and in defiance of her friends, who knew him as she could not, left her home to become his wife. He soon tired of her, as it seems is his habit, neglected to provide for her, abused her affection, ignored her rights, and finding that she clung to him through all, finally deserted her. Some redress she might have had, but as she pathetically said to me, 'Could the law give me back his love?' She was long past tears, but I was not, when she said with a look of saintly patience, ‘I no longer complain; I needed a bitter lesson.' She left a very tender and forgiving message for her husband." "Is he not with her, at such an hour?" "No, she is dying as she has lived, alone and friendless." "Surely, that ought not to be! Might I not go to her and serve her?" asked Joyce. "It would only be doing as I would be done by." "I think not. Mrs. -" in hats and wraps, while Mr. Burgoyne stood waiting and watching the sky. "Have you found the day tiresome?" he asked, as they walked on slowly, glancing down on her face, whence all the soft brightness had vanished. "I found it pleasant at first, — too pleasant, I suppose, to last," she answered, quietly. "Forgive me for my share in that," he said, kindly. "I am sorry to have grieved you; perhaps I was wrong to tell you,but — you would have known it soon." "I should never have known; it is not that. I am sorry to have lost your good opinion," faltered Joyce. "Do you value my good opinion so much?" "Too much to lose it for- for such a mistake." "Is it a mistake? Ah, child! do not deceive yourself or me through pity. Be sure that always, always my kindest He stopped so abruptly that Joyce looked thoughts will be for you. Do not speak up in surprise. I "Draper," he went on, reluctantly; "the dying woman is William Draper's wife. will see that she is cared for." "William Draper? Why, I know him!" said Joyce, simply. "Can it be that he had a wite? He never spoke of her," indignantly. "No, I suppose he did not." So! Mr. Burgoyne had heard something. He had feared to pain her. He would not look at her now, delicately wishing, perhaps, to spare her the shame of self betrayal. And what did this subtle change in him mean? Did he despise her? No doubt; for remembering that hateful episode, she sincerely despised her old, vain self. After a heavy pause, Mr. Burgoyne, with a perceptible effort, began to talk of the children, but in a quiet tone that seemed to put her coldly far away. The setting sun painted the sky with its last roses, and Joyce felt that with it, all the brightness of her life was fading into a cold, hopeless gloom. 66 Come, children," she said, our holiday is ended; we must go." unless you are sure, Joyce." He had stopped, had taken her hands, and his eyes sought to read the truth in hers. She met them without flinching, and answered, bravely: "It is all a mistake." She did not fail, later, to make her humble confession, and inclined to be merciless upon her "evil behaviour." But her husband smiled upon her contrition and said: "I can forgive it since it did not end in wronging me." Years after, Joyce made another holiday in the self-same spot, for a flock of little ones, not borrowed; and as they played about her she lived over that other time, and smiled with her husband at the memory of its grief and gladness. "So the holiday was not spoiled, after all, Joy?" he said, smiling, as he detected a dewiness in her blue eyes. "Thanks to your brave little way of speaking out. My heart was aching over you, but I felt that I dared not speak. I was afraid of your pity misleading us both. Suppose you had left me in silence- as the heroine of a story would be sure to have done - to believe in Patiently she habited the restless mites my mistake ?” "Even, then, Frank, our lives would not have been failures," answered the wife, laying her hand fondly upon his. "Our sorrows are ministering angels, also, you teach us. You had been so much to me, you had taught me how to work, how to live, how York, Maine. [This was the first incorporated city of America. In 1640 Sir Ferdinand Georges gave it a charter, appointed a Mayor and Aldermen, and made it a free port under the name of Georgina.] Where cities grow, where the churches stand Proud dwellings rise on the waiting land, Science and art claim their honored place, But only the ocean's sullen roar Breaks the peace that lies here at each quiet door. The papers bring all the news of the town Martha Remick. A The Rev. Thomas J. Greenwood. NOBLE man has finished his work and gone to his rest. He was richly endowed by his Creator. His nature was adjusted on a large and generous scale. It was nicely balanced and attuned. Love was its controlling impulse. Kindness its spontaneous outflow. He was the friend of God and man. All the energy of his strong healthful nature was given to the interests of truth and righteousness. He labored patiently. He labored effectively. He blessed the world by living in it, and leaves a memory and an influence "precious as the dew of Herman" in passing away. Thomas J. Greenwood, the youngest son of Miles and Charity Greenwood, was born in Newton, Mass., May 2,.1799. His childhood and early youth were passed at that place, where he attended the district school. At the age of sixteen he went to Albany, N. Y., and attended school two years, his expenses being defrayed by an only brother, Capt. Miles Greenwood*. At this school he made rapid progress, not only in his studies, but in the development of all manly virtues. He ever afterward looked back to it as the "startingpoint in his life." From Albany he went to New York city, where he finished his school education. As a student he was diligent and conscientious, always doing his work well, always standing well in his classes, and enjoying the respect and affection of teachers and associates. While a student he began to show remarkable taste for poetry, and facility in poetical composition a talent *Capt. Miles Greenwood was sixteen years older than the subject of this sketch. He was an officer in the war of 1812. The company which he commanded was the oldest in the brigade. When peace was declared which he never ceased from time to time to exercise. Leaving school, Mr. Greenwood came to Waltham, and engaged in the manufacturing business. He soon became master of his trade, and was called to Lowell as an overseer in one of the mills of that young manufacturing city. Through ability, industry and fidelity, at an age when, with the average man, the work of life is hardly begun, he had climbed into a position of trust and profit, which might answer the ambition of a man of mature years. He had the entire confidence of his employers. No man in the establishment made a better exhibit when the day's or the week's work was done. No man had the confidence and esteem, in larger measure, of those associated with him. An eminently successful future seemed opening before him. There was but one obstacle in the way of still increased promotion, and larger compensation and wider influence. He believed in God as a Universal Father. He believed in man as the immortal child of that Father. He believed in Christ as the elder brother and Saviour of men. He believed in Heaven as the final inheritance of souls created in the image of God. He was a pattern man in all the relations of social and business life. He was not intemperate. He was An attempt had been made to plant a Universalist Church in that growing city. In this movement he enlisted with hand and heart and soul. Universalism was re he left the army and emba ked for Spain, where he in- garded by the "Mill Authorities," as the tended to establish business in connection with a firm in New York. He directed his brother to go to New York and take charge of some papers and business which he left, and there wait his instructions. On his return he visited Port au Prince, in the Island of Saint Domingo, and thence embarked for New York. To use Mr. Greenwood's own words, "That ocean, on whose buoyant bosom he had hoped to ride serenely to his native land became the grave of him who was his parents' highest earthly hope, and his brother's most watchful earthly guardian and benefactor." prime heresy of the age. If permitted to live and flourish in their midst, it would, they thought, ruin their business and demoralize their city. Accordingly they came to their young overseer and asked him to part company with these heretics. He answered, "I must be loyal to my convictions." They hinted at a discharge if he persisted in the course he had taken. He moved right on in allegiance to conscience. He was notified to "cease his advocacy of this unpopular doctrine, or quit the business." He accepted the latter alternative, and went out from his place as a manufacturer forever. God had other, and - is it too much to say higher work for him to do. He saw the blindness, the prejudice, the unbelief, which held the souls of men as in fetters of iron. His great soul was moved by unspeakable pity in their behalf. His resolution was taken. The path of duty was plain. He would not shrink, although it led through lowly rugged ways, instead of up the slopes of wealth and honor. He would be an "ambassador for Christ." He would do what he could to break these soul fetters, and give men light and liberty. He would consecrate his life to the ministry. Accordingly he became a student once more. After about two years of careful preparation, under the instruction of Rev. Eliphalet Case, Mr. Greenwood preached his first sermon, in Atkinson, N. H., in July, 1829. The sermon created a pro and impression. Some of the older people in that town remember it with pleasure and profit to this day. Our young apostle of righteousness came full fledged into the ministry. From the first Sabbath that his voice was heard, his services were in constant demand, During the year he preached to great acceptance in many towns of New Hampshire and Massachusetts. There was great joy among the people, that God had raised up another minister of such brilliant promise. In 1830, Mr. Greenwood was ordained as pastor of the Universalist Church in Marlboro', Mass. No man ever assumed the duties of this profession under a deeper sense of its responsibilities. He believed then, as he ever afterwards believed, that only with clean hands and consecrated life, has any man a right to bear the vessels of the Lord. The influence of his faithful work, and manly, upright, Christian life, was quickly felt through all the town. His congregation grew, and his Church was greatly strengthened. For fourteen years he led and fed the flock of Christ. It was a long pastorate. It was eminently happy and useful. He loved his people and his work. He was devotedly beloved in return. All the moral, social and educational interests of the community, had taken new impulse under his wise guardianship, and helpful, healthful influence. When he accepted at last a pressing call to another and wider field of labor, it was regarded in Marlboro' almost as a public calamity. He had become so thoroughly identified with every