Part 37

Since then Doctor Terhune, while refusing another pastorate, has been a constant laborer. Large churches in Chicago and St. Louis called him. In these, he became for upward of a year a stated supply, but he knew that his physical strength was waning. A few years ago, he underwent a serious surgical operation, and for nearly six months lay helpless from its effect. Indeed, his life was despaired of. I talked with his surgeon, who told me that, in his long experience, he had “never known a patient endure greater or more constant suffering; I cannot understand his marvellous self-control. He is always bright, always thinking of others, and never of himself.” It was characteristic. After his recovery Doctor Terhune led an active life. The churches sought his help, and he was a frequent preacher in New York, Newark, and elsewhere. More than forty years ago, he purchased a tract of land on Pompton Lake, New Jersey. It was then a primitive region, to which he was attracted by the scenery and the opportunity to satisfy his special recreation; for from boyhood he was a great fisherman. As time and means permitted, he made “Sunnybank” blossom into rare beauty. How he loved this home! There he lived close to nature, and the trees, flowers, streams, and sky rested and refreshed him. Because a true child of nature, she gave back to him rich treasures that are denied to most; a joy in her communion; knowledge of her secrets; a vision of God through her revelation. There dear friends gathered about him, and the ideal beauty of a country home was, through his inspiration, revealed to some for the first time.

A year ago, Doctor and Mrs. Terhune celebrated their golden wedding. After a day of loving congratulations from friends almost innumerable, who, in body or spirit, gathered about them, they took their wedding journey in their carriage, driving horses born on their place, through the country of his boyhood and elsewhere. The refreshment of this fortnight of perfect happiness lingered on for all the remaining days of earth.

More than forty years ago, while a pastor in Newark, Doctor Terhune united with Alpha Delta, an association limited to twelve active members, meeting monthly at their homes. With its founders in 1855, among whom were Drs. G. W. Berthune, Robert Davidson, A. R. Van Nest, A. B. Van Zandt, and others, he was intimate. After the death of Doctor Chambers he became the senior member, and in 1900 prepared its history, a copy of which is before me now. In the brief studies of the character of nearly two score friends, there is revealed the secret of his power. He possessed the genius of friendship as few have done.

Ten days before the end came, he read to Alpha Delta a paper prepared at our request, “The Story of the Jamestown, Virginia, Settlement and the James River Estates.” Every monograph of Doctor Terhune had its special value, but into this last he poured the memories of happy years and an estimate of values in human life, as never before. All through there ran that subtle charm of style, tender pathos, and gentle humor of which he was master. And there was added a peculiar quality impossible to define. I think we all felt that, unconsciously, he had pictured himself, always seeing, knowing, loving, and inspiring the best in men. Not feeling well, he left us suddenly. There was no good-bye. Perhaps it is better so. But Alpha Delta can never be the same to us here.

After a week of fever he fell asleep, to awaken in the Father’s House, to the vision of the One he loved, and with Him, the children who had passed before.

More than once I have been asked to describe the distinctive characteristics of admirable men, and have named them “many-sided,” and “standing four square.” But as I think of Doctor Terhune, the trite phrases seem insufficient. Nor is it easy to differentiate his character. He was a strong man physically, intellectually, and morally. As few of his generation, he held his course through a long life of trial consistently. He had a definite hatred of sin, and when duty called, never hesitated to particularize the evil of which men were guilty. But in this he always aimed to discover to such the good they were capable of attaining. His fearless courage was balanced by the finest gentleness. His presence was gracious, and the charm of perfect manners was natural in him. Instinctively, men looked up to him and remembered his sayings. Doctor Terhune was a diligent man; all his life he was a student. He loved his books intelligently. His literary experience was unusual in its range and depth. Even more than books he studied men; their problems were his greatest interest. He thought these out so wisely and sympathetically that he seemed to possess the prophet’s vision.

