The Methodist Quarterly Review 1878

We first saw Baker in the spring of 1828. He had come down from one of the good old towns of New Hampshire, to commence, at Wilbraham, a course of liberal education. He seemed & retiring and amiable youth, of soft speech and gentle way not specially social and communicative, save to a select few, to whom, however, he was not backward to converse of his youthful sentiments, trials, and sorrows. His health was not firm and perfect, and a secret infirmity attached itself to him in those days, and which, in fact, was chronic, adhering to him through life, and very possibly contributing to his early decline. Few, doubtless) suspected any such disability, as they have looked upon the apparently robust form and the countenance, so bland and fresh, of his mature manhood. But there were those who saw beneath the outward and the' visible, and who knew that this seemingly strong man was, after all, but delicately constituted-that he was ill-adapted to protracted and stern endurance; and who were not surprised that the far reaching travels, the arduous conference sessions, the countless, intricate questions to be officially settled, and the weary labors and exertions generally incidental to the Methodist episcopacy, should prove a burden too heavy and severe to be long sustained by one physically and mentally organized as was Bishop Baker.

At the academy he was diligently and successfully prosecuting his preparatory studies when there came suddenly down upon that company of young men and maidens a remarkable baptism of the Holy Spirit. Of the antecedents of this revival we retain, unfortunately, no very distinct remembrance. Certain devout and excellent young men were there, such as John W. Merrill, Jefferson Haskall, Mosely Dwight, Otis Wilder, Joel Knight, Horace Moulton, Graves, Stocking, and others-all of whom were looking toward the ministry, and whose bearing and example before their fellow-students were without reproach. It was a goodly company for young Baker-not yet a Christian youth-to meet, as lie came thither for study; and it was salutary for him to note their wholesome example, and listen to their prayers and to their affecting and earnest addresses and exhortations to flee from the wrath to come and lay hold on eternal life. And when the sacred influences fell, as the dew of heaven, upon that youthful crowd, Baker was not among the last to yield arid be saved. Then it was that he and his life long friend, David Fatten, side by side, together bowed to the ever-glorious Redeemer, and, arm in arm, started on their Christian career. Clear and brilliant was his conversion. It had the seeming of a sudden uprising from darkness to light-from tears to smiles-from depression and distress to unspeakable. And we remember how that subsequently along that beautiful spring he walked in newness of life"-how he delighted in the ways of the Lord, and with a glad heart and luminous countenance and sprightly step lie participated in the little missionary excursions to the mountain neighborhoods, or along the pleasant plains stretching away

from the academy toward the setting sun. "He's a real soldier," whispered one, as, on one of these excursions, Baker, with quick and gladsome step, was walking in advance of 115. He drank, amid those happy days, of the joys of salvation, and seemed, at times, in haste to tell the story all abroad.

Happy for this young man, as well as for many others, that at this special period of his life, and for several years after-ward, he was providentially thrown amid the sacred influences emanating from that model Christian gentleman and bright ornament of humanity, Wilbur Fisk. At the academy, and afterward at the university, this great and good mail was the presiding genius, toward whom Baker looked with a careful eye and with an admiration and veneration that never diminished and never grew weary. Fisk knew him, watched him, and loved him ; and would, at times, steal iii unawares when, in one or another suburb of Middletown, Baker was addressing some little assembly, and would there listen to his virgin efforts at preaching.

Summer came, and with it came the close of that memorable term at Wilbraham. Henceforth, for a series of years, Osmon C. Baker and the writer of this sketch were separated-the one prosecuting study at the Middletown University, the other, at Bowdoin College. We subsequently joined hands again at Newbury, Vt., for organizing and conducting the new seminary just established there. Baker, though still a youth, had come up to the stature and aspect of a portly and handsome man-his general appearance being much as it was along his subsequent and maturer years. He stood at six feet, his face full and florid, his eyes protected by spectacles, his hair black, his bearing gentle and sober, and characterized by a calm dignity joined with a pleasant and unaffected urbanity. His was then, and always, a genial and attractive presence, and a stranger who might chance to meet him and look up into his calm and quiet face would be likely to look again, or, per-chance, inquire who he might be. More than one who had seen the late excellent Professor Upham, of Bowdoin College, remarked the general resemblance between him and Baker. Nor was the likeness of the two men merely physical. They were similar in many of their modest and retiring ways, in their deeply respectful bearing toward those with whom they were called to associate, in their indifference to the fashions and attractions of the world, in that profound humility wherein was their daily and hourly walk, in the' careful watch constantly maintained at "the door of their lips ".--so that few were the unadvised or foolish words they ever uttered, and few the disparaging remarks they ever indulged touching a neighbor or an enemy.

