A commemorative sketch of Rev. E. P. Wild... with selections from his writings in prose and verse

Prefatory Note

It is not for purposes of conformity to the already established precedent of printing memorials to departed friends that this little volume appears. Consider rather that these selections are made public in order to pay a tribute to a revered memory, and to gratify the earnest request of appreciative admirers, to whom the example ot such a thoroughly devoted, gentle, faithful. Christian life, is ever a source of blessing.

Another motive has none the less actuated the compilers in their delicate undertaking. It has been the hope that the choicest and tenderest thoughts of the subject of this memorial, herein printed, may, in a measure, tend to the advancement of that Great Cause for which '^ he, being dead, yet speaketh," and to which he was altogether consecrated.

Harmoniously with the characteristic aversion to publicity known to have been entertained by the deceased, it was decided that this collection and sketch should be privately printed and disposed of to personal friends only.

It is fitting in this note to acknowledge with gratitude the services of those friends, who, by advice, assistance, and warm interest have supported this endeavor.

Payson S. Wild, Manchester, Vt., March, 1892.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Eulogy is not the purpose of this narrative, nor a detailed delineation or critical analysis of character ; neither is its design to add to the numberless biographies already before the public : but to offer a tribute of affection, in behalf of personal friends, to the memory of one greatly beloved by all who knew him, and the example of whose Christian life may yet be a stimulus to those who survive. It is always difficult to portray character justly. Words are ever inadequate to set forth the inner processes, and unveil the hidden life — its ambitions, fears, conflicts and final self-mastery. Yet certain personal qualities appear, which invariably win our confidence and affection and reveal the operation of divine grace, and these fruits, visibly borne, are the witness of the life within.

It may truthfully be said that the subject of the sketch, though sensitive to the appreciative judgment of others, and possessing the ordinary ambitions of men, not only never aspired to fame, but probably never imagined that the record of his life would have any special interest to those who should live after him. His instincts shrank from notoriety, and only in self-sacrifice for the good of others, which was the ruling aim of his life, would he have consented even to this memorial.

The natural order of events is followed, without attempt at grouping or analysis, as the more simple, suggestive and satisfactory to those for whom the sketch is prepared.

In the family record, May 7, 1829, is the date of the marriage of Daniel Wild, of West Fairlee, Vt. , to Huldah Washburn, of Royal ton, and July i, 1830, marks the date of the settlement of the Rev. Daniel Wild, as the second pastor of the First Congregational Church in Brookfield. His lineage is traced through the early settlers of Braintree, Mass., to the Pilgrim stock, and his father, a quiet, earnest Christian man, was one of the first settlers of West Fairlee, under the auspices of the Hon. and Rev. Nathaniel Niles. A graduate from the University of Vermont, in 1828, and, after further study, having received a license to preach from the Orange Association, he entered at the above date, upon a fruitful ministry of nearly forty years at Brookfield. His wife, Huldah Washburn, was a daughter of the Rev. Azel Washburn, second pastor of the Congregational Church in Royalton, a native of Middleboro, Mass., and a graduate at Dartmouth College in 1786, with one of the first honors of his class. Through six generations her ancestry is traced to John Washburn, the progenitor of all the families of that name in New England, who was probably the first Secretary of the Council of Plymouth in England, settled in Duxbury, Mass., about 1630, and, with one of his sons, subsequently became the original proprietor of the town of Bridgewater, Mass. One of her brothers was the beloved pastor of the Congregational Church in Amherst, Mass., 1826-32, and two of her sisters married clergymen, of whose sons three are now in the ministry.

To this young pastor and his wife at Brookfield, were born three children, a daughter, who died in infancy, and two sons, the younger of whom, the subject of this narrative, was born June 4, 1839. Twenty-five years later, writing upon his birthday with reference to that event, he said, ^^I shouldn't wonder if the clouds dropped a few tears on the occasion: they have dropped a good many over me since then — more than enough to baptize me into this world of sin. ' '

The infant, born as above, received from his parents in baptism the name of the eminent and godly Portland divine, Edward Payson. He was by no means of a robust constitution, and only the tenderest maternal cares brought him forward to a comparatively vigorous youth. Reticent and sensitive, yet bright and quickly receptive, the home was always his refuge, and the home training of just that nature as to develop certain critical and moral traits, as well as a strongly affectionate disposition, which were characteristic of his later life. Especially was his mother the object of his reverence and love. Those who heard it will never forget the positiveness and tenderness with which, before the council for his installation at Manchester in 1888, he referred his first conscious religious impressions to the incident, when he was but four years old, of unexpectedly finding his mother alone at prayer for her children on a Sabbath afternoon. One of the earliest of his conceptions found its poetic expression under the title of "Mother, Home, and Heaven^ The sudden death of his mother just at the beginning of his ministry he recorded as ^^ an event that changed the current of my whole life ; ' ' and the following tribute subsequently written, attests the strength of his affection, ^^Dear Mother! . . . her loving counsels and tender interest, her patient teaching and fervent prayers, can I lo A Commemorative Sketch.

