Reminiscences

Author's Preface

These "Eemembrances" are written, not with any wish for their being published, — but at the earnest request of my children, and of a few dear friends. I have tried to state facts only, very plainly, avoiding as far as possible any expression of my own opinions.

Preface

In a conversation with Bishop Paret a few days before his departure on a trip abroad in the autumn of 1909, I suggested that he write for publication a book of " Reminiscences" during his vacation. He demurred on the ground that while such a book would undoubtedly be a source of pleasure and gratification to his immediate family and intimate friends, he feared it might not be of commensurate profit to others. I insisted, but he would make no definite promise. During his sojourn at Nice, France, he wrote me that he had begun the book, and I wrote him renewing my request and emphasizing it as follows: "I do not agree with you that these Reminiscences should not be prepared for public use. As I have before told you, in my judgment they would not only accomplish a great deal of good, but would, also, constitute a very important part vi PEBFAOE

of the history of the Church in the Diocese of Maryland. This is not only my view, but the view of many Churchmen in the Diocese whose judgment you are accustomed to respect in all other affairs ;and sol hope that in the work you are now doing upon these Reminiscences you will have in mind at least as their ultimate end, publication for general use ... as a matter of self -protection you should consider this view of the case, because, as you know, if work of this kind is not done by a man himself whose life and labor have been such as yours, an attempt at it is made by someone else, with a result that is generally disastrous, and frequently humiliating.' '

This letter was not without effect, and upon his return he placed the manuscript in my hands, saying: "I have complied with your wish, and found great gratification in the exercise it afforded me. Here is what I have written. It is purely from memory. Bead it at your convenience, and make such use of it as you may determine. If you should decide to publish it you will do well to have it edited to the extent of verifying

PREFACE vii

dates, amounts and other more minute particulars.' '

Upon reading the manuscript I found it so characteristically natural, so pleasing and profitable withal, and containing so many things of personal and historical significance to the Diocese of Maryland, that I decided to publish it with only the necessary revision. "What of the latter has been done is the work of the Bishop's grand-daughter, Miss Emily Paret Atwater, who served him in the capacity of private secretary for many years, and whose confidential intimacy with the Bishop, and perfect knowledge of all his affairs, personal and official, peculiarly fitted her for the task she has most lovingly and loyally performed.

The influence of the life and labor of Bishop Paret will be felt in the work of the Church in the Diocese of Maryland for all time. My desire is that his memory shall live commensurate with his influence. This book, which is a living epistle of the man, is published with the hope that it will find its way into every household among us, and be the medium of transmitting to our children, viii PKEFACE

and to our children's children, not only the name, but, also, something of the wisdom and worth of William Paret, the sixth Bishop of Maryland.

John G. Murray, Bishop of Maryland.

Baltimore, Md., March, 1911.

Contents

OHAPTEB PAGE

Author's Preface iii

Preface v

Introduction

In sending out these "Reminiscences" of Bishop Paret to the public, a few explanatory words may not be out of place. Having been associated since childhood with my grandfather as his private secretary, and having had some share in the "earnest request" for the writing of the Reminiscences, the task of editing them was, after his death, entrusted to me. It was a task reverently accepted, and, I hope, completed with impartiality as well as care.

Although most of the incidents related have long been familiar to me in the form in which they are given, still, recognizing that the book was written entirely from memory, I have tried to verify them, in so far as possible. In many cases, and particularly with regard to his early life and work, this was, of course, impracticable, and should an occasional misstatement be detected, I can but crave the reader's indulxii INTRODUCTION

gence by calling attention to the Author's Preface in which he states that these "Remembrances" were not written primarily with a view to publication.

The work was begun and finished during the year that Bishop Paret spent abroad, following the consecration of his coadjutor (1909-10), and the manuscript was written out entirely by hand in that clear and beautiful chirography so familiar to his correspondents.

Although this trip was taken at his express wish, and largely for his own benefit, he soon grew homesick for his diocese, his people, and for his daily office routine. Too infirm for much sight-seeing, time hung heavy on his hands, and so it was that the writing of his Reminiscences, although undertaken with reluctance, soon became of absorbing interest to him. Far from home, with no books or papers of any kind for reference, these Eeminiscences of a man eightyfour years of age are remarkable for their clearness, conciseness and faithfulness to the smallest detail. Conversational in tone, yet pastoral rather than personal, they furnish

INTRODUCTION xiii

a far better portrait of the author, both as a man and a priest, than any words of another, no matter how laudatory they might be.

