. 
 
Rozven 241 
 
 We shall bear away with us delightful memories of your 
 pleasant city and our many kind friends here. We shall ever 
 feel a deep interest in the welfare of your church, which hence- 
 forth will be our church, too ; and it is our hearts' desire and 
 prayer that in fulness of time one may be sent to you who will 
 prove himself a true helper in the divine life. 
 
 Your six months' minister and all-time friend, 
 
 W. P. Tilden. 
 
 A letter to his daughter from Wilmington, March 
 29th, says : — 
 
 We hope to come right through on Monday as I wrote you, in 
 spite of George's powerful persuasives to stay over night in New 
 York. What do we care about the little village of New York ? 
 A night in the little Red will be more restful than Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel. Lovingly to all, 
 
 Father. 
 
 A few days later he writes to his dear friend, Rev. 
 C. G. Ames, as follows : — 
 
 May 9TH, 1889. 
 
 Dear Ames, — You guessed right. I write from the culm of my 
 seventy-eighth birthday. I like the altitude : the air is pure and 
 the prospect glorious. I wouldn't go down into the valley of youth 
 or the hillsides of toil, where you youngsters are digging, if I could. 
 I like to be up here, away from the crowd, where I can take life 
 easy, work when I feel like it and then play, — " kiss my hand to 
 the stars," look out on the peaks still higher up, glistening in the 
 sunshine, and the peaks still beyond, that we see only with the in- 
 ward eye. No ! I wouldn't go back if I could, not even to pick 
 up dropped stitches : I should be sure to drop more, and make the 
 hole larger and more difficult to mend. " Only once this way " is 
 the mysterious fiat. The shortcomings we mourn lift us by keep- 
 ing us humble. My only regret away up here is that I have done 
 so little in a long life, but I try not to let that over-trouble me. 
 The dear God knows it all, and loves me still, as he does all his 
 wayward children. 
 
242 Autobiograplty 
 
 My life has been so free from crosses that I look for no crown. 
 I have been overpaid, cash down, every day; and, if there were a 
 strict accountant up there, I should be bankrupt and in hopeless 
 debt. But "he delighteth in mercy.'' It is good to be in debt to 
 him so rich in forgetting love. . . . 
 
 I am always, in ever enduring love and immortal hope, 
 
 Your own brother, 
 
 Tilden. 
 
 In June, of this year he went again to Meadville to 
 repeat the course of lectures which were given to the 
 Theological School in 1886. Again he gave eight lect- 
 ures and two sermons (the last being the Baccalaureate) 
 in ten consecutive days. 
 
 A letter to his daughter at this time says : " Here we 
 are, safe and sound, well homed with Dr. and Mrs. Liv- 
 ermore, who take the best possible care of us. Your 
 hot beef tea was charming. My last cup was in the 
 car, heated nicely by the porter. Meadville is looking 
 gloriously. The old friends seem glad to see us. The 
 school is full and nourishing, and the students listen to 
 my lectures with apparent interest. I have given two 
 lectures, and bear it very well. Tell the doctor I do 
 not forget his wise counsel, and think I have been 
 benefited by it, even if I do not toe the mark exactly. 
 . . This is a brilliant letter ! The doctor will see 
 that I am not overtaxing my mind. He prescribed 
 mental rest, and this note shows how faithful I am to 
 his prescription. My stupidity is most encouraging. 
 I must be convalescing." 
 
 His journal of June 30 says : "Was obliged to give 
 up an engagement to preach on account of illness. 
 The wise Dr. Green says I must not preach again until 
 September. So I have cancelled two other engage- 
 
Rowen 243 
 
 merits, and have gone into the dry dock for repairs, 
 hoping to be seaworthy again in September." 
 
 September 1st he occupied the Newton pulpit, and 
 the journal says: "I have not preached before since 
 my Baccalaureate at Meadville. Have been too ill. 
 Thanks to the dear Father for strength restored." 
 
XXV. 
 ROWEN. 
 
 Plainfield. — Concord. — Invitation to remain in Plain- 
 field. — Wilmington. — Work of the Ministry. 
 
 Later in the month, September, 1889, Mr. Tilden 
 went to Plainfield, N.J., to preach for seven Sundays 
 to the little society just started there. 
 
 He says, in a letter to the Register: "There are 
 twelve Plainfields in the United States, showing that it 
 is a favorite name. But we doubt if any one of them 
 equals in rural beauty and general attractiveness this 
 growing city of New Jersey. Situated on the New 
 Jersey Central Railroad, only an hour from New York, 
 less by express, it furnishes not only a summer retreat 
 for New Yorkers, but an all-the-year-round home for 
 many who do business in the great city. With a dry, 
 sandy soil, and good, pure water, it has long been noted 
 for its general healthiness. 
 
 " One of its great charms consists in its being a 
 country city. There are no 'blocks,' save in the busi- 
 ness streets. Separate houses with generous grounds 
 are the general rule ; and, while it is mainly a plain 
 field as to the surface, it is so picturesquely laid out, 
 with so many curved and diagonal streets, that the 
 usual checker board monotony of cities with a plain 
 
Rozven 245 
 
 surface is largely obviated. The soil, though light, is 
 rich ; and the shade-trees, with which the streets are 
 abundantly fringed, have a heavy foliage, which is just 
 now in its golden glory. The population is estimated 
 at ten thousand, and is constantly increasing. Many 
 new buildings, some very beautiful, are going up. 
 
 "The city had fourteen churches, representing the 
 leading denominations, when Rev. D. W. Morehouse, 
 Secretary of the New York Conference of Unitarian 
 Churches, came here a few months ago, to see if there 
 were any demand for a church of our liberal faith. He 
 found a few earnest Unitarians waiting for him. After 
 holding a few Sunday evening services, the little band 
 of brave men and women felt they were ready for 
 action; and on the 17th of July, 1889, they organized 
 the First Unitarian Society of Plain field. Now there 
 are fifteen churches in this city ; and the last, though 
 the youngest and smallest, is yet destined, as we fondly 
 hope, to do good and noble service for a progressive 
 Christian faith. 
 
 " We are fortunate in having the mayor of the city, 
 Hon. Job Male, an interested member of the society. 
 He is a Unitarian to the 'manner born,' being a mem- 
 ber of All Souls', New York, in the early ministry of 
 Dr. Bellows. He came to Plainfield years ago, and is 
 one of the city fathers, widely honored and beloved. 
 As the young society found it difficult to obtain a suit- 
 able place of worship, Mr. Male opened one of his pri- 
 vate houses, fitting the lower part for Sunday services, 
 and offering it free to the society till they could do bet- 
 ter. This has been simply but conveniently furnished 
 by the society. We held our first meeting in the 
 
246 Autobiography 
 
 'Home Church' last Sunday, and the rooms were so 
 well filled as to suggest the necessity of early enlarge- 
 ment. Everything looks very hopeful, and we may 
 confidently count on a prosperous and self-sustaining 
 church as the ultimate and sure result." 
 
 At the end of his seven weeks' engagement he re- 
 turned to Milton to spend the month of November, in 
 order that he might attend the dedication of the new 
 church at Concord, N.H., and also that he might gather 
 about him, as was his wont, his children and grand- 
 children for a Thanksgiving party. 
 
 After preaching in Concord, N.H., before his old pa- 
 rishioners Sunday evening, November 10th, and assist- 
 ing at the dedicatory services on Monday afternoon, he 
 gave an address at a social gathering in the evening, in 
 which he said: "The three years I was with you, from 
 1844 to 1847, were years of great excitement. The 
 devil's trinity, as we used to call it, — war, intemper- 
 ance, slavery, — some of us fought against with all the 
 non-resistant fight there was in us. The two first re- 
 main, wounded, but still vigorous, while what seemed 
 then the master evil has been swept away forever. 
 But the opposition to any word spoken against the di- 
 vine institution at this time, on the part of many, was 
 intense. One of my parishioners told me he thought 
 that nothing of a worldly character should ever be let 
 into a Christian pulpit. As sin is supposed to be some- 
 what worldly, this was a decided narrowing down of 
 the sphere of the pulpit. 
 
 " One good woman on whom I called with brother 
 Thomas, who kindly went round with me to get ac- 
 quainted with his people, was inclined to be very plain- 
 
Rowen 247 
 
 spoken in her ideas of preaching. Brother Thomas 
 said in his mild way, ' Sister, I think brother Tilden 
 preaches the gospel.' She turned upon him, and said, 
 'Well, if Mr. Tilden preaches the gospel, you didn't.' 
 ' I think there are some parts of the gospel that I did 
 not emphasize as I should,' said brother Thomas. 
 
 "On the other hand there were those who were loyal 
 to the true and the right, who held up my hands and 
 encouraged my heart to speak without fear or favor 
 what I believed to be the truth of God. Could your 
 fathers and mothers only have known that in twenty 
 years from that time 'liberty would be proclaimed 
 throughout all the land to all the inhabitants thereof,' I 
 think they would have kept me another year. But it 
 was all right, for, if I had not gone, you would not have 
 had the blessed ministries of Woodbury, Beane, Gil- 
 man, and all the rest, to lead you on to the higher life. 
 
 " Dear old friends, and new ones, too, the few who 
 remain and the many who have come in, I rejoice with 
 you in this your glad and hopeful hour. Both the church 
 I preached in and the new one that followed went up, 
 prophet-like, in flame, and now another, fairest of the 
 three, has risen on the spot. Here the fathers wor- 
 shipped, and here the children and the children's chil- 
 dren shall gather for the worship and work of the 
 church. Hopeful outlook. Theory is giving place to 
 life, and theology is blossoming into the fruit of pure 
 religion. It remains only that you dedicate yourselves, 
 the only true temple of the Holy Spirit, to God and 
 man." 
 
 After a happy Thanksgiving in the Red Cottage, — 
 never a happier or merrier, — he returned to Plainfield 
 
24S Autobiography 
 
 for the winter, the following letters having been re- 
 ceived : — 
 
 Rev. W. P". Tilden, Milton, Mass. : 
 
 Dear Sir, — Our Board of Trustees, having satisfied themselves 
 as to their financial resources, now authorize and intrust me to 
 tender to you on their behalf an invitation to take the regular 
 pastoral charge of our society for as long a time as you can stay 
 with us. . . . The Board desires me to state that the unanimous 
 voice of the society expresses the hope that you will accept, — in 
 which hope earnestly joins, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 Charles W. Opdyke, 
 Sec'y of the First Unitarian Society of Plainfield, N.J. 
 Nov. 3, 1889. 
 
