→►Programme for this Evening►◄

FIRST PRODUCTION IN THIS CITY of the NEW
and Original Comedy,

The PROFESSOR

In Five Acts and any number of Tableaux, with

WILL GILLETTE

In his own Comedy Character, - THE PROFESSOR,

Supported by a Company selected from the New York Theatres.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

MRS. ELLIOT, the Professor's Aunt, her desire is to see her nephew
married and settled,

MRS. NELLIE TAYLOR

GRACE GAY, a young lady visiting Mrs. Elliot,

MISS CHARLOTTE ADAMS

MISS NELLIE MORTIMER

ESTELLE, a chance acquaintance,

MISS GEORGIA CAYVAN

DAISY BROWN,
SUSY SUNDOWN,
ANNIE TIMMS,

{ Of the Seminary }

MISS JENNIE BOYD

MISS JOSIE MYERS

THE PROFESSOR [of Mathematics and Astronomy in the Boston University,]

MR. WILL GILLETTE

MR. THOMKINS, anxious to secure Miss Gay for his son,

MR. E. H. STEPHENS

GUSTAVUS, son of Mr. Thomkins,

MR. EDWIN MILLIKEN

TRODDLETON,

MR. E. L. WALTON

FRED,

MR. HARRY F. TAYLOR

HEN,

MR. H. G. DAVIS

JACK,

MR. JOSEPH PALMER

THOMAS,

MR. ED. MORTIMER

ACT 1.—Parlor of the Poggawamsitt House. The Professor is told how to do it—and he does it.

ACT 2.—A Pic-Nic in the woods. It becomes more and more evident that the Professor has resolved to lead a bachelor life no longer.

ACT 3.—Lost.

ACT 4.—Side Parlor of the Hotel. Some poetry and an escape.

ACT 5.—Just outside the window. A rush for liberty. A few notes. Surrender.

Observe that no time whatever is supposed to elapse between the Fourth and Fifth Acts.

The Calhoun Printing Company, 362 Main St, Hartford, Conn.

Theatre People when the world is no longer tolerable. But what is to be done? To make it is it the rich, who are the only ones who can do it. The rich are the only ones who can help the poor. And that is why we are here. And that is why we are here.

Especially when it comes to very little money, and certainly not at all on the stage. And that is why we are here.

Opposing this, of course, is the gospel of a society of men who are not necessary to the success of the show, and who, if they chose, could bring it to an end. But neither they nor the audience can be made to believe that it is possible for a person to be a showman and not be a Christian. And if they chose, they could end the show.

are led away from a good comedy, and tempted into the unhealthful and depressing atmosphere of an evening prayer-meeting.

*I have not decided yet whether I will have you sit on the stage, or in a private box with your name in large letters over it.*

The objection to the former is that it would interfere with the working of the curtain and scenery.

The box idea is best on the whole, and you would doubtless feel more at home, as I have heard people of your profession often get into bokes.

Seriously though, if you'll accept, let me have them save you a box. I've

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1880.

In the month of June a Charity Bazar held in behalf of the Union for Home Work published a daily paper called the "Bazar Budget," which I was asked to furnish a contribution. The following triple was the result.

## A Jewel of Inconsistency.

The Seventy-first Regiment of New York State Volunteers, of Sickles' Excelsior Brigade, and Hooker's old division, was mostly enlisted in New York city, and not from its highest circles.

Whatever might have been said of its religion, —and the less the better perhaps—there was no doubt at all about its politics. It went into the war bent solely on saving the union, and without the slightest reference to the matter of slavery. While in civil life, neither the fugitive slave law nor the Dred Scott decision had seemed to it other than the most simple and obvious decree of rightousness under the constitution. One of the humors of the regiment, often indulged, was to goad a poor witless fellow in Company "H" named Hine, into transports of rage by charging him with having voted for Lincoln.

It was the writer's knowledge of the principles of the gallant Seventy-first, as thus indicated, that gave what happened under his eye on the lower Potomac, in Maryland, in the spring of 1862, its peculiar interest.

The eternal months of our first winter under canvas had at last worn away, and we were in the midst of preparations to join the movement to the Peninsula. Just at this time there appeared in the camp of the division numbers of black men, some of them from fifty and sixty miles away, they said, asking for employment, they were willing to do any kind of work, and to do it for nothing,—the same being the wages they had been accustomed to receive,—if only they might go along with the troops when they left Maryland.

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The offer of service on such liberal terms found acceptance in so many instances that not less than two hundred of the applicants obtained situations in the division, of whom about twenty-five fell to the share of the Seventy-first.

To say nothing of the officers who were thus enabled to replace the grooms, valets, etc., borrowed of the United States, but now conscientiously remanded to duty in the ranks, the non-commissioned staff furnished themselves with attendants suitable to their state; and even the company cooks, finding that at the moderate expense of a daily ration or two economized from the company allowance, they could acquire more leisure for thought upon the mysteries of their delicate art, became in not a few cases, patrons of the new labor.

All this, however, was naturally very far from pleasing to the citizens of Maryland living in that region, and very hard for them as loyal Unionists, to bear.

But, as by general orders, all officers and soldiers of the United States were forbidden not only to coöperate in the escape of fugitive slaves, but also to coöperate in their recovery, the bereaved owners of these stray human cattle were dependent on their own exertions to get them back again.

Accordingly a company of them, provided with General Hooker's written permit to pass freely through the camp of his command, set out in personal quest of their missing property.

One day in the latter end of March, when the Seventy-first was comfortably smoking, in a prevailing calm, its after-dinner pipe, it was brought to its feet by the sudden explosion of pistol shots accompanied by loud voices some distance in the rear of the camp, followed in a minute by the arrival in their midst, at a prodigious rate of speed, breathless and hatless, of three or four of the black men before spoken of, who reported, with extreme agitation, that while collecting fuel in the regimental wood-lot hard by, a mounted party had suddenly come upon them and attempted their capture. Instantly the whole regiment was at the sentry line. A dozen or so horsemen were in sight not far away, slowly making the circuit of the camp.

It took the Seventy-first, though unprepared for such an emergency, but a single moment to find its tongue. Such a storm of winged uncelestial speech—of epithets hot from Tartarus mixed with long volleys of execration and derision,—as then burst forth from it as from one man, was wonderful to hear.

Ten recording angels writing short-hand could not have set down the half of it. Our visitors,

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however, were not to be deterred from their law-
ful pursuit by such means. They not only stood
the fire manfully, but presently, after a brief halt
for consultation, advanced in the face of it boldly
towards the camp. As they approached, curios-
ity overcame every other passion in the crowd of
spectators, and they halted just outside the sentry
line amid a general silence; there they exhibited
General Hooker's permit to the officer of the guard,
who sent for the officer of the day, and showed
it to him, and he carried it to the Colonel, who
gave orders to let the bearers in. In, therefore,
they came. They were splendidly mounted; they
held their heads high; and altogether were as
brave a group of gentlemen in appearance as one
could wish to see.

