our love longed to lengthen into years. "How long is it?" he said so often, and "now I must go home," and then would come more words of love, of gratitude to the faithful and devoted skill that tried, and would have died, to save his life; "God bless you, dearest Doctor, you have done all that man's skill and devotion could do." And then his soul went back to catch the ever nearing glimpse of rest and peace. Twice more, he turned from it, to us, for words of faith and love. "I die in the Faith of the Son of God, and in the confidence of His One Catholic and Apostolic Church. I have no merits; no man has, but my trust is in the mercy of Jesus." And from the clear, calm utterance of these Nicean words, his voice lowered, and his hands were lifted, "Unto God's gracious mercy and protection, I commit you. The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace both now and for evermore." And as he gave us peace, God gave it fully to him. There was only quiet after this; the pressure of the hand, the eye that took in each of us, in turn, into its depth of love, his grateful acceptance, and his earnest Amen, to the prayer for his departing soul. And at ten minutes before one, God let his servant depart in peace, and enter into peace: No labour there, no wearying employment, No creed, confession, litany, to raise But all fulfilled in the complete enjoyment Of knowledge, adoration, love and praise.

Devotion there, a pleasure, not a duty;

No anxious hopes, no over-mastering fears;
But the near vision, of the King in beauty,

To eyes, whose seeing is not dimmed with tears.

That joy we know not, to more glory leadeth,
There, hope assured, in perfect patience waits,
And scarcely feels the only thing it needeth,

That God should open Heaven's jewelled gates.

The white robed souls, the palms, palm branches bearing, *
The tongues, attuned to sing the Angels' song,
Reach out for crowns, that seem for ever nearing,
And only cry "How long, O Lord, how long?"

O home of peace, to our homes drawing nearer,
As one by one, our darlings enter in,
How art thou fairer, surer, better, dearer,
Than these abodes of sorrow and of sin.

Thy pastures green, thy rivers of God's pleasures
Bid us, stray sheep and tired lambs, to come,
Restored to all our human hopes and treasures
And finding first, our one, "continuing " home.

"Born the 27th of May, 1799, he died the 27th of April, 1859, in the 27th year of his episcopate."

"In the midst of his toils, his battles, his temptations, and his triumphs; in the midst of works pregnant with new works, of labours leading to fresh labours, of struggles which became ever a deeper labyrinth of struggles, suddenly the word of the Master came; the shades of evening fell; the faithful servant heard the word, when to all others it was inaudible; he saw the descending shadow, ere any others saw it; and quietly, patiently, submissively he dropped the implements of labour, folded around him the garments of his rest, and full of peace, full of hope, full of faith, departed from the field of toil to the divinely appointed haven of repose!

Could a true son of the Church venture to choose a time for the last conflict with the Adversary power, and a time for the decisive moment of release and victory, he would prefer the week of the Lord's suffering for the one, the Holy Easter week for the other. At this holy season deep crieth unto deep. Nature and grace are responsive to one another. In nature, winter relaxes his iron hold, and as Spring comes in, the whole world breaks into a jubilee of bloom and fragrance and sunshine and song. In grace, the Church reminds us of the spiritual meaning of all this. The pathway from labour to rest, from suffering to consolation, from agony to victory, from the cross to the crown, is traced out for us, through the vale of Gethsemane, up the steep of Calvary, down the low archway of the grave, up again through the open portals of the Resurrection and Ascension, and every step is marked by the bleeding feet of the Son of God Himself. What a time for the last conflict of the Churchman, the Bishop, the laborious man of God."

+"As Easter-tide came in, the clouds passed away, and the Bishop, though weakened by the struggle, was so calm, so patient, so much himself, with momentary gleams of his old playfulness of manner, that every one began to hope the worst was over; and each hour's intelligence from Burlington was of a more cheering character. He was not deceived himself, however. To the encouraging prophecies of others, he answered only by a word, or a look of incredulous acquiescence. His physician entreated him to exert a will in favour of the efforts of nature. He knew how to exert a will-was his answer-but he could not create a will. Though faint, and feeble, during this serene sunset of his life, he had strength to utter many living words of comfort to those about him. He left messages also for the absent. In this way, having received the sacrament of the Lord's Supper for the last time, and having lingered long enough to show how full of sweetness, were the springs, from which his manly energy

*Rev. Dr. Mahan.

