last one he ever wrote to me, and which now lies before me, was in reply to one of mine, criticising the Tribune for speaking of Dr. Tyng’s as a “church” and of Dr. Adams’s house of worship as a “meeting house.”  I told him if one was a church, then the other was equally so.  He replied:  “I am of Puritan stock, on one side, in America since 1640, and on the other since 1720.  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."

CHAPTER XI

THE CIVIL WAR AND ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

An enormous quantity of books, historic and reminiscent, have been written about our Civil War, which, both in regard to the number of combatants engaged, and the magnitude of the interests involved, and its far-reaching consequences, was the most colossal conflict of modern times.  Before presenting a few of my own personal recollections of the struggle, let me say that when the struggle was over, no one was more eager than myself to bury the tomahawk, and to offer the calumet of peace to our Southern fellow countrymen and fellow Christians.  Whenever I have visited them their cordial greeting has warmed the cockles of my heart.  I thank God that the great gash has been so thoroughly healed, and that I have lived to see the day when the people of the North feel a national pride in the splendid prowess of Lee, and the heroic Christian character of Stonewall Jackson, and when some of the noblest tributes to Abraham Lincoln have been spoken by such representative Southerners as Mr. Grady, of Georgia, and Mr. Watterson, of Kentucky.  I had