manner.

He did not think that the pulpit, the prow of the world, should be shut out from pointing the way in politics when great principles are involved, and early in the war he pronounced against the rebellion and the issues upon which it was conducted. In this respect he has wielded a powerful influence, lending his aid to the preservation of harmony in a State which at the outset seemed likely to be divided, carrying the masses with him by that energy and eloquence which was given him as a birthright, and of which only the hand of Death could rob him.

Mr. King's energy has an eminent illustration in the history of his pastoral labors. He found the Unitarian Society some $20,000 in debt, small in numbers and feeble in strength. In less than a year the whole debt was paid, and the society was in a flourishing condition; before four years had expired a new church was built for him, costing $90,000-to which he himself was the largest contributor, giving from his own pocket $7,000 to the church and in furniture. Barely had the building been completed when the pastor was taken away. This seems irreconcilable with faith, but the ways of Providence are often inscrutable. His physical health, never very robust, suffered much from his arduous labors, and particularly from the exertions which he put forth to insure the completion of this church and its freedom from debt. For two or three months before his death, it was evident that he was not so well as usual, and he had frequently spoken of the necessity of giving up all literary labor. He thought it would be impossible for him to endure another year of work, and they were already agitating the question of who should fill his pulpit while he took a year's respite from labor in travel.

Just before his sickness he had a dream which he narrated to a friend at the time, remarking that it made more impression on him than he cared to confess. In his dream he thought he was shaving himself, and the razor, slipping, gashed his throat. Physicians who were called told him he could not live ten minutes. He argued the case with them-holding the edges of the wound

together with his hand-telling them neither the windpipe nor any of the arteries were severed, and that he could recover if they would only stop the bleeding. They said it was useless, however, and that he must prepare to die. The dream was probably induced by the pain which had already begun to settle in his throat.

About two weeks before his death he first complained of not feeling well, and of some trouble with his throat. His friends urged him to be more careful, and not expose himself to the air; but he thought it was only an ordinary case of sore throat, and declined to confine himself or call in the aid of a physician until Friday, Feb. 26th. In the evening he had his regular reception, and between 10 and 11 o'clock went down to a social gathering at the church, though still suffering. On Saturday evening he had invited a number of friends to supper, but when evening came he was unable to appear at table. While supper was going on, however, a bridal-party came to be married. Mr. King had received no previous intimation of such a visit, and sent down asking to be excused, saying that he was sick and confined to his bed. The party replied that they had set their hearts on being married by Mr. King, and would come up to his bedside sooner than be defeated in their desire. With that spirit of self-sacrifice for which he was so remarkable, he then said he would get up and go down into the parlor. He did so, and went through the ceremony; but though it was performed in a very few minutes, he was so weak at its conclusion that he had to be assisted up to his room.

From the San Francisco Evening Bulletin, March 7th, 1864.

THOMAS STARR KING dead had a larger congregation than he ever had living. At 9 o'clock in the morning the doors of the church were opened, and until noontime a congregation numbered by thousands and comprised of all religious denominations, poured through the aisles, bending over the burial-case where the former pastor lay with hands crossed in dumb prayer-listening to the mute but eloquent sermon of the upturned face

and lips set in eternal supplication. Loving hands had festooned the church with wreaths of Egyptian liliesthose flowers which with their single petal, waxen white, suggest the tomb, and all the sad thoughts and ceremonies that attend even the greenest grave--National banners, their bright stars clouded with crape and their crimson stripes veiled, draped the altar and threw their folds over the coffin; the mantle of patriotism which fell upon his shoulders in life, enveloping and shrouding the form within in death. The apron of the Order of which he was Grand Orator, and other signs and symbols of the Masonic craft, were there; flowers of the rarest odor shed their perfume over the body, and on the breast lay a chaplet of spring violets, placed there by the request of a lady once a resident of this city, now dwelling at the East," who telegraphed on Saturday to one who, like her, loved the deceased: "Put violets for me on our dear friend who rests." It was a kindly thought, prompted by the graceful tenderness of a woman's heart; the flowers will be fragrant in the grave as the memory of the deceased is in the hearts of his friends-and these are only numbered by the city's population.