They first proceeded to the Colonel's quarters,
whither the regiment in a body followed them.

The Colonel came out to them and said, "Gen-
tlemen, the camp is before you; go where you
please."

But by this time the game was all out of reach.
A billion evasit; erupit. Except two who had
been hustled into the ammunition tent and laid in
musket boxes, with a chip under one edge of the
cover to keep them from smothering, the colored
men had vamosed the ranch. They went out at
one side as their old friends entered at the other;
and how they did run,—dodging through the
company streets, leaping like chased deer over
the stumps and brush piles of the adjacent clear-
ing till they were hid in the woods beyond. Mean-
while the situation of the Marylanders was be-
coming decidedly embarrassing. They had the
freedom of the premises, but in presence of so
numerous and, though deeply interested, unsym-
pathetic an assemblage of witnesses, they seemed
in doubt how to use it; moreover, mutterings, and
a murmur of uncomplimentary observations be-
gan to rise from the throng now gathered closely
around them. As they sat there on their horses,
undecided and talking in low tones among them-
selves, it chanced that General Sickles, attended
by his staff, rode into camp. Seeing the con-
course, he demanded what it meant. Upon being
told, without a moment's hesitation, he shouted,
"Order those men out of this camp immediately!
I'll have nothing of that kind permitted in my
brigade!"

The Seventy-first heard it, and the chronicler
despairs to describe the scene that ensued. A
fresh volcanic eruption of opprobrious language,
fiercer than the first, filled the air at once. There
were many skilled artists of malediction in the reg-
iment, whose vocabularies were rich in the choic-
est coinage of the New York dialect of abuse, and
on this occasion they made an unreserved display
of their powers. There was perfect babel. Soon

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some one threw a lump of dirt. It was the sig-
nal for a general discharge of such light missiles
as came to hand. One company had just drawn
its ration of daily bread baked in the regimental
oven.

Plump went one of the big loaves, taking a
horse fairly in the shoulder. Twenty more fol-
lowed. The horses began to rear and wheel, and
the gentlemen on them to cast their eyes about
for a place of exit. The play did not last long.
The cavalcade put itself in motion, pressed
through the crowd of its tormenters, struck into
a gallop, and, pursued by jeers and laughter, sped
away over a neighboring hill, and was seen no
more.

An ill-mannered regiment was that Seventy-first,
and no mistake. But when the black men re-
turned to camp, as after an hour or two they be-
gan to do, they welcomed them in a ceremony of
cheers and hand-shaking, in which they appeared
to a much better advantage than they had done in
their late ungentle conduct toward their injured
proprietors.

How General Sickles settled his part in the
affair with General Hooker never transpired; but
he explained to the writer, upon the spot, that
though when previously acting in his capacity of
national legislator in Congress, he had been
obliged to consider slaves as chattels, he now, in
the altered condition of affairs, had leave to con-
sult his feelings with reference to them,—anyhow,
he had done it in the present case.

That evening, while a universal discussion of
the day's events was going on in the regiment, a
corporal was heard making a constitutional argu-
ment to prove the right of the gentlemen who had
been so uncourteously entreated, to be repossessed
of their niggers. But he labored to little purpose.
Before he could fairly state his premises, his elo-
quence was drowned in a chorus of irrational
dissent and Hibernian witticism.

JOSEPH H. TWICHELL.

AN ADIRONDACK CHURCH.

By W. L. KINGSLEY.

ON the 12th of September a Congregational Church was dedicated for the worship of God in Keene Valley, one of the most beautiful of the towns among the mountains of the Adirondacks, in Northern New York. Though perhaps the smallest among the churches in the land, hundreds of the most cultivated families of New England and the Middle States of all denominations have for years taken no inconsiderable interest in it. The late Dr. Horace Bushnell was one of its early friends. In recent years, President Porter and Professor Fisher of Yale College, the Rev. Joseph Twichell and Mr. Charles Dudley Warner of Hartford, the Rev. Dr. Shaw of Rochester, and the Rev. William Hodge of Philadelphia, have in various ways sought to advance its interests.

Before the new church was built, as many will remember, religious services were held on Sunday in one of the most primitive of school-houses, whose low and narrow benches with the straightest of backs, though perhaps adapted to the wants of the rising generation who are to be the future guides and boarding-house keepers of the region, were utterly unsuited for the accommodation of the grown-up men and women who came to spend their summers among the mountains. Yet, awkward and inconvenient as were the seats, the school-house was always crowded for the one service, which was held at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, when the minister came over from Wilmington according to his custom. The scene then presented was not often equaled in picturesqueness. Those were the days when many of the summer boarders did not hesitate to appear even on Sunday in the mountain costume which it was the fashion for all to wear on other days in the "wilderness." The gentlemen, like the guides around them, came in their blue flannel shirts, and the ladies in short walking dresses trimmed and ornamented with the gayest of colors. A few of the boarders, however, who felt that something more was due to the day and the occasion, preferred to don the apparel to which they were accustomed at home, which seemed to them more appropriate. Old "Father Kent" invariably took his seat in a chair in front of the congregation, close to the platform on which the preacher stood, and immediately enveloped his head in an enormous red bandanna handkerchief, for the reason, as it was understood, that his thoughts might not be distracted by the "pomps and vanities" of the city people. From time to time the old man was accustomed to reinforce the more fervid appeals of the preacher by a hearty "Amen!" There, too, was always to be seen in his seat by the window that grand old guide, "Mountain Phelps," who was so admired by Dr. Bushnell. As the service went on, and the air in the low schoolhouse became heated, it would seem that the old mountaineer, accustomed to the fresh breezes which blow over "Hurricane," and the "Giant," and

"Marcy," could no longer endure it, and, slowly rising, he would stand with his head out of the window, while it was evident that he was still listening with a reverence which was unfeigned.

But the accommodations in the little red schoolhouse had been for years becoming more and more inadequate, when Mr. Sidney M. Stone, of New Haven, purchased a suitable building place and offered to present it to the Society when they were prepared to erect a church. Immediately subscriptions were commenced. For some years the summer visitors contributed freely to the various funds that were started. The daughter of a distinguished clergyman in New York city exerted herself to procure money for the proper upbolstering of the pulpit. A lady from Brooklyn presented a large pulpit Bible, and by correspondence and personal solicitation raised a sum sufficient to purchase a suitable bell from the Meneely foundry at Troy. Much has been due to the Rev. William Hodge, of Philadelphia, whose taste was constantly consulted in all that respected the construction, within and without.

