The tone of the home atmosphere, the lights and shadows of early life, the quality of the parental gov­ernment are all influences of such permanent effect on the after life, that familiarity with them in the contem­plation of a character is indispensable. Pre-eminently is this true when the early training produces such last­ing impressions as in the present instance, necessitating more than the simple statement that Henry Ward Beecher was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, June 24th, 1813, the eighth child of Lyman and Roxana Poote Beecher. The convergence of two long lines of sturdy

14

New England ancestry is represented by the union of these names, dating back on either side to the settle­ment of New Haven in 1638, when a widow, Hannah Beecher, and Andrew Ward, came over from England with Davenport. Lyman Beecher and Roxana Foote, the descendants of these two pioneers, were married September 19th, 1799, and moved to East Hampton, L. I., and subsequently to Litchfield, Connecticut, where, as already stated, Henry Ward was born. His father at this time was ministering to a congregation at a salary of eight hundred dollars a year, out of which a family, soon increased to ten children, must be main­tained and educated. The importance which is attached to the training of children now, the rich provision for their care, education, and enjoyment, is a deviation from old methods of which the parents of fifty years ago could have had no conception. The child-world of Henry Ward was barren of all the beauty which graces that of modern youth. Mrs. Stowe says, in writing of the training of children at this period, "The commu­nity did not recognize them. There was no child's litera­ture; there were no children's books. The Sunday-school was yet an experiment, in a fluctuating, uncer­tain state of trial. There were no children's days of presents or fetes, no Christmas or New Year's festivals. The annual thanksgiving was only associated with one day's unlimited range of pies of every sort-too much for one day and too soon things of the past. The child­hood of Henry Ward was unmarked by the possession of a single child's toy as a gift from any older person, or a single fete. Very early, too, strict duties devolved upon him; a daily portion of the work of the estab-

15

lishment, the care of the domestic animals, the cutting and piling of wood, or tasks in the garden, strengthened his muscles and gave vigor and tone to his nerves. From his father and mother he inherited a perfectly solid, healthy organization of brain, muscle, and nerves; and the uncaressing, let-alone system under which he was brought up, gave him early habits of vigor and reliance." Even this cheerless and somewhat hard experience had its advantage, and the entire freedom of the boy's life and thoughts led him into congenial fields of inquiry that methodical training might have left unsearched. The lack of the ordinary equipments of childhood, the playthings, the story books, and holidays, led him to find amusement where he could, and thus brought him into frequent contact with Nature and her children, and from these sources he drew truer lessons than might perhaps be found in the whole range of child's literature. Of this period he himself says:

"I think I was about as well brought up as most children, because I was let alone. My father was so busy, and my mother had so many other children to look after, that, except here and there, I hardly came under the parental hand at all. I was brought up in a New England village, and I knew where the sweet-flag was, where the hickory trees were, where the chestnut trees were, where the sassafras trees were, where the squirrels were, where all those things were that boys enterprise after; therefore, I had a world of things to do; and so I did not come much in contact with family government."

In a city, such unrestricted freedom of action would have been impossible without impairing integrity and

16

purity of character, but the moral atmosphere of Litch-field was as untainted and invigorating as the air of its surrounding mountains, and was fraught with no contaminating influences.

He was merry, bright, and affectionate as a child, and it is interesting to read from the family letters of this period bits of domestic history that give strong impres­sions of the child's character. A letter from his mother, written after a journey, says: "I arrived at sunset, and found all well, and the boy (Henry Ward) in merry trim, glad at heart to be safe on terra firma after all his jolts and tossings." In another, this pleasant picture of home life is given: "I write sit­ting upon my feet, with my paper on the seat of a chair, while Henry is hanging round my neck and climbing on my back, and Harriet is begging me to please make her a baby." Miss Catherine Beecher, in writing of the children to an aunt, says: ''Henry is a very good boy, and we think him a remarkably in­teresting child, and he grows dearer to us every day. He is very affectionate and seems to love his father with all his heart. His constant prattle is a great amusement to us all. He often speaks of his sister Harriet, and wishes spring to come, so that she might come home and go to school with him."

Mrs. Beecher, the second wife, soon after arriving in Litchfield, in 1817, writes home of the family: "It seems the highest happiness of the children (the larger ones especially) to have a reading circle. They have all, I think, fine capacities, and good taste for learning. Edward probably will be a great scholar. Catherine is a fine-looking girl, and in her mind I find

19

all that I expected. Mary will make a fine woman, I think; will be rather handsome, than otherwise. The four youngest are very pretty. George comes next to Mary. Harriet and Henry come next, and they are always hand-in-hand. They are as lovely children as I ever saw, amiable, affectionate, and very bright." Two years later she writes again: "George and Har­riet go to school to Mr. Brace and Miss Pierce; Henry and Charles to Miss Osborne at the new school-house. Charles learns quite fast, and will overtake Henry, who has no great love for his books."

Dr. Beecher was actively engaged at this time in pastoral duties, and in religious work extending over a wide range of influence, while the high literary and intellectual character of Litchfield society, and pre­eminently of Dr. Beecher's intimate friends, opened up attractive and congenial fields of discussion and in­vestigation, which with the prosperous and happy con­dition of the home-circle, rendered these years the most joyous and least shadowed with care, of all his life. His lack of method and system was great, and this conduced to a freedom and sociality of life which knew no rules, and within certain prescribed moral limits, allowed the children to do about as they chose. Simple purity in daily life, parental conversation, and example were the guides by which the children were imbued with the moral qualities of conscience, of self-respect, and of truth. Of his father Mr. Beecher says in one of his sermons:

"I never saw my father do a thing that had du­plicity in it in my life. I recollect that, when a child, I mistook his appearance when talking with persons

20

that came to see him as inconsistent with his after state of feeling when they had gone away. I did not under­stand simple prudence; and it looked as though father was one thing before their face and another thing be­hind their back. It distressed me exceedingly. Ex­cept in that one instance, a cloud or a shadow never passed over my mind with regard to my father's in­tegrity. I believed it impossible for him to think an untruth, and still less possible for him to tell one. And my mother was the law of purity and the law of honor. Therefore, I did not need much teaching on these sub­jects."

Henry Ward's own mother died when he was but three years old. She was gentle, loving, and tender, with widest range of sympathy, and of a restful, pla­cid temperament, the peace and serenity of which re­mained undisturbed through all earthly trials. Her death deprived her husband of his strongest counsellor and support, and he is said to have declared that his first sensation was a sort of terror, like that of a child suddenly thrust out alone in the dark. Mrs. Stowe writes of her recollections of this time: "Then came the funeral. Henry was too little to go. I remember his golden curls and little black frock, as he frolicked like a kitten in the sun, in ignorant joy.'' And again: "They told us at one time, that she had been laid in the ground, at another that she had gone to heaven; whereupon Henry putting the two things together, resolved to dig through the ground and go to heaven to find her; for, being discovered under sister Cath­arine's window one morning, digging with great zeal and earnestness, she called to him to know what he

21

was doing, and, lifting his curly head with great sim­plicity, he answered, 'Why, I'm going to heaven to find ma.' "

The trust and imagination of childhood have grown with years into the man's strong devotion to her memory, and at times reveal themselves in such pas­sages in his sermons as the following:

"And, on the other hand, who can measure the wealth of blessing that there is in father and mother to children? Do you know why so often I speak what must seem to some of you rhapsody of woman? It is because I had a mother; and if I were to live a thou­sand years I could not express what seems to me to be the least that I owe to the fact that I had a mother. Three years old was I, when, singing, she left me, and sung on to heaven, where she sings evermore. I have only such a remembrance of her as you have of the clouds of ten years ago-faint, evanescent; and yet caught by imagination, and fed by that which I have heard of her, and by what my father's thought and feeling of her were, it has come to be so much to me that no devout Catholic ever saw so much in the Virgin Mary as I have seen in my mother, who has been a presence to me ever since I can remember. And I can never say enough for woman for my mother's sake, for my sisters' sake, for the sake of them that have gathered in the days of my infancy around about me, in return for what they have interpreted to me of the beauty of holiness, of the fulness of love, and of the heavenliness of those elements from which we are to interpret heaven itself. No child of Christian parents can ever measure the weight of the gratitude which he

22

owes to the father and the mother that not only took care of him, but taught him what he meant when he said, 'Our Father who art in heaven.' How power­ful should be this reflex-influence, then, of the truth symbolized, hidden, in this opening petition of the Lord'sprayer." Or again:

''Oh, that it could have been so in days past! My mother died when I was but a small child, and I do not remember to have ever seen her face. And as there was no pencil that could afford to limn her, I have never seen a likeness of her. Would to God that I could see some picture of my mother. No picture that hangs on prince's wall, or in gallery, would I not give, if I might choose, for a faithful portrait of my mother. Give me that above all other pictures under God's canopy."

At the end of a year, Dr. Beecher brought home a second wife to assume the duties of the household and the care of the children. She had been as a girl a brilliant belle of society, the possessor of great per­sonal beauty, a cultivated and intellectual mind, polished manners, and rich in all social acquirements. With her religious awakening and conversion came in­creased moral culture and force, which, from her natural propensity to rectitude and propriety, and from her unyielding conscience and undeviating pur­pose to do right herself, and have others do right also, assumed the character of a religion, solemn, inflexible, rigorous, and sombre. The freedom with which the children had been familiar had not instilled in them those graces and refinements which were to her natural

23

and habitual, while the shortcomings and imperfec­tions which arose naturally from a crude and vigorous childhood were to her sins of serious magnitude. It was a matter of consequence with her to point out and pray with them over their faults, and the religious influence thus brought to bear upon them was one that concealed the sincerity of her motive, and caused her to appear in the children's eyes like her religion -dread, calm, and exacting.

No words so well as Mr. Beecher's own describe the effect on him of his mother's religious life:

''My dear mother-not she that gave me birth, but she that brought me up; she that did the office-work of a mother, if ever a mother did; she that, according to her ability, performed to the uttermost her duties- was a woman of profound veneration, rather than of a warm and loving nature. Therefore, her prayer was invariably a prayer of deep, yearning reverence. I re­member well the impression which it made on me. There was a mystic influence about it. A sort of sym­pathetic hold it had upon me; but still, I always felt, when I went to prayer, as though I was going into a crypt, where the sun was not allowed to come; and I shrunk from it.

"The prayer of a poor man on my father's farm was of precisely the opposite character, and impressed me in precisely the opposite way. He used alternatively to pray and sing and laugh, pray and sing and laugh, pray and sing and laugh. He had a little room, in one corner of which I had a little cot; and I used to lie and see him attend to his devotions. They were a regular thing. Every night he would set his candle at the head

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of his bed, and pray and sing and laugh. And I bear record that his praying made a profound impression upon my mind. I never thought whether it was right or wrong. I only thought, 'How that man does en­joy it! What enjoyment there must be in such prayer as his!' I gained from that man more of an idea of the desirableness of prayer, than I ever did from my father or mother. My father was never an ascetic: he had no sympathy with anything of a monkish ten­dency; and yet, this poor man, more than he, led me to see that there should be real overflowing gladness and thanksgiving in prayer. I learned to envy Charles Smith, although I was a hundred degrees higher than he in society. I learned to feel that I was the pau­per and he was the rich man. I would gladly have changed situations with him, if by so doing I could have obtained his grace and his hope of heaven. I believe he rejoices in heaven now."

Under the training of such a nature the boy grew up, at once inspired and repressed. Religious aspirations were aroused, but from lack of proper care, remained in a vague state or else disappeared. Mr. Beecher relates his personal experience at this time as follows:

"My mother-she who, in the providence of God, took me in to her heart when my own mother had gone to see her Father in heaven-she who came after, and was most faithful to the charge of the children in the household-she often took me, and prayed with me, and read me the Word of God, and expounded to me the way of duty, and did all that seemed to her possible, I know, to make it easy for me to become a religious child; and yet there have been times when I think it

25

would have been easier for me to lay my hand on a block, and have it struck off, than to open my thoughts to her, when I longed to open them to some one. How often have I started to go to her, and tell her my feelings, when fear has caused me to sheer off, and abandon my purpose. My mind would open like a rose-bud, but, alas, fear would hold back the blossom. How many of my early religious pointings fell, like an over-drugged rose-bud, without a blossom."