 A letter of Nov. 6, 1889, from Rev. D. W. More- 
 house, Secretary of the New York Conference of Uni- 
 tarian Churches, says : — 
 
 Dear Mr. Tilden, — I went 4 over and preached for the little 
 flock in their cosey new home last Sunday. If you could have wit- 
 nessed the eagerness with which the people gathered around me 
 at the close of the service, inquiring if I thought " it would be 
 possible to induce Mr. Tilden to come back," you would have no 
 doubt about the earnestness of the call to minister to these 
 people. They look to you with a tenderness of attachment which 
 it is very pleasant to witness, and which is to me the assurance 
 that they will so heartily respond to your leadership that a few 
 months more of your ministry with them will put them on a foun- 
 dation so sure that their growth and prosperity will be entirely 
 assured. I do not hesitate, therefore, to beg you to come back 
 and be their minister a little longer; and, in making this request 
 of you, I here renew the promise I made several weeks ago, — 
 that, if at any time you desire a labor of love, you shall have such 
 relief as you need. We do not want to overtax you, but rather 
 it is our desire to make the work as light as possible for you. 
 
Rowen 249 
 
 We want yoicr presence in Plain-field. All that the loving care 
 of thoughtful and considerate people can do to make your stay in 
 Plainfield agreeable will most cheerfully be done. If you can, 
 under these conditions, see your way clear to accept the invitation 
 which the trustees, in obedience to the unanimous wish of the 
 society, will send you, you will confer a great favor and blessing 
 upon them and me. Affectionately yours, 
 
 D. W. Morehouse. 
 
 His record book says : "December 1. Having come 
 to Plainfield to take the pastorate of the First Uni- 
 tarian Society for the winter, I preached my inaugural 
 from the words, ' Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my helpers 
 in Christ Jesus, . . . likewise the church which is in 
 their house.' " 
 
 In this month he went to Wilmington to help the 
 dear friends whom he was permitted to call his parish- 
 ioners the year before, in installing their new minister. 
 
 December 27 he writes home: "We don't intend to 
 be absent another Christmas, if we are this side the 
 river. We see you can't have a real old-fashioned 
 Christmas without us. George writes that he thinks 
 he will take Charlie with him to New York next week. 
 I have written him to come out and spend a night 
 with us. 'Oh, that will be joyful.'" 
 ■ A letter of Jan. 16, 1890, to his daughter, says, in 
 speaking of the death of a friend : "So the great wheel 
 of life keeps turning, and we never know whose turn 
 comes next. That is just as it should be. To trust is 
 better than to know. . . . Oh, how we did enjoy George's 
 and Charlie's Sunday visit to us ! We grew a cubit 
 and a span while they stayed. Had they remained, 
 we should have become 'giants in Gath.' " 
 
 After the delivery of his last course of lectures in 
 
250 Autobiography 
 
 Meadville, in the summer of 1889, the following resolu- 
 tions were presented to him : — 
 
 Resolved, That we, the students of Meadville Theological 
 School, tender our thanks to the Rev. Mr. Tilden, of Milton, 
 Mass., for his instructive course of lectures upon the ministerial 
 offices, so beautiful in their spirit and so valuable in material. 
 
 Resolved, That we feel that the course of lectures just closed, 
 to which we have listened with so much pleasure and profit, 
 would be still more valuable to us if we possessed them in a form 
 more enduring and complete than that contained in the insufficient 
 mental record and the incomplete note-book. 
 
 We therefore take this opportunity to express the hope — if we 
 may do so without trespass upon plans otherwise determined 
 upon — that the Rev. Mr. Tilden may find it convenient to put in 
 the enduring form of print these wise counsels to his younger 
 brethren, these words so full of the spirit of manly Christianity, 
 and which surely have proceeded from the experiences of a long 
 and useful life, devoted to disinterested and noble service of the 
 Christian ideals. For many years to come, before we ourselves 
 possess the experience of long Christian service, we are sure that 
 these true words of our venerable adviser will do much to guide 
 us safely upon our way. 
 
 In response to which Mr. Tilden made this reply: — 
 
 In complying with the foregoing request, I yield the distrust of 
 age to the sanguine judgment of youth, and dedicate these famil- 
 iar lectures to the students of the Meadville Theological School, 
 past, present, and future, and to all earnest students of "the faith 
 that makes faithful." w. p. t. 
 
 While in Plainfield, he prepared the lectures for pub- 
 lication ; and, as it was a great pleasure to give them 
 to the students, so also was it a great pleasure to revise 
 them for publication. 
 
 They were issued in book form in March, 1890, 
 under the title of " The Work of the Ministry." 
 
Rowen 251 
 
 Many appreciative notices of the volume appeared 
 in the various Unitarian periodicals and in the daily 
 papers, and many friends bore loving testimony to its 
 value. 
 
 Dr. A. A. Livermore, President of Meadville Theo- 
 logical School, said : " If service to God and man is, as 
 I believe it is, the great end of human life, how nobly 
 to the falling of the last sands in the hour-glass has he 
 fulfilled his part in the great life-drama ! I am more 
 happy than I can tell that he was enabled to print that 
 beautiful book on the ministry, — the best, I believe, on 
 the whole, to be found in the world. It will stand as 
 a monument to his memory and genius long after we 
 and ours are passed away." 
 
 Dr. A. P. Peabody says: "Thanks for your admi- 
 rable book, which is of unspeakable value as a testi- 
 mony of what the ministry has been and ought to be, 
 yet in some quarters has almost ceased to be. Nothing 
 could be better." 
 
 Dr. John H. Morison writes : " It gives me very great 
 pleasure to say that I have seldom, if ever, read a book 
 with more entire satisfaction than your lectures to the 
 Meadville students. I know of no book of the kind 
 that I think so entirely what it should be, and that I 
 shall be so glad to put into the hands of any young 
 minister whom I know to be very earnest to do all that 
 can be done to fill with fidelity and success the great 
 duties of his office." 
 
 From Rev. William T. Briggs, Congregational min- 
 ister of East Douglass : "I thank you hugely for those 
 Meadville Lectures. I opened the little book, saying 
 to myself, ' I have only time to peep into them ' ; but I 
 was half through before I really took a long breath. 
 
252 Autobiography 
 
 As I read, I kept saying, ' What next ! what next ! ' 
 When a book holds me in that way, I say there is 
 something in it. I have praised you so much that it 
 rather mortifies me to say much more in that line ; 
 but, as to these lectures, ' No man shall stop my boast- 
 ing in all the region of Achaia ! ' Your suggestions and 
 advice chime in most happily with what my experience 
 and observation of more than forty years have taught 
 me. I have read a good deal about ministers' advice 
 to students preparing for the ministry, etc., but have 
 met with nothing more sensible, practical, and really 
 inspiring than your lectures." 
 
 From Mrs. Thomas G. Wells, a loved parishioner of 
 early days, and an old friend of many years : — 
 
 My dear Friend, — I cannot resist sending you this beautiful 
 letter of cousin Samuel May's. You can believe it all : — 
 
 " Dear Cousin Elizabeth Wells, — Mr. Tilden's book is so 
 naturally, simply, and heartily written that it was easy reading, and 
 I have read a very large part of it already; and I can now express 
 my thanks to you, not only on general principles, but because I 
 know how sensible, sweet, and good the little book is. How 
 happily he steers clear of rocks and quicksands all through the 
 book as well as in the closing chapter, 'Sealed Orders'! Every 
 young minister at least might be glad of such a book. He has 
 rounded out his fifty years of the ministry most fittingly with the 
 little volume, which will carry along his image and likeness long 
 after he has passed from earth. To think of his doing such good 
 work, and so much of it, — for the little volume is brimming over 
 with thoughtful and sensible ideas and suggestions, — when verg- 
 ing so closely to his eightieth year ! " 
 
 I think we all who have any kinship with Samuel J. May may 
 be glad and, humanly speaking, thoroughly satisfied at the kind of 
 men he induced to take up the ministry,— witness Frederick T. 
 Gray, Thomas J. Mumford, and W. P. Tilden, to speak of no 
 other. 
 
XXVI. 
 
 LAST DAYS. 
 
 1890. 
 Illness. — Death. — Funeral Services. 
 
 Early in the winter he began to be afflicted with 
 rheumatism, but paid little attention to it for some 
 time. Finally, as it grew no better, but rather seemed 
 to be gaining, his doctor advised rest ; and he very 
 reluctantly left Plainfield for a few weeks' stay in Lake- 
 wood, N.J. And his last sermon before the Plainfield 
 society, on the " Passion Week of Human Life," April 
 30, 1890 (the Sunday preceding Easter), proved to be 
 the last he would ever give. 
 
 While in Lakewood, he wrote to the Register as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Having been compelled by stress of ' under the 
 weather' to leave with great regret the temporary pas- 
 torate of this young church, I want to say a further 
 word of its condition and prospects, that sister churches 
 all around, knowing something about it, may extend 
 the hand of Christian fellowship now in its day of small 
 things. 
 
 " Paul sent his greeting in one of his Epistles to the 
 'church in the house.' That is just what the church 
 is at present. It is emphatically a ' church in the 
 house,' a home church, with home accommodations for 
 worship and work. 
 
254 Last Days 
 
 "The society, though small, contains good stock, 
 ' seasoned timber that never gives,' such as George 
 Herbert set to church music* Those constituting the 
 society are men and women so thoroughly respected in 
 the community that there is little serious opposition to 
 the new movement. When a minister introduced us 
 to his congregation as ' glow-worms,' intending to indi- 
 cate the feebleness of our light, we accepted the epi- 
 thet with pleasure as happily suggestive of our mis- 
 sion, — 'alight shining in a dark place.' But, on the 
 whole, there is a very kindly feeling shown by the 
 other churches, which, I am sure, will increase as they 
 know us better, and see that our sole aim is the up- 
 building of the kingdom of truth, righteousness, and 
 love." 
 
 About this time the following letter was received 
 from Rev. D. W. Morehouse : — 
 
 My dear blessed young Friend, — I say young, for it is impossi- 
 ble for me to regard you as old. Old in heart and spirit it is im- 
 possible for any one to be who is filled, as you are, with the enthu- 
 siasm of a faith that makes for everlasting youth. 
 
