It is refreshing to turn to one man, at least, who knew and understood sailors, and who in early life had himself been a sailor. This was the Rev. Edward Thompson Taylor, known upon every sea with respect and affection as “Father Taylor.” In 1833 the Seaman’s Bethel was erected in North Square, Boston, and there Father Taylor presided for some forty years. During that time he did an enormous amount of good, both among sailors themselves, to whom he spoke in language which they could understand and feel, and by drawing the attention of influential men and women to the lamentable condition of the life of sailors when on shore, not only in Boston, but in all the great seaports of the United States. For many years the Seaman’s Bethel was one of the most interesting sights of Boston, and all classes were attracted there by the novel and picturesque earnestness and eloquence of Father Taylor. Distinguished visitors were usually taken there or went of their own accord, to listen to the words of this inspired seaman, and many of them have recorded their impressions. Harriet Martineau, J. S. Buckingham, M. P., Charles Dickens, Frederika Bremer, John Ross Dix, Mrs. Jameson, Catherine Sedgwick, and Walt Whitman all testified to the wonderful power of this homely, self-educated Baptist preacher. [Illustration: Lauchlan McKay Philip Dumaresq Clipper-Ship Captains] Father Taylor had little to say about the treatment of sailors on shipboard, for he knew that they were treated with humanity and according to their deserts, but he did have a great deal to say about their life and vile associations on shore; he once prayed with unconscious humor, “that Bacchus and Venus might be driven to the ends of the earth and off it.” He possessed a marvellous power of description, and perhaps no poet or painter has more vividly portrayed the ever-changing moods of the ocean. He used these superb sea pictures as metaphors and illustrations. I have a clear remembrance of some of them and recall them with gratitude, but no words of mine can convey an adequate impression of their beauty and grandeur; his was a genius that eludes description. It was once said of Father Taylor that he hated the devil more than he loved God, but I think whoever said this could not have understood him, for the affection, tenderness, and substantial help which Father Taylor lavished upon God’s children, afflicted in body and mind, knew no bounds. At the same time he knew the men whom it was his mission to rescue, and often when denouncing their follies and vices his words fell hot as burning coals. He detested shams in any form, and was swift to detect them in sailors as well as in others. In those days there was far too much ignorant sentimentality bestowed upon seamen and their affairs, too much “Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form.”