The church, after some years of labor, has been at last finished, but the arrangements for the payment of the indebtedness were completed so late that when everything was ready for the dedication nearly all the summer visitors who had taken so much interest in the progress of the work had unfortunately left. Still on Sunday the church was crowded. It was a great day for Keene Valley. The whole country side was moving at an early hour as none of the city people had ever seen it before. Crowded wagons came not only from Beedes and Stetsons, as usual, but from the village of Keene, from the "Ore Bed," from "Irish Hill" and "East Hill." The Rev. Dr. Shaw, of Rochester, preached the dedication sermon, and the dedicatory prayer was offered by the Rev. Joseph Twichell, of Hartford. Additional interest was given to the services from the fact that the little church, after adding one new member to their fellowship, were able to partake of the communion for the first time for two years.

It is to be hoped that a place of such growing importance as Keene Valley, where the summer visitors are now beginning to be numbered by hundreds, will not be long left without a settled pastor. The inhabitants are almost all of New England descent; in telligent, self-respecting and self-reliant. The church, to be sure, is now a feeble one, but the projects are all favorable that it will yet grow to be large and influential.

KEENE VALLEY, Adirondacks.

Christian Union Oct. 1, 1880.

TWELFTH ANNUAL REUNION

OF THE
ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

HARTFORD, CONN., JUNE 8, 1881.

BANQUET. ORDER OF EXERCISES.

MUSIC.

BLESSING.—Rev. Jos. H. Twichell.

1. The United States.
   Hon. Robt. T. Lincoln, Secretary of War.
   Gen. J. R. Hawley, U. S. Senator.

2. Our Country.
   The Governors of the States.

3. The Army and Navy.
   General W. T. Sherman.

4. The State of Connecticut.
   Governor Bigelow.

5. The City of Hartford.
   Mayor Bulkley.

6. The Army of the Potomac.
   Gen. Horace Porter.

7. The Benefit of Judicious Training.
   Let but the thoughtful civilian instruct the soldier in his duties and the victory
   is sure.—Martin Farquar Tupper on the Art of War.

8. The Orator of the Day,
   Daniel Dougherty, Esq.

9. The Poet of the Day,
   Col. Samuel B. Sumner.

10. The Press.
   Chas. Dudley Warner, Esq.

11. The Ladies.
   Gen. S. L. Woodford.

"Brevity is the soul of wit."

SOCIETY OF THE

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.

HARTFORD, CONN., JUNE 8, 1881

BANQUET SERVED
BY
MERRILL

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SCRIPTURE.—Psalm XXIII.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake,

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staffe they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

REMARKS.—By Rev. Joseph Twichell, of Hartford, Conn.

It is left for me to say a word—the last in his own dwelling—by the side of the remains of our dear friend; and since, lacking a few words from me, no words will be spoken, I may be permitted to say that while in my thoughts and in my heart I can compass, so far as ever we can, the theme of this event of his departure from our midst, I feel wholly unable to compass it in words. It seems the strangest thing in the world, the most impossible thing in the world, that he is dead. They seem incredible words, when they are taken upon the lips, that Alexander Holley is dead, and that we shall see him no more in this world. For a good many years, to me, as to many of us here, he stood as the image of vitality, physically, mentally and in his affections. He was full of ripe fruit. How

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active he was! What a vivacity he had! What a spring! What an overflow of animal spirits! What a pleasure it was to meet him! How cordial his greeting was! He was one of those friends whose countenance made your face to shine. It was a joy to come in contact with him. What a sweet and sudden surprise at meeting he would always testify! Is it possible that that great pleasure of life for many of us has been tasted for the last time? Shall we never see that dancing eye again? Shall we never again hear with joy that cordial greeting? I can hardly believe that he lies helpless in the coffin here before us.

Then, as to his mental activity, we never saw him, in all these many past years, that his mind was not in full movement—in full play; that he was not engaged in a tough, sturdy, mental struggle with some matter on hand, or reaching out in plans which were always for the benefit of mankind—for selfishness had a very small part in his composition. There was a live, a bright prospectus always within him, which he had a cheerful confidence, and with good ground, that he could realize; and how many anticipations of his he did realize! I think he could say, as few men can, to God, who endowed him as few men have been endowed, “I have done what I could.” God gave him great powers, extraordinary capacities; He gave him a genius for work; and throughout all his working years (indeed they were working years), he put forth those powers to the uttermost; and that he did with them the best that could be done, stands to his record. It is a glorious record for any man. Is it possible that all this activity of mind is forever stayed,

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arrested at its very height and prime, and in its mid-career?
I do not believe it for a moment; it is impossible to be-
lieve it.

Now, as to his life in its affections. Only those (and
they are not few), to whom God gave it for a good gift to
be in close personal relations with him, can know what an
ocean of love his heart was outpouring—*always* out-
pouring. It was more blessed to give than to receive with
him, always. When you met him it was evident that it
was he that gave, and you that received, liberally. It was
perfectly evident that his ruling idea always was to make
his meeting with you a pleasure to you as well as to him-
self. He went through these years of his labor, I believe,
with a great interest, in the first place, in the public to
which he belonged, and, in the second place, with a deep
and tender interest in all those in the private circles to
which he belonged, dominant in him; and God has given
him to confer unusual benefit and pleasure upon us. He has
been a maker of happiness in this world—this beloved
man. A great many of us feel that we never can enjoy
such a friendship again; our hearts are in his coffin; and
a large part of our hearts are going into the grave, never
again to live in this world. Oh, that God might make all
our hearts and our lives as rich as his has been !

May God comfort those (He alone can do it) who stand
most bereaved in this desolate time. May the Lord ap-
proach them as He knows how. May the Lord draw near
to them, and by those immortal intimations which He can
give, lead them into the region of serene, triumphant rest
in Jesus Christ.

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READING OF HYMN AND PRAYER.—By Rev. H. W. Beecher.

Friend after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end;
Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond this vale of death,
There surely is some blessed clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life's affections transient fire
Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown;
A whole eternity of love,
Formed for the good alone:
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that happier sphere.

Thus star by star declines,
Till all are passed away,
As morning high and higher shines
To pure and perfect day;
Nor sink those stars in empty night—
They hide themselves in heaven's own light.

