The New Building
On June 1, 1882, the church authorized the building committee to take such measures as they may think to raise funds for the purpose of building a new church.
On August 1, 1882, the building committee reported that in accordance with instruction from the church the committee had considered the expediency of taking steps to build a new church, had decided that it was expedient and preachable in consideration of the prosperous times, that then was the time to begin, with a view to its completion within the next twelve months, and had decided to open a subscription list at once. On motion Brethren Binns and Lemuel Wooten Sims and their sisters (wives) were added to the committee to aid in the work.
On Nov 2, 1882, the building committee reported building fund subscriptions had reached $975.00 and amount in cash was $53.00.
On Nov 30, 1882, the building committee reported subscriptions had reached $3,250.00.
On Jan 12, 1883, upon recommendation by the building committee, the church resolved to: (1) Increase subscriptions. (2) Collect and invest subscriptions. (3) Build a brick church. (4) Begin gathering building materials. (5) The building committee should present a plan as soon as possible.
On Feb 12, 1883, the church instructed the building committee to place funds at interest.
On Mar 1, 1883, the building committee reported that it was in correspondence with an architect.
On Jun 18, 1883, the building committee reported that it has received plans and the church authorized the committee to continue.
On Jan 3, 1884, the building committee reported $4,324.16 collected from subscriptions, rebates and other sources, and $4,697.25 paid out. The committee reported that it would require $1,500.00 more beyond subscriptions to put the building in safe condition.
On August 14, 1884, the church chose Brother J. H. Kilpatrick to preach the dedication sermon of the new church and Dr. Hillyer to serve as alternate.
On November 6, 1884, the church decided to dedicate the new church at the first service which will be the second Sunday in the month.
On April 2, 1885, the church tendered a note of thanks to the building committee and especially to L. W. Sims of the committee, who superintended the work and building of the church. Also this year forty-one members of the church gave $24.55 to missions. The church was badly in debt because of the new brick building.
On February 3, 1887, the church noted that it still owed $4,800.00 on the new church.
On August 18, 1887, the church referred the question of building a parsonage to the old building committee with power to act.
On January 3, 1889, the church noted that it still owed $3,275.00 on the principal of the loan for the new building.
On January 5, 1890, the chuch noted that it still owed $2,871.00 on the principal of the loan for the new building.
On January 30, 1890, the church noted that it still owed $771.00 on the principal of the loan for the new building.
Association's Centennial
A significant event of the pastorate was the Association's Centennial Celebration of 1884. The celebration began on Wednesday, October 8, in the afternoon at the Washington church's original building and ended on Sunday night with prayer by the local pastor, Dr. Hillyer. Services were scheduled at the other churches in town also.
Biography of S. G. Hillyer
HILLYER, Shaler Granby, educator, was born in Wilkes county, Ga., June 20, 1809; son of Shaler and Rebecca (Freeman) Hillyer. He was taken with his brothers, John Freeman and Junius, to Athens, Ga., in 1821, by his mother, and was graduated at Franklin college (University of Georgia) in 1829. He studied law, and was admitted to the bar, but did not practise. He was tutor in a private family in Florida for one year; principal of Sunbury academy for one year, and preached his first sermon in Sunbury, Ga., in 1832. He was tutor in Franklin college, Athens, Ga., 1834; professor of rhetoric and belles lettres at Mercer university, Penfield, Ga., 1847-55, and of church history, homiletics and the Greek Testament, 1859-61; and president of Monroe Female college, Forsyth, Ga., 1867-72, and again, 1880-81. He was regularly ordained a minister in the Baptist church in 1835, and was pastor at Milledgeville, Ga., 1838-45, and later at various churches in Georgia. After resigning the presidency of Monroe Female college he was pastor at Washington, Ga., 1881-87, and at Decatur and Clarkston, Ga., 1887-92. He then retired from active work on account of the infirmities of age, preaching only occasionally by invitation. He received the degree of D.D. from Mercer university in 1850, and was a trustee of that institution in 1838. He was a regular contributor to the Christian Index up to the time of his death. He died in Atlanta, Ga., Feb. 19, 1900.