As Baker came to Newbury there stood at his side the one who had given herself to be his life-companion and the sharer of his prosperity arid adversity, of his sorrows and his honors. Of this lady, who still survives, it might seem ungraceful to say much ; but so much we feel bound to write, namely, that years of observation and pleasant acquaintance could not fail to impress us that had O. C. Baker sought the world over for one very exactly adapted to his taste, or wants, or the varied circumstances attendant upon his life, he could not have succeeded better than in the choice of a wife which lie actually made.

And so the new seminary was launched, classes formed, and labors assigned. With commendable energy and courage, and with characteristic prudence and wisdom, did Baker address himself to the arduous labors that awaited him. He was, from the beginning, a competent, popular, and successful teacher and lecturer. Whatever might be the branch of study that devolved upon him to teach, lie spared no pains to qualify himself for his task. His previous or general acquaintance with the study could not satisfy him. He was fain to reach out and gather facts and illustrations, sparing no pains that he might be able to present to his pupils the fullest knowledge possible of the subject in hand. That thorough conscientiousness which marked his whole life seemed specially prominent with him as a teacher of youth. In his mind and heart there lived a keen sense of dirty which he owed to his classes. Instruction was not with him a mere routine to be begun and ended. lie would do his whole part toward forming as well as informing the minds of the youth before him, and in shaping and qualifying them for the realization of a happy and noble future. And, cherishing such views as these, not only did he lay himself out for a faithful and complete performance of his work, but he loved that work with the love of an enthusiast, while he prosecuted it with the pure and elevated motives of a Christian. His appropriate business was his delight, and it was with difficulty that he could be diverted from what he contemplated as his high calling. Though entirely respect able as a preacher, and as such always acquitting himself well, yet, during those years in which he was occupied as a teacher, whether in the seminary or in the institute, there ever seemed with him a backwardness to entering the pulpit. Hence, with sympathies warm and gentle as those of a woman toward his ministerial brethren, he was, however, wont to shrink from their solicitations to aid in their pulpit labors, and always seemed to evince a decided preference that "the preachers should do their own preaching."

Herein, in fact, might have been seen a prominent characteristic of the man. He craved to be a man of one work, and to one work he sought to dedicate all the talents and energies with which he was endowed, esteeming that therein Jay his province and his duty, and that he was incompetent or unable for much that was external to his profession. And this, it seems almost superfluous to add, was one of the grand secrets of his success. This it was that enabled him to stand almost unrivaled as a teacher in any branch of study to which he gave his attention, and in which he undertook to impart instruction. Fruitful of invention, apt and ample in illustration, indefatigable in research, charged with a generous enthusiasm, inspired with a single aim, and prompted to a full and firm endeavor, he came to his classes possessed of conscious strength for his work, and with a complete mastery of the business before him. Strong was he as a teacher, yet, as he taught, there was no affectation of strength-no needless ostentation of ability or learning. True, there were in that lecture-room animation, vivacity, assurance, sunshine; but, withal, the same calmness, the same gentle, affable spirit, that marked him in his general intercourse and habits elsewhere.