ever forget them? . . . Her last words to me were the same ' Good-bye ' that she had always used in my infancy, . . . and I shall feel the stimulus of that ^ Good-bye ' till I meet her again on the other side. ... I love to think that, next to the Saviour's grace. Mother's love follows and blesses me in all my work." Other occasions also, the death of special friends and intimate school associates earlier in life, and later the death of his own children, bear witness to the depth and strength of his affectionate nature. The home friends, the incidents and experiences of his early home life, remained the objects of his deepest life-long attachment and memory. This single trait undoubtedly, coming more and more under the adjustment of a calm and rational faith, was no small element in rendering him apparently so happy, and so successful in overcoming difficulties in his own domestic life. In his earliest school life other traits which marked his manhood also began to appear and crystallize into permanency — conscientiousness, quick perception, easy acquisition, retentive memory, warm attachment to genial mates, an eye and taste for the beautiful, and withal a self depreciatory judgment. Music was his favorite pastime, in which he became proficient with little instruction, and the rythmical description of common events was not infrequent. He had also a keen sense of the ludicrous side sometimes even of serious affairs.

In March, 1853, in his fourteenth year, with several others, himself the youngest, he united with the church in Brookfield upon profession of faith, and though afterwards he sometimes doubted the reality of his understanding of that act, he yet regarded it as the crisis of his religious life.

Rev. E. P. Wild, D.D. ii

From that time his plans for the future began to enlarge and take a more definite aim. He entered enthusiastically upon studies preparatory for college at the Academy at Royal ton and afterwards at Randolph, and in 1856, at the age of seventeen, entered the Freshman Class in Middlebury College, with the purpose already formed to become a minister. In college his rank in scholarship was at once among the first, and by certain inimitable personal qualities he became a general favorite with his associates. His room-mate after the first year was the late Rev. Giles F. Montgomery, Missionary of the American Board at Adana, Turkey, to whom he became warmly attached, and to whose influence and counsel he acknowledged a frequent indebtedness. He paid a loving tribute to this class-mate after his death, in the columns of the Verinont Chronicle, the following words of which find a no less fitting application to himself, ^^his work was done modestly and gently, but it was a powerful w^ork. . . He blew no trumpet, he made no great stir, but he w^orked till he died. He was faithful unto death. And I know he must be one of those who will shine as the stars forever and ever." Among his college class-mates also were Dr. M. H. Eddy, now of Middlebury, Rev. Henry P. Higley, D.D., late of Beloit, Wis., Hon. E. B. Sherman, L.L. D., of Chicago, Dr. Henry F. Walker, of New York, and Rev. John K. Williams, of Peacham. His college experiences and associations were ever held as among the choicest and pleasantest of his life. His part at the Junior Exhibition of his class w^as the salutatory, and a philosophical oration at graduation in i860. Of a class of twenty he was the fourth deceased in thirty years.

Before leaving college he had his first experience in teaching in a winter's district school in Brookfield, near his home, which he undertook with characteristic self-distrust and shrinking, but in which he was successful. He also taught one term as an assistant in Craftsbury Academy, continuing the studies of his class as well as he was able.

The fall after his graduation he taught the Academy at Enosburgh, in which he had been preceded by his room-mate, Montgomery, and boarded in the family of the pastor, Rev. Cephas H. Kent. There he won not only the respect but the warm affection of his pupils, some of whom he was instrumental in leading to the Christian life. Following immediately the seclusion of college life it was a period of delightful expansion of enthusiasm and responsibility in new channels of activity, of which he subsequently wrote, ^^I think those days at Enosburgh were almost the brightest of my life spiritually, and I have longed many times for the return of that enjoyment.'*

His health having become somewhat impaired he now spent an interval of some months at home, during which he was employed, by vote of the town, to prepare a history of Brookfield, the manuscript of which, after completion, was deposited in the office of the town clerk, and was afterwards revised by himself for Hemenway' s Gazetteer, of Vermont. This was the first literary work of his life designed for publication, which he distinctly understood to be implied by the vote of the town, and the best labor of one season was devoted to it. It required the painstaking search of imperfect records, and the gathering and sifting of tradition from various and often obscure sources. It is but small commendation to say that thus has been preserved a faithful record of local events and of family history of his native town, much of which otherwise would now have passed beyond reach. Nearly twenty years afterwards this history almost entire, over another signature, appeared in print, and, when his attention was called to it, it is needless to say that his pride was deeply w^ounded and his sensibilities were not a little piqued by this apparent breach of faith on the part of the town.