The family government was firm and decided and was administered wholly by the father, the mother's gentle nature not fitting her to enforce laws. The ne­cessity of discipline was not frequent, and consisted in impressing upon the children's minds the need of will­ing, cheerful and quick obedience. In instances requir­ing special emphasis, the lesson was conveyed by a se­vere discipline, always feared and never forgotten, so that a mere word was ever after that effectual in secur­ing prompt obedience, uncomplaining and unquestion­ing. The warmest love and tenderest sympathy, how­ever, accompanied this firm and resolute discipline, and Mr. Beecher gives an amusing account of his own ex­perience in this field:

"My father used to make me believe that the end of the rod that he held in his hand, was a great deal more painful to him than the end which I felt was to me. It was a strange mystery to me, but I did believe it; and it seemed a great deal worse to me to be whipped, on that account. I used to think that if he would not talk to me, but would whip me, I could stand it a great deal better. So I could have stood it better, and not been benefited. For a child is not whipped till

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the sensation goes to the heart, and touches the feeling. But when my father made me cry by talking to me, and then whipped me, and then made me cry by talk­ing to me again, I thought it was too bad. And yet it was the right way."

Dr. Beecher would come from his study and books to his children, with whom he would frolic and play queer pranks to the delight of both, on one occasion swinging his little daughter Catherine out of the garret window by the hands to test her courage, and again playfully tipping her head into a wash-tub as she was running by, to see what she would do.

Occasions for disciplining Henry Ward were rare, and according to statements of his own in recollection of youthful depravity he was not always the respon­sible person.

"I think, however, as I look back and reflect upon the special acts which brought me into discipline, that, though perhaps I had better been punished, for nine out of ten of them I was not really to blame. I do not mean that there was not a certain element of wrong in them; but, considering how little a child knows, how weak and imperfect his reason is, what is the force of social sympathy upon him, and how liable he is to mistakes in judgment, I do not think much blame could have been attached to me.

"I recollect being banished from the gallery in my father's church, to sit in which was the height of my ambition. The pews were square. My father's was right under the pulpit. I did not, I believe, more than once or twice, see my father in the pulpit till I was of age, and had gone away from home, because we had

27

that minister's pew, in which I was always compelled to sit. The top of it was a foot higher than my head, and the sides were as straight as the plummet could make them. And, sitting there, I was expected to listen to the sermon, and hear every word, from a man I could not see! And when I put my hands up, some little rollers that were attached to the pew would make a noise. It was the only agreeable sound that I recol­lect in those days to have heard in the sanctuary.

"I remember perfectly well, when I was thus brought up in that inland village, and in that inland church, with a kind of mechanical government extending over me, all my sensations, all my little thoughts, all the little ranges of imagination through which my mind passed; and judging from them, from my own chil­dren, and from the children of my parish, I cannot but feel that of the faults that I committed the greatest number of them were such as were inevitable to my time of life, and to the development that had taken place in my moral constitution, and that they did not indicate obliquity or depravity at all in the worse sense of the term, but simply and merely inexperience. Yet I was sometimes punished for them.

"For instance, after having been imprisoned in that pew for a long time, I desired to sit with the singers. My mother, in a day of unexpected grace, gave me permission, with many and multiplied charges of proper conduct; and I went into the gallery with all the virtue of a dozen deacons, determined to behave well, and to earn the right of sitting there. Yes, men and angels should see that I conducted myself becom­ingly. But, as I sat there, a martyr of propriety, on a

28

hard seat, one of the roguish boys of the neighbor­hood gave me a shove, and pushed me off on the floor, and tore my coat. When I went home the hole in my coat was espied, and my mother said, 'Henry, how came that hole there?' I resolved in my mind what I should say. I wanted to tell her that it was not my fault; and I thought I used the words that would con­vey that idea, when I said, 'Oh, mother, it was done in fun.' I did not know what the meaning of fun was; but I found out! and I was not allowed for years afterward to go into that gallery where in fun I had torn my coat, though there was not a person in the church that put forth half the effort that I did to behave. And it was only my want of a knowledge of language that brought me into disgrace."

Another instance was the occasion of his first "swear,'' when his own terror at the deed was sufficient atone­ment.

"I remember being very mad once, when I was a boy. I went out to the south side of the house, and, unable to hold in any longer, I said 'damn it!' In a minute the sky looked to me like copper. I thought that my soul was gone forever. The idea that I had sworn produced a terrible impression of horror upon me. It was the first time I had ever done it. I was brought up to look upon profanity with utter abhor­rence, and I was frightened almost out of my wits. I really expected that the house would fall on me, or that the earth would open and let me down. In my terror I started to run, and I clipped it to the kitchen, quicker than I had ever done it before. The sweat stood out on me in great drops. I felt the shock all over."

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His earliest school days were not such as to forecast a brilliant future, for he was deficient in memory, pain­fully sensitive, very diffident, and embarrassed by a thick, indistinct utterance; resulting partly from bash-fulness, and partly from throat troubles.

He began his education at a little school kept by a widow Kilbourn, where the idleness which generally prevailed was emphasized by the recital of the alphabet twice daily. From here he went to the district school, the dispensary of learning for the country children of the neighborhood, where the school-mistress wielded the switch and ferule, alternat­ing the use of these instruments with instruction in arithmetic and writing, "readings from the Bible and the Columbian Orator." In one of Mr. Beecher's ser­mons occurs a passage recalling the school-house of his youth, which is of interest not only as a picture, but also as a strong figure in illustrating a beautiful thought. It is this:

''I very well remember going back, after having arrived at years of manhood, to the school-house where I did not receive my early education. I measured the stones which, in my childhood, it seemed that a giant could not lift, and I could almost turn them over with my foot! I measured the trees which seemed to loom up to the sky, wondrously large, but they had shrunk, grown shorter, and outspread narrower. I looked into the old school-house, and how small the whittled benches and the dilapidated tables were, compared with my boyhood impression of them! I looked over the meadows across which my little tod­dling feet had passed. They had once seemed to me to

30

be broad fields, but now but narrow ribbons, lying between the house and the water. I marveled at the apparent change which had taken place in these things, and thought what a child I must have been when they seemed to me to be things of great importance. The school-ma'am-oh what a being I thought she was! and the school-master-how awestruck I was at his presence! So looking and wistfully remembering, I said to myself, 'Well, one bubble has broken.' But when you shall stand above, and look back with celes­tial and clarified vision, upon this world-this rickety old school-house earth-it will seem smaller to you than to me that old village school."

At the age of ten years a more earnest course of study was inaugurated by his removal to the private school of the Rev. Mr. Langdon, in the town of Beth­lehem, near by. A year was passed in this place, where the unrestrained freedom of the kind, indulgent household in which he lived, allowed him long sessions of intercourse with woods and fields, through which he roamed at will, gratifying that love for nature which was a strong characteristic. Little advancement was made in his studies by such a derogatory course, his writing was bad, his spelling worse, and the smooth­ness of his Latin recitation showed unmistakable "cribbing," the result of necessity, and an unwise ex­pedient. He was recalled home, and soon after placed under the care of his sister, who was then at the head of a young lady's school in Hartford, where Henry was the only boy among forty girls.

The history of this period shows a minimum of scholarly acquirement and a maximum of careless fun

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and practical joking, although the impression pre­vailed that only the spur of necessity was needed to arouse a dormant ability, the existence of which no one doubted. He returned to Litchfield, and soon after, at the age of twelve, the whole atmosphere of his life was changed by the removal of the family to Boston. From the untrammeled freedom of his country life where the woods and fields were his play-grounds, the birds and forest-creatures his mates, to be suddenly com­pressed and limited to brick walls and narrow streets excited a depressing influence on his mind that increased the melancholy to which he had been prone from childhood. This was also augmented by his being en­tered at the Boston Latin School, where, repulsive and uncongenial as was the course of study, urged on by mingled feelings of honor, affection, fear of disgrace, appeals to his conscience, paternal entreaties, and a sense of obedience almost religious, he finally accom­plished the work assigned. The Latin Grammar had been won, but at dear cost, for with it had come gloom,, restlessness, irritability, and dissatisfaction with his present condition, that grew with secret strength, fos­tered by the reading of biographies and adventurous lives of Nelson and Captain Cook, with which his father strove to divert his thoughts, and by the temp­tation to similar experiences of which the docks and ship-yards were full. It finally assumed the form of a determination to seek a life of freedom and adventure., the sincerity of which was evident from his energetic preparations for a voyage, and from the testimony of his later years, for in one of his sermons he says: "I recollect three or four instances in which it seems to

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me that if certain occurrences had not taken place just as they did I should have been overthrown. If I had not been taken out of Boston at one time, as I was, I do not see what would have prevented me from going to destruction."

Through the subterfuge of a letter, purposely placed for his father's inspection, Henry made known his in­tention. Dr. Beecher received it with apparent appro­bation, and shrewdly suggested that the boy first take a course in mathematics and navigation preparatory to his departure. The youth gladly acceded to the prop­osition, and was soon established at Mount Pleasant School in Amherst, Mass., where he was placed under the special care of a genial, manly young teacher, be­tween whom and the boy a firm friendship was com­pacted. Under the instruction of this Mr. Fitzgerald, he made good progress in mathematics, and the diffi­culties in his voice, its indistinctness and thickness, were removed in a great measure by a course of elocu­tion under Prof. J. E. Lovell.

The change in temperament and disposition wrought by this return to country life and the renewal of old and loved associations was great and immediate, and was a suitable preparation for the reception of those religious truths which came to him at the end of the first year during a season of revival. He united with his father's church in Boston, whereupon his dreams of naval ambition were merged into aspirations for the ministry, with a view to which two years of happiness followed at Mount Pleasant in preparation for col­lege. His preparation was thorough and warranted his entering the Sophomore year, an opportunity which

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his father thought best to yield, for he entered the Freshman year, occupying the leisure time which his advanced standing allowed, in becoming familiar with the library and in preparing courses of reading and self-culture for independent study.

An extract from a letter of recollections which Dr. Thomas P. Field, of Amherst College, and a classmate of Mr. Beecher's, kindly provides us, gives, in condensed form, the general outline and coloring of his college course, which Mrs. Stowe in her "Men of Our Times" elaborates into a detailed and highly finished picture.

"amherst, September 13, 1881. "Students, you know, are not looking at their classmates much with reference to their future, and do not treasure up particular facts in expectation of their fame. We knew very well that Beecher was a man of superior mental powers, but I cannot say that we antici­pated that he would reach the position he has attained. I entered the class of '34 in the beginning of the Sophomore year. Beecher was then a member of it. I knew he was Dr. Lyman Beecher's son. That fact at once made him a marked man. For Dr. Beecher was the great preacher at that time of New England, and indeed the greatest pulpit orator in the country.

"I first felt Beecher's power in the class prayer-meeting. On the first meeting I attended Beecher was present, and made an exhorta­tion on the duty of laboring for a revival of religion in the Fall term. There had been, I think, a revival in the previous Spring term. He thought it wrong to suppose there could not be a revival again so soon. I was struck with the fluency of his speech, with the earnest Christian feeling, and with the power and impressiveness with which he spoke. His extemporaneous speech, even when he was a student, was always able and eloquent.

"I was not impressed with his recitations at all. Indeed I knew very well that he had no desire, and made no effort, to be a good rec­itative scholar. He always argued against the study of mathematics, maintaining that it afforded no good discipline for the mind, and

34

gave himself, as it was understood, more to general reading than to the prescribed course of study-because he thought that was the best way to cultivate the mind.

"In the rhetorical department, however, he always showed his power. We were required at that time to write many more essays than the students of the present day do. When we were Sophomores, we had to prepare an essay for the Professor of Rhetoric each fort­night. We came together one hour every week, to hear the essays read, or as many of them as there would be time to hear. I very well remember the first essay I heard Beecher read. It was on Pollok's 'Course of Time,' a poem which was then awakening much interest among orthodox scholars. Beecher instituted a comparison between Pollok and Milton, maintaining substantially, if I recollect right, that Pollok was the better poet. The essay was very interesting and well written. Mr. Beecher would be far, I doubt not, from entertaining any such opinion now, but the fact shows that he was not in the habit then of thinking in the beaten track. I think the essay was published afterward in one of our college periodicals.