 I can never sufficiently thank you for the splendid work you did 
 for our cause in Plainfield. The society under your charge has 
 become thoroughly homogeneous, and, best of all, has had its 
 religious character distinctly formed. In all this you have made 
 your successor's success comparatively easy. I wish every new 
 society that I organize could be so fortunate as to come under 
 your shaping influence for a few months. And I shall hope that 
 it may be so in many cases yet, for I refuse to believe that rheu- 
 
 * How well we remember his ringing laugh, when a witty friend remarked, "That 
 was a singular reason why other people should give to the Plainfield Church, — the fact 
 that the society is composed of ' seasoned timber that never gives' 1 I know that all the 
 societies have more or less of that kind of timber, but it took you to utilize it in the way 
 of reaching other people's pockets." 
 
Last Days 255 
 
 matism is to be permitted to deprive us of the active co-operation 
 of one who is still one of our most vigorous as well as our wisest 
 preachers. 
 
 Yes, you will do " lots of preaching yet " with your lips as well 
 as your life. We cannot let you off. There are so few of us who 
 can make the preaching of our daily life match the preaching of 
 our lips that we cannot spare the eloquent persuasions of the one 
 preacher among us who can beat us all in that respect. So you 
 must not think of retiring from the good work yet. 
 
 But the sanguine hopes of his friends were not real- 
 ized ; and after a six weeks' stay in Lakewood, during 
 which he grew worse instead of better, his son George 
 came out to bring him back to the Red Cottage, 
 Milton. 
 
 By the doctor's advice he took his bed for a few 
 weeks of absolute rest, hoping that this means, which 
 had brought him effectually through what seemed a 
 more serious illness, would prove equally successful 
 this time. But it was of no avail. His strength stead- 
 ily declined, his suffering becoming more and more in- 
 tense. 
 
 July 19 he writes: "I have had a long life, enjoyed 
 many blessings, and now, dear Father, thy will, not 
 mine, be done. May none of the dear ones mourn 
 greatly for my going! We don't mourn over sunset, 
 however pleasant the day. Most of the time, as I lie 
 half dozing on my bed, I am amid the old play-grounds 
 of my childhood, on the river or on the sea. Time 
 and again I find myself sailing out of Scituate harbor, 
 which I did so often for seven consecutive years. But 
 I seem always to be bound out, headed toward the sea, 
 never coming in. The water is smooth, and the 
 weather serene and beautiful. I do not have to take 
 
256 Last Days 
 
 any pains to steer. The boat glides serenely in the 
 channel, and there seems to be some unseen hand at 
 the helm. The sea breeze is fresh, and the prospect is 
 beautiful. And so I sail on, but never seeming to 
 get out of the harbor. It is well. Why should I wish 
 to come back, when I never sail ' beyond his love and 
 care,' and when there are loved ones beyond the golden 
 shore who wait ? " 
 
 But many long weeks of pain were before him ere 
 his feet should stand on the other shore. 
 
 As evening drew nigh, he frequently repeated Dr. 
 Furness's beautiful hymn, commencing, — 
 
 " Slowly by God's hand unfurled, 
 Down around the weary world 
 Falls the darkness. Oh, how still 
 Is the working o£ his will ! " 
 
 The last time, only a few hours before his going away, 
 it was with feeble and faltering lips, and with many 
 mistakes, but he went on bravely to the end. 
 
 He was released from his sufferings on the morning 
 of Oct. 3, 1890. His earthly life was over, but there 
 remained in the hearts of parishioners and friends 
 affectionate and grateful memories, which found ex- 
 pression in loving words from churches and from 
 homes. 
 
 Memorial services were held in Norton, the first 
 church over which he was settled, in Plainfield, by the 
 society to which he ministered the last few months 
 and who had his latest word, in Meadville, in Atlanta, 
 in Walpole, in Wilmington, and in Plymouth. 
 
 On Sunday, October 5th, after services at his own 
 
Last Days 257 
 
 home and at the First Parish Church,, Milton, in the 
 clear, bright sunshine of a perfect day, the worn-out 
 body was borne to the field of peace. 
 
 The service at the Red Cottage was attended only 
 by the family and nearest relatives. The casket was 
 placed in the study so long hallowed by his presence. 
 No one who looked upon his face will ever forget its 
 perfect beauty, — the beauty of a completed life, the 
 beauty of one who already walked in the light of the 
 immortal day. 
 
 The silence was broken by Rev. W. I. Lawrance, 
 who repeated the twenty-third psalm and offered 
 prayer. 
 
 Rev. Roderick Stebbins made a brief address, and 
 read the following lines from Longfellow's " Bayard 
 Taylor": — 
 
 " Dead he lay among his books ! 
 The peace of God was in his looks. 
 
 " As the statues in the gloom 
 Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb, 
 
 " So those volumes from their shelves 
 Watched him silent as themselves. 
 
 " Ah ! his hand will nevermore 
 Turn their storied pages o'er ; 
 
 " Nevermore his lips repeat 
 Songs of theirs, however sweet. 
 
 " Let the lifeless body rest ! 
 He is gone who was its guest ; 
 
 " Gone, as travellers haste to leave 
 An inn, nor tarry until eve. 
 
258 Last Days 
 
 "Traveller! in what realms afar, 
 In what planet, in what star, 
 
 " In what vast, aerial space 
 Shines the light upon thy face ? 
 
 "In what gardens of delight 
 Rest thy weary feet to-night ? 
 
 " Lying dead among thy books, 
 The peace of God in all thy looks." 
 
 At the conclusion Rev. W. H. Fish spoke substan- 
 tially as follows : — 
 
 " As I rise, my friends, to say a few words, I do so 
 with the feeling that this has ever been a most sacred 
 and consecrated home, an earthly paradise, so near to 
 heaven that there is only a thin veil between. Not 
 alone in precious memories and sweeter affections 
 will he still live, but as a translated spirit, ever living 
 and loving on, a ministering spirit of consolation and 
 peace. 
 
 " Dr. Charming used to say that, if we had a new 
 sense, a new eye, we might perhaps see that the spirit- 
 ual world encompassed us on every side, and then 
 quote Milton's saying, that 
 
 " ' Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, 
 . . . both when we wake and when we sleep.' 
 
 And I shall love to think of this home henceforth as 
 one to which the angels come with their messages 
 of consolation and joy, — consolation to the dear ones 
 who remain and joy to those who went before. 
 
Last Days 259 
 
 " This is, of course, not the time and place for 
 eulogy. Fitting words will, no doubt, be spoken at the 
 church to-day, but they will, I am sure, fall below the 
 excellence and the merit of our brother ; and, after all 
 shall be said, his character and life will rise to our view 
 as the best eulogy he can possibly receive. 
 
 "When Andrew D. White stood by the open grave 
 of the sainted Samuel J. May, he looked down and 
 said, with affectionate and tender emphasis, ' There 
 lies the best Christian that I ever knew ' ; and Samuel 
 J. May and Mr. Tilden were one in spirit, — indeed, as 
 spiritual father and son in the gospel ; and I can say of 
 the blessed one whose outward form now lies in the 
 casket before me, as beautiful in death as in life, there 
 lies one of the best Christians I have ever known. 
 And may the rich consolations which the dear, as- 
 cended one has given to others through his long and 
 blessed ministry now be theirs from whom this loving 
 husband, father, grandfather, has been taken ! Still 
 may this home continue to open to the heavens and 
 the heavens to it ; and may all the members of this 
 family, from the oldest to the youngest, rejoice in the 
 hope of the glorious immortality which this loving and 
 faithful follower of Christ so long preached in the unc- 
 tion and love of the Spirit ! " 
 
 Another service was then held in the First Parish 
 Church, a few rods away, the body being borne up the 
 aisle by the sons, grandsons, and the physicians who 
 attended him in his long illness. The church was 
 filled with former parishioners and friends from Boston 
 and elsewhere. Many beautiful flowers, the loving 
 gifts of dear friends, covered the pulpit and casket. 
 
260 Last Days 
 
 Rev. Roderick Stebbins, the pastor of the church, 
 read passages from the Bible, and Rev. Dr. Briggs of- 
 fered prayer, tender, touching, and comforting. 
 
 The congregation then sang one verse of " Rise, my 
 soul, and stretch thy wings," a favorite hymn with Mr. 
 Tilden. 
 
 Rev. Dr. E. E. Hale then rose, and said, " All who 
 ever saw this man saw one who walked with God." 
 He spoke of his long fellowship and acquaintance with 
 the risen one, the influence he exerted during a few 
 months' sojourn in Plainfield, and the uplifting influ- 
 ence of his whole life. He said : " He was a lover of 
 nature and of the Word; a great reader, always 
 abreast of the times. He entered into the deepest 
 subjects; he had an exquisite sense of humor; he was 
 tender as a woman ; he rejoiced with those who re- 
 joiced, and wept with those who wept; his face was a 
 benediction. Truly, the presence of God was with 
 him, — not as a servant of God, but as a child of God." 
 
 Rev. Charles G. Ames said: — 
 
 "A beautiful thing has happened. When God's 
 light shines in a man's mind, it makes him wise. When 
 God's love enters the man's heart, it makes him good. 
 When the gift of expression is added, it makes the 
 man a leader and a prophet. Then through his life 
 and through his lips God is revealed. Such a life we 
 have seen, to such lips we have listened. The voice 
 that has fallen into silence was a voice of faith, hope, 
 and love, bringing us a message from the heavens. 
 
 " We can hardly be mourners, for this occasion is 
 more like a coronation than a funeral. We can hardly 
 speak of loss, so thankful are we for the gift of such 
 
Last Days 261 
 
 a life and such service. We have had him, we have 
 had all he could give, his long, full, well-rounded term, 
 — a noble day's work. 
 
 " 'Twelve long, sunny hours, bright to the edge of darkness, 
 Then the short repose of twilight and a crown of stars.' 
 
 " He was a great believer, and that made him a great 
 worker, like that early missionary whose motto was, 
 ' Expect great things from God : attempt great things 
 for God.' 
 