During the progress and after the completion of this work he was also engaged, as far as his health would allow, in studies, somewhat miscellaneous, but preparatory to his chosen profession. In the winter and spring of 1862-3 he taught the village school in Pittsfield, and in May returned home, ' ' so sick and weak, ' ' to use his own language, ^' I didn't know as I would live a month." A period followed of great depression and intense inward struggle with reference to the future. '^ It seems," he afterwards said, ''as if Providence was driving me away entirely from my cherished hopes." Under the stress of ill-health and yielding to the solicitude of friends, for a time he wavered in his purpose and was persuaded to enter his name with the local physician as a student of medicine. This, however, was by no means satisfactory, and under a gradual improvement of physical condition, he soon resumed his original plan. His own satisfaction in this decision and final settlement of the question found characteristic expression in the words, ' ' It seems sometimes as if Providence was determined to make something of me ; I have tried to settle this matter solemnly and prayerfully as between God and myself alone, and I think Providence has brought me right at last."

14 A Comine77iorative Sketch,

His plans having matured he left home on the 19th of October to enter the middle class in the Theological Seminary at Bangor, Me. Taking the night boat the following evening from Boston and having a serious experience of sea-sickness on the passage, it is little wonder that, upon his arrival at Bangor on the 21st., an utter stranger, he should record emphatically his feeling of embarassment and loneliness. Yet he met a cordial reception and his first impressions of the situation were favorable. He entered at once upon the studies of the class, began to form congenial acquaintances, became the teacher of a class of young ladies in the Sunday-school of the First Parish, and generally found his views of life broadening, his purpose strengthening, his courage and enthusiasm increasing and his faith and consecration deepening. The themes of study and the atmosphere of his surroundings proved alike congenial and quickening. There appears at this time a marked illustration of a certain characteristic of his nature in the most intimate friendship speedily formed with one of his class-mates, which was not only mutually helpful during their seminary course, but was not forgotten in the wide separation of after life. He was always choice in his friendships by a certain instinctive and natural selection. " Too exclusive " he sometimes feared himself to be. ^^ I am always wanting some one friend," he was accustomed to say, ' ' and when he is found the rest are almost nothing to me." In this case there seemed an unexplained but reciprocal attraction, which found in each a worthy object, which, at least to this one of the parties, was the source of great stimulus in the aims of life. They were close companions during those two years of study, and as nearly inseparable as two seminary students could well be. In their walks about the city, in their recreations and excursions, as well as studies, very seldom did either of them have any other companion. And the survivor. Rev. Henry O. Thayer, of Limington, Me., after nearly thirty years in the labors of the ministry, now writes of the deceased : " That friendship I prized and it is still cherished. The manly tenderness of his nature, his self-poise — always calm, gentle, unruffled — his thorough goodness, his sincere devotion to his life-work, his walking closely with God . . . remain with me valued treasures of memory."

In February, 1864, his first sermon was preached at Kenduskeag, a suburb of Bangor, where the students of the seminary frequently ministered, and where he acted as a Sabbath supply for some weeks after. Within the next few months he also preached at Essex street, Bangor, at Orono, Holden, Rockport and Camden. It was the beginning of '* the proof of his armor ' ' for pulpit work, and it is interesting to note the various expressions of his feelings in his own words : '^ It seems like new business to me, and I fear I do not realize the responsibility as I ought to" '* It makes me feel small to preach." ^^ To think of my being a minister, of my urging to love the Saviour ! ' ' " I fear I am not humble enough." '' What if one soul should be led wrong and be finally lost by reason of some act or omission of mine ? " In his appearance in the pulpit from the first he manifested little of his real inward shrinking, but was uniformly self-possessed and apparently suffered little from embarassment. His earnestness and the simplicity, directness and force of his utterance rarely l6 A Cojjuneijtorative Sketch.

failed to command attention, and in his personal bearing he became a special favorite with the people with whom he was thus temporarily brought in contact.