Rev. Shaler Granby HILLYER (photo) was born on 20 Jun 1809 in Granby, Hartford County, Connecticut.(204) He graduated in 1829 in Athens, Clarke County, Georgia.(205) He was a Pastor about 1830 in Washington, Wilkes County, Georgia. He was ordained on 16 Aug 1835 in Jackson County, Georgia.(206) He was a Teacher at Mercer University in 1845 in Penfield, Georgia. He resided in 1845 in Penfield, Georgia. He was a Pastor at the Baptist Church in 1848 in Madison, Georgia. He resided in 1848 in Madison, Georgia. He was a Pastor at Baptist Church about 1854 in Rome, Georgia. He was described as Medium height, with graceful bearing about 1854 in Rome, Georgia. He resided Lindis' Farm about 1854 in Rome, Georgia. Bought Plantation from the Buffington family. He was a Professor at Mercer University in 1859 in Penfield, Georgia. He resided in 1861 in Penfield, Georgia. He resided Lindis' Farm about 1861 in Rome, Georgia. He was a Pastor and Dean at Hearn School about 1862 in Cave Springs, Floyd County, Georgia. He resided about 1862 in Cave Springs, Floyd County, Georgia. 18 Miles from Rome. He resided Ravenswood about 1864 in Mitchell County, Georgia. He was a Presedent of Monroe Female College about 1869 in Forsyth, Monroe County, Georgia. He resided 563 Pryor St. in 1897 in Atlanta, Fulton County, Georgia.(207) This is where he resided when he wrote his book, Manual of Bible
Mortality. He died on 19 Feb 1900. Parents: Shaler HILLYER Sr. and Rebecca FREEMAN.
He was married to Elizabeth Thornton DAGG about 1848. Children were: Emily HILLYER, John Leadly HILLYER, Harriet Cathrine HILLYER, Sarah Jane "Lallie" HILLYER, Junius Freeman "Bud Junie" HILLYER , Frances Rebecca HILLYER, Louisa Clarissa HILLYER, Cathrine Carlton "Kate" HILLYER, Esther HILLYER, Philo Llewellyn HILLYER.
He was married to Elizabeth THOMPSON in Dec 1836.(208) Children were: Susan HILLYER, Mary HILLYER, Shaler Granby HILLYER Jr., Francis Lorraine "Lorry" HILLYER.
THE STORY OF SHALER GRANBY HILLYER,
BY HIS DAUGHTER, LOUISA C. HILLYER.
My father, Shaler Granby Hillyer, was born in Wilkes County, Georgia, June 20, 1809. His father, Shaler Hillyer, came to Georgia when a young man, from the town of Granby, Connecticut. Shaler Hillyer married Rebecca Freeman, the only child of John Freeman, a prosperous planter and an old soldier of the Revolution, who lived on the banks of Broad River in Wilkes County. Here in the homestead, which they called Poplar Grove, my father, his two older brothers, one younger brother and one little sister were born, and here they spent their childhood days. It was a happy home, governed by kind and wise parents.
My father's younger brother died when three years old, and his sister at the age of seven. His affectionate heart always held them in fond remembrance, and not long before his own death he was telling me of some childish reminiscence of his little brother.
When we were children, our father would take me on one knee and my sister on the other and tell us stories of his sister, our "Aunt Harriet." She became to us the embodiment of all childish virtues embalmed in everlasting innocence and beauty. As an illustration of her unselfishness, he told how, while she was convalescing from a spell of sickness he would take her to ride in her little wagon, which he, "playing horse," drew after him. When she had ridden thus for a while, she would say: "Now, brother, you must get in and let me draw the wagon." He remonstrated, saying that she was too little and weak to pull him. But she could not be satisfied, and he finally humored her. He was careful not to put his weight on the wagon, but pushed with his feet on the ground. Meanwhile she was delighted with the thought that she was giving him a ride.
