among themselves, for he discerned the fact that a supply of educated men cannot always flow from the East. A committee, with full powers, was appointed in 1851. When he remembered. how Lane Seminary had grown up from infancy to opulence, he had confidence that the same change might bless a seminary here. Webster College, as well as the Church Erection fund, owes its origin to him. His policy was carried forward in regard to it, but not until after that policy had been fully discussed year after year in the Synod, and in the Board of Trustees. His counsels were adopted for lack of better ones, and because no other had earnest advocates and patrons. Had he lived, he would have seen it amply endowed. Prematurely as he was cut off, and difficult as it will be to supply his place, the College is too firmly established to die.

His tragic death struck sorrow to multitudes of hearts. The Pacific Railroad, from which St. Louis had high hopes, and to which she had contributed largely, was to be opened on Thursday, November 1st, 1855, to the State capital. The metropolis was in a ferment of exultation. A long train of cars, bearing the Directors of the road, part of the Legislature, and a choice company of the citizens, set out on the excursion. Military array and martial music lent pomp to the occasion, and salvos of artillery echoed along the line. They reached the bridge across the Gasconade, 88 miles from St. Louis, 37 from Jefferson. This structure gave way, and six cars with their living freight fell, one upon another, to the beach, 30 feet below. This was at two o'clock, P. M., and the rain poured down in torrents. Twenty-nine were instantly killed; among them, Rev. Mr. Teasdale, a Baptist minister of St. Louis; Mr. O'Sullivan, chief engineer of the road, formerly editor of the Democratic Review; Hon. Mann Butler, the historian of Kentucky, and several eminent merchants. Among the ruins, the person of Dr. Bullard was the last reached. He had been thrown forward on his knees, his hand raised as if to push away some obstacle; his face not disfigured, but bearing a placid expression, which was pronounced by the gentleman who first recognized him, the "most affecting sight he ever saw." The remains did not reach St. Louis till Saturday night, and were taken not to his residence, but to the Church, where, on

Monday, the funeral ceremonies took place. On the Lord's day previous to the catastrophe, he had dispensed the Eucharist, and now his unconscious form lay upon the consecrated table. To the right, was the coffin of another victim of the calamity, Mr. J. A. Ross, once a deacon in the church, and high in the esteem of its pastor. To the left, was the body of Mr. W. L. Chappell, a chorister and deacon also of the church, who was conversing with his pastor at the time of the disaster. By them. sat the three widows, whose husbands had gone out that fatal morning in happiness. Men met and glanced in each others' faces and wrung each others' hands in silence. The clergy of the city and of the Presbytery, spoke as they could to the tearful crowd; but the voice of that August Being, who giveth no account of any of his doings, was that day the most impressive of all utterances.

The church, a superb edifice, now wreathed in mourning, had been dedicated just two weeks before. Dr. Beman of Troy, had preached the sermon, and Dr. W. C. Wisner, a former pastor of the church, had offered the dedicatory prayer. At that service also, the remains of Rev. Mr. Giddings, founder of the church, and of the denomination in Missouri, which had reposed beneath the old church, were re-interred in a copper urn, beneath the new building. In an obituary address concerning this predecessor, Dr. Bullard said, that he was "desirous of no other or higher fame than such as that excellent man had gained." That modest desire is certainly accomplished.

He had never preached in the new house. Months before, in view of his probable removal to a different sphere of activity, he said, "This building is not for me.' On the very last Sabbath, at the Sacrament, he said to his people: "I have labored to see you housed within these walls. I have been ready to sacrifice everything, except my religious hopes, for your good." For them he had sacrificed all, and now he was brought to the termination of his earthly labors, though he knew it not.*

* Dr. Bullard's father and a brother came to instantaneous deaths. The former about ten years ago, in falling, dislocated his neck; the latter was lost in a gale with the vessel, in which he was a passenger, between San Francisco and the Sandwich Islands.

In reviewing the life of Dr. Bullard, it appears to us to have been one of marked prosperity. A child of the covenant, he witnessed to the faithfulness of God. Life's richest favor came to him early-acquaintance with religion. In youth he desired that good work, the office of a bishop; which office he magnified and which made him happy. He had a training in manual labor before he was twenty years old, and this is for any man an excellent discipline. One of our wisest theological professors has said, that "a man so trained will be selfreliant, versatile and master of expedients; and his mind will play nimbly but safely on its pivot." He rose at once to prominence in his calling, and Eugene said, that "a great man is one who rises to eminence without passing through the subordinate grades." Strangers on learning his age, were wont to say that his years were fewer than his appearance suggested, and his appearance was younger than his reputation suggested. His pastorate was one of constantly increasing interest and delight to him. He thought that no church was more liberal to its minister, more indulgent, or more teachable. They paid to him a well-merited deference when he spoke from the pulpit or conversed in private circles. His experience and his consistent life contributed alike to his ascendency over them. He was fortunate in having a church which seconded his plans for benevolent action. He often regretted that their liberality was no greater, and often he praised them that they abounded in this grace, and spoke of their good works to provoke others.

