Out of this fathomless love he preached his gospel of happiness and purity and love; for it was doubtless true, as he declared, that “he never knew the time when he did not love God.” Out of it came his sweet charity and tolerance. His lovers were of all denominations and of none—Catholics, Universalists, Unitarians—for he was “altogether lovely.” When one at a camp-meeting excluded from salvation all these sects, all men who used tobacco and all women who wore jewelry, Father Taylor broke in indignantly, “If that’s true, Christ’s mission was a failure. It’s a pity he came.” “How far apart are heaven and hell?” he was asked. “I tell you,” said he, “they are so near that myriads of souls to-day don’t know which they are in.” “Blessed Jesus,” he prayed, “give us common sense, and let no man put blinkers on us, that we can only see in a certain direction; for we want to look all around the horizon—yea, to the highest heavens and to the lowest depths of the ocean.” “When _Bigotry_ is buried I hope I shall be at the funeral,” he said. His intimacy with the Unitarians, and his remarkable tribute to Channing have been cited. Of Emerson he said: “He has the sweetest soul God ever put into a man. If the devil gets him he will never know what to do with him.” A theologian asked him what he was going to do with the Unitarians; “I don’t know,” he said, confidentially; “if they go to hell they’ll _change the atmosphere_.” “Is your son-in-law a Christian?” asked a solicitous brother. “Not exactly,” replied Father Taylor, “but he’s a very sweet sinner.” 4. _His humor._ This kept all cheerful, healthy and bright. He was a “laughing Christian.” I do not think he ever used humor merely to make people laugh, but always with an earnest purpose back of it. He was no joker, and rarely thought his own keen thrusts subjects for merriment. Of his manliness, his good sense, his improvidence, his sweet and beautiful home life, space does not suffice to speak. If to be an original character among men is to be eccentric, Father Taylor was indeed odd. “He was in all things himself and not any one else; in this generation there has been but one Father Taylor,” said Dr. Waterstone; and Dr. Bartol declared that, “No American citizen—Webster, Clay, Everett, Lincoln, Choate—has a reputation more impressive and unique.” No one understood his singularity better than himself. “I will not wear a straight-jacket or Chinese shoes,” he declared. Having been invited to lecture, he said: “I can’t lecture; I would not lecture if I could. Your lectures are all macadamized; they are entertainments where those go who dare not visit the theater. I must cross-plow your fine paths. I am no man’s model, no man’s copyist, no man’s agent; go on my own hook; say what I please, and you may help yourselves.”