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Updated: April 30, 2025
But I didn't expect to find any one here. I haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour. What a pretty little lake this is. What is its name?" "It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?" "I didn't. Don found it. He and I came for a gallop in the woods and I let him choose his own paths. I have been in his charge all the morning. I haven't the least idea where we are.
Hopkins. She owned some land in Florida; but did not consider it of any value. It developed that it adjoined Mr. Seabury's hotel property and, as he wished it to enlarge his building, he purchased the lot for a goodly sum. The three boys, after the return of the Dartaway and Wanderer from the strange waters, had stopped for a week at Mr. Seabury's hotel, before journeying north.
If a regret may properly be expressed on this occasion of rejoicing, it is that the Primus of Scotland and the Primate of all England were hindered from personal participation in an occasion which had their warmest sympathies, Seabury's consecration will always be the poetic incident in American Church history, and it would have been a sweet revenge of time to have had them united in the ratification of an act of piety and charity which the predecessor of the one did not dare, and of the other dared to do.
They began with that boyish speech in "the Fields" of New York City in 1774 and with "The Farmer Refuted," a reply to Samuel Seabury's "Westchester Farmer." They were continued in extraordinary letters, written during Hamilton's military career, upon the defects of the Articles of Confederation and of the finances of the Confederation.
He was a colored man, stretched out on his back, sound asleep. "Well, I wonder if they do anything else in this country but sleep?" asked Jerry. "Why that's Ponto, Mr. Seabury's negro helper," said Ned. "Hello, Ponto. All aboard the Wanderer!" "What's dat? Who done call me?" and the colored man sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. "Who says Wanderer? Why dat boat "
Very few summer people and only summer people or irresponsible persons like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape knew where Seabury's Pond was. It lay far from macadam roads and automobile thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with verdure-clad hills shutting it in like the sides of a bowl.
But I must not omit to state, even at the risk of saying what is familiar to us all, that in that book, as we then received and still have it, the Order of the Holy Communion stands and, please God, will ever stand the great memorial of Seabury's share in framing our sacred offices, the memorial, also, of the faithfulness with which, if not in the very letter, yet substantially and in spirit, he redeemed the pledge which he had given in the Concordate.
The Bishop having delivered an historical discourse at the opening of the Convention of 1883, commemorative of the election of Bishop Seabury, on motion of the Rev. Dr. Giesy, the thanks of the Convention were tendered to him, and he was "respectfully and earnestly requested" to preach a sermon at the next Convention in commemoration of Bishop Seabury's Consecration.
It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings. This was different, quite different. It was so familiar, so homelike, so conventional, and yet, for her and me, so impossible. I looked at her and she, looking up at the moment, caught my eyes. The color mounted to her cheeks.
The anniversary was observed by the Diocese of Connecticut on the fourteenth day of November, 1884, at Christ Church, Hartford. The Church was decorated with flowers and ferns; Bishop Seabury's mitre was placed on the right of the Chancel, and a facsimile of the Concordate which he made with his consecrators was hung opposite.
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