"I remember that Beecher was greatly interested while in college in Phrenology, and I think that he gave lectures with Orson Fowler, one of our classmates (and who has since become distinguished as a phrenologist), in some of the country towns in the neighborhood. Mr. Beecher, I have the impression, did the lecturing and Fowler made the examination of heads.

"Beecher was interested, even in college, in matters of reform. I think he was then decidedly anti-slavery in his views, and 'totally abstinent' in opinion and practice, in respect to the use of ardent spirits. He had then, as he has always had since, a decided vein of humor, and love of fun. And you would often see on the chapel steps a large number of fellows around Beecher, when there would be sure to be continuous roars of laughter.

"But I do not remember any particular witty sayings, though there were doubtless many which might have been preserved if we had supposed they would have been wanted for a biographer in the future.

'' Truly yours,

"thos. P. field."

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The study of Phrenology, which Dr. Field mentions, was begun in the form of a practical joke upon a fel­low-student who avowed himself a convert to the belief and was to give lectures on the subject in Mr. Beecher's room. The interest of Beecher, Fowler, and others was aroused, and they were led by it into such an earnest course of phrenological and physiological research of metaphysics and mental philosophy, that a society was formed for phrenological interests, a simi­lar one was organized at Bowdoin, through Charles Beecher, and Henry Ward delivered lectures on the subject before village audiences. From the first he took a firm stand as a Christian young man, partici­pating in class prayer-meetings and sharing in religious labors among the neighboring country towns.

His religious nature was very deep and it was pro­foundly moved by a revival in college during the Sophomore year, which led to a self-arraignment and an examination of the hopes and enlightenments which had induced him to join the Church, that left him in miserable anxiety and despair. His own ac­count of the subsequent revelation of the divine nature through Christ is better than any description that could be given.

''I was a child of teaching and prayer; I was reared in the household of faith; I knew the Catechism as it was taught; I was instructed in the Scriptures as they were expounded from the pulpit, and read by men; and yet, till after I was twenty-one years old, I groped without the knowledge of God in Christ Jesus. I know not what the tablets of eternity have written down, but I think that when I stand in Zion and be-

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fore God, the brightest thing which I shall look back upon will be that blessed morning of May when it pleased God to reveal to my wandering soul the idea that it was His nature to love a man in his sins for the sake of helping him out of them; that He did not do it out of compliment to Christ, or to a law, or a plan of salvation, but from the fullness of His great heart; that He was a Being not made mad by sin, but sorry; that He was not furious with wrath toward the sinner, but pitied him-in short, that He felt toward me as my mother felt toward me, to whose eyes my wrong-doing brought tears, who never pressed me so close to her as when I had done wrong, and who would fain, with her yearning love, lift me out of trouble. And when I found that Jesus Christ had such a disposition, and that when His disciples did wrong, He drew them closer to Him than He did before-and when pride and jeal­ousy, and rivalry, and all vulgar and worldly feelings, rankled in their bosoms, He opened His heart to them as a medicine to heal these infirmities; when I found that it was Christ's nature to lift men out of weakness to strength, out of impurity to goodness, out of every­thing low and debasing to superiority, I felt that I had found a God. I shall never forget the feelings with which I walked forth that May morning. The golden pavements will never feel to my feet as then the grass felt to them; and the singing of the birds in the woods -for I roamed in the woods-was cacophonous to the sweet music of my thoughts; and there were no forms in the universe which seemed to me graceful enough to represent the Being, a conception of whose character had just dawned upon my mind. I felt, when I had,

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with the Psalmist, called upon the heavens, the earth, the mountains, the streams, the floods, the birds, the beasts, and universal being, to praise God, that I had called upon nothing that could praise Him enough for the revelation of such a nature as that in the Lord Jesus Christ.

"Time went on, and next came the disclosure of a Christ ever present with me-a Christ that never was far from me, but was always near me, as a Companion and Friend, to uphold and sustain me. This was the last and the best revelation of God's Spirit to my soul. It is what I consider to be the culminating work of God's grace in a man; and no man is a Christian until he has experienced it. I do not mean that a man can­not be a good man till then; but he has not got to Je­rusalem till the gate has been opened to him, and he has seen the King sitting in His glory, with love to Him individually. It is only when the soul measures itself down deep, and says, 'I am all selfish, and proud and weak, and easy to be tempted to wrong. I have a glim­mering sense of the right, and today I promise God that I will follow it; but to-morrow I turn the promise into sin. To-day I lift myself up with resolutions, but to-morrow I sink down with discouragement. There is nothing in me that is good. From the crown of my head to the sole of my feet, I am full of wounds and bruises and putrefying sores'-it is only when the soul measures itself thus, and when it sees rising up against this conviction of its own unworthiness, the Divine declaration, 'I have loved thee; I am thy God; I have called thee by My name; thou art Mine, and I will be thy salvation'-it is only then that a

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man has passed through death to life, from darkness to light, from sorrow to joy."

Upon graduating in 1834 he rejoined his father, who had two years previous removed to Cincinnati.

CHAPTER II.

BIOGRAPHICAL. II.

mr. beecher's first steps and studies in preaching may be considered to have really commenced during his college course. His strict attention at meetings of prayer and exhortation, both in college and in the neighborhood, combined with the intimacy of an upper classman, a zealous Christian worker, who exerted a strong influence on young Beecher, finally drew upon him the care of a meeting held regularly in a school-house near the village, and with unvarying earnestness he devoted himself to this charge, the beginning of his Christian Ministry.

One step had already been taken therefore, to which another was added when, upon his return to Cincinnati, after graduating, he entered upon the study of Theol­ogy at Lane Seminary. Here, after a short time, a strong attachment arose between himself and Prof. C. E. Stowe, a man of large attainments in ecclesias­tical and biblical knowledge, who, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe relates, inspired his young friend "with the idea of surveying the books of the Bible as divinely inspired compositions, yet truly and warmly human, and to be rendered and interpreted by the same rules of reason, and common sense which pertain to all human docu­ments,"

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Dr. Lyman Beecher was at this time holding a principal professorship at Lane Seminary, and, as the head and exponent of the New England new-school theology and the doctrine of man's free agency, was equipped for and launched in a strong controversy with Dr. Wilson, the advocate of the old-school theology of "Scotch-Irish Presbyterian Calvinistic fatalism," and the doctrine of native depravity and unworthiness. The battle was a fierce one, with strong adherents on either side, the students of the Seminary, and notably his own sons, upholding and assisting Dr. Beecher; so that naturally their studies were from the standpoint of dialectic and theological attack and defence.

Although an earnest partisan of his father, Henry Ward had already formed a broader plan of belief for himself, differing in many respects from that of Dr. Beecher. Although maintaining the same view of the ministry, its aim and processes, with his father, Dr, Beecher's methods and his unwavering confidence in them were, in the case of his son, so qualified by new lines of study and thought, that employment of them, would have been not only inconsistent but inefficient. The salvation of humanity by Divine agency, through the salvation of individuals, was to him the great end to be obtained, but the means to this end was a problem, the complexity of which ren­dered him, as he neared the close of his theological course, the victim of deep depression and doubt.

This state of mind was enhanced by the retraction of a brother who had lately become an unbeliever, and withdrawn from the ministry, and the impulse to adopt some other course in life was often strong within him.

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Several months of successful service as editor of the Cincinnati Journal, during which a pro-slavery riot gave opportunity for the ardent expression of his views of slavery and freedom, increased the tendency toward another profession, which, however, was for all time dispelled by a fortunate episode. He had assumed, during his final term at the Seminary, charge of a Bible class, and in the succeeding preparation and instruction there came in time a gradual clearing of all doubt as to his calling and its methods, followed by an increasing and definite apprehension of his mission, and of the manner of obtaining efficacious results.

Mrs. Stowe says: "To present Jesus Christ, per­sonally, as the Friend and Helper of humanity, Christ as God impersonate, eternally and by a necessity of His nature helpful and remedial and restorative; the Friend of each individual soul, and thus the Friend of all society; this was the one thing which his soul rested on as a worthy object in entering the ministry."

With the eager enthusiasm and conviction consequent upon this spiritual revelation, he accepted at once the first opportunity that was presented after leaving the Seminary. This proved to be a call to Lawrenceburg, a small settlement near Cincinnati, on the Ohio River; his experiences here he has himself related in his ser­mons in the following extracts:

''Where I first settled in the ministry the ground was low, and subject to overflow sometimes from the great Miami, sometimes from the Ohio, and sometimes from both. The houses that were built in the early days of poverty were low; and generally twice a year -in the autumn, and in the spring when the snow

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melted on the mountains-the Ohio came booming down and overflowed; and men were obliged to emi­grate. They found themselves driven out of their houses. Their cellars were submerged, and frequently the lower stories of their dwellings would fill with water. And they betook themselves to the table-land a little back, in boats."

"I go back now to my own ministry. I have got to begin to talk about myself as an old man, before long. I have been, thus far, talking as though I were young; but I find that I am remembering back too far for that, when I go back to the time when I first became the pas­tor of a church. It was twenty years ago. I remember; that the flock which I first gathered in the wilderness consisted of twenty persons. Nineteen of them were women, and the other was nothing. I remember the days of our poverty, our straitness. I was sexton of my own church at that time. There were no lamps there, so I bought some; and I filled them and lit them. I swept the church, and lighted my own fire. I did not ring the bell, because there was none to ring. I opened the church before prayer-meetings and preaching, and locked it when they were over. I took care of every­thing connected with the building. And do I not remember every one of those faces? I think there were but two persons among them that did not earn their daily living by actual work; and these were not wealthy-they were only in moderate circumstances. We were all poor together. And to the day of my death, I never shall forget one of those faces or hear one of those names spoken without having excited in my mind the warmest remembrances. Some of

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them I venerate, and the memory of some has been precious as well as fruitful of good to me down to this hour."

After a short period of this ministerial apprentice­ship, he received and accepted a call to Indianapolis, where with his wife, whom he had married before leav­ing Cincinnati, he lived a simple, wholesome life of in­tense activity, where chief recreations were an indul­gence in agricultural study and pastime, a natural out­growth of the free country life of his boyhood, and that revealed itself now in an enthusiasm for choice breeds of domestic animals and an eager interest in farm and garden culture.

Here he began the study of his fellow-men, the searching after the principles of humanity, the analysis of human nature's workings and processes, which, coup­led with the insight into methods and principles of sermon-writing gained by his close study of the Apos­tles' discourses, formed a style of preaching which was magnetic and popular.

The reputation thus gained was not, however, the realization of his highest aim. This was "the saving of souls"; to do which, a Divine power seemed confirmed in him that evinced itself in the remarkable revivals of religion which arose in Terre Haute, under his influence, and in his own pastorate in Indianapolis. Of this time and this charge he makes feeling reference in one of his sermons.

''I pass to my second parish; and how many beloved faces rise up before me there! for at that period, after having preached about four years, I began to know how to preach a little, and how to gather souls into the

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kingdom. I began to know what a revival was, and how to conduct one. I remember scores and scores of persons that were then so small that I could put my hand on their head, and that now have large families, who, from the day they were baptized to this hour, have been to a great extent under my care or influence. "Well, I love those persons as I love my children, al­most. I have no time to think about them; but that is nothing. Pearls and diamonds do not waste because the owner locks them up. They always retain their brilliancy; and if he keeps them locked for a hundred years, and then takes them out, they will flash as brightly in the light as ever. And my memory of these persons will never grow dim. My heart goes out to them; and I guess they think of me. I think they requite all the love I bestow upon them. When dying, many and many of them have sent me messages. Many and many of them, as they parted from this shore, bore testimony that the sweetest hours of their life were those passed under my instructions, and sent back messages of encouragement to me. How many times I think of five or six rare, beautiful, sainted ones, who sent me messages from the other side-I think they were half way across at any rate-that my preaching of Christ was true; that they had gone so far that they felt it to be true! I felt as though they were messages from heaven itself. And shall I have under my own roof spirits that are more sacred to me than these?''

It was at the end of the eighth year of this faithful and happy ministry that Mr. Beecher received and accepted the call to his present pastorate, Plymouth Congrega­tional Church of Brooklyn, N. Y. He entered upon

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his pastoral duties here on Sunday morning, October 10th, 1847, a charge which, in its history, and in the remarkable career of its pastor, in various public functions as orator, lecturer, political advocate, and minister, is too well known to require more than a brief review.

