obvious and pressing, and no one saw it more plainly than the clear-sighted Bishop of New York.

With what faithfulness, patience, long suffering, meekness, wisdom and prudence, that long Episcopate was gone through, that life work done, I need hardly tell you. How the varied culture, the manifold training, the diversified acquirements, which so quietly, and because so quietly, therefore so successfully, did their work, were crowned and irradiated with heavenly grace, with a living faith in the Crucified, and with an utter abnegation of other strength or merit than that of Jesus Christ, you know, indeed, we all know, and we rejoice in knowing. That well balanced and well rounded Christian character, all whose parts were so harmoniously blended, and which, as it was mellowed by advancing years, and gathered round itself the clustering honors of old age, even as the sun gathers around his setting bright clouds and glorious colorings, became such a centre of reverence and love, you have seen living among you, and you need no words of mine to recall it to you here. We have been privileged, all of us, to look for years on years—may we estimate the privilege at its great worth—on the "path of the just," and we have seen it "shining more and more unto the perfect day."

How truly may we say as we recall that long Episcopate with its manifold labors, its personal graces and its great results, "If you seek his monument look around you." See it in our College, placed after years of struggle on a firm foundation; in the work of Church-extension, so vigorous now, so weak and stinted five-and-forty years ago; in the little band of clergy multiplied five-fold; in the seven parishes that maintained a pastor increased to a hundred; in the peace that marked that pure and wise administration, and the sorrow that bore witness to it when it ended. It may all be summed in the passage of the Psalmist—I can never read it without the involuntary application—"So he fed them with a faithful and true heart, and ruled them prudently with all his power."

The knowledge of all this, and the feeling of all this, was universal through our whole communion. Every where he was known as the good man and the wise ruler; and his exercise of the responsible office of the Presiding Bishop was welcomed with joy and rested in with confidence; and with the feeling that in his hands, under God, the Church was safe.

But the end was to come, as the end must come to blessings and trials alike in this world of ours, and our Father was to be taken from us. "He was a burning and a shining light," and "we were willing for a season to rejoice in his light." But it could be only for a season that the light could shine on earth, then it must beam in Paradise.

I know how difficult and delicate a task it is to speak of the closing hours of any life. I know that ordinarily one shrinks from it, and would veil such sacred things from view. But the last hours and the dying testimony of an eminent Christian, and that Christian an aged and distinguished Prelate in the Church, are a part of the Church's heritage. Nay more, it seems to me a sacred duty that I should declare to you the witness of those last hours to which I was allowed in some degree to minister, and the memory of which will go with me while I live. But I shall try to observe such reticence as the case demands, though not, perhaps, what he would have imposed upon me.

It pleased God in his mysterious providence that he should pass through great physical suffering before the release was granted. Yet no one ever heard, amid it all, a word of murmur, impatience or complaint. "Not more than I can bear," was the utmost acknowledgment of suffering that ever came from him. It was "the fellowship of suffering," making him perfect in the sufferer. Once when I had spoken to him of the comfort of the