The manner in which this church came by the name by which it is now popularly known is as follows: In 1870 the veteran actor, George Holland, died in New York, and Mrs. Holland's sister desired the funeral to be held at her own church--a fashionable place of worship in Fifth Avenue. Joseph Jefferson, as an old friend of the family, went to the minister with one of Holland's young sons. Mr. Jefferson told the rector that his friend was an actor, and the rector replied that under the circumstances he should have to decline holding the services at the church. The boy was in tears. Mr. Jefferson was too indignant to say a word, but as he and the boy left the room he asked if there was any other church from which his friend might be buried. The rector replied that there was a little church around the corner where it might be done. Mr. Jefferson said: "Then if this be so, God bless 'the little church around the corner.'" And it was in "The Little Church 'Round the Corner" that the ceremony was performed by the Rev. George H. Houghton, its rector, who, beloved by all members of the theatrical profession, continued in this pulpit until his death in 1897, when he was succeeded by his son. The author of the following lines was a New York playwright who won popularity a generation ago. BY A.E. LANCASTER. "Bring him not here, where our sainted feet Are treading the path to glory; Bring him not here, where our Saviour sweet Repeats for us His story. Go, take him where 'such things' are done-- For he sat in the seat of the scorner-- To where they have room, for we have none, To 'that little church 'round the corner.'" So spake the holy man of God, Of another man, his brother, Whose cold remains, ere they sought the sod, Had only asked that a Christian rite Might be read above them by one whose light Was, "Brethren, love one another"; Had only asked that a prayer might be read Ere his flesh went down to join the dead. Whilst his spirit looked, with suppliant eyes, Searching for God throughout the skies; But the priest frowned "No," and his brow was bare Of love in the sight of the mourner; And they looked for Christ and found Him--where? In "that little church 'round the corner." Ah, well! God grant, when with aching feet We tread life's last few paces, That we may hear some accents sweet And kiss to the end, fond faces; God grant that this tired flesh may rest (Mid many a musing mourner), While the sermon is preached and the rites are read, In no church where the heart of love is dead, And the pastor a pious prig at best, But in some small nook where God's confessed-- Some "little church 'round the corner." Captain Obstinate. ANONYMOUS.