At one time, in calmer days, Walter Aimwell seriously contemplated entering the ministry. He was dissuaded from it by a gentleman older than himself, and already in the profession, on account of the severe and injurious toil to which almost all the clergy are subject.
Walter Aimwell was not afraid of labor, intense or prolonged. From the years when he became responsible for his own behavior he scarcely lost in idleness a minute of his life; but he was persuaded that such duties would materially shorten a life which, being prolonged, might finally accomplish more good in the world by labor in other departments. Conscientiously he submitted to disappointment in one of the dearest wishes of his heart, and God knew how to turn his wish and abilities into the channel where they were most needed; but surely it is not possible that many pastors have more to try the heart or task the brain or exhaust the body than fell to the lot of Walter Aimwell, the editor and publisher.
To show his almost daily experience, a few passages in his own words are now quoted; and let it be remembered that this suffering was all in secret. Until the storm was almost over, even his wife knew nothing of all that he was combating and enduring. A few hours of utter physical prostration, now and then, were all the outward tokens, and one would not be led by such a sign alone to surmise the presence of mental anguish. The boy at the office might happen to see him in his private room with his face wet with tears, but he heard no complaint.
One day when a note was due, at twelve o’clock he had but a few dollars toward it. He says, “I suffered extremely in mind; but, by the blessing of God, I succeeded in raising the whole amount in season. I am truly passing through the furnace, but have blessings to be thankful for in the midst of my trials. I trust my present experience, though bitter now, will not be without its fruit.”
“April 30. Alas for my hopes! I have been most cruelly disappointed in my calculations. We have made arrangements with four different men to get the money, every one of whom disappointed us; and, to cap the climax, Mr. B. was not able to raise a cent at ——. I never knew such a series of unlucky failures before, and I hardly know what way to turn next. A week ago I did not suppose there was a doubt that I should be able to raise —— dollars this week, and I promised more than I otherwise should. But all is for the best, and I must trust to Providence instead of my own calculations.”
“May 4. It has been a truly wretched day with me,—the anxiety, disappointment, and shame exceed everything hitherto. And yet I got through this horrible day after a fashion. Hope still bears me up; for I recognize in this trial the hand of a kind Father, and I can but believe that he will soon bring me forth from it a wiser and a better man. How touching is the thought that—
‘The very hand that strikes the blow
Was wounded once for me!’