[For the National Magazine.]

A SPECIMEN OF WILLBUR FISK. T is said of one of old that, wishing to dispose of his house, he went down to Rome for the purpose, and took a brick as a sample. We may be guilty of like folly in attempting a specimen or two of the eloquence of Dr. Fisk. But such a holy charm seems to linger around this precious name, that anything of his history, snatched from oblivion, will be read with interest. Nature had given him a form of superior dignity and grace, and a countenance beaming with intellect and loveliness. She had also imparted to him a voice of richest melody, with which in holy songs the itinerant was wont to make the old forests of Northern Vermont resound. It was his frequent custom to sing some wellknown hymn at the close of his discourse. One present at Charlestown, on such an occasion, has told me that so plaintively and touchingly did he sing one of the most familiar Methodist hymns, that scarcely a dry eye could be seen. His person, manners, and voice, all conspired to make him an orator. As he rose to your view in the pulpit, these would at once challenge your attention; but when he opened his lips and began to speak, it was so calmly, so impressively, so logically, that he had secured your judgment as well as your prejudices. He usually proceeded in this manner, unfolding his subject clearly and comprehensively, enlivening his discourse by gems of thought and expression, thrown out so naturally, that the speaker scarcely seemed to know their beauty or worth. Of this style of address, the sermon on "Christ's Kingdom not of this World" is a happy illustration. All this, however, in his best efforts, was only preparatory to a conclusion most overwhelming in its appeal. On these occasions, as he proceeded, his form would seem to become more erect, his countenance more animated, his eye lit up with the excitement of the hour; and with an utterance more rapid than usual, his musical voice would ring out the most heart-searching denunciations of sin, or the most melting exhibitions of a Redeemer's love. Tears, and sighs, and low responses, gave evidence of the power which the truth possessed. An instance occurred at Lynn, Mass., in his earlier ministry, in which, while thus presenting the case of the sinner, one man despair

ingly cried, "Good God! is this my

case?"

It was not our purpose to describe the general characteristics of his preaching, but simply to illustrate one or two of its peculiar features. Everything was laid under contribution to his public perform

ances.

His reading, meditations, visits, conversations, walks, all were taxed for material for his frequent sermons and addresses. His illustrations, like those of his Divine Master, were taken from familiar objects. Even the passing events of the hour of worship were often made to tell upon the interest of the subject.

At one time entering a law-office, he saw conspicuously posted up, "Be Short." Preaching the next Sabbath, he stated the case, claiming that if men of this world were so earnest in the business of life, Christians should let nothing interfere with eternity; but, putting their fingers in their ears, run, crying, "Life! Life! Eternal Life!"

At another time, while preaching in Middletown, he heard the town clock strike. He had been speaking with great earnestness. As the bell tolled the hour, he paused a moment. "Time," says he, "bids me stop; but vast eternity says, Plead on." And he did plead on, until angels must have been astonished that a single sinner could refuse to yield.

At New-London he once preached from, "Beginning at Jerusalem." The fact in the text he regarded: 1. As an evidence of the truth of the gospel; for Christ sent it to be first preached where it was best known; and if false, could have been most easily refuted. 2. As an evidence of the benevolence of the gospel; for he required it to be preached first to his murderers. The day before, he had visited a man condemned for the murder of his own wife and children. In the course of the sermon, he described his emotions on his way to the prison: "Can I," thought he, "offer pardon and heaven to so vile a wretch as he? Then," said he, "I thought, Beginning at Jerusalem.' The gospel was preached to the very murderers of Jesus Christ; and surely I can offer it to this man." And then, O how he triumphed in Christ's ability " to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by him!"

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One more illustration must suffice. His text may have been, "The heavens declare the glory of God," &c. He called

and setteth down at the right hand of the Father. It is not difficult to conceive what an interest such a painter as Dr. Fisk could give to such a scene.

Our space will allow us to present but another case: one in which both the aptitude of his illustrations and the power of his descriptions were perfectly exemplified. He had just set foot on the shores of America, after an absence in Europe of some fifteen months. Before leaving for his home at Middletown, he tarried a few days in the city of New-York; and on Sabbath morning, in the Forsyth-street church, preached from those words, no doubt in such perfect harmony with his feelings: "Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage." Psalm cxix, 54. It was a sermon of surpassing beauty and effect. He showed how appropriately life was termed a pilgrimage; and that, as such, it had many inconveniences and evils; but to the Christian, light was ever springing out of darknesshope out of despair-joy out of sorrowsongs in his pilgrimage." One of the sources of this light, and hope, and joy, to the soul, was the prospect of a bright and blissful future. To illustrate this thought, he introduced a scene which he had witnessed in crossing the Alps; and so glowingly presented it to the congregation, that, says a hearer, it must have been heard to be appreciated. As they ascended, it seems, a heavy veil of rack and mist was spread out upon the mountains, giving to the rugged pathway of our travelers a most gloomy aspect. In a little while, however, the cloud and mist parted; and through an opening, as if it were a window, they could " see far, far upward, in the blue ether, the silver turrets of the mountain-top, throwing back the bright beams of a cloudless sun. The world," continued the speaker, "around us was, indeed, a world of shadows; but that world, of which we gained a distant glimpse, was one of unearthly brightness. So we dwell in a vale of clouds and tears, but betimes we catch a distant, but bright

vision of the

'House of our Father above,
The palace of angels and God.'

"These wake up songs in the house of our pilgrimage. Yes," cried the speaker, in tones and with an emphasis peculiar to

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"By faith we already behold
The lovely Jerusalem here:
Her walls are of jasper and gold,
As crystal her buildings are clear.
"Immovably founded in grace,
She stands as she ever hath stood;
And brightly her Builder displays,
And flames with the GLORY OF GOD."