This is one of the many tender recollections of the gentle little sister, whom they all loved so dearly. Her infant life surely performed its mission in making more loving and sensitive the hearts of the three older brothers, who were to live on and on through many years and face the rough and hardening world, each in his own way. When they were old men and sometimes met to talk of other days, the little sister who left them so long ago was the theme of many a touching story.
My father's parents were both well-educated people, and were anxious for their children to have school advantages. Unfortunately these were hard to secure in that rural community, and so, at a tender age, the children had to be sent from home. The two older brothers, John and Junius, were sent to a boardingschool some miles away, and even "little Granby," at the age of seven, was sent to an old-field school, where he boarded with the teacher from Monday morning until Friday afternoon. Then one of the servants, or a member of the family, would come for him and carry him home. I have heard him tell of this little school— how he had but one book, which he kept lying on the bench by his side till such time as the teacher would call him up to "spell his lesson" ; how he would sit and doze and wish for Friday evening. One of the larger girls of the school was very kind to him, and would let him put his head on her lap and go to sleep. One Friday afternoon, when he was anxiously waiting the close of school, who should ride up to the schoolhouse door but his own beloved mother? He exclaimed aloud, breaking suddenly the silence of the room: "There's ma!" and then his unbounded happiness almost made up to him for the home-sickness of the week. After some polite formalities between the lady and the teacher, the happy little boy climbed up behind his mother, for she was on horseback, and they joyfully rode away. Meantime the two brothers, respectively nine and eleven years of age, were still further from home, under the tutelage of a very severe and cruel teacher, who so intimidated his pupils that they were afraid to report his unjust treatment. But time brought its changes, and not long after the incident above related they all returned home and other plans were made for their instruction. My father told of the return of his brothers on one occasion, which was probably their final return from the school above described. They were expected on a certain day, and when he saw the carriage in the distance, he ran to meet it. The driver stopped and let him get inside with his brothers. They seemed to be overjoyed to see him. They said, "Why, here is little Granby." They hugged him and petted him. He had not realized that they would be so glad to see him and their affectionate greeting made him very happy.
My uncle, Junius Hillyer, writing of those times, says of my father: "And a still further change which our return from Skipwith's School brought upon our social life at home was the advent upon the scene of our dear little brother, Granby. He was then seven years old—still a child—yet he could keep up ... he could understand, and though he could not make a trap or set a hook, yet he could go with us and help us in our trapping and fishing. In 1816, it was Brother John, Granby, and myself. . . . Our lives have flowed on down the stream of time together, in harmony and in sympathy. What has concerned one has concerned the other. We have had our boyish sports and our school-day labors and trials. We have read and learned together and improved our minds and enlarged the field of thought. We have praye'd together and tried to serve God; and we have rejoiced together in the hopes and consolations of our religion. . . . We began life together, together we have gone through it, and now, in our old age, we may have the assurance that we will together go out of it."
The little story told by my father, and the above quotation from the annals of the family, written by my uncle for the pleasure of his children, go to show the tender affection that existed between the three brothers, and such was the influence of the one over the other that the stories of their early lives are closely interwoven. They loved to tell their children of the scenes on the old plantation, of the free country life and its invigorating pleasures, with enough of work to make them strong and active boys.
But a sad change came in the death of their father. He was a prosperous business man, a kind husband, and an affectionate father, and he had the respect and esteem of all who knew him. When a little more than forty years old, in the midst of his work, he died. He had just assumed some very heavy obligations, and when his affairs were settled his wife and children were left with only a fragment of their once comfortable fortune. The grandmother still had a small property, and with her help arrangements were made to move to Athens where the boys might be educated. Their father's death took place March 12, 1820, and it was during the following summer that they lost their beloved little sister. Their mother—then a woman of thirty-four—bereft of her husband, her two babies and her fortune, sad at heart, had to begin life anew. The sublime Christian faith and courage she possessed is well shown in the sequel. She still had her noble mother with her, and how much that grandmother was to those three boys they bore witness, by word and deed, throughout their long lives. The old plantation home was given up and a small farm purchased near Athens, where the family settled and where they enjoyed the products of the farm while at the same time the boys were able to secure the educational advantages of the town. Here they met the usual experiences of grammar school and college, play-ground and recitation-room. They had their pleasures and their trials, and they made their friends—some ,of them lifelong.
