From that day to this, my relations with my beloved successor have been unspeakably fraternal and delightful.  While I have left the entire official charge of the church in his hands, there have been many occasions on which we have co-operated in various pastoral duties among a flock that was equally dear to us both.  Recently the Rev. George R. Lunn, a young minister of exceedingly attractive qualities both in the pulpit and in personal intercourse, has been installed as an assistant pastor.  The divine blessing has constantly rested upon the noble old church, which has gone steadily on, like a powerful ocean steamer, well-manned, well-equipped, well-freighted, and well guided by the compass of God’s infallible word.  Last year the church rendered a signal service to the cause of Foreign Missions by erecting a “David Gregg Hospital” and a “Theodore L. Cuyler Church” in Canton, China.  They are both under the supervision of the Rev. Albert A. Fulton, who went out to China from our Lafayette Avenue flock, and has been a most energetic and successful missionary for more than twenty years.

My ministry at large has brought a needed rest, not by idleness, but by a change in the character of my employment.  Instead of a weekly preparation of sermons, has come the preparation of more frequent contributions to the religious press.  Instead of pastoral visitations have been the journeyings to different churches, or colleges, and universities and Young Men’s Christian Associations for preaching services.  I doubt whether any other dozen years of my life have been more crowded with various activities.  To my dear wife and myself have come increased opportunities for travel, which have been, during the almost half century of our happy wedded life, a constant source of enjoyment.  We have journeyed together from Bar Harbor, in Maine, to Coronado Beach, in Southern California.  We have traversed together the Adirondacks, the White Mountains and the Catskills, the prairies of Dakota and the orange groves of Florida, the peerless parks of Del Monte on the shores of the Pacific, and the “Royal Gorge” in the heart of the Rocky Mountain Range.  Our various trips to Europe have photographed on our hearts the memories of many dear friends and faces, some of whom, alas! have vanished into the unseen world.  In the summer of 1889, when we were at Ayr, the late Mr. Alexander Allan, came down for us in his fine steam yacht, the Tigh-na-Mara, and took us up to his hospitable “Hafton House” on the Holy Loch, a few miles below Glasgow.  For several days he gave us yachting excursions through Loch Goil, and the Kyles of Bute, and Loch Long, with glimpses of Ben-Lomond and other monarchs of the Highlands.  When we saw the gorgeous purple garniture of heather in full bloom, we no longer wondered that Sir Walter Scott was quite satisfied to have his beloved hills devoid of forests.