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ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS

AND

BY

C. VAN SANTVOORD.

NEW YORK:

M. W. DODD, PUBLISHER,

59 CHAMBERS STREET.

1 856.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by

M. W. DODD,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of

New York.

STEREOTYPED BY R- CRAIGHEAD,

Thomas B. Smith, printer,

82 & 84 Beekman Street. && Vesey St., N. Y.

PREFACE.

JoriN Foster, in one of his conversations, remarks, that an author
will sometimes plead haste in preparing and putting forth a book, as
if there were a famine of books, and awkward defects were to be
overlooked on the score of benevolent zeal to satisfy the pressing de¬
mands of the public. No plea of this sort will be set up on behalf of
the present unpretending volume, the author feeling pretty conscious,
that did such famine really exist — as it never has existed since the
time of Solomon — there is little in this book to appease its gnawings.
The discourses were given in the ordinary course of a ministry to the
Reformed Dutch Church of Saugerties, New York, and between the
years 1848 and 1854. The miscellaneous papers, with one exception,
were contributed to various periodicals during the same interval.
Several of the discourses have been given to the press separately, and
the present purpose is little more than to put in a tangible and fixed
form what has hitherto existed in a fugitive one. If the reader re¬
mark the seeming incongruity of placing moral and critical essays, and
discourses such as those on Adams, Clay, and Webster, side by side
with those which are strictly religious, it is proper to observe, that
the volume being miscellaneous in its character, the author is not
“ shut up” to the treatment of a specific class of subjects, while his
own taste and judgment are alone responsible for the selections
made. In those discourses on the illustrious men mentioned, whose
names and services are historic, the design has been to illustrate

IV

PREFACE.

by striking and memorable examples, tlie patriotic virtues, the
earnest life-long devotion to the interests of our noble country
and her benign institutions, and from the survey of these ex-
emples, to draw out Avhatever wholesome lessons they may be
found fit to furnish. The author has only to add, that he shall
feel no disappointment if the reading of this volume is confined to
the not very wide circle of those who know him personally, or at
least to the denomination within which his lot is cast. Should its
circulation, however, chance to stray beyond this narrow boundary,
he is happy to believe that the subjects treated in the volume are
sufficiently varied and important to afford somewhat of interest and
— it may be — of profit to any into whose hands it may fall.

Greenwich , New York , June , 1S56.

CONTENTS.

I* Discourse on John Quincy Adams .

Page

7

II. Worth of the Scriptures

. 45

III. Hall and Chalmers ....

. 83

IV. Refuge from the Pestilence

. 123

V. Intemperance and War .

. 144

VI. The Foundation of the Church

. 16G

VII. English Diction ....

. 197

VIII. Discourse on Henry Clay

. 209

XX. “ “ Daniel Webster .

. 244

X. Appendix to Webster

. 303

XI. Samuel Johnson and Daniel Webster

. 314

XII. Charles Dickens and his Philosophy

. 334

Xm. Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Colonization

. 360

XIV. Pitcairn’s Islanders

. 873

XV. Cannon’s Pastoral Theology .

. 389

XVI. Loss of the Arctic . . •

. 418

XVII. Rev. Dr. Brodhead . • .

. 440

THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

Divitiarum et formro gloria fluxa atque fragilis; yirtus clara seternaque
habetur. — Sallust.

“ A good name is rather to he chosen than great riches.”

Prov. xxii. I.

The “Ingratitude of Republics” has long furnished
to those given rather to declamation than to reason¬
ing, a favorite and fertile theme. The phrase belongs
to that useful class of topics, not only ready at the
call of the humblest, but seeming to contain a sono¬
rous truism, which, urged as an argument, bears a
force not easy to parry.

The truth of the saying, almost a proverbial one,
has been rather taken for granted, than scrutinized
with the view of detecting any fallacy that might
underlie the proposition, or of determining whether
from too few facts and examples, too broad and
sweeping a conclusion had not been drawn. A
Republic, it is averred, based upon the principle

8

THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

that the popular voice is the sovereign will, is prone,
from its very nature, to he fickle and capricious. It
is liable to lift a man to the summit of favor one day,
the impulsive populace rendering him, there, a blind
homage, like that offered to Paul and Barnabas by
the crowd insanely shouting “the gods are come
down to us in the likeness of men,” — and on the
next, dethroning him from his high and precarious
seat, amid a storm of clamor and invective, in order
to exalt and pay the like honors to some fresh candi¬
date for their hollow applauses. Talent, however
commanding and unquestionable — public services,
however distinguished and important — virtue, how¬
ever pure — integrity, however unsullied, with long
laborious years, devoted without grudging and com¬
plaint to the service of the commonwealth, are all
found insufficient to withstand those sudden fitful
gusts of popular wrath, which rudely shake the true
patriot and hero, not less than the scheming dema¬
gogue, from his ephemeral elevation, and hurl him in
ignominy to the ground.

Such spectacles Republics have exhibited — the
evidence of swift and unreasoning changes of the
popular mind, wrought upon by an easily-swayed
sensibility. The ancient Republics of Greece and
Rome were not at all times models in the con-

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

9

stancy witli which they upheld, and the generosity
with which they rewarded their most eminent and
meritorious citizens. Themistocles and M. Man¬
lius, Aristides and Camillas, are not singular exam¬
ples in their annals, of high desert, and devotion
to the public good, being rewarded with contempt,
persecution, exile, or other and more flagrant wrong.
Our own Republic cannot, perhaps, wholly escape
the charge of having shown in some instances dis¬
respect, if not ingratitude, towards some of her
worthiest servants and benefactors. Yet it was only
for a time. The charge of ingratitude towards those
who have served her best, and loved her most, it
were far easier to make than establish. She forms
the exception, if other Republics form the rule. I
point with pride to her treatment of her illustrious
sons, as reversing the aforementioned apothegm, in¬
stead of confirming it. Rot only is her Washington
enshrined in her heart of hearts, and his name re¬
garded — I will not say with gratitude, that is too
cold a word — but with an earnestness of veneration,
and a fervor of attachment, strengthening still with
the lapse of years ; but all those renowned and
venerable men to whose toils, sufferings, and sacri¬
fices we owe the priceless legacy of our Free Institu¬
tions, receive, as they deserve, the fitting tribute to

1*

10 ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

their wortli and patriotic devotion — a nation’s cordial
gratitude and praise. There may have been seasons
when the lustre of their character and exploits was
seemingly eclipsed by the reckless rage of party
strifes and antagonisms ; but these gusty clouds, shed¬
ding down malign influences, soon passed away ; and
not seldom, even before the head of the wronged man
lay on its pillow of earth, the murmurs of partisan
animosity were for ever lost, in the truthful, far-
resounding voices, which proclaimed justice and
honor to the deserving.

Thus Andrew Jackson finished his mortal course,
and lies sleeping on his narrow bed ; and who will
deny to him, now that his life-fight is fought and his
race run, the title of hero and Christian ? Who refuses
to accord to him the soul of honor — the unflinching:
rectitude of purpose — the inflexible resolution with
which, in spite of all uprising obstacles, he held on
the tenor of his dauntless way, for the good of the
country — the lofty patriotism which marked his cha¬
racter and shaped his actions in the council as well
as in the field ? These now form the epitaph which
a grateful Republic has inscribed upon his grave,
nor will it ever be displaced by characters such as
those with which, during his life, partisan vindictive¬
ness was wont to describe his character and course,

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 11

and even liis purposes and aims. And thus, too,
John Quincy Adams — worthily enrolled amongst

“ The few, the immortal names
That were not born to die” —

gathered recently to his fathers, hoary with years
and laden with honors, draws forth from every cor¬
ner of the land, from papers and men of all shades
of political opinion, a well-nigh unanimous verdict to
his lofty integrity, high worth, and earnest zeal for
the interests of the country he served so devotedly
and so long. This verdict, so generally and heartily
expressed, now that he is dead, is the verdict to
wdiich the mind of the nation had arrived long pre¬
viously; so that the true estimate of his life and
character, instead of springing, as it were, from his
tomb, was fixed long before the clod covered his
mortal remains. Though republics have been, and
may yet be, ungrateful, facts like these, so honorable
to the public mind and moral sense, must go far to
throw ofi* from the shoulders of our own, the burden
of this charge.

We are assembled, friends and brethren, in the
hope of improving, by some appropriate suggestions,
the occasion of the recent death of one of our most
illustrious citizens. Our purpose is to draw from

12 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

this memorable event some lessons that should im
press and profit us, both as republicans and Christian
men. The name and character of public benefactors
• — and the true patriot and servant of his country
should hold the foremost rank among such — are the
property of the country, intrusted as a sacred deposit
to all coming times. And just in proportion as that
name is honored, not simply for the deeds which are
associated with it, but for its moral worth ; just as
that character is distinguished, not merely for the
genius which originated, or the force which carried
out, lofty plans of public utility, but for the virtues
that adorned it, will it be deserving of the permanent
respect and veneration of mankind, dust as sterling
and unswerving truth and probity predominate in a
man of mark, does it become safe to propose him as
an example to others. Where such is the case, the
pulpit should not be the last to point out such a cha¬
racter and commend it to the wide consideration it
deserves. Where it is not found, no Christian minis¬
ter could eulogize the man who, great and gifted
though he might have been, high in rank and heroic
in action, lived yet regardless of God, and the re¬
straints and sanctions of his law, without compromis¬
ing the dignity of his calling, and trifling with the
highest interests of men.

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

13

Our great aim is, and always should be, to teach
men to live virtuously that they may live usefully
and happily ; to teach them to fear God, reverence
and obey his statutes, love their country, he submis¬
sive to proper authorities — which are inseparable
from the order, peace, and well-being of states as
well as individuals — to promote by direct aims and
loyal labors the true harmony and happiness of man
and society; in a word, to use the Prophet’s lan¬
guage, “ to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly
•with God,” which, run out into its legitimate infer¬
ences, may be regarded as a compendium of the
Christian precept and practice. If we can secure
attention to these lessons, and enforce them by point¬
ing to the life-example of some eminent citizen,
whose career has illustrated these great principles,
the opportunity should not be lost. “ History,” it
has been said, “is philosophy teaching by exam¬
ples,” and a most striking and impressive kind of
philosophy it is — a philosophy that the greatest of
teachers has commended to the world by making it
the vehicle of conveying the most momentous and
sublime truths that ever fell upon the ear of man.

Influenced by these sentiments, need I ofler any
apology for making the death of one of our most
honored and virtuous public men the special theme

14 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

of discourse, designating his life and example as
worthy to point and enforce whatever lessons the
present occasion may suggest ?

But previously let us attend for a moment to the
specific teachings of the text, for all our reflections
will be closely connected and interwoven with them.

“ A good name,” says the suggestive sage, “ is rather
to he chosen than great riches.” The sentiment is
expressive, with truth stamped upon the face of it,
and yet denied and treated with contumely, not in
word indeed, for few would have the hardihood thus ’
to deny it, hut in the course and action of, I much
fear, the greater part of mankind. In the fierce
scramble to grasp riches in which the higher ener¬
gies of crowds are absorbed, how little comparative
regard is often paid to the matter of securing the
prize of a good name. Hot that men, for the most
part, are indifferent absolutely to the possession of
such a treasure, for the value of it, in every respect,
is too palpable not to he generally desired. But in
the eagerness to grow rich, in the desperate strife of
competition, in the corrupting and deadening influ¬
ence of a purely worldly and selfish pursuit and
policy, through the force of earth-born maxims and
the example and association of the unscrupulous, the
peerless eligibility of an unsullied name is apt to he

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

15

lost sight of, and a valueless bauble chosen rather
than a gem whose worth cannot he matched by all
the riches which the earth’s bowels or the ocean’s
depths have ever yielded.

The glitter of gold so dazzles the eye of him that
gazes long and intently on it, that when it turns to
look at other objects they seem involved in shadow
or mist, if not altogether invisible. Thus a good
name is undervalued because not distinctly seen in
its true proportions. The hours of the day, and
often the night watches, are consumed in laying
plans or in executing them, to heap riches together,
not knowing who shall enjoy them. Rushing on in
swift and eager pursuit of — what often proves a phan¬
tom — gain, the mind suffers its energies to be tasked
to their utmost to compass the fascinating object.
The voices of the world’s sophistry, chiming in with
the passions of the heart, conspire to blunt all sense
of reverence for a higher controlling agency — the
marble tables of a holy and just God’s law. The
goal is reached perhaps at last. Wealth is won, but
the good name is for ever lost. Then man yieldeth
up the ghost, and where is he? And what monu¬
ment to his honor has he reared for himself, or
memorial of it does he leave behind him? What
imprint of his moral character and heroic qualities is

16 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

stamped in legible and lasting characters upon his age,
or on the community or society in which he lived?
What legacy does he leave to his children, that they
may rise up and call him blessed ? Is it great riches
that he leaves with a soiled name? Vain inherit¬
ance — filthy rags ! beside that character for probity
and uprightness which gold never bought, as its
absence never obscured. It is not the largest ac¬
cumulations of a man’s most successful lifetime, not
his fame as a rich man and nothing more, which,
following him when he dies, the Scripture speaks of
with commendation, but exactly the reverse. “For,”
says the Psalmist, “ they that trust in their wealth,
and boast themselves in the multitude of their riches,
none of them can by any means redeem his brother,
nor give to God a ransom for him. Their inward
thought is, that their houses shall continue for ever,
and their dwelling-places to all generations ; they
call their lands after their own names. Neverthe¬
less, man being in honor abideth not, he is like the
beasts that perish.” Like the beasts that perish !
that is, without worthy memorial to proclaim the
right use he made of his reason, and the dignified
and beneficent moral aims to which he consecrated his
talents and time, without having gathered the mate¬
rials out of which a good name is constituted, to be

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 17

held in grateful yet sad remembrance by the genera¬
tions following. Death comes, and, like the beasts,
that is the end of him, so far as concerns any abiding
influence for good, any solid benefit conferred upon
society or the race, exerted by his character, prin¬
ciples, or works, either while living on earth or
sleeping under it.

It is far different with those who have learned to
prize, and labored to secure, an honored and un¬
sullied name, regarding it as the worthiest of acqui¬
sitions. Though the object be never so difficult of
attainment, the happiness of reaching it, over all
obstacles, is only the more serene and immovable.
It is rather to be chosen than great riches, because
intrinsically worth more, being itself an incompara¬
ble treasure to its possessor. Hot only can he move
amongst his fellow-men, with bold tread, erect coun¬
tenance, and unquailing eye, sure of their respect
by being conscious of no act or design to forfeit it,
but the related consciousness of upright intentions
and deeds renders his mind calm, and his conscience
quiet, and his nightly pillow free from thorns. In
his seasons of retirement and self-communion, often
so full of agitation and alarms to the guilty bosom,
which cannot bear to have its hidden pools stirred
and its secrecies explored, he finds no task more de-

18 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

lightful and refreshing than close converse with the
powers and agencies hidden within his own breast.
If riches increase — for this is no way inconsistent
with the loftiest integrity — he prizes them no higher
than they deserve, and his good name far more
highly than they. If adversity lower, or calamity
fall upon him, or friends desert and betray, or mis¬
fortunes come in clusters to overwhelm him, in every
scene, in all emergencies, he can find in a good
name both a bulwark and an asylum, affording him
safety, comfort, and support.