public interest, that he was universally missed and mourned. As an indication of the esteem in which he was held, in this first parish over which, in the providence of God, he was called to preside, it is enough to say, that on several occasions in after years, he was invited and earnestly solicited to return. Roots of His next pastorate was in Dover, N. H. It was a glad day to the believers in that growing town, when he took up his residence among them. They had experienced many reverses and misfortunes. bitterness had sprung up to trouble them. Some had withdrawn their influence from the parish. Some were discouraged. Some were still resolute, but seemingly "hoping against hope." His was just the presence needed to re-gather the scattered forces. His fame was in all the Churches, as a clear thinker, a ready and vigorous writer, an eloquent preacher, a loving and industrious pastor, and more than all a royal man. He came in all the strength of mature powers. He came bringing the results of twenty years of experience with him. He gave himself, body and soul, as was his wont, to the work of doing good. The parish quickly put on new strength under his fostering care. His strong, thoughtful sermons were a constant inspiration. He was the central figure in the entire community. His manly dignified presence, his genial manners, his willing, helpful hand in every worthy cause, his charity toward opposing sects, his kindness to the poor, his pity for the erring, his sympathy in chambers of sickness, and toward all kinds of suffering, his words of more than human comfort at the open grave, and with all, his rare good judgment and solid common sense in every thing, caused him to be respected and consulted far beyond the circle of his Church. During his ministry in Dover, and prior to his settlement there, Mr. Greenwood received many flattering calls from flourishing city parishes. Invitations were from time to time declined, from Westbrook, Me., Haverhill, Mass., Providence, R. I., thrice repeated, - New Haven, Conn., Albany, N. Y., Baltimore, Md., in either of which places his pecuniary interests would have been advanced. But he was not ambitious for honor or emolument, save the honor of serving his Master and helping souls. So long as the voice of duty said stay, no voice of interest could call him away. At length, after ten years of faithful service in Dover,- service attended from first to last by the blessing and approbation of heaven, -a thrice repeated call from the Church in Malden, Mass., led Mr. Greenwood, notwithstanding the protestations of his parish, and of our entire Church in New Hampshire, to sever his pleasant relations there, and take up his residence in the vicinity of Boston. he led with the trained skill of a veteran, with the zeal of a young warrior. His words, his arguments, his appeals, were all freighted by experience, and buttressed, and supported by character. In the Church and Sunday School, among the homes of his people, and in the public Schools of the town, as preacher, and pastor, and citzen, he wrought faithfully and successfully. Nor were his labors confined to his own community. All our educational and denominational interests felt the influence of his sound mind and generous heart. After six or seven years of pastoral service in Malden, he gave this parish up to younger hands, and took charge of our Church in the adjoining town of Saugus. But he kept his home in Malden, and so, in a sense, was pastor of that parish still. A wide field for a man with the weight of three score years and ten upon him. But no plant needing his care was neglected in all the garden of the Lord. If old friends in Malden asked his pres his ence. - as they often did — at the marriage of their children, in the chambers of their sick, or at the burial of their dead, he found time and strength to serve them. But he never forgot or neglected the claims of his beloved charge at Saugus. He was the wise, the watchful, the faithful preacher and pastor there. During a pastorate of nine years, although his home was several miles away, he scarcely missed a service either in the Church or Sunday School. Through the dust and heat of summer, and through the driving storms of winter alike, he was at his post. The young revered him as a father. The old received him as a brother. All loved him as a pastor, and leader, and friend. For sixteen years, his form growing venerable with age, and his face always lighted with benignity, were familiar objects on the streets and in the homes of both communities. On nearly every Sabbath, and often in the days between, his clear, sonorous voice was heard, warning, and entreating, and persuading men, to "break off their sins by righteousness, and their iniquities by turning unto the Lord." At the bed of sickness, at the In the battle with superstition and sin, marriage altar, in the house of mourning, He was installed over the Malden parish in 1858. His proximity to Boston was hailed with great joy, not only by our clerical force, but by all the brethren of like precious faith in the city and vicinity. He came as a tried veteran, to do service in an important field. The footprints of the years were beginning to be visible upon his massive brow. The dark locks of earlier times were thickly sprinkled with gray. But his force was not abated. His eye was still clear and his voice firm and strong. He never was capable of a better work than His powers had reached early autumn ripeness. But there were as yet no signs of decay. now. |