Blessed be Thou, O Lord God, that givest; and blessed
be Thou, O Lord God, that takest away! for, giving or
taking, Thou art the God of infinite love and mercy; and
it is infinite love that substitutes Thy wish and Thy will for
the imperfect thought and desire and forth-creeping of our

104

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wills. Thou knowest best—best in life and best in death—what things are best for our upbuilding and ennobling. We rejoice that we lose nothing that is worth our keeping; and less than all do we lose those who love us, and whom we love. We do not cast them out into the darkness of forgetfulness, nor follow them with wandering thought as they wander hither and thither in the unknown. Our thoughts seek them in Thy heaven, and there they are. They rest from their earthly work; but in the land that needs no rest. With higher powers refreshed by the bath of death, with every fever cooled, and with all power inspired by the presence of God, they go on, and in the eternal spheres bring to ripeness and beauty that which began only in seed and in leaf here.

Lord, Thou hast often come to this household. Thine arms have been full of bounties. Thine hands have never been empty. Thou hast ordained them by the laying on of hands—hands both of pain and of pleasure. Thou hast made them Thine own children. We thank Thee that, coming again, though Thou seemest to come in darkness, behind the darkness is the light, most assuredly. Though clouds and darkness are around about Thee, Thy throne is established in 'justice and in 'judgment and in love; and though we may not now, in the present pain and sorrow, see all, or even imagine it, though we may cry out, "Lord, if Thou hadst been here our brother had not died," yet we believe, or through multiform experiences of trial and trouble we shall come to believe, beyond the sight of our eyes, and far beyond the power of our reasoning; and when

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we can see nothing, and think nothing, and our hearts storm within us, as the turbulent sea, there is yet the voice that says, "Be still;" and the winds are calmed, and the waves cease to roll. Into that peace of God which troubled hearts do need, O Holy Spirit, bring every one of Thy dear servants that grieve and sorrow.

We thank Thee for the ministry of his life that is with Thee. We thank Thee that the mercies of God rise far above any conception of ours, and that though Thou doest wondrously in the heaven and on the earth, Thou doest wisely, and with infinite tenderness. For who among all them that brought him forth and reared him, who among all them that have been blessed by his life, who among all them that dwelt with him in the nest of love, who of all of us have ever understood him or ever loved him as Thou hast, Thou blessed, eternal All-loving? And Thou couldst not do him harm.

Yea, Thy way is mysterious only because we are igno-
rant; and we rejoice with a trembling joy that is as a far-
away twilight in the morning; but we shall, by and by,
when the Sun of Righteousness shall arise, burst forth into
radiance. And that his life upon earth hath been so fruit-
ful, that his leaving us, and going on beyond, are so pain-
ful because he was so much, we render Thee thanks.

And now, Lord, we pray that Thou wilt send light to gild every dark hour, and strength to uphold every hour of weakness, and Thine own comforting self to brace up the longing hearts. Come with a power of faith that shall divide and diminish time, and make the whole of our life

10

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seem as but a hand-breadth. Take away from us the power of our eyes and of our senses, that we may discern the great invisible that broods upon us, and that brings near to us whatever is sublime in holiness and perfect in joy. May the Holy Ghost, the Comforter of mankind and of the ages, may the power of the Man of sorrows, that was acquainted with grief, but for the joy that was set before Him despised it all, come to dwell in the midst of Thine afflicted ones. Lift upon them the sweet light of Thy countenance, more refreshing than the dews of morning; and grant that, while they submit themselves, it may not be because they can do nothing else, enforced, reluctant, hard; may they be able to fly up with joyful wing into the presence of Divine glory, every day and every hour, and say, "The Lord gave, blessed be His name; and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be His name!"

And may their paths more and more converge, until the road where their footsteps hitherto have been with his shall again be reached, that they may walk together clad in glory and in the perfection of the blessed land. Go with those that go, and come back with those that come back. Bless the voicelessness of the home; bless the loneliness and the outreaching sorrows. Give them not up—these thy children! Never leave them or forsake them, O God of their salvation! Bring them, and us, and all, into the presence of Thine excellent glory, where we will give the praise to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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### HYMN.—By the Dudley Buck Quartette.

There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way,
To prepare us a dwelling place there.
In the sweet by-and-by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore
The melodious songs of the blest;
And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
Nor sigh for that blessing of rest.
In the sweet by-and-by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

To our bountiful Father above,
We will offer our tribute of praise,
For the glorious gift of his love,
And the blessings that hallow our days.
In the sweet by-and-by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

### BENEDICTION.—
The Lord bless and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up His countenance, and give you peace. And may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit, be with you all, evermore. Amen.

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PUBLIC SERVICE

Held at Plymouth Church.

PROCESSIONAL ANTHEM.—By the Dudley Buck Quartette.

Fair are these houses, fairer far the dwelling
Built by the Master; Death, the gentle angel,
Tenderly leads us, throwing wide the portals,
Bidding us enter.

Blessed is life here, tho' by new affliction
Saddened each moment; there beyond the river,
Happier the sainted; there the bliss unending,
Knowing no sorrow.

Gloomy for us now paths they tread no longer;
Kindly the hand Christ stretches through the darkness;
Clasping it, stand we, waiting till the summons
Calls us to follow.

Tranquil and peaceful is the path to heaven,
Where now so many, fresh from earth's ripe vintage,
So many happy, high and blessed spirits
Wait to receive us!

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There life is blissful—shall the spirit tremble?
Bright heavenly angels wait to lead us yonder;
There dwell the spirits purified by suffering,
Blessing and blessed!

There our lost rosebuds in our hands shall open;
Love, pure and holy, in our bosoms glowing,
Flows from the Father, source of every blessing,
Living and loving!

SCRIPTURE.—Psalm XC.

1. Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.

2. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlast-ing, thou art God.

3. Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye chil-dren of men.

4. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.

5. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up.

6. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down and withereth.

7. For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath we are troubled.

8. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

9. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we spend our years as a tale that is told.

10. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

11. Who knoweth the power of thine anger? Even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath.

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and as a professional laborer in the great fields of knowledge and of attainment, has done well by the commonwealth, and by mankind. Without stopping to rank men, as to which is highest or lowest, all men are honorable who keep time to the great march of humanity and of benevolence. Some may be leaders, and some may be subalterns. The honor of the lowest is greater than any other honor bestowed upon mankind; but as they go up and their sphere and privilege of usefulness is widened, so also is our intelligent admiration of them, and so, likewise, is our desire to express, in some worthy way, our esteem for them, and our honoring thought of them.

Our friend who has gone from us, richly endowed, holding in himself the legacy of the past, springing from a parentage that had in it a gathered excellence of the best New England sort (there may be better, but not on this soil), born under propitious influences, with the luminous door of education thrown wide open, following the bent of his genius, turned aside from one path of scholarship, from classical lore, to that scientific walk which had in it not alone a wide range of intelligence and invention, but also a wide range of instruction.