A beneficent nature had given him a pleasing person. His presence in the pulpit was almost a sermon; it was at least a psalm, expressing reverence, humility, and faith. His mild voice was better in reproving wickedness, than the severe reasons of some men, and his bland and winning cadences gained the attention of an audience better than rhetorical artifices. He had a genial temper, was admirably fitted for social life, and able to impart and to receive pleasure in general society. Blessed with a constitutional elasticity of spirits, he was able to find a bright and cheerful view of subjects which others thought hopeless and repulsive. His activity through life was but little restrained by bad health. Though not particularly robust, he had great power of endurance, and often he has made his ex

cursions at great physical discomfort. It was a principle with him that no peril or storm should keep him from any religious appointment. It was also a principle never to travel by the public conveyances on Sunday. Once, while descending the Missouri river, Saturday night overtook him at a wood-yard, where only the axe-man's hut could be found to entertain him. He left the steamer by which he might have reached his pulpit in time for service. It was uncertain whether all the boats above might not be detained by ice till spring. Word spread to a neighboring settlement, that a man who would not travel by a boat on Sunday might be seen at the wood-yard; and he had an audience to hear him preach. The steamboat reached the wharf, and from her books his name was copied into the papers as having violated his own doctrine and journeyed on Sunday. But during the week he reached home, the error was corrected and his resolve was confirmed.

He was peculiarly favored, and also greatly afflicted, in his domestic relations. His marriage took place in 1829. The time has not arrived when we could speak fittingly of one so fondly admired, so dearly loved, and so perfectly trusted. By this union he was connected with an additional large and intelligent circle of friends. He lost three children in Cincinnati, and three in St. Louis. One son remains, now approaching manhood, in whom are concentrated the hope and tenderness of seven. The others sleep with their father in Bellefontaine Cemetery.

His life appears to us to have been one of toil and to a great extent of unrequited labors. He was not one of the men who calmly calculate their remuneration and give so many hours of effort for a stipulated consideration.* During the whole time that he was pastor in St. Louis, if any one thing was better known of him than another, it was that he performed a great many self-imposed and uncompensated tasks. His church required an amount of attention at least equal to that of other

* As Secretary of the Sunday-school Union, Mr. Bullard's salary in Boston was $1100. When he went to Cincinnati to serve the American Board, it was agreed that his salary there should be determined by the judgment of three disinterested laymen. After many months, it was fixed at $800.

city congregations. He was in the commercial centre of a wide region, the best known minister in it, perhaps the most widely known resident. At his study, ministers from all quarters applied for information and for counsel. New emigrants sought him out in their perplexities. Whoever had no other friend claimed his attention. On every hand he saw wide regions needing the Gospel, and he yearned to see them supplied. There were numerous feeble churches, for which his sympathies were ardent and generous. In their behalf he made frequent excursions, to cheer them by his exhortations, to stimulate them by his counsels, and to find out means of increasing their power. He was a firm believer in the future greatness of the West, and this belief encouraged him to devise liberal things for it and to toil daily in its cause. He devoted hardly less of his time to the Home Missions of Missouri than he if had been a salaried agent. He saw St. Louis multiplying rapidly, and he made haste to begin in its suburbs the churches which should provide for its growing multitudes. During his entire pastorate he was prosecuting some scheme for church-extension in the city, and sending from his own flock more than he could well spare. For some such object he was incessantly devising plans, and soliciting funds; and it became a jest that his "picture at an artist's door would obtain five dollars to build some meetinghouse from any passenger who stopped to look at it." Several of these enterprises he has seen grow up to strength and competence, and a failure in any case is plainly due to a feeble prosecution of the project on the part of others.

It had not been a strange thing if these unrequited labors had produced in him some asperity of temper, or some arrogance. But from the serene height of a noble understanding and a pious heart, he saw all his toils conspiring to benefit men and to ripen his own soul for a heavenly rest. He saw clearly, what all see dimly, that a good man can afford to wait for his reward. No remark was more common with him than "I am nothing;" "My interests are not to be accounted of." This accorded with his theology. His dogmatic faith required it. He repeated no petition more frequently than this for himself: "Let him hide behind the cross, and hold up the Saviour." Thus we see the true and peculiar type of his piety. It was