This pastoral rather than personal character of the book accounts for the omission of much concerning his family life. The few such incidents mentioned relate more to his ministry than to his home. Yet none who knew him, — those nearest to him least of all, — could doubt the deep tenderness that lay beneath his quiet, and often reserved, exterior for the members of that home-circle. What he has seen fit not to dwell upon, in the more intimate relations of life, could not with propriety be supplied by another hand, and, save for a few brief notes, I have endeavored to respect his silence.

It is less easy to explain the absence of any but the slightest allusion to the meetings of the General Convention. It seems probable that Bishop Paret may have intended to give a more accurate and comprehensive account of the deliberations and legislation of this Body, with which he was so long and so closely associated, than could have been done from memory, and so left the whole xiv INTRODUCTION

subject practically untouched until his return home.

But that home coming was to be a very sad one, and any additions to the Reminiscences that he may have planned were never made. Mrs. Paret's health had begun to fail in the preceding summer, and soon after their return to Baltimore, in September, 1910, she was taken to the Johns Hopkins Hospital, where she passed to her rest on the 15th of January, 1911.

The illness and suffering of his devoted wife cast a cloud over her husband's life that was not to be lifted. Leaving the more arduous part of his work to him whom he so affectionately calls his " Brother Bishop,' ' — he resumed some of his official duties, and, in the hope of diversion, spent many hours at his desk. But his anxiety told on his health, an attack of la grippe developed into pneumonia, and without knowing that his beloved wife had two days before preceded him, — he entered upon his reward January 18th, 1911, in the 84th year of his age, and the 26th year of his Episcopate. His clear and vigorous mind remained unclouded to

INTRODUCTION xv

the last, and the sense of humor, so strongly discernible in the Reminiscences, never deserted him. Almost his last conscious act was a participation in the Holy Communion ; and death found him calm and unafraid. To him the words of St. Paul seem peculiarly fitting: "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the Faith.' '

In concluding, the editor wishes to express her grateful appreciation for much valuable assistance given in the editing of the Reminiscences by the Rt. Rev. John GL Murray, D.D., Bishop of Maryland, the late Rev. Dr. Eccleston, one or two others of the clergy of Maryland, and to Mr. Lawrence C. Wroth, Librarian of the Maryland Diocesan Library.

Emily Paret Atwater.

Baltimore, Md., March, 1911.

EARLY DAYS AND SCHOOL-LIFE

Chapter I Early Days And School-life

I was born in the City of New York on the 23rd day of September, 1826.

My grandfather was Stephen Paret, from France, the hamlet of Latour near Serillac, in the department of Correze in France. He left his home as a soldier in the French Army, — serving for a time in South America, — but after his service found his way to New York City where he became a successful merchant.

His son, John Paret, was my father.

My mother's maiden name was Hester Levi. Of her ancestry, I know only that she was of Jewish origin.

The -home of my parents was on Greenwich Street (No. 221), near Barclay Street. It is now all given up to business, chiefly wholesale, but was then a place of pleasant family homes.

Though not the eldest born, the death of an older brother made me, while yet in early childhood, the oldest living son in a family of twelve children. Remembrances of those earliest days are very few and indistinct. One incident comes back vividly. When I was about four years old, before I had been to school, or had received any lessons, my mother found me one day, seated on the floor, with a book in my lap and my hands. To her question, — "What are you doing, William?" I answered, "I am reading." " Nonsense, child," she said, "you can't read; let me see if your book is not upside down." But it proved to be right side up. "What book is it?" was her next question; and I gave the name rightly. Amazed, she asked, "Do you really mean that you can read ? Let me hear you read on that page. ' ' And I read, where she pointed, several lines, clearly and distinctly. It always remained to her and to the others a problem of wonder, how I learned my letters and the use of words. But I am quite confident that I have the explanation. My two sisters, one of them two years, and one five years older than myself, were in the habit of studying their lessons in the large room where I was free to stay and play. The younger sister was just learning to read ; and I think that by watching and listening I must have caught unconsciously much that they were getting by careful labor; and my love for reading and books became strong.

My father had an excellent, though small, collection of books; and before I was ten years of age I had gone through almost all of them. At eleven years I had read all of Shakespeare, Anquetil's Universal History in seven volumes, much of Byron, much of Scott, and was able to repeat, from memory, the "Lady of the Lake" from beginning to end. This love of books and reading never left me. It had much to do in determining the course of my after life.

