USA > New Jersey > Somerset County > Peapack > History of the Reformed Church at Peapack, N.J. : with biographical sketches > Part 4
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During that Winter a large class, of which I was one, was drilled in the Latin and Greek grammars as I never knew a class to be on any other occasion. This, I think, is the true way to teach. Drill, drill, drill. Make the subject not only so that the pupil understands it, but make him familiar with it.
April 1st, 1847, I went home to work on the farm, and made a full hand that Summer. I have often thought that it was a very wise decision of my father which led him frequently to say to his sons, " You must learn, and actually do, every- thing that is to be done on a farm, and then you can always make a living. If you can get an edneation, and be more use- ful by it, and make your own living by it, too, it is well ; but if
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you can't, the land will always give you a living if you know how to work it."
That Fall I did a great deal of carting -rails from Potters- town, lime from Clinton, and stone (for building the Central railroad) from New Germantown. During this Fall, too, I resolved to learn the carpenter's trade. I had said nothing about it to any one, but had carefully thought the matter over and come to the above conclusion. Being at work in the. barn one day, opportunity offered for me to speak to father abont it. He and I were alone, and I deliberately told him of my pur- pose, setting forth, in glowing colors, the pecuniary advantages. I have often thought of the wisdom of his course with me in this matter. He quietly heard me all through, and then said, " You have made up your mind fully to this, have you ?" I answered, " Yes, sir." " Then," said he, " you are too young yet ; you must stay at home and work two years on the farm." I thought, " If that is the case, I'll not make so much money after all." It was never again alluded to till I was over forty years old, when I told of my youthful ambition to learn the carpenter's trade.
TEACHING.
That Fall I became assistant teacher in the grammar school at New Brunswick, in my brother John's place. I maintained that position one school year, studying meanwhile to prepare for college. November 30th, 1848, the day I was seventeen years old, I united with the Second Reformed Dutch Church of New Brunswick, then under the pastoral care of Rev. D. D. Dema- rest, D. D.
In September, 1849, I began to teach the " Cedar Grove " school, near my father's. My brother John had taught it for
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six months previously. I taught it, with two or three ,brief interruptions, for two years. These were happy days. I have always looked back to this time as a happy portion of my life. The exuberance of youth, the intercourse with my patrons, which was very wide and frequent, and the attention which I received as a successful teacher, all combined to make those two years pass very pleasantly. I enjoyed my teaching days very much. I often said, while they were yet fresh in memory, that if I had not been impressed with a sense of duty to go on and prepare myself for a higher sphere of usefulness-the Gospel ministry-I would have been content and happy to make teach- ing my life business.
STUDENT LIFE.
In the Fall of 1851, having resigned by position as teacher, I again went to the grammar school at New Brunswick, and finished my preparation for college. I entered the Sophomore Class, " half-advanced," in February, 1852. My brother John had graduated in 1851, and was teaching in Somerville. Noth- ing of special note occurred while I was in college. Here, as in the primary schools, I was not one of the best, nor was I among the poorest, of the students. According to grade, I stood number six in a class of twenty-two.
My brother Abraham entered the Sophomore Class of Rut- gers College one year previously. He sprained his ankle a few days after the year began, and, consequently, was obliged to defer his college course one year. He came again when I went to the seminary, and entered that institution as I left it.
After graduating, I went, in the Fall of '54, to the Theo- logical Seminary. I do not know when I resolved to study for the ministry-do not remember that I ever had any trouble
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about it. It was understood by myself, and all my father's family, that I was to be a minister.
In the Theological Seminary, as before, I maintained a fair standing.
