C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N
Holton. Netawaka. All said, "Amen." Farmington. Married.
Our home. Little Wiley Warren.
While teaching and preaching here on South Cedar I began preaching on Sundays at Holton. I preached in the school house, court house, or any empty room that might be found that was suitable. I found suitable headquarters for my stay in the hospitable home of an old disciple of Quaker origin whom everybody called Uncle Tommy Adamson. He was a true lover of God.
The Presbyterians kindly offered me their house to occupy when they were not using it. My recollection is, that theirs was the only church in the town at that time. The Methodist, who like we had been preaching in the school house about this time, possibly a little earlier, had erected a new, brick church building. Well, the gospel was preached and a number seemed interested and brother J. H. Bauserman State Evangelist was called to help in a meeting and the results was, as usual, some hearing, believed and were baptized. At the close of the meeting the converts were left pledged to meet on the Lord's Day to worship God. And I promised to meet with them every two weeks to preach to them and worship with them. This I did for a year or two, going afterwards on the Central Branch as far as Netawaka and then across on a public hack. For I soon returned to Pardee Station (Farmington).
Speaking of Netawaka, reminds me of being called there in later life to marry a young Methodist gentleman to a young Mormon lady. And this reminds me that I have married people of nearly all creeds, colors and nationalities. So of funerals. The Mormon preacher was at the Netawaka wedding, but I did not know it until the wedding was over. To this day I do not know why I was called to this wedding. I was never treated more kindly and hospitably at any other wedding. And here let me say that the money I have received for weddings and funerals, I think is more than I ever received for preaching.
In Netawaka on that day, in the afternoon, I attended the Mormon public worship. There were about sixty present, and they, except the groom and his bride, were old people and foreigners. Although the preacher was present there was no preaching. It was a social, song and prayer service, and every man and woman took a part except the newly married couple.
When all had had their turn, an elder, (the father of the bride) looked at me and said, "Brother you have plenty of time, if you have anything to say, say it." This was very unexpected to me, but I stood up and said, "Brethren, if you will allow me to call you brethren, this is the first time I ever attended your services, and I must confess that the service, as it seems to me, is much like the old fashion services of the Methodist and disciples that I attended when a little boy with my mother, and I feel very comfortable and much at home. They all said "Amen."
From South Cedar I returned to Farmington and found a nine month's school waiting for me at fifty dollars per month. So I accepted the work and continued it for five years at an advanced salary of sixty-five dollars per month. In the meantime, June the 28th, 1870, I was married to Miss Rosetta Butler who still lives to bless my life, and is still a true helpmeet in my old age. Shortly after our marriage we begin the erection of a new, farm home for ourselves about one-half mile west of the station. It was not long until we had a home, not a palace, but a home though humble, yet tidy, convenient and good enough for a queen, as in fact, it was occupied by a queen. Nor do I think, boys, could anything but compliments be placed by our old neighbors upon the way things were kept all about our farm when you were there. Do you remember the old Farm? And let me say just here that while God has always been good to me and comparatively my whole life has been a happy one no period of it was more happy, more hopeful and sweet than the few years in our old home where I was the head, your mother the queen and you children were about our knees.
For just twenty-five years we (wife and I) lived at Farmington. This is just half of the life of my man-hood days. Here all our children were born. By us no threshold was ever crossed more than this one. No paths were ever trodden more frequently than the paths to the well, the barn and the post-office, and the church. No neighbors were ever so long ours in kindness and love. No birds ever sang so much and sweetly as those in the very trees that had been planted by our own hands. And no home was ever more truly dedicated day by day to Almighty God upon bended knee and in the reading of His word.
Do you remember the old home, boys? But life is not always sweetness. It cannot be, under the present sin-curst environments. The first bitter experience and great sorrow that came to us, was when death came our way on the 21st day of July 1877, and took away our fourth little boy whom we had called Wiley Warren. He was only 1 year, 6 months and 17 days old.
I had preached the funerals of many little children before the death of our little boy, and had thought that I knew how to sympathize with parents who had to bury their children, but I did not. If I were not an old preacher I would like to say now what I have said often when younger, that everything else being equal, an old preacher is better to preach, and do pastoral work for a congregation than a young one.
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