The little farm was a mile from the college and my father said he walked that mile several times a day; first, to early prayers and a recitation, and back to breakfast; again to one or more recitations and back to dinner; another recitation and home to supper. At night he went to his little attic room and conned his lessons for the next day. There were very few helps in those days, and not even a Greek-English lexicon, but the Greek words were translated into Latin, and the Latin had to be translated by the student. One help he had in his mother. She was not a Latin scholar, but when he had read his lesson as he thought correctly, he would sit by her side and read it to her. If she pronounced his translation to be clear and correct English, he felt satisfied with his work; but if she found it obscure, he applied himself again to conquer the difficulty. Thus throughout his college course he found in his mother his dearest sympathizer and helper, and it was greatly owing to his readings with her of the best English classics that he acquired that rhetorical finish in reading for which he was afterwards distinguished.
All who knew my father will agree that modesty was a marked trait of his character. It is possible that this might have served to throw him into absolute obscurity had not a very lofty aim to accomplish some good in the world and a noble desire to serve others, joined to an indomitable industry and perseverance, enabled him to overcome that failing, which, like most of his failings, "leaned to virtue's side." He used to tell this story on himself: When he began his career in the debating society at college, he could not succeed in filling out the three minutes alloted to him; but, overcome by the dignity of the occasion and the august assembly of young Demostheneans, his carefully prepared arguments would escape him, and he would bring his discourse to an untimely end. His brother Junius, who had been in the society for a year and was already regarded as one of the ablest debaters, was mortified at the beginning my father had made, and one day, in conversation with a classmate and very intimate friend, he said, "What shall I do with Granby ? Ought days, who says, "I knew your father from the time he was first pastor at Athens and I loved him."
In 1838 he became pastor of the church in Milledgeville and this connection continued for six years. Four years of this time he was also principal of the Scottsboro Female College, and resided at Scottsboro. For two years of the time he served the Macon church one Sunday in each month. I once read an old letter written to his mother at this period. I can not recall the exact words, but in substance he thus wrote of his domestic life: "My dear Elizabeth is queen in our little home. Sam [the colored man] attends to the garden and the cow; Lily [the cook] is supreme in the kitchen, and poor little Augusta [the cook's daughter] is everybody's drudge. When I come home from school I cut up the wood, which gives me good exercise ; and in the twilight Elizabeth plays and sings for me at her piano."
Four sweet children were added to this happy home; but alas! the first-born, a dear little girl, her father's pride and joy, was taken from him, when she was learning to talk and developing those entrancing baby ways that lead captive all hearts, and tempt a parent to idolatry.
When I was a child, one evening at family prayer, after my mother and older sisters had sung the hymn, "Oh, for a closer walk with God," our father said: "My children, I wish to tell you of an experience I had in connection with that song. While your little sister, Susan, my first-born, was living, on one occasion I was listening to the singing of that hymn, and when I heard those words,
'The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee,'
my heart sank. I said, 'Suppose my little girl should be demanded of me. Could I consent to give her up? Could I say, "Thy will be done?" Am I making an idol of her?' I do not know how well my poor heart was able to answer those questions, but ere long the message came, and I had to give up my darling. I have sometimes thought, perhaps I was loving my baby too much, and so the goo'd and wise Father took her to himself that he might draw her parent's heart away from earth to heaven."
Once when I was looking over some papers with my father, I found in his desk a little morocco jewel-case, and, on opening it, a lock of baby hair. He said "That is little Susan's hair, my mother put it in that casket and brought it to me when Susan died." I was assorting my father's papers when he had passed away. I found again that little case with the lock of yellow hair. Nearly sixty years he had kept it. He raised eleven children, and he often quoted with a loving smile, as he looked round upon us, "Happy is the man that hath his quiver full;" but he never forgot his first-born.