Now, there has come to be a better understanding in our days—an understanding that men who build in matter, or, distribute it, or change its forms to better uses, are almoners of God's great benevolence. If one were so rich that he could give to men a thousand tons of grain, that certainly would be a great gift of benevolence; but if one should, by his invention, so alter the machinery of agriculture that the poorest man could earn a thousand tons of

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grain for himself, that would be a greater benevolence, and a greater gift. If one were to supply all the implements of a refined industry, himself paying the cost, that would certainly be a very noble benefaction; but if one may take hold, as a master spirit, of all the metals, and command them into forms, and at such rates that they shall become the common property of the whole community, is not that a greater benefaction? He who supplies the lack of men gives a great deal; but he who teaches men to supply their own lack gives even more. And the whole pursuit of the life of him who has left us and gone singing to a higher bough of the Tree of Life, was a beneficence; it was an organized bounty. Consciously and unconsciously, he served his day and generation in this field; and with such fruitfulness and such success that it is the testimony of all his compeers and associates that he stood easily among the first.

But quite aside from this, his spirit, his manliness, his exquisite modesty and diffidence have plucked all the nettles of envy; and he is crowned with no thorns among the bay leaves, and stands honored because he was beloved by all those who were most intimate with him, and associated with him in the great undertakings which have been so much to this nation and generation.

He was a man of boundless industry; a man of fruitful invention; a successful man in the execution of untried schemes largely developed through him, and through those who were associated with him, never failing to give them due praise, and only taking the least portion to himself, even if he took any. Such buoyancy, such sweetness of

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temper, such unaffected modesty, such genuine affection, such generous sincerity, and such a luminous manhood had he, that you who were among the representatives of that great, growing and honored class to which he belonged, desire to express in this public way our estimation of him, and to raise, if not a monument to the outer eye, yet a monument in thoughts, to the man who has gone higher.

To my thought he stands unspeakably higher, now that he has buried himself as to outward form. All that is mortal is swallowed up of life. He rests, that gave himself no rest. He shines in full, that was enclosed but in a lantern here on earth. He sought and searched, but now he knows. He tried and experimented, but now all things lie open and plain to his easy soul. He looks down from no tombstone; he looks up from no grave; but in his Father's home, where many have stood waiting for him to come, I believe in my very soul that he rests from his earthly labors, and looking back, sees that they do follow him—that the good he did upon earth is marching on, and that multitudes, unknowing who blessed them, will go to meet him in that heavenly land.

Is there any greater honor that can be bestowed on a man than to say that he took loyally all the gifts that God gave him, to use them, not for himself, but in genuine modesty and simplicity for others? He lived in the atmosphere of benefaction, and was surrounded by another atmosphere of respect and of love.

His end was given to him soon. He was permitted earlier than many of us, to fly away and be at rest. Not those that live longest are most fortunate, but those who live best

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and are soonest dismissed to their higher manhood—to the reward of divine glory.

I do not desire to pass by what perhaps in confidential conversation many of you already know—that in that transition state into which the inquiries of science have brought us, where many of the exterior forms of Christian truth hitherto given have been modified, and where some substantial truths are struggling now for a new birth of expression, he did not accept all the views and truths of the fathers. Yet he never scornfully rejected them. He held his spirit in equipoise, waiting for more light—not light for rejection, but light by which he could reconcile the old and the new, and bring into unity the revelations of God made in days gone by, and the revelations of God which we are exploring and trying to understand and harmonize to-day.

While in the process of education it may be necessary that we should have catechetical and theological dogmas, one thing stands revealed in the testimony of the Divine Word, that all ordinances, and all technical philosophy, and all instruction, are for the purpose of producing godliness; and if godliness is the result of concurrent external influences as well as of intellectual conviction, the end is gained. Holiness of life and disposition is all that makes any religion good for anything. If you look at the sweetness of his temper: if you look at the spotlessness of his honor; if you look at the whole drift and upward tendency of his life; if you look at the fruits of the Spirit as they aredelinquent in the word of God, and say, "Did he not possess a larger share of these than is usually seen in those who are professedly religious? Did we not see in him the fruits of

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Christian thought and Christian faith?" I think there can be no doubt as to the answer. He is with God.

Not doubting myself, I speak of him with confidence as one that could not know any other place but heaven, and could not find a place of darkness which he would not illuminate and make light; and in the large faith that Christ and God are revealed to us not alone by the letter and in the printed book, but in the greater book that existed long before the experience of mankind found it out and registered it—in that faith I greet him, and bid him farewell, until the day shall come when we shall arise to see our Father as He is—not as through dim glasses we imagine him to be, but in the fullness and the glory of that which He is. There we shall find our friend, and there we shall rejoice with him.

### PRAYER.
—Give to us, we beseech of Thee, something of the charity of Thine own soul, dear Lord. Bring us so near to Thee that we may think as Thou thinkest, and feel as Thou feelest. Thou has taught us from our childhood in the things that pertain to our peace. Blessed be Thy name for father and for mother, for brother and for sister, for husband and for wife, for children, for neighbors, for friends, and for all the beloved. By these sweet influences Thou hast been bringing us into some faint understanding of the glory of that nature from which they sprang into existence and which nourishes them all. Thou eternal God, that wast before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth was formed! Thy thoughts are higher than our thoughts

25

by as much as the heavens are higher than the earth. We rejoice that Thou are not belittled; that no lines of latitude of selfishness compass Thee; that no arbitrary, hard, unjust decrees issue from Thee; that Thou art a God of infinite mercy. Not the mother that cradles her child in her arms in its weakness, and nourishes it away from its faults by her patient goodness and loves it into virtue, waiting from day to day for it to attain thereto, is half so good as Thou art, that madest the mother and the child. Thy nature of graciousness and bounty—who can speak of it? Who can declare it in words? Blessed be those thoughts which spring from our souls toward Thee, though they have no words in which to clothe themselves. Over all Thy works, and especially over man, who is Thy chiefest work, how great is thy goodness! how tender is Thy compassion! how long-suffering art Thou, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin!

Now, we beseech of Thee that Thou wilt garner us and bring us into the fullness of that faith which hath in it all faith—the goodness of God, and into that hope which hath in it all hope—our own immortality. We will not die. We will not again turn to the clod. Lord, by the light that Thou hast lent us, we stretch ourselves away from the darkness of the earth. We spread our wings of faith and of belief to the upper sky, and we *will* see Thee. We *will* be where Thou art!