Of Baker as a preacher, it is no disparagement to say that he was less distinguished here than as a teacher. It must be remembered that preaching was not his delight, as was teaching; nor were hrs natural gifts in that direction equal to those that fitted him to shine so conspicuously in the professor's chair. It should be also remembered that most of his public life prior to his election to the episcopacy was devoted to teaching-a calling which, when long and earnestly pursued, is discerned to induce habits of thought, expression, and manner generally not precisely favorable to that special style of preaching most agreeable to the popular taste. The truly eloquent and popular preacher is ordinarily one with whom preaching is a familiar and regular exercise, and not a mere occasional or incidental effort. This preacher has preaching for his great calling and work. He preaches often, and loves to preach. He preaches the word-the great word of life and salvation-in distinction from a mere intellectual deliverance, whether scientific, philosophical, ethical, or even religious. He communes much and long with the Holy Scriptures, and dwells amid the heavenly baptismal influences, and walks with God, and has the wondrous salvation of the Gospel as his own heart experience from day to day, and loves God with all his heart, and loves his race with a love which many waters cannot quench. Somewhere here lies the secret of truly great and eloquent preaching. The Wesleys, and Whitefield, and Fletcher, all understood and exemplified it, and so have a goodly number of their sons in the gospel, dead and living. But, alas! not all arc such preachers-we fear, not the majority; not all, even, of those whom the multitude deem the most eloquent and able.

The preaching of Baker might have been justly characterized as sound in sentiment, orderly in arrangement, chaste and correct in style, clear and distinct in statement, pertinent in illustration, convincing in argumentation, and sober and dignified in delivery. As he preached there was discernible very little of chaff among the wheat, very few confused or unmeaning remarks. He was but slightly given to anecdote ; he never, in preaching, we believe, awakened a smile, and he seldom extorted a tear. His demeanor in the pulpit was faultless; he was there perfectly himself; assuming no airs, indulging no violent gestures, and evincing no constraint or uneasiness-with attitude firm and dignified, a voice clear and musical, yet, under excitement, often soaring and rapid as lie rounded to the close of his sermon. On the whole, he was no mean preacher, but one to whom thoughtful men and women were wont to listen with interest, and often with delight, as the earnest and faithful message issued from his lips. For if Baker was wanting in one or another of the more showy and popular elements of a great and eloquent preacher, lie was far from any lack in what must be reckoned as the basis of all truly excellent preaching. He was well read and sound as a theologian. He had found time for a careful study of Christian doctrine generally, and was specially conversant with all the prominent writers of his own Church, possessing himself of a thorough understanding of their sentiments and spirit; and if; in his labors at the institute, the department of theology had devolved upon him, instead of the one lie so ably sustained, his light would have shone there with at least an equal radiance and brilliancy.

Ten years of his easy manhood did Baker devote to the labor of instruction at Newbury Seminary, having during the latter half of that term of time the principal ship of the institution. They were years of great and severe labors, and it seems needless to add that, in all his relations to the seminary, he acquitted himself honorably and well, and, retiring from the school, he failed not to leave there a name fragrant with a thousand beautiful memories. A few years as pastor and presiding elder succeeded, when Baker received an imperative call to a professorship in the Biblical Institute, then just commencing its eventful career. This enterprise was new in American Methodism, and, as was very natural, was not without opposition even in high places and among the truly excellent of the ministry and membership of the Church. At the same time it had, on the other hand, strong and determined advocates. Such men as Abel Stevens, Charles K. True, James Porter, and others, were among the earliest to take up their pens in its favor. Meanwhile, the great question came presently into discussion in the several New England Conferences, where slowly yet surely the object commended itself to the understanding and hearts of the ministry, and opposition to a similar extent yielded or became silent.

That man of mark, John Dempster, had long cherished in his heart of hearts the idea of a biblical and theology cal school for the benefit of the Methodist ministry, and was girding himself for its realization with all that calm yet determined and indomitable energy for which he was so distinguished. Passing from conference to conference, he stood up in the presence of his brethren, and with his clear, solemn, and stirring eloquence he unfolded, iii masterly argument and forceful illustration, the genuine philosophy lying at the foundation of such a school of the prophets as was in contemplation. His efforts were not in vain. The school arose into existence - arose amid struggling and difficulties, yet under favorable auspices, for Dempster and Baker were its earliest professors and guides.

Here, in this his new professorship, the real ability and strength of Baker shone forth with genuine and unsullied brilliancy. He was no longer a youth, and no novice in the great work of instruction. He was a veteran, rather; had seen long and arduous service in the momentous business of training and instructing youthful minds. Moreover, he had been a faithful student of the various learning adapted to the sacred calling, and had, for several years, been exercising himself in the active ministry. Thus he came to his new work laden with the rich experience and practical knowledge which contributed so largely to fit him for the duties appertaining to his sacred profession. The Homiletical Department of studies and exercises came mainly under his supervision, including a thorough examination of the Methodist polity, spirit, and usages; and in this class of studies few men in the Church were more fully competent to guide, instruct, and counsel candidates for the Methodist ministry. It was in connection with these lectures that his work on the Discipline gradually took shape, and grew into the admirable treatise which he published shortly after entering the episcopacy. This, the only extended literary effort which he saw fit to give to the world, presents a clear and full digest and illustration of what may be termed Methodist law, and deservedly received from the press of the Church the highest commendation.