The church to which Mr. Beecher had been called owed its origin to two facts. In 1846 there were but thirty-nine churches in Brooklyn, a city then of nearly sixty thousand inhabitants, and of these churches but one was Congregational. The need of more societies of this denomination was obvious, and was met by prompt action on the part of several prominent Chris­tian gentlemen. The First Presbyterian Church, then on the point of removal to the new edifice in Henry Street, were occupying the present site of Plymouth Church, which property they offered for sale for $25,000. These gentlemen after consultation made the purchase for $20,000, then called a meeting for the purpose of forming a new Congregational church, at which they offered the property thus secured for the use of the new organization. In a resolution then passed it was decided to commence regular services on Sunday, May 16th, the first Sabbath after the house should be vacated.

Reports of the popularity and renown of Mr. Beecher of Indianapolis had already aroused Eastern interest in the man and his preaching, and through the influence of his friend and advocate Mr. William P. Cutter, of New York, Mr. Beecher, who was then in that city, was asked to preside at the opening of the new Congregational church in Brooklyn, May 16th,

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1847. Mr. Beecher's discourses produced a strong im­pression upon his audience, and at a subsequent meet­ing in June, 1847, at which the name of Plymouth Church was adopted, he was elected unanimously by the society to the pastorate, and an immediate invita­tion was given him to assume the position.

Mr. Beecher had become strongly attached to his congregation in Indianapolis, and regarded with affec­tionate care their interests and welfare. Apart from this interest in the congregation as an object for which he had labored with love throughout a pastorate of eight years, the private intimacies and domestic asso­ciations which had grown with his life there plead strongly with him not to leave his home in the West, where the frankness, heartiness, and simplicity of the people, the hospitality, generosity, and artlessness of their customs and modes of life, found sympathetic response in his freedom-loving nature.

Two months passed before Mr. Beecher, influenced chiefly by the ill-health of his family, signified by let­ter his acceptance of the invitation; he preached his first sermon on Sunday morning, October 10th, 1847. On this occasion he declared his standpoint and views on questions of national debate, his position with re­gard to slavery, war, temperance, and other reforms, and defined the purposes of his preaching, of which the chief was, "that it should be a ministry of Christ." The public services of installation as pastor did not take place until a month later, November 11th, 1847.

Under the preaching of its new pastor, the Plymouth Church grew in numbers and influence, and received large accessions almost yearly, as the fruit of frequent

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revivals, of which the most noted are those of 1852 and 1858, in the first instance ninety-one persons having united with the church, and in the second, three hundred and thirty-five persons being brought to make profession of their faith. Mr. Beecher's labors at this post have been zealous and unremitting, and through­out a pastorate of thirty-four years there have been, but four occasions when his congregation have missed him from his pulpit for a protracted length of time.

These absences, all of them involuntary, are given in Plymouth Church Manual. "In March, 1849, the pastor was taken with a severe illness, which confined him to the house for two months, and disabled him from preaching until September, nor did he recover his full strength until the winter. In June, 1850, the society, of its own accord, gave him leave of absence to visit Europe, and he did not return until September. In 1856, the society, at the request of a number of eminent clergymen and others, voted him leave of ab­sence to traverse the country in behalf of the cause of liberty, then felt to be in peril.

"In June, 1863, the society requested him to revisit Europe for his health, which he did, returning in November. With these exceptions, the pastor has labored steadily at his post since 1847, at all times other than the regular summer vacation, which lasts on the average six weeks."

The truest record of this ministry are the words of Mr. Beecher himself, who, in sermons of later years, makes frequent reference to the early days of its his­tory, and reviews different periods of his connection with his people and his church.

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"You know I have been here twelve years. It makes me feel gray to think of it! When I came here the people in the houses in this street were not here. I am almost a patriarch of this part of Brooklyn! With the exception of brother Storrs, of our own de­nomination, Dr. Cutter, and the Kev. Mr. Lewis, there is not a pastor in Brooklyn, that I recollect, who is in the church that he was in then. All, besides these, have removed, or gone to the other world, in twelve years' time. And what a populous period these twelve years have been! How Time has had to run! What business he has had on Ms hands! What developments of God's grace have taken place, which, if they were to be unfolded and written, would fill so many books that the world could hardly contain them; because every individual case would fill a volume! And what a work has been accomplished in our own midst! It is literally true that thousands have been converted and added to this church, of such as should be saved. The very number has prevented me from having any specialty of acquaintance with them; and yet it only needed that there should be such cases as one and another that have come under my immediate notice, to produce in me such an affection for this church that I never feel so near heaven as when I am in these meetings."

"I am, in the providence of God, so circumstanced in reference to public speaking, which seems to be my specialty, that I put my whole strength into that, and give up everything else to it. Paul said that he could not administer ordinances, and that still less could he serve tables, because his call was to preach; and it

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would seem as though my call was to confine myself to public speaking. Therefore I cannot follow out any detail of friendships and acquaintanceships with the different members of my congregation; but that does not prevent my feeling the strongest heart-yearnings toward them. My sense of this is so exquisite that sometimes, on Sabbath mornings, it seems to me as though I stand among the assemblies of the just. Oh, these Sunday mornings-how sweet they come upon the world! and they seem sweeter and sweeter to me as I get nearer to heaven. How rich are the consolations which we derive from sweet fellowship with one another! How glorious is our coming together in the assembly of the saints! How our songs roll out, and storm the very gates of heaven! How our coming together, our thinking together, our rejoicing together, our praying together, our weeping together, and our singing to­gether, have knit us together! How many pews have been knit to pews! How many families have been prepared to live better! How many men have made acquaintances of each other! How many have gone out in bands to work together! And how many there are in whom, though you scarcely know them, you take a warm interest-toward whom your heart is like the orient!"

Of Plymouth Church Mr. Beecher is still (1882) the pastor; and it is safe to say that he will remain its pas­tor till the end of his active life. Several attempts have been made to draw him away to other fields, without success. After thirty-five years of public ministry there is no sign of either diminished power or diminished popularity. The church is always crowded,

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except for a few weeks in the latter part of the sum­mer, when the residents of Brooklyn have left their city homes for the country and Mr. Beecher has not yet left the pulpit for his usual summer vacation.

The spiritual results of his ministry are evidenced by constant conversions and accessions to his church, and by its practical ministry of good works and active Christian philanthropy. Whenever he speaks else­where than in his own church (and no speaker is in greater request for public gatherings) he is always sure of a crowded house and a warm reception; and it is certain that he is nowhere more a favorite with all classes than in his own home; and this in spite of the great effort to drive him from his pulpit and the city of his home.

I do not propose to enter in these pages upon any detailed recital of the already too familiar facts in re­spect to what is known as "the great scandal," a scan­dal through which it is certain no other man in America could have lived and retained his position and influence. In 1870 Mr. Beecher was the editor-in-chief and a principal owner of the Christian Union, which was then rapidly increasing in circu­lation and influence. He had formerly been editor of the Independent, a journal of similar character, but had resigned in favor of Mr. Tilton, who for some years was extremely successful and popular, but had by this time fallen somewhat under a cloud. Finding his own morality impeached, he adopted the peculiar defence of darkly insinuating that Mr. Beecher was open to grave suspicion in the same direction, and finally formed a determination to drive him from his

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pulpit and from the city, by means of an accusation of some vaguely defined offence to Mr. Tilton's own family. This offence he soon stated to be one of im­proper advances, which Mrs. Tilton had repelled; and while he whispered this to his friends, he persuaded Mr. Beecher, through a famous "mutual friend," that Mrs. Tilton had so far misconstrued his friendship for her as to be the victim of a morbid passion herself, which had utterly wrecked her happiness and health. Believing that this would never have happened if he had been sufficiently discreet himself, Mr. Beecher, with the instinct of a true gentleman, overwhelmed himself with reproaches, both by word and by letter. Mr. Tilton professed to be entirely satisfied, and invited Mr. Beecher to resume friendly relations; but, at the same time, continued for years to whisper suggestions that there was some hidden fault, which would be dis­astrous to Mr. Beecher if exposed. At last, a direct charge against both Mr. Beecher and Mrs. Tilton was made in some disreputable newspapers. But not until June, 1874, did Mr. Tilton himself assume any respon­sibility for a charge. So long as the charge was whis­pered privately or published only in a disreputable sheet, without a responsible accuser, neither Mr. Beecher nor the public paid any attention to it. As soon as it assumed a definite form with a responsible accuser, Mr. Beecher submitted the whole matter to the investigation of a committee, consisting of some of the most eminent and respected members of Ms church and society. They reported unanimously, after giving Mr. Tilton a full hearing, that the charge was entirely false; and this report was unanimously

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adopted by the church and congregation. Mr. Tilton then brought an action at law upon the same charge. After a trial lasting six months, in which the only evidence against him consisted of the letters already referred to (which were ambiguous in meaning) and alleged verbal confessions, which he under oath ex­ plicitly denied, the jury were discharged without a verdict, standing nine for unconditional acquittal of Mr. Beecher, one for unconditional conviction, and two who voted on some ballots for conviction, on others for acquittal. This suit was never tried again. The ''mutual friend," however, brought another suit against Mr. Beecher, involving the same questions; but when it was pushed to trial by Mr. Beecher's counsel, the plaintiff became so well satisfied that he must fail, that he discontinued the suit, paying all costs.

The regularity of the church proceedings by which Mr. Beecher was acquitted having been questioned, a council of Congregational churches and ministers was called by Plymouth Church to advise with it respecting its proceedings. It was probably the largest council ever called by any church in the his­tory of Congregationalism, and it included repre-sentative men from all sections of the country, many of whom came to the council with strong prejudices against Mr. Beecher on theological grounds, and a considerable number entertaining serious suspicions, founded on previous public reports, respecting his moral integrity. While this council did not undertake a direct investigation of the charges, a task impossible of execution by such a body without power to compel

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the attendance of witnesses or to administer an oath, it examined into the whole history of the proceedings of the church with respect to the case, subjecting Mr. Beecher to a searching cross-fire of questions from all members of the council in an open session lasting for several days. After nearly a week spent in a most thorough and scrutinizing inquiry, it extended to Mr. Beecher, without a dissenting voice, the Christian fellowship and sympathy of the churches, and expressed the confidence of the entire council in his integrity. It appointed a tribunal of distin­guished jurists, wholly outside of Plymouth Church, to investigate any charges which might be made; but no charges were ever brought before them. The New York and Brooklyn association of ministers, to which Mr. Beecher belonged, also appointed a committee of investigation, which publicly called for charges or evidence implicating him. To this public demand there was no response, and the association unanimously declared him entitled to Christian confidence and fellow­ship. The whole affair has been somewhat compli­cated in the public mind by Mr. Beecher's unwisdom in the selection of some confidential friends at this trying period of his life, prior to the first publication of the scandal, and by his evident endeavor to keep it from becoming public, an endeavor not only not strange but abundantly justified by the injurious effects of its publication. Perplexity and doubt have undoubtedly been left in the minds of some who have never had the opportunity to investigate with care the charges and the singularly inadequate evidence on which they were based; and suspicion

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has been enhanced in some quarters, doubtless, by personal, political, and theological prejudices; but as the final result of the whole matter, Mr. Beecher retains his position as the most eminent preacher and one of the great thought leaders in America, while his principal accuser, who at one time occupied a foremost position in journalism and literature, has almost disap­peared from public recognition.