 " He lived in an eventful period, a period of much 
 transition in religious thought, and shared the changes, 
 yet held fast his trust and his consecrated purpose. 
 ' It is not an enlightened age,' said Lessing, ' but it is 
 an age becoming enlightened.' Our ascended brother 
 had served his generation by welcoming the growing 
 light, and by giving it to mankind. And the beauty of 
 it all is that he was as good as his word. He taught 
 with his persuasive lips the truth which had first been 
 made the law of his own life. He preached righteous- 
 ness, not as a theory only, but a vital principle, the 
 very kingdom of God set up in the soul of man. 
 
 " No, I will not speak of loss, but of richest gain, 
 now and forever secure. In closing a letter, he once 
 wrote, 'I am fraternally and eternally yours.' Yes, 
 he is eternally ours. Say this for your comfort : ' He 
 is eternally ours.' And we who were his fellow- 
 workers, and all who have shared his inspiring service, 
 will join with you in saying from tender, grateful 
 hearts, ' He is eternally ours.' " 
 
 The congregation then sang " My God, I thank 
 thee," this hymn being also a favorite. 
 
262 Last Days 
 
 Dr. Peabody was the next to add a word of apprecia- 
 tion and remembrance, saying : " I knew him as a stu- 
 dent, — perhaps earlier than any one present, — when 
 he was preaching for a year in Dover, N.H, and I was 
 settled in Portsmouth ; and I noticed even then his 
 fervor. No man loved souls more than he, and he won 
 souls. He loved humanity under any form. He spent 
 his life serving and imitating his divine Master, going 
 about doing good. 
 
 " His course of lectures to the students at Aleadville 
 on the ' Work of the Ministry ' was one of the most 
 important services of his life. I should be unwilling 
 for any young man to enter the ministry without first 
 mastering the spirit of these lectures." 
 
 Dr. Peabody closed the services with a brief prayer. 
 
 The assembled friends looked once more upon the 
 face so loved and venerated in life, so beautiful in 
 death, and the body was carried to the family lot in 
 Milton Cemetery, where, after a ringing word from Dr. 
 Hale and a hand-clasp from Mr. Ames to the nearest 
 friends, bidding them look " not into the open grave, 
 but into the open heavens," it was laid to rest. 
 
 He expressed the wish that his only epitaph might 
 be, "[A minister who loved his work." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 TRIBUTES. 
 
 Extracts from Sermons by Rev. H. H. Barber and 
 Rev. George L. Chaney. — Portrait. — Mr. Tilden as 
 Preacher by Dr. A. A. Livermore. 
 
 We append a few of the many tributes which were 
 paid to the memory of the risen one. 
 
 The Christian Register of Oct. 9, 1890, contained the 
 following notice : — 
 
 A CROWN OF GLORY. 
 
 " The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be found in the way 
 of righteousness." What a crown of glory it was on the head of 
 William P. Tilden ! To one who saw him rise in the pulpit it 
 seemed as if he had just come out of the transfiguring cloud, and 
 that some of the white mist hung about his radiant face ; for his 
 face shone as did that of Moses when he came down from the 
 mount. 
 
 There was no William among the twelve apostles ; but William 
 P. Tilden was a man whom Jesus would have chosen if he had 
 met him by the seaside. Indeed, the story of his life and entrance 
 in the ministry has a New Testament, Galilean picturesqueness. 
 It was the story of a young man born on the Massachusetts coast, 
 where he could hear the roar of the sea. He was the son of a 
 ship-carpenter, and there was no pulpit for him in his early vision. 
 His book education was wrought in the district school ; but there 
 was another education which he was wont to call his academical 
 
264 Appendix 
 
 course. It was such an education as Peter got on the lake of 
 Galilee, or such an education as he would have got in the nine- 
 teenth century if he had joined a mackerel fleet, like young 
 Tilden at the age of thirteen. " Many a boy," he said, "goes to 
 Exeter to prepare for Cambridge with less pride and joy, I have 
 no doubt, than I started off on my grand expedition, dressed in 
 my fisherman's suit, every article of which, from my red flannel 
 shirt to my pea-jacket and tarpaulin, was made by my precious 
 mother s own hands. 
 
 " For six or seven consecutive summers I continued in this 
 academy, learning some things — as is the case, I suppose, in 
 other seminaries — which had better be forgotten, but many other 
 things of a highly useful nature, not taught in other institutions of 
 learning. I really think I was a good fisherman ; for the summer 
 I was sixteen I was 'high line,' as it is called, beating even the 
 skipper, packing one hundred and thirty-four barrels, I think it 
 was, caught by my own hands." 
 
 " About this time I began with my father in the ship-yard, htill 
 fishing during the summer months while I was learning my trade. 
 I wish I had time to tell you a little about this part of my educa- 
 tion. The daily recitations in this my university course needed 
 no offset or balance of foot-ball, base-ball, boat-race, or other 
 gymnastics. We took all that the natural way. Our broad axes 
 and mauls were our dumb-bells, whip-saws and cross-cuts our 
 vaulting bars, and deck beams borne up the creaking stage on 
 our shoulders were our patent lifts. We worked from sun to sun 
 in those days, often having a steaming forehood to bend after 
 sunset to use up the summer twilight. But you 'literary fellers,' 
 whose education has been so sadly neglected in these directions, 
 probably don't know what a forehood means. And, even if I 
 should tell you it is a plank to be bent round the bow, set home, 
 buckled to, reined in, wedged hard down, clamped to the timbers, 
 butted and spiked, ready for boring and treenailing, I doubt even 
 then if I should give you a perfectly clear idea, so difficult it is for 
 scholars trained in different schools to understand each other's 
 terms.'' 
 
 Such was the apostolic school in which he was reared. Nor 
 was the Jesus call wanting. It came to him when he was twenty- 
 
Tributes 265 
 
 three years of age, through the faithful preaching of Rev. Caleb 
 Stetson, who ministered in the old parish church of Medford. 
 " My soul was awake now, hungry for the bread of heaven ; and I 
 found it. It seemed to me I had never heard such preaching 
 before. And I think I never had. He was in his prime. And 
 as he unfolded, Sunday after Sunday, the great central principles 
 of the Unitarian faith, — the fatherhood of God, the brotherhood of 
 man, sin its own sorrow, goodness its own reward, — it seemed like 
 a revelation from heaven, as if I had never heard them before. I 
 saw them from a new standpoint. They fed my hungry soul. 
 They gave me back the heavenly Father of my childhood, trans- 
 figured and glorified. Oh, how those truths sunned and warmed 
 and quickened my soul ! They arched a new heaven over me, and 
 put a new earth beneath my feet." 
 
 Like Paul, he was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. The 
 call came to him with an authority which could not be resisted. 
 His lack of advantage stood in his way. At twenty-five he had 
 to turn back to his simple school studies, and fit himself for the 
 duties of the ministry in a denomination with a high and exacting 
 standard of culture. He tells us how he struggled with Latin and 
 with Greek, how he chalked the Greek letters on a beam over his 
 work-bench, and how he struggled in translating Virgil, to the 
 merriment of his teacher. But at last he concluded to give up a 
 scholastic course. He came under the influence of that noble 
 man, Rev. Samuel J. May, of whom we may say, as Garfield said 
 of Mark Hopkins, that to know him was a liberal education. He 
 guided him into the precincts of the ministry, and he never had 
 occasion to regret the kindly, helpful counsel he gave to the young 
 ship-carpenter. 
 
 There are few lives which furnish a stronger contrast to the 
 ordinary traditions of preparation for a Unitarian minister than 
 the life of Mr. Tilden. His preparation was not of books, but of 
 men. His education was wrought in the school of life, and it was 
 there that his ministry was to be exercised. In the course of 
 time the ship-carpenter completely disappeared in the minister ; 
 and few of those who heard Mr. Tilden in later years could imag- 
 ine the disadvantages under which he labored in entering the min- 
 istry, at the age of twenty-five, with so slight a literary prepara- 
 tion. 
 
266 Appendix 
 
 As in the case of the early disciples of Jesus, Mr. Tilden's 
 career showed that the scholastic door is not the only door to the 
 Christian ministry. Unitarianism would have lost not a little, and 
 the Christian ministry still more, if it had not ignored tradition 
 and opened the way to one whom God had called. Many of those 
 who most enjoyed his preaching were men who had received 
 every advantage of a college training. It was a part of the 
 triumph of his life, after preaching in various parishes in New 
 England, to come to Boston and minister there for many years. 
 It was a ministry rich, devoted, benedictory. It was not confined 
 to the pulpit : it radiated in the home ; it was a constant influence 
 in the community. Mr. Tilden preached not only by the power of 
 his words, but by the power of his life. He was of a refined, poetic 
 temperament, a natural idealist ; and if, instead of working at the 
 ship-carpenter's bench, he had passed through college halls, no 
 man would better have appreciated the spirit of Greek literature 
 or life than would he. Some of his hymns written for special 
 occasions reveal his clear poetic vision. He early felt the force 
 of the Transcendental movement. He never lost the glow of his 
 early joy in God or the ardor of his faith in the brotherhood of 
 man. These great truths which inspired him at the first continued 
 to inspire him to the last. The}" were the essential truths of his 
 gospel. 
 
 His life was long and beautiful. He worked almost to the last. 
 It was his delightful mission in later years, after giving up his 
 Boston church, to go out and reanimate feeble societies in other 
 cities. 
 
 His last important public work was the course of lectures he 
 delivered at the Meadville Theological School, which were noticed 
 at length in these columns. This book is a beautiful memorial of 
 his own rich and fruitful ministry. His hoary head was a crown 
 of glory, and he did not wait to enter another life to wear a crown 
 of righteousness woven from his own noble character. 
 
 From Unity : — 
 
 Father Tilden — blessed be his memory! — will go in and out 
 among his brother ministers no more. On the morning of 
 
Tributes 267 
 
 October 3 he breathed his last at his home in Milton, near Boston. 
 From the ship-yard where he toiled as a carpenter, he won his 
 way as one of the sweet poets and gentle prophets of the Unita- 
 rian fellowship, growing to the last, fraternal and open as was his 
 spirit. Beautiful was his life, beautiful was the memory of the 
 same. All who ever knew him will find it a little easier to live in 
 the spirit for having touched his genial nature and basked in the 
 sunshine of his countenance. 
 
