arlier centuries, his knowledge was profound, and his use of them
masterly. How thorough and how fair he is, can be fully appreciated only
by those who explore for themselves the fountains from which he drew his
materials. His chief defect is in the matter of form. He had but little
dramatic power. He gives us the inward life, but not the outward stir and
shock of history. Nor is he remarkable for analytical sharpness in his
delineation of the growth of Christian doctrine. It is in the sphere of
experience and life that he succeeds the best. His own doctrinal views
were not, at all points, quite up to our English and American standards of
orthodoxy. But these points were of minor importance. All that is cardinal
was precious to him. With peculiar fidelity did he cling to the Head,
which is Christ, and was full of that faith which conquers the world and
saves the soul.

His last days, as described by his friends and pupils, were in marked
keeping with his whole career. On Monday, the 8th of July, at 11 o'clock,
he lectured at the University. But he had been for some time back much
feebler than usual, the weather was sultry and debilitating, and his
system was out of tune. His voice failed him two or three times in the
course of the lecture, and it was only by a desperate struggle that he got
to the end; his strength barely sufficing to bring him home. The
impression upon his class was such, that one of the students, turning to
his neighbor, said: "This is the last lecture of our Neander." Immediately
after dinner, which he scarcely tasted, his reader came. He dictated on
his Church History three hours in succession, repressing by force of will
the rising groans, his debility all the while increasing. At 5 o'clock the
symptoms of a dangerous illness appeared; but he would not abandon his
work. His sister, who came to expostulate with him and warn him against
further effort, was sent impatiently away. "Let me alone," he said; "every
laborer, I hope, may work if he wishes; wilt thou not grant me this?" At
seven he was compelled to pause. His reader gone, his first thought was to
call back his much loved sister, and say to her: "Be not anxious, dear
Jenny, it is passing away; I know my constitution." But his physicians
were agreed in the opinion that the very worst was to be feared. They
succeeded, however, in subduing the symptoms of the disease, which was a
violent cholera, and began to hope. The next morning, having hardly