At the close of the first year-it was on Commencement Day-John and I started on a tramp through the country. Our objective point was abont one hundred miles away, in Ulster county, N. Y. Father took us one morning to Mountainville -- twelve miles. We walked to "Schooley's Mountain " that forenoon, and remained there till four P. M. the next day. We then walked to " Budd's Lake," a distance of nine miles. The next day we were on the lake, fishing. Not having much suc- cess, we resolved to have a sail. The man who furnished the boat could not go along just then, but we went, nevertheless, both being profoundly ignorant of the management of a sail. Then occurred the most trying scene of my life-my brother John drowning, as I supposed, within a few rods of me, and I powerless to render him any assistance. But he described the scene in " Good Words," a magazine published in New York in 1868, and I copy his description :
" We were out sailing, my brother and I. We were on a lonely lake. There was a dead calm. We concluded to try a bath. Imprudently we did not lower the sail. At last, as in sport I plunged into the water from the stern of the boat, a stiff breeze suddenly sprang up. When I rose to the surface the boat was fast running from me. My brother was in the boat, but did not know how to manage the sail, or even to lower it. I swam after it, but in vain. I turned toward the shore, but it was far away. I rested myself by swimming slowly upon my back, and struck out again for land, but it was still far away. My strength was fast going. Again and again I sank, and rose again by strong effort. Again and again I sought to find bot-
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tom with my feet, in vain. Shouts of encouragement came from my brother in the boat, as my deep sobs of exhaustion and agony fell upon his ear. He was karning to manage the rudder. He had succeeded in turning the boat toward me. The breeze held. He was fast drawing near. I should turn again and swim - to- ward the boat. I did ; but she seemed still so very far away, and I could not hold on longer.
" Already long ago it would have been a relief to lie down ou the bottom of the pond and die. The physical agony of that exhaustion, the choking sensation upon the breast, is horrible even in the recollection. It was only duty that kept me strug- gling. Duty was stronger than love of life. I saw the boat near at hand. I saw the brother who, in that short time, had become a sailor to save a brother's life, stand at the prow, rope in hand, ready to throw to me. I put forth all my strength, but my sagging head could no more be kept above water. I sank with his image firmly impressed upon my memory. I seem to see him now as he stood between me and the horizon, at the bow of the vessel driving down toward me, with tiller tied fast, assuming in his faith that the breeze would hold, as it did. He stood with one foot upon the gunwale, the wet rope, with which we had been sporting at the stern, coiled in his right hand, and raised above his head, in act to throw.
" I have often wished I was a painter, that I might paint hita as he stood. Expectation, anxiety, firmmess in every fea- ture. He-but I was speaking of myself. I sank as I saw him. I must perish within ten seconds of rescue! But there was no help. I did sink suddenly. As I was wondering how long it might be before I should reach the bottom, something touched me. I felt the rope. It was wet. He had thrown it where I sank. It had reached me. I was saved ! But imme- diately my hopes were dashed again. I dared not let go the rope. I positively had not the strength to take it again. I could not put one hand before the other. I should drown with the rope in my hand. But my body would be recovered, and that would be a comfort to those who loved me. I clntched
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tighter the rope. It glided through my hands. He was pull- ing it in ! I had not thought of that. Firmly I held on. My head came above water. I felt my brother's warm hands upon my shoulders, and I knew no more. A half hour afterwards I was begging to be let alone, lying in the bottom of the boat. Rest! rest! I wanted nothing else. I had it. Kind friends ministered to me. The next day but one I was well."
My brother never knew how earnestly I prayed that I might learn to manage the sail, and that he might have strength to " hold on " till he was rescued.
In 1855, my brother John came to the seminary. He had taught one year at Somerville, two at Flemington, and one at Trenton, since graduating; so that I preceded him one year in preparation for the ministry. He had something of a struggle in deciding that it was his duty to prepare for the ministry ; but I was very glad when he thus decided.
It was my second year in the seminary when, within a few weeks of the beginning of the year, John and I were both summoned home, on account of the severe illness of my brother Aaron. He had typhoid fever, of a very virulent type. We stayed with him six weeks, when we left him convalescent. It was the ouly time I ever lost a minute, even, from " Lectures," during my seminary course.
