"The happy harbour of God's saints, It was a noticeable event, to the sailors especially, that the man they loved above all men should have gone out with the tide; thus conforming unwittingly, in his death, to those very peculiarities of his "boys" by the employment of which he had won so much of fame and love. It was just at the turn of the tide, in the dark of that midnight morning, April 6, 1871, that his spirit floated off "this bank and shoal of time," and made the happy harbour for which he had so long and faithfully sailed. CHAPTER XI. THE BURIAL. ATHER TAYLOR had been so long decaying, that he had become largely withdrawn from the public eye. But, when it was announced that he was dead, a thrill of sadness shot through many hearts. His conference, in session at the time in the Winthrop-street Church, in Boston, adopted resolutions expressive of their feelings, and appointed one of their number to deliver a eulogy at their next session. His body was carried to the Bethel, and lay there two days, visited by many people, anxious to see the features to which death had restored the grand expression that had sometimes been missed during the hours of sickness. Among others, little Roman Catholic children and young women, kneeling by the side of the coffin, prayed for the repose of One of the children being asked why the soul of the dead. she did this, answered that Father Taylor knew her, that he always spoke to her in the street, and that in him she had lost a friend. So, indeed, she had, and so had all children, and all the poor. On Good Friday the funeral was attended by large deputations of clergy, masons, odd fellows, sailors, managers of the Port Society, and other friends and admirers. It was a raw, rainy day, a breaking up day, when Nature seems to sorely resist the beneficent change that is coming over her. Not that soft, dropping April day, when the warm, wet air is full of flowers in solution; but the rude ocean air, dripping with salt sea-spray, that so often makes the spring the least lovely of the seasons. Yet it was not inappropriate to have an ocean mist enshrouding this spot, where, as nowhere else in this or any land, for half a century, that ocean had been depicted in storm and calm, and those who went down upon it were importuned to escape from the temptations that swept over their souls greater than all storms of sky and sea. If Neptune ever could be properly personified, he should have been the chief mourner at that funeral. The first address was by Rev. Dr. Upham, the companion of his youth, who had travelled with him on his first circuit, who had tried to teach him a trade, and had been taught by him that greatest of trades, the calling of men to repentance. He dwelt on his early life, circuit, his prayers, his gifts of persuasion, and his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. The Rev. R. C. Waterson then pronounced a very tender eulogy, in which he said, 6 “As the disciples, when separated from the Great Apostle whom they so much honoured and loved, sorrowed most of all that they should see his face no more,' even so do we sorrow now that we are called to look for the last time upon a countenance which has been associated through many years with all goodness and Christian love. That presence, how did it always impart a consciousness of strength! The grasp of that extended hand, how many has it solaced and cheered! That face, with its radiant smile, how often has it shed sunlight through depressed and sorrowing souls! That voice, now silent for ever, bow, by its fervid eloquence, has it kindled multitudes by its power, or melted them by its pathos! "The very mention of the ocean kindled his enthusiasm. The sound of the sea was like melody to his ear, and the murmur of its waves seemed ever around him. He looked upon every sailor with paternal love. Seafaring men, wherever he went, were always the objects of his thought and care. Was temptation around their pathway, he would shield them. Were they in sorrow or trouble, he would comfort them. Were they without a home, he would find them a shelter. What sacrifice would he not make for their elevation? What effort could be too great to promote their welfare ? "It is the privilege of an hour like this to recall the precious memories of the past. My mind goes back more than forty years. I remember first hearing him in a little simple edifice, where at that time he preached. The quaint and unpretending building was situated down among the shipping, in a narrow lane then known as 'Methodist Alley.' "As I entered the diminutive church, I found that every corner was packed, yet still the crowd came flocking in. At length each standing-place was occupied, the aisles even to the door, and the pulpit stairs to the very top. All had a nautical look. There was a strange mingling of blue and red shirts, with faces bronzed and weather-beaten by ocean storms. When the preacher stretched forth his arms inviting all to unite in devotion, it seemed as if he would take the whole congregation in his affectionate embrace, and then lift them upward to the Hearer of prayer. "In his earnest pleadings, his sympathetic voice trembled, and tears moistened his cheeks. His discourse was full of beauty and power. The most striking originalities were united to an eloquence unsurpassed. His descriptions were so graphic, that what was portrayed stood before the mind as in bodily form. At times, there was an almost feminine tenderness, and then a masculine strength, which swept all before it like a mountain torrent. The audience were rapt in breathless attention. Now and then sobs might be heard. Men who could stand unmoved amid the tempest were melted here. It was evident that every hearer was firmly held in the preacher's grasp. I remember well, now that nearly half a century has gone by, one passage in which he besought his hearers not to cling to the world. Why will you hug so tenaciously the rocky shore, where there is perpetual danger from breakers and quicksands? With sail full-spread, push bravely out into the deep ocean of God's love.' Emphasized by his expressive voice and manner, this was a wonderful passage, profound in its depth of feeling and true spirituality, filling the mind with a consciousness of the absolute infinitude of divine love. "Thus did he labour for years, zealously promoting the best interests of seamen; breaking up, as far as was in his power, thos haunts of evil which decoy them to their ruin, surrounding them with elevating influences. Intrepid and fearless, in the midst of threats and opposition, courage never forsook him. To do his Master's work faithfully was his fixed determination, and in doing this he sought no outside reputation. His discourses in that little outof-the-way chapel were as remarkable as those which awakened wider attention in after years. I have sometimes thought those were the very best sermons I have ever heard from him. The new Bethel was dedicated in 1833. It was my privilege to be chosen the first superintendent of the first Sunday-school here established. This important office I filled for five years; not only having charge of the school, into which the children of the seamen were gathered, but having also a separate religious service for the young, adapted to their wants. These duties brought me into long and intimate intercourse with Father Taylor. During this time I had ample opportunity of witnessing his devotedness to his great work. "He lived like an apostle consecrated of Heaven to this high vocation. Laborious to the last degree, sparing himself in nothing, yet always fresh and genial in his feelings, and habitually making remarks worthy to be treasured through life for their originality and wisdom. Often do I think of his friendly counsel as I entered upon my work full of hope and expectation. Carry not,' he said, the seed-basket and the sickle into the field together.' Do not |