 The Unitarian Review had the following : — ■ 
 
 Some dim association recurring in connection with the recent 
 illness and death of our beloved brother Tilden led us to turn to 
 the files of an old correspondence, and we came upon the letter 
 from which the following extract is taken. The letter was writ- 
 ten during a visit to Samuel Joseph May at Syracuse, N.Y., — 
 about the time that we had heard, regarding Mr. Tilden, of the 
 very unconventional and bold act of inviting out of the audience 
 into his pulpit one of the people known as " Abolitionists " under 
 exactly the feeling expressed in the words, " I have need to be 
 baptized of thee, and comest thou to me ? " The passage in the 
 letter reads as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. May gave me a very interesting account of Mr. Tilden, 
 of Concord, N.H. It seems that the New Year's Sermon he 
 sent me was prophetic, and that he is going to leave the place. 
 About a third of the people there resist his independence of 
 speech, though he is a man of real genius, and has the most 
 charming spirit and character in the world, and though these 
 same persons say he is altogether the best Christian in the place. 
 He has been so much with the Abolitionists that some persons 
 are prejudiced against him. But (like Mr. May) he has such 
 beauty of temper and breadth of view and so sweet a moral 
 earnestness that he stands quite apart from the ferocious and 
 uncompromising technical people.* 
 
 " He was a ship-carpenter in Scituate, had been in Medford, 
 and joined Mr. Stetson's church; and Mr. May was first inter- 
 
 * That is, apparently, those who wore that name like a badge. — Ed. 
 
268 Appendix 
 
 ested in him by finding that he was the writer of some very beau- 
 tiful lines of welcome, when he preached his first sermon in Scitu- 
 ate. He was an admirable teacher ; and, after coming to know 
 him more thoroughly, Mr. May said to him, ' I do not like to 
 speak slightingly of any man's calling or occupation, but I am 
 sorry to see you where you are. You ought to be a teacher of 
 men. Why will you not devote yourself to it, and preach ? ' At. 
 this he was much affected, and confessed that it had been a secret 
 and haunting desire with him, which he never dared once to 
 speak of. But Mr. May encouraged him to cherish it, and come 
 to him for instruction and help. So for three or four years, while 
 working six hours a day at his trade, he went on reading, study- 
 ing, and conversing. Being a man of great humor and fun withal, 
 their conversations took a cheerful and jovial turn ; and many a 
 time Mrs. May would put her head into the study to inquire what 
 particular point of theology was the origin of that last burst ! 
 
 "At length Mr. May's place was unexpectedly left vacant 
 while he went over to help Mr. Sewall, and he called on Mr. 
 Tilden to fill it for him. He was startled, and begged off; but 
 Mr. May had been insidiously preparing his mind by leading him 
 to assert first very strongly the wrong and harm of societies de- 
 pending wholly on the minister, and the duty of other men to do 
 just such things: so he went. Mrs. May was very distrustful and 
 uneasy, not having half her husband's cheerful confidence in him ; 
 but she was altogether charmed and delighted, first with the mod- 
 est and beautiful apology with which he began, and then with the 
 exceeding fervor and beauty of his service. [The sermon was 
 one of Dr. N. Parker's or Channing's.] And soon after, when he 
 consented to preach his own sermons, his reputation spread at 
 once all over the country, and it was not long before he was regu- 
 larly employed to preach. Isn't that a beautiful way for a man's 
 vocation to come to him ? " 
 
 All the qualities which this letter describes will be recognized 
 as highly characteristic of the temper of the man, and of the long 
 ministry, covering just fifty years, which has made him affection- 
 ately known to so wide a public. He filled his place always with 
 a certain modesty and reticence which have kept him, in a degree, 
 in the shade compared with some more shining reputations. 
 
Tributes 269 
 
 And, indeed, there was no trait in him more marked than the 
 humility of spirit, touched with a kindly and cheery temper, that 
 made him eager always to see and own the best there was in 
 other men, whom he was alike ready to honor as his teachers and 
 to love as his brethren. Those lives are very few in which 
 through so long a record there is so little to recall not in entire 
 harmony with the first and best impression. 
 
 The Unitarian printed in full the address " From 
 Ship-yard to Pulpit," prefacing it with these words : — 
 
 The following is one of the most charming autobiographical 
 sketches we have ever seen. As it deals with the life of one 
 greatly beloved throughout our Unitarian ranks and far beyond, 
 and one whose recent death touches all hearts with unusually 
 tender sorrow, we are sure we shall do our readers a favor by 
 reprinting it. It was given as an address by Mr. Tilden at a re- 
 ception tendered to him by the New South Free Church, Boston, 
 on his seventieth birthday, May 9, 1881. The address deals 
 mainly with the earlier part of Mr. Tilden's life. It is a story 
 particularly inspiring to the young, — ■ quite as inspiring as any- 
 thing in the early life of Franklin or Lincoln or Channing or The- 
 odore Parker. And the story could not be more delightfully 
 told. 
 
 The Boston Post said : — 
 
 Mr. Tilden was beloved by his parishioners for his kindly ways, 
 and his thoughtful care of their welfare ; and the good that he 
 accomplished was of no small order. A forcible and interesting 
 speaker, he impressed all his hearers by a remarkable combina- 
 tion of vigor of thought with simple colloquial and yet impres- 
 sive style of expression. Whatever he said came from the heart, 
 and that feeling won the belief as well as the attention of the 
 listener. ... It has always seemed somewhat remarkable that, 
 having pursued his studies while at the mechanic's bench, and 
 never having had the advantages of a liberal education, he should 
 have ministered so acceptably to a congregation accustomed to 
 
270 Appendix 
 
 accomplished scholars in the pulpit. At the church on Church 
 Green, Summer Street, he was the successor of Orville Dewey, 
 one of the lights of the Unitarian denomination, who was himself 
 the successor of Alexander Young, F. W. P. Greenwood, Samuel 
 Cooper Thacher, President John T. Kirkland, and Oliver Everett ; 
 and to have ended the succession of able preachers in that church 
 was of itself no small distinction. 
 
 The Boston Transcript says, — 
 
 Possibly no other Boston clergyman has had more close, inti- 
 mate, and appreciative friends than fell to the lot of this recently 
 deceased pastor. 
 
 At a meeting of the Boston Association of Congre- 
 gational Ministers held Nov. 10, 1890, the following 
 record was unanimously adopted and ordered to be 
 placed upon the records, and a copy sent to the family 
 of the late Rev. W. P. Tilden : — 
 
 The Boston Association of Congregational Ministers, with a 
 deep sense of the loss it has sustained in the death of the Rev. 
 William Phillips Tilden, for a quarter of a century one of its 
 honored and beloved members, desires to put upon its records an 
 expression of its affectionate appreciation of one whom to know 
 was to love, who proved by his life the power of his faith, who 
 illustrated the worth of character, and has left behind him that 
 memory of the just which is blessed. 
 
 A minister of Christ because of the necessity laid upon him to 
 preach the gospel, he loved and magnified his office. Impressive 
 and reverential in manner, his word was with power. He never 
 sought notoriety by sensational effects, nor by levity "to woo a 
 smile when he should win a soul." It could never be said of him 
 that 
 
 " The hungry sheep looked up 
 And were not fed." 
 
Tributes 271 
 
 He did not bring great truths down to the popular level, but he 
 led his hearers' thought to the highest themes, by his own faith 
 strengthened theirs, and lifted them from what is low to what is 
 ennobling. 
 
 He preached a living faith. He moved in no settled grooves ; 
 he laid up in and brought forth from his treasury things new and 
 old; and, while his locks were white with age, his heart retained 
 the freshness of youth, and his mind was ever open to whatever 
 of new truth it might please God to reveal. Therefore, his 
 preaching was with power and unction from above. 
 
 His education and training made him familiar with men, and 
 gave him a knowledge of human nature that adapted him to touch 
 the inmost springs of the human heart. 
 
 Sensible of his loss in not having acquired a knowledge of 
 books in early life, he labored zealously to supply his deficiencies 
 in that regard, read carefully, and familiarized himself with the 
 best of the best literature, and so imbued himself with the fruits 
 of the best scholarship that, while the common people heard him 
 gladly, the learned and the teachers none the less willingly and 
 profitably sat at his feet and listened to his words. 
 
 For fourscore years he walked with God, and to many souls 
 was a ministering spirit, for he not only 
 
 " Allured to brighter worlds, but led the way." 
 
 In the many parishes where he was called to minister his mem- 
 ory will be tenderly cherished. Those upon whose heads his 
 hands have laid the waters of baptism, those who have sealed be- 
 fore him the vows which have brought to them life's happiest 
 companionships, those who have tasted his sympathy in the hours 
 of their most crushing bereavements, know that he was indeed a 
 son of consolation, and all those who were by him consecrated to 
 the work of the ministry will ever associate him with the most 
 sacred recollection of their lives. 
 
 He was a man of strong convictions, and could be a son of 
 thunder for truth and righteousness. He could fearlessly rebuke 
 sin in high places. He was an ardent defender of whatever cause 
 he espoused. He was a zealous defender of the doctrines he 
 
272 Appendix 
 
 believed. But so honest and sincere was he that even those who 
 differed from him respected him, and, though his frankness often 
 created opponents, it never lost him friends. 
 
 He possessed great friendliness of manner and cheerfulness of 
 disposition. The sunshine of his smile diffused light and happi- 
 ness. He loved men as God's children. He was one of those 
 
 " Who God doth late and early pray 
 
 More of his grace than gifts to lend, 
 And walked with man from day to day 
 As with a father and a friend." 
 
 It was no wonder, then, that in death his face shone, as if he had 
 talked with God, and had already received a revelation of things 
 unspeakable. 
 
 To his sorrowing family we tender our sincere sympathy in 
 their bereavement. The end of the upright man has been peace. 
 They have the comfort and assurance of faith that their loss is 
 his gain. While we sorrow with them that we are no more to see 
 his face, we rejoice that Unitarianism in Boston has had so noble 
 a representation, the Christian ministry so faithful a member, and 
 we ourselves so loving a friend. 
 
 We shall treasure his memory, and find in it an incentive to 
 greater fidelity to our own trust, an encouragement to renewed 
 endeavor, a rebuke to our faint-heartedness, a condemnation of 
 our self-seeking. Being dead, he shall yet speak to us of love and 
 truth, of God and duty, of Christ and faithfulness. 
 
