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AUGUSTA, January 18, 1864.

DEAR SIR:

Many persons who listened to your Sermon, delivered on the occasion of the decease of our former pastor, the Rev. BENJAMIN TAPPAN, D. D., and to your remarks at his funeral, have expressed the desire to have them preserved in a more. permanent form; and we therefore cordially unite in the request of a copy for publication.

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The Address and Sermon which you request I now submit to your disposal, grateful that my hurried words concerning the venerated man of God who has just left us, spoken familiarly in our own home, are thought worthy of a more permanent form.

I give them to you with the prayer that we all may be stimulated by his earnest spirit and sanctified by the abiding influence of his fervent piety.

I am glad of another opportuuity of assuring you how constantly and affectionately I am your friend and minister,

John Means, Esq., Hon. J. W. Bradbury,

J. McArthur, Esq., Cyrus Briggs, M. D.,-and others.

ALEXANDER MCKENZIE.

NOTE.

BENJAMIN TAPPAN was born November 7, 1788, in West Newbury, Mass., where his father, Rev. David Tappan, was at that time a pastor. The father was Hollis Professor of Divinity in Harvard College from 1792 to 1803. This son graduated at Harvard College in 1805, then taught for a short time in Woburn, and for three years in Salem, Mass., and in 1809 became a Tutor in Bowdoin College. During his stay in Brunswick he made public profession of his religious faith, and united with the Congregational Church.

On the 16th of October, 1811, he was ordained pastor of the South Parish Church in Augusta. The honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred upon him by Waterville College in 1836, and by Bowdoin College in 1845. In September, 1849, he became the Secretary of the Maine Missionary Society, though not formally released from his pastoral charge until September 11th, 1850. This office he held until his death, December 22, 1863. On the following Christmas-day devout men carried him to his burial, blending with their lamentations over him a hearty recognition of the power and beauty of his admirable life.

In the early morning of the day of his burial, one upon whose brow he had sprinkled the baptismal water went up and rejoined him in the skies. It is to her that reference is made near the close of the Discourse,-JULIA, youngest daughter of Deacon EDWARD A. NASON. In enfeebled health, but under the tenderest parental care, she began her return from her school at Pittsfield, Mass., and was forced to tarry by the way in Boston. She bore the delay and disappointment with unmurmuring patience, but her heart was full of yearning for her home; yearning which, as we gratefully trust, the dear Lord has satisfied, not as we prayed, but as he knew to be better than our prayers. The heavenly home is better than the earthly. She has left to us the imperishable memory of a bright and joyous life,-reaching through eighteen unclouded years,-of a gentle and loving spirit, and of a sincere desire and effort to please him who loved her and gave himself for her.

The form that was so dear, even when deserted by her ransomed spirit, was brought to her home and laid to rest. Now the snows are over it: soon the flowers will bloom above it. After the winter cometh the summer.

"Alone unto our Father's will

One thought hath reconciled-
That he whose love exceedeth ours
Hath taken home his child.

"Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,

And let her henceforth be

A messenger of love between

Our human hearts and thee."

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ADDRESS.

WE have come around this familiar altar, Beloved, on a strange errand. The great realities of life press more closely about us. We stand nearer than we are wont to the unseen world, upon whose confines we are always lingering till the freed spirit rends the separating veil, and passes through into its destiny.

"How dreadful is this place!" And how glorious too!

"This

is none other but the house of God." His hand has laid his servant low and brought the silent, venerated form for the last time. up to the sanctuary, whither he has brought it in life and beauty so many times before. His wisdom challenges our resignation. His love bids us lift our tearful eyes, and whisper, though it be with trembling lips, "Thy will be done!"

"And this is the gate of heaven." He around whose bier we wait has gone up higher. We know he is not here. The hands that have been stretched in blessing over us now point us to the skies. We follow him in his ascent, and look within the open door, and see him now at rest, in glory ineffable and unending.

It is an instructive and comforting coincidence that we perform these funeral rites on Christmas-day. We are joining the cradle and the grave: the grave of the servant and the cradle of the master. And we are not altogether sad and despairing at this death, because there has been that birth. The life of the babe of Bethlehem unfolded into a man's life. There were in it joy and grief and toil as in other lives. Then came death, and then the rising from the dead. "If Jesus died and rose again, even so them

also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." When Christ was born, on that first Christmas-day, Calvary joined hands with Bethlehem over the babe, the bitter cross towering in the midst and casting its dark shadow on the manger. Christ was born that he might die, and in his dying, for all who are found in him, he 'hath abolished death."

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"Abolished death!" Then what mean this solemn gathering, these saddened hearts, this quiet form before us? We call this death. But the darkness and uncertainty which once shrouded the grave have been chased away by him who hath "brought life and immortality to light," answering the anxious question of other days, "If a man die shall he live again," and revealing in glimpses and flashes somewhat of the mystery which lies before us.

"The sting of death is sin;" and he who was born on that early Christmas has since borne our sins in his own body on the tree, and the grave has lost its victory. God is "just and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus." Therefore at the grave of such a man, amid all our desolation and sorrow, we may have peace. We shall gain comfort in this hour of trial, if we join the Lord and the disciple in all our thoughts, and let the light which streams from the Lord's life and death illumine the twilight which wraps the disciple round.

He who was a prince among us,-father, pastor, helper, friend,was the servant of the Lord. This wise man bowed at the babe's cradle with his gold and frankincense and myrrh; then went out owning him "Emmanuel, God with us," and Jesus, Savior, and asking ever after, "Lord what wilt thou have me to do.” We know how faithfully he served. Our homes bear witness to his fidelity. Our hearts are treasuring his sincere counsels. This church will be his monument before the world, while the scattered. churches of the Commonwealth gratefully acknowledge his unwearied labors. Humanity has lost a brother. The country a patriot. The schools of learning and religion a wise guardian and

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generous benefactor.

The church a saint.

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We are "" as
If our loss is the greatest, the company

of the bereaved is large. In many a distant dwelling, in many a humble sanctuary, a tear will be dropped upon his memory, and thanks that he has lived will go up to the Father in heaven.

Christ has taken his servant. We thought that he was needed here. The field called for his sharp sickle. The Lord has taken him home. He who feeds thousands with a handful of bread, and ordains strength out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, in the boundlessness of his resources could spare his labor here and give the trusty servant rest in an easier and better service. The ten talents are ten cities now. Even so; for so it seemed good in his sight.

He has gone into a higher life. His mansion was prepared and furnished before he passed out of the home which he had gladdened with his presence. He needs nothing now. Think what you would fain have done for him a few short days ago! You saw him weary, and would have given rest; and never will his busy hands and restless feet be tired again. You saw him burdened with care and would have smoothed his wrinkled brow; it is as a child's to-day. You saw him with sadness in his heart, and longed to make him glad; now he sings the new song of the Redeemed. You saw him parted from some whom he fondly loved; the sundered are united now. You saw him a dying man, and pitied him for his bowed form and tottering steps; now he has vigor and spirit more than the strongest of us all. The words of Jesus are fulfilled in him: "I am come that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly." He is above our ministries. But he needs them not. Least of all does he deserve our compassion for it was Christ for him to live, and so it was gain for him to die.

He will not come back to us; but we shall go to him. And being dead he speaks to us still, repeating with unearthly eloquence

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