Rev. Dr. Mahan.

had derived its vigour, he quietly, and to the great body of his friends quite unexpectedly, departed to his rest."

"The hour for the funeral was fixed at one o'clock on Saturday, April 30th; at which time from every part of the Diocese, clergy and laity came up to render this last homage of reverence and love to their departed Bishop; while Philadelphia and New York, and even more distant parts of the Church were largely represented; and Burlington itself-all classes, ages, denominations, and colours, was out en masse.

The

The body lay in an apartment of his late residence at Riverside, where it was viewed by thousands of persons. The clergy assembled and robed in the South room, the Bishop of Vermont, Bishop Potter of New York, and Bishop Southgate, being in attendance, together with more than an hundred clergymen in surplices, besides many others. Bishop was buried in his official robes, his hands being crossed over his breast. The coffin was covered with purple cloth, having on the lid a plain cross, of full length, with a calvary at the base. At the appointed hour for moving, the coffin was covered with a beautiful pall of purple silk, with a large white cross dividing it into four equal parts. Over this was laid his pastoral staff, bound with mourning; and on that again a wreath of violets. The body was borne, all the way to the Church, on a bier, by the hands of the faithful, preceded by the Bishops and the other officiating clergy; accompanied by the eight clerical and eight lay pall-bearers, (members of the Standing Committee and of the delegation to the General Convention); and followed by the mourners first, then the Clergy of New Jersey and other dioceses, then by the pupils of Burlington College and St. Mary's Hall, in deep mourning; and lastly by the long line of friends and citizens generally, among whom were the Governor, and others of the most distinguished persons in the State. No person, who saw, will ever forget, the solemn beauty of the sight, as that surpliced procession moved along the margin of Riverside, already clad in its spring livery of green, bathed in the cloudless glory of afternoon sunshine; with that dense yet slow-moving crowd of all classes clustering round; and on the left, the broad flashing surface of the Delaware, with its moving sails, seen through the trunks of the new-leafed trees, among the branches of which, the birds were making music as merrily, as if there were no grief below. On reaching the gate of St. Mary's churchyard, the opening sentences of the Burial Service were said by the venerable Rector of Trinity Church, New York, and the procession moved on through a dense crowd to the Church door, which was then first

*Church Journal.

opened, no one having been previously admitted into the building. The Bishops, and several of the elder clergy, occupied the sanctuary. The bier with its burden was placed in the centre of the choir, the pall-bearers being on either side, and the whole chancel being completely filled with the large number of surpliced clergy. The East wall of the sanctuary, the altar, and the Bishop's throne were draped with mourning, the altar being marked by a plain white cross on the frontal, and having over it on the reredos the legend, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord: for they rest from their labours." The front of the galleries was draped with purple cloth. After time had been given for the vast congregation to fill the building to its utmost capacity-only a small portion being able to enter at all-the anthem was chanted with great solemnity of effect, owing to the great number of men's voices. The Lesson was read by Bishop Southgate. The body was then borne out by the hands of the priestly pall-bearers, through the South transept door, the procession forming once more in the order of entrance. Slowly the long line wound its way round the outside of the Chancel wall, near which the grave was made: and, the coffin being lowered to its resting place, the Bishop of Vermont began the concluding service. At the words, Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the earth was cast upon the coffin lid by the hands of Mr. Garthwaite-one of the oldest, and firmest, and dearest friends of the Bishop among his laity. The sentence, I heard a voice from heaven, was sung by three priests the Rev. E. M. Pecke, Acting Rector of Burlington College, the Rev. Mr. Shackelford of Newark, and the Rev. Mr. Tucker of Troy, the music being a trio, adapted from Mozart. The voices harmonized and blended admirably, and the sounds, swelling and dying away in the open air, were more exquisite than any thing of the sort we ever heard before on a similar occasion. The concluding prayers and benediction were said by Bishop Potter: and then, slowly, and with many sobs and tears, those who loved the departed in life,* approached, one after another, and looked for the last

From one of these, who saw, in a long backward glance, from the just opened grave, memories of life-long love and intimate acquaintance; this comes to me, in "The Banner of the Cross."