We thank Thee that Thou hast led this pilgrim thus far along the several ways of life; that Thou didst make him glad to be weary for others; that Thou didst make him willing to bear the burdens which were necessary; that

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Thou didst bring forth in him all fruitful work; and that
Thou didst give him the love of fruitful work. We thank Thee
for his companionship. We thank Thee for all that he
hath succeeded in doing. He hath been a minister of
Thine, and he hath wrought in the field established for him
with fidelity to the end. Grant, we pray Thee, that every
one of us may thank God in his behalf.

And now he hath escaped us; but the bird that sang in
our fields in summer is singing yet, though we hear it not;
and he is our companion yet, though we see him not; but
we are following on. As he aspired, so we aspire.

Now, Lord, what shall we say to those who most have
felt the light and sympathy of his love? O God, appoint
Thy dearest angels to be guardians of the household—Thine
angels of the tenderest heart and the softest hand; and
may they surround those who are bereaved. May the med-
icine be as balm, as very myrrh grown in heavenly soil,
with which Thou dost deal with them; and make the mem-
ory of the past more and more luminous, more and more
radiant with comfort and hope of the future; be unto them
as that way of light along which airy feet do tread. May
they not in consciousness be far from him who is near to
them—nearer in the spirit than when he was in the body.

We pray that we may live so that ere long we, too, dying,
may leave behind us testimony of our fidelity, and, rising,
reap the eternal joy of the heavenly land.

We ask these things, O Lord our God, and our fathers'
God, not with any conscious merit in ourselves, but be-
cause we have unbounded faith in Thine infinite generosity
and goodness; and for Thine own name's sake we beseech

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of Thee to answer all our desires, and bring us, finally,
through pain and struggle, as well as through light and joy,
to the inheritance of the just in heaven. And to the Father,
the Son and the Spirit, shall be eternal praises. Amen.

### HYMN—By the Dudley Buck Quartette.

Weary hands, O weary hands!
Resting now from life's endeavor,
From the conflict, from the fever,
Lying peaceful where ye fell,
O folded hands, farewell, farewell!

Gentle heart, O gentle heart!
Faithful service thou didst render,
Beating ever true and tender;
On thee lies the silent spell:
O loving heart, farewell, farewell!

Parted soul, O parted soul!
Passed beyond this earthly portal,
Entered through the gate immortal
Into life no tongue can tell;
O, brother-soul, farewell, farewell!

### BENEDITION.

The blessing of Almighty God, the Father, the Son and
the Holy Spirit, go with you, and abide with every one of
you. Amen.

IN MEMORY OF

ELISHA BLISS.

A DISCOURSE

DELIVERED BY

REV. J. H. TWICHELL,

IN THE

Asylum Hill Congregational Church,

HARTFORD, CONN.,

January 19th, 1881.

SERMON.

Therefore we are always confident, knowing that whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord: (for we walk by faith not by sight:) We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. 2 COR., v: 6-8

Last Sunday morning, at about the break of day, Mr. Elisha Bliss passed from our midst into the other life, at the great age of ninety-three years. To most of us he was personally unknown; which is nothing strange, for he was here only in his old age; (he was nearly eighty when he came here) and naturally lived a retired life. He was quite uniformly in his place in the congregation on the Lord's day till perhaps two years ago, and we had occasionally heard his tremulous voice in our prayer meetings, but for the sixteen years, more or less, that he dwelt in this community he was not much in sight. And this is one reason why I deem it proper to speak of him as I am going to do to-day. I wish to have you know something more concerning this venerable neighbor who after his quiet sojourn amongst us has so quietly gone away.

To me, as pastor, he has been well known. Indeed, it was at about the time that I came to Hartford to live, that he came to Hartford to die. He little thought then, nor did I, that he was to see New Year's day 1881. To himself and also to me he was one who had done with the world and was only waiting for the hour of his departure from it. There is no passage of Scripture that seems to me more happily to describe the unchanging attitude of his mind and heart through the whole period he thus waited, than that I have made my text. "Therefore we are always confident, knowing that whilst we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord; (for we walk by faith, not by sight) we are confident, I say and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." Our ac-

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quaintance formed under such circumstances soon grew intimate, and so continued to the end. This, I may say, was owing as much at least to his care as to mine. Of the many, many hours we passed together, a considerable portion were at my house, and I desire to bear grateful record that this acquaintance, extending through the years of half a generation of time, was to me from first to last a source of much spiritual refreshment, light and assurance. By its means I was brought into frequent contact with one of the most interesting christian characters I have ever met, and became the confidant and the spectator of a christian experience, that has been, and will be, one of the conscious supports of my faith of things unseen. And, I repeat, it is because I wish others to be informed of an experience, which though by circumstances so hidden from view, has yet been a fact actually existing near at hand, to us, that I venture to give some account of the subject of it. Such things are of a peculiar value and significance to the people among whom they occur. They are visitations of Christ; disclosures of His living presence; evidences of christianity worth more than all word arguments whatsoever.

I am not at all sure that in any case the work of God's grace in Mr. Bliss would have been very strongly impressed on the notice of his neighbors and brethren. He was not calculated to make an emphatic personal impression of himself beyond the limits of intimate acquaintance. He was an exceedingly modest, and I should judge, by nature, a somewhat diffident and timid person. He had small gift of public utterance, and was indeed, of an hesitating and rather embarrassed speech in private; he was of a scanty education in the ordinary sense of that term, and had little of that inborn force of disposition by which men declare themselves abroad. Of course, knowing him only in his declining days, my estimate of him in these particulars is liable to be deficient, yet such were the conclusions I formed.

But if it were so, that his religious life and quality would have remained largely a secret from men, there would have been nothing unusual in it. The element of religion in individuals, in churches, in communities, is always for the most part an invisible element. Christians are justly challenged to show works answerable to their faith, but the faith itself,—that is another matter, and I tell you, my hearers, amid all the spuriousness of profession by which the Church and the Christian name are dishonored, amid all the cavilings, doubts, unbeliefs and denials that are abroad against Christian truth, there are here and there on every hand going on in the souls of men and women whom we see, whom probably we know, vital experiences of religion, incomparably rich and blessed, incomings and strengthenings of the glorious kingdom of God, that are without observation, yet that are the most real of all realities.

It is one of the felicities and spiritual advantages of the lot of

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the christian minister that he is in the way of coming upon these precious facts that lie under the surface of the life of the community in such wise or to know that they are there, and to enjoy the benefit of knowing it.

But I turn from this reflection to the example before us which suggested it:—the example of this singularly sweet joyful and triumphant religious experience, which was, till just now present with us.

Where a man has become what he is chiefly by religion, and through a long process, it is difficult to tell what he was to start with; but I think there was that in Mr. Bliss' original make which had to do with causing his religious experience to take the, in some respects, rather remarkable type it did.