PASCAL-HIS LIFE AND WORKS.

BOUT the beginning of the seventeenth century, two young priests, who had been previously fellow-students at Louvain, passed some years together in mutual study at Bayonne. The writings of St. Augustine principally engaged them; and, as a natural consequence, they both imbibed an ardent and life-long love for his peculiar views. One of these was Jean Baptiste du Verger d'Hauranne, who afterward became the Abbé de St. Cyran and the spiritual director of Port Royal. The other was the equally well-known Cornelius Jansen, subsequently Bishop of Ypres. Smitten with so intense a love for the distinguishing tenets of St. Augustine, the latter made it the business of his life to arrange and systematize them in a volume under the title of "Augustinus." Being suddenly cut off by the plague in 1638, his scarcely-finished work was immediately published by his friend. At once the smoldering fire of the controversy was kindled into a new flame. The Jesuits rose in unanimous cry against the ill-fated volume; and so high and fierce was their indignation that they are even said to have demolished a splendid monument erected over the grave of its author, and disturbed with impious hand his remains. One of their number, Nicolas Cornet, forthwith set himself to extract its alleged heresy in the shape of five propositions-which, by a bull of the pope, dated 31st May, 1653, were pronounced to be "heretical, false, rash, impious, and blasphemous." The friends of Jansen, however, maintained that the condemned propositions were not to be found in his book. Another papal decree was accordingly obtained, declaring that the propositions were not only heretical, but that they were contained in the "Augustinus." But this, as a matter of fact, the Jansenists boldly (!) pronounced to be beyond even the pope's infallibility to determine; and so the war of words raged more bitterly and hopelessly than ever.

Among others who engaged in the strife was the celebrated Anthony Arnaud, doctor of the Sorbonne, and brother of the abbess. He was among the most illustrious of the band of students who had

gathered around St. Cyran in the retirement of Port Royal des Champs; and, on the death of the former, who perished from the effects of his sufferings in the cause of his friend, Arnaud in a measure assumed his place. Deeply interested in the progress of the controversy, it was only to be expected that he should personally join in it. The old antagonist of Descartes and Malebranche was not likely to fear an encounter with the Jesuits. He accordingly published, in the year 1655, two letters on the subjects of discussion. Immediately he was made the object of the most unrelenting hostility. Two propositions were extracted from the second letter, upon which his colleagues of the Sorbonne sat in judgment, and which, after a prolonged discussion, they pronounced to be heretical, and consequently expelled him from their society. This decision was obtained by a very disgraceful combina*tion of parties; the Dominicans having united with their old enemies the Jesuits

against the defenders of Jansen, and subscribed a form of condemnation in which the two parties could only have agreed by interpreting the same terms in entirely

different senses.

But in the mean time, and just before this sentence was published, a new antagonist had entered the field against the Jesuits. The first of the "Provincial Letters" had appeared. The story of the origin of these inimitable letters is thus

told :

"While Arnaud's process before the Sorbonne was still in dependence, a few of his friends, among whom were Pascal and Nicole, were in the habit of meeting privately at Port Royal to consult on the measures they should adopt. During these conferences, one of their number said to Arnaud, Will you really suffer your self to be condemned like a child, without saying a word, or telling the public the real state of the case?" The rest concurred; and in compliance with their solicitations, Arnaud, after some days, produced and read before them a long and serious vindication of himself. His audience listened in coolness and silence, upon which he remarked, 'I see you don't think highly of my production, and I believe you are right; but,' added he, turning himself round and addressing Pascal, 'you, who are young, why cannot you produce something?" The appeal was not lost. Pascal engaged to try a sketch which they might fill up; and, retiring

to his room, he produced, instead of a sketch, the first Letter to a Provincial. On reading this to his assembled friends, Arnaud exclaim

ed, That is excellent! That will do; we must have it printed immediately."

Pascal, by a happy intuition of genius, had just seized the right way in which to treat such a subject so as to win the public interest and favor. By bringing his clear and penetrating intellect and sound sense to bear upon the jargon which had become mingled up with the controversy, and the gross absurdity and injustice which had characterized it on the part of the Jesuits, he threw a flood of light upon it which engaged the most general curiosity, and left his opponents without any reply. The first letter fell like an unexpected dart among them, striking dismay into their ranks; and as the others followed at irregular intervals, becoming more pointed and fatal in their effects, their idle rage knew no bounds, and, unable to meet them with any effective weapons of argument, they could only exclaim, Les menteurs immortelles "The immortal liars." Keen and perspicuous logic, the most effective and ingenious turns of statement, the most eloquent earnestness, the liveliest wit, the most good-tempered, yet unrelenting raillery, were all combined by Pascal in these memorable attacks. Nothing can be more felicitous than the manner in which he blends these various qualities, the unceasing intermixture of light and shadow, of the casual conversational pleasantry, the most careless sidelong strokes of sarcasm with the gravest invective and the most solemn argument, imparting to all the charm of dramatic interest. "Molière's best comedies," says Voltaire, “do not excel them in wit, nor the compositions of Bossuet in sublimity." "There is more wit," echoes Perrault, "in these eighteen letters, than in Plato's Dialogues, more delicate and artful raillery than in those of Lucian, more strength and vigor of reasoning than in the Orations of Cicero."

It will not be necessary to present the reader with any analysis of these celebrated letters. They range over a great diversity of topics with the same rare compass and flexibility of comprehension-the same inimitable grace and facility of expression. The reader is carried captive with the intermingled flow of humor and power-laughter, astonishment, and seriThe first two, which were published before the promulgation of the