over the Braintree church, and many has been the reverend head which he has seen laid low during his own protracted career. He has in the ministry at Brooklyn, New York, a son, who is one of the most rising and eloquent men of the day, so that when his own work is over, in all probability, the honored name of Storrs will not be absent from the list of pulpit orators. But may the period be long distant when the subject of our sketch shall be called from his toil to his triumph,

"And wave his palm and wear his crown,
And with the Elders cast them down."

CHAPTER XX.

HENRY WARD

BEECHER.

PLYMOUTH CHURCH. APPEAR

ANCE AND STYLE OF THE PREACHER. SKETCH OF REV. HUGH M'NEILE, OF LIVERPOOL.

ALREADY have I, in this volume, sketched two members of that family composed of ministers, authors and authoresses, which rejoices in the name of Beecher. And when, a short time since I informed a friend that I intended to limn the lineaments of a third, he shook his head, and observed that he feared my book might be too

Beechery. Well, I will take the chance of that, reader, but I have little fear, myself, on such a score. There are many, to whom I think a sketch of that almost universal favorite, Henry Ward Beecher, will be acceptable.

Doubtless if the family to which the subject of our sketch belongs had lived in the old times of foray, feud, and raid, it would, from its energy and decision, its fierce battlings with vested wrongs, and its many triumphs in well foughten fields have earned the name of the Bold Beechers. The head of it is, as we have seen elsewhere, a veteran crusader in a cause which has for its aim the destruction of drunkenness, and the elevation to sobriety of those who have sunk beneath the attacks of the Giant Despair of Intemperance. And well and worthily have the children seconded the efforts of their sire! At this moment it would be difficult to name another family which comprises among its members, male and female, so much talent, and talent employed, too, in the cause of humanity. For my own part I have no idea of waiting until people are dead before I render my tribute of applause and admiration; and while I would not bespatter any man or woman with fulsome adulation, so neither would I from a false delicacy withhold from them what credit is justly their due. Therefore, I now proceed to speak in terms of eulogy of one, than whom no clergyman in America is more popular, or who promises to accomplish a greater amount of good.

It was a night of darkness and of storm when I went first to hear Henry Ward Beecher; but "the fame of is name" had reached me far over the water in another

land, and a blinding snow could not detain me at home when such a man was to preach. On reaching Plymouth church, in Orange street, Brooklyn, N. Y., I found crowds pressing into the church, although it yet wanted more than half an hour of the time of commencing the service. The inside of the house was crammed.

Now a man who can gather round his pulpit, Sunday after Sunday, such an audience as I saw, must be a no ordinary character. The Plymouth church is a very spacious and handsome structure, and I was informed that when Mr. Beecher preaches it is always filled. At this I do not wonder, for few men possess such powers of attraction, especially as regards the young. This great church is a frightful place for a man to deliver himself in,—a frightful place, unless he can so charge his words, that instead of gazing round upon vast vacancy, instead of giving forth his words to

"Bellow the vast and boundless deep,"

they shall be so attractive as to crowd the spacious place. How many men, think you, could be found to fill this church? How many preachers could attract so immense a multitude? but I have threaded my way to the place, when not only the pews, but the aisles and every other available space was occupied. The man who did this, and one of the very few that have the power to do this, I believe in all America, is Henry Ward Beecher.

The preacher rises from his seat and stands before us. At once you perceive that he has the Beecher face, the large liquid eyes, the full, lower part of the face, and

the expansive brow. He appears more youthful than I had supposed, judging from his wide-spread celebrity. Nay, he looks, in some respects, almost boyish. There is great power in that fine open face, much speculation in those eyes, a world of sarcasm and humor in that mouth. You can see at once that his face is the index of a fearless, generous, liberal soul, and such I have reason to believe Mr. Beecher possesses. On the whole, as you look at his face and person you cannot but come to the conclusion that a man of mark is before you.

His voice is rich and powerful, and he reads well. But let us listen as he discourses, and glad are we that he extemporizes. Did he read his sermons, we venture to assert that he would not be half so effective as he is. We have heard that in private life our preacher is gentle and playful; and you will find some difficulty in conceiving, that the man so companionable in the parlor, romping with children, bearing any amount of contradiction, is the same you behold so apparently bold and vehement. Unconquerable will, and unconquerable gentleness; these are prominent attributes of his mind.

I have fancied that Mr. H. W. Beecher has two methods of addressing his hearers: his morning discourses are,

"Orient pearls at random strung,"

In the evening, he is frequently diffuse alike in ideas and utterance, dilates, we should say, too much; but in the morning, as we have heard him, he more usually addresses the experimental life of the Christian; he

speaks more pertinently, his remarks are more "like goads." They are more rememberable; they are more suggestive; they appeal more to general information and knowledge. Perhaps something of this is usually the case with extemporaneous preachers. Morning services have more of gentleness: the audience is smaller, more Christian, and more loving. It is almost a test of a minister's Christian life—does he find himself more at home preaching morning or evening? The holier heart will love the morning usually the best, for it will address the nobler auditory: in the evening there is more of human passion, more of effort, more of display. John would preach best in the morning, talking to little children; Peter would preach best at night,—impulsive, fervid, vehement. We love our preacher's morning hortations best; but the evening is the time of crowds and thronging multitudes; and then we can very well believe that he, unconsciously to himself, throws aside the axiom and the hint, and commits himself to a stream of declamatory fervor. He does not speak without instructing; and even in the very height of his heat and tempest of speech, every word does appear to be bathed in common sense. Common sense is the great characteristic of his style: he appeals to the understanding. Your teacher is perfectly honest with you; he does not perplex you with technicalities; every word is downright and plain. No wonder that the poor and illiterate as well as the rich and learned flock to hear him. Oh, what a relief it must be to listen to a man, a capable man, who points every word so that it tells; who sees,