Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1878-05-18

Rev. IF. Pagan.


The death Of this devoted young minister
has saddened many hearts. 1t is with tear
full eve 1 attempt this tribute to his memory.
1t is hard TO say any thing to comfort those
who mourn their dead. Jobs friends under
stood this when they came TO him in the
time of his trouble, sand sat down upon the
ground with him seven days and seven
nights, and none spoke word unto him for
they saw that his grief was great" Still,
when we learn
Some friend we love is lying low
Where human kisses cannot reach ms lace
it is well that we sit in sorrow with the be-
reaved, and mingle our tears with theirs.
And when the storm of sorrow is somewhat
spent, together we may study to profit the
lesson of the life so soon lost in the mystery
of death.
NV recollection of Fielding Pagan
runs back to the happiest period Of my own
life. As a timid child he was frequently at
our house with his now sainted mother. L
we'll recall the warm affection manifested
for his mother, and her quiet joy in
having him always near her. The simple
things of life! How they cling to the heart
and touch it into tenderness when the bur-
dened years have come and gone! So to-day
as the dreary heaven spOurs out its heart in
rain, - recall a time of storm when these
two, mother and son, sat side by side before
the fire in the old Parsonage at Pulaski.
There was something subdueing in the storm
and no body talked. When 1 looked up
FieIding's head had nestled on his mothers
lap and she was gently strolxing the damp
hair from his brow. Many times I saw
them together when the sky was blue, the
air balmy, and the soft winds perfumed
with the breath of flowers; but in my
memory no scene is so revived as those soft
strokes of the mothers hand on that winter
day. Is it any wonder that when the
patient eye grew dim in death he should
exclaim, "My mother, my mother, don't
you see her! Just as the prophet cried, ''My
Father, my Father, the chariot of Isreal and
the horsemen thereofF'
As a man, Bro. Pagan was characterized
by guileless simplicity. In simplicity and
gOdly sincerity he had his conversation in
this world. How like the great Master, who
did not sin, nor was gui,e found in his
mouth. His standpoint of life was high,
and he earnestly endeavored to reach it.
He left the memory of a name which money
cannot build nor buy. A good name the
memory of which the Psalmist Iikens to
precious ointment poured forth
"Iore softly than the dew is shed
Or cloud is fiOated overhead"
Almost with his dying breath he said to
his weeping wife, mildred, leave you and
the children good name, that is best?"
pity the man or woman who can read that
will with dry eye. 1t seems to me that
understand Just how he felt when he said
that, and all that was implied in, "that is
best" In one sense his was hard life. The
son of faithful itinerant, and in the ranks
himself while yet the dew of youth was
fresh upon his brow, he daily pitched his
moving tent. Nor was that tent often
pitched by the palm trees and the waters OF
Elm nor where the flowers of Damascus
shed their fragrance on the hot air. But
under all circumstances he was the courte-
Gus, Christian minister, patiently working
and trusting in the infinite goodness of a
tender Father. He lived not to see the
autumn days when men gather in their
harvest. Yet as the result of that patient
working it is said that he had won more
souls to Christ than any preacher of his
age in the Tennessee Conference. The full
harvest is not yet, but it is just as the word
of God,