In the latter part of May a party of six students, including himself, spent a vacation of ten days together on a camping expedition at Brigadier Island, down the Penobscot River, near Scarsport and Stocktown. They found the out-of-door freedom, the sea air and the change of scenery and environment, with visits to Fort Knox and other places of local celebrity, highly beneficial and all returned to study with new vigor. The following stanzas dated "Bangor, June, 1864," illustrate his frequent method of keeping in memory an unusual or pleasant experience, and perhaps will agreeably recall those vacation days to the minds of the survivors of the party :

** Where the mountain-tossed flood of our beautiful river Is lost in the broad rolling swell of the sea — WTiere the leaves of the trees with their musical quiver Salute the soft breath of the ocean so free — \Miere the sunny Jime days with the flowers are plapng And making all nature in lovliness smile — Where the merry south wind o'er the forests is straying, There's a sea-begirt gem, christened Brigadier Isle.

*' There's a lovely retreat on that wonderful island, Embowered in the green birchen fringe of the shore, Lying low in the shade of the dark, jutting highland That, sentinel like, guards the harbor before ; This low, sandy nook, with its charming location, From the bustle of business the sweetest exile — Is for poor tired students in summer vacation The gem of attraction on Brigadier Isle.

" The trees will grow old, nor awaken emotion, When the song of the zephyrs grows mournful and low — And the tide, the tireless pulse of the ocean, Still measure the days and the years as they go. But they'll not be forgotten 'mid life's sterner duties — When springtime makes nature in verdure to smile — In the hearts of the six who encamped 'mid it beauties Will linger fond memories of Brigadier Isle."

On the 23rd of June there came to him simultaneously the intelligence of the death of one of his dear Brookfield friends, killed in the army, and the notice of his appointment as tutor in his Alma Mater. The shock of the one was softened by the surprise of the other, yet the former so overshadowed the latter as to make necessary a postponement of his decision regarding it. In his conflict and confusion of mind at that time he wrote, ' ' I have caught myself wishing several times that I was back in the cradle — no care, no trials, no responsibility, no anxiety." ' ' Man does need something to lean on, and I can hardly imagine how one can live without a Saviour to support him." ^^ Perhaps these trials and anxieties were designed to draw me nearer to Him by showing me my own weakness, utter powerlessness, without Him. I'll take it so, and rely more on Him in the future."

Not only was the offer of the tutorship a surprise to him, but the position itself presented some special attraction, and at first he was strongly inclined to accept it, being encouraged in that direction by the advice of friends. The matter, however, was not finally settled until August, after his return home for the summer's vacation. Then, *^ as a matter of duty, viewing the two situations in the light of opportunities for doing good," and feeling that he ought not to lose any more time or shorten his seminary course, he decided to decline the position. " I will try to fill the the place, and only the place, my Master would have me fill," he said. And having thus decided he was gratified that his class-mate, Williams, promptly received and accepted the appointment.

On the 1 2 th of July, with others of his class, he received the usual three years' approbation to preach from the Penobscot Association, and shortly after went home for the summer vacation. Another question now confronted him, that of service in the army for a time in response to an urgent call from the United States Christian Commission. He decided to go with three of his seminary associates, and left home August 30th, via. Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore to Fortress Monroe, and thence to the headquarters of the commission at City Point. He w^as first assigned work in the colored hospital, and afterwards sent to the front to care for the wounded. These new and often thrilling experiences wrought intensely upon his mind and elicited his sympathetic activity to the utmost. Exposure brought on the ague and fever, and after six weeks' service he started again for home. On the way, at Boston, on Sunday, the i6th of October, he was too ill to leave his room, and arriving at home was seriously ill for some time. Recovering sufficiently he preached two Sabbaths upon invitation, at Royalton, and at this time wrote, ^^the work of the ministry becomes more and more my delight. ' ' Then, visiting Greensboro, he engaged there to teach the village school for the winter.

boarding in the family of his brother. This was a winter of hard work, with about fifty pupils, a large proportion of whom were quite advanced and mature, besides six in music. His special burden, however, was for the spiritual interest of those under his influence. The thought of possible unfaithfulness spurred him to unceasing effort. ^^ What in this world," he was accustomed to say, ^^can be more painful than to have to stare neglected duty in the face ? ' ' The joyful fruit of his personal effort was the quickening of religious interest in the community, and the, awakening and turning of several of his immediate pupils to a religious life. It was during this winter also, that, upon meeting a returned missionary, the question of personal duty with reference to the foreign field came up for final settlement. It was a question not unconsidered before, but held in abeyance hitherto, and now decided clearly in the negative, on account of physical unfitness.

