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tlety, stormy denunciation of sin, or fearful portrayal of the wrath to come, it had its reward in unwonted accessions to the Christian ranks, and renewed vigor of religious life. As a pulpit orator, his place among the foremost of his time was long ago assured.

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In the summer of 1826 the foundations of a new church edifice were laid, a few feet distant from the old one; and in the fall of 1827, the new building being completed, the hour came of final adieu to the time-honored church. the last Sunday in October of that year, the congregation met for the last time within its walls. I believe no notice had been given that there was to be a farewell sermon, but the attendance was instinctively larger than usual. The sermon, like all occasional discourses of Mr. AIKEN, was marked by fine adaptation. The prosperous state of the church, and its auspicious future were the themes most dwelt upon; and his allusions to the past had less of sadness than of gratulation. The last hymn was sung,—the final benediction pronounced,—and as the throng emerged through the doorways, if any eyes were moistened as they cast a lingering, fond look at the modest old sanctuary, they quickly brightened with gratified approval, as they glanced at the stately new walls and lofty steeple which towered at its side.

Finally, the old church was neither torn down nor burned up. It was dismembered. The larger part of it went over the canal and rested at the corner of Fayette and Washington streets, where it has been known for many years as the Mansion House. Another part found its way down into Whitesboro street, where it took the nature of a double tenement house, distinguishable, to this day, from all its neighbors, by high shouldered walls and thinness of flank. The lower part of the tower found a new home in Water street, near the foot of Washington, where you can find it to-day, just where the railway tracks leave the street, and take to the fields. It makes the front part of a modest dwelling. The house, as a whole, is quite unpretending; but its front entrance is decidedly ambitious, being nothing

less than the identical large, double doors which first swung open on dedication day, and finally closed on the church when its congregation had no further need of it. The belfry of the steeple was carefully taken down, and set up again on a new market building in Bleecker street. What became of the section above it, I never knew. Perhaps it was mislaid. But they saved the tinned dome that covered it, and put it on the old belfry, which being a world too wide for it, the whole affair served for years to suggest the idea of a steeple built on the telescopic plan, with one slide perpetually shut down.

It was a singular ordering of events which placed the third edifice of the church in such close neighborhood to the first. A poetic fancy might find in the situation something worth elaborating, were it not for one element of incongruity which I need not name. A prosaic fancy will probably see in it only an illustration of the progress of wealth and architectural taste in fifty years. The sentiment of one of our own best poets, that no building is so old that it ought to be torn down, I would amend, by insisting that no building, associated either with the religious or domestic affections, should be suffered to stand, if otherwise, it must be diverted to unhallowed purposes. How many churches in our land must grieve, "if aught inanimate e'er grieves," over the base uses to which they have come at last.

But I must return to the boys in the back gallery. My brother CLARKE told you, a little while ago, that the corner seat there, near the pulpit, was an excellent post from which to watch the progress of the sermon. I never knew before why that seat was in so much request by certain of our number. So high was the standard of behavior carried in our day, that the post of provost marshal in that gallery would have been a sinecure. We were left to ourselves, and we took good care of ourselves. The introduction of the organ made more of a commotion amongst the denizens of our retreat, than in any other part of the congregation. Not that it trespassed upon our domain. An organ loft ' was built for its reception on the south side, opposite the

pulpit, and, in this way, the detached galleries were united on that side. In our estimation that organ was the marvel of the age. We were happy in that we could see it during the whole service, and witness the manipulations by which Mr. DUTTON drew from it such wondrous tones. In bidding a final adieu to the old church, I would remind you that its organ was the first one put up in any Presbyterian church in America.

In the summer of 1828 I graduated at the Sunday School, and was promoted to the Bible class. During most of the period of eight years in which I belonged to the school, TRUMAN PARMELE was its Superintendent. Other pens and voices have already, and will continue, while these exercises are in progress, to portray his virtues and recount his praise. I never knew Mr. PARMELE intimately. He was never my teacher; and, in his office of Superintendent, I was never brought into any close relation with him. I can still see his manly form, and handsome, youthful face in the Superintendent's desk in Catharine street—still hear his pleasant voice, urging his young friends to choose the better part, or at times authoritatively bringing the school into quick order and attention. In the history of this school, there is no name more conspicuous than his, and no untimely death was ever more sincerely mourned in this community than his.

In the Bible class, I was so fortunate as to be put into the class of WALTER KING. Here I met again many of my old comrades. The year that I passed under the instruction of this most excellent gentleman and profound biblical scholar was one of great profit. Mr. KING'S knowledge of sacred literature was varied and exact. No man whom I have ever known had so ready a way of disposing of troublesome questions and doubts. In warfare with infidelity, he was a gladiator. Everything went down before him. He was in the habit of giving much of his time with his class to the besetting mistake of young men, unbelief; and he did wisely. More than all, he was not squeamish. He would handle the weapons of infidelity as the magician

does his swords, or the Indian juggler his serpents, and he bade us do likewise. It was a high compliment he paid his class and in complimenting them he honored himself— when he bade us explore, if we chose to, "the dark mountains of unbelief," and pluck, but not to eat of every poisoned herb that grew there.

I can not close this address without giving expression to the pleasure its preparation has afforded me, nor without thanking the friend whose timely hint first put me in the way of gathering a fresh enjoyment from the faded past. If, in what I have said, there has been anything like appreciation of the past at the expense of the present, or too much babbling of the green fields of boyhood, consider, that the period over which we have just been hastily traveling together, was the "Golden Prime."

The meeting was closed by benediction pronounced by Rev. Father GLEASON.

SUNDAY MORNING.

The Sabbath morning of our JUBILEE dawned beautiful and bright, and nature seemed to vie with friends to see which should do most to make the day delightful.

The School was early gathered in full numbers, in their pleasant room, which kindly hands had tastefully decorated and trimmed for them, as a welcome to the former scholars two beautiful wreaths hung upon the marble tablets erected to the memory of Mrs. MARY E. OSTROM and THOMAS MAYNARD, while the names of the five founders of the School hung upon the wall.

After the opening exercises, the scholars sung a hymn of welcome, and instead of the usual lessons, the morning hour was occupied by short addresses from the Superintendent; ROBERT B. SHEPARD, of Hudson, N. Y.; SAMUEL E. WARNER, of the Tract House, New York, and Rev. SAMUEL L. MERRELL, of Theresa, N. Y. The remarks were all suited to the occasion: Mr. SHEPARD giving an interesting account of the little mourning tablet printed by him forty years ago, in memory of a beloved teacher, Mrs. SARAH K. CLARKE, conveying her dying request to the School, which was, "Give my love to the teachers. I hope they will feel their responsibility and be FAITHFUL," and which has been hanging upon the walls of this School ever since. Messrs. WARNER and MERRELL, alluded to the pleasing incidents connected with various teachers and scholars, celebrations, processions and picnics, which occurred during their Sunday School days.

The tolling bell, however, interrupted these pleasant services with its summons to church, to listen to Rev. Dr. FOWLER'S Jubilee Sermon.

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