On June n, 1843, in her little home near Athens, my father's mother, Rebecca Hillyer, died. She had labored, loved and served. She lived to see all three of her sons good and useful men, prosperous in their work and happy in their families. What her death meant to them and to her devoted mother may well be imagined. I can not dwell upon the scene, but one thing I must tell. Shortly before she died, none but my father present with her, she told him of a small sum which she had and which she wished him to give to the Mission Board of the Georgia Baptist Convention as a permanent fund, the interest to be applied to the foreign mission work. In the settlement of her little affairs he found that a portion of the fund which she designated could not be thus applied, but as far as possible he carried out her wishes. He placed about two hundred and sixty dollars in the hands of the Board, and it was recorded under the simple name, "Foreign Mission Fund." I have been told that the interest on that fund furnishes fifteen dollars and sixty cents annually to Foreign Missions. By a recent act of the Convention the name was changed to "Rebecca Hillyer Foreign Mission Fund."
In the fall of 1844 my father was elected to the position of principal of the Female School at Penfield, but held the position only one term. He lost his wife during that term, and his own health was so poor that he was obliged to give up all work for a time. He sent his children to their maternal grandmother in Liberty County, and he spent several months in travel for the restoration of his health. I have heard him say that during that period he was very despondent as to his recovery, and had little hope of living another year. It was at some Baptist gathering he was appointed to preach the opening sermon for the next annual meeting. He said to himself, "My alternate will have to preach that sermon, for I shall not be here." But contrary to his forebodings the following year, 1846, found him restored to health, and he served the Madison church, and for a second time the Athens church.
In the summer of 1845 he had been elected to the chair of rhetoric in Mercer University, with the understanding that he was to enter upon his duties as soon as the financial condition of the college might authorize it. This occurred in 1847. His work included rhetoric, intellectual philosophy and moral science. Under the head of rhetoric it became his duty also to train the students in composition and elocution. His success was very marked. Mercer became famous for her fine speakers, who rendered the commencements popular and celebrated all over the State.
Before entering upon these duties he had married his second wife, Miss Elizabeth Dagg, daughter of Dr. J. L. Dagg, president of the University. Educated at her father's side, she had become an. intellectual woman, and a fit companion for my father in all his literary work. She is the interpretation to my mind of the word "mother." Her love was deep and tender and strong, but it did not cloud her judgment. She sustained my father in the government of his house, acting with cool decision and calm temper. She took into her big heart the motherless three whom my father brought her, and with unfeigned love did a true mother's part by them. Two of her own babies sleep in the old cemetery at Penfield, and eight of us live to "call her blessed."
The intellectual life at Mercer was a joy and delight to my father. He ever gladly remembered his association there with some of the greatest minds of the State. Doctors Dagg, Mell, Sanford, Tucker, Wise, Crawford, Willet—all were kindred spirits. Some of these he has commemorated in his writings, and he regarded them all as choice companions. It was while he was at Mercer, in 1850, that the degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred upon him by that institution.
My father's grandmother, Mrs. Freeman, had become lame from a fall, and, being very old, she was obliged some time before her death to give up going to public services. I suppose that even getting in and out of a carriage was painful to her. But one day, for some reason, my father was specially anxious for her to attend the exercises at the college chapel, and he said, "Grandmother, I wish you would let two of the negro men carry you in your chair to the chapel. I believe you can go in that way with comfort." She agreed to this, and so the little town of Penfield was treated to the strange sight of something like an oriental palanquin. Perhaps it is on this occasion she is reported as saying that it was the proudest day of her life when she sat in the audience and saw her three grandsons on the rostrum among the good and great of the land— John as an honored guest, Junius as a trustee of the University, and Granby as a member of the faculty. She felt that her work had not been in vain. Her own youthful days had fallen upon Revolutionary times, and her schooling had been neglected, but she knew the value of learning for her boys and had made many sacrifices for their sakes. She died in 1855, at the age of eighty-nine, surrounded by those who loved and reverenced her and ever honored her memory.
