The Press., 1890-05-01

main green for months, year or two, but it is none the less dead.
 How could he fail to ingraft his life in ours, associated as he was for so many years in school life as we'll as church life? Some of you can feel, as do today, the kindly touch of his hand on your head when you had puzzled out those mys- rious shapes, the round o, or the crooked s. Some of your can hear, as do now, his word of advice and encouragement when he sent you forth to be initiated as teacher in the little white school house on the hill. Knowing us as he did almost from our cradles, nobody was SO patient with our fanlts as he, none rejoiced more truly in our virtues.
 Not only did he participate in every i'm portant event of our lives, but his minis trations did not cease with life. In the shelter of his broad, generous faith he has borne our dead to the mercy of loving God. think I can say in all truth that his prayers have gone up over more graves on our hill-sides than those of any other man. Scarcely an outlying farm house that has not the memory of his benediction over some dear lost one. And it was fit- ting that it should be so Whose God so loving as his utter no heresy, but a truth that all history confirms, when I say that mems gods do but typify themselves As his own nature was broad, generous and merciful, so must be that of his God He conld have no conception of Deity that would consign the miserable and sin sick of the human race to eternal woe. No soul so steeped in sin as to be beyond the pale of his mercy, how could he conceive that it could be denied the mercy of an in finite God? No iron clad creed ever held him back from performing the last sad offices for his fellow man. His religion was free, twas pure, twas healthful, and twas never too good for his brother man. There was not room for smallness in his nature; he was generous to . fault All of you remember the time of our dis aster. The fires had destroyed our mil 8, the flood had swept away what the flames left. Then, with the generosity that al-
 ways characterized him, he came forward and voluntarily relinquished q third of his salary. Nor did he allow this to make an ? difference with his usual custom of giving anywhere from fourth to | third of his salary, as the need might be, back into the church. As with the church, 50 with his neighbor. No book in his library was too good for the poorest person that wanted it.
 If the book was returned he was glad that
 he had it to lend again. If it failed to come blackwell, he trusted that it was doing good somewhere, that some one was
 being benefited by 1t, and he never re-
 membered the name of the borrower. | His religion was for men, not for angels
 for life, not for death ; for this world, noi
 for the next. In Thorwaldsen's statue oi
 Christ and the beloved disciple, St. John l isrepresented with aplifSed face, his gaze
 riveted on high, as if to pierce the heavens with it's intensity. The Christ with bowed
 head stands with outstretched arms as if te
 enfold all humanity. You forget the St.
 John, you draw nearer to Christ. Not as
 theologian, groping with head above the clouds for some narrow, secluded path te
 heaven, shall we remember our old pastor
 We shall think of him as we knew hin
 best, as the kind neighbor, the generous
 pastor, the loyal friend, the true christian
 the noble man.
 Somewhat more than a year ago heard
 him in this pulpit for the last time. Ht
 spoke to us, I remember, of the old az gressive days of our faith, of the old war
 riors who had buckled on their armor
 fought the way and made the place for ou
 creed, of Murray and his struggles in thu
 Potter church, of old Father Ballou, who
 studied his Cesar by the light of pint
 knot, of Thomas Whittemere, who bor
 rowed the coat in which he preached hi first sermon. How his blue eyes kindled ! and his whole frame shook with emotion
 as he spoke ! And now he is gathered t his fathers. He can commune with then
 face to face, with BaIlou, with Whittemore
 with Murray, and the rest of the pioneers
 of our faith, whose lives were the inspira
 tion of his youth, the romance of his ol,
 age. His great soul has been strickel from our midst; 1t has gone to meet theirs
 His is the blessing, and to us must come
 better belief in virtue that such a man ha lived.
 The old Greek historian, .Herodotus tells of Scythian people who mourne
 when child was born and rejoiced whe1 it died, and we of this nineteenth centur
 must marvel at tbeir wisdom and unseli ishness. An, if we could only forget ou loss to remember his gain If we coult , only cease to feel our own grief and heart ache, knowing that for him all pain, al trials, all disappointments are forever end ed For Hearts of dust do not break, an
 eyes once closed by the death angel wi never wake again to the burning touch c tears" But as we stand by the open gray and hear the sound of the clods on tn coffin, the solemn sdust to dust, ashes ashes, rings in our ears till they are deal ened to the voice that has come down us through eighteen centuries, "I am tn
 resurrection and the life." T, if I b lifted up, will draw all men unto me-" , Monson, that knew him in his last years :. can claim the only monument that j worthy of him As it was said of one { z z our greatest statesmen, so it may be sai ! of him, No marble is white enough, n , sculptor's chisel fine enough to record hi T T virtues" But there in the new churc ! just finished, whose building he watche z with such eager enthusiasm, and who's every beam is consecrated by his blessing there in the lives of those young menwh : : have taken his name forltfieir club, ant let us hope, his life for their example ; there is his fitting monument. It belong 2 2 to them and we would not take it frol them if we might.
 But it seems to me that all that it !, mortal of5hin belongs to us, that it ougl z rest here in Stafford Not so much ths : we loved him, as that he loved us. Ca : but feel that these old Stafford hills, ovs , whose summits he had so. often ridden ! the house of mourning and whose ever crag he knew and loved, should hold hi : : now, close, close in their rugged fastnesse . and tenderly wrap about him their mant 2 of living green.
 |. ADDRESS OF REV. C.. H. PUFFER
 l, Nearly zone-half of our friends histol