mass of dark brown shadow; and clustering thick around its base, was the crowd of all sorts and conditions of men-from the personal friends and relatives, the veterans of the Laity who had stood by their beloved Bishop through all the labours and storms of his long Episcopate, down to the hundreds of poor and needy whom he had befriended, and the memorable 17th of March. The storm of rain and snow, and wind, raged furiously without the walls of old St. Mary's, and within, brethren of the same household were not all of oue mind. In the midst of it, he stands undaunted, contending for what he believes to be the right. I had been absent from my native town; he sees me standing in that crowded aisle; he quickly crosses the chancel, takes me with both hands, and says, 'Why, here is one of my boys, come all the way from to stand by me on such a day as this!' It was but yesterday, once more, we stand among the sleeping dead of Old St. Mary's. Year after year hath fled since we both stood by Winslow's grave. Many of them had been years of trouble and great sorrows to both of us, and both were changed. But what has bowed and bent that once erect, tall form, and silvered o'er that head?—'tis not age, for he should just be in his prime. (There are some that may answer this; I speak not of it.) Who does not remember his last sweet song, My first Christmas without my mother;' prophetic, 'twas the last? It was the last act he could pay that mother, that he then stood there to do (the planting of some trees around her grave.) I leave it all to you,' he said. 'You can select and have it better done than any one. I have no choice, save one must be a weeping-willow.' Little thought I then so soon to droop and moan o'er that new grave, daily covered with sweet flowers-memorials of a stricken flock's undying love. Well must we all remember last Good Friday. It was a dark and stormy day. The wind swept round the church in fitful blasts, and the rain poured down in torrents, beating upon the roof with deafening noise, drowning the wailing, dirge-like notes of the organ, drowning the broken voice of the officiating Priest, drowning the voices of those who tried to sing but could not; and why? They missed their Bishop. They missed their Pastor. They missed him who was always with them on this solemn day, and he was lying at his own quiet home writhing and struggling with our Last Enemy, Death, who was slowly but surely creeping all along the arteries and veins of that strong frame, until he entered into the very life-blood of that great heart. Who of us will ever forget that day, the most beautiful of all April days? From morn till noon, carriages drive through the quiet streets. Train after train arrives; boat after boat stops at the wharf, and the great throng all take the worn and well-known path that leads to beautiful Riverside, and there they gaze upon their Bishop for the last time. They see him coffined in his robes, (so meet,) for as he fell, so he did lie. They look with blinded eyes, and then they go, and then turn back to look again, and so keep on until the coffin, closed forever, shuts him from their sight. And now that great and solemn train begins to move along Green Bank,' the well-known path he trod so often. The tolling of the Chapel bell first startles us, and then the weeping inmates of St. Mary's Hall come forth and join the sad procession. It slowly moves along, and at its head are Bishops in their robes, with a great company of surpliced Priests and Deacons. The old Church bell that has tolled for generation after generation, and was once the only bell, to-day finds sympathy, for all the bells in town are tolling: and so at last that great and crowded throng arrive at new St. Mary's, and he is carried in and placed before the altar, that altar which he has served so long and faithfully. The organ-dirge is floating all around, when now, the voices of the priests join in and chant alone (we could not join) those solemn words of Israel's King:Lord, let me know my end and the number of my days.' Then we try to listen to wrapt and inspired St. Paul's 15th chapter of 1st Corinthians, and then slowly, slowly he is borne to his last resting-place, close to that noble monument, his own. We gather round that open new-made grave a stricken band, a flock without a shepherd, and strive to listen to the remainder of that sublime ritual of the Catholic Church, which buries kings, bishops, priests and paupers all the same-Earth coloured people of the neighbourhood, who came with their little ones in their arms, to look upon the burial of their benefactor, all these were gathered under the Church wall, or scattered about under the evergreen trees near by. The long train of white-robed clergy,-moving partly in the dazzling sunshine, and partly in the cool shadow of the chancel-formed the most striking feature of the whole: heightened greatly by the fresh tint of the churchyard turf, and the darker foliage of the cedars and pines, with frequent graves and pale head-stones on every side:-a scene more lovely, with all its solemnity, it were hard to find. And, deep as was the grief of all those who mourned that day, as they had not mourned before, it seemed to breathe a calmness and peace, which silently, yet resistlessly sank into the hearts of all." "The day following the funeral, being the first of May, and the octave of the Easter-Feast-was a beautiful and fit sequel to so solemn an occasion. There was the same glorious sunshine, the same fragrance and bloom pervading the leafy atmosphere of the good old city of Burlington, the same ringing song of birds, the same sparkling of the crisp waves of the Delaware, the same vernal jubilee, in short, which had thrown such a halo of gladness, round the otherwise sad proceedings of the day before. All day long the Bishop's grave was visited by a succession of silent and tearful groups. All that glorious May-day it lay under the soft sunshine, a mound of fresh and fragrant flowers, which loving hands continued to heap upon it from morning to night. In St. Mary's and St. Barnabas', the sermons of course breathed of