Soon after his grandmother's death, my father, having received a call to the Baptist church at Rome, moved his family and servants to a farm he had bought three miles from that town, on the Oostanaula River. He named the home Lindisfarn from a sort of romantic application of Miss Porter's novel, "The
Pastor's Fireside." In addition to his pastoral work and the farm work, in which, however, he had the assistance of an overseer, he established a home school for young ladies, and soon all the available space in his house was filled. He received also from the neighborhood, as day pupils, both boys and girls. It seemed that to him "Labor was life." And I must say a word here about my father as a slave-owner. At that period he owned about twenty slaves—a small number for those times. Although his professional work so engaged his attention that he was, as a general thing, obliged to have the help of an overseer, he did not neglect the physical comfort nor the moral instruction of his slaves. They lived in their cabins ranged upon the edge of his back yard, where he could care for them in sickness or trouble, and where he could by his mere presence restrain boisterous conduct and prevent quarreling and disorder. It was his custom to have family prayer in the dining-room, immediately after supper, before the children were too sleepy to give heed. On such occasions he invited—not compelled—the servants to come in. As a rule they appeared to enjoy the exercises, and there seemed no reluctance to comply with his wishes. At other times when they assembled in some one of their own cabins to hold religious services, as they were fond of doing, they were very proud to have "Master" come out and give them a talk or lead in prayer; and he in his turn greatly enjoyed their hearty singing. In the many changes he afterwards made he could not always have his negroes so close to him, but he was ever mindful of their moral and religious instruction.
In 1859 the trustees of Mercer called my father to fill_the chair of theology. This position he accepted, and so the "Pastor's Fireside" at Lindisfarn was deserted. He held the position of professor of theology until the exercises of the college were suspended in 1862 on account of the war.
At the breaking out of the war in 1861 his two oldest sons were on the eve of graduation. They had both done well and were regarded as young men of ability and promise, and their father was very proud of them. The elder, Shaler, had taken the first prize for declamation, and Lorraine, the younger, was now a candidate for the first honor. They were fired with the martial spirit of the times and eager for the fray, but their father restrained them from enlisting, until they had received their diplomas. My brother Lorraine was an earnest student, and both teachers and classmates testified to his superior gifts of mind; but as the time approached for dividing the honors, and he felt somewhat uncertain as to what the decision of the faculty would be, his father said to him, "My son, it matters not how the honors may be bestowed, I want you to know that your father is satisfied with your college course. You have done your duty." Lorraine looked up with a bright smile and said, "Well, father, if you are satisfied, I am content, and I shall feel anxious no longer." But to the joy of both and to many others he won the first honor.
Lorraine filled his father's heart with the sweet and restful love of approbation, that feels no regret, that is pained by no misgivings. Language can not express the pride and joy and hope he had in this son. But native sweetness of character alone would not have satisfied my father. He believed that every heart needs the regenerating influence of the Holy Spirit, and great was his joy when it became his privilege to lead this beloved son into the baptismal water.
Shortly after their graduation, Shaler and Lorraine both joined the army; and, as I have said, the college was suspended in 1862, and my father took his family again to Lindisfarn, which place he still retained and, while at Mercer, had entrusted to the overseer.
My father was industrious, cautious, prudent, economical. By these traits and also by the assistance of a small inheritance, he had at the beginning of the war a modest property, which with his salary was sufficient to provide comfortably for his family and educate his children and leave something for his old age. For many reasons that seemed proper to him at the time, he sold his plantation in the fall of 1862, made an engagement to take charge of the Hearn School at Cave Spring, and bought a farm near that place on which to put his negroes.