It was not long after entering upon his labors at the institute before, from various quarters, were evident pointings toward Professor Baker as a candidate for the episcopacy. His present position brought him more prominently to the notice of influential ministers in and out of New England, who could hardly fail to discern in him several special qualifications for the high office alluded to. Thus, in connection with this office, his name, with others, began to be frequently agitated in ministerial circles; and when the General Conference of 1852 had assembled, at which several bishops would be necessarily elected, Baker's name was soon observed to hold special prominence as the New England candidate. The election occurring, he, with three other candidates, Scott, Simpson, and Ames, were chosen on the first balloting.

It is quite possible, if not entirely certain, that Baker, on taking his seat in that Conference, entertained little or no expectation of such an election. We think lie had no aspirations for the office, for he seemed never to aspire to any office, and certainly never sought promotion. He seemed, rather, always to love to walk in lowly paths, and to feel a shrinking from new and heavy responsibilities. He was contented as a simple teacher, and asked for no principalship. He was contented as a pastor, and sought no presiding eldership. And so he was contented as a professor, and sought no bishopric. And, pending his assumption of that highest office in American Methodism, with its attendant responsibilities, it certainly seemed to those who had been long acquainted with his modest pretensions, and his dread of public notice and public station, that the solemn weight of the new duties to which lie was now called would prove almost too fearful for endurance. Yet this was a mistake. This new and modest Bishop walked up amid his fresh and untried obligations and labors with a firm and deliberate step. No shrinking or tremor was visible. He seemed to be at once familiar with the new situation, and conscious of ample strength to occupy and honor it. Taking his turn, presently, to preside over that great Conference in which he was quietly sitting, the other day, as one of its members, he had all the seeming of perfect self-possession; and, though the youngest Bishop, we believe, that ever stood before such a Conference, there was apparent an entire familiarity with all the rules governing the presiding officer, and a promptness in their observance, accompanied with a propriety and dignity of bearing and demeanor such as surprised his friends, and confirmed their assurance of his capability for his new position and obligations.

And so did Bishop Baker go forth to grapple with his untried and grave duties as one of the superintendents of the great Methodist Episcopal Church. With what wisdom, energy, fidelity, diligence, ability, and promptitude, he labored in his new and widely extended field of toil and sacrifice, and with what uniform gentleness, affability, sympathy, and brotherly affection, he bore himself in all his intercourse, official and unofficial, with his brethren, needs not to be detailed here. He, doubtless, knew and felt that lie was a Bishop of a great and powerful Church; he shut not his eyes to the sacredness and dignity of his position. At the same time, his characteristic humility, modesty, and simplicity never forsook him. He persisted in remaining a man among men, a brother among brethren, delighting to be reckoned a servant of the disciples, and deeming himself; we doubt not, among the least of them all.

To us, short-sighted mortals, incapable of seeing afar, it seemed a wondrous pity that such a man and such a Bishop should be so early removed from the Church and the world. Painfully pleasant is it to think of Bishop Baker as having been destined, in providence, to tarry long on the earth; to have passed on to a green and vigorous old age-his intellect clear and strong as ever, his form still erect and full, his step still firm and dignified, his old and whitened head still uplifted among his brethren, his beautiful smiles still beaming sunshine around him, his voice still firm in speech and song, and his venerable and noble presence a blessing to see!

But paint not the picture: it was never to be seen or admired. "His sun has gone down while it was yet day;" and it is better to think of him as away, somewhere, in the heavenly Paradise, communing, it may be, with Fisk and other beautiful spirits that ascended aforetime; and mingling with the angels-perchance "a little lower than they;" and, like Daniel, the greatly beloved, "standing in his lot till the end of the days."

0, Though oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only,

Such as these have lived and died !"

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