tions made to a preacher that were made to St. Paul." Who won the hatred of the merchant princes of Boston? Who did State street call a madman? The fanatic of Federal street in 1837. Who, with unerring instinct, did that same herd of merchant princes hate, with instinctive certainty that, in order that their craft should be safe, they ought to hate him? The Apostle of Music Hall. That is enough.

When some Americans die- when most Americans die

it

- their friends tire the public with excuses. They confess this spot, they explain that stain, they plead circumstances as the half justification of that mistake, and they beg of us to remember that nothing but good is to be spoken of the dead. We need no such mantle for that green grave under the sky of Florence. No excuses — no explanations no spot. Priestly malice has scanned every inch of his garment; was seamless; it could find no stain. History, as in the case of every other of her beloved children, gathers into her bosom the arrows which malice had shot at him, and says to posterity, "Behold the title-deeds of your gratitude!" We ask no moment to excuse, there is nothing to explain. What the snarling journal thought bold, what the selfish politician feared as his ruin-it was God's seal set upon his apostleship. The little libel glanced across him like a rocket when it goes over the vault; it is passed, and the royal sun shines out as beneficent as ever.

When I returned from New York on the thirteenth day of this month, I was to have been honored by standing in his desk, but illness prevented my fulfilling the appointment. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. As he sank away the same week, under the fair sky of Italy, he said to the most loving of wives and of nurses, "Let me be buried where I fall;" and tenderly, thoughtfully, she selected four

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o'clock of the same Sunday to mingle his dust with the kindred dust of brave, classic Italy.

Four o'clock! The same sun that looked upon the halfdozen mourners that he permitted to follow him to the grave, that same moment of brightness lighted up the arches of his own Temple, as one whom he loved stepped into his own desk, and with remarkable coincidence, for the only time during his absence, opened one of his own sermons to supply my place; and as his friend read the Beatitudes over his grave on the banks of the Arno, his dearer friend here read from a manuscript the text, "Have faith in God." It is said that, in his last hours, in the wandering of that masterly brain, he murmured, "There are two Theodore Parkers; one rests here, dying, but the other lives, and is at work at home." How true! at that very moment, he was speaking to his usual thousands; at that very instant, his own words were sinking down into the hearts of those that loved him best, and bidding them, in this, the loneliest hour of their bereavement, "Have faith in God."

He always came to this platform. He is an old occupant of it. He never made an apology for coming to it. I remember many years ago, going home from the very hall which formerly occupied this place. He had sat where you sit, in the seats, looking up to us. It had been a stormy, hard gathering a close fight; the press calumniating us; every journal in Boston ridiculing the idea which we were endeavoring to spread. As I passed down the stairs homeward, he put his arm within mine, and said, "You shall never need to ask me again to share that platform." It was the instinct of his nature, true as the bravest heart. The spot for him was where the battle was hottest. He had come, as half the clergy come a critic. He felt it was not his place; that it was to grapple with the tiger,

and throttle him. And the pledge that he made he kept; for, whether here or in New York, as his reputation grew, when that lordly mammoth of the press, the Tribune, overgrown in its independence and strength, would not condescend to record a word that Mr. Garrison or I could utter, but bent low before the most thorough scholarship of New England, and was glad to win its way to the confidence of the West by being his mouthpiece — with that weapon of influence in his right hand, he always placed himself at our side, and in the midst of us, in the capital State of the Empire.

You may not think this great praise- we do. Other men have brought us brave hearts, other men have brought us keen-sighted and vigilant intellects, but he brought us, as no one else could, the loftiest stature of New England culture. He brought us a disciplined intellect, whose statement was evidence, and whose affirmation the most gifted student took long time before he ventured to doubt or to contradict. When we had nothing but our characters, nothing but our reputation for accuracy, for our weapons, the man who could give to the cause of the slave that weapon, was indeed one of its ablest and foremost champions.

Lord Bacon said in his will, "I leave my name and memory to foreign lands, and to my own countrymen, after some time be passed." No more fitting words could be chosen, if the modesty of the friend who has just gone before us would have permitted him to adopt them for himself. To-day, even within twenty-four hours, I have seen symptoms of that repentance which Johnson describes:

"When nations, slowly wise and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust."

The men who held their garments aside, and desired to have no contact with Music Hall, are beginning to show symptoms

that they will be glad, when the world doubts whether they have any life left, to say, "Did not Theodore Parker spring from our bosom?" Yes, he takes his place his serene place among those few to whom Americans point as a proof that the national heart is still healthy and alive. Most of our statesmen, most of our politicians, go down into their graves, and we cover them up with apologies; we walk with reverent and filial love backward, and throw the mantle over their defects, and say, "Remember the temptation and the time!" Now and then one now and then one -goes up silently, and yet not unannounced, like the stars at their coming, and takes its place, while all eyes follow it and say, "Thank God! It is the promise and the herald! It is the nation alive at its heart. God has not left us without a witness, for his children have been among us, and one half have known them by love, and one half have known them by hate - equal attestations to the divine life that has passed through our streets."

I wish I could say any thing worthy; but he should have done for us, with the words that never failed to be fitting, with that heart which was always ready, with that eloquence which you never waited for and were disappointed — he should have done for us what we vainly try to do for him. Farewell, brave, strong friend and helper!

"Sleep in peace with kindred ashes

Of the noble and the true;

Hands that never failed their country,
Hearts that baseness never knew!"

REMARKS BY WM. LLOYD GARRISON. Mr. Garrison said he felt impelled to utter a few unpremeditated words in support of the resolutions offered by

Mr. Phillips, respecting the removal of his beloved and endeared friend, THEODORE PARKER; and yet, when all hearts were full, almost to bursting, in view of this great bereavement, the most eloquent words seemed poor and common-place. Silence was more expressive than speech.

His estimate of Mr. Parker was an exalted one. He regarded him as one of the most remarkable men the world had ever seen—a prodigy as to his scholarly attainments, and his power to acquire knowledge in all its varied forms, which he dispensed with unbounded munificence for the enlightenment and elevation of his race. He felt very sad at his departure, which he regarded as premature, the result of overtasking his bodily powers, though for the noblest ends. He thought his friend, Mr. Phillips, needed to be admonished, rather than stimulated to more protracted labors, by that light which he so often saw in Mr. Parker's study, at the sacrifice of needed rest. It was not an example to be imitated, for it was using up life too rapidly, in violation of physiological law. How often even before he saw any sign of failing health on the part of Mr. Parker had he warned him, with all earnestness, that, by such unremitted studies and labors, he was surely "treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath!" But he was wont playfully, yet confidently, to refer to the longevity of his ancestors as full security in his own case. His (Mr. G.'s) reply was, "I do not doubt that your great-grandfather, and grandfather, and father, were amply endowed with brains ; but they never used them as you are tasking yours; and you must be more careful, or the penalty will come." Nevertheless, if Mr. Parker had fallen thus prematurely, it was a rich consolation to know that it was the result of earnest devotion to the cause of truth, freedom, and humanity, and a very noble sacrifice indeed.

Mr. Garrison referred to the mental independence and