It was in July, 1863, while he was living in Cave Spring, the dreadful news came that his son Lorraine was mortally wounded. The letter announcing this was handed to him while he was engaged in the schoolroom. He dismissed school, and with anxious heart began to employ every means possible to learn something more definite. At first he could hear from no one who had seen Lorraine die or who had seen him after he was dead. He was left wounded on the field and had fallen into the hands of the enemy. It must be explained that the older brother was not near him at this time, and could not even go to the scene of his death. Lorraine was in Virginia and his brother, whose health had failed some time before, had been transferred from the Army of Virginia to a post in Georgia. The anxious suspense of those days no pen can depict. When at last the facts were known they were as follows : General Wright's brigade, to which Lorraine belonged, was detailed to guard the pass at Manassas Gap, on the retreat from Gettysburg, and in a little encounter there with the enemy he was wounded. His rank was that of first lieutenant but he was acting in the place of captain at the time. The enemy gained the field, and carried him with some of their own wounded to a farm-house near by, where he died in a few hours. The most substantial information came from the farmer, Mr. Hansborough, and there could be no reasonable doubt that the young officer whom he described was Lorraine, and yet because there was not positive demonstration of his identity (the war had closed before all the circumstances of his death were learned), my poor father would cling, at times, to a faint hope that his precious boy might yet return; that perhaps he had been carried to a northern prison instead of to the farmhouse.
The death of Lorraine was a very crushing blow to my father and to all the family, and very especially to his elder brother, for they had been constant companions from infancy and were devoted to each other. In speaking of this sorrow, my father said that for some time he felt unable to bear it. He tried not to rebel, but his grief was so overwhelming that he could not regain that calmness of spirit which Christian faith and trust ought to bring. One day he heard a sermon delivered by a brother preacher that comforted his heart and made him willing to give up his loved one into the hands of the Lord. With genuine submission he said, "Thy will be done," and a load of grief was rolled from his soul, and he could look up and smile, and feeling perfect assurance that his dear child was with his Savior, he took up again his work for the little brothers and sisters who were yet to tread life's stony way. It was no contradiction of this experience that when, after the war, the soldiers were coming home and he heard of so many unexpected returns of those thought to be lost, hope sprang up again, and his anxious eye scanned the passing groups of war-worn travelers, and he came to watch for the stage that daily passed the door. Each time he sadly turned away, knowing he had no just cause for the disappointment he felt.
In the same summer that Lorraine died, 1863, the Hearn School was very much disorganized by the call for young recruits, and though it had during the preceding term admitted girls as well as boys, the leaving of so many young men, and the constant excitement of the community caused by rumors of the approaching enemy, conspired to render steady and peaceful work almost impossible. Added to this my mother's health had become very feeble, and my father was anxious to take her to some quiet retreat where she might rest secure from such alarms. Accordingly he once more sold his farm and this time bought in Mitchell County, twelve miles below Albany, on the then stage line to Thomasville. For a short interval, while preparations were made, and while the trade was unsettled, he sent his family to his Penfield house. This was the last sojourn at Penfield and that home he afterwards sold. I believe a portion of the depreciated currency received for that property was on his hands when Lee surrendered.
The new home, like most of its neighbors, was a double log cabin, with wide open hall between, and two weatherboarded shed-rooms at the back. My father soon put up a wing at each rear corner, consisting of one large room, built also of logs. Thus there were six rooms, which for our family was rather crowded, but we became accustomed to the inconvenience, and we were very happy there in spite of the anxieties and privations growing out of the war. In the same spirit of romance in which he had named the other home Lindisfarn, my father called this Ravenswood, the ravens being represented by the flocks of crows that cawed in the tops of the old pine deadenings. While living in this retirement, my father was pastor of the country church near by, and also taught a neighborhood school. One object he had in this was to educate his children. Their schooling went on with little interruption throughout the four years, that is, of those who were of school age.
