My people worshiped God in a meeting house; they gave it the name, not I, and they called the body of believers who met therein 'a church.' Episcopalians speak otherwise.

It is a bad sign that we do not seem disposed to hold fast the form of sound words." I am not aware of any Scriptural authority for calling a steepled house "a church." The last evening I ever spent with him was at a temperance meeting of plain working people, to which he came several miles through a snow storm.

He spoke with great power, and when I told him afterwards it was one of the finest addresses I had ever heard from him he said to me: "I would rather tell some truths to help such plain people as we had to-night than address thousands of the cultured in the Academy of Music." As he bade me good-night at yonder corner of Fulton Street, I said to him: "Uncle Horace, will you not come and spend the night with me ?" He said, "No, I have much work to do before morning.

I am coming over soon to spend a week in Brooklyn with my brother-in-law, and I will come and have a night with you." Alas, it was not long before he came to spend a night in Brooklyn,--that night that knows no morning.

On a chilly November day, towards twilight, I was one of the crowd that followed him to his resting place in Greenwood, and I always, when on my way to my own plot, stop to gaze on the monument that bears the inscription, _"Founder of the New York Tribune."_.