When little more than six years old, I was sent to a boarding school in Connecticut, at South Farms, about four miles from Litchfield. There were no railroads in that direction ; and I remember well the very slow journeys in the clumsy small steamboat to Bridgeport or Norwalk, whence we took an old-fashioned stage coach, hung on straps and swinging wildly. It was almost or quite an all day's ride. The master of the school was Mr. Samuel M. Ensign. Just across the green was the Congregational Meeting House (they did not call it church), where we all had to go on Sundays under charge of Miss Ensign, the Master's sister. Of the worship or the preaching I can remember nothing. But I well remember the dreary coldness; for there were no stoves or fires in the church. We carried two or three little foot-warmers containing ashes and coals, one for Miss Ensign, and two for the boys to use in turn. And to keep us awake and out of mischief she occasionally passed around cookies and fennel seeds.

By the old-fashioned reckoning of those days, each day began not in the morning, but at sunset. The Master's father (old man Ensign, we called him) would take his chair on the green before the house, on Saturday evening about fifteen minutes before sunset; and while we were at our free and

EBMINISOENOES 5

noisy games lie was watching the sun. Presently he would give warning, " Almost sunset;'' but we played on, until in a loud, clear voice he shouted, " Sundown!" and instantly play stopped, noise gave way to stillness, and Saturday faded suddenly into Sunday.

The order was reversed the next evening ; again "old man Ensign" was in his chair on the green. The boys, not daring to be noisy, gathered around him, eager for their freedom. "Sundown yet?" we would ask, and his answer would be "not quite;" till at last, as we watched, he gave the word, "Sundown," and with our yells and shouts of play, Sunday broke instantly into Monday.

Of the incidents of school life I have retained very few. I was there in the year 1833, at the time of the great shower of "Shooting Stars." The people of the neighborhood thought that the last day had come; and our schoolmaster shared that thought, so we were all waked out of sleep and taken into the larger room for a prayer meeting of half an hour. Another incident was strongly fixed in my mind by ten weeks of childhood's suffering. We had ginger cookies, one apiece, on Sundays only. My cousin, John Dunkin, at school with me, had found and taken a robin's nest with four young birds. I bought one of the birds, promising to pay ten cookies, one each Sunday. Alas ! in three days my bird was dead, but John remorselessly insisted on full payment. So for ten weeks I had to pocket my cookie at the table and carry it out and watch while he ate it without giving me a crumb.

I have a memorial of those school days in a letter written from school to my mother, when I was about eight years old. She carefully kept it, and gave it to me some fifty years later. It was as follows :

"Dear Mother, —

"Your kind letter with one to Mrs. Ensign was duly received from which I was pleased to hear that my dear parents brother and sisters were alive and well. When I think of you I feel sorry for John who can never again see his parents or receive from them their kind embraces. I am studying

History from which I learn that it is a narrative of the events which have taken place in the world it sets before us striking instances of virtue heroism and patriotism it opens the hidden springs of human affairs and by the principle of emulation it incites us to copy such noble examples by presenting us with the vicious ultimately overtaken and punished for their crimes it also has an important connection with Theology which teaches the perfections of God and the duty which we owe to him. I would write more if I could but I have not any time. Mr. Ensign told me to tell you that I have wrote 12 letters but he would not let any of them go because they were blotted I remain

"Your Affectionate

' ' Son William Paret. ' '

It was evidently not entirely original. I do not think it was dictated to me, but probably giving the substance of something fresh in my mind from some book I was studying.

I do not think I could have remained at that school more than two years ; because at nine or ten, I was again in New York City, attending the Grammar School of Columbia College on Murray Street. There I completed the full English and French course, but did not take Latin or Greek, it being my father's purpose to put me into business life as soon as possible. Among the teachers I remember most kindly Prof. Henry Drisler who afterwards became a famous scholar; and very unkindly, Prof. Charles Anthon, then Professor of Latin and Greek in the College. He taught us not mentally, but physically, in his use of the rattan.

During those Grammar School days my relations with my father were very helpful and pleasant. He was an enthusiastic fisherman, and had his private boathouse on the wharf at or near the foot of Barclay Street. Every pleasant Saturday, or other day free from school, he would take me with him for a fishing trip in or near the harbor ; at Ellis 's Island or Governor's Island, or Bobbin's Reef or the Kill von Kull ; and so began the love for fishing which clung to me all my life. But it was not in fishing only that we were brought close. As I was one evening