When the war closed, and the negroes were set free, a Southwest-Georgia plantation 'with its ginhouse, barns, cabins, etc., represented the bulk of my father's fortune. He adapted himself as best he could to the new conditions, made a contract with his former slaves to work the land, and so struggled on through 1866. At the end of that year he again sold out, went to Forsyth and took charge of the Monroe College in order to educate his five daughters. This step he said he never regretted. The work he accomplished in the next twelve or fourteen years was something marvelous. When he moved to Forsyth he had eight children to educate. His oldest daughter was married, and his oldest son had graduated in 1861. The other eight were still dependent and he was fifty-seven years old— an age at which many men wish to rest. He was pastor of the church as well as president of the college. When he finished his day's work in the school-room, he spent the latter part of the afternoon in pastoral visiting. There were no street-cars and he had no conveyance, but he was always a good walker. He preached twice on Sunday, held prayer-meeting on Wednesday night, performed the marriage ceremonies, visited the sick, and buried the dead. In short, he met all the obligations of a pastor, while filling with untiring industry and unquestioned ability and success his position in the college.
On the 31st of January, 1870, we lost our beloved mother. I can not describe the sorrow of a motherless home. Most people have felt it, or will feel it in time. Her death came upon us as a sudden and painful shock. For eighteen months or two years her health had so greatly improved that she and my father were encouraged to believe that she would entirely recover. She was beginning to resume little tasks that she had for several years been obliged to lay aside. She was happy in her plans for her husband and children, and in the care of her father, who was then living with us. But the message came, and she was ready to go. Dr. William T. Brantly, writing of her death, said: "Like Enoch she walked with God, and though her translation was not so miraculous as was his, we believe that it was as certain and as glorious."
Through all our lives our mother had taught us to revere our father. I believe no two parents ever more fully agreed upon principles of government in rearing their children. Our mother had taught us to acquiesce without question in what our father did; that we might feel sure of his doing right. He so verified this by every word and deed that when after a time he told us of his intention to marry again, there was not one rebellious word uttered, and though we wept in silence—for motherless children must weep—we remembered what she had taught us of respect and loyalty to our father, and we gave our dutiful and even cheerful consent to his wishes.
The new mother had been Mrs. Lawton, widow of William Lawton and daughter of Dr. Samuel Furman, of South Carolina. She was a refined and cultured lady, and she not only won the hearts of her stepchildren, but of the whole community, by her sweet and gentle manners which yet only half revealed her deeply affectionate and sympathetic nature.
In 1872 my father resigned the presidency of the college and accepted a subordinate position so as to give more time to the church. In 1880 he was president again, but retained the position only about eighteen months. Advancing age and failing strength convinced him that he was no longer able to carry on the burden of the two professions. One must be relinquished. Therefore in the summer of 1881 he concluded to close his labors as an educator and devote his life to the ministry, so long as God should give him strength to perform its duties. His daughters had all left school, some were married and the others self-supporting; and this was an additional reason for giving up the school-room.
In 1881 he was called to be pastor of the Baptist church in Washington, Wilkes County, Georgia. Back then to his native county he went to spend, as he probably thought, his last days. For six years he served that church and a more happy relation between pastor and people could scarcely be imagined. While there, he was largely instrumental in the erection of a neat and substantial church building. In this his wife was a great help to him, as she was in all his pastoral labor. She went with him to see the poor and the sick, and she showed the most earnest zeal in Christian work. The last summer of this pastorate closed with a very interesting revival of religion, which was ever after a comfort and joy to remember.
My father wrote out in full very few of his sermons ; but it was his habit to record in small notebooks the texts and analyses, giving usually the date and place of preaching. Sometimes he recorded pastoral visits, or mentioned some attendant circumstance. He left a number of these books, going back as far as the year 1848. In the book kept in Washington, in the year 1886, is a record of the sermon he preached on June the 2Oth. On the next page he notes the death of his brother Junius, on June 21, with the following touching tribute: "This was a sad day to me. At nine A. M. a telegram from Decatur informed me that my beloved brother, Junius, was dead. At about half past eleven my sympathizing Dorothea and I started to Decatur. We found a weeping family. The burial service was next day conducted by Doctor McDonald of Atlanta. My brother was in childhood my playmate; in youth, my companion; in manhood, my friend; and through all my life my faithful counselor and loved brother. I wish my children to cherish his memory and love his children. God grant that we may all meet in Heaven."
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