He possessed an extraordinary artlessness and simplicity of mind, that looked directly at things and took them for what they seemed to mean; and conjoined with this a very vivid imagination, within certain limits, and the habit of thinking by it. For instance, his gospel, as a subject of musing, and as a source of personal hope and comfort, appeared to be as a series of scenes from the story of Christ in which the characters lived, spoke and moved before his eyes. It came before him and was present to him in that shape. And, I assure you, it was a great treat to hear him describe those scenes as he saw them. There were life touches that made them very real. Such a union of mental qualities, somewhat rare, probably, no doubt, as I have said, gave his christian experience the peculiar cast which it exhibited. His religious views were not doctrinal: they were pictorial. He never reasoned about truth. His convictions seemed to stand by what he saw in the manner indicated.

The faculty of speculative thought upon subjects, upon relations of truth, seemed never to have been developed in him. He was not exercised with questions in that field.

Perhaps this was due partly to his spiritual experience,—the great reason in him answering the purpose of much reasoning.

For this great reason in him had been his practically always. He could scarcely remember when he did not consciously have it. He was trained in godliness, and gave such early evidence of piety that in a stricter age than this, it was deemed proper to receive him into the church before he was ten years old. This was at Springfield, Mass., at or near which all his active life was passed. Though there had been occasions when he was revived and advanced into new degrees of spiritual blessings, he could not look back to the time when it was not his desire, choice and endeavor to do God's will as expressed in His commandments, and when he had not a warm affection for His Saviour. And so his religious experience was life long. In one sense he had had no other. His life was a religious experience, and in his review of life it appeared to him in that characteristic light. I do not mean that he was wholly satisfied with his

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life, or that it did not afford him grounds for humble penitence, but that his memory retained clearly, and most fondly dwelt upon its spiritual contents, and as it had been the plain life of a farmer, it was delightful to recognize what beauty, what dignity, what refinement, what interest were reflected from it by this circumstance. It did not seem like the common life it was, as he rehearsed its annals from the christian stand-point.

One thing that of course came out, as he talked it over, was the conscientiousness, the pious dutifulness with which it had been ordered, and in a man of Mr. Bliss' constitutional simplicity this would be likely to be exhibited in incidents illustrating that quality in him. Thus he once told me that on a certain occasion in the season of the year when his farm work was exceedingly pressing, having got away with his team early in the morning to a field more than a mile from his house,—he was a man of great industry and thrift in his calling,—he there remembered that in his haste he had forgotten and omitted his private devotions. Whereupon, refusing to compromise by seeking a place of retirement for his prayers near by, he returned the whole distance to his house, entered into his chamber and there confessed and repaired his neglect. He might probably have innocently spared himself such punctiliousness, and yet I own this was a very pleasing incident to me. It betokened his earnestness in religion. It showed him as thrifty and painstaking a christian as he was farmer.

His memories of men were as a rule associated with some spiritual circumstance, and seemed to survive on the strength of it. It was evident that he had ever been accustomed to see and to seek in his common relations and transactions with others an opportunity to do them spiritual good, and oftentimes his reminiscences illustrating this were exceedingly interesting to me, partly from his way of telling them, and because my idea of him was, as I have already observed, that he was socially of a shrinking and diffident disposition. For example: he went one evening to the house of a neighbor, living at some distance from him, on a matter of business. This neighbor, who was a prominent citizen of the place, was a man of correct life, kind and accommodating, but irreligious: he never went to church, and was apparently indifferent to spiritual things. When their business was over, on rising to go Mr. Bliss said to him: "You and I have been neighbors many years, and you have done me a great many favors, and I couldn't wish for a better neighbor; but we are both well on in life and must soon be separated on earth. I hope we shall meet in heaven."—to which the neighbor replied not a word. Mr. Bliss started homeward; it was a warm summer evening, but dark; (he gave all these particulars) and when he was half a mile or so on his way, he heard steps behind him as of some one overtaking him. Mr. Bliss moderated his pace but the person behind him after coming very close

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to him,—near enough to see him,—slackened his pace also, then quickened it again, then drew back once more, and so it went on till Mr. Bliss' house was almost reached. At last the one behind him coming up rapidly spoke his name. It was the man from whose house he had come. On Mr. Bliss' turning around, the man said to him in an agitated voice expressive of deep feeling: "Mr. Bliss, in my judgment the matter you spoke of at my house, is of the very greatest importance." and without waiting for a response, hastily walked off the way he had come, and a few days after, before they met again, he died, leaving Mr. Bliss the hope that the grace of God had finally found him. There were numbers of little spiritual dramas like that which Mr. Bliss was wont to relate; his memory was full of them; his imagination retained the details of scene and circumstance, and oftentimes they were very moving to hear.

His own experience, as I have intimated, had features attributable to the imaginative operation of his mind,—neither more nor less genuine on that account, indeed,—which were, to me at least, of extraordinary and touching interest. Thus, one day while recovering from an illness, as he sat before the fire in spiritual meditation, and wondering if it could be that God's grace in Christ was sufficient for all his needs, which had never seemed so great, he suddenly became aware that the Saviour had entered the door behind him and was there in the room. He dared not look around, but sat trembling in a tumult of emotion. Presently over one of his shoulders appeared a hand, ("which" he said in telling the story, "I seemed to see just as distinctly as I see my own hand now.") The hand held a long paper that hung to the floor. "I glanced at it" said Mr. Bliss—for I will give the rest in his own words,—"and saw at once what it was. It was the account of my sins. I shut my eyes and said 'it is true—it is all true—but I can do nothing about it.' Then in another minute another hand appeared over my opposite shoulder holding a pen with which beginning at the top it crossed out the whole long account to the last item, and a voice just above me gently said: 'I do this because I know you truly wish me to do it,' upon which I turned my head and caught one glimpse of a vanishing face, the sweetest I ever saw and which I never shall forget as long as I live." Now this event, whatever the nature of it was,—and Mr. Bliss appeared to have no definite theory about that,—remained exceedingly precious to him all the rest of his life. His heart recognized a deep blessed meaning in it, and he often recurred to it and to other like visions of his soul, not a few of which were memorable to him for the impressions of divine favor they imparted, with holy gladness.

