in the land contained two nobler specimens of
the earnest, persuasive and eloquent Presbyterian preachers.

When I came to New York as pastor of the Market Street Church, in 1853,
the most conspicuous minister in the city was the rector of St. George's
Episcopal Church on Stuyvesant Square. Every Sabbath the superb and
spacious edifice was thronged. It was quite "the thing" for strangers
who came to New York to go and hear Dr. Tyng. Even on Sunday afternoons
the house was filled; for at that service he preached what he called
"sermons to the children"--but they were not only sprightly, simple and
vivacious enough to attract the young, they also contained an abundance
of strong meat for persons of older growth. He was an enthusiast in
Sunday school work--had 2,500 scholars in his mission schools, and
possessed an unsurpassed power in nailing the ears of the young to his
pulpit.

Dr. Tyng was the acknowledged leader of the "Low Church" wing of
Episcopacy in this country, both during his ministry in the Epiphany at
Philadelphia, and in St. George's at New York. He edited their weekly
paper, and championed their cause on all occasions. He was their
candidate for the office of Bishop of Pennsylvania in 1845, and the
contest was protracted through a long series of ballotings. It was
urged, and not without some reason, that his impetuous temper and strong
partisanship might make him a rather domineering overseer of the
diocese. He possessed an indomitable will and pushed his way through
life with the irresistible rush of a Cunarder under a full head of
steam. His temper was naturally very violent. One Sabbath evening he was
addressing my Sunday school in Market Street, and describing the various
kinds of human nature by resemblances to various animals, the lion, the
fox, the sloth, etc.: "Children," he exclaimed, "do you want to know
what I am? I am by nature a royal Bengal tiger, and if it had not been
for the grace of God to tame me, I fear that nobody could ever have
lived with me." There was about as much truth as there was wit in the
comparison. His congregation in St. George's knew his irrepressible
temperament so well that they generally let him have his own way. If he
wanted money for a church object or a cause of charity, he did not beg
for it; he demanded it in the name of the Lord. "When I see Dr. Tyng
coming up the steps of my bank," said a rich bank president to me, "I
always begin to draw my cheque; I know he w