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field, or of missionaries to the heathen, or of means to carry on the work to the world's end.
Towards the close of his ministry, those circumstances were rapidly culminating which led to the transplanting of old St. George's to its present more commanding position. On a certain occasion, returning home from several hours'absence, quite worn and weary, to the inquiries of an anxious guest he replied, that the fatigue of his parochial visitations had become insupportable; and that although the cheap public convey. ances of the city every year furnished him with greater facilities for the discharge of these duties, yet, having parishioners in every ward in the city, the distances upon the cross routes, on foot, had become quite unmanageable. And yet it was with extreme reluctance that he could be brought to contemplate the result to which all this tended.
It must have been observed that most of these memories are those of a pleased and favored guest, of the worth and excellencies of an honored and beloved host. Towards his clerical brethren, from all parts of the country, there were no bounds to his generous hospitality. Indeed, when the facilities of the Post-Office and of travel were so much less, and the religious press was only just coming into use, it is not easy now for us to conceive how much the interests of the Gospel in the Church, so dear to his heart, were in those days promoted by the constant intercourse which took place under his hospitable roof, between clergymen of congenial views, from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Virginia, South-Carolina, and other parts of the country. In a very different way, and for a long period, he performed in America the like blessed offices towards the best interests of the Church, which Simeon was performing in England, and in which they were both very much aided by their private fortunes and gentlemanly deportment.
The benevolence and generosity of his nature always prompted him to take the lead in every good work, and by heading subscriptions for distant churches, colleges, and theological seminaries, always with liberal and sometimes with munificent donations, he set an example, not only to his own people, but to a large circle of earnest Christians, in other city
churches, who accepted such donations not so much as an example of giving, as an indorsement of a good cause, worthy of their patronage. Many, very many, with means to bestow and hearts inclined to give, were truly glad and thankful to follow the lead of such a master in Israel.
There was a certain statesman-like candor and equipoise about Dr. Milnor admirably fitting him to gain upon the confi. dence and respect of those from whom he differed, with regard to Church doctrines and practices, or with regard to the methods then best fitted to honor the Divine Redeemer, promote the welfare of religion generally, or in particular to advance the interests of the Episcopal Church, to which he was both intel. ligently and firmly attached. Unlike some others, he was averse to extremes ; and the exactness with which he conformed to all the canons and rubrics of the Church, at once elevated the evangelical interest above the suspicion of fanaticism and methodism, against which for a while it had to bear up. His name, and that of the venerable Bishop Griswold, soon elevated this cause above the contempt with which some had affected to treat it, on account of the alleged ignorance, eccentricities, and improprieties of conduct, of some of its clerical advocates in the great cities of our country. The evangelical interest in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, now stands deservedly as high, for ability, learning, zeal, and piety, as any other religious interest in this or any other country, and for the breadth and firmness of the ground upon which it rests, it is indebted, under God, to no name inore than to that of the lamented Dr. Milnor of St. George's Church, New-York.
· B. B. S. Sept. 30th, 1858.
BISHOP GRISWOLD. ADVANCING years have their peculiar trials. They are rarely intense and harrowing—almost never, when youth and middle age have been consecrated to duty and to God; and where a serene hope of a glorious immortality imparts a glow to its waning light. Still it is a trial, with intellect not at all enfeebled, with conscious energies and vigor of purpose wholly unimpaired, to feel a sense of weariness paralyzing every power before the work of any day is half-accomplished, and a prefer
ence for repose and peace unnerving the will for any arduous conflict.
But even here the law of compensation asserts its power. If the counsels of age are prosy, its memories are pleasing. And although, after an uninterrupted ministry of more than forty years, an aged clergyman will find few willing listeners amongst his younger brethren, to the lessons of his experience, whether given for encouragement or warning, yet there are few who will not listen with delight, when, in a moment of innocent garrulity, they find him willing to chat about the events of his youth. This gratification amounts to absolute delight, if he is found to possess a happy faculty for sketching character, and is full of anecdote, with which to enliven his sketches. This affords a treat almost as exquisite as if he were capable of seasoning the whole very pleasantly with sarcasm or with humor, or, better still, with both.
When the exalted piety of those worthies, some of whose memories, too familiar and minute to be embodied in their more dignified memoirs, are about to be sketched by the present writer, is considered; and when he calls to mind the admirable maxim, “De mortuis nil, nisi bonum," he becomes somewhat painfully aware of the difficulty of the task to which he has been invited, and which, with many misgivings, he now undertakes.