A military guard detailed for the duty was stationed in and about the church, preserving order among the dense crowd, which so early as noon-time began to throng about the doors. The butts of muskets rang on the marble floors beneath which one was to sleep who believed that Christians may wear armor when the cause is just, and prayer be helmeted and mailed, if the vindication of great human principles demands it. It is safe to say that such an immense assemblage has not been seen before in this city for many years. The congregation first passed into the church, and found their accustomed pews; the Governor and other State and Governmental dignitaries were seated, and then the main doors were thrown open for the reception of as many others as the church could contain. Not a square inch of floor was left in body, or aisle, that was not pressed by some foot. The gallery

* Mrs. Gen. J. C. Fremont.

groaned with its great human freight like a ship at sea, on whose decks a mad weight of water has leaped; and so crowded looked the faces in that great bracket of life affixed to the walls, that the effect was stereoscopic and all seemed to resolve themselves into one. So densely were the audience packed that several ladies fainted away, and even men struggled to the doors for air. But there was no exit; for lobby, vestibule, and even the street for a block or more was packed with human wedges. So thick was the crowd outside that the street was only passed with difficulty after long and tedious urging. It was like bees, swarming on the outside of a hive; while through Stockton street, north and south, a tide of people going and coming, flowed in one continuous wave.

The services began at 2 o'clock, with a voluntary on the organ, by Mr. Trenkle. A most impressive scene was afforded. The solemn notes swelled through the church in a plaintive, mournful psalm; the instrument seemed for the moment to have a human heart within its walls, wailing its grief in sounds that were like the falling of tears. In the front pews of the church sat the Masons, each wearing an acacia sprig, and the habiliments of the Order. Through the stained glass of the ceiling and the sides, and the great rose-window at the end of the church, the afternoon sun sifted its mellow rays like a benediction, crowning the coffin and altar with a glory of light and color. Minute guns from Alcatraz mingled their heavy bass with the notes of the organ-soon a nearer battery in Union Square took up the burden, and there was an anthem of cannon swelling with its grand diapason the solemnity of the services. This is said to be the first time in the history of the country that minute guns have been fired by order of the Government in honor of a civilian who never held a public position.

The 39th Psalm was chanted by the choir, and following this the Rev. Mr. Kittredge read the 23d Psalmthe one which Mr. King repeated on his death-bed. The Grand Master then commenced to read the impressive burial service of the Masonic ritual, choir and organ chanting the responses. The first prayer of the ritual

was offered by Mr. Kittredge; and the remainder of the service, slightly varied in accordance with the unusual burying-place, was read by the Grand Master. At the proper interval in the service the vault beneath the altar was opened, and amid a voluntary from the organ, the coffin was lowered down to its last resting-place, the Secretary of the Lodge dropping his roll upon it, and the Grand Master his acacia branch. The last prayer of the ritual was offered by the Rev. J. D. Blain, benediction was offered by Mr. Kittredge, the Masonic Brotherhood filing past the vault flung into it the acacia sprig emblem which each wore on his breast, the ceremonies were ended, and the great crowd went out into the streets and to their homes.

Besides the anthems by the full choir, solos, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," and "Come, ye disconsolate," were sung, the former by Mrs. Grotjan, the latter by Mrs. Leach. All through the city, during the day, with scarcely an exception, at all the principal buildings, and also at the forts, and army headquarters, national flags were at half-mast; and colors at the residences of nearly all the foreign Consuls were similarly lowered. Most of the American shipping in harbor lowered its bunting, and the foreign shipping, almost to a vessel, followed the example, the flags of Hamburg, Columbia, Russia, France and Great Britain being among the others thus displayed. On board the only war vessel in port, the Russian steamer Bogatyre, the Russian ensign, lowered from the peak, stood at half-mast during the day. If anything can mitigate the grief of his friends for his death, some flowers of consolation may surely be plucked from the fact that he was thus universally mourned. The following telegram was received from the Rev. Dr. Bellows:

NEW YORK, March 5th, 1864. To the People of California. The sad tidings of to-day have broken our hearts. Thousands here will Thousands here will weep with you over his bier. You have had our brightest, our noblest, our best-and he has lived and died, in the fullness of his manhood, in your service. Who shall fill his