The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-03-19 00:00:00

MR: BEECHER'S BURIALS

Brooklyn—pausing in its busy life—rendered an
impressive tribute of esteem to the memory of the
Rev. Hemy Ward Beecher. The whole city literally
joined in the funeral. Busineiss was suspended; the
schools, courts, and public offices were closed, and the
public buildings draped for the first time in the his-
tory of the city in memory of a private citizen. A
solemn quiet pervaded the streets. Crowds began
to gather in the vicinity of Plymouth Church
hours before the time fixed for the service.
The streets in the neighbourhood soon became
impassable with dense masses of people stand-
ding in almost absolute silence before the plain,
farm-like front of the famous church. Never
before, says the Daily News correspondent, in
Its long and eventful history had it looked upon such
a throng. Only a few hours before the doors had
closed upon the last of 50,000 persons, who, in a con-
tinuous stream' passed the bier to take a last look at
the great preacher. About nine in the morning of the
funeral, Mrs. Beecher, who was kept away by the
crowd on the preceding day, entered the church,
accompanied by her sons and other members of the
family, and bade farewell to the dead. They did not ,
remain for the service. At ten o'clock the door was
opened, and those possessing tickets were admitted.
The church was soon completely packed, every part
of the floor, galleries, aisles, and stairways was
crowded, and there was not an inch of standing room
left unoccupied. The interior of the church was a
most impressive spectacle. Mr. Beecher had oft ex-
pressed a desire that flowers, and not mourning
emblems should be displayed around his bier, and now
the scene was beautiful with flowers, growing plants,
evergreens, blooming shrubs, lovely flowers being
used in graceful profusion. The coffin, stand-
ing in front of the desk, was so completely
buried in white flowers of every description
that it looked as if covered with snow. The services
was performed by an Episcopal clergyman, Dr. Charles
H. Hall, in accordance with an agreement between
him and Mr. Beecher, that whichever died first the
other should perform the funeral service for him.
The address of Mr. Hall was simple and affecting,
containing the following touching passage: "On his
last Sunday evening in this place two weeks ago,
after the congregation had retired from it the organist
and one or two others were practising the hymn, I
beard the voice of Jesus say Come unto me and
rest.' Mr. Beecher, doubtless on account of that
fatigue that follows a pastor's Sunday work, re-
mained and listened. Two street urchins were
promoted to wander into the building, and one
of them was standing perhaps in a position like
the boy whom Raphael has immortalised, gazing
up at the organ. The old man, laying his hands on
the boys' heads, turned their faces upwards and kissed
them, and, with his arms about the two, left this
scene of his triumphs, his trials, and his successes for
ever. It was a fitting close to a grand life—the old
man of genius and fame shielding two little wanderers.
He recognised, as did his Master, that the humblest
and poorest were hi.s brethr,3n. A great preacher led
out into the night by little nameless waifs." During
the address many were aM3cted to tears, and when
the congregation attempted afterwards to sing," Jean,
lover of my soul" the larger part were unable to
command their voices. At the close of the service
the congregation was permitted to take a final look
upon the dead.