with the hay once when a thunder gust came up, and how he made the rake travel, saying, "We are in the Lord's hand," in a way which seemed to mean, You know me; this field is mine, Dr. Ripley's. And of a time when someone must pray for rain everything was burning in the fervent heat! This the colleague was preparing to do, but "No," the old man seemed to say, 66 this is no time for you young Cambridge tyros; I must see to it myself." And now I must tell the tale as it was told to me by a man still living, honored of us all, who knew him and loved him. He was a boy then and was there in the old meeting house to hear that prayer. It was the afternoon service and the young man was ready standing in his place. But the old veteran rose and waived him back, took his place and well now, I do wish

"Oh

the dear old judge was here to tell the story but the prayer was somewhat in this wise. thou that rulest in the heavens and on the earth and maketh the clouds thy chariots, we want rain here in Concord. The grass is burning up in the meadows, the pastures are bare, the corn is withering; the dumb creatures are thine; they are ready to die; and we are fainting in the draught. Open thou the windows of heaven and send down the rain." So the old man went on as if the prayer was also a command. It was a demand beyond all question by the time he got through. The old man had lost himself in the mighty throb of a heart fixed on God. The

people were dismissed, looking toward each other in wonder. What answer would come to the cry of their Elijah in this sore stress? When the church was sealed and they stood ready to go home a cloud was gathering right over Concord, and before they got home who had far to go the rain was pouring down on them, but on the region round about there was no rain that day. Dr. Ripley had only prayed for Concord. Do I believe it? Yes, I do, because my old friend said so. He is the very soul of truth and he was right there.

This, so far as I can tell it now, is the story of some old Unitarian worthies, the heralds of the new day. I have touched it because I love to read the records of their life and work. They were men who answered in their time to the dawn and the dayspring from on high, forerunners of the nobler and fairer faith in God and man. Let their names be held in honor by us and their memory be fragrant. We reap from their sowing as others will reap from ours, while we can sing as they could not,

Surely the day is on our side,

And heaven, and the sacred sun,

Surely the stars, and the bright
Immortal inscrutable night.

Yea the darkness, because of the light,

Is no darkness at all, but blooms as a bower side When the winter is over and done.”

THEOPHILUS LINDSEY

THERE is a small place called Catterick in my native County of York in England, where the Romans built a fortress, and held it almost to the close of their stay in the kingdom, and where Paulinus came to preach and baptize in the year 627,- the first missionary sent from Rome to the rude tribes in the Yorkshire dales. He won the queen of Edwin, our king, to the faith, and she won Edwin after some trouble and delay, and then he ordered his subjects to follow him, and be baptized in the small bright river close at hand. The people and the high priest of the old religion hurled down the great idol at a place not far away, because, as he said, the old gods had left him poor after many years of good service, and he was quite ready to try the new.

Edwin built a church, also, within the old Roman station, as we guess, and a man was made vicar of this church eleven hundred and thirty-six years after the advent of Paulinus and the conversion of the tribe, such as it was, the story of whose life I want to touch this morning. This was Theophilus Lindsey, a fast friend of Franklin, and of our Republic, new born then and passing through her darkest days.

His mother was a cousin to these Marlbor

oughs we know of here in New York. She lived in the family of the Huntingdons, earls of degree, and of whom Selina, the countess of Huntingdon, was the fast friend of Wesley and Whitfield, and a woman of such sterling worth that it is reported when Chesterfield heard some persons of quality sneering at her for her piety, he said he should like to take his chance at getting into heaven, holding on her gown. Mr. Lindsey's father was a Scotchman, and married his wife for pure love of her, I trust; but it was a great alliance for the canny Scot into the bargain, and it is clear he knew as well what he was about in this respect, as any man of his nation who ever crossed the border. And so little Master Lindsey was named Theophilus in honor of a lord of that name among the Huntingdons, and perhaps, for the further reason, which prompts you to name your son Theophilus when you have a relative of that name who has oceans of money and power. Because if you can get those noble people to stand sponsor to your son over there in England, if you design him for the church, and they have rich livings in their gift,— as these Huntingdons had, -you may go to sleep with the restful feeling of a man who so far has done his whole duty. Then there were the Hastings, also, with whom the newly-wedded wife was intimate, two maiden ladies with plenty of money, and very warm hearts; and they took charge of the boy's education, sent him to a good grammar school, thence

to St. John's College in Cambridge, and kept their eye on him to such good purpose, that when a great bishop wanted a tutor for his son, they got him the place, and added another string to his bow, so that if the Huntingdons had no living ready, when the young man was ready to take orders, the bishop would be sure to have one, and then he would be provided for beyond all question for the rest of his life. So when he was ordained, there was a living ready for him in London, by the grace of Lady Anne Hastings, one of the good maiden sisters. Then the Huntingdons took hold and gave him a lift also.

The Duke of Somerset wanted a chaplain, and needed one. They got Lindsey the post, and then in no long time, the Duke died in his chaplain's arms. His grandson was the Duke of Northumberland, a boy of nine, in very delicate health. He went abroad with this lad and traveled with him a couple of years, and when they came home, he was presented to a living of very great value. For you must understand that these livings are just as much the property of those who have the good fortune to own them, as a horse is, or a ten acre lot. They can give them to whom they will, or sell them to the highest bidder, subject to the life of the incumbent in possession; so that within my memory, you could read scores of advertisements like this; "To be sold, a living worth so many hundred pounds a year, in a pleasant neighborhood, age of the present incum