My seminary course was not marked by any special inci- dents. I pursued the regular routine very systematically, but I came very near leaving the seminary, and foregoing the minis- try, when in the middle year. I had suffered very much, for several months, from throat disease, and I very much feared whether I would ever be adapted to, or able to perform, pas- toral work. I thought, too, the state of my throat might be evidence that I had mistaken my calling. I stated my case to
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Dr. Campbell. He, in his decided manner, said, "You pay your own way, don't you ?" " Yes; but I'll never be able to preach, after I get through." "You don't know anything about that. Go ou, and get the education, anyhow ; you will be so much better prepared for any other business; and, if you pay your own way, no one has a right to say anything about it, whether you preach or not." He knew nothing about my other trouble. After this, I went on, and said nothing more about it. But since my first year in the ministry, I have never had any trouble with my throat, though it was twenty-four years the 7th of July, 1881, since I was ordained.
THE MINISTRY.
My seminary life was ended. I had passed my final examination before the Board of Superintendents of the Theo- logieal Seminary, and received my professorial certificate. Some time before an agreement had been entered into with a committee of the Peapack consistory to become their pastor as soon as I was licensed by the Classis of Philadelpia, to which I belonged.
When making a farewell call upon Professor Van Vran- ken, who was noted for the friendly interest he took in the students, especially about the time of their settlement, he con- gratulated me on the prospect of going so soon to work, and of being settled so near my own home and New Brunswick also.
He gave me at that time what I have always esteemed of greater value than what I received in any other hour I ever spent with a professor.
We were talking of the work of the ministry, and I ex- pressed myself as fearful. He said " What's the matter ?" I answered, " Judging from the manner I've got along in the
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seminary, I can write a sermon a week, and can deliver it ; and if need be, I can write two of them." " Well, then, what's the matter ? " said he. I replied, " Is that the whole work of a minister ? I can preach ; but to go to every man, woman and child in the congregation and say, are you a Christian, and if not, why ? this I can never do." He said, " Let me give you a little of my experience. When I was settled in Monmouth county, a good Presbyterian neighbor one day said to me, ' How do you get along ? I hear every now and then of what you have said to different ones, but I can't do it. I want to be faithful to my people, and when I call upon them, try to shape the conversation so as to give it a direct, personal, religious cast, but they talk me off, and talk me off, and talk me off, and I go home again disheartened and disgusted, because the afternoon is gone and I have done nothing, either by way of direct pastoral work, nor sermonizing.' I said, ' There's all the difference in the world between you and me. When I. make a pastoral call I don't " beat round the bush," and " try to shape " the conversation at all. I just begin. They know what I come for, and I begin right off. Of course I ask after each member of the family first ; make some remark about the weather, perhaps, but then begin.' Now I advise you to do this. Don't be afraid or ashamed. Ask God's help, and you won't fail."
I was ordained and installed July 7th, 1857, about a month after leaving the Theological Seminary. The house was full, and all seemed glad to welcome their new pastor. My inau- gural sermon on Ezekiel xxxiii : 7-9, was ready for the next Sabbath ; immediately after which I addressed myself to the business of calling on my people at their own homes. There were about seventy-five families, and one hundred and thirty members of the church.
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When this was done I began the real work of the pastor- calling on my people at their homes to talk with them about their soul's salvation. In the field, in the shop, or by the road- side, wherever opportunity offered, Christ and his great salva- tion were my themes. While doing this, great care was exer- cised not to introduce these subjects at inopportune times and places. While carrying on this kind of pastoral work, visiting the sick was specially done ; when, at the same time, my pulpit preparation was always considered as of first importance.
I cannot express the joy I felt in doing this work. Preach- ing was a great pleasure to me-never a drudgery. And the pastoral work, which I dreaded so much, and the fear of which, at one time, came near causing me to leave the Theological Seminary, after two years' practice came to be one of my most delightful employments, and it has continued so to this day. I record it, with gratitude to God, that I never feared the face of man, nor was insulted by man, when bringing to him the Gospel message.
The most of my congregation were farmers, and I mani- fested the interest I felt in their agricultural pursuits, often talk- ing with them about the erops and the manner of cultivation. I have no doubt that this had very much to do with my being always so cordially received by them, and yet I never let this interfere with my pulpit preparation. " My pulpit was my throne," and I allowed nothing to interfere with it.