The home life of a public man is not public property, and I have no right to introduce others to Mr. Beecher's home. But those who have known him in the privacy of personal intercourse, and especially those who have seen him in his own home, surrounded by his grand­children, will always think that no one less privileged has truly known Mr. Beecher. His children are grown and married and have homes of their own. In winter he lives with his elder son, Henry Barton Beecher, in Brooklyn; in the summer he lives at his country resi­dence at Peekskill, where the same son lives with him. He personally supervised the erection and interior dec­orations of this house, desiring, as he says, to express himself in an idealized American home. The foundations of this home were laid when, somewhat over twenty years ago, Mr. Beecher bought a farm at Peekskill, two miles or more back from the river, and occupied the little, low cottage that stood on the place. Near by rose the hill with the commanding view, where the present residence stands, and from the first this hill was re­garded as the site of a possible house, an air-castle, to be made the perfect Christian home. Meanwhile, as opportunity and time allowed, nature was invited to prepare surroundings for the imaginary house and

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eagerly accepted the invitation. The world was asked for trees and sent them, so that to-day the farm has one of the rarest and finest collection of trees and shrubs to be found in any private American demesne. England, Europe, China, Japan, the United States, all have been laid under tribute, and as a result there are two or three hundred varieties of trees and shrubs; over twenty different maples, as many varieties of pines, and great beds of azaleas, rhododendrons, and the choicest ornamental flowering growths. The house is architecturally pleasing, but neither obtrusive nor ostentatious; a basement of granite; a two-storied superstructure of brick, a many-gabled roof, and a broad veranda-these are the features. The interior is a study in the combined beauty, simplicity, and har­mony of the rooms, for while each room possesses an individuality of its own, each yet lives in art fellowship with its neighbor. There is no paint in the house from garret to cellar, except in the vestibule; the wood­work is all of natural woods-cherry on the first floor, ash on the second, pine in the attic. The mantels are of wood decorated with tiles, and walls and ceilings are papered, with patterns which Mr. Beecher him­self selected. While there are assuredly costlier houses imperiously and loudly demanding admiration, it is doubtful if there was ever one which by exquisite harmony of proportion and treatment more modestly invited it. Some one has characterized the great Eu­ropean cathedrals as "frozen music." Mr. Beecher's home is a pastoral symphony. Here he has a delight­ful retreat during the summer from the toils of his public work throughout the major portion of the year;

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here when the toils of his life are over, may he enjoy a well-earned leisure in a prolonged old age, surrounded by his friends and by those who are the best and most enjoyed of all his friends-groups of merry little children.

CHAPTER III.

MR. BEECHER AS A PREACHER.

mr. beecher's career as a preacher has been with­out a parallel in the history of the Church in America. For thirty-five years he has preached in the metropolis of the country; in the same pulpit; with no consider­able rest; with very rare exchanges; in the same com­munity; and to a congregation in which there are not a few who have been regular attendants for a large part of this third of a century. During all this time the church has been always crowded; every sitting taken; the aisles full; frequently all standing-room occupied. To accommodate the demand for seats the pew-holders have generally consented to vacate their seats in the evening, so that every Sunday Mr. Beecher preaches to two congregations; and it is no exaggera­tion to say that he has employed as much influence to induce his own people to stay away Sunday night as most ministers do to get them out to church. During a larger part of this time his sermons have been re­ported in full in one or two newspapers, at times in three or four, and partially in several others; so that to repeat a sermon was practically impossible. He has seen the whole aspect of both public questions and theological problems change in this third of a century; but the tide has not stranded him, and he is still

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looked up to by a large body of progressive ministers in the orthodox churches as their leader; while his always bold and fearless and sometimes erratic utter­ances have not separated him from the evangelical con­nections and affiliations in which his spiritual sympa­thies as well as his birth and education hold him. Out of his ministry and in connection with, it have grown up three Sunday-schools in Brooklyn, which were models when they were organized, and are still studied as patterns of what Sunday-schools may be and do. All three are liberally supported by the church. The name of Plymouth Church has been given to numer­ous Congregational churches all over the land, and the essential spirit and doctrine of its pulpit is taught in innumerable pulpits of both that and other denomina­tions. The spiritual work of the church has kept pace with its organic growth; and while sporadic revivals, so-called, are less common in its history than for­merly, it is no uncommon thing at the Spring commun­ion to see a hundred converts sitting down for the first time at the Lord's table. The power of this preacher has been deep, wide-spread, and permanent; and these three elements are all that are needed to demonstrate the reality of pulpit power. However men may differ as to its value, its extent cannot be questioned. The study of such a polpit phenomenon is as valuable as it is interesting, even though there may be elements in the genius of the preacher which defy analysis.

1. The Sources of His Power.-Pre-eminent among the sources of Mr. Beecher's power stands his vital faith. In this respect he ranks with Paul, Luther, Wesley, Channing, with all men who have produced

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great moral and spiritual results and whose moral and spiritual powers have been founded on unwavering vital faith. Mr. Beecher is one who walks with God, who carries with him continually a conscious presence of God as of a friend, whose thoughts turn instinctive­ly and naturally to God, and who draws his life from God. The means of attaining this Divine companion­ship are, with different men, through different faculties; they look out upon God through different soul-win­dows; they approach by different avenues of thought and spiritual emotion. Mr. Beecher finds the fullest realization of companionship through ideality and love, and its result is shown in his preaching. The spirit of Christ imbues every sermon, and allegiance to Christ underlies them all. His texts are mostly from the New Testament; in the New Testament largely from the Gospels. He owed his conversion, or at least his coming out into the clear light of day, to a reading of the life of Christ in one of the Gospels at a single sitting, and ever since that event he has been studying that life and unfolding his theology and his ethics from it. It is not merely the illumination of incidents of Gospel narrative, nor his inspiring faith in the Divine origin of the Gospel and Him whose life it records, that is the power of his preaching, but above all things else it is a certain indescribable but invaluable living sympathy with Christ, the result of years of study, of prayer, and of Christian experience.

A secondary element of his power is his intellect­ual insight, or, as Dr. R. S. Storrs has called it, "men­tal sensibility, emotional responsiveness.'' His mind is quick in action, far-seeing, arriving at truths, not by

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logical processes, but by intuitions, and in this respect resembles the penetration of mind of a clear-headed woman, or still more the prophetic powers of the ancient Hebrew seers. This is at once a source of de­fect and excellency in his preaching. His keen insight will discover a distant glowing point of truth to which he at once attains, o'erleaping all the intermediate by­ways of logic and sequence, over which less brilliant minds must travel at slower pace to reach an under­standing of the final principle. He will present a truth which at the moment he perceives, with little or no effort to show its relation to other truths, and there­fore exception will be taken to the logic and consis­tency of his preaching. These exceptions will rarely be valid however, for as all truth is really consistent, the inconsistencies of Mr. Beecher are those of expres­sion and form of statement, not of the fundamental and essential principles of truth.

While this intellectual activity has its defects it is of inestimable value in producing a vigor of mind which, says Dr. R. S. Storrs, ''has made him apt and ready for every occasion; that responsiveness which is called for in every minister, but which has been called upon in him more than in any other man, perhaps, in the whole American pulpit, during the last twenty-five years. He has never been found wanting in readiness for the occasion, no matter what the subject may have been, or what the scene. His mind has been full of vigor, and has kindled spontaneously, by collision with persons, or with themes, or with circumstances, when­ever the occasion has been presented."

Akin to this intellectual insight, although not the

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same, is the wide extent and the keenness of his imag­inative faculties. He has the power of imaging, of presenting in concrete and, so to speak, visible forms, the moral meanings of beauty and deformity. It is the unique faculty of not only perceiving "ser­mons in stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything," but the still rarer power of presenting these truths to other men, and educating a duller mind to perceive them for itself.

This element of his productions meets with most im­mediate recognition and fullest treatment at the hands of writers on Mr. Beecher's preaching, and it will therefore be pardoned if rather long extracts are intro­duced here from those who have said the best things in the best way about his imagination.

Prof. Noah Porter writes: ''Mr. Beecher is emi­nently imaginative. His power of drawing ideal pict­ures of the mind's eye, and of gilding them with the sunlight of his own warm heart, is marvellous, if it be judged from the images of a single discourse. But when estimated by the streams of sermons, speeches, and lectures which seem to flow unceasingly from his fertile fancy in inexhaustible variety, it astonishes us by its productive power, as well as by the copious and felicitous dictation which this creative power has ever at command."

Prof. Hoppin discourses at greater length upon the imaginative quality of Mr. Beecher's mind in the fol­lowing extract:*

* Henry Ward Beecher. Prof. James M. Hoppin. New Englander, Vol. 29, 1870.

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"We see in him as in the old preachers and prophets the high moral uses of the imagination. He has the poet's quick eye to see the spiritual sense in the home­liest things, in the most common facts and events. These are not always, it is true, of a highly religious character. Every one who has been a boy is delighted by the humorous description of a school-boy on a Sat­urday afternoon as he roams the fields and woods with an old rusty gun whose trigger is hopelessly out of order, and who makes heroic efforts of achievements under immense difficulties. Such an illustration forces a smile, perhaps broadening into a laugh, on the most solemn face, but it is by no means sure that wholesome humor in the pulpit, when it conies naturally, when sudden arid irresistible, and when it is made subser­vient to more earnest objects, is always out of place. The medieval preachers, Latimer, Luther, and most of the old reformers, did not think so. At least this is Mr. Beecher' s effective way often of getting a hearing, of making Ms speech vivid, of rousing attention, of giving truth an incisive force, darting it into the open and unguarded place. Like Shakespeare, he first makes the people laugh and then weep; as he says in his characteristic illustration (not this we believe a pulpit one) of a milk-pan filled with milk, that to tip it on one side is of a certainty to insure a correspond­ing rise on the other. This is very hazardous in such serious work as preaching, and few can imitate Mr. Beecher in this, and doubtless many are justly offended even in him. But who is there that cannot feel the beauty and force of such a natural and simple illustra­tion as the following from the sermon on 'The Prob-

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lem of Joy and Suffering in Life'? 'When the rude ox or fierce wind has broken off the shrub, and laid it down on the ground lacerated and torn, it lies there but a few hours before the force of nature in the stem and in the root begins to root; and some new buds shoot out; and before the summer shall have gone round, the restorative effort of nature will bring out on that shrub other branches. And shall the heart of man be crushed, and God send sweet influences of comfort from above to inspirit it, and that heart not be able to rise above its desolateness'? Mr. Beecher is a poet, and it takes something of a poet to preach Christ's gospel. Who cannot understand the rough vigor of words like these: 'If you choose to take a pole and stir up men from the bottom, you will find plenty of mud;' or of the graphic and shrewd figure of digging up a tree and cutting oil its long anchoring and hold tap-root, in the sermon entitled 'The Victo­rious Power of Faith?' Illustrations so fresh, apt, timely, natural, forcible, form an element of style that may be called its vital expression, and which is, after all, nothing more than stating truth itself in such liv­ing forms that it comes home to the common mind, and, while it pleases, fastens as with a nail."

Keen and comprehensive as are these analyses of Prof. Porter and Prof. Hoppin, that of the Rev. Wil­liam M. Taylor is even more graphic and apposite.*

"Another peculiarity that distinguishes Mr. Beecher, and one which largely contributes to that originality

* Henry Ward Beecher. Rev. Wm. Taylor. Scottish Review, October, 1859.

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of which we have spoken, is to be found in the power­ful grasp and wide range of his imagination. In this respect, we believe him to be, if not the first, at least in the first line of the preachers of his day. He is a true poet, albeit, so far as we are aware, he is entirely innocent of verse. Many of these sparkling fragments have as much of the creative element in them as would make the fortune of a score of poet laureates. To use one of his own comparisons, they are like beautiful spring flowers, full of fragrant perfume, and worth more by far than acres of 'the dried hay' which is stacked up in the pages of our would-be poets. He appears to be equally at home in the beautiful, the sublime, and the terrible; but he is most in love with beauty. When he chooses, he can array himself in the rough garment of an ancient prophet, and bring before his hearers a vision of awful grandeur and ap­palling power; and there are many passages in his ad­mirable Lectures to Young Men which are almost unequalled for the vividness with which they bring dark life-pictures before the mind, and the weird spell with which they bind the reader, until, at the close, a cold shudder runs through the frame, and the very hair is made to stand on end. The description of the progress and fate of the gambler, with its four scenes and tragic end, is of the most graphic and dramatic character, and we know of few things in pulpit elo­quence which may be compared with the peroration of the lecture in which it is given. It reminds us of our great dramatist more than of any preacher; and when uttered from the pulpit, it must have fallen like a thunderbolt upon the audience. But, though thus

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able, like Prospero, to conjure up the tempest when he pleases, he delights rather to charm with the beau­tiful. He may occasionally visit Sinai with its crash­ing thunder, but his dwelling-place is on Mount Zion the 'beautiful;' besides the 'waters of Shiloli that flow softly;' and his articles and discourses abound in the liveliest conceptions and combinations of beauty. There is in the 'Summer of the Soul,' 'a rhapsody of the pen upon the tongue,' in the concluding paragraph of which, we have a series of the most delightful imagin­ings, in which one follows another, like shower after shower of variated beauty, in the best species of fire­works. The possession of such a glorious imagination, too, has enabled him to understand and appreciate the creative works of others. No man has a truer sympa­thy with poetry than he, though he seldom quotes a line of it. The sight of a fine painting will transport him into rapture, or melt him into tears; and the strains of music, like those of Handel or Beethoven, or Mendelssohn, make his heart vibrate with responsive chords. He is qualified, from his own imagination, for being an exquisite critic of the line arts; and some­times, in his discourses and essays, he has given us specimens of his ability in this respect, which manifest the most refined taste, coupled with a most discrimi­nating judgment. There is in the first series of the 'Life Thoughts' a comparison of the 71st Psalm to one of Beethoven's symphonies, which, for its own inherent beauty, as well as for its truthful description of that which is at all times most difficult to describe, must be admitted to be in the highest style of criti­cism; and when he ventures to speak of the 'bards of

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the Bible,' it is in such a way as to mark at once his strong sympathy with their impassioned utterances, and his nice appreciation of the differences which dis­tinguish them.