And when he dies his name does not perish. The
savor of his lifelong beneficence survives. His
principles, works, character, influence — live. All
that he was, all that he did, all that he undertook,
and suffered, and accomplished for the good of
others, remains, not to be obliterated, in the memory
of those who come after him — descends to his chil¬
dren and his children’s children, as a legacy more
precious than rubies — the obtaining of which is
counted the pride, the ornament, and the lustre of
the house for generations to come ; and if a man of
mark and influence in the public councils, are en¬
shrined imperishably in the heart of the nation. In
the light of such considerations, how immeasurably
is a good name more worthy to be chosen than great

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 19

riclies ; and with what admirable truth and point is
the mighty difference stated, the broad contrast set
forth, in the single significant sentence of the sage
of Israel, u The memory of the just is blessed, but
the name of the wicked shall rot.”

I pass from this general view of the sentiment
and teaching of the text, to a particular application
of the subject to that honored name, which still
lives, and will live, in the regard and affections of
his countrymen, though he who bore it is now num¬
bered with the dead.

If we consider him, first, as a public man , we
shall find him bearing and preserving a good name
in all the stations he filled, and in all the services he
was called to perform.

The son of one of the most illustrious men that
this or any other country has produced — a name
fragrant with revolutionary reminiscences, one whose
fortunate lot it was to rear and bear up, in common
with his noble compatriots, the first pillars that
sustained the fabric of our liberties — John Quincy
Adams, enjoyed advantages of early education which
very few, indeed, of the youth of our country ever
possessed. Trained beneath his father’s eye — aided
by the rare lessons of his rich and varied experience,
imbued with his principles, exposed to the influence

20 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

of liis sliining example — and through his father’s
rank, as well as lofty character, enjoying unexam¬
pled facilities for rising in the commonwealth, what
circumstances can be conceived more favorable, not
only for forming and developing his character aright,
but for opening the way for his advancement to the
highest and most honorable stations in the land ?
If true to himself, and not deficient in intellect, he
could hardly fail, under such circumstances, to suc¬
ceed in any laudable object of ambition. That he
was true to himself, that he faithfully availed him¬
self of these rare opportunities of improvement, his
whole subsequent career is the decisive proof. And
for this we specially praise him, and hold him up as
among the worthiest examples in our nation’s his¬
tory — not that the advantages of education resulting
from his birth and position were so great — not that
the facilities for pushing his fortunes were so unpa¬
ralleled — for this might infer less talent, or energy,
or perseverance on his part to rise to distinction
than those possessed by other sons of the Eepublic,
who, without high birth, or powerful friends, or am¬
ple resources, or special facilities of any kind save
those which the genius of our free institutions sup¬
plies to their own naked talent and indomitable
energy, have risen step by step to posts as lofty and

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

21

honors as distinguished as he. Not for this do we
specially praise him — bnt for the admirable use he
made of the gifts of fortunate circumstances — for
the nerve and the moral heroism with which he
encountered and vanquished the dangers incident to
his high position — for the skill with which he avoided
the shoals and quicksands on which many youth, in
circumstances somewhat akin to his own, have suf¬
fered miserable shipwreck. We praise him because
neither his position in society, nor the gifts of for¬
tune, nor the ample scope afforded to the gratifica¬
tion of youthful passion, nor the seductions of courtly
but unprincipled associates, had the effect to render
him haughty, or luxurious, or dissipated, or careless
— since there existed no necessity to labor — of the
culture of his mind. To steer clear of all these dan¬
gers, and achieve his high purposes in spite of them,
implies strength of character and moral worth of a
very remarkable kind, and because he tried this and
succeeded, he is entitled to the highest praise.

If we trace him through the whole of his public
career down to its extraordinary close, we shall find
his more matured character and powers fully bear¬
ing out the promise of their spring. ~No man, in the
history of this country, ever entered the service of
government so early, or remained in it so long, or

22 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

resigned it under circumstances so affecting. A pri¬
vate secretary to a minister at a foreign court at tlie
age of fourteen years ; we find liim in his seat among
the representatives of the nation when upwards of
fourscore. Extreme youth on the one hand, extreme
old age on the other — and both extremes to a degree
almost without a parallel in the life of any man of
any nation, finding him honorably engaged in the
service of the country. And the long interval sepa¬
rating these extremes, with the exception of a few
years, which should, perhaps, hardly be called an
exception, filled up with the various high and honor¬
able offices to which he was called, including the
very highest in the gift of our Republic.

Thus, during a term of years, which, taken alto¬
gether, may be looked upon as the fair length of a
whole lifetime, we find that Mr. Adams was a
public man, engaged in the service of his country.
3SI" or is this fact more extraordinary than the credita¬
ble manner in which he bore the honors heaped
upon him, and filled the offices in which he was
placed — cheered by the admiration of his friends,
and extorting, by his high character, the respect
even of those whose opinions on questions of state
policy differed from his own. For, whether we
regard him as minister to a foreign court, or mem-

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

23

ber of tlie Senate of bis own State or of the Union,
or head of the American Commission to negotiate
the treaty of Ghent, or Secretary of State, or Presi¬
dent of the United States, or member of the House
of Representatives, we find him bearing in each and
all of these stations that “ good name to be chosen
rather than great riches.” The integrity of aim —
the conscientious wish and determination to do right
and promote the interests of the country — the honest
and liberal views, which, spurning the trammels of
party, looked to the welfare of the many rather than
to the petty interests of the few, are not claimed for
him simply by his friends, but are frankly awarded
him by the candid verdict of many, once most
warmly opposed to his schemes and policy in con¬
ducting the affairs of the government.

It would, of course, be foreign to this place and
to the character of this service to enter at all into
the discussion of those principles of government and
of public affairs, held by this distinguished man, on
which the minds of men differed, and still to some
extent differ. To the future biographer or historian
will belong the task of sifting these principles, and
assigning them their true place and value, as the
calm judgment of posterity. I am concerned simply
with the morale of his public life — with his name, so

24: THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

far as it may illustrate the sentiment of the text.
My design is to draw useful lessons from what is fair
and upright in his character. Two points, however
remotely connected with this forbidden subject, de¬
mand at least a passing notice, as throwing a fine
light upon the character of his name.

The first is, the noble stand he took in behalf of
the right of petition, at a time when the question
of the abolition of slavery was agitating the Union
from one extremity to the other ; when, between the
excessive sensitiveness of one portion of the Union in
shrinking from this question, and the hot pertinacity
of the other in forcing it before the country, the ark
of our liberties, tossed by these adverse and threat¬
ening surges, seemed well nigh on the point of going
down. From all parts of the free States petitions
came pouring in, for Congress to legislate upon this
delicate question, while the frowns and the scowls,
the loud and angry remonstrances, the fierce invec¬
tives of those who refused even to hear petitions,
which they regarded as a monstrous interference
with their vested rights, proclaimed the exciting and
ominous nature of the contest.

And there sat the champion of the right of peti¬
tion, like another Neptune, calm amid the rudest
commotion of the elements, shaping his course by

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 25

the great principles of freedom, truth, and right.
Or rising in his place in debate, armed at all points
by his ripe experience — his long and intimate ac¬
quaintance with public affairs — his profound and
varied knowledge — the high ability to bring all to
bear upon his argument — and more than all, the
justice of his cause, the “ old man eloquent ” poured
forth torrents of learning, logic, law, sound philoso¬
phy, the rich and varied treasures of his mind, and
sometimes invective and sarcasm to overwhelm his
adversaries, Nor could manly argument resist his
force, nor sophistry evade his penetration ; nor ridi¬
cule, nor sneers, nor threats move him one iota from
his firm position. Year after year he continued the
contest, planting himself immovably upon the Con¬
stitution which guarantees to the people the right of
petition, beating down from his vantage ground the
weak defences of his opponents ; regarded by them
with respect, not unmingled with fear, and (for such
is human nature) even hatred of the man, in a con¬
flict with whom no laurels could be gained.

And had John Quincy Adams done nothing more
for his good name and his country than what he
achieved on this stirring arena, he would have con¬
ferred enviable lustre upon the one, and deserved the
lasting thanks of the other. Nor would the words

26 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

applied to Chevalier Bayard, “ the man without fear
and without reproach,” be misapplied, particularly in
reference to this struggle, if attached to his venera¬
ble name.

The other point I would advert to, is this. It has
been said that it is derogatory to the name and dig¬
nity of Mr. Adams, after having filled the highest
station in the gift of the people, to be found after¬
wards occupying a place so comparatively humble,
as a seat in the Nation’s Hall of Representatives.
He should have retired after leaving the Presidency,
as his predecessors had done, to the shades of private
life for the remainder of his days, and there, afar from
the bustle of active life, and the strife of tongues, have
rested in calm and dignified repose upon his honors.

This question resolves itself into one of motives.
There is certainly nothing undignified in serving the
country, or desiring to serve it, in whatever rank or
capacity, the lowest as well as the highest. Had the
motive which drew Mr. Adams from retirement been
the mere love of place or distinction for their own
sake, his consenting to become a Representative of
the people, would be every way unworthy and unjus¬
tifiable. But from all we know of his character such
a supposition cannot be for one moment entertained.
He accepted the station when offered, not because he

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QTJINCY ADAMS. 27

was covetous of its honors, much less of its emolu¬
ments, but because he was ever ready and anxious
to do the state service when the opportunity was
presented; because he believed that his abilities
belonged to his country, and that whenever she
called — whenever his fellow-citizens called, it was
his duty to sacrifice his own inclinations and ease, by
occupying in her service any station, however humble
it might be.

So far, then, from acting an unbecoming part in
pursuing this course, his name derives additional lus¬
tre from a circumstance so unexampled in the his¬
tory of the Republic. In truth, his name had never
been what it now is, but for the situation in which he
was here placed, and the circumstances attendant on
this memorable struggle. Heroic qualities developed
themselves here, the possession of which his country¬
men had not suspected before, and of which he
appears to have been hardly conscious himself — but
qualities none the less real, or sterling, or exalted,
because they had lain dormant hitherto, and required
the stimulating force of such a time and occasion,
and such rough collisions, to awaken them to life and
activity. Hor is it too much to say, that the most
lustrous page in his history will ever be the very one
containing his conflicts and his victories as one of the

28 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

people’s Representatives. He accepted a lower office
than the one he had held, in the spirit of that illus¬
trious Theban, Epaminondas, who being in disgrace
for a season among the fickle people he had served
too well, and being appointed in contempt to some
inferior city office, took the place, calmly remarking
that, “ instead of being disgraced by the office, he
would confer dignity upon it.” If it is sweet and
honorable to die for one’s country, no true citizen can
lose dignity by serving her sincerely in any station
to which that country may call him.

And Oh, how beautifully adapted to the whole
course and tenor of this long life so filled up with
services to the country, was its impressive close.
With his harness on, all furbished, and ready as
always to guard the interests of the state, and do
battle for the right and the true ; seated in that
Hall, in which, for years, his voice had been uplifted
in support of truth, justice, public faith, the great
principles which lie at the foundation of a nation’s
freedom and prosperity — where the words of his wis¬
dom had been spoken, and their influence felt ;
where his best energies had been devoted to the pub¬
lic good — surrounded by friends who venerated his
character, and loved his person, and regarded his
utterances almost as the voice of an oracle ; the blow

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 29

from an invisible band strikes him, and the venera¬
ble form bows before its force. And as be feels the
fountain of life drying up, be murmurs bis satisfac¬
tion. “This is tbe last of earth, I am content.7’
Well might be be content. For be “ died in a good
old age, an old man and full of years,” but not more
full of years tlian of honors, which be honestly earned
and worthily bore. And in all coming times, as our
countrymen point with pride and admiration to the
bright examples of our history, the eye will fondly lin¬
ger upon the “ old man eloquent,” whose accents death
hushed, while standing, his head all whitened with the
frosts of eighty winters, at his post of trust and duty.

I pass from these notices of the public life of Mr.
Adams, to glance at two or three features marking
what I may call his every-day life and character ;
and which, if less conspicuous to the gaze of the
world, are none the less important as constituent ele-

i

ments of a worthy name and example. We cannot
indeed know a man well, unless we look in upon him
in his retirement, in the bosom of his family, in the
unreserved hours of social intercourse ; when the
stilts and the stiffness with which he appears before
the public are laid aside, and he unbends himself
from his formal state, and beneath familiar and un¬
criticizing eyes, or in the loved retreat of his home

30 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

sanctuary, becomes wliat lie really is, neither less nor
more. If we look at Mr. Adams at sncli seasons as
these, we shall see in his social and individual life,
the solid materials out of which a good name is com¬
posed. We see him a rigid economist of time, a man
of earnest and laborious application, scorning not to
bend itself to the smallest details of business, seem¬
ingly trivial, but really important, and all conducted
in the most orderly and systematic manner. We
shall find him regardful of his health, temperate and
abstemious in his habits, the fair fruits of which were
seen in a hale and vigorous old age, reaching quite
up to fourscore years, and free from the “ labor and
sorrow” which the Psalmist assigns as the usual
concomitant of such longevity. We shall find him
loyal in his friendships, kindly in his intercourse and
in the varied relations of social and domestic life,
exhibiting warmth and steadiness of affection, and
tender solicitude for the comfort and welfare of the
humblest of those who might claim his love and sym¬
pathy, needed his protection, or sought his aid.
While principles, derived from a source higher than
earth ever opened, shaped his course, controlled his
actions, dignified his aims, formed at once the ballast
and the ornament of his character, and were the
foundation on which rested whatever in his lone: and

O

ON THE DEATH OE JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 31

eventful life was most comely and commendable.
One or two of these points may be selected from the
rest, as worthy of a passing observation.

The value he set upon time, and his unflagging in¬
dustry, are important things, and specially worthy of
remark.

IIow broad and almost hopeless appears the inter¬
val between the child learning his alphabet, and the
man with his mind stored with the hoarded treasures
gathered from all quarters of the world, and from
every department of knowledge — between Hewton
the philosopher, spreading before the world the
astonishing results of his “Principia,” and Hewton
the boy, toilfully mastering the puzzling principles
of his horn-book. And yet this man was once that
little child, and all he lias, to interest or instruct men,
or excite their wonder, is the fruit of constant indus¬
try, the result of laying up, like the ant, grain by
grain, stores for future use. It is incredible what
accumulations a single mind can amass that uses time
properly and bends itself to the work of gathering.
There is little indeed of any acquired thing, that is
greatly excellent without toil, and of learning still
less. As soon will a man lay his hand upon the rain¬
bow, and with his fingers separate its prismatic beau¬
ties, as become learned without labor. It was time

32 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

well spent, and vigorous and unswerving application,
that enriched the mind of Mr. Adams with know¬
ledge, not simply adapted and necessary to the public
man, hut classical, scientific, historical, and literary ;
knowledge of widest range and most varied descrip¬
tion. He was not only an able statesman and diplo¬
matist, hut a scholar of no unripe attainments — well
versed in the science of government, and in the phi¬
losophy of history, as well as its details, with the lat¬
ter of which, his familiarity, both as respected his
own and foreign countries, was uncommonly exten¬
sive and accurate. He not only wrote well on politi¬
cal subjects, hut on those of general literature. Even
in poetry he was so well skilled as to write it with grace¬
ful fluency, and though putting forward no poetical
claims, will compare not unfavorably with some wTho
make noisier pretensions ; wdiile a few of his pieces
that might he named, deserve to rank amongst the
most agreeable specimens of fugitive verse, flowing
like water, and in numberless rills from the rhyming
genius of the age.