 S. H. Winkley, Moderator. 
 Brooke Herford, Scribe. 
 
 Rev. Dr. G. W. Briggs, of Cambridge, said : — 
 
 A little while since a true preacher was carried to his grave, — 
 a man whose face was a benediction, whose words were inspira- 
 tion. When I stood in the pulpit at Milton and looked down 
 upon him, this text kept coming to my mind, " The beauty of holi- 
 ness." I bid farewell to a life-long friend and brother, whose 
 tongue will speak no more with its sweet persuasiveness, whose 
 
Tributes 273 
 
 pen will no longer write hymns of bright and triumphant faith. 
 But, although dead, he is speaking still with a deathless voice in 
 the hearts that have been gladdened by his presence and inspired 
 by his ministry. 
 
 Dr. H. A. Miles, of Hingham, writes: — 
 
 I count it among my precious blessings that I have known,and 
 appreciated Mr. Tilden. I shall never forget how our acquaint- 
 ance began. It was during his brief ministry in Concord, N.H. 
 I found on his study table all the then recent books on every sub 
 ject at that time interesting the public mind ; and I remember 
 saying to myself, This man will inquire widely, and will give the 
 vigor of his nature to the cause which seems to him to be good. 
 Dear man, how he fulfilled that prophecy, and rounded his life 
 accordingly ! 
 
 He had a merit as a preacher which distinguished him among 
 our ministers who deal so much in ethical, dogmatic, and logical 
 sermons, through the influences of our training, which we can no 
 more escape than we can escape our atmosphere. He addressed 
 the affections, with no extravagance and cant, but with winning 
 directness and manly earnestness. How welcome he was in all 
 the pulpits ! and the loving aureole which enveloped his person 
 drew strangers to him out of the pulpit. I was once in a railway 
 train with him, but he occupied a seat in the forward end, and I 
 in the rear of the car. I observed how every passenger was 
 looking at him, and those leaving or entering the train fixed 
 their eyes on him. Evidently, they did not know him personally, 
 but they were attracted by a genial humanity conspicuous at a 
 glance. 
 
 Spared the infirmities of old age, he lived long enough to 
 gather to himself the affections of thousands. 
 
 From Horatio Stebbins, D.D., of San Francisco: — 
 
 After all :he earthly scene is closed, it is grateful to look back, 
 as a traveller, weary a little with the day, stops to look at the glory 
 of the setting sun. What an inheritance do we all succeed to 
 
274 Appendix 
 
 who outlive such a one as Mr. Tilden ! We all feel that the 
 strength of the world is more solid, and the heavens more pure, 
 for such a one's having lived. He always seemed to me one of 
 the happiest men, though he bore the sorrows and wrongs of all. 
 He had such reliance on truth, virtue, and God that his joy to be 
 full needed only the sympathies of his fellow-men. Though I 
 have known him these many years, but not intimately, I have es- 
 teemed it a great privilege to see him as I have in the two 
 summers in which I have visited Milton. His fine spiritual in- 
 sight, his religious sensibility, the ease and strength of his moral 
 sense impressed me, and I thought that he had about as much 
 character as any man I ever saw. I know of nothing finer for 
 any human creature than to leave such an impression on tho^e 
 who come after him. 
 
 Extract from a sermon by Rev. W. I. Lawrance : — 
 
 One such, so dear to many of us, and so recently translated 
 that he seems even more than before a constant presence among 
 us, is doubtless in all your minds. 
 
 Nature did much for that face to make it beautiful, but the love 
 of God did more, and made it beam with a celestial light which 
 not even death could dim. Nature did much for the mind and 
 character, giving natural delicacy, courtesy, affection, for all ; but 
 the grace of C»od did more, and made every act, every word, 
 every influence, full of heavenly beauty- No idle words seemed 
 fitting, no coarse or critical words possible, in his presence. 
 Sitting, talking with him, the thoughts were drawn upward, and 
 only the higher things seemed worth speaking of. 
 
 From Mrs. D. C. Nash, of Wellesley Hills, Mass. : — 
 
 My first acquaintance with dear Mr. Tilden was when I was a 
 child and went to the public school in South Scituate, thence to 
 his private school for young ladies. He won the hearts of all his 
 pupils, manifesting the same Christian spirit then as always 
 through his whole life. 
 
Tributes 275 
 
 From Mrs. M. J. Thomas, of Newton, formerly of 
 Concord, N.H. : — 
 
 I talked with him of my many cares and burdens. It was 
 selfishness on my part, for he was such a burden-bearer for every 
 one in trouble that, when it got too heavy to bear alone, I was al- 
 ways sure of being comforted by his strong and helpful and lov- 
 ing counsel. 
 
 Mr. John Capen, of Boston, wrote : — 
 
 I gratefully recall his ready compliance with my request that 
 he should furnish a hymn for the Unitarian Festival. The first 
 was so fine and so cheerfully given that I had the hardihood to — 
 I won't say trouble him — but to apply to him several times after- 
 wards, and always with success. 
 
 All of these hymns I keep, and prize as among the best ever 
 furnished for that Festival. 
 
 Rev. N. S. Hoagland, of Olympia, Wash., formerly 
 a Meadville student, writes : — 
 
 I suppose many theological students really feel less ardor for 
 the ministry during the third year than they do during the first. 
 They have had so much to do with books and so little to do with 
 people that their affections and interests are apt to be for books 
 rather than for people : hence the ministry loses for them her first 
 charms. Mr. Tilden came into my school life at an opportune 
 moment. He renewed my first love. Whether in the pulpit or 
 the lecture-room, he revealed the power and grace of the minister's 
 calling. He himself was an object lesson of what he taught. He 
 won us not so much to himself as to a trustful, loving, consecrated 
 service of humanity. 
 
 At a memorial service held in Norton a paper was 
 read by Mrs. E. T. Witherell. She referred to the last 
 sermon he gave in that church on "Beautiful Gates." 
 She says : — 
 
276 Appendix 
 
 We could all assent to the beautiful in passing in at the gates 
 of childhood, youth, and manhood; but, when one said to him 
 after the service, " I cannot call old age and death beautiful 
 gates," he replied: "Well, when you are as old as I am, you will 
 see it. You haven't got there yet : that is all." 
 
 April 21, 1891, was to have been a happy day for us ; for on 
 that day Mr. Tilden, had he lived, would have celebrated the fiftieth 
 anniversary of his ordination. 
 
 A letter of June 30 says : " I am counting fondly upon being 
 with you, if I am able. At my age all is uncertain; but, if health 
 permits, it would be a great joy to me to keep the anniversary of 
 my ordination with the dear old flock of my first love." 
 
 Expressions of sorrow for his death, thankfulness 
 for his life, and of sympathy for his family, were re- 
 ceived from Norton, Walpole, Brighton, Atlanta, Wil- 
 mington, and Plainfield societies. The latter voted to 
 place a tablet to his memory in the wall of their new 
 church and hang his portrait in the room of their Bible 
 class. 
 
 At the memorial service held in Plainfield the 
 pastor, Rev. Hobart Clark, said : — 
 
 Whatever creed he might have held, with whatever Christian 
 fellowship he might have worshipped, men who had once known 
 him would say without a doubt, " He has eternal life." And why? 
 Because they have seen it in his face and heard it in his voice. 
 Not to-day only would men say this, as his outworn body is borne 
 to its last resting-place by tender hands to mingle with the dust 
 from whence it came, while he himself has sought a better habi- 
 tation. They would have said so at any time within these many 
 years. Meeting him upon the street, taking him by the hand, 
 looking into his untroubled eyes, and hearing him speak with 
 equal interest and equal confidence of things earthly and things 
 heavenly, they would have said, they have said : Here is a man 
 who already has eternal life. Here is one who knows God and 
 
Tributes 277 
 
 who lives with him from day to day. Here is one who is already 
 of Christ's fellowship, and who has, not a different life from other 
 men, but more life than ordinary men possess, even though his 
 pulse beat more feebly and his step be slow with the weight of 
 many years. Here is a man whose life is given freely to all man- 
 kind, and yet hidden with Christ in God. The ordinary questions 
 regarding what is sometimes called Christian salvation seem to 
 mean very little in the presence of such a man as Mr. Tilden ; 
 and those other questions concerning immortality are still more 
 out of place. Long ago his life had burst the boundaries of space 
 and time. It retained its mortality, — it was proud and glad to do 
 so, — but was already taking on its immortality. He knew no 
 more about the future than other men, but he knew God and was 
 already living in eternity. 
 
 Extracts from a sermon preached at Meadville, Pa., 
 Oct. 12, 1890, by Rev. H. H. Barber: — 
 
 " He was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith." 
 Acts xi. 24. 
 
 The remembrance of a good man's life is a perpetual lesson of 
 virtue, and the influence of a genial and consecrated spirit a peren- 
 nial cheer and benediction. There is no instruction in faith and 
 morals like the instruction of holy character, and no testimony to 
 the reality of religion like a man in whom it visibly lives and 
 rules. The good man is a " living epistle " of the Spirit, sealed 
 and sent by God for witness and counsel to all who know him. 
 He is an embodied gospel, to charm and cheer us on to new con- 
 viction of the beauty and the possibility of the righteous life. 
 Some portion of the Divine Word is made flesh in him anew, for 
 us to behold there the glory of God full of grace and truth. 
 
 We have the completed lesson of such a life to study and be 
 grateful for to-day. A week ago news came that our friend Rev. 
 William P. Tilden, after a long summer's illness, had passed out of 
 pain into peace. 
 
 To most of you he had been known but a few years ; but here 
 and in your homes, as a minister and friend, you felt his rare 
 
278 Appendix 
 
 quality and the cheer and lift of his genial and devout spirit. I 
 have known him near thirty years, since his hand was laid on my 
 head in the ordination prayer. Those who know his history 
 remember that he bore his witness for his convictions and met 
 his rebuffs and hardships for it, none more loyally, as none more 
 uncomplainingly and sweetly. He became a minister near the 
 spring-tide of that zeal for moral and social reforms in which 
 Channing led. It was a good school for courage in the young 
 prophet, as also for wisdom and endurance ; and Mr. Tilden was 
 one of those who learned all these lessons well, and witnessed a 
 good confession in loyalty of utterance, as also in accepting the 
 rebukes and penalties of his loyalty. It is well to remember that 
 the qualities that were so pleasing, and the address that had such 
 a fine charm in its open frankness, were not formed in the atmos- 
 phere of mere conformity, or the effort to please, but by com- 
 mending itself first to every man's conscience in the sight of God. 
 But it was his wish to serve; and this desire made him thought- 
 ful and painstaking in his work and in all his intercourse, and 
 developed in him that readiness of sympathy and frankness of 
 address which gave him so much power. He cared for the wel- 
 fare of men, and knew how largely it lay in the friendly aspect, 
 the kindly word, the encouraging tone. 
 