In the pulpit, Doctor Terhune was earnest, clear, direct, and simple. His teachers had been rare men in the school of eloquence that was the glory of America fifty years ago. On occasion he was equal to the best of these. As I recall his presence in his Newark church, I seem now to hear his wonderful voice ring out words that moved men to purer thinking, nobler living, and greater loyalty to the Master he loved. As a pastor, he was devoted to every interest of his people; in their homes no guest was as welcome. These, and other traits I could name, found their spring in as tender a heart as ever beat; constantly he carried there all God gave him to love. Next to the members of his family, I think his ministerial brethren realized most this supreme value in their friend. They knew he loved them as few men could. I have never heard him speak an unkind word of a clergyman. His presence never failed to hearten and stimulate them in their work. So he honored his manhood and his calling. He has left behind not only a stainless name, but living and blesséd power.

A GOLDEN WEDDING

IN her beautiful home at Pompton, New Jersey, surrounded by the flowers she loves so dearly, “Marion Harland,” the celebrated writer, held court, Saturday afternoon. More properly speaking, Dr. and Mrs. Edward Payson Terhune were “at home” from four to seven o’clock, the occasion being the celebration of their golden-wedding anniversary.

In front of the house, upon the prettiest bit of lawn for miles about, was set the present that children and grandchildren gave—a sundial made of Pompton granite, inscribed with the same pretty legend as that upon the famous one of Queen Alexandra at Sandringham:

“Let others tell of storm or showers, I only mark the sunny hours.”

The little room, set aside, as upon the occasion of a real wedding, for the presents, revealed plenty of sentiment. There was a cake, made from an old Virginia recipe, baked in the shape that every Virginian bride in “Marion Harland’s” girlhood days used to have. It had been made by an old friend. A great bowl of water-lilies stood near by—some one had got up at daybreak and scoured their haunts to get fifty of them to present.

Gold purses and gold-trimmed purses—some of them with gold pieces inside—a gold brooch for the wife and a gold scarf-pin for her husband, gold fruit-knives, and Austrian glassware were among the gifts.

In the receiving-party were Doctor and Mrs. Terhune’s daughters and daughter-in-law—Mrs. Christine Terhune Herrick, Mrs. Van de Water, and Mrs. Albert Payson Terhune. The men of the family did honors as ushers, and the boys—the grandsons—patrolled the porches and lawn with ices and salads and delicious yellow-iced cakes.

Golden-rod and golden-glow were everywhere. The porch posts were hidden from sight by them, and the room where the receiving-party stood was banked and massed in a bewilderment of blooms.

And “Marion Harland” herself, in her beautiful gown of black lace, with violet orchids pinned upon her bosom, did honors, much after the manner of that famous hostess of old whose greeting was invariably “At last!” and whose parting word was “Already?” Only (unlike that famous hostess) through her greetings unmistakably rang the note of sincerity.

Everybody wandered about in delightfully informal fashion. Doctor Terhune and General Buffington gossiped of old times in one corner; “Marion Harland,” Margaret E. Sangster, May Riley Smith, and two or three others made an interesting group in another, and reminiscences were so beautiful and so many—“Do you remember when we used to do this or that?”—the sentence most constantly heard—that unconsciously you began to regret that you, yourself, had not lived in those days, so splendid seemed the sentiment and the honor of the times.

Everybody came who could. Some had travelled all day to get there, and must travel all night to get home again. Letters—there were hundreds of them, for it seemed that everybody who even knew her slightly, wanted to send some word of greeting to “Marion Harland.”

Among the invited guests were Prof. and Mrs. John W. Burgess, Prof. and Mrs. William H. Carpenter, Prof. and Mrs. B. D. Woodward, of Columbia; Miss Laura D. Gill, Dean of Barnard College; Dr. and Mrs. G. H. Fox, Mrs. Henry Villard, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Scribner, Mr. and Mrs. G. H. Putnam, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Lauterbach, the Rev. Dr. George Alexander, Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter Johnson, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Bigelow Paine, Mr. and Mrs. George Cary Eggleston, the Rev. Dr. and Mrs. James I. Vance, of Newark, New Jersey; Mr. and Mrs. Talcott Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Francis Howard Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill Williams, of Philadelphia; Gen. and Mrs. A. R. Buffington, Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster, Miss Ida Tarbell, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Smith.—_Philadelphia North American_, September 2, 1906.

THE END

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Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 179, “fireing” changed to “firing” (knowing who was firing)

End of Project Gutenberg's Marion Harland's Autobiography, by Marion Harland