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THE PASTOR'S REMEMBRANCES.

A

DISCOURSE

DELIVERED BEFORE THE

FIRST PARISH IN CAMBRIDGE,

ON SUNDAY, MAY 27, 1855,

BY THE PASTOR,

WILLIAM NEWELL,

ON THE COMPLETION OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH YEAR OF HIS MINISTRY.

PRINTED BY REQUEST OF THE PARISH.

CAMBRIDGE:

JOHN BARTLETT.

1855.

DISCOURSE.

2 Kings 4: 13 I DWELL AMONG MINE OWN PEOPLE.

2 Cor. 12: 14. I SEEK NOT YOURS, BUT YOU.

TWENTY-FIVE years ago, -on the fourth Sunday in May, 1830,- I began my public ministry among you, taking for my text the words, "We preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus' sake." I am not unwilling to remember and repeat them to-day. Humbly as I estimate the past, I feel at least that I have not been untrue to the spirit which they breathe, nor to the purposes which glowed in my soul, as I first ascended the altar, and entered on my work. According to the ability which God has given me, I have labored among you from that time until now, preaching Christ, and the truth of which Christ is the centre and the life; and devoting myself to the service of my people in the ministrations of the pulpit and the varied offices of the pastoral care. Will you allow me, my friends, to speak out some of the thoughts that are in my heart? and with the frankness and confidence of a holy friendship,

cemented by so many years of fellow-travel in life and of fellow-worship in the sanctuary, to indulge in the reminiscences and reflections which the occasion suggests? And will you pardon, for once, whatever of egotism there may be in referring, as I must do, to my own personal experience, my own personal recollections, feelings, and hopes? Nay, may I not ask something more than this? May I not claim a warmer interest than that of a mere listening curiosity in the memories that cross and intertwine themselves with some portion at least of the history of your own religious being, with the domestic joys and sorrows of your own past? May I not?

In looking back on the past, even on the shorter periods of life, there is always a mixture of different feelings. At one moment the bright aspect, at another the dark, presents itself. And so with the review of a ministry which has extended over a number of years, and has involved, as every ministry must, a diversified experience. Perhaps the first feeling in going back to distant points in memory, like that in revisiting the scenes of the happiest childhood, is a feeling of tender sadness. It creeps over me now, as I call up the remembrances of my youth, and see in the spirit moving again before me forms which have passed away from the earth; as I think of the losses and changes that have fallen on the families of my flock, foreshadows of the losses and changes to come ;- and as from them in the natural course of thought I pass to the graves of my own kindred. I recall the bright and beautiful day

when, under a cloudless sky, and amidst the fresh foliage and fragrant blossoms of the opening spring, I went up with my fathers and my brethren to the ancient altar, and received from them the charge and the blessing and the right hand of welcome. But of those who then came as the elders and messengers of the churches in fellowship with this, to usher in a new laborer into the vineyard of Christ, how many are now silenced by death! Out of the twenty-six clergymen, who officiated or were present at my ordination as members of the ecclesiastical council, fourteen have deceased; and of the remainder but three continue to be the pastors of the churches over which they were then settled. Of the other nine, four, men of excellent gifts, have voluntarily relinquished the ministry; one is disabled for preaching by a vocal infirmity; two have been removed to the University; and two are without parishes, but preach, as they have opportunity, in vacant pulpits. Then in the congregation which on the first Sunday of my settlement I rose with trembling limbs and palpitating heart to address, Time has wrought its gradual but striking changes. Three fourths of the families which then constituted the parish have either been broken up by death or have removed from the place. One of the severe trials of a minister's life is this frequent rupture of the ties which bind him to his people; and the frequent calls of a painful kind

* The number of those who remain may be counted by the years of my ministry. Not more than one eighth of the society, as it now is, were members of my original flock.