The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-02-11
,R, MIN NEAP0LIS


was to be.
But last Thursday morning when 1
returned from New York, no one it
seems was anxious to meet me and
hurry me 20 the place mentioned, and
point out what had happened there this
time since went away. My nephew.
however, was there on my arrival, and
he began at once to console me with
such scraps of philosophy as he had at
hand, some of which had tried to
teach him when he was younger, aud
which he was returning to me with
valuable additions. He strengthened
me by assuring me that the society was
bearing its loss with bravery and cheer
fulness. L suggested to him that we
walk home by the church, or by what
remained of it. 1 soon caught sight of
the symmetrical tower rising majestic
ally into the serene and frosty sky,
pointing heavenward with its single
finger, and was glad to know that this
faithful sentinel, this solid guardian
of the pile it honored, was still there;
that the chime of bells still hung there
to call us back when we are ready to
come; that the clock, too, had survived
the gale of fire which must have swept
around it. l soon reached the dreaded
spot. Aud what a contrast between
this experience and the other / have
mentioned. But merciful had been
the snow and frost, for they had thrown
a crystal roof over the ruins and
screened their worst features from my
eyes; this had made freize and cornice
for the mutilated walls, whitewashed
the smoked stones, festooned the win
dows, carved alabaster images every
where and surrounded the doors with
cleaning stalactites. Merciful nature!
Merciful winter! thou didst help to
save my heart spectacle it was too ill
to bear.
1t is not, then, my friends, so much
the strangeness of the place in which L
meet you this morning that affects me,
almost bewilderS me, makes me feel as
though 1 was dreaming rather than
wide awake and in possession of
my usual senses, as it is the calamitous
cause that sent us here, that has COM
PEELED the transplanting of our altar
from its accustomed spot to this spot.
You will not wonder if my tongue fall
tiers some, if my thoughts wander, if L
fail to express in any adequate degree
the emotions which have solemn con-
troll of us at this hour.
1t is as unnecessary as it is impossi-
BILE to tell you the attachment, the af-
lection even, 1 had for that church
which has been ruthlessly snatched
from us. 1t is enough to say that it
was the same as yours, and that-my
sorrow at its destruction is the same.as
yours. What 1 have suffered during
the last few days you know by your
own terrible experiences; and SO we I'M
derstand each other perfectly, and can
sympathize thoroughly with each other.
We have rejoieed together and wept
together many time; together Gwe
mourn to-day; together we seek what
grace and comfort our Heavenly Father
has for US. As congregation we have
been united always; we have had no
discussions among us; we have never
been house divided against itself; we
have been and are unit; as a unit we
stand or fall.
Ireceived dispatch by telegraph on
Sunday evening that the church was
burning" and that you hoped to ''con-
fine the flames to the interior" You
can easily imagine the fearful shock
this news gave me. apprehended at
once the worst that was happening. L
am almost ashamed to confess that
saw at first only the darker side of the
picture thus suddenly stretched before
me. L thought of the loss and not of
any good that might finally come from
it. [ was not able to realize at the in
slant that the courage of the society was
not melting with the melting timbers;
that your zeal was not being consumed,
and that your success would not fall
with the falling stones.
This did not speak well for my
knowledge of you, nor for my own. trust
in God.
But l was not entirely selfish in my
distress, for 1 thought of yours. Twas
compelled soon after receiving the tel
egram to go into pulpit and preach
hard task under the circumstances.
My mind was divided between the ser
mon and you; 1 talked to the congrega-
ton before me thinking every moment
of another In Imagination [ saw you
coming to church and finding the doors
locked with fire, denied, for the first
time, an entrance to the church; driven
rudely back by tine outpouring clouds
of smoke; l saw you standing about
gazing sorrowfully, helplessly at the if
resistible progress of the flames. In
Imagination [ saw the Sunday-school
children gathering at their II O'Clock
session, amazed at discovering their