"It seems as yesterday, when but a boy, I saw four men pass up a quiet street of old, old Burlington. Three of these men were strangers. The other was a meek old man bent down with years, but known by every one, as he passed along, bowing with a smile and nod to all, both old and young. One of the three strangers was of a tall, commanding form and countenance ;-not soon forgotten this first visit to my native town, of the new Bishop of New Jersey. They pass up to the hallowed courts of oid St. Mary's. Out of idle curiosity, boy-like, I follow, and there, for the first time, I beheld the ordination of a Deacon in the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. A few short months pass by, and the

time into the grave, that was then about to close on him in this world forever: and then turned silently and sadly away.

The beauty of the scene was even more remarkable in the graveyard, than by the river side. The noble outline of St. Mary's Church, with its cruciform plan and central tower and spire, having the Southern Sun behind it, was an unbroken old Rector slept. For more than forty years he fed his flock, and the whole burden of his song in all that time, had been (St. John-like) Little children, love one another, Little children, love one another.' But he is gone into a better country to rest with all the redeemed ones of his flock, beside still waters and ever-verdant pastures, where neither can die any more.' And now St. Mary's saw another rector, and I have never known nor ever wished to know another, as I told him not long since: Let my wanderings and my home be where they may, as long as you live and remain Rector of St. Mary's, there I remain a member.' It seems as yesterday that in my earliest manhood I knelt before the altar, and felt the Baptismal waters of Regeneration trickling down my brow, poured there by his kind hands. It seems as yesterday, I knelt before the altar and felt upon my head, the pressure of those kind, warm hands in the Apostolic rite of Confirmation. It seems as yesterday I knelt before the altar and received, the first time, from those same kind hands, the emblems of His broken body and pouredout Blood. It seems as yesterday, we stood together in old St. Mary's last restingplace. The strong man was bowed down, convulsed with grief. He came there to select the grave for him who had been to him all of a son, save blood alone, (the Rev. Mr. Winslow.) He said to me- This is the spot I have selected for my burial-place, by the side of this dear boy; now, I want you to remember this: I shall be gone long before you.' (I never thought that Bishop Doane could die; I sometimes thought that in a ripe old age he might some time fall into the grave, like a shock of full corn.) Again I see him standing before the altar of old St. Mary's. The solemn service for Good Friday morn is ended. The last notes of the organ, with that touching hymn, (Tis finished; so the Saviour cried, and meekly bowed his head and died,') has died away, when from his lips there fall these words: "Beloved, if the sad and touching story which day after day, through all this solemn week, the Church has so faithfully and lovingly rehearsed before you-if all this fails to move and melt you, naught will avail that I can say." Again I see him standing at the entrance of the Chapel,' while matron, teachers, pupils, all pass out before him. One by one they go, and each and all feel the warm pressure of those hands, with the kind, kind Good-night. Again I see him sitting in the chancel of the same, but now crowded, chapel. Around him stand a band of white-robed maidens; they are listening to his last, loving, parting words, and tears are falling; for, though homeward bound, they feel sad on leaving those venerable Halls, and him who has been to them so kind and gentle their spiritual father, counsellor, and guide. Can any of those graduating classes, that from year to year went forth from Burlington College, as they stood around him, both in Old and New St. Mary's, can they forget those words of fine and thrilling eloquence as he bids them go forth like men-like Christian men, amidst a wicked world; so run, so strive, and always battle for the right? Who can forget his sermons, all his own peculiar style, which none can ape or even imitate? Who of St. Mary's can ever forget his Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lenten, Good Friday, and his Easter sermons? Is there one of us who heard it, that ever can forget a sermon preached on glorious Epiphany, not yet two years, from the short text of three words only, Who is this?' It was a glorious sermon, such as only he could preach; and, I will say, with all due reverence, his last, dying master-speech might read-'One World, One Washington, One Bishop Doane.' His house was always open to me, with the invitation, Come always,'Come whenever you can;' and I was always welcome. Methinks I hear his well-known step upon the stairs, for though worn out with all his many cares and duties, his feet were ever swift to hasten to the sick-bed, or to the house of mourning. The door opens and he comes in to my sick-bed with words of comfort and of consolation, and words of love and prayer. It was a