BEMINISCENOBS 9

reading the daily paper, I turned to him and asked, "Father, what does the inside of a theater look like ? " " What a question ! ' ' he answered. ' ' Don 't you know % " " Certainly not," I said, "I have never been in a theater. " A few days after, on my coming from school, my mother told me to put on my Sunday clothes, because my father wanted me to go out with him in the evening. And he took me to the famous Park Theater for my first enjoyment of that kind. It was an unusual occasion, the benefit of one of the most popular actors ; and as such it had gathered all the theatrical celebrities ; Macready, Charlotte Cushman, Placide, the Burtons and others. The chief play was " Hamlet.' ' On our way home my father asked whether I understood and enjoyed it. "Yes, greatly," I answered, "I had read it several times, but never so well understood it, as I do now. " " Well, ' ' he said, ' ' if you will promise that until you are twenty years old, you will not go to a theater without my knowledge and consent, I promise that whenever you want to go, I will go with you, unless there should be some strong reason to the contrary." That promise was kept, and it saved me from what might have been low and harmful, and cultivated my taste for higher and better things. And from this and other things I learned from him the principle which I afterwards followed with my own sons; keeping them near me by sympathy and participation in their enjoyments.

When I was a boy the city covered but a very small portion of the ground it now occupies. Above Tenth Street there were very few buildings. At Gramercy Park, now below the center, it was all bare fields or woods. I remember a Sunday afternoon walk with my father and one of his friends. We went far out beyond streets and houses, and on a hill covered by rocks of mica slate, my father said to his friend, "I have bought a good sized lot here for one hundred dollars." "Why, John," said his friend, "I did not think you could be so foolish. It will never be used. The city will never come so far as this."

"Not in my time," was the answer, "but it will be in my children's time, and I have bought it for them."

This must have been about the year 1835. Thirty-one years later, in 1866, my father died, leaving all his estate for the use of my mother during her life. Some ten years after my two brothers, co-executors with me wrote that my mother needed larger income than she was receiving, and that they had an offer of twenty thousand dollars for that lot. They asked my consent. The lot was sold ; and within three weeks the purchaser sold it again for eighty thousand dollars. If in the market now, it would be worth probably a million, for it is just at the Southern entrance to the Park.

FEOM THE TWELFTH TO THE TWENTIETH YEAB

Chapter II From The Twelfth To The Twentieth Year

When I was about twelve years old, I was taken from school and placed as store-boy in a dry goods jobbing house in William Street; salary for the first year, nothing; for the second year, fifty dollars. I had a mile and a half to walk from home, the family having moved to a new home still on Greenwich Street, but near the corner of Beach Street. My duties were to open and sweep out the store very early, save twine by tying and rolling it in balls, and help to pack and mark goods for shipping. But in the second year, because I was found to be a good penman, and good at figures, one or two of the less important books were entrusted to my keeping, and I was soon promoted to be assistant bookkeeper.

In my sixteenth year, my father took me as his own assistant bookkeeper, and from being assistant I soon became chief. It was a place of responsibility, since beside his New York house he had branch establishments in Mobile, and in Columbus, Georgia, with a partner in each.

I am sure that the business experience and training thus gained have been of very great value to me in all my after life.

I continued as bookkeeper until almost nineteen years of age ; but during those years came a great change in my life. In one of the summer vacations, I went with my oldest sister to visit friends in Palmyra, New York. In our company also was one who was called my cousin, though really no blood relation ; Miss Maria G. Peck, of Flushing, Long Island, whom three years later I married. There being no railroad available beyond Syracuse we there took what was called the Packet-boat on the Erie Canal; a boat entirely given up to passengers, and it was crowded. There were eating accommodations and berths for sleeping, but after the berths were filled, mattresses were spread on the cabin floor and many of us took our rest there. That part of our journey took about twenty-four hours and was quite interesting. On the Sunday after our arrival, my sister, a very strict Presbyterian, said, "We will go to the Episcopal Church this morning, with our friends, out of respect for them." It was my very first glimpse of the Church and of the Prayer Book. For though living in New York for nearly eighteen years, I had never crossed the threshold of an Episcopal Church, and had never even seen a Prayer Book. My mother, being a regular attendant at a Dutch Reformed Church (though not a member of it), I had gone with her every Sunday. It w r as the most rigid form of Presbyterian Calvinism, giving me the idea that as an unconverted person I had no part or lot in religion. I was an outsider. I must wait till I should be converted, and I could do nothing to help to that conversion. It was all foreordained. When the time came which God had fixed for it, if it came at all, I should be converted, and I must wait. The prayers offered by the minister were all for the saints, for those who had been converted, not for me. They passed over my head.

They may have prayed for me, as a sinner, but they did not expect me to pray with them.