 Beginning as a fisherman and carpenter, he never came to take 
 the scholar's view chiefly or use mainly the scholar's methods. 
 The necessity that made him a preacher without much regular 
 preparation was largely overcome by the freshness and alertness 
 of his mind, which seized the vital points of knowledge, and went 
 straight for the substance of truth. He made up for the early lack 
 of training by a long process of self-training, which lasted his 
 whole life long. He kept his mind young and his zeal for knowl- 
 edge fresh, and few men came to be more intelligent as to current 
 thought and the great problems of life than he. 
 
 He believed that the minister should have spiritual experience 
 of that he was set to teach ; or, rather, he sought to be a religious 
 teacher because he had experience of the worth and the reality of 
 the religious life. And, then, he tried to grow in spiritual truth, 
 that he might have more to give. And so power grew with 
 seeking. 
 
Tributes 279 
 
 He did not care much for analysis in the things of the spirit. 
 Or, if he analyzed, he preferred the touchstone of moral feeling 
 to the measuring-rod of the logical understanding. Religious 
 speculation had his sympathy and even admiration ; but he warmed 
 its chilliest and brightened its cloudiest regions with the sun of 
 his devout imagination. He believed in the future of religion and 
 the future of the world, and held all to be secure in the hands of 
 God. He was a son of consolation, a guide to better faith and 
 cheer, a ray of the divine sunshine wherever he went. 
 
 " God buries his workman, but carries on his work." When Mr. 
 Tilden was seventy years old, a venerable brother wished for him 
 that his age might be like the launching of one of the ships he had 
 helped to build. And it was so. Almost to the last he was per- 
 mitted to rejoice and to help others rejoice in the work he loved. 
 No more welcome and helpful service could have been rendered 
 than that with which he repeatedly blessed our church and school 
 here. " Sealed Orders " he called the last lecture he gave us, to 
 emphasize the Divine leading and unfolding that come in the min- 
 ister's work and life. When his sealed orders came, his life 
 passed quietly down the ways of pain and peace, and out into the 
 unknown waters, to meet his Pilot face to face. 
 
 His life has been successful, even as the world counts success, 
 in the warm affection and growing honor and appreciation of 
 men. And that has been because it has also been a success in 
 the truer and everlasting sense of pure aspiration, hearty helpful- 
 ness, growing insight of truth, enlarging trust. So ; while it kept 
 its early loyalty, it grew, as was fit, more and more into the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 Extracts from a sermon preached in Atlanta, Ga., by 
 Rev. George L. Chaney, October, 1890 : — 
 
 The Christian minister whose recent death invites us this morn- 
 ing to thankful recollection of his life, if not the carpenter's son, 
 was himself, at first, a carpenter. The Spirit found him where it 
 had found his Master, in a carpenter's shop. There, in the whole- 
 some nurture of hand industry, he was hewing out the sturdy frame 
 which was to stand so well the attack and shock of Time. There, 
 
28o Appendix 
 
 in the society of workingmen, he was learning their way of think- 
 ing, as well as their handiwork, and laying the foundation for that 
 respect for labor and laboring men which made him through 
 life an intelligent and warm advocate of their just claims upon the 
 fruits of their labor. 
 
 I like to picture him as he must have looked then, if his youth 
 were any promise of his beautiful, strong manhood — a russet- 
 haired hewer of wood, with clear, blue-gray eyes, and strong, inci- 
 sive nose and chin, a mouth with purpose in its close, and with 
 sweet persuation in its loosened lines when speech or laughter set 
 it free. A hand and arm that could drive a wedge or shield and 
 pet a kitten, so strong so tender. A sort of Adam Bede in his 
 resolute, stanch manhood, his rage at all villany, his love of 
 beauty, and reverence for good. 
 
 And this is the man, hammering and chopping at his trade, 
 whom a wiser than man chose and called to be a minister of life 
 and spirit to his age. I do not mean that any audible voice out of 
 heaven summoned him or any unusual apparition ordained him. 
 He was called by his own spirit brooding over the sign of spirit 
 in the amazing world into which he had been born. Among the 
 causes which made this calling articulate and sensible to the ear 
 was that of Rev. Samuel J. May. 
 
 If spirits out of the body are suffered to attend and second the 
 labors of kindred spirits on earth, I can believe that something of 
 the gracious power and sweetness of Tilden was due to the con- 
 tinuing ministry of May. 
 
 Dear hearts ! true souls ! emancipated themselves because de- 
 voted to the emancipation of all who were bound bv sin, by preju- 
 dice, by ignorance or misfortune. How like a double star they 
 shine now in their heavenly Father's home ! . . . 
 
 A manly sturdiness upheld all the gracious sweetness of his 
 customary speech, as solid masonry upholds the vine that runs 
 over it. He lived so near the heart of Truth that I think he 
 sometimes wearied of the slow, painstaking groping after Truth 
 with which religious manuals and commentaries are filled. I 
 doubt if his mind ever knew the processes which make the first 
 principles of religion problematic. He enjoyed God too much 
 ever to doubt him. Scepticism makes no headway when the 
 
Tributes 281 
 
 heart-way has been with God. So this child of the Father who is 
 in heaven lived among us full of grace and truth. . . . 
 
 I know, from personal observation, how beneficent his ministry 
 in the New South Free Church was. He only gave it up when 
 the burden of years made him unequal to the work. Then, with 
 that readiness to go wherever he was most needed, and to do what- 
 ever he could do best, which distinguished his whole life-work, he 
 entered upon a ministry at large which extended from Meadville 
 in the West to Brighton in the East, and from Atlanta in the 
 South to Wilmington and Plainfield in the Middle States. 
 
 No longer a candidate for settlement in any parish, he never 
 assumed the temporary charge of a church that did not want him 
 to stay with them. Old churches usually have a weakness for 
 young men, but the older parishes of Meadville and Brighton 
 vied with young Wilmington and Plainfield for this aged minister. 
 There was nothing strange in it, for he was young in heart, a 
 man-child. That old rendering of that older Hebrew name de- 
 scribes him. All ages found in him their delightful companion. 
 With the sober he could show himself sober, and with the gay he 
 could be gay. His laugh was as whole-hearted as his sympathy. 
 It had all the freedom and abandonment of childhood, yoked with 
 manly good sense. It cleared the air into which it volleyed like 
 a joyous burst of thunder. If the sun could laugh, I think it 
 would laugh like that. Reverberating sunshine only could de- 
 scribe it. It was the hilarity of the soul. Such laughter as that 
 dispels disease, banishes sorrow, uplifts depression, rebukes mel- 
 ancholy, delights friends, and reconciles enemies. It is the oil 
 of gladness. 
 
 Again and again, when he was blessing us with his benignant 
 word and look, I have wished that he might have his physical 
 youth restored to him, — his soul was always young, — and that 
 he might take us for his colleague in the surely successful work 
 of reconciliation and good will to which he seemed called by 
 nature and consecrated by God. I wonder if in his youth he 
 could have been as winning and converting as he was in ripe old 
 age. I suspect that, like the earlier John, he was a son of thunder 
 in the days when indignation at earth's wrongs prompts the cry, 
 " Shall we command fire to come down from heaven and consume 
 
282 Appendix 
 
 them?" There are flashes of moral electricity, soul lightning, in 
 the record of his earlier pastorates which show that Love had her 
 chariot of wrath as well as her preparation of the gospel of peace. 
 This man was no preacher of smooth things, when the heart of his 
 people needed the cruel kindness of the surgeon's knife. But 
 he dipped his whip of small cords into oil and wine, and offered 
 healing even when he wounded. 
 
 He was a singer as well as a prophet in Israel. His hymns 
 had singular concinnity with the times for which he wrote them. 
 They chimed. He poured himself, as it were, so melting was his 
 sympathy, into the mould of the tune and, lo ! the musical poem. 
 Occasions of church reunion especially awoke his Muse. He was 
 never more happy in heart or pen than when he was giving ex- 
 pression to brotherly love. He was equally liberal in heart and 
 mind. Nature made him large-hearted : culture made him large- 
 minded. And by culture I do not mean the greenhouse variety. 
 An oak in a conservatory were not more out of place than he 
 would have been among the exotics of merely fashionable society. 
 Always a gracious and dignified presence wherever he might be, 
 he would have soared above the roof of any little establishment 
 that sought to confine him, even as I have seen in the valley of 
 the Yosemite a tree whose foot was in the centre of the house, 
 while its head, two hundred feet aloft, was conversing with the 
 Cloudy Rest and El Capitan. 
 
 He died untitled by the theologian's consummate degree ; but 
 few were better entitled to it, if Doctor of Divinity means, as 
 it should, an able teacher of divine things. He knew God. The 
 theologians only know about him. I find in him a first-hand 
 dealing with the Spirit. He witnesses the things whereof he was 
 a witness. He dignified all he touched. When he had said 
 grace, the baker's loaf became " bread which cometh down from 
 heaven." His benediction at the close of the service was as the 
 good wine kept till the last. Worshippers who worshipped with 
 him in the Church of our Father will remember how, on Easter 
 Sunday, "in the beauty of the lilies," his prophecy of immortality 
 floated to them across the sea of doubts and sorrows on which 
 their faith goes voyaging in this half-lighted world. Xor will 
 they ever root from their memories the expressions of his face, 
 
Tributes 283 
 
 the fathomless intonations of his voice, the cheer and pleasant- 
 ness of his society, the delightful encouragement of his listening 
 silence, and the cordial of his speech. He had the pastor's every 
 gift and calling. Whatever his theme, the effect was religion ; 
 and the homes he visited felt as if the church had come to them 
 and laid its hand in blessing on them. 
 
 Crayon portraits of Mr. Tilden had been hung in 
 three of the churches where he had ministered for a 
 longer or shorter time. 
 
