e up, and gave me a hearty grasp of the hand. I
arranged to take him to Greenwood Cemetery on the morning before he
sailed for home, and after breakfasting with him at Cyrus W. Field's we
started for the cemetery. Dr. Phillip Schaff and Dr. Henry M. Field met
us at the ferry, and accompanied us. When we entered the elevated
railroad car, Stanley exclaimed: "This is like the chariots on the walls
of Babylon." With his keen interest in history he inquired when we
reached the lower part of the Bowery, near the junction of Chatham
Square "Was it not near here that Nathan Hale, the martyr, was
executed?" and he showed then a more accurate knowledge of our local
history than one New Yorker in ten thousand can boast! That was probably
the exact locality, and Dean Stanley had never been there before. Before
entering the Greenwood Cemetery he requested me to drive him to the spot
where my little child was buried, whose photograph in "The Empty Crib" I
have referred to in a previous chapter. When we reached the burial lot
he got out of the carriage, and in the driving wind, of a raw November
morning, spent some time in examining the marble medallion of the child,
and in talking with my wife most sweetly about him. I could have hugged
the man on the spot. It was so like Stanley. I do not wonder that
everybody loved him. We then drove to the tomb of Dr. Edward Robinson
and the Dean said to us: "In all my travels in Palestine I carried Dr.
Robinson's volume, 'Biblical Researches,' with me on horseback or on my
camel; it was my constant guide book."

Three years afterward, on my arrival in London, from Palestine I learned
that Stanley was dangerously ill. On the door of the Deanery a bulletin
was posted: "The Dean is sinking." That night the good, great man, died.
On the 25th of July the august funeral service took place in
Westminster Abbey. Outside the Abbey thousands of people were assembled,
for the Dean was loved by all London. From a small gallery over the
"Poets' Corner" I looked down on the group, which contained Gladstone,
Shaftesbury, Matthew Arnold, and scores of England's mightiest and best.
After the "Dead March," began a long procession headed by Stanley's
lifelong friend, Archbishop Tait, of Canterbury, and the Prince of Wales
(his pupil), and followed by Browning, Tyndall, and a long line of
bishops, and poets and scholars moved slowly along under the lofty
arches to the tomb in Henry VII.'s Chapel. A fresh wreath of f