"But this is not all. The faculty of imaginative in­sight, which he possesses in such a high degree, enables him to see most wonderfully into those analogies be­tween the external and the internal, which it is ever the property of genius to bring to light. Hence his discourses are like strings of pearls. They are full of the finest illustrations, drawn from every source, and rising from the speaker's heart like water from a foun­tain. This is indeed their distinctive peculiarity-they are thoroughly spontaneous; they are not laid aside, and hoarded up, as we have known some men to do, until an opportunity occurs for using them; neither are they the result of the soul-travail of laborious effort, but they spring up out of the subject like way­side flowers, which are plucked as he passes, and given in all their freshness and fragrance to the companions of his journey. Nor does their naturalness strike us more than their abundance. There seems to be no limit to the exuberance of his fancy, or the wealth of his imagination.

" 'For rhetoric, he cannot open His mouth, but out there flies a trope.' "

Supplemental to his faith, his intellectuality, and his imagination, is his humanity. It is the value which he places upon man, the solicitude for material comfort and spiritual welfare, the enthusiasm of his devotion to freedom, that have characterized him as a

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man of great emotion and broad sympathies. What­ever interests men, interests him; whatever stirs men's hearts, stirs his heart deeply. This emotive power, this quick responsiveness to appeal, this susceptibility to human experiences, is at once the generating and propelling power in Mr. Beecher. It is the steam and force of his activity, it gives fire and passion to all that he utters, and brings him into close relations with all classes of men. In brief, he is an intensely human preacher.

Dr. R. S. Storrs, in his estimate of Mr. Beecher's sources of power, says of this characteristic: "I should put next, I think, his quick and deep sympathy with men; his wonderful intuitive perception of moods of mind, which make these stand out before him, like a procession passing in the street. You say, 'This is genius.' Of course it is; but it is the genius you ob­serve, not of the dramatist or the poet; it is the genius of the great preacher, who catches his suggestions, his inspiration even from the eyes or the faces, shining or tearful, of the people before him. In a lower sense, in a sense how infinitely lower and yet in a true sense, we may say that a man who has that power is like the Master who knew what was in men; who discerned it intuitively; who made every precept, every promise, every instruction, every invitation, drive at that precise state of mind which he saw palpable, and present, and personal before him."

This human sympathy can only come from a nature which includes in its breadth and generosity all classes of men, the poor and the rich alike, with whom he joys in their gladness and weeps in their sorrow. "No

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preacher," says Dr. Haweis,* "ever impressed us more with the feeling of living with the life of his people. He wishes to be one with them, not under­rating their difficulties, not imposing imaginary and disheartening standards of life and conduct, but with each new standard supplying a motive power, that so none may put their hand to the plough and turn back. Although he would always rather rejoice with them than suffer with them, he is content to bear their sor­rows, hear their confessions, and be depressed by their doubts and troubles. There is something almost Pauline in the way he seems at times to lift the bur­den of each one individually, to hold on to the souls of his people as one who cannot bear to let them go, whilst feeling that they must go, and are going 'from the great deep to the great deep.' "

Professor Hoppin says to like effect: "The elements of common-sense, of reason, of nature, of a large hu­manity, are in such preaching. When he says of a child that as soon as he knows how to love father and mother, and to say 'Dear father,' and 'Dear mother,' then he knows how to love and worship God-people say 'That is true,' and they think they have thought like this themselves before Mr. Beecher thought it, notwith­standing that they have acquired a new idea. He thus makes the people a part with himself; he takes them into his confidence; he strikes into the real current of their thinking; he speaks as if speaking out of their thought. There is a strong propulsion

* Henry Ward Beecher. H. R. Haweis. Contemporary Review, Vol. 19, 1872.

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given to his words by the combined unconscious con­sent of many minds who, as it were, listen approving­ly as if to their own ideas. He has indeed found the great secret of popular power, such as John the Bap­tist had, such as St. Bernard had, such as Luther had. He is a 'king of men' in moral and spiritual things. He takes hold of all classes. . . . He is encour­aging to those in doubt. He is a hope-bringer. He believes in man. He helps men. He is sympathetic to every kind of mind. He does not croak or scold. He is not solemn and stately, though lie is in earnest, and sometimes terribly so."

This human sympathy, and the value which he places upon the human soul and its greatest interests, is the quality of Mr. Beecher's life and preaching which has, above all other characteristics, gained for him his renown as a preacher for and to the people. It has been a subject for the most expanded and most detailed treatment in all analyses of Mr. Beecher's preaching, and the extracts quoted here are but a small part of the great store of writings on this topic.

A fifth element of Mr. Beecher's power is his large fund of common-sense. Faith, intellectual insight, imagination, humanity, all would be less prompt agents in his work as a preacher of the people, were it not for the sustaining power of his common-sense, which maintains an even balance between practical illustration and poetical imagery.

It is the fine adjustment of his faculties, and the power of a neutralizing judgment, that keeps him with­in the sphere of his hearer's understanding, and that recalls him by an instinctive impulse when he is con-

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scious of too great a flight of fancy or imagination. Many who lack this quality of level-headedness, whose efficiency is impaired by a preponderance of idealism, are termed visionary, and exert but a small degree of popular influence, but he who possesses this mental equipoise has that power of dispensing comfort and contentment which warrants brilliancies of thought and speech that weary us, "no more," as says Dr. R. S. Storrs, "than do the red banners of the cardinal-flower by the mossy brook-side, or the gorgeous flame of the golden-rod amid the ferns and brake." "The late Mr. F. W. Robertson," says an English re­viewer, estimating this characteristic of Mr. Beech-er's preaching, "managed to draw the teeth of many an offensive dogma, by attaching a highly spiritual meaning to the doctrinal letter. This is not always Mr. Beecher's method, but the most- exasperating shib­boleths become harmless in his hands, owing to his singular faculty of seeing a common-sense side to every question: in short, his gospel is emphatically the gos­pel of common-sense. In his highest flights of thought, in his deepest expressions of religious feeling, he never loses a certain solid sobriety. To combine this with an impetuous temperament and a burning enthusiasm, such as he undoubtedly possesses, is a rare if not an original gift. How well Mr. Beecher employs thought and passion, common-sense, and a quiet, mystical re­ligious fervor, perhaps they "only can quite estimate who, to use a slang expression, 'sit under him.' "

The employment of humor as an element in preach­ing has often been excepted to. Humor is not, how­ever, a characteristic of Mr. Beecher alone, for other

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great preachers are open to the same accusation. The wit and humor of Mr. Beecher, although keenly sar­castic on occasions, is invariably tempered by genial good-feeling, a quality that is often lacking in the sar­casm of his contemporaries. The true apprehension of this point, however, is given by Dr. Taylor in the ar­ticle previously quoted from.

"But we must pass on to speak of Mr. Beecher's humor, without some mention of which any sketch of him would be signally incomplete. This power is pos­sessed by him in large measure, and, like everything else about him, it is perfectly natural. He never goes out of his way to say a funny thing, nor does he ever say it merely for fun's sake, for it is with him a power more telling than the artillery of logic. We grant, indeed, that ridicule is not always a right test of truth, and we are disposed to admit that, in ordinary circum­stances, the pulpit is not the place for the display of humor; yet there are some arguments which can only be met by a reductio ad absurdwn, and it does strike us as somewhat strange that preachers who, like Rowland Hill, Berridge, Spurgeon, and many others, have given loose rein to their bit have been among the most eminently successful in their ministry. Whether this may be in consequence of their wit or, in spite of it, we are not prepared to say, we simply in­dicate the fact; but we fearlessly express our convic­tion that a witty something, even in the pulpit, is by no means so sinful as a witless nothing, however solemn it may sound. Mr. Beecher's humor is always ex­pressive, but it sometimes borders on the coarse, and in this, perhaps, more than in anything else, one feels

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disposed to question the fineness of his taste; but, then, much allowance must be made for a man of his natural temperament and rollicking disposition. He says many of these things, we believe, before he is aware that anything out of place has escaped him, and in justice to his reputation it must be mentioned that many of his most grotesque and humorous expressions have occurred in connection with the public intimations he makes, and not at all in the body of his sermons. It is his custom to make such announcements before he gives out his text, and sometimes he will talk for half an hour on topics which come thus incidentally before him, in a strain of bold and caustic criticism, which must often try severely the gravity of his audi­ence. The great redeeming feature of his wit is the sturdy common-sense that constantly pervades it; yet it must be confessed, that the very sharpness of his 'hits' tends, however paradoxically it may seem, to blunt the effect which they produce, and may not un-frequently take away from the power of appeals which otherwise would be absolutely irresistible. When, however, his humor is under the restraint of his pen, it is everything that can be desired, and the fine taste which, in the heat of extempore utterance, is for the time dethroned assumes its wonted sway."

His common-sense, his balance of faculties, in spite of the vehemence of his emotions, the clearness of his in­sight, and the brilliance of his imagination, hold him in close relations with the actualities of life. He is wings to the song, but he does not fly so far away from earth that he cannot be seen and heard. His common-sense, in spite of his ideality, makes him a practical teacher.

CHAPTER IV.

METHODS OF STUDY.

there is a very general impression, that Mr. Beecher is a brilliant man with a vivid imagination, a paint­er's power of description, a genial humor, a large heart full of fervid feeling, and that he is in conse­quence a brilliant off-hand extempore speaker; but that he is no student, is the common remark of innu­merable critics, who would have us believe that this ever-flowing spring is never filled, yet never gets dry; that he is a sort of widow's cruse, that supplies un­ceasingly, but is never supplied. Young men, am­bitious to emulate his genius, imagine they will do it best by learning to talk brilliantly, and never guess that it is equally essential to success to have something to say. In fact, however, Mr. Beecher is no mean stu­dent. That he is a peculiar and somewhat irregular one, that he studies by moods and not by the hour, is true; but it is also true that, as a rule, he never speaks on any subject which he has not made his own by previous study; and that there are few minis­ters in the New York pulpit who are more familiar with the course of modern thought than he, though there are many who keep a better account of what is in the books, and where to find it. And although it is fair to assume that he is now drawing largely

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from accumulated resources, as most men do who have passed the line of sixty years, he is still a very con­siderable student, both of men and of books.

He is, in the first place, and has been from the begin­ning, a hard student of ministerial helps. In his early ministry, perhaps before, he made a careful study of English Literature, and of the celebrated English cler­gymen. "I was," says Mr. Beecher, speaking of his early experience at Lawrenceburgh, "a great reader of the old sermonizers. I read old Robert South through and through. I saturated myself with South; I formed much of my style and of my handling of texts on his methods. I obtained a vast amount of instruction and assistance from others of these old sermonizers, who were as familiar to me as my own name. I read Barrow, Howe, Sherlock, Butler, and Edwards partic­ularly." The best analysis we ever heard of the great preachers of England, we heard once in a private con­versation from him, in which he pointed out which, preacher to study for the use of adjectives, which for the purest Anglo-Saxon, and which for other proper­ties of style. He also gave the best discrimination be­tween Dante and Milton we have ever heard or seen.

Not only has he been a student of the Greek and Latin, classic authors and of English Literature, but the whole range of Literature comes within his hori­zon. A friend once met him in a bookstore poring over a medical book. "Going to turn doctor, Mr. Beecher?" said he inquiringly. "No, sir," said Mr. Beecher promptly; "but I study everything-except theology." The latest works on mental science are on his shelves, and their leaves are cut, and their edges

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show signs of use. His seeming contempt for theology is not for the science of religion, but for that form, of it which is borrowed from the scholastic period, and which abounds in modern theological treatises; his contempt is not for abstruse study, nor for abstruse science, but for what, whether rightly or wrongly, he regards as science falsely so called.