That first Prayer Book Service was a revelation to me ; the beginning of my first earnest religious thoughts. From the first sentences, through the Exhortation and Confession, it was a call not for the saints to pray, but for sinners to pray for themselves. I said to myself at once, "Why this is worship in which I can take part ; worship for the sinners even if not yet converted." And before that service was ended I was taking my part in it heartily. In the evening my sister said, "Now we will go to our own Church." And I answered, "I am going where I went this morning." I never went back to the Presbyterian worship. On my return to New York I went with my mother to the door of the Dutch Reformed Congregation, and as leaving her I turned away she asked in surprise, "Are you not going in?'' And I said, "No, Mother, I am going to an Episcopal Church."

Soon came the feeling that I could and must do something for my soul's sake ; and I began to study the old Puritan Book, Doddridge's "Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul." I tried to work myself into the feelings there pictured ; the meditations, the convictions of almost agonizing despair, at last giving place to hopeful raptures. The effort was a failure, and in my difficulty I sought advice from a clergyman of the Church, the Reverend Dr. Haskins of Williamsburgh, Long Island, telling him of my efforts and my failure to work myself up to and through the vivid emotions there described as necessary to a "change of heart." And he soon convinced me that the necessity was not for the emotions, but for the reality of a wish and purpose to serve God. Some months later, after careful preparation, on Easter day in the year 1844, I was baptized in St. Mark's Church, Williamsburgh ; and on the same day, there being then no Bishop for that diocese, I was, as "ready and desirous to be confirmed," admitted to my first Communion.

In connection with that baptism and my life in the Church, arose the only serious disagreement between my father and myself.

Some weeks before the day fixed for my Baptism, I told him of my purpose ; and he at once and in the strongest manner forbade it; declaring that until I should be of full age I was under his authority and bound to obey. Now my father, as lovable and honorable a man as I have ever known, had been turned strongly away from all religious relations and worship. He was, what is rarely found in these days, a thoughtful and earnest-minded deist. Believing that God is the Father and Creator of all, he stopped there, not accepting the Gospel as a Revelation, nor acknowledging Christ as a Divine Redeemer. He long after gave me the reasons for this position; saying that in his early life he had been greatly wrought up in the excitement of a great Methodist revival ; but when the temporary excitement was past, a reaction came. He felt that it was all unreal, and in his disappointment he turned not only against that particular phase of religion, but against all the Christian religion which it claimed to represent. He had been baptized in his infancy, in the Church of Rome, his father and ancestors in France having been all members of that Church. But from the time of this unhappy revival, until almost the last of his life of some seventy-four years, he never attended any place of worship, and would not permit one of his children to be baptized, or to go to Sunday School, while he left them free to go to Sunday services with their mother.

My proposed Baptism was therefore in absolute opposition to his wishes, and, his prohibition was declared most absolutely. I again sought pastoral advice, and was told that my duty to God was above my duty to my father ; and so I told him. He insisted that he must see the clergyman, and they had an interview the day before that fixed for the service. At the close of their conversation, my father called me before them, and said very calmly, " William, you must choose between this clergyman and myself. You know what I wish, and what I am sure I have a right to claim. Which shall it be ? ' ' And my answer was, " Father, I must be baptized." And I went, feeling that the relations between my father and myself must afterwards be very unhappy. But in this I was mistaken. On my coming home the next day everything was as pleasant as if there had been no disagreement. And the matter was not even mentioned until many years after. "When I had been for some time a clergyman and had to study such cases from the standpoint of a pastor, I went voluntarily to my father and told him that I knew now I had been badly advised, and that my duty would have been to yield full obedience to him until I should come to full age. But during all the interval his confidence and affection for me, instead of being diminished, grew stronger.

Some six months later came a second difference of will between us. I was not a lover of business. Though an accurate bookkeeper I disliked buying and selling. My mind turned not only to books, but very strongly towards the ministry. I told him of my wish to give up business, take a college course and become a clergyman. In his strong objection to this, there was none of the arbitrariness he had before shown; only reasoning and persuasion. He told me of his wish and plans that I should be with him in business ; that he would take me into partnership so soon as I should be of age. And he asked me to consider it a month before deciding. At the end of the month I told him my purpose was not changed. He then offered to give me one of his southern business establishments, or to give me, and sustain me in, a large plantation which he owned in the State of Georgia, and asked me to take another month's consideration. I did so, but did not change my own plans. He yielded pleasantly, saying he could not let me go till I had brought in my next younger brother, Henry, and had trained him to be ready to take my place. After that he would provide all my expenses through College, and until my ordination, "but after that," said he, "you know I cannot continue to help."