Soon after leaving college I resolved what course to pursue in the delivery of my sermous if I should ever preach, and I have never seen cause to change the resolution then made. The occasion of thus early marking out this course was the follow- ing : A man of middle age gave a Sabbath afternoon lecture in a school-house, where I was present. He extemporized his dis-
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course. But he faltered, and hesitated, and labored so much in his speech that it was absolutely painful to hear hinr. I do not know whether he was used to extemporizing or not, but I resolved then, that if I ever preached I would always write my morning sermon and extemporize in the afternoon, and I have not varied from this rule twenty times since. The reasoning which prompted the rule was the following: A man who never writes must ultimately repeat himself and become dithise, while he who never extemporizes must sometimes appear to great dis- advantage. A public speaker must sometimes be called upon to speak unexpectedly.
One day, in the Theological Seminary, some of my class- and I among them-were speaking in a discouraged strain to Dr. Ludlow, saying that " we should always have to write what we had to say." He encouraged us by saying, pleasantly, "Ah ! young gentlemen, my only fear is that you will learn to talk too soon." How often have I thought of this, when going to my Sabbath afternoon lectures! I have said to myself, " If Dr. Ludlow could hear you this afternoon, he would say his fears were already realized." After two or three years' practice in extempore speaking, I had gained great freedom in that kind of address. After that, I had no fears when extemporizing. I knew that I could talk on, and say something edifying to the congregation. But when I first began to extemporize, the thought often came to my mind, " This is too bad ; you ought to have something better than this to give those who wait so attentively on your ministry." But I persevered ; with what success has been already told.
LAID ASIDE.
It was in September, 1873, when I resigned as pastor of the Reformed Church at Peapack, N. J. I had been settled
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there a little over sixteen years, and had enjoyed uninterrupted, harmonions, and very pleasant relations with it, during that time.
I had had congestion of the spine for five or six years, mani- festing itself, first, in an unsteady gait, and then in a decided lameness, which had grown steadily worse for several years. I had twice, during that time, proposed to my consistory to resign, but they kindly refused to consider the -proposition, and gave me " leave of absence " as long as I chose to take it. Once I had taken three months ; the other time, only one month ; but I had lately grown much worse, and could no longer perform pastoral work. My general health was pretty good, and I suffered no pain-indeed, such had been the case all through these years. Twice I had been at Long Branch, and tried " surf-bathing," two or three weeks at a time; twice I had been at Saratoga Springs, and drank the waters, and tried the " water eure ;" I had consulted Drs. Baldwin, of New Brunswick ; Gross, of Philadelphia; Willard Parker and Hammond, of New York, and Brown-Sequard-but all to no purpose.
On Thursday preceding the Sabbath that I resigned, 1 communicated my intention to three prominent men in the con- gregation, who agreed with me in the matter, but kindly sug- gested that I should "try it longer." I replied, "No;" and they acquiesced. On Sunday morning following, to a full con- gregation, after the regular service by a young man who had preached for me all summer, 1
ANNOUNCED MY RESIGNATION.
Many in the audience wept-men, too, whom I had never before seen shed a tear. Could I help being agitated ? Pres- ently I said, " Don't, don't; you know, as well as I, that it is
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God's will." They were quieted; the congregation was dis- missed ; and in three days I removed from the place. In Octo- ber, A. D. 1873, the Classis of Raritan, at their regular meeting at South Branch, granted the joint request of the pastor and consistory of the church at Peapack, N. J., for a dissolution of the pastoral tie.
During these more than seven years that have elapsed since I resigned my pastoral charge, I have lived very happily as an inmate of my father's family.
In 1874, I published at the press of Honeyman & Rowe, Somerville, N. J., " INCIDENTS OF CHRISTIAN WORK." The following extract is from a notice of it, which appeared at the tine in the " Sower and Gospel Field," published by the Board of Publication of the Reformed Church in America :
" This is a little book that ought to be in every family. It contains forty-three articles, well written and well adapted to instruct and improve the reader. Simple Gospel truth, in brief essay and story, finds here an expression that will interest young and old. The author is laid aside from the active duties of the ministry, but he can and does use the press to good advantage. We hope this little book will find its way into every Sabbath- school library and into every household, and that the author, through its instrumentality, may gain large accessions to the Church of God. It is not the ponderous volume that always does the most good, but the little book that can be finished at one sitting, often wins the brightest trophies."