Coupled with study of all sorts of literature, is a rare aptitude for study. His genius for acquiring is as great as his genius for imparting. It is reported that Mrs. Beecher has said that he can go into a book­store and come out again, and give a good account of the information the books contain, from having read their titles as they stand on the shelves, a divination as startling as the power attributed to De Quincey, of translating his morning newspaper into Greek, for the sake of recreation. His power of rapid absorption is illustrated by an incident in my own personal ex­perience with Mr. Beecher. I once had occasion to submit to him the proof-sheets of a new work of over two hundred pages on certain aspects of phrenology. We were at dinner; while the rest of us were finishing the second course he took a seat by the window, turned over the pages, passed on their contents, stop­ping here and there to read with more care a page or paragraph, and to criticise or commend, and at the close gave us an analysis of the book, which most men would have acquired only in a morning's study.

We believe he read Froude's History of England be­tween the dinner courses. Such reading is an unsocial habit which we do not recommend, but it is one which certainly never would be fallen into by a man who was

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"no student.'' We do not think Mr. Beecher pretends to be a Hebrew scholar; in fact we have a strong recol­lection of his somewhere disavowing Hebrew scholar­ship. But he is no mean proficient in the Greek of the New Testament. We do not suppose he would contest the palm for supremacy with the Greek professor who, on his death-bed, said he had given his life to the eluci­dation of the first declension, but he had made a mis­take, he should have confined himself to the dative case. But his chief reliance among commentators is Alford's Greek Testament, which is comprehensible only to one who has at least a respectable familiarity with the Greek; and that he is so familiar is evident alike by occasional sermons, and by his "Life of Christ." He has also a habit of relying upon special­ists in different departments for information on special points, and by their aid verifies his own impressions or less thorough information. The gold which they have dug out of the mine he mints and puts into cir­culation. The best evidence of his accuracy is the fact, that speaking and writing on so large a variety of topics, and as a combatant in controversies so many and so hot, it is very rare that critics have been able to prove him at fault in any important fact, whether stated as an argument or used as an illustration.

Turning from Mr. Beecher's general methods as a student to his more special methods of pulpit prepa­ration, he exhibits three characteristics which have in­tensified his power as a preacher.

By far the greater portion of his time is spent in gen­eral study and a much less proportion of time in special preparation for particular sermons than most

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ministers. He is always studying, whereas his habit, at least in later years, has been to prepare his Sunday morning sermon on Sunday morning, and his Sunday evening sermon in the afternoon, selecting his text, analyzing his subject, making his skeleton and notes, and writing, whatever he does write, on Sunday.

The Rev. S. B. Halliday, of Brooklyn, L. I., gives the following account from a long and intimate association with Mr. Beecher: ''To many, indeed, Mr. Beecher's preparations for the pulpit will seem as remarkable as almost anything else that may be written or said of him. The manuscript taken to his pulpit is a mere brief, emphatically a skeleton. These notes could be written usually on a single note page. Earlier in his ministry, many of his sermons, if not all, were delivered from quite full manuscripts; now only on very special occasions, perhaps half a dozen times in the last fifteen years, as when he has been severely criticised or cen­sured by the papers or pulpit, has he written out and read a reply to what had been said. Not infrequently his utterances on important points have been so grossly distorted as to be only caricatures, and these discourses were for the purpose of correcting misstatements, and were always carefully prepared. But such sermons are exceptional. He is a speaker rather than a writer; and when he writes it is always at a heat, as it were, extemporaneously. I doubt if Mr. Beecher could be asked to do anything that would be more objection­able to him than to sit down to the table to write sev­eral hours a day through the week. I know several strong dislikes of his, but none other seems so invet­erate to me; and if exigencies potent enough com-

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bined to secure a promise to write regularly, I would not be willing to guarantee the pledge. This dislike may have something to do with the uniform brevity of his skeletons.

"I have never asked Mr. Beecher, but I have never seen anything that would lead me to suppose that he was at all guilty of studying after the manner of min­isters in general, and yet, in his way, I suppose him to be always studying, reading much, seeing much, hearing more, always and in all things a digger for facts, truths, illustrations, which are stored away, and so registered as to be ever available. No memory is more miserable than his in many directions, so that ordinary arrangements or appointments are quite unreliable un­less written down and some one made responsible as prompter. In other directions it would seem as if the things he needed were produced as if to order on all occasions. In speaking he is never hesitant, except when the appearance is as if the provision was too abundant for the speaker's easy selection. Often it is quite apparent that when about to illustrate a point so many illustrations clamor for use as to be a perplexity.

''Idleness is as much a stranger in Mr. Beecher's brain as perhaps in that of any man's living. As much in recreation as at any time accumulation is going on. Many of the best sermons doubtless that Mr. Beecher has ever preached have been woven warp and woof from material gathered from the subsoiled furrow, the broadcasted seed, the growing and ripened grain, the fruits and flowers, forest and meadow, mountain and stream, trees and birds, flocks and herds, highways and hedges. The special or mechanical preparation

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for the pulpit is made only immediately preceding the appointed time for service. This is true not only of sermons at home but of special discourses. On one occasion when he was to preach a dedication sermon he arrived rather late at the minister's house; after supper, and but a brief time before the service, he prepared his notes on the margin of a newspaper in fifteen or twenty minutes, preaching from them, as was represented to me, a sermon that held the almost breathless attention of the congregation from the be­ginning to the close, occupying more than an hour in delivery.

''I am sometimes asked if Mr. Beecher never preaches any, poor sermons. My answer is I have four classifi­cations for his sermons. First: poor; for him very poor, but the opportunity seldom occurs to accuse him of preaching one of this variety. Second: he preaches a few that could be called for him no more than good ones. Third: much the larger part of his sermons are truly excellent and satisfying, and though absorb­ing from an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes, or even more, people are not often discovered looking at the clock. Fourth: not infrequently a sermon is preached that is marvellous in power and eloquence, in which preacher and people are carried up heavenward together. Such was the character of a sermon which he preached one Sunday evening some eight or nine years since, on a passage in the 8th chapter of Romans. It seemed to me and to others as well as if Mr. Beecher had been given a new dispensation, that addi­tional visions of the glory and goodness of God in Jesus Christ were vouchsafed to him; so that to say

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the congregation were electrified seems very tame. For my own part, I found no time to attempt to de­termine whether I was in the body or out of it. When the service closed I had the desire to have the opportunity to lay hands on some calm, self-possessed, thoroughly good judge of preaching, that I might de­termine how much my judgment was affected by ex­citement and partiality. Looking over the house I saw Professor Stowe standing in the pastor's pew. Has­tening to him I said: 'Professor, what about that ser­mon?' Very deliberately he answered, 'The first half of it was the most wonderful thing I ever listened to; but the thing that is most wonderful to me is how he prepared it. After dinner this noon, I was walking in the library, and when he came up I said, "Henry, I would like to have you preach from those words some time," to which he immediately responded, "May as well preach from them to-night as any time." ' He went to his afternoon sleep, came down toward six o'clock, took a cup of tea, went into his study, and made the preparation from which he preached this sermon. This sermon I of course place in the fourth class, and would as soon think of attempting to describe Niagara as to describe it, or its effects upon myself or others. I was very glad to have Professor Stowe speak as emphatically as he did. I think that in the fifteen years that I have heard Mr. Beecher preach I have never heard a sermon from him that in any respect ex­celled this one, prepared in less than two hours.

"Mr. Beecher places no value upon a manuscript, and after being used it may be obtained for the ask­ing. His sermons are never repeated. I do not be-

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lieve Mr. Beecher could preach a sermon the second time so that those who heard it first would recognize it. He has a sort of contempt or disgust for what he has written or used. When it was first proposed to issue his sermons in volumes the understanding was that he should revise those that should be selected and prepared by the gentleman who was to edit them. I heard him say that when the first was sent to him at the farm, reading a little while he was so disgusted with it that he went to the window, gave it a kick, sat down and wrote the editor if he had not preached anything better worth publishing than that, not to send him any more, and added, 'I am never so re­minded of the dog returning to its vomit, and the sow to her wallowing in the mire, as when I undertake to look at what I have written or preached.' Ordinarily in preaching very little attention is given to the notes or memoranda. Many times I have known them not to be looked at once from beginning to end. Some­times he appears to be reading for several minutes, and it is always with deliberation, and the statement of some particularly important point, and his eyes are not raised until the statement is completed. But all this time he is not reading, as I have ascertained again and again from his manuscripts, there being nothing written that would occupy a half minute in reading.

"The readiness of his facility of preparation is just as manifest in addresses on special occasions as in his own pulpit. He was requested to make an address at the anniversary of the American Missionary Association in the autumn of 1873. The services were held in the Congregational Church, Newark, of which Dr. Wm. B.

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Brown was the pastor. Sitting in the pew Mr. Beecher listened perhaps twenty minutes to the proceedings, then covering his eyes with his hand for some two minutes, he took up one of the programmes and wrote on a blank leaf in pencil the following memoranda:

" 'I. Missionary work-highest of all or disinterested work.

" 'II. Of all great work going on now-this seems least-and for its lack of interest-the high­est power. 1 Cor. over again. " '

" 'III. These men must be educated.

1. For their sake.

2. Liberty without education a curse.

3. For our own.

" 'IV. America. God's test of Christianity.'

"The above is an exact copy of what he took into the pulpit, and which lie threw in my lap when he came down, saying, 'There's my sermon.' In the account of the proceedings published in the Society's magazine for December is this allusion to the address:

" 'The speech of Mr. Beecher, in which many of his Mends thought he surpassed himself, was so far ex­tempore that the notes for it were written after he entered the church, on the blank leaf of an "Order of Exercises," which he found in the seat. We exceed­ingly regret that no full report was taken of it, for it deserved a larger audience than that which listened to it-large as that was.' "

II. But rapid and brief as is Mr. Beecher's for­mal preparation, he rarely, if ever, speaks on any subject unless he has made thorough study of it, a

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study often extending over months and years. It is a mistake to suppose, as many do, that he speaks with­out preparation, because there are occasions when his oratory is the product of a sudden inspiration.

Mr. Beecher is conscientious above most men, not to speak on any subject unless he is familiar with it, nor unless he has a clear conception in mind of what he is going to say, and why he is going to say it. The preparation thus made, Mr. Beecher broods his sermon. He rarely or never preaches a sermon that is not ripe. He rarely or never breaks the shell before the bird is ready to come out. His sermons are never addled eggs. On his study-table there lies, or used to, a little note-book with flexible covers about the size of a sheet of commercial note-paper. It is full of sketches of sermons, hints, subjects, themes, with occa­sionally a fully drawn out skeleton. His pocket is generally half full of letters, and on the back of from, one to half a dozen of these, thoughts for sermons are jotted down as they strike him in the cars, the hotel, the steamboat. And there they wait till, revolved over and over in his fertile brain at all odd moments, they have drawn to themselves juice from much thinking and are ripe and mellow, and ready to be plucked and pre­sented.

Several years ago he was to preach an ordination sermon in New England. I was then carrying Harper's edition of Mr. Beecher's sermons through the press, and meeting Mr. Beecher on the street, he said, "I think I shall preach a sermon at --'s ordi­nation which you had better look at, on pulpit dynam­ics-that is, on the origin of pulpit power, and the

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methods of pulpit ministration." When the sermon came out it proved to be a description of the advantages and happinesses incidental to the ministry as a pro­fession. The next time I met him I asked for an ex­planation. "Where is that sermon on pulpit dynam­ics?" said I. "Oh, it wasn't ripe," he replied; "I shall get something out of it yet, however." And he has; has got out of it what seems to us one of the best pieces of work of his life, the ''Yale Lectures on Preaching." Thus he rarely goes into the pulpit or on the platform with crude or unformed thoughts. During the week, two or three topics lie in his mind as those from which he will, most probably, select his next Sabbath's discourses. His thoughts turn to them; his eyes gather illustration for them; his pencil some­times, though not often, jots them down. The sermon, however, is rarely definitely outlined in his mind until the Sabbath comes. Then after breakfast he goes into his study, feels his various themes, takes one that seems ripest, skeletons the outline, selects his text, and makes his notes. But while he does not speak on any subject until he has thoroughly familiarized him­self with it, he then speaks with perfect abandon. All his caution is exercised in the decision of the question whether he will speak at all; none in the actual speaking.