Closing his term of school he returned to Bangor in March, 1865. Very soon, in view of the near completion of his studies, he received overtures for settlement from the churches both at Randolph and Craftsbury. At first his inclination was towards the former place, with something of an aversion to the latter. Returning, however, in May, to look the ground over, circumstances providentially determined him in favor of Craftsbury, which call he at length accepted. He afterwards wrote, " Providence did not leave me in doubt, and if ever I felt sure that God smiled upon my efforts to enter the ministry it was when He decided me in favor of the Craftsbury call." The absence of ambitious self-seeking is conspicuously manifest in his desire and readiness to take up at once his chosen work wherever the opportunity offered. ^^ Ambition shall not hinder me " — '' pride shall not stand in the way'* — were the words of his heroically Christian resolve. His loyalty also to his native state is to be noted, in that his first, as well as subsequent fields of labor, notwithstanding the probability of wider fields elsewhere, was among the churches of Vermont.

Preparations were now made for his marriage and settlement after he should complete the seminary course. His graduation took place in July, in a class of twenty, among whom he was " called the first writer," and whose diverging lines of service from that time separated them from further special intimacy. August 2nd was the day of his marriage, at Braintree, to Miss Ruth S., daughter of Deacon John S., and grand-daughter of the late Rev. Ammi Nichols of that town, to whom he had early been engaged. His reminiscences at this time were exceedingly tender, his consecration thorough, and his hopes enthusiastic. There was no delay in entering upon his work. On the nth day of October, 1865, he was ordained and installed pastor of the Congregational Church in Craftsbury. The sermon on the occasion was preached by the father of the candidate, the venerable grandfather of his wife offered the ordaining prayer, and his only brother, settled the previous year at Greensboro, gave the right hand of fellowship. It was to him a solemn and a joyous day — ^^ the beginning of the realization of all my hopes, the consummation of my years of study. ' '

Scarcely had he begun his pastoral work when, early in December following, there came the shock of the sudden death of his mother, which event was more important than

Rev, E. F. Wild, D.D. 21

perhaps to others it might appear, in its influence upou those first years of his ministry. He seemed to carry the thought of her presence and prayers with him constantly, though never alluding to it except in the presence of most intimate friends. There was the agonizing, bitter struggle and final submission of the sensitive heart which lifted him to new courage and faith, and prepared him, all unconsciously, for his immediate work, as well as for the deeper waters of subsequent trials. The labors and fruits of this first pastorate of nine years at Craftsbury, are but partially understood by the record of the steady increase of the congregation and Sunday-school from the beginning, the thorough repair of the house of worship, two or three periods of revival enjoyed without the use of extra means, at least sixty infant baptisms and the increase by about forty of the resident membership of the church. The first fruits appeared in several hopeful conversions and additions to the church almost immediately after his settlement, and the following year was marked by a revival ^^ in which more than thirty persons were hopefully converted," adding greatly to the strength of the church. Again in 1869 there was a special work of grace, '^ still and powerful," and another in 18 70-' 71, commencing in a single district of the parish, by which the church received valuable additions of heads of families, and from which followed the erection of several family altars. In these abundant and untiring labors, in which, from his peculiar temperament his personal sympathies were so strongly enlisted, he unconsciously overtaxed himself, and to that extent in the summer of 1869 he was in danger of an utter collapse both of body and mind. Immediate and entire absence and rest became

2 2 A Conmiemo7'ative Sketch,

imperative. It was a period of intense anxiety to his friends, and of the most utter abandonment and mental gloom to himself. Some of the expressions of his pen at this time — for he revealed himself more fully in writing than in words, often taking a poetic form — are pathetic beyond description. In September, in the quiet of a chamber at his father's, in Fairfield, whither he was taken for change and rest, he wrote, '' for some weeks there has been seemingly something in the way so that I can! t think as clearly or as strongly as I want to. It is because I am not well.'' " O, my nerves ! my poor, frail body ! When shall I be better able to control it, or be rid of it entirely?" " If God wants ipy service further in his cause. He'll make me able to work, and if not it is just as well. I don't want to die unless He thinks it best, yet there is nothing dreadful to me in the idea ; indeed, I am afraid I sometimes more than half long for it. I don't want to be a burden to everybody, least of all to my dearest friends." In such utterances, at intervals, is revealed his condition at this time — the physical and nervous exhaustion and the resulting mental unsteadiness and struggle, only relieved by the strong undercurrent of faith still clinging to its unseen anchorage. The following extracts, also from lines written at intervals in his private journal during this period, it seems fitting here to introduce, as illustrative alike of the experience through which he was then passing, and of certain characteristic traits incidentally exhibited: —

" I thought I loved Thee, Father, loved thee well ; And strove myself a loving child to prove — But Oh ! these bitter conflicts who can tell ? These fierce heart struggles — ^how they try my love !

" Dear Father, may I thus complain to Thee — Thus whisper all my sorrow in Thine ear ? Wilt Thou in tender pity smile on me, Thy presence grant, and my petitions hear ?