 On the Sunday he preached his farewell sermon at 
 the New South Free Church, Dec. 30, 1883, the society 
 placed upon its walls his portrait, the work of Mr. F. E. 
 Wright. 
 
 In 1886 Alfred Huidekoper, Esq., of Meadville, Pa., 
 presented to the Independent Congregational Church 
 of that town a crayon by a local artist. 
 
 Early in the winter of 1891 Mrs. C. L. Heywood exe- 
 cuted for the Plainfield society another crayon, to be 
 hung in the new church soon to be erected. 
 
 It was the earnest wish of many old friends and pa- 
 rishioners that his portrait in oil might be placed in 
 the building of the American Unitarian Association, 25 
 Beacon Street, Boston. A movement for this object was 
 made under the direction of Mrs. A. L. Mayberry and 
 Mr. H. C. Whitcomb, and Mr. E. H. Billings was the 
 artist chosen. The large number of people who wished 
 to share in this testimony of love and appreciation did 
 so with the understanding that any sum in excess of 
 what was needed for the portrait should be given to the 
 endowment fund of the Meadville Theological School, 
 and the committee were enabled to make a handsome 
 contribution to that institution in which Mr. Tilden 
 was so much interested. 
 
284 Appendix 
 
 On the 29th of April, 1891, the formal presentation 
 took place in Channing Hall, which was filled with 
 loving friends. Dr. A. P. Peabody opened the service 
 with prayer, and paid a tender and eloquent tribute to 
 the early friend, the worker in every good cause, the 
 Christian minister. 
 
 We subjoin the following report from the Boston 
 Transcript, though it very inadequately represents the 
 beauty of the service and the spirit of the occasion: — 
 
 Dr. Peabody said : " Mr. Tilden was identified with the anti- 
 slavery movement and other great reforms, for he felt that to be 
 a Christian was to take to his heart everything that Jesus would 
 take to his heart. Strength and beauty were the great traits of 
 his character. He combined the strength of the Christian with 
 the beauty of holiness which might have belonged to a contented 
 life, but was never marred by the severe work which was his work 
 at a time when the public, to their shame, did not recognize the 
 claims of humanity which he recognized from the very first. But he 
 never rebuked sin with a spirit that did not manifest a love for the 
 sinner as well as for those sinned against. As for his private life 
 and character, all of you who knew him know how kind and sweet 
 and domestic it was. We may well be thankful that his life was 
 prolonged as it was. In behalf of the committee who have had 
 the matter in charge, and who have found their work earnestly 
 seconded by the artist, I present to the Unitarian Association the 
 beautiful portrait before you. I present it not as to a Unitarian 
 Association, but as to a portion of the one universal Church ; 
 for his was a name we do not want to confine within the limits 
 of a denomination. He was one of the kind of men that Christ 
 makes, — one of the men who would recognize as a Christian 
 every Christ-like man and woman, one who, when needing a defi- 
 nition of a Christian, only inquired if a man was a follower of 
 Christ." 
 
 Rev. Grindall Reynolds received the portrait on behalf of the 
 Unitarian Association, and said : " It gives us the deepest pleas- 
 
Tributes 285 
 
 ure an the part of the Association to accept this portrait. Our 
 walls are hung with the portraits of a great number of the saints 
 and heroes of the Christian faith, and yet I question whether the 
 portrait of any man more winning, more useful as a Christian 
 preacher and pastor, can be found on our walls than the portrait 
 we gaze upon to-day. I receive it with all the more pleasure be- 
 cause it is a real portrait, because it gives not only the face and 
 form, but the best expression of the man we respect and the man 
 we love." Mr. Reynolds described the work accomplished by Mr. 
 Tilden, and, continuing, said : " He threw into his power as a 
 preacher the power of a deep conviction and a great heart. I can 
 only say in conclusion that it will be a real joy to every one who 
 comes into this room to see this speaking portrait that reminds us 
 of the sweet, loving, devoted, strong man that our friend was." 
 The exercises closed with the benediction. 
 
 The following notice of Mr. Tilden as a preacher is 
 from the pen of Dr. A. A. Livermore, ex-President of 
 the Meadville Theological School, who says, " To a 
 stranger it might seem too laudatory, but to those who 
 knew and loved him it would appear to fall short of the 
 truth": — 
 
 REV. WILLIAM P. TILDEN AS PREACHER. 
 
 There are three factors involved in the problem of Preaching : 
 1. Natural Powers; 2. Education; 3. Religious Faith. In all 
 these respects Mr. Tilden was favored with superior advantages 
 in reality, whatever might be a superficial judgment to the con- 
 trary. 
 
 He was endowed by nature with a fine constitution ; built on a 
 large scale, sound, manly, and finely attuned. His physique was 
 cast in a generous mould. By hard labor as a ship-carpenter, in 
 his youth and early manhood, his frame was well developed, so 
 that he passed a hard working life in the ministry beyond the 
 allotted threescore years and ten. Tall, straight, and stately, 
 with a most benignant countenance, haloed in old age by silver 
 
286 Appendix 
 
 locks, he had a right royal mien and dignified address, which 
 would make him a man of mark in any company. 
 
 Nor was his intellectual and moral manhood inferior to his 
 physical endowments. He had a large talent of native good 
 sense, the faculty of seeing and judging of things as they were, 
 and a quick susceptibility to discern the true, the beautiful, and 
 the good, — the heritage of an unspoiled nature. While dignified 
 in bearing, his warm heart brought him in sympathetic relations 
 with others, and he wore no stiff professional garb to break the 
 charm. 
 
 It was said of one who was self-taught that he had a very poor 
 teacher, but Mr. Tilden was favored in this respect. He had a 
 good instructor, though not from school or university. He drew 
 from pure fountains within, and the aid he derived from his pastor, 
 Rev. Samuel J. May, was of the happiest kind. He had none of 
 the technical bias of learning to warp the native integrity of his 
 soul. 
 
 His bright and genial trust in the Fatherhood of God, and the 
 beliefs flowing from the central sun of theology, made him a cheer- 
 ing preacher. His sympathy and fine tone of brotherly love were 
 something better than eloquence, and captivated all hearts. His 
 liberalism had no savor of indifferentism, nor did it fossilize with 
 age. 
 
 He grew in power as he grew in age, and his last days were his 
 best days. He kept his mind ever open to whatever new truth, or 
 old truth with new effulgence, was ready to break forth from God, 
 man, nature, or the Bible. One of his characteristic sermons was, 
 " The Word of God is not bound." Few young men were as 
 young and fresh as he was in his faith, which sprang from his 
 heart like a fountain in the sunlight. 
 
 The pulpit was his " joy," if not his throne. He was in his native 
 element when he entered it. He loved to preach, and he brought 
 forth fruit in his old age. He never preached with more interest 
 and power than in his last years in Meadville, Plymouth, Brighton, 
 and Plainfield, where he drew most sympathetic hearers. 
 
 His whole service was characteristic. That single, arrowy Script- 
 ure phrase that began the service and went straight to the hearl, 
 and pitched the note of worship, the brief, tender invocation, the 
 
Tributes 287 
 
 reading of the Scriptures, hymns, prayers, sermon, benediction, 
 constituted one harmonious whole, each part helping the others. 
 It was a beautiful idyl, pure in taste, but strong in appeal and per- 
 suasion. 
 
 He was, as he said of another, a born minister. His good 
 genius found him out in the ship-yard. 
 
 Then his new faith was no capricious feeling or holiday senti- 
 ment, but deep as life, close as color to the leaf, vital as blood, a 
 gospel that was indispensable to the recovery of man and society, 
 or, in his favorite phrase, "to the uplifting of humanity to a 
 higher plane of action." Hence he was first and always a re- 
 former, and his pulpit a tribune to try and judge the questions of 
 society and the church, — anti-slavery, temperance, peace, purity, 
 politics, and every religious cause of human welfare. But he ad- 
 vocated his most incisive views with such a bland and lovable 
 spirit that none could justly take umbrage, in this respect follow- 
 ing the footsteps of his teacher, Mr. May. He never, as the cus- 
 tom of some is, put a stinging snapper on the whip with which he 
 chastised the sins of the day. He took no offensive airs of / am 
 holier than thou in his strong appeals. Though his opponents 
 might hate his principles, they could not, as was said of another, 
 but love the man. 
 
 In the volume of lectures on the ministry to the students of 
 Meadville, one of the best we have, Mr. Tilden gathered up the 
 wisdom of his long and devoted service in the pulpit, for the help 
 of his younger brethren. He gave little heed to barren specula- 
 tions, foreign to his own taste and useless to the needs of the 
 plain people. He took the truth which he had already tested and 
 found to be good, and applied it to the service of his hearers. 
 Many preachers are overstocked with pedantic and undigested 
 learning and given to unproved speculations. It is the old scho- 
 lastic habit brought down to the present day. 
 
 In illustrations he was refined and apposite, and mixed his dis- 
 courses with touches of a delicate and juicy humor, for he had a 
 poetical imagination. 
 
 While Mr. Tilden was open-minded to the unfoldings of new 
 truths or the fresh applications of old ones, he was no iconoclast, 
 but kept the even tenor of historical continuity, and respected the 
 
288 Appendix 
 
 Christian perspective of the chief commandments. He built on 
 Christ, and made his all-persuasive appeal from that " coigne of 
 vantage.'' As was said of another of our lately translated breth- 
 ren, he was better fitted to preach to the righteous than to sin- 
 ners. He could hardly believe men were as bad as they really 
 are. The atmosphere of his church was cheery, bracing, and 
 hopeful. The common people heard him gladly, as they did his 
 Master. "The bright heavens " was a phrase on his lips not sel- 
 dom. He was our Saint John to tike the eagle flight into the 
 heaven, and proclaim the glories of love. 
 
 His last years were rich with the ripe fruit and full harvest of 
 Christian experience and a long and loving walk with God. His 
 sermons were bright sparks struck from the anvil of truth and 
 righteousness. His prayers were "foregleams of immortality.'' 
 His theology was summed up in God as the heavenly Father, 
 Jesus as our leader, sin its own punishment, goodness its own re- 
 ward, Christianity the divine instrument, life the school, character 
 the end, and heaven our home. 
 
 Peace be to his beautiful memory ! 
 
9m 
 
 $& 
 
 
 m^M 
 
 
 ^&&± 
 
 
 nJ . "t%ȣ 
 
 | 
 I 
 
fiftlf