a spirit as Charles G. Finney.  He retained his erect, manly form, his fresh enthusiasm and intellectual vigor, to the ripe old age of eighty-three.  On a calm Sabbath evening—­in August, 1875—­he walked in his garden and listened to the music from a neighboring church.  Retiring to his chamber, the messenger from his Master met him in the midnight hours, and before the morning dawned his glorified spirit was before the throne!  His is the crown of one who turned many to righteousness.

While I am writing this chapter of ministerial reminiscences, I receive the sorrowful tidings that my dear old friend, Dr. Benjamin M. Palmer, of New Orleans—­the prince of Southern preachers—­has closed his illustrious career.  To the last his splendid powers were unabated,—­and last year (although past eighty-three) he delivered one of his greatest sermons before the University of Georgia!  His massive discourses, based on God’s word, were a solid pile of concinnate argument, illuminated with the divine light, and glowing with the divine love shed abroad in his heart.  In the spring of 1887, Mrs. Cuyler and myself visited New Orleans, and I cared more to see Dr. Palmer than all the city besides.  He cordially welcomed me to the hospitalities of his house, and of that pulpit which had so long been his throne.  I do not wonder that the people of New Orleans—­of all classes and creeds—­regarded him not only with pride, but with an affection that greeted him at every step through the city of which he was the foremost citizen.

As my readers may all know, Dr. Palmer, through the Civil War, was a most ardent Secessionist, and as honestly so as I was a Unionist.  He spent much time in preaching to the Confederate soldiers, and he narrated to me an amusing incident which illustrated his calm and imperturbable temperament.  On a certain fast-day (appointed by the Confederate authorities) he was to preach in a rural church within the Confederate lines.  The Northern army was lying so close to them that a battle was imminent at any moment.  Dr. Palmer had begun his “long prayer,” when a Federal shell landed immediately under the windows of the church and exploded with a terrific crash!  The doctor was not to be shelled out of his duty, and he went steadily on to the end of his prayer.  When he opened his eyes the house was deserted!  His congregation had slipped quietly out, and left him “alone in his glory.”

Soon after my visit to New Orleans, my old friend was sorely bereaved by the death of his wife.  I wrote him a letter of condolence, and his reply was, for sweetness and sublimity, worthy of Samuel Rutherford or Richard Baxter.  As both husband and wife are now reunited I venture to publish a portion of this wonderful letter—­both as a message of consolation to others under a similar bereavement and as a tribute to the great loving heart of Benjamin M. Palmer.