the occasion, and the Holy Communion shed its healing unction upon the grief of the great family of mourners. He who has ever participated in this to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,' while a dull, heavy falling sound now strikes our ears; a sound that always pierces into the very marrow of the nerves, and causes the blood to tingle and our very flesh to creep. But hark to that exulting song which now breaks forth and upward rises like incense unto the very heavens. Hark! as it hovers over that still open new-made grave; hark! as it floats along o'er all the Sainted Dead of sweet St. Mary's. I heard a voice from heaven say. ing unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they rest. They rest from their labours-they rest. "So rest thou from thy many, many cares, and great and arduous labours. So rest thou from thy great trials and many griefs and sorrows. So rest thou till At the last trumpet's sounding, The dead shall rise, Caught up to meet him in the skies, "Requiescat in Pace, my Bishop, my Pastor, and my Friend. *Rev. Dr. Mahan. "A Member of St. Mary's." most comfortable sacrament by the death-bed of some dear friend, the idol of a stricken family, has witnessed on a small scale, what was on this memorable Lord's day, exhibited at large among the Church people of Burlington." "The souls of the righteous are in the Hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die, and their departure is taken for misery, but they are in PEACE; their hope is full of immortality." This record of the life that gave me mine, and made it, all it is, has been a work of tears and prayers. Not without both did I begin or end it. Not without both does it go out from my hands, into hands less loving; from his serene and sacred home, into the stir and differences of the world. I have had no fear of over-drawing; nor have I, now that it is done. It was only, lest, looking from so far below, I should not see in their real size, all the points of that greatness to which I looked up. If it be said that it goes out, with the partiality of love; may it not be set against that, that it goes out from the close, and jealous, and intimate observance of his home. I have said little about faults. One son was cursed, who discovered the nakedness of his Father. God knows, rude hands enough, have stripped his garments off, without mine. But not anxious to discover, I have not been careful to conceal. The only covering, they need, from men, is that of unprejudiced observation, of merciful judgment, of the vindication of future ages; from God, of the wedding garment, the imputed righteousness of the One Righteous. They were in him, to make him human. They were in him, to shade and set forth his virtues. They were in him, to prove the power of God's grace. Mostly it was the bright sunshine of his glory, that cast these shadows; the clear light, in which his high position put him, that brought them into view. One thing I know; his faults were not what men thought they were. The vanity, and overweening arrogance, and self-indulgence, and selfseeking, which men saw in him, were not there. He was proud enough for self-respect, and self-reliance. His authority, with all its positiveness, was of influence, and not of compulsion. He had less comfort in the comforts of his life, than most men, who have none. He sought not his own. Still he was human, with faults of character, of circumstance; "perilously human," one has said, in his neglect to guard himself. He has fallen "now into the Hand of the Lord." "And His mercies are great." If I have seemed to praise my Father, God forgive it, for I meant it not. I could not praise him. Men cannot. He was always above it here. How far is he beyond it now. "To mere praise" he was "constitutionally indifferent, but the love of love" was "ever a leading passion with" him. And now, what praise, what love are his! The praise and the love of God; and both in the peace, which passeth understanding, and which man taketh not away. RIVERSIDE, August 16, 1859. * Coleridge. APPENDIX. > A. CHRISTIAN EDUCATION. *In the great work of Christian Education, our aim attempts the highest standard. What can it be, less than this, and yet be Christian Education? No height or depth of learning makes it up. No reach or range of accomplishment fulfils it. It is not, merely, to seek pardon for all sin; or to obtain, somehow, a hope of happiness, in heaven. It must go down deeper, and spread out wider, and reach up higher, than all that. It must restore, in man, the image, which the fall defaced; God's image; and it must fit him for reunion with the Fountain, whence his being sprung; the Godhead. Can it be stated more sublimely, or more justly, than in Milton's words: "the end of learning, is to repair the ruins of our first parents, by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love Him, to imitate Him, to be like Him; as we may, the nearest, by possessing our souls of the true virtue; which, being united to the heavenly grace of faith, makes up the highest perfection?" Need it still be added, that, of such a work, the power and the glory must be God's. It begins in holy Baptism, which is God's ordinance; when the child of sin is new-born, and becomes the child of God. It receives its full supply of grace, in Confirmation, which is God's ordinance; when the Holy Ghost, so the young heart be meek and gentle, like the dove, which is its emblem, descends upon the brow, on which the cross was traced, to be its Guardian and its Guide, its Teacher, Comforter and Sanctifier. It is admitted to the stores of heaven in spiritual nurture and salvation, at the Holy Supper, which is God's ordinance; when He, who gave himself, upon the cross, to ransom souls from everlasting death, again bestows himself, in Bread and Wine, which He hath blessed, and called His Body, and His Blood, to feed their souls for everlasting life. It is directed and instructed by the Holy Bible, which is God's ordinance; and which is made the rule of faith, and plan of life, and mirror of all godliness. * Religious Training, The Hope and Blessing of the State. |