etter. One of these I found profoundly touching. Theodore Lyman lay
prostrate with a lingering and painful illness from which he never
rose. Brooks wrote that he had carried to him my _Life of Young Sir
Henry Vane_, and read from it to our dying friend. My story had
interest for them, and I felt that whatever might befall my book I had
not worked in vain if two such men found it worthy.

Phillips Brooks early had recognition as the most important religious
influence of his time, and his spirit was not less broad-minded
than it was fervent. In the multitudes that felt the power of his
impassioned address were included men and women of the most various
views, and he quickened the life of the spirit in all households of
faith. His sympathies were most catholic, and this anecdote clearly
illuminates his broad-mindedness. I had dropped into a Boston
bookstore on a quiet morning; Brooks presently came in to browse over
the new issues on the counters. There was no one to disturb us, as we
enjoyed this our last conversation together. He spoke of Channing. "Do
you know," said he, "when Dean Stanley came over here I went to East
Boston to see him on his ship. He said to me almost at once, 'Where
is Mount Auburn?' Why, said I, how strange that the first thing you
inquire about as you arrive is a cemetery! 'But is not Channing buried
there?' said he. I told him I did not know. 'Well, he is and I want
to go at once to the grave of Channing!' So as soon as we could,"
continued Phillips Brooks, "we took a carriage and drove to Mount
Auburn to visit the grave of Channing." He sympathised fully with
the admiration felt by his friend, the great English churchman,
for Channing, and gladly did him homage, and his talk flowed on in
channels that showed his heart was warm toward men of all creeds who
were inspired by the higher life. This noble candour of mind was a
marked element of his power, and has endeared his memory among scores
of sects that too often clash. How sweetly unifying in the midst of a
jarring Christendom has been the spirit of Phillips Brooks!

After this I saw him only once. It was at the funeral of James Russell
Lowell. In Appleton Chapel he stood in his robes, gentle and powerful,
as he read the burial service. When the body was committed to the
grave I stood just behind him and heard his voice in the last hallowed
sentences, "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, and the spirit to the God
who gave it." I never heard that voic