The image of the Rev. Mr. Griswold as an example of vigor. ous, dignified, and almost perfect manhood, somewhat below its middle period, does not date back so far in his memory, as the comments made upon his character, his preaching, and his whole ministry by several members of the writer's family, who attended Mr. Griswold's church, having withdrawn from the Paritan associations of a long line of ancestors. Poetic in their tastes, and having enshrined Cowper in the very highest niche of their temple of admiration, how often have they been heard to apply the exquisite descriptions of that most Christian poet, of what a clergyman ought to be, to what their pastor was—Goldsmith's village parson was found alive again. And absolutely prosaic as was the old frame-church, more glass than wood; and the bleak little parsonage, by the bay-side, with its weather-boarding and blinds radiant in green and white, the saint-like inmate, even then was seen, by the eye of reverent affection, as worthy of all the sacred renown to which he afterwards attained. Whilst the fastidious churchmen of Boston, if they ever saw, or thought of him at all, looked upon him as a plain, countrified parson, settled down exactly in his appropriate nook, not a parishioner of his entertained the shadow of a doubt but what he would have graced the lawn of a bishop, and the Palace of Lambeth, as much as ever a Leighton would have done. Sometimes the veil would be lifted, and disclose some touching and beautiful scenes in that humble parsonage, full of active, busy, and lovely children. The pastor was a great student indeed, but in the absence of all domestics, a scene might occasionally be realized which has been thus described : the gentle pastor, by snatches, reading a book open upon his knees, hearing a little one say its lesson, jogging the cradle with his foot, whilst his busy fingers were engaged in paring apples, to relieve the overburdened sharer of his humble lot.
Certain it is, that the “angustæ res domi" drove him to the necessity of taking a school, and this head is still sensitively alive to the memory of the falling lid of a desk, in no gentle manner, the hands being busy at play within, whilst the sudden exclamation, "What in the name of conscience are, you doing?” aroused the delinquent to a very startling recollection that that sleepless eye, and silent, stealthy tread, very rarely indeed left any fault undetected. The New Testament was read aloud, as one of the daily exercises, and the well-worn copy of the teacher, in the original Greek, was always in hand. It was enough. The ear, still more familiar with every word of the authorized version, was prompt to correct every miscalled word. The familiarity thus acquired with both, in the course of years, was wonderful.
The pastor and the bishop entertained very few diverse opinions. And yet these ears still tingle with almost the only stinging reproof, heard from him, as bishop: “I did not ordain you to keep school, sir !” They were addressed to a young man of parts and of family, who had long taught a profitable select school, and who, piqued that the Bishop should name a field of labor to him which yielded but a paltry pecuniary return, in comparison, resentfully remarked that he would sooner take up his school again. The distinction in the good
Bishop's mind lay just here: teaching is an admirable aid to the ministry—as it had been in his own case for years—but for the ministry itself it is a miserable substitute. A disabled or utterly unsuccessful minister, one who, in fact, has from the first mistaken his calling, may turn to teaching as his sole occupation, and be blameless. In all other cases, to merge the character of the pastor in that of a teacher—to render the higher and nobler calling wholly subservient to the humbleris sadly to forget those soul-subduing and awful promises which are made in the Ordinal.
About this time he was also engaged, one or two evenings in the week, in teaching a singing-school; not for the improvement of the music of his own church only, but for the benefit of all the lovers of sacred music in the whole village. His commanding person, his gentle yet decided manner, at once and without an effort commanding respect and preserving order in that very peculiar sphere of wild and hilarious misrule, his quick, elastic movements, his sweet, penetrating, and peculiarly melodious voice, and his extreme accuracy both in note and time, are all most vividly before the mind. As in the case of one of our younger Right Reverend Fathers, so, in his own, the writer was under the third and last trial, by which it was finally and forever determined that he was not all musical; nature not only having denied him voice and ear, but the capacity of deciding for himself whether he was singing false or true.
An interval of several years is rendered remarkable by no striking event. The Pastor, Teacher, Student, pursues the even tenor of his way, cultivating his own garden, laying in his own stores, incurring no debt, desiring no notoriety; but writing very finished and instructive sermons, diligently visiting amongst his small circle of parishioners, most of them of a very humble class, and living a pions life of exceeding sim. plicity and beauty, until his most unexpected election to the Episcopate of the Eastern Diocese. The circumstances of that election occurred some time before the date of these memories, and though some few incidents of minor interest might be ad. ded to the already published accounts, received at second-hand from survivors of the Vermont delegation, who, some think, turned the scale in the eventful election, yet the rule must not