ble in art and nature, to all the forms of sublimity and beauty, whether wrought by the hands of man or displayed in the universe of the Almighty. The heavens and the earth and the sea were objects of his careful study and unwearied delight. They were not to him a mere show and wonder. He did not look at them with a transient curiosity or a superficial pleasure, but with the vision of his highest sentiments, with a philosophic understanding and a devout heart. They were fraught with divine meanings for him. He loved to enrich his meditations with the thoughts that their varied spectacle was always revealing to his search. He endeavored to draw both knowledge and spiritual improvement from those pure sources; the first if he could find the opportunity, and the last by all means. He took science with him when she was willing to come, and placed her on his left hand; but his religious feelings were his guides always, and led on at the right. His soul was engaged and affected by what he beheld among the minutest and the grandest of the works of his own Creator. And when he perceived any copies and distant imitations of what was done by that heavenly hand in the productions of human skill and genius, when he gazed on the buildings and the monuments that are connected with patriotism or piety, that embody lofty conceptions or display virtuous impulses, he was touched with that also, and glowed with thankfulness to Him, who had given such an ability and such a disposition to his poor brother man. And what he thus saw, you know with what peculiar felicity he could describe. What he thus learned he was always ready in the most finished manner to communicate. His invalid state, which began so long as twenty-three years ago, while he was the youthful minister of another congregation, led him to seek for health in different parts of his own country, on the southern coasts of his mother land which he deeply venerated, and among the islands of a still warmer sea. Wherever he went, he carried the same spirit of observation and sensibility; he brought back new treasures of instruction for himself and others. The ocean by which he sat he made to murmur in many ears beside his own with the praise of God. The cataract, whose mighty falls he contemplated with an emotion that would not let him be silent, he made to sound the same ascription within these very walls; and it was almost as good and elevating to hear his lips tell of it as to listen to the deep hymn itself of those eternal waters. From the tropical skies, under which he dwelt for a few months, and where a languid frame would have seemed to conspire with the summer air to demand repose, his quiet diligence brought home something for his pulpit and something for his scientific friends; at the same time valuable contributions to Natural History, and lessons of a kind wisdom which none knew better than he how to recommend. I see him also on the seaside of Devonshire, gathering minute specimens from its beach, and worshipping in the humble chapel, that looked but like a moss-covered cottage in contrast with the noble church of the establishment that reared its grey tower in the neighborhood. His own expression to an eminent English divine was, that he loved it as a sacred relic of men's hands embowered in the green of nature; and I read among his published pieces a sentence respecting it, which is too characteristic of his delicate and generous temper to allow of its omission. "I went there while I remained," he says, "and should have done so had I remained till this time. I have no idea of deserting our friends, because they assemble under simple thatch, instead of under groined stone; - though I also think," he adds, "that I should have been cheerfully willing to pay my tithes, for the pleasure of looking at that old church, and walking through that old churchyard." Pardon me, my hearers, if I appear to have dwelt disproportionately long upon this part of the tastes and character of the friend we have lost. Could I have alluded to it at all, and said less? In reflecting upon his intellectual endowments and habits, one is struck with the singular combination that he presented of accuracy and discursiveness. He was a close critic and a patient investigator, and yet his imagination was one of the ruling lights of his mind. With that he beautifully illustrated the conclusions at which he arrived, and the facts that he discovered. He insisted everywhere upon the rigid truth, and then adorned it with the colors of an original invention and the charms of his rhetoric. He was studious of dates and details. He was willing to track small incidents, and disentangle complicated evidences, while at the same time that vivid. inspiration was warm within him which naturally gives birth to verse and song. But these different elements knew their proper places among his meek faculties. They did not interfere with one another They were mutually helpful. His fancy did not abuse his reason. His reason did not chill his fancy. He kept them suitably related. He was remarkable for the clearness of his perceptions. What he saw he saw distinctly, and ex hibited it as distinctly as it was seen. He loved history, with its sober and warning page. He loved, too, all the flowery fields of poetic enchantment. But his judgment was so grave as to be almost severe. It was not the language of passion that stirred or captivated him, but the tender strains of subdued feeling, the voice of harmonious wisdom, the utterances of a rapt but an upright soul. He was the enemy of all violence and exaggeration. He could bear with nothing that was unnatural, or unholy, or untrue. He kept his glance fixed upon the honest reality of things, with candor but with resolution; and on no pretext was that to be tampered with or concealed. These qualities eminently fitted him to be the historian of this church to which he ministered. He was led to undertake the task by his taste for antiquity in its records as well as in its structures, and by the fondness that he always felt for this religious home of his childhood. He performed it in such a manner as to leave it for no one who shall come after him to do it again and better. It seems to me a beautiful thing among the disposals of providence, that after his strength failed him under his labors in another place, and a threatening illness separated him from the service of a closely-attached people, he was permitted to return hither; to preach the gospel of Christ with his manly powers, where he received the sign of its baptism upon his infant forehead; and be laid here at last to be bewailed, where his youngest days had been instructed. Shall I venture to speak, as if under a separate department, of the feelings, the sensitive nature, of your lamented pastor? Certainly no one could, or ought, but with a reserved tongue. Nor should I, but that there They were They were seemed much that distinguished him in their character and expression. They united great strength and fervor with an extraordinary tranquillity. They were alive to every touch. They took an eager interest in whatever related to sacred principles or human welfare. full of harmonies with the surrounding world. quick to kindle or to melt, as anything occurred to rouse a righteous displeasure or to appeal to the softest sympathies. But yet they broke out into no excess, and they sunk down into no weakness. You always found him prudent, measured, calm. A spirit of control seemed to be constantly upon him. It looked out from his thoughtful eyes, and impressed itself upon his whole demeanor. I do not remember him when he was easily moved to mirth, though he had a keen relish for all innocent joy ; nor to anger, though he knew well how to resent and what to resent; nor to tears, though he was tenderly constructed, and made many tears start at the pathos of his affectionate word, while he kept his own below the brim of their fountain. And whence came this spirit of control? I think from a contemplative disposition, that had always made serious estimates of life and of the duties and objects of living; and that had been trained by the various discipline of a delicate if not a suffering frame, to look closely at the transientness of mortal things, and to feel the necessity of a curbed will, and to fix its trust upon the promises of God. He was penetrated with moral and religious persuasions, that were too habitual to be ever uneven, and too profound to show any tumultuous sign of themselves as they flowed on. He was eminently, though with the most silent modesty, a devout man. Unconsciously and without effort he was |