He used to tell of times of surprising spiritual joy that had come to him. They were down in the journal of his recollections: he would name the day and the place. Once going

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away from home on a visit, he arrived at his destination so late and so weary that his friends did not call him in the morning, but left him to have his sleep out. When he woke it was broad bright day. He heard through the open window the cattle lowing and the notes of the domestic fowls, and the various voices of the farm, all which were transformed to him at that moment into a chorus of praise to God. "Oh, Lord," he cried, "even the dumb creatures praise thee, and I lie here slumbering." He rose and dressed and fell on his knees, and while he worshiped such an heavenly outpouring descended upon him that his spirit was quite overwhelmed. He remained where he was as much as an hour, fearing to go down to his friends lest he should not be able to control himself in their presence. At length he stole out by a side door and went and walked in the orchard hard by to calm his transport, and he said it was like walking under the trees of Paradise.

I would not have it inferred that his happy experience was compressed into such special exercises, or was preeminently in the form of such exceptional exaltations, for it was not. He had an even and constant joy in God which increased to the end. Many and many a time, when I have met him, he has said to me that Christ seemed nearer and dearer to him that day, he was sure, than ever before. "It is with me," was his frequent remark, "as it was at the marriage at Cana, the best wine is kept till the last. The Lord never was so good to my soul as He is now."

In no respect was his spiritual life and blessing more strikingly manifest than in connection with the word of God. He was on terms of the utmost intimacy with the Bible. Its thoughts and expressions were with him all the while. You scarcely ever met him that he had not, so to speak, a cluster from that heavenly vine in his hand, which he was just then tasting the sweetness of. He was no exegete in the scholarship way, but it was wonderful to see how many hid treasures his heart found in the common places of Holy writ. Some years ago when he was out of town for a few weeks, I wrote him a letter in which I remember I said to him that he had furnished me the texts and subjects of a good many sermons, which was entirely true, but which he could not comprehend. It was in the field of the Bible again that his imagination came into play, making the book alive to him. He read the New Testament, and as he read he heard Christ's voice—the very tones and accents of it; and when he repeated his words he often imparted to them an indescribable newness, as if they had been spoken yesterday to him, and you were the second that heard them, fresh from the Lord's own lips. Sometimes he would tell how the Saviour looked on this or that occasion. For instance, in speaking of the stilling of the tempest on the Sea of Galilee he said "when the disciples woke Him He

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first lifted up on his elbow and looked all round on the sea and then looked at the disciples and smiled before He spoke a word."

There was one saying of Christ's that he used to quote very often indeed, and that appeared to bear a peculiarly comforting significance to him. It was his saying to his disciples the night before he suffered; "Ye now therefore have sorrow, but I will see you again and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you." That expression "I will see you again," was evidently one of his hearts resting places. "Why," he said, "it is just as if He had been to your house to call on you, and on leaving had turned around at the door and said 'Well, good bye, I am going now; but I will see you again.'" And generally when I left him after a call and spoke of coming again pretty soon, he would refer to it, and so one of the commonest incidents of life,—the casual leave taking of a neighbor,—was an heavenly suggestion to him.

These are hints and specimens only of the spiritual ministry he experienced from the divine word. It was a well of the water of Life to him, and he drank of it with ever new refreshment and delight. He has left behind him his last Bible—his large print, old-age Bible. Through much use it has had to be rebound more than once. It bears the marks of having been,—as it has been,—his constant resource during his failing years. No nobler pleasure, no dearer companionship and friendship, no richer interchange of heart with heart has been enjoyed on Asylum Hill while those years have been going by, than that which that old man has been enjoying in that book.

His outward man was slowly perishing, but his inward man was renewed day by day. So far beyond the ordinary term was his life prolonged on earth, that he might be said to have had it appointed to him to anticipate here below some part of that blessedness which usually falls within the life of heaven. At any rate his God brought him on into the region of green pastures and still waters, and there spread his gentleness over him and kept him in perfect peace, till the hour should arrive he was ever expecting, when Christ, according to His word so fondly believed in, would come again to see him.

A greater difference could hardly be conceived in many respects between two men, than between Mr. Bliss and Dr. Bushnell, and yet they both came out into the same spiritual place before crossing the eternal boundary. There was realized in them both the same great quietness and easiness of spirit in God, the same sweet unbroken calm, the same absence of all questionings.

"It cannot be,—do you think it possible," Mr. Bliss was wont to say, "that after all my Saviour has said,—after all He has done for me,—after loving me and letting me love

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Him so long, He will not receive me?" But this was not a questioning. It was only an expression of his soul's certainty as to what was before him.

The evening of New Year's day he passed in the company of those dearest to him on earth, at a family gathering; full of cheerfulness, even joining the children in their games. The next morning he was not, for God had taken him. He had apparently passed away in his sleep at about the time the shadows of night were fleeing away—his body even having been spared the pangs of death, which to his spirit had long been as a bright angel waiting to convey him home.

Ninety-three years is a long time, but it comes to an end at last. Mr. Bliss' life reached back beyond the closing decade of the century before this. It covered almost the entire history of this country after the war of Independence. God gave him length of days, but finally his days are numbered, and what is it to him now that they were so many? What was life to him without that hope imparted to it through the Lord Jesus Christ? He was accustomed, while his strength permitted, to call on our dear and venerable brother Willard * who was a little his senior in age, and went to the grave a little before him; and the two patriarchs talked together of the Lord on whom they believed and of their approaching release from the burden of the flesh and their recovery of immortal youth. What had long life been to either of them if it had left them without that theme to commune upon with their own hearts and with each other?

We laid Mr. Bliss' body to rest with its kindred dust in the cemetery at Springfield beside the body of his beloved Christian wife, who preceded him many years to the presence of the Lord, and there thought with comfort of the reunions of heaven. But when leaving him there, we turned back into the living present world, from which he had been so long withdrawn, into the busy streets of the city where in former days he had friends and acquaintences in numbers, but was now, with all his generation so nearly forgotten; and there heard the sounds of life, and saw life's stream flowing on full and strong, all places filled, and no one that was gone much missed; we realized anew, and with a chill at our hearts as we thought upon ourselves, the earthly oblivion that is the fate of the dead. And again we asked, what was life to the man we had laid yonder in his grave without his eternal hope in Christ? Without it how poor a vanity! With it how good and rich a gift.

* Asaph Willard, died July 14th 1880, aged 93 years 7 months.

Yale.—1859.

DEAR CLASSMATE:

The Committees whose names are subscribed to the accompanying statement and appeal have asked me, as class secretary, to canvass our class for contributions to the enterprise therein described.

The proposed undertaking, in view of the sum of money it requires, seems pretty large; yet it really looks as if it was going to succeed. The Alumni are reported to be taking hold of it handsomely.

If you favor the project and will send me whatever you are willing to give to help carry it out, I will see that the Treasurer's receipt for the same is promptly returned to you.

Wishing you long life, happiness, and every prosperity, I am

Your Classmate,

JOSEPH H. TWICHELL.

HARTFORD, CONN., Jan. 20, 1881.