How all this required time and industry, and how
continuous and systematic that industry was, may be
inferred from. the fact, I have seen stated on good
authority, that it was his custom to preserve" copies
of all the letters he wrote, and to keep a diary,

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 33

during all liis public life, in which entries were
statedly made of all circumstances and passing
events which he deemed interesting or important,
illustrated by apposite reflections. When that diary
is given to the world, as it doubtless will be, it will
open to its possessor a treasure of interest and infor¬
mation hardly to be found elsewhere, relating to the
men, manners, and sentiments of an age now
passing away. Happy, if those who read, be led
to imitate, as they must admire, the resolute in¬
dustry of a hand now cold in death, perpetuat¬
ing its daily exploits by so characteristic a me¬
morial.

If we further survey him in the walks of domestic
life, we shall find nothing to impair but everything
to confirm the views already presented. As a son,
a husband, a father, he bore himself in each endear¬
ing relation, with an exemplary regard to the re¬
quirements, interests, and wants of those with whom
he was so closely associated. From the touching lan¬
guage in which his surviving partner bewailed her
loss, while expressing her gratitude for the sympa¬
thizing attentions she received in her bereavement,
we may infer how great she felt that loss to be.
His paternal tenderness and assiduity, were the
record before us, woidd be hardly less striking and

2*

34: THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

attractive. No spectacle indeed is more beautiful
than to see the man on wliose features public cares
and burdens impress gravity and sometimes stern¬
ness, whose “ out-door visage awes the crowd,” laying
aside delightedly as his foot presses his own door-
stone, whatever of imposing dignity he had worn
elsewhere, and entering with keen zest into the
sports and diversions of childhood, becoming a child
among children. It was Spartan Agesilaus, I think,
a true hero among heroes, in an age abounding with
such, who was surprised one day by an ambassador
from a foreign state abruptly entering his room, and
finding him riding a stick and curvetting and sport¬
ing with his boisterous juveniles. He quelled the
accents of amazement which rose to his visitor’s lips,
by bidding him say nothing of what he saw, till he
should himself become a father. This is admirable.
Nor is it hard to imagine, how Mr. Adams, full of
the sensibility of a warm and loving heart, could
have sat for such a portrait as this. It delights us to
place him side by side in this respect with the bold
old hero of New Orleans, whose yearning tenderness
towards his partner even after the grave had sepa¬
rated them, and whose gentle attention towards the
children of a relative who dwelt under his roof, are
among the proudest memories that cluster round his

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

name." Not only are tlie tenderest affections per¬
fectly compatible with tlie loftiest intellect, the most
iron resolution and indomitable courage, but the
union of these, in some degree at least, rarely fails
to be found in those strong characters which most
command, if they do not always deserve, the respect
and homage of mankind.

But the foundation of all this excellence is to be

* “ There was a deep-seated vein of piety in him (Gen. Jackson),
unaffectedly showing itself in his reverence for divine worship,
respect for the Ministers of the Gospel, their hospitable reception in
his house, and constant encouragement of all the pious tendencies
of Mrs. Jackson. And when they both afterwards became mem¬
ber's of a church, it was the natural and regular result of their early
and cherished feelings. He was gentle in his house and alive to the
tenderest emotions — and of this I can give an instance, greatly in
contrast with his supposed character, and worth more than a long
discourse to show what that character really was. I arrived at his
house one wet chilly evening in February, and came upon him in
the twilight, sitting alone before the fire, a lamb and a child between
his knees. He started a little, called a servant to remove the two
innocents to another room, and explained to me how it was. The
child had cried because the lamb was out in the cold and begged
him to bring it in, which he had done, to please the child, his
adopted son, then not two years old.” (Col. Benton’s “ Thirty Years’
View,” p. 737.)

There is nothing in the brave old man’s whole stirring career
more characteristic and suggestive than this incident.

36 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

found, after all, in those moral and religious princi¬
ples, drawn from a source higher and purer than
this world ever opened, the well-spring of the Chris¬
tian Scriptures. Where their influence enters the
mind, there is light; where it touches the heart, it
softens down its natural asperities, making it humble,
teachable, gentle, merciful, humane, imparting ele¬
vation to its views, loftiness and directness to its
aims, and investing the whole character, dignified
and adorned by Christian sentiments, with robes of
comeliness and grace. The path of him who takes
the lamp of God, to lighten and guide his daily way,
is the path of the just, — bright, safe, more easy and
pleasant still as the goal is neared, — shining more
and more unto the perfect day. His way, on the
contrary, is hard and painful, with pitfalls, snares,
and death, impending in the gloom at eveiy step ;
who scorns the heavenly light, and leans for guid¬
ance upon the uncertain fitful rays proceeding from
nature or the wisdom of man. Mr. Adams accepted
the aid of the Scriptures, revered their matchless phi¬
losophy, and bowed before the simple majesty of
their inculcations, and joyed in the advantage of
their path-finding illumination. Nor need the or¬
thodox believer start at this announcement, or shoot
out the lip in doubt or derision, when it is said that

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

37

Mr. Adams was a Unitarian ; as tliongli the fact
involved a necessary impeachment of liis sincerity,
or a halting, half-way embracement and following of
the truth taught, and the example set, by the Uaza-
rene. W e are very much the creatures of education,
habit, and circumstance. USTot in a few isolated
cases, merely, do religious opinions, engrafted upon
the understanding and heart of childhood, become
rooted too firmly and grow too thriftily to render it
easy, if indeed possible, to change their after direc¬
tion. Have we not seen — who has not seen — the
father of several sons, mould them after the plastic
influence of his own sentiments and example, uncon¬
sciously to them or even to himself, so that, as they
reached man’s estate, the opinions and course of the
children with respect to subjects, political, social,
religious, were a reflection and copy of those held
and pursued by the father. This is so common a
spectacle, that it scarce needs remark. Ho im¬
pressions can be deeper or more ineffaceable than
those early religious ones, stamped upon the mind
by a father’s counsels and course, or burnt into the
heart, as it were, by the gentler but more potential
agency of a mother’s smiles, tears, entreaties, prayers,
her soul-utterance of solicitude and yearning for
the honor and well-being of a beloved child. The

38 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

mind of the strong man, tossed by the tempests of
life in after years, and almost led by nnboly solicita¬
tions to regard faith as foolishness, and religion as
superstition, often strives and wrestles in vain against
the influence of such impressions, keeping it di¬
rected still towards the right and true, like the
needle towards the pole, in spite of occasional vibra¬
tions. The creed of Mr. Adams was the creed of
his father. It was the creed to which the associa¬
tions of his childhood and youth were grappled. His
manhood rejected not the pleasing spell, and the
faith in which he was nurtured, became the faith in
which he died.

How, though we reject at once, and decidedly
and under all circumstances, the faith that denies
divinity to the Saviour of men, while we regard the
proper Godhead of the Christ as amongst the clearest
propositions, and most susceptible too of demonstra¬
tion, that the Scripture offers to the human mind,
we are not forbidden to look with an eye that beams
mildness and forbearance, upon those who illustrate
the Christian religion in their lives, but conscien¬
tiously differ from us on certain points of speculative
opinion and belief. We will not entrench ourselves
behind the narrow bigotry which denies Paradise to
all who view the Christian scheme with mind as

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 39

candid as onr own, though with other optics, and
from a somewhat different stand-point. But with
that large charity which “ snffereth long and is kind,”
we may at least hope the best in respect to such as
receive the word of God as a divine rule of faith and
practice, profoundly venerate its authority and teach¬
ings, love it, and strive with God’s aid to walk in
its light, and rest for salvation on the published gospel,
sublime merits, and finished work of the Crucified.

That Mr. Adams did this, there is abundant testi¬
mony. It was only a few years ago that his voice
was uplifted before a Bible Society in Hew York,
advocating the divine authorship, the grand claims,
the pure principles, the majestic character of the
Book of Life, and urging upon men, if they would
secure peace and happiness, here and hereafter, the
necessity of following its celestial guidance. The
Scriptures were to him the oracles of Infinite Wis¬
dom and Infallible Truth ; and, as such, the unfailing
source of refreshment, light, and joy. It was his daily
practice, continued through years of life, to resort
to these “wells of salvation,” and draw from them
strengthening draughts. Writing to his son from St.
Petersburgh, he recounts this striking experience :
“ It is my custom to read four or five chapters from
the Bible every morning, immediately after rising

40 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

from my bed. It employs about an hour of my
time, and seems to me the most suitable manner of
beginning the day.”

Such a personal experience might well qualify him
for writing the interesting series of letters — since
published in a volume — to his son, on the truth, worth,
and claims of the Holy Book ; and setting forth the
importance of daily reading and exploring it, in order
to form, strengthen, and adorn individual character.

In reply to an invitation to attend the anniversary
of the American Bible Society, in 1830, he gives
utterance, among other things, to such evangelical
sentiments as these : —

“ The distribution of Bibles, if the simplest, is not
the least efficacious of the means of extending the
blessings of the Gospel to the remotest corners of the
earth ; for the Comforter is in the sacred volume ;
and among the receivers of that million of copies, dis¬
tributed by the society, who shall number the multi¬
tudes awakened thereby, with good will to man in their
hearts, and with the song of the Lamb upon their lips ?

“ The hope of a Christian is inseparable from his
faith. "Whoever believes in the divine inspiration of
the Holy Scriptures, must hope that the religion of
Jesus shall prevail throughout the earth. Hover,
since the foundation of the world, have the prospects

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 41

of mankind been more encouraging to that hope,
than they appear to be at the present time. And
may the associated distribution of the Bible proceed
and prosper, till the Lord shall have made ‘ bare his
holy arm in the eyes of all the nations, and all the
ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.’ ”

He was the oldest Vice-President of the American
Bible Society. And called to preside at one of its
meetings held at the Capitol at Washington, in 1844,
bore this decisive testimony in favor of the Bible : — •
“ I deem myself fortunate in having the opportunity
at this stage of a long life, drawing to a close, to bear
at this place, the Capitol of our National Union, in
the hlall of Representatives of the Horth American
people, in the chair of the presiding officer of the
Assembly representing the whole people, the personi¬
fication of the great and mighty nation, to bear my
solemn testimonial of reverence and gratitude to that
Book of Books, the Holy Bible.”

From his lofty position he thus rebuked the infi¬
delity of the day, and proclaimed that his own intel¬
lect, with all his powers and influence, bowed before
the simple grandeur of revealed truth, and that the
Christian Scriptures are the only foundation of the
order, prosperity, and happiness of states and indivi¬
duals. Like John Hampden, he found honor and

42 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

profit in sitting as a learner at the Great Teacher’s
feet, and the lessons acquired there made him up¬
right, wise, and true, imparted jnst proportions to his
character, shaping out for him a good name to the
coming generations. Nor did he content himself
with a cold assent to the truth of revelation as a fair
and wise theory, nor with a bare formal advocacy of
its claims. He did more. He united himself to the
church he preferred; and according to his under¬
standing of duty, labored by example and word to
promote the spread of Christian principles and the
practice of the Christian charities. We may there¬
fore leave him, where we must ourselves be left,
when our mortal hour shall have passed, in the hands
of Him who hath pronounced “ Blessed are the mer¬
ciful, for they shall obtain mercy” — adopting in his
case, as others may adopt in ours, the sweet and im¬
pressive words of the noblest elegy in our language — •

“No further seek his merits to disclose,

Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode ;

(There they alike in trembling hope repose)

The bosom of his Father and his God.”

In the view of such a career completed, and such
a name and fame won, what remains to be spoken ?
What is the highest genius and skill ? what the most

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 43

successful enterprise devoted for years and years te
worldly and selfish schemes and aggregations ? what
the vastest hoards that ever man in this or any
country called his own, beside the measureless value
of such an acquisition? Mr. Adams had riches,
and has left them to his heirs ; hut what would these
be without his undying renown, based upon high
moral worth, and perpetuated by veneration and
gratitude ? They would give him no distinction above
others, dying in similar circumstances. They would
inscribe no enduring tablet to his memory, either on
the page of history or in the hearts of his country¬
men. It would have been said that a rich man died,
and with nothing more to be urged in his behalf, his
name would soon perish from the earth. But his
honored name now lives, and will live, embalmed in
the brightening annals of our history, whose office is to
record and preserve the heroic deeds of lives most sin¬
gly devoted to the public service and the general weal ;
and so it would live, had his wealth, when he died, not
been sufficient to buy the coffin in which he sleeps.
His name is a monument that will outlast the granite,
and a legacy to children’s children, to his country and
humankind, whose price scorns the aid of figures to
set forth, and will not diminish with the passing years.

And he too, with all his fame and all his honors, is

44 THE PRICELESS WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

now gathered to his fathers. These could not save
him from the grave. Nature mnst have its course.
“ The mighty man, and the man of war, the judge
and the prophet, and the prudent and the ancient,
the honorable man and the counsellor, and the cun¬
ning artificer and the eloquent orator” fall equally
before the indiscriminating scythe which mows down
all with its remorseless sweep. In the present case,
not the tender plant, nor the green grain, nor the
branch white with the blossom-promise of the au¬
tumn has been cut down, but the stalk of corn,
nodding with its golden fruitage u fully ripe in its
season.” And what is replete with peculiar and
pensive interest is the fact, that in this death, nei¬
ther unlooked for nor too soon, another of the few
remaining links which unite the revolutionary period
to our own has been sundered. Thus, one by one,
the tomb is garnering the venerable forms of those
whose eyes looked upon the struggle which issued in
our national freedom. Soon the last link of this kind
will be broken, and we shall stand, and live, and act
among a generation born after the revolution. God
grant that when the fathers of illustrious memory
who lived in this great period shall all slumber in the
dust, the mantle of their virtues may for ever rest on
their posterity.

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF TIIE HOLY

SCRIPTURES.

(Before the Ulster Co. Bible Society at Kingston, Feb. 1851.)

“For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the
prophecy of this book, if any man shall add unto these things, God
shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book ; and
if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this
prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and
out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this
book.” Rev. xxii. 18, 19.

We have in this passage a distinctly uttered inter¬
dict, sanctioned by a portentous penalty, against the
addition to or subtraction from the words of the
prophecy of this book. What book, will it be asked ?
That book which the inspired revelator wrote in the
lonely Patnios of his exile, and in which the words
of the prohibition and the penalty are recorded ?
Yes ; though not that book alone, which is only a
part of the inspired volume, but every book, preced¬
ing it and associated with it, in the celestial record,
springing from the same source, written by the same
unerring pen, bearing the impress of the same Inli-

46 THE mCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

nite Mind, and coming to man with the same high
testimonials to authenticate its character and claims.
Every hook, forming like the Apocalypse a part of
the law and the testimony, whether written at the
Spirit’s guidance by patriarch or seer, by king or
ruler, by prophet, or evangelist, or apostle, is fairly
comprehended within the words of the prohibition
before us. All Scripture is given by inspiration of
God. No prophecy of Scripture , in any part of the
blessed volume, is of any private invention , is the
product of man’s ingenuity or cunning craft, or far-
reaching sagacity, but holy men of God spake as
they were moved by the Holy Ghost.

The Scriptures, therefore, in their essence and in¬
tegrity, owe nothing to man’s faculty of contriving
or power of executing. Man has not laid a single
stone of the broad foundation on which the blessed
volume rests. Man has not put a single beam, or
rafter, or support of any kind, in the comely edifice
which rests on this foundation, nor added a solitary
outward decoration. It is the Lord’s work, from
foundation to topmost stone, and marvellous in our
eyes. And being such, the work is necessarily not
defective or different materially from what He de¬
signed and had ' the power to make it. It is not
half finished nor badly finished, but finished in all

THE INCOMP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 47

its parts perfectly and symmetrically, the whole
body being/ fitly joined together and compacted by
that which every joint snpplieth. Completed thus-,
there is room for no earth-furnished additions. God
might add, hut man cannot. He has given it to the
world in the state in which the world itself, with
man to dwell upon it, came forth from His own
hands — -very good, without deformity, or malforma¬
tion, or vitiating imperfection- — not susceptible of
essential improvement, or better adaptation to the
grand purposes for which it was designed, by adding
anything or taking away anything — but sure to find
damage and derangement from any presumptuous
and foolhardy tinkering of man.

This, then, is the book of which such things may
be safely and soberly spoken. The book composed
of many books ; the book of all books, scorning the
paltry intellect of man that would make it better,
and brooking no profane hand of mortal to inter¬
meddle with it, or take a tittle from the consecrated
treasures of its wisdom and its love ; the book which
God Almighty, after filling its pages with whatever
he lias seen fit to communicate to the species, has
closed and sealed with His own hand and signet,
and declared with all the authority of the Power
who grasps the thunders of destruction, that no man

48 THE INCOMP A.R ABLENES S OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

shall add to or take from tlie holy record, without
exposure to the vengeance of Him, before whom
conspiring kings, rebellious rulers, and raging hea¬
then, perish from the way when His wrath is kindled
but a little.

A book such as this, so matured and finished, its
integrity so hedged round by solemn and imposing
sanctions, must have bold characteristic features to
distinguish it from every other ; must have a mis¬
sion worthy of its origin, and vindicate by its con¬
tents the matchless wisdom of its Author, and the
amazing love that sent it forth on its sublime errand.
All this it demonstrably has, as may be seen if it be
asked specifically what this marvellous book is , and
whence derived f

The answer simply and briefly is, it is a revelation
which God has made to man for the benefit of man ;
a revelation of that which nature could not teach,
nor the unaided powers of the human intellect grasp ;
necessary to man, therefore, to enable him to com¬
prehend God, his attributes, his claims, his relation to
the universe ; his relation to man especially, the lord of
this fallen world, made ujpright and but a little lower
than the angels , but apostate now, and a rebel against
his Maker, and exposed as such to a rebebs retribu¬
tion on account of holy laws violated, and surpassing

THE mCOMP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 49

goodness and love spurned; a revelation, putting
earth in communication with heaven, man with God,
and disclosing the plans and process by which this
communication may result in the raising up of the
fallen, the recovery of the lost, the restoration to the
race of the Divine favor, and the priceless blessings
consequent upon it ; the soul’s purification, the exer¬
cise of the Christian humanities, the triumph of truth
and religion, the victory over death, and a blessed
immortality !

To issue such a revelation is perfectly practicable.
Dor He that sitteth in the heavens laughs at what
man counts impossibilities ; and to announce his will
to man, and the terms on which fallen transgressors
may be restored to his favor, were at least as easy as
to fix yonder sun upon his throne of light, or lay the
foundations of this littler ball on which we tread, or
heave the everlasting mountains towards the clouds.
And if obviously practicable to reveal himself to
man, there is no antecedent improbability against
his doing so. If man had remained a sinless crea¬
ture through all his generations, as his first father
before his fall, would it be improbable that God
would continue to visit him and hold intercourse
with him, and show himself in the endearing aspects
of Father, Protector, and Friend, opening, by means

3

50 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

of daily converse and intercommunion, precious foun¬
tains of refreshment and joy? On the contrary, it
would have been a most strange and unnatural thing,
for the creature, having so largely experienced the
divine benignity, to have been left to himself after
his creation — a being thrown upon a world, cheer¬
less though never so beautiful, without higher com¬
panionship than the irrational tribes, or even his own
species ; a helpless child, bewailing in vain the ab¬
sence of the Father’s smiles and society, or those of
holy angels sent forth to assure the child of the Fa¬
ther’s love, and unfold the Father’s counsels for the
child’s guidance, instruction, and comfort. And if
God would most probably visit the sinless and happy
thus, and reveal himself as a God of love, would he
be likely to cast forth the sinful and wretched upon
a thistle-bearing world, with no kind token of his
fatherly recognition, no evidence of his guardian
care, no condescending visitations of his mercy, no
knowledge or intimation of the great purposes or
principles of his moral economy ?

The probabilities of visiting fallen man, appear to
us, therefore, to be of the strongest. Indeed we find
it hard to conceive the contrary, without picturing
the Deity as a stem and remorseless Sovereign, not to
be touched by the woes and helpless degradation of

THE INCOMPAR ABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 51

his sorrow-smitten creatures. Were He sucli a
Being, without tenderness and pity, man who had
offended Him, might have been left without light,
and without any mitigation of the circumstances of
his awful condition.

But God is benevolent, and this nature teaches ns,
in the genial sunshine, the sweet and holy light, the
gentle dews, the soft showers, the balmy breezes, the
perfumes that breathe, the sights which are seen,
and the harmonies which make melody around us.
And is it probable that this benevolent and merciful
Lord would leave his fallen, wretched, needy, weeping
child, to grope his dark way through a world cursed
through one man’s disobedience ; and then, after
a weary life of darkness and woe here, plunge him
into thicker darkness, and more hopeless misery here¬
after? Is it probable that God, who mercifully hears
the young ravens’ plaintive cries, would he for ever
deaf to the groanings of a sin-burdened soul, crying,
“ 0 A, that I knew where I might find him , that I
might com e even to his seat. I would order my cause
before him , and fill my mouth with arguments f” that
He would persist in hiding himself behind impenetra¬
ble clouds, and send no ray of light, no beam of
mercy, to show man how he might he justified and
find the path of deliverance and salvation ?

52 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

It is not probable, but on tlie other hand it is every
way probable that God would reveal himself, his
attributes, his laws, his will, the plans of his love,
the fixed purposes of his compassionate heart. And
the probability, we claim, has become certainty by
the fact. God has revealed himself — has proclaimed
his will, has shown what He is, what lie claims, and
what repentant sinners may hope, and the stubbornly
defiant are to expect from Him. He has given us
the lively oracles of His Truth ; where man may
learn mysteries which, but for this, had remained un¬
known and unfathomable still. He has placed in our
hands the imperishable records — opening to us the
counsels and plans of the Godhead — in their results
at least ; records abounding with the most wonderful
and deeply interesting information and knowledge,
upon matters by far the most important that can
occupy the mind of man. The heaven-given book
which contains these records, becomes, from its very
nature and design, to the individual and to the race,
a book of infinite importance — bearing the image and
superscription of the glorious Lord God on every
page — coming to us, thus, with the highest possible
authority — revealing truths of the highest possible
magnitude — proposing objects of the highest possible
grandeur, and involving, in the embracement or rejec-

THE INCOHP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 53

tion of them, consequences so vast, that all worldly
losses or acquisitions are, when brought into compari¬
son, hut as the impalpable dust in the balances.

The inquiry next naturally arises — Wherein consist
the importance and value of this Book, so revealed to
man , and finished so, that no impious hand dare take
from or add to its perfected pages f

As a book of cosmogony — setting forth how the
worlds have been produced — its value transcends that
of all other hooks. IIow vague, discordant, absurd,
and preposterous, are the various uninspired accounts
of the world’s creation ! AY e need not refer to them,
for I would not move your mirth with detailing the
ridiculous phantasies of heathenish brains. But the
account we find of the world’s creation as God’s Spirit
dictated it, is simple, concise, and plain. In the
beginning God created the heaven and the ea/rth.
The existence of one only Lord is taken as an axiom.
Ho words are used to prove it. Ho vain parade of
language is employed to illustrate or enforce it. And
this great Creator and ever existent Lord, the Maker
and Father of all, standing forth as such, in the very
first sentence of this world’s written history, spake
the universe into being by a wTord of his Omnipotence,
lie said, in respect to this ball which is become our
habitation, “ let the earth be,” and the earth was. It

54 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

matters nothing whether the fiat went forth six
thousand or six hundred thousand years ago. And
a sceptical geology is welcome to all the trophies
it has earned or can earn, in the attempt to show
inconsistency between the Mosaic account of the
creation, and the deductions of geologic science.
The Bible should never be held answerable for
man’s crude deductions, springing often from pre¬
carious premises or ambiguous and misty theories.
We should respect the labors, and encourage the in¬
vestigations of the true science, knowing that truth
in general must be thus promoted, and the highest
truth in particular, certainly not retarded or its lustre
dimmed. Truth from a given source is not antago¬
nistic to truth from whatever source, for truth is one
and ever harmonious with itself. And though
geology, in its shifting progress, has struck from time
to time, what was thought at the moment to be vig¬
orous blows against the harmony of the Scriptural
records, the effect were sure to be, to provoke more
vigorous blows in return, warding off the threatened
harm, and disabling the arm that struck for similar
attempts. False science has ever found a counter¬
poise in the true, which, modest, reverent, patient,
resolute, and unyielding, has disentangled the skein
of human sophistries, brought order out of chaos,

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 55

bidding tliose of little faitli, who were trembling for
the safety of the ark of God, to dismiss their fears,
and believe henceforth that God is really mightier
than man. And thus the doctrine of “ development
from lower to higher,” though not doing for some of
its advocates exactly what they designed and hoped
for, has at least “ developed” more proofs, accumu¬
lating through all the ages past, of the consistency
and credibility of the Holy Book. And so we may
repeat safely, that the world sprang from creative
power in the beginning. It was when God willed it.
It was as God willed it. His might brought light
out of darkness, harmony out of confusion. His
hand placed the Sun in heaven to rule the day, and
fixed tiie moon where she might shine by night, and
confined the raging ocean billows to their bounds — •
and upheaved the tall mountains towards the clouds — -
and spread abroad the valleys and the plains — and
covered them with various forms of animal and vege¬
table life. It is all God Almighty’s work, and the
record is found in his own Book. The earth is, be¬
cause God made it, and all the wonders of its wonder¬
ful natural economy are to be referred to him alone.

The history of man is another element of surpass -
ing importance in the Booh which God has given.

We have many histories in various languages,

56 THE mCOMPARAELENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

which treat of the origin of nations, of man, his
achievements and his character, whether good or evil.
We have profane records which trace hack the his¬
tory and exploits of man to a period of antiquity
comparatively remote. The most ancient and reli¬
able records are usually the most valuable, such as
the histories of Herodotus, of Thucydides, of Jose¬
phus — colored, and even fanciful as parts of these
undoubtedly are — and some others of kindred worth.
But what records of any nation approach those of
the TIoly Scriptures in point of antiquity? They
tell us not only of the origin of nations, but of
the origin of man. They show ns that the whole
human race has sprung from a single pair. There
is no preposterous absurdity in Scripture like that
found in other books which profess to account for the
origin of mankind. Ho nation is said to have sprung
from a cricket or grasshopper, or from an oak, mush¬
room, or dragon’s tooth ; but man was first created by
Omnipotent power out of the dust of the ground,
and God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life ,
and man became a living soul. In process of time
the race increased and multiplied upon the earth,
and when their guilt grew rampant and heaven-defy¬
ing, God sent upon them those devouring, remorse¬
less floods, which no cries of mortal agony could

THE IN COMP AR ABLENE S S OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 57

appease, the traces of whose presence and prevailing
energy are found among tribes the least visited by
the light of the Scripture Sun.

A single family survived, that the race should not
become extinct. The earth wras to he peopled a
second time by the family of Noah. Not only have
we in the Divine Word the record of this signal
preservation, we have also the record of the species
as thus perpetuated. If the heedless eye glance
over the tenth chapter of Genesis, it lights on what
may seem to it a dull and meaningless list of
Scripture names, a genealogical table, tough and
inexplicable, if not worthless. It is a record, in fact,
of priceless value. It furnishes information for which
all profane antiquity could provide no substitute nor
equivalent. It sets forth no vague hypothesis to
account for facts — inexplicable without the Bible —
in the condition of various peoples, but gives us a
tangible and coherent narrative, with truth stamped
upon the face of it, of the generations issuing from
the sons of Noah. Among the posterity of these
sons, we find the names of Madai, and Javan, and
Tiras, and Canaan, and Asshur, and Elam, and Lud,
and no critical sagacity is necessary to identify these
patriarchs as the originals of the Medes, the Ionians,
Thracians, Assyrians, Lydians. Tims we are directly

3*

58 TIIE INCOMPAEABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCKIPTUEES.

pointed to tlie sources whence have flowed out sub¬
sequently the widening streams of great nations.
These streams are traceable as they roll downwards,
parting ever and anon into other branches, which are
occasionally found to expand and deepen into a Missis¬
sippi’s hulk and importance, resembling, however, the
father of waters in grandeur and impetuosity, rather
than in unexhausted resources and changeless strength.

Without the heavenly oracles the sources of nations
would have remained, in spite of venturesome investi¬
gations, shrouded in ISTile-source-like mystery. The
study of races, often perplexing at best, the philoso¬
phy of their history and strange subdivisions, would
be ever puzzling and unsatisfactory. Yague con-
j ecture would take the place of certainty, and to him
who longed and asked for facts, would be given in
reply, airy fancies. As a book, therefore, whence
reliable knowledge may be drawn regarding the
earliest peoples, and the germs out of which they
sprang, the Bible occupies, and must ever occupy a
place which no uninspired book can fill.

Its value , moreover , consists in the displays it gives
us of Deity , the great Lord God , Father and Maher
of all.

We have spoken of the announcement made in the
first verse of the Bible, of God’s existence, unity, and

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 59

sovereign power, an announcement made without
qualification, or preliminary statement, or argument,
or explanation of any sort. God made all things in
the beginning — the great I AM- — without beginning
of days or end of years — the Alpha and the Omega
• — the uncaused cause of all things. And this truth,
so boldly announced, so inflexibly challenging our
assent, is illustrated with great fulness and distinct¬
ness as we advance in the blessed volume.

What representations are made of the Lord Jehovah
on the luminous pages of his own word ? Is he a
Saturn or Jupiter of the heathen mythology — a
Hindoo Brahma, or Yishnu — an Egyptian Apis or
Anubis — a Canaanitish Dagon or Moloch ?* But to

* Whatever subject the “ Paradise Lost” undertakes to treat, is
straight invested with dignity and charming grace, and illustrated
with a fulness and richness, betraying the matchless wealth and
resources of the author’s intellect. Even the common-places of
geography, are transformed by his touch into fascinating pictures. It
is a fine conceit, and exquisitely wrought out, to give the chiefs of
the revolted angels in hell, names derived from famous heathen gods,
whose characteristics they bore, and whom, with their besotted
worship, Messiah was to destroy. A similar thought pervades the
majestic “ Christmas Hymn,” as in these stanzas: —

“Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-battered god of Palestine ;

And mooned Ashtaroth,

60 THE INCOMP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

whom will men liken God , and who among the gods
of the nations is worthy of comparison with the
great God of the Sacred Scriptures? He is no
image of gold or brass — no grotesque or frightful
piece of statuary carved with hands — no hideous
monster shaped by the imagination — no likeness of
anything that man’s fancy may picture in heaven or
earth, or sea, or hell — but a Spirit invisible, vast,
incomprehensible, pure, the self-existing Lord, from
eternity unchangeable, the maker of all things, the
upholder of all things, the disposer of all things —
Omniscient, searching the deepest depths of what to
us is futurity, and dragging forth to the light the
most secret and impalpable purposes and thoughts of
human hearts — Omnipresent, pervading all space,
every part of his broad domains by his intelligence
and energy, so that should a creature fly to heaven
God is there ; should it dive down to hell he is also

Heaven’s queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt with taper’s holy shine ;

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

And sullen Moloch, fled,

Hath left in shadows dread,

His burning idol * * *
*********

The brutish gods of Nile as fast

Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.”

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. (31

there ; should it take the wings of the morning and
seek the uttermost lands, or the thickest darkness for
concealment, all would he equally vain. His Provi¬
dence, too, is ever exerted, and takes in all things, from
the chirping sparrow and the hungry young lions, to
the slave groaning in chains, or the outcast beggar
sighing amid his penury and rags. He dwelleth in
light inaccessible and full of glory, and has the ele¬
ments, air, earth, water, fire, as well as holy angels
for his ministers. He is infinite in justice, truth,
mercy, goodness, wisdom, and power ; and though
the heaven of heavens cannot contain him, he deigns
to dwell with men in their lowly habitations, com¬
forting and blessing the righteous, and pouring his
displeasure and wrath only against the transgressors
of his laws.

These, in short, are among the representations
which the Bible makes of God. He is set before us
invested with every conceivable perfection, shedding
forth from every glorious attribute the radiance of
the infinite Godhead, worthy of all honor, and of the
adoration of all hearts — the Great Jehovah, above all
and over all, blessed for evermore.

And not only is the Great Jehovah unfolded in
his perfections in the Scriptures , hut man in his char
racter and relations to God.

62 THE INCOMPAEABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

If we learn man’s origin and primitive condition
in tlie Scriptures, we learn there also liis wretched
fall. He no longer sustains to his maker the cha¬
racter of a sinless and gentle child. The crown has
fallen from his head. He has become a rebel and an
enemy, and the character of one man is the character
of all the race. Death has passed upon all men, for
that all have sinned. The posterity inherit the
depraved dispositions of a guilty parent, and on
every side, in every individual, are seen the fruits
and evidences of original corruption. In what book
but the Holy Scriptures is the phenomenon of uni¬
versal depravity stated and explained ? The phe¬
nomenon, indeed, of sin existing in this world at all
under the government of a perfectly holy God, is
one that no human powers can explain. We cannot
reconcile the fact with God’s purity and sovereign
power, but the mysterious fact is clearly stated,
though surpassing our powers to resolve, and no¬
where else is it stated but in the lively oracles of
God. Man was innocent, man was placed in a state
of probation, man was tempted, man yielded in an
evil hour and fell, and oh ! disastrously great was
that fall, bringing the curse, death, and all mortal
woes and miseries in its train.

But man’s apostasy is not only set forth in Scrip-

THE INC 0MP AEABLENES S OF THE HOLT SCEIPTUEES. G3

ture, liis recovery is also unfolded. Not only the
disease of his nature, but the remedy to remove
it. Is there no balm in Gilead , and no physician
there f Yes ! in God’s holy volume both may be
found. The first Adam wrought our ruin, the second
Adam has brought our recovery. AYe died in the
one, in the other we live. Through the one, Para¬
dise was lost; through the other, Paradise may be
regained. Look at the pages of the Old Testament.
See how luminous they are with the name of Im-
manuel-Messiah. From the first promise made to
the guilty parents who cowered beneath the Divine
frown which their rebellion provoked, down to the
sweet assurances of the seraphic Malachi, how do
the rays of evangelic light become at each advance
more frequent and intense, until they concentrate in
him sought after from afar and diligently by star-
led Magi, who, when they found him, poured out
adoringly before him with their rapturous praises,
their gold , frankincense , and myrrh. Abraham
rejoiced to see Chrisfs day , and seeing it was glad ,
and other saints of the patriarchal age partaking a
- like precious faith, partook also the same lively j oy.
The “ lion of the tribe of Judah” that Jacob saw,
the “ star” pointed out by Balaam — the prophet
greater than Moses to arise — the marked and lofty

64 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

utterances of David, Isaiali, Daniel, and the rest of
the evangelic brotherhood of seers ; the blood that
drenched the altars of Jewish sacrifice ; the types,
shadows, and ceremonies of the law, all point to him,
and centre in him, who was by the shedding of his
precious blood to magnify God’s law, and make it
honorable, and bring in everlasting righteousness,
and secure peace and pardon for the guilty.

And now the great question, “ how shall man be
just with God” is resolved. The Scriptures show
how the vilest may find mercy. Christ who knew no
sin hath become sin for us , and whosoever believeth
in him shall have eternal life , but whosoever believeth
not shall not see life , but the wrath of God abideth on
him. And thus, by disclosing and furnishing the
means of securing salvation from the curse and death,
does the Word of God commend itself as the most
priceless of records — a book valuable and important
beyond all estimation.

Again — the value of this book , which God has
finished , and which man may neither add to nor take
from, appears from its unequalled code of moral pre¬
cepts, proceeding from the highest source , and based
upon the most awful sanctions.

Man is addressed as a social being — as one indivi¬
dual of a vast brotherhood, as not only having a soul

TIIE ESfCOMPARABLElSrESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 65

to save, but as bound to conduct bimself honorably,
usefully, and well, in all the relations he sustains to
society. He who was holy, harmless, nndefiled, is
proposed as a perfect pattern for man to follow.
From his example, as well as from his precepts, we
learn to love God ; to honor and obey his ordinances ;
to love our neighbor as ourselves ; to revere and
uphold the institutions of civil society ; to be chari¬
table to the poor ; to have mercy on the afflicted, the
sorrowing, and distressed ; to be kind and affectionate
in our intercourse with those around us ; to exercise
the graces of meekness, forbearance, humility, for¬
giveness ; to curb all rebellious and unholy passions
and propensities that war against the spirit ; to exer¬
cise a calm trust in an overruling Providence, and
resignation to His wise and righteous decrees ; to
weep with them that weep, and pour the oil of com¬
fort into all woimded hearts ; in a word, to spend
our whole life in doing the Father’s will, which is to
love God, and because we love him to do good to all
mankind.

And if we look at the inculcations of the holy
apostles we shall find this matchless code run out into
lesser details, and enforced with a strength, earnest¬
ness, beauty, and pathos of language which, but for a
stubborn and defiant will, would make their effect

GO THE INCOMP AK ABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

irresistible, Tlie reciprocal duties of husbands and
wives, parents and children, masters and servants,
kings and subjects, rulers and governed, those in
authority and those under authority — the rich and
the poor, the high and the low, are stated with so
much clearness, and urged with such affectionate
importunity, that it is impossible to misunderstand,
and hard not to be convinced and persuaded to
obey.

And such is the commanding logic and energy of
these lofty inculcations, that they have changed the
moral complexion, not of communities simply, but of
entire nations. Certainly the most highly civilized
and powerful nations on the globe are Christian
nations, and no Christian nation is to be found whose
laws are most equal, just, beneficent, and commenda¬
ble, that is not indebted for the noblest of its statutes
to the Christian code. Beyond controversy, the best
laws of the most enlightened and vigorous nations
are based not merely upon, but are often little more
than transcripts from the Bible, and more particularly
from the blew Testament code ; and they stand there
like adamant, time and change defying — while those
laws which remain still upon the statute-book, too
rotten and feeble to support their own weight much
longer, will be found to be the very laws which are

THE INCOMPAEABLENESS OF TIIE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 67

most widely separated from tlie spirit of true Chris¬
tian morality.

Oh ! what a priceless hook is that which teaches
government how to make laws, and men how to obey
them — which instructs the nation, the community,
the little neighborhood, the household, the individual,
in the great principles and duties appropriate to all
and to each — which hinds them all together with
the cord of authority, stretching from human hands
to the throne of God.

I should not omit to mention the value of the
Bible in the light of its literary merits . This is not
so important a view intrinsically, as some which have
been presented, especially that which sets it forth as
bringing life and immortality to light. But the view
is sufficiently important to justify a passing re¬
mark.

4

In what hook shall we find poetry that will at all
compare in sublimity with some of the sudden im¬
passioned hursts of the hard Isaiah, or in gorgeous
imagery, in animated description, tenderness, eleva¬
tion, or pathos, with the sweet numbers uttered by
the inspired singer of Israel ? Where, in the whole
range of uninspired literature, shall we find a hook
filled with such varied compositions of the highest
order, as the hook of Job — a hook of which the con-

68 THE INCOMP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

eluding chapters alone, where the Almighty answers
Job out of a whirlwind, suffice to place it in point
of dignity, grandeur, and magnificent description,
at an unapproachable distance from all human
compositions ? What narrative so intensely interest¬
ing, so profoundly affecting as the history of Joseph,
from his first entrance on the stage, through all the
steps of his chequered and marvellous career, to his
reunion with his venerable father ! Often as we have
perused it, it retains its charm and power still, and
forces our eyes to overflow, however stoutly we may
resist the fascination. Where shall we find pathetic
lamentation so perfectly embodied as in David’s
grief-moving words on the deaths of Saul and
Jonathan, and of his rebellious son Absalom? Where
shall we find a nobler and more instructive pro¬
verbial philosophy, than that which Solomon’s in¬
spired pen has bequeathed to the world ? If we seek
for eloquence, what models are to be found among
all the books of the world, nobler than some of those
furnished by the Scriptures, such as Stephen’s over¬
whelming address to his countrymen, or Peter’s
sermon at Pentecost, or Paul’s address before Festus
or the Areopagus ? Where shall we find narratives
drawn out with more simplicity and truthfulness,
presenting pictures of the subjects treated before the

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 69

very eye of tlie reader, as those of the holy Evangelists
do ? In what uninspired hook is there such an accu¬
mulation of the most appropriate and forcible figures
and images, to illustrate the most familiar no less
than the grandest truths ? If we would find the most
striking comparisons, the most lively similitudes, the
most beautiful allegories, the most faultless parables,
we must look to the Bible, for it confessedly bears
off the palm from all compositions besides. It is
indeed no exaggeration to say that there are, in the
Bible, specimens of almost every species of excellent
writing, and in a degree of excellence which no
human productions can rival. So that in a merely
literary point of view the Bible has claims upon the
worlfl such as no other book whatsoever can present.
Add to this, the inexhaustible variety of its topics,
and the transcendant importance and grandeur of
many of its lessons, the intensely interesting charac¬
ter of its contents to people of all nations and every
tongue, the perpetual freshness which its pages bear
even on the most frequent perusal and the closest
intimacy, — the profundity of its wisdom, which
leaves room for the largest understanding to expa¬
tiate and learn more and more up to the very close
of the longest and most studious life, while the
understanding of the simple can easily apprehend

70 THE INCOMP AEABLENESS OF TIIE HOLY SCEIPTUKES.

enough of its sublime truths, to edify, refresh, and
strengthen, while the j ourney of life is pursued ;
consider all this — and all this is hut a part of its
incomparable value, its peerless supremacy — and
then confess that the book of books is a treasure
indeed, more precious than rubies, more to be
desired than gold, and worthy to be the gift of Him
who is the greatest and most glorious of Beings.
ISTor should we fail, in this connexion, to remark the
influence, unique, purifying, all-pervading, of the
Bible literature upon the nations, its hold upon them
becoming firmer, and its living spirit more indelibly
stamped with the rolling years. Its superiority, in this
respect, to all human literature, is as marked and
decisive as the superiority of the Great Teacher to
the ancient philosophers, or his system to theirs.
Christ’s teaching was not simply the most perfect in
its kind that the world ever saw ; perfect for one age
or era, and then to be removed to make room for
another system. But it was perfect in respect to all
time, and adapted to every age and clime, and every
state of society, and the world. The schools of the
Stoic, the Peripatetic, and Epicurean, where are
they? Overwhelmed hundreds of years ago by the
waves of Time and Change. But the school of the
Nazarene lives and flourishes still. Hor has the lapse

THE mCOMPAR ABLENESS OF TIIE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 71

of eighteen centuries lessened the number of its dis¬
ciples, nor dimmed the lustre of its celebrity, nor
rendered its celestial lessons obsolete, barren, or value¬
less — but its renown has risen, and the wondrous In¬
structor become more highly prized with the revo¬
lution of ages.

So with the literature which reflects and illustrates
these teachings. It has not become effete. It does
not rule like the ancient classics, “ holding a barren
sceptre in its gripe.” It does not live on through
mere sufferance, or retain its hold on human sympa¬
thy like the Iliad and other wrondrous products of
Pagan genius, through the mind’s instinctive admi¬
ration of rare exhibitions of imagination and art, or
through the amusement or delight found in scanning
and studying curiously wrought and beautiful pic¬
tures ; or because of the help furnished in forming
scholarly tastes, widening the intellectual scope, rais¬
ing the tone of thought, or reflecting the manners
and opinions of wonderful but departed races — with¬
out at the same time increasing the stock of moral
truth, by giving out one vital thought or grand teach¬
ing to inspire and elevate man as man, or one glim¬
mer of light to guide him in the path of true pro¬
gress. This pagan literature, therefore, so far as
moral aim or elevation is concerned, is spiritless and

72 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

dead. Not so that of the Bible. It has not only life
within itself, bnt the real life-giving power. It has
stamped itself in bright and ineffaceable characters
ujion the literature of every Christian nation. It has
moulded the intellectual and moral life of the last
eighteen centuries. It has become inwrought into
the mental constitution and aptitudes of those great
writers, in whatever department, who have spoken to
rouse and instruct the ages, and sway the human
mind. It has colored their habits of thought, and of
course shaped their modes of expression. The
noblest utterances of human lips reflect the Bible
most. Milton, without it, had been “ mute, inglorious
Milton,” indeed — and Locke, and Bacon, and New¬
ton, and even Shakspeare, voiceless or vapid. It has
interfused its living spirit with the mental habitudes
of all with whom it has come in contact, making
u thoughts that breathe and words that burn” to owe
this character, in great degree, to such contact, and
often unconsciously to the speakers themselves. Nor
is it too much to say, that were it possible to strike out
from the literature of Christian nations, everything
originating in or traceable to the Sacred Scriptures ;
everything reflecting slightly or palpably the life
and teachings of the eternal Book ; by far the great¬
est part of what is truly precious would disappear,

THE INCOME AR ABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 73

making what remained, seem as dross and rubbish com¬
pared with the gold and gems that were taken away.*
It is interesting to view the Christian literature
borne side by side with the Pagan, down the troubled
stream of .the ages. The former growing, like the
house of David, stronger and stronger, having within
it the true elements of grandeur and moral power
and expansion ; the latter, like the house of Saul,
waxing weaker and weaker by contrast, or the force
of contact with the other, or inherent lack of energy
to gain new trophies or hold those once won, or the
absence of the Spirit that dove-like brooded upon the
waters at the beginning. The one earnest, straight¬
forward, hopeful, confident, — conscious that its mis¬
sion is divine, and that a divine hand upholds it, and
will make its course safe and successful ; the other
timid and irresolute, feeling that it stands by pre¬
scriptive merit merely, with no firmer ground than
human taste and sentiment to rest upon, and without
noble purpose or divinely-breathed soul to perpetu¬
ate its influence. The former disdaining to smile on
vice, or encourage the exercise of gross and corrupt
proclivities, or the bad heart’s bad passions ; the other

* The author of “ The Eclipse of Faith ” has expanded this mat¬
ter with great ingenuity and force, in the section of his striking
work entitled “ The Blank Bible.”

4

74 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

loving popular favor more than it hates vice, incul¬
cating the loosest notions of virtue, and exemplifying
its teaching by making the greatest of its heroes and
even of its gods, the paragons of sensuality. The
Pagan literature is ever viciously conservative. It
has made no advance in morals, or elevated senti¬
ment, or humanizing ideas — remaining stationary
through all the periods of its life, seeming even to go
backwards when viewed in the light of the ceaseless
movement and activity around it ; beautiful, indeed,
and informing too, to gaze upon, as an exquisite piece
of statuary, but as cold and motionless. While the
Christian literature, having the principles of truth inhe¬
rent in it, is buoyant and progressive evermore, — pour¬
ing fertilizing streams throughout society ; awakening
immortal thoughts and aspirations ; stimulating the
sluggish powers to virtuous action, and making many
a stubborn waste to bloom and blossom as the rose.

And this it has done in spite of all opposition, hfo
method that man’s hatred could devise to dim its
brightness, or paralyze its energy, has been left un¬
tried. Infidel science and philosophy have made it
the object of their most determined and unwearied
animosity. But it has laughed to scorn equally the
spite of Celsus, the ridicule of Julian, the subtle acu¬
men of Porphyry, the mockery of Voltaire, the sneers

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 75

of Gibbon, and the ribaldry of Paine. It has not only
come ont unscathed from every ordeal, but shines
with brighter lustre by reason of these raging furnaces
through which it has passed. And if the works of
some great creative mind which have come unharmed
through a single century of fierce hostility and cri¬
ticism are deemed safe and immovable for the fu¬
ture, how impregnable must be the position of that
literature, which for eighteen centuries has been sub¬
jected to trials more terrible than ever befell unin¬
spired book \ Can we shun the conclusion that the
book which has done this must infallibly be from
God ? But I have dwelt too long upon this aspect of
the subject, and pass to inquire once more —

For what specific purpose this marvellous booh has
been given f Why has such an inestimable legacy
been bestowed upon a sin-cursed world, upon a race
of rebels ? Why has this treasure, so vast and pre¬
cious, been intrusted to earthen vessels ? The answer,
in part, is implied in several of the points already
surveyed, as for instance, God displaying his attri¬
butes and claims, laying bare the sinner’s iniquities
and exposure to condemnation — and sending forth his
beloved Son, born of a woman, to atone for human
* guilt and open the way for man’s recovery and salva¬
tion. The reason why the Bible has been given, is

76 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

worthy, however, of being considered in this place
by itself, especially as I design to connect it with an¬
other point in the close of these remarks. Do you
ask then for what purpose this peerless Book has been
given to the world ? I reply in one emphatic word —
Salvation. This is the comprehensive, all-telling
word that expresses the whole answer — Salvation, in
all its length and breadth — from the curse and its
dire effects — from the wrath of God — from the im¬
pending sword of justice — from the intolerable stings
of a guilty conscience — from the death that never
dies — from the endless agony that has no mitigation.

It is a faithful saying , and worthy of all accepta¬
tion, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sin¬
ners. This single intensely significant passage expres¬
ses the whole purpose of the Bible, and explains the
secret of its being in our hands. It declares that Jesus
Christ has come, and the purpose for which he came,
and that the saying is true and worthy of universal
acknowledgment. Without the coming of Jesus
Christ, there had been no Bible. Heaven had not
demeaned itself to write for the world, simply a book
of history, or philosophy, or poetry, or eloquence, or
a book abounding with any kind of rare and wonder¬
ful excellences, isolated from Jesus Christ, and the
sublime purpose of his coming. lie is the central

THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 77

sun wliose rays penetrate to every part, and illus¬
trate every part, and whose light extinguished every
part is dark as darkness itself. Whatever the Bible
contains that is interesting, valuable, and important ;
whatever gives it its unapproachable superiority ;
whatever invests it with a charm which raging ene¬
mies and rolling ages have been unable to break ; is
the fruit of that great purpose made before the worlds
were framed, to give the beloved Son as a victim to
divine justice. Christ absent from the Bible, the ele¬
ments of its grandeur are resolved at once into
nothingness — and because he is present there, all its
blessed pages being effulgent with his name, we have
the Book in its present dimensions — a book to which
the finishing stroke has been given beyond human
power of alteration ; a book which has extorted the
admiration of all ages, and poured in all ages the
light of its heavenly wisdom and love upon the minds
of docile inquirers who have gone to it for guidance
and consolation.

And Christ — but for the stupendous fact of whose
love, as sublimely shown in his ministry of sorrows
and suffering, no Bible had ever blessed the world — •
came into the world to save sinners, and sinners are
found everywhere. The distinguishing peculiarities
of nations as respects language, custom, complexion,

78 THE mOOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

manners, laws, reach not to their moral constitution.
Every man is an alien from God, a child of wrath, an
heir of woe. To every man there is need of moral and
spiritual renovation ; to have the precious blood ap¬
plied to wash the stains of a corrupt heart away. The
Bible, therefore, is infinitely valuable to every man, as
setting forth Christ, and him crucified, the only hope
and refuge of the soul. All may not appreciate its his¬
torical and literary merits, the grandeur of its descrip¬
tions, the beauty of its images, the loftiness of its style ;
but all may appreciate the force of the “ faithful say¬
ing,” that Christ died to save sinners ; that, in the
depths of his loving heart, there is joy for the disconso¬
late, peace for the sin-troubled, rest for the weary and
the heavy-laden ; and that as the end of faith and hope,
there is for all believing souls a heaven of fadeless glory.

The Bible, then, is a book for the world, and it is
our duty to circulate it. It proposes to lift the beg¬
gar from the dunghill, disrobe him of his rags, clothe
him with fresh and costly garments, and place him
beside princes, as a guest of the King of Heaven. Its
light is not to be hidden ; its benefits are not to be
restricted ; its untold wealth is not to be confined to
a class. Like its author, its mission is one of uni¬
versal philanthropy, and the blessings it scatters fall,
like the dews and rains of heaven, freely upon high

THE INCOMP ARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 19

and low, rich and poor. Wherever it comes, it hears
with it good tidings of great joy. There is no squalid
abode, no den of wretchedness, no hovel where lowly
toil is hardly earning through sweat and struggles its
daily bread, that it does not enter with a smile that
inspires hope, saying to the degraded and the toil-
worn, “peace be unto this abode.” It is ours, at
least, Christians, to see that every family around us,
and as far as our influence can reach, is supplied
with a copy of the Word of Life. If the religious
enterprise of the present day had done nothing more
than to cheapen and multiply the Bible, and effect
organizations for scattering it far and wide over the
land and over the world, it would have established a
just claim to the gratitude of present and succeeding
ages. The day of ignorance is passing away. The
Scriptures are accessible to all who dwell in a Chris¬
tian land. Ho household and no individual can say,
as it might be said formerly, that the enormous price
of the Bible places it beyond the reach of poverty ;
and, therefore, not to possess a copy is a misfortune
not a fault. A paltry twenty-five cents will intro¬
duce a Bible to the most poverty-stricken abode ;
and lest even this sum should prove a barrier with
any to obtain a copy, the benevolence of the age
stands ready to give to every one that asketh, having

80 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

little means to buy, the book, “ without money and
without price,” and hence every plea for not having
the “ lamp of life” in a dwelling is swept away,
and the “ condemnation,” if it fall, will be this, that
“ light has come into the world, and men have loved
darkness more than light.”

I regard an efficient national Bible Society not
only as a chief glory of a nation, but among the
strongest of its conservators. Great Britain, with
her ponderous, unwieldy, national debt, her social
diseases, her cankerous crimes, her far-reaching
oppression, the grinding inequality of her religious
system — enough all of them to tumble any nation
into ruins, stands on a foundation, of which her
gigantic Bible Society, a perpetual stream of bene¬
volence to millions, forms one of the principal stones.
Let this be torn away from its place, and the sway¬
ing and tottering of the mighty superstructure
begins. Our own country, free indeed from many of
the political and social maladies of the parent nation,
is yet following her with rapid strides in the march
of impiety and heaven-daring crime. But our Bible
Society lives, thank God, and with each healthy
pulsation of its mighty heart, is sending a pure
circulation of the word of God, in divers tongues
and dialects, to the farthest extremities of the

THE LNCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 81

system, tlie effect of which is to uphold the pillars
of the state, through God’s mercy on efforts to pro¬
mote his glory by scattering his truth. May this
tree, with its numerous branches, he fostered by the
prayers and liberality of all Christian hearts, that
its leaves may he for the healing of other nations,
and for the preservation of our own.

We are an auxiliary of this good Parent Society.
I trust wTe are dutiful children of so beneficent a
parent, and that we shall prove a part of her family
of which she shall have no cause to he ashamed.
We have done something in years past to show our
interest in her welfare. We have sent something to
her treasury in the shape of contributions, to aid the
wheels of her operations to work smoothly and well.
W e have received her agents with respect and cordi¬
ality. We have given them access to our families,
and furnished them what facilities we could for the
prosecution of their work, and bid them God speed,
as they have gone forth to visit the habitations of
the destitute poor and others around us. I know not
what report they have borne of us to the General
Society, whether they have spoken of us as enter¬
prising, zealous, liberal in the Bible cause, or in terms
less favorable than these. Probably, in the spirit of
the book they circulate, they have spoken of us with

4*

82 THE INCOMPARABLENESS OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.

a kindness and forbearance we may hardly deserve.
Be this as it may, we, at least, may say of ourselves,
that we have not done all that we could / that the
interest and zeal we have displayed, have not been
proportioned to the grandeur of the work, and the
magnitude of the consequences involved. Let our
future activity show our earnest desire to repair any
past delinquency ; and though there were no family
in our county calling for a Bible at our hands, the
world is yet before us, filled with darkness and
idolatry, and Christ bids us not to rest till every
benighted habitation on the globe is lighted by the
lamp of life.

HALL AID CHALMERS.

The precious remains of the latter of these great
and good men now rest where those of the former
have long peacefully reposed, in the bosom of our
common mother. Each at his death left a chasm not
soon or easily to he closed, not simply in the imme¬
diate circle of a large acquaintance, not in the par¬
ticular branch of the Church to which he belonged,
but in the Church throughout its length and breadth
■ — wherever, indeed, exalted talent, relined and con¬
trolled by devoted piety, demands and receives the
worthy tribute of admiration and love from Christian
hearts. Each fulfilled his course honorably, leaving
the impress of lofty sentiments illustrated by a spot¬
less character, upon his own and coming times. As
it was said of the former, by one who knew him well,
and was highly qualified to appreciate and describe
his character and gifts, so may it now be said of the
latter : “ While ready to give due honor to all valu¬
able preachers, and knowing that the lights of reli¬
gious instruction will still shine with useful lustre, and
new ones continually rise, we involuntarily and pen-

84

HALL AND CHALMERS.

sively turn to look at tlie last fading colors in tlie
distance where the greater luminary has set.”

To compare justly the man whom the grave has
recently closed upon, with him who has long slept
there, is almost as difficult as to compare the latter
with the living man. It requires time, in ordinary
cases, to form a true and impartial estimate of human
character. While a man lives, let him he as great
and as pure as is compatible with our fallen humanity
to be, his sentiments, actions, and character will
hardly receive a fair and just appreciation. Preju¬
dice and passion, envy and malice, sectarian bias and
party spirit, the very imperfections and infirmities of
the living man, trivial and insignificant, in comparison
with his shining excellences, as they will appear when
he comes to lie in the grave, detract seemingly from
his merits, render opinions discordant, and constitute
so many barriers in the way of that righteous deci¬
sive verdict to which men afterwards slowly but cer¬
tainly arrive. The living man moves among his
fellow-men with passions and infirmities like theirs.
Ho superiority to other men can place him beyond
the reach of unfair criticism. He is exposed to evil
eyes and evil tongnes, and the various influences
which cause the judgment even of honest minds to
differ ; until, when he dies, it is found that the world

HALL AHD CIIALMEKS.

So

have yet to learn truly, and pronounce finally, upon
his real worth. It would be easy to cite a host of
examples, where genius and talent, working out for
their possessors a world-wide reputation, were ne¬
glected and underrated by the men of their own
generation. The great man, hying, failed to be
gauged aright by his contemporaries ; but numbered
with the dead, opinion, in process of tune, became
purified of its error and dross, and a verdict to his
worth' — honest, true, and destined to last, arose as it
were from his grave.

This remark has its exceptions, and among these
the name of Chalmers must be placed. He died in
a good old age. He has been for many years promi¬
nently before the public eye. He was a bold, ardent,
devoted champion of a cause to which his best ener¬
gies were consecrated. He has done good service in
defending the bulwarks and advancing the interests
of our common Christianity. His “ works,” though
they needs must “ follow ” him, now that he is dead,
did follow him, defining and illustrating his character,
“ when he was yet with us.” He is known as well
and appreciated as highly, we had almost said, by the
Protestant world generally, as by that section of the
Church where he lived and labored, was idolized and
died. The structure of his mind, the character of

86

HALL AND CHALMERS.

his eloquence, the measure of his piety, the extent of
his influence, are points upon which little information
is needed. The idiosyncrasies of his character are
so marked, stand out so boldly before us, that "we
appear to know him as wTell as we can know him.
Nor do we scruple to express the belief, that the
estimate in which the world held his character at his
death, and had long held it, will, instead of undergo¬
ing any material change, be ratified by posterity.

In the character of these remarkable men, in
several interesting and striking points at least, a close
resemblance may be traced. To say that both were
endowed with the highest order of talent, that their
powers were rendered more effective by the sternest
discipline, and by learning, at once various and pro¬
found, is not to mark a resemblance that deserves to
be dwelt upon because there is anything strange or
peculiar about it. Numbers of eminent men have
borne, and bear, in these respects, a resemblance to
each other. The fact is noticed chiefly for the lesson
it suggests. We see how important these men con¬
sidered large and various learning to be to the effi¬
ciency and success of their ministerial work. Had
they discarded or neglected this, they had never
been the men they were. They were not content
with being simply theologians, fitted for the task of

HALL AND CHALMEKS.

87

expounding the scriptures aright by a thorough ac¬
quaintance with each branch of sacred science and
literature. This skill is certainly of the last import¬
ance, and they prized it as it deserves to he prized.
But they thought, that to explore sources of learning
not purely theological, would, instead of derogating
from their power as preachers of the word, increase
it, and render it more effective for good. It was
their settled conviction, that every species of know¬
ledge might he made subservient to religion, and
their studies accordingly took a wide range. We
know from other sources than their printed works,
what their sentiments were on this subject. But if
we did not, we ascertain them there most decidedly.
Hor can we fail to he convinced, as we read them,
that a strong element of their power is found, under
God, in the extent and variety of the learning
which they brought to bear on the illustration and
enforcement of religious truth. To win souls to
Christ is indeed the grand object of the preacher’s
toils. But he, other things equal, will succeed best
in this work who is most fully furnished, qualified at
all points for entering on it.

But the lofty powers of these eminent men were
refined and ennobled by the most lovely piety. This
point of resemblance deserves to be noticed for its

88

HALL AND CHALMEKS.

own sake. The union - of great endowments and
warm piety is far rarer than it should be. Wher¬
ever it occurs, it is one of the most interesting and
striking objects that the mind can view. What
raises Newton to so lofty a height in onr regard, as
to see him sit an humble learner in the school of
Christ, his noble powers brought all of them into
childlike submission to the will of the Great Teacher !
The rareness of such a spectacle among men of philo¬
sophic pursuits renders it the more imposing. Even
in the minister of Christ, piety, which, as a qualifica¬
tion for his work, deserves to be considered as indis¬
pensable to his usefulness — as that without which in
a fair degree, every other sort of qualification is as
“ sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal” — is not
apt to be proportioned to the degree of his mental
powers.

Among the great names that adorn the annals of
the Church, the greater part are certainly not men
whose piety has kept pace with their other endow¬
ments ; or, to speak less equivocally, whose piety has
been of the apostolic order. Baxter, Watts, Dod¬
dridge, Jeremy Taylor, Leighton, Rutherford, onr
own Edwards and Payson, and others of this class,
are as broadly distinguished in respect to the degree
of their piety from many distinguished men holding

1IALL AND CHALMEKS.

89

tlie ministerial rank, as these are from the cold for¬
malist or moralist. The ministry, as well as Chris¬
tians generally, are too prone to rest content with a
moderate standard of piety, as though that set np by
the apostles were unattainable, except by a very few.
Few, comparatively, it must be confessed, have
attained it, and men of the largest endowments the
least frequently of all ; the very strength and com¬
pass of their intellect tending to render them self-
reliant and vain-glorious, in opposition to that teach¬
able disposition of a little child, without possessing
which, heaven is lost — the assiduity of the pursuit of
knowledge frequently absorbing the mind and time
to such a degree as to preclude the necessary effort
and space to “ seek first” as our Lord enjoins, “ the
kingdom of God and his righteousness” — the every¬
day professional familiarity with divine truth, result¬
ing from handling and comparing it, and culling
from it continually, with a view of bringing it to
bear upon the minds and consciences of others , and
growing gradually more insensible to its intrinsic
power and application to the individual heart ; —
these are among the reasons why many exalted
minds in the ministry fall short of the apostolic
standard of spirituality, contenting themselves with
a dull mediocrity. Ilence, we repeat, that great

90

HALL AND CHALMERS.

powers of mind, conjoined to lofty piety, is a specta¬
cle as rare as it is beautiful.

In tlie subjects of tliis sketch we see this rare union
in its fairest colors. Constant and close communion
with Christ was the breath of their spiritual life.
They loved, with John, to lean upon the Master’s bo¬
som, and drink in the whispered counsels of his love.
They loved, with Mary, to seek divine wisdom at the
Master’s feet; and rising from this lowly attitude,
they went forth, strong in the Lord, to the duties of
their ambassadorship, ready, and rejoicing to convey
to other minds that light which the Holy Ghost had
imparted to theirs. This ardent piety was the fruit
of cultivation. It was watered by secret tears. It
was nourished and matured by the earnest self-com-
munings, the sighs of penitence, the fervent confes¬
sions and prayers of their solitary hours. The charm
of such a piety is indeed attractive, and the control
it exercises over minds so powerful and tempera¬
ments so ardent, truly wonderful. "What is more
beautiful, for instance, than to hear Mr. Hall, after
being greatly excited and carried beyond himself by
some warm debate, ejaculate, in accents of poignant
contrition, “Lamb of God, Lamb of God, calm my
perturbed spirit?” Or to see him, as his custom
was, kneeling with his daughter at the same chair,

HALL AXTD CHALMERS.

91

the faces of both Lathed in tears, supplicating the
Divine protection and blessing on her as she was
about to be absent for a season from home. Or to
hear his earnest voice, as his family often did in pass¬
ing his study door, calling the individuals of his
household by name in his prayers to God for mercies
on them all ! These may seem unimportant matters
individually, but as indications of character and the
state of the disposition and heart, they are full of sig¬
nificance and weight.

Read the sermons of Dr. Chalmers — for we know
less from actual record of the devotional habits of the
man — and we are sure that the fervor of devotional
feeling that pervades them is the transcript of the
preacher’s experience. Take, for instance, the ser¬
mon entitled “ Heaven a Character, and not a Loca¬
lity,” the scope of which is to show that heaven
must exist in the soul of man on earth, if ever it
exist for him anywhere, and the reading of it will
“ shut us up” to one of two conclusions — either that
the preacher is an accomplished hypocrite, or a man
of ripe, experimental piety. The reader may make
his election between them. For ourselves, the evi¬
dence of the devoted cast of his piety furnished by
many of his printed discourses, is as strong as we
desire. It is amply satisfactory, without the notices

92

HALL AND CHALMERS.

to this effect that have so often reached ns in various
authentic forms — without the corroboration afforded
by the commanding position he held for so many
years in his own church, to which talent, however
exalted, without corresponding piety, could never
have raised him — without the last touching ejacula¬
tion he was heard to breathe before he slept the
sleep of death, u My Father, my heavenly Father,”
so significant of his soul’s close, habitual communion
with Him in wdiose bosom he was soon to rest for
ever. Fie was a good man — a devout, God-fearing
man. So were they both. The great source of the
strength and effect of their splendid ministry is
found, beyond a question, in their devoted piety.

Great as their powers were, both appeared utterly
unconscious of possessing them, as they stood up and
uttered the messages of Christ before the throngs
whom their eloquence attracted. As they spoke, the
man wTas merged and lost in the ambassador to the
eyes and belief of all who hung upon their accents.
They betrayed no consciousness that their powers
drew the crowds before them, or kept them breath¬
less as they listened. The admiration they every¬
where excited, instead of calling forth fulsome dis¬
plays of vanity — more indecorous and out of place,
Heaven knows, in the pulpit than almost anywhere

HALL AXD CHALMEKS.

93

besides, yet seen, alas! too often there- — had no effect
to blunt the sense of what they were and whom they
served, or cause them to lose sight for a moment of
the grand end and true character of the preaching
of the gospel. The height of their elevation could
not render them so giddy as to make them vain¬
glorious. The same charming modesty, oblivion of
self — humility the greater on account of the exal¬
tation to which the Master saw fit to raise them —
continued to shine brighter than the splendor of their
eloquence, and undimmed by the adulation of the
world. With them the great theme was everything,
the speaker nothing. It filled the mind and heart so
completely and manifestly, that there was no nook
left for vanity to find a lodgment. “ Ilis absorption,”
says Mr. Foster, speaking of Mr. Hall while preach¬
ing, “ was so evident, there was so clear an absence
of everything betraying sign of vanity, as to leave
no doubt, that reflection on himself — the tacit
thought, ‘It is I that am displaying this excellence
of speech,’ — was the faintest action of his mind.
His auditory were sure that it was as in relation
to his subject, and not to himself, that he regarded
the feelings with which they might hear him.” The
same remarks will apply to Chalmers. The entire
absorption by his theme, and oblivion of self, as hav-

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ing constituted one of his most marked character¬
istics, even in a greater degree, if possible, than in
the case of Mr. Hall, is so well known as to need
nothing but the statement of the fact. If ever unin¬
spired preacher sank the man in the “ legate of the
skies,” felt his own personal littleness as he swelled
with the loftiness of his theme, and yielded all his
powers with desperate earnestness to the work of
impressing on other minds the truths which tilled
and roused his own, he is the man. And how be¬
coming to the preacher is such a consciousness !
How wonderful ought its absence in every case to be
regarded ! For what is grander or more awful than
to preach salvation to men ? The reflection of the
utter unworthiness of “ flesh and blood ” to do it, if
it were felt in all its length and breadth, would be
perfectly overwhelming. Paul’s strong expressions,
“Oh, wretched man that I am;” “We have this
treasure in earthen vessels ; ” “ Who is sufficient for
these things \ ” “I am not worthy to be called an
apostle,” show what thoughts he had of himself, and
what of the dignity and responsibility of his office.
Again and again does he present the theme of his
utter insignificance, extolling the grace of God which
alone made him what he was. We lose sight of the
man, only as we see him in the servant and ambas-

HALL AND CHALMERS.

95

sador of Christ. Such a disposition in the preacher is
one of the most signal triumphs of grace over natura
corruption, and the strongest evidence of fitness for
his work.

The applause of the world is soothing to the heart.
Even to the preacher it is apt to be vastly refreshing
to hear lavish encomiums bestowed upon the compo¬
sition or delivery of his sermons — to have the matter,
style, force, and effect of his pulpit exercises highly
extolled. And there are few churches, perhaps, in
which some shallow, though well disposed saints, may
not be found to apply the spark of flattery to the
tinder of the heart’s self-esteem, injurious in most
cases, and often disastrous to the young man whose
firmness is inadequate to the trial. The practice can¬
not be too loudly condemned, especially where the
unwary youth is the subject of its insidious opera¬
tion. What sight more painful — say to angelic
bosoms, if they were capable of feeling pain — than
that of a man invested with the most sacred office
that a mortal can hold, whose mission is to win souls
to Christ, losing sight of the grand aim of his work,
and the sentiments and feelings which can alone give
it dignity and success, as he is driven smilingly, and
with scarce an effort to resist, before the light breath
of popular applause? Among those earthly spec-

96

HALL AND CHALMEKS.

tacles which, are said to make angels weep, we know
not a more sorrow-moving one than this.

But if to resist wiles coming in so insidious a form,
to oppose them at the outset, and inflexibly, be a
most difficult achievement, not simply for the young
preacher, but for him of maturer powers and riper
experience — if the whispers of applause can gain a
lodgment, and make a breach in the hearts of men
not possessed of powers to distinguish them greatly
from others, or where they fail to do this, a signal
victory over temptation is won, and a high state of
spirituality in the victor shown — what must we say
of victory in such a contest achieved by men really
and greatly superior to others — though men not ex¬
empt from the infirmities “ which flesh is heir to ” — to
whose senses the incense of admiration and praise
was constantly wafted from the speaking countenan¬
ces of the multitudes who hung upon their accents.
The struggle would be sterner, the danger more im¬
minent, but victory more signal and decisive. Such
are precisely the victories which these illustrious men
achieved. Their humility exalts them more than
their extraordinary powers. Happy for the ministry,
happy for the Church and for the world, did shep¬
herd and flock, in each department of Zion, tread
more closely in the footsteps of such an example.

HALL AND CHALMERS.

97

We love to trace a resemblance between tliese
good and great men, in wliat we venture to call an
absence of artificiality in delivery of their sermons.
Both possessed a wizard’s power over the audi¬
ences that filled the churches where they preached.
Among Mr. Hall’s hearers were to be found the most
intellectual people in England, who found their way
to Leicester or Bristol, often from a considerable dis¬
tance, expressly to hear him, and who bore a nearly
uniform testimony to his commanding powers. An
honored minister of our own country informed the
writer of this, that he had the pleasure, several years
ago, being on a visit to England, to hear Mr. Hall in
his own chapel. He represented the single sermon
he heard as being richly worth a voyage across the
Atlantic. Nothing, he remarked, during the first
fifteen minutes of his preaching, was discernible in
his discourse, either in matter or manner, which,
divorced from the name of Bobert Hall, would have
been thought at all extraordinary. But then a sud¬
den change passed upon the preacher. He seemed
a different man from what he had been, so complete
was the transformation. And rising and glowing as
his subject expanded before him, his rapid, burning
words fell like a succession of thunderclaps upon
his audience till he closed. Our informant declared

5

98

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

liimself glad — he experienced a feeling of relief — •
when the preacher ended, for the shocks were too
frequent and heavy to he much longer endured.
Such was the effect produced upon one, himself an
excellent judge of eloquence, on hearing him for the
first time. Dr. Chalmers was not less forcible and
overwhelming. Few preachers ever possessed a
vehemence and energy so telling upon an audience,
lie held his hearers spell-hound, as with a giant’s
tread he strode onward with an impetuosity which
nothing might withstand. Once fairly kindled in his
theme, wrapt up in it, the lightning flashed and the
thunder rolled, while the effect was visible in the
breathless interest, the flowing tears, the awe-struck
faces of those who heard him.

How what was the secret of this amazing power?
Was it the importance of the subject, the loftiness
or vigor of the thoughts, the originality or splendor
of the composition ? All these have existed in equal
completeness, perhaps, in other preachers, who have
yet failed to make any particularly strong impres¬
sion on their hearers, who at least have never been
run after as men of commanding and extraordinary
eloquence. With a dull, tame delivery, the dis¬
courses of Hall and Chalmers would read as well as
they now do, but their fame as preachers had never

HALL AND CIIALMEES.

99

been achieved. There is something potent, then,
about delivery. The greatest of ancient orators
assigned to this the first, second, and third rank in
the order of qualities requisite for eloquence. The
men in question were great in the thoughts of their
compositions, but it was necessary to be great in
delivery also, before they could become world-
renowned as preachers. The stalest common-places
are often redeemed from insipidity and rendered
even impressive, as most have had occasion to ob¬
serve, by a forcible manner of utterance ; while,
these lacking, discourses really of a superior order,
embodying the strongest efforts of the mind, are
received with listless indifference. The great orator
of antiquity was, therefore, not far from right in the
stress he laid on delivery. This must be present in
eloquence, in at least a fair degree of excellence,
whatever else is absent. Without it, strength of
thought, a vivid imagination, elegance of diction,
however valuable, pass for nothing like their real
worth. It is only where they are joined, as they
were in Hall and Chalmers, to overpowering energy
in the delivery, that the great effect is witnessed — an
effect for the most part proportioned to the degree
of harmony and completeness in which these ele¬
ments are mingled.

100

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

How wliat we say is, tliat in neither of these won¬
derful preachers do we discover anything labored or
artificial in the manner of their pnlpit utterance.
They seem to have heartily despised the aid of mere¬
tricious adornments in giving effect to their words.
All is simple, unstudied, natural. Our opinion of
the men, it seems to us, would undergo a sudden and
painful change, if the conviction were forced on us,
that much of their attention and time had been
given to the work of appearing well before an audi¬
ence. We could not believe, without a revulsion of
feeling towards them, that they labored much so to
pronounce and accentuate and make their gestures,
as not to offend the fastidious taste ; that, in a word,
they were studious of acquiring the graces of a
polished elocution. W e have gauged the men amiss,
if taste and habit, the very structure of their mind,
masculine and robust, did not impel them to regard
as mere trickery and gewgaw in the preacher, what
was artificial, and designed simply for the eye.
They were men of large, open, honest hearts, acting
without disguise, without desire chiefly to please
men, anxious above all to tell the truth, that the
conscience might he reached and roused, and the
soul saved. It is no undue exaltation to place them
in this respect side by side with Luther, Zuingle,

IIALL AXTD CH ALGIERS.

101

Calvin, Ivnox — of the first of whom Thomas Carlyle
thus speaks, and the words may serve as a general
portrait of the whole : “ I will call this Luther a true
great man — great in intellect, in courage, in affection,
in integrity — great, not as a hewn obelisk, but as an
Alpine mountain, so simple, honest, spontaneous, not
setting up to be great at all” We adopt this without
erasing a word, as a true description of Hall and
Chalmers in the pulpit. They were “so simple,
honest, spontaneous” there, seeking not from the
schools the adventitious aids of a polished or effec¬
tive oratory, on which so much stress is laid and
labor bestowed by others. They elaborated their
theme, it is true ; but then standing up, they left it to
nature and the heart’s feelings Jo bring it out effec¬
tively. Hot a gesture studied, not a look or an atti¬
tude assumed — nothing in the whole manner put on
for effect — they yet came out with a vehemence and
power, the result of strong internal workings, that
produced an irresistible effect. Compared with
these, the mere orator of motion, sound, and the
graces, is as the beacon on the hill-top beside those
living, rolling, spontaneous fires which Vesuvius
belches from its bosom.

Hot that a finished elocution, the work in great
measure of art and toil, is to be decried as a worth-

102

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

less thing. It may merit all the pains that many take
to acquire it. Certainly, in the absence of higher
endowments requisite to move an audience, it may
subserve the useful purpose of keeping out of view
those deficiencies, which but for it would stand con¬
fessed. The proper mode of raising the arm, of dis¬
posing the fingers of the hand, of varying their
motions, of conveying impressiveness to the aspect
and grace to the attitude, of throwing force or pathos
into the voice, and nicely regulating all its articula¬
tions, is no doubt worthy to receive the preacher’s
most profound and laborious attention. All is proper
and useful if it really increase the effect of his words
upon the heart and conscience. But to do this the
appearance of art must be concealed. If his indus¬
try in this department shine through his performance,
he will be fortunate if the sacred place where he
stands, and the sober matters of which he treats, save
him from the pity or contempt of the staid portion
of his hearers. Few things are more utterly nauseous
and offensive to the heart of piety, to say nothing of
the world’s opinions on the subject — than a mere
pulpit display, where each word, look, and gesture
betrays the labor to show off. Without decrying art
as a most useful adjuvant to the preacher, we love
nature in the pulpit better, in all the roughness of

HALL AND CHALMEKS.

103

her attire. There is a majesty, a sturdy strength
about her, which, while it cannot be mistaken or
disguised, imparts additional dignity and robustness
to the strong thought or glowing sentiment. The
position of the preacher and the circumstances under
which he appears before men, would seem to render
a recourse to art, to enforce his words, unnecessary — •
would seem enough to impart to his words and man¬
ner the glow of intense feeling and earnestness, the
highest requisite of eloquence. It is this earnestness
which genuine feeling can alone produce in its native
strength, that the preacher too often lacks. Hence
the tameness that marks the delivery, and the indif¬
ference that marks the reception of so many excel¬
lent discourses. The reply which Garrick is said to
have returned to a certain Lord Bishop is anything
but pointless. “ How is it that you actors so affect
your audiences, moving them to tears with mere fic¬
tion, while we, who utter the most important truths,
are listened to with apathy ?” u Because,” replied
the great tragedian, “ we make fiction appear as
truth ; you make truth appear as fiction.” It is but
here and there at long intervals that a Garrick
springs up, with skill to make fiction appear as truth,
but many, alas ! succeed more easily in making truth
appear as fiction. Happy for the pulpit if a Gar-

104

HALL AND CHALMEES.

rick’s power to move conld be transferred there
without the Garrick — that is, the actor’s skill and
power without the actor . The truths spoken there
certainly deserve to be uttered, and should be uttered,
with a power far surpassing the most forceful utter¬
ance of fiction. This may not be without the fire
from heaven. Not all, like Hall and Chalmers, can
draw this fire from its hidden source. Strange fire
may be resorted to by those who feel their lack of
the true, and would supply it. But the contrast
between them must ever be palpable and strong. It
is the living fire, glowing in the preacher’s eye,
quivering on his lips, informing each look and tone
of motion, before whose presence rapt audiences,
which would not be charmed by any less potent
charmer, have bowed and melted in all times.

We pass from these resemblances to notice as
briefly as we may, one or two other qualities in these
distinguished preachers, in which contrast rather
than resemblance is to be marked. If their delivery
was eminently inartificial, the style of their composi¬
tion has very little of this character. The works
which follow them are not destined speedily to die.
They have long held a distinguished rank among the
most admired and eloquent productions of the pul¬
pit. "With widely different characteristics we dis-

HALL AND CHALMERS.

105

cern in each glowing page the hand of a master.
W e assign them no obscure nook on our bookshelves,
hut place them involuntarily side by side with those
favorite divines whose works we “ delight to honor.”
That the judgment of posterity in regard to much
of what we admire in their writings, will undergo
no change, it wmdd be rash, perhaps, to assert. But
we have little doubt that after the severest sifting
much will still remain that can only perish, when
this species of literature ceases to be read.

The sermons of Mr. Hall — those prepared by him"
self for the press — have suffered no injury as yet
from the ordeal through which they have passed.
We cannot fail, as we read them, to be struck with
the severe labor their preparation must have cost
him, taking into account only the mechanical part of
their execution. To say nothing of the noble
thoughts which pervade them, each word is carefully
chosen ; each period and member of it adjusted
and finished with the most scrupulous elaboration.
He could not polish enough what he intended for the
public eye. “ He had formed for himself,” says Hr.
Gregory, “ an ideal standard of excellence which
could not be reached. His perception of beauty in
composition was so delicate and refined, that in re¬
gard to his productions it engendered perhaps a fas-

5*

10G

HALL AND CIIALMEES.

tidious taste. And deep and prevailing as was Ids
humility, lie was not insensible to the value of a high
reputation, and therefore cautiously guarded against
the risk of diminishing his usefulness among certain
classes of readers, by consigning any production to
the world that had not been thoroughly subjected to
the labor limce. Hence the extreme slowness with
which he composed for the press ; writing, im¬
proving, rejecting the improvement, seeking another,
rejecting it, re-casting whole sentences and pages,
often recurring precisely to the original phraseology,
and still oftener repenting when it was too late, that
he had not done so.” This uncommon scrupulosity
is apparent in all his discourses prepared for the
press. The labor required thus to finish them, may
seem to many unnecessarily severe. But the fruit
of it is some of the most elegant and highly finished
discourses ever given to the world. Take the sermon
on “ Modern Infidelity,” the one entitled “ Reflections
on War,” that on the “ Discouragements and Sup¬
ports of the Christian Minister,” and that on the
“Death of the Princess Charlotte,” the most ex¬
quisitely finished, perhaps, of all his discourses, and
where shall we find, in the compass of the English
language, as many sermons, the product of one mind,
that in respect to composition, to say nothing of

HALL AND CIIALMEDS.

107

otlier and higher qualities, may he said fairly to rival
them? The compositions of Mr. ITall have been
placed by one of his warmest admirers even higher
than those of Addison, in respect to the purity of
their diction and exquisiteness of their finish. It
may be so. But no candid admirer, however ardent,
will refuse to admit, that this very nicety of elabo¬
ration is a serious blemish, compared with the easy,
graceful flow of the sentences of the latter, who had
no horror of ending his periods with an insignificant
word, when he found it desirable. Unlike Mr. Hall,
lie chose to retain the easy and the natural in his
style, even at the sacrifice of the sonorous. If he
lost anything in this way in dignity, as he certainly
lost little in elegance, he made amends for it in
increased strength. The general effect of Mr. Hall’s
sentences would be greatly enhanced, if their for¬
mality and stateliness were somewhat abated — were
they formed a little more after the Addisonian
model. We grow weary in tracing from page to
page so unbroken a succession of elaborately rounded
periods. The very monotony of so stately a style
leads us to sigh for something more unstudied — so
that after reading one of his discourses, magnificent
though it be, we turn to one by Atterbury or Leigh¬
ton, feeling the same kind of relief by the transition,

108

HALL AND CHALMERS.

that would be felt in passing from the highly-
wronglit pages of Gibbon to those of Robertson or
Hume.

The style' of Chalmers, great and glaring as its
faults are, is certainly less objectionable on the score
of excessive nicety of finish. If TIall erred in
bestowing too much pains upon his sentences, he errs
as manifestly, and a good deal less excusably, in
bestowing too little. As respects the elements of a
good style, the latter will bear no comparison with
the former. It has features, however, marked and
peculiar to itself. In fact, it is a style as completely
sui generis as any that we have ever met. Given
anonymously, a dozen sentences taken at random
from any of his sermons, to a person at all familiar
with what he has written, and he must be a bungler
indeed, if he fail to identify their author. There is
the exuberance of words bearing a slight proportion
to the ideas which they embody. There is the same
idea repeated, turned round again and again, and
presented at each successive turn, like the ever-
varying images in the kaleidoscope — to use Mr.
Hall’s expressive simile — under a new and beautiful
form. There is a “ rhetorical march, a sonorous
pomp, a showy sameness,” faults which cannot be
imputed to the style of the other. The words are

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

109

not always the most happily chosen. Words indeed
occur, whose use it would he hard to justify on an'y
principles of rhetorical propriety or correct taste.
Fantastic, uncouth words, downright Chalmerisms,
meet us not unfrequently, to many of which, how¬
ever, as in Carlyle’s very dissimilar phraseology, we
cannot refuse to yield the credit of possessing ex¬
treme aptitude and force. A whole page and more
the reader is forced to struggle over, sometimes,
before he reaches the breathing-place of a full pause.
From all which wre infer, though we remember not
to have seen it stated authoritatively, that, like his
gifted countryman, Sir Walter Scott, his habit was
to write currente calamo , with extreme rapidity, and
that what was thus written was seldom destined to
be re-written, or even subjected to a very searching
revision. Be this as it may, the sentences so abound
with redundancies, that the aid of the pruning-knife
must have been very sparingly applied. A moiety
of the pains expended on the compositions of Mr.
Hall, had made them immeasurably titter for the
public eye.

Yet his style, with all its defects, has an inde¬
finable attraction. There is about it a glow, a rich¬
ness of coloring, a frequent happy combination of
words, a copiousness of diction, and above all an

110

HALL AND CHALMERS.

aspect of intense earnestness, which taken altoge¬
ther, force ns to follow it with interest and pleasure.
We remember no instance in any other preacher,
where the glow of earnestness that lit up the eye of
the orator is so happily transferred to paper in
“ words that burn,” and communicated to the mind
and heart of the reader. And we will venture to de¬
clare — though the confession may stamp us as sadly
deficient in taste and judgment — that when disposed
to devote an hour or so to the reading of sermons,
we feel strongly inclined to give Chalmers the pre¬
ference to Hall. Mr. Foster remarks, in his criticism
on Blair’s sermons, that when about to peruse a ser¬
mon, the reader turns instinctively to the end, to see
the number of pages it contains. If this remark be
just, and he appeals to each reader’s experience for
the truth of it, nothing will be found in the number
of pages in Chalmers’s discourses to startle him,
which cannot always be said in regard to those of
Hall. Mr. Hazlitt assures us that he read the
entire series of “ Astronomical Discourses ” through,
with unflagging interest and at a single sitting.
Many readers will bear a similar testimony, as the
result of their own experience. But we doubt
greatly whether any reader ever achieved a similar
number of Hall’s discourses with similar perse-

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

nr

verance, or would have done so had the number of
pages been nearly equal in both. We take up a
volume of Chalmers on miscellaneous subjects now,
and such is the splendor of the diction, the play of
the fancy, the felicitousness of illustration, the ani¬
mation and energy that pervade the breathing
pages, that we feel borne along, as on the bosom of
some resistless torrent, that, disdainful of all ob¬
stacles, rushes along to disembogue itself, until,
before our interest flags or our attention grows weary,
sermon after sermon has been begun and ended. It
is easy, indeed, to criticise a style like this ; to point
out particular faults and blemishes ; but where an
effect of this kind is produced, so superior to that ordi¬
narily produced by the most admired writings of this
sort — there must be merit of a high and commanding
kind. The particular defects are merged and lost in
the general blaze of excellence.

Such being the general features of their style, any .
comparison between them, in respect to condensation
of thought, must result greatly to the advantage of
Mr. Hall. We have read writings more unsparingly
pruned than his of everything redundant, where the
thoughts of the writer were expressed, and com¬
pletely expressed, without the least obscurity or am¬
biguity, and at the same time without the least at-

112

HALL AND CHALMERS.

tention paid to ornament. “ Butler’s Analogy” may
be cited as an example, a model work of this sort of
composition, where language is used for no other
purpose than simply to convey thought. But while
Mr. Hall falls far short of him in this respect, as
every writer must who pays so much attention to
the structure of his sentences, it must be conceded
that he has very high merit in this respect. Barely,
indeed, may a sentence be found which would be
bettered by being pared, or in which the vigor of
the thought is sacrificed to the beauty of the lan¬
guage. In a style so ornate, this is indeed wonder¬
ful. Each thought is fitly, fully, and energetically,
as well as beautifully expressed. This is owing in
part to his evident mastery over language. Hot the
slaves of the lamp in the Eastern tale were more ob¬
sequious to their master’s will. It comes at his call
and performs his bidding, which is, not to divert at¬
tention, by its glare or splendor, from barren thought,
but to act as the most proper medium for conveying
thought that is really solid and profound. We are
acquainted with no modern divine in whose writings
what is massive and precious is blended in such just
proportions with what is ornamental. So that we
hardly know which most to admire in his discourses,
the vigor and compactness of the thoughts, or the

II ALL AND CHALMERS-.

113

sparkling and beautiful medium through which they
are conveyed