III. Mr. Beecher studies men as he would liter­ature, and indeed even more. If he desires information on any subject he seeks men who are eminent in the different departments of life, obtains their knowledge, assimilates it, and reproduces it with the stamp of his own mind and personality. This familiarity with men

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in all walks of life is a chief element of his success, and thus one of the first conditions of his work in the pulpit or on the platform is a knowledge of his audience.

When he first visited England during the Civil War, he was besought to speak, but he persistently declined; waited, during his travels, first in England, then on the continent; studied the English temper; studied the needs and sentiments of each separate locality; and then prepared for his campaign. Another man would have spent the time in writing one oration; he spent it in unconsciously studying his audiences, so that when he came to his work, he made no two speeches alike, and adapted each one with marvellous skill to the particular locality where it was uttered. It is thus that the study of human nature is not only an integral part but an essential part of his preparation for the pulpit. As a sharp-shooter studies his mark, Mr. Beecher studies his man. Some one in prayer-meeting alluding to one of his sermons and its effect, referred to the arrow shot at a venture. "I never shoot at a venture," said Mr. Beecher; "I always aim, though I often miss my mark and bring down unexpected game." When Mr. Beecher was about to deliver his famous course of lectures to young men in Indianapolis, which was then a great gambling centre, he succeeded in getting one of the gambling fraternity, and a leader among them, to visit his study. They spent the morning together, and the result was a sermon on gambling, the character of which is indicated by the following incident. A few evenings after its delivery, Mr. Beecher met a young man at

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an evening party, who thought to crack a joke at the expense of the preacher. "How could you describe a gambling-saloon so accurately," said the young man, "if you have never been there?" "How do you know it is accurate, if you have never been there?" re­plied Mr. Beecher. Rev. Wm. M. Taylor says: ''Those who know him best say that he studies his sermons in the shops and stores, in the streets, and in the ferry­boats; and we believe it, for they are like the produc­tions of a man who has gone through the city with his eyes open. They seem to have been struck out of him, if we may use such an expression, by the sights he sees and the sounds he hears in the midst of that whirling tide of human life that bubbles and and hisses and roars around him, and his purpose by them is to descend into its depths and bring up thence the souls of straggling men, to him more precious far than the silver cup or glittering pearl in the diver's eye."

CHAPTER V.

MR. BEECHER'S THEOLOGY.

in speaking of Mr. Beecher's theology, it might seem to be sufficient to print simply some one of the several sermons which he has preached and published, in the course of his lifetime, defining his theological position. But it is always possible for the critic to assert that these sermons do not really embody the spirit and drift of his teaching; that, intentionally or unintentionally, they are more conservative than the general course of his instructions. It is indeed not uncommon for public men to retreat, or at least to provide a way of retreat, from positions taken in a moment of impulsive frank­ness, and which they find too far in advance for permanent occupancy. This is very common among political orators and it is not unknown in the pulpit. Instead, therefore, of referring the reader to any of these general and comprehensive statements prepared and published by Mr. Beecher himself, I undertake the more difficult task of indicating Mr. Beecher's general theological position as exhibited in the whole course of his public ministry. In doing this I confine myself to no one epoch; the quotations from various utterances, ranging through a third of a century, show what is certainly the case, that with changes of opinion respecting particular formulas, there has been a steady

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increase of spiritual faith, and an undiminished hold upon the great central truths of the Gospel as held by the great body of Evangelical teachers. That this is his own belief respecting himself is very certain from a comparatively recent sermon on Religious Doubt.*

"There have been things which I supposed were true, but which year by year, as I learned what they were, and understood their measure and their worth, I have dropped one after another; and yet the change has been, not in the direction of loss, but in the direction of gain. I differ from most of my brethren in the ministry who suspect my orthodoxy, not in that I have abandoned so much, but in that I have taken on so much."

Not only Mr. Beecher's methods of expression are peculiar to himself, but his system of philosophy is also his own. And while isolated paragraphs taken from their connection might naturally enough seem to put him in antagonism to the Evangelical churches on-some important points, any candid and comprehensive survey of his published sermons abundantly justifies his own declaration, that "for twenty-five years, in newspapers, in printed volumes, as well as from the pulpit, I have preached and printed, in every conceiv­able form, the truth of the inspiration of the sacred Scripture, the existence and government of God, the doctrine of the Trinity, the divinity of Christ as very God, the universal sinfulness of man, the atonement of Christ, the doctrine of a change of heart, the effi­cacious influence of the Holy Spirit in regeneration,

* Sermon preached in Plymouth Church, Dec. 19th, 1880; published in Christian Union, Jan. 4th, 1881.

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and the doctrine of retribution, both here and here­after."*

Nor is it true, as often asserted, that Mr, Beecher is indifferent respecting belief, or hostile to creeds. His preaching has always been essentially doctrinal, em­phatically so during the last ten or fifteen years. He has again and again presented his own theological views in systematic form, the latest of these statements being a sermon entitled "A Statement of Belief," preached July 11th, 1880, published in the Christian Union for July 14th, 1880, and afterward reprinted in tract form.+ He has repeatedly emphasized in sermons the importance of clear and careful thinking and of definite and positive belief. This is accompanied, how­ever, with a very emphatic and positive declaration that Christian faith is more than orthodox belief; that men may be either better or worse than their creed; that life, not opinion, is the test of Christian experi­ence; that if a man lives like a Christian he is to be recognized as a Christian without regard to the church or the creed to which he belongs; that a great many of the questions about which theologians have quar-

* From a letter by Mr. Beecher to Rev. Mr. Morrison, editor of the Presbyterian Weekly, written in reply to one asking for information re­specting his theological views. The letter bears date January 8th, 1878.

+ Since this chapter was put in type Mr. Beecher, in withdrawing from the New York and Brooklyn Association of Congregational Ministers, has made a statement of his theological opinions which is reprinted in the closing pages of this book. This chapter remains unaltered, and thus the reader can judge for himself how far this general summary and Mr. Beecher's special statement of his views agree.

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relled are questions about which they are wholly igno­rant, while concerning others belief is relatively unim­portant, because it produces no appreciable influence on character or conduct. But with these qualifications or limitations, if such they be, he lays great emphasis upon correctness of belief. A single quotation will suffice to represent his position on this subject.

"It makes all the difference in the world what you believe in respect to those truths that are connected with godliness, with purity of thought, purity of mo­tive, purity of disposition. You must believe right about them. About those truths that are related to the ordi­nances of the Church; to the framework of the Church; to the question as to whether the ministry are suc­cessors of the apostles, or whether each one receives his commission direct from the Spirit of Clod in his heart- about those truths you may believe either way. You may believe that the Episcopal, the Methodist, the Baptist, the Congregational, or the Presbyterian Church is the true Church; you may believe that the Sabbath should be observed in this or in that way-you may believe any of these things, and be a good man. But with reference to the truths that are related to the character of man as a sinner having need of a spiritual change; with reference to the truths that stand related, to man's responsibility to God, and to the government of God; with reference to the truths that relate to your immortality-with reference to all these great, vital, experimental truths of the Bible, if you believe at all, you must believe right, or woe be upon you! There is a right way and a wrong way of believing in respect to them. The wrong way leads to disaster, and

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the right way to benefit. Although with regard to ordinances, and creed-forms, and usages, it does not matter much how a man believes, yet with regard to those truths that relate to his immortal well-being it is very important how he believes.'' *

This view underlies all of Mr. Beecher's methods of presentation of theological truths. He believes that right belief is important, and that it should be accurate, careful, and well defined, but he believes also that it should be practical, that religion should be not a theoretical but an applied science. From many itera­tions of this view I select one only, uttered twelve years later than the one quoted above: "Now I tell, you that in religious matters it is in the ratio of right-know­ing that a man is likely to be a right-minded man. The knowledge does not need to be of an abstract form; practical knowing may take the place of philosophical knowing; but to think, to think rightly, to think sharply and definitely, and to link thoughts with each other, is indispensable. Right-thinking, sedulously carried forward to mark out the path, of life and character, is important. And he who teaches the young that they must scorn the idea of precise beliefs, and that the better way is to come up generally, is a traitor to the young. Every school, every academy, every college, every university, and every department in them, is a protest against this notion of mere loose, vague, indifferent thinking. Object to this system if you please; object to that system if you please; object to

* Sermon preached in Plymouth Church. Sabbath morning, Oct. 6th, 1861. Harper's edition, vol. ii., p. 297.

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abstract forms if you please; make as many criticisms about proportions as you please; but the great fact that men need to believe accurately, and that their beliefs are the foundations on which they build, is of transcendent importance." *

A broad gulf separates the Rationalistic and the Evangelical schools of thought. Evangelical faith re­gards man as not merely an imperfectly developed being, but also as sinful and guilty before God, and needing divine forgiveness and a new and divine impulse in order to enter upon a true and godly life. It believes that this divine forgiveness is disclosed and assured to man through the Bible and in the person of Jesus Christ. It believes that in Jesus Christ there has been, made a manifestation to man, not merely of the character and attributes, but of the very person and being of God Himself, so that man need no longer grope like an orphan after an unknown Father. It believes that this God perpetually vouchsafes His presence and His power to His children, inspiring and guiding them in their endeavor after a divine life, and it teaches their accountability to Him, not merely for their moral con­duct in daily life one toward another, but for their ac­ceptance or rejection of that aid which He proffers them and that life to which He invites them. To one who thus holds the helplessness of man left to him­self and the helpfulness of God vouchsafed to him, it is very easy to believe that this helpfulness has been disclosed in a written or spoken revelation, in an in-

* Preached in Plymouth Church, June, 1873; printed in Plymouth Pulpit, tenth series, page 304.

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carnate manifestation, in a divine providence, in a spiritual experience given in answer to prayer, and in miracles afforded as the seal, or witness, or evidence authenticating the revelation and manifestation. In other words, the doctrines of Atonement, Incarnation, Regeneration, Inspiration, and Prayer all centre around and grow naturally out of the fundamental belief that man is helpless in his sin, and that God is a helpful and a saving God. Now while it is true that Mr. Beecher differs from most of his Evangelical brethren in his philosophical interpretation of some of these doc­trines, notably the doctrines of Inspiration, Atonement and Incarnation, it is certain that he is emphatically and distinctively Evangelical in the general structure of his mind and his teaching, that he lays more emphasis even than most ministers on the actual and active help­fulness of God toward men, and the helplessness of men without God.

1. He maintains and emphasizes the distinction between inspiration and revelation. Revelation he re­gards as exceptional and episodical. The Bible is a book which contains matter revealed by the Spirit of God to men selected to receive and communicate the revelation. Inspiration, on the other hand, he holds to be not an exceptional or episodical phenomenon.

"I believe," he says,* "that God in every age and in all nations has moved upon the hearts of men by His Holy Spirit, inspiring them to whatever is true, pure and noble. I believe that the Scriptures, the Old

* Sermon preached in Plymouth Church, Sunday morning, July11th, 1880. Christian Union, July 14th, 1880.

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Testament and the New, contain the fruit of that in­spiration as it was developed in the Hebrew nation, and I fully and heartily accept the Bible according to the apostolic and only declaration of divine inspiration: All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for in­struction in righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works." He holds that there are different degrees of inspiration in different books of the Bible; "that the teachings of Jesus Christ are of larger scope and of more value than the teachings of Moses; the narratives of the Gospels are more valuable than the history of Ruth and Esther, beautiful as these are." He does not believe that the Scripture is a guide to scientific knowledge, and he re­jects and repudiates with great vigor the notion of ver­bal inspiration, and even of plenary inspiration in the full and proper sense of that term. He regards the Book as inspired for moral and spiritual purposes and to be measured only by its moral and spiritual uses. He says:

"The Bible is a practical book, set up for the guidance of life. If you have seen old charts you have noticed strange forms, all sorts of animals, represented in them; you have seen grotesque ornaments around about them; and yet in the middle there was the ocean; and there were, I had almost said, some of the great landmarks of the sea by which the sailors steered; and the charts were good in spite of all the curious and vain imaginings that had been described around their borders, or