MY MOTHER,
dear, kind, loving mother, of blessed memory, who died August , 11th, 1880, was just as kind, just as loving, as in my child- hood. I had been " settled " at Peapack over sixteen years, and been away from home the most of the time for eight years
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previously, but came home again with as much freedom as when a child. Mother was feeble for ten years before she died, and at times suffered severely. I think it was some time in 1875, she said, " I have wondered why I was left here; but now I see-it was to make a home to which Henry could come."
Mother was confined to her bed-not able to sit up, nor scarcely to speak intelligibly -- for more than two years. Dur- ing this time, it was that she said, more than once, " What will become of my poor lame boy ?" Patient, loving, thoughtful mother! It is a great source of thankfulness that her mind was, most of the time, clear, and that her hope in Christ was always good. It was a great satisfaction that one or the other of her two ouly daughters-both of whom were married dur- ing her last illness, one in August, 1878 ; the other in August, 1879 -- was with her to the end.
Both my sisters, Eliza and Emma, were married by my- self, as was my brother John, in Philadelphia, in 1858, and my brother Aaron, at Peapaek, in 1860. I also assisted at the mar- riage of my brother Abraham, at Fairview, III., in 1866.
Brown-Sequard, of Paris, whom I saw in New York, said, " Your particular disease is congestion of the spine, and a par- tial paralysis resulting from it. The cause of the congestion has been probably an over-heating, or over-exertion, or possibly a draught of cold air on the spine. Any one of these canses may have produced the congestion." He gave me no assurance of recovery, but said, "We will try." The last time I saw him, in 1873, he said, " Don't take any more medicine; you're so well now, and it may make you sick." I have followed his advice pretty closely, and my general health is improved.
Since 1876, I have not been able to walk. I suffer no pain, am not sick, eat well and sleep pretty well, ride frequently,
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five miles at a time, and sometimes fifteen, and have done as much literary work, within a year, as ever before, in the same length of time.
In September and October, 1877, I had a very severe ill- ness. Part of the time I suffered great pain in my head, but none otherwise, and was not siek, but was brought very low. Doctor Berg said to me afterwards, " Every morning for two weeks I expected to find yon dead." About the close of that two weeks, Emma, my younger sister, met the doctor at the door one morning, and said, " Domine is better !" He replied, " Don't please yourself with that idea; I have told you plainly, so that you need not be disappointed-he can't get well !"
Very little was said about it, but I fully expected during that sickness to die, and my friends looked for the same result, One day, during this time, my brothers and sisters consulted about the propriety of speaking to me of my real condition, what they feared, etc., but they hesitated, lest it might excite me, and so make me worse. Finally Emma said, " He shan't die so ; I'll tell him, if none of the rest will." John, my old- est brother, said, " No; I'll do it." He came to me immedi- ately, and most tenderly and affectionately, yet calmly, told me, very plainly, what all feared. I was not at all agitated nor made worse by the announcement. I record now, with grati- tude to God-and for this purpose I have related all this -- that I was enabled to say, "The future is all right-I long ago attended to that." I had hoped that I might die then, but in thinking it over one day I said to myself, " No; it isn't right ; I must have no will but God's. If He wills that I should get well, I must be willing; if not, then it will be all right."
The Classis of Raritan, at their last regular meeting in April, adopted the following minute :
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" The classis has heard with satisfaction that our brother, Rev. Henry P. Thompson, though enfeebled in bodily strength, continues in mental vigor, and continues to use his pen, and has unabated interest in the kingdom of Christ. The classis ex- presses and records its love and sympathy for its esteemed and afflicted brother.
" Resolved, That this be recorded, and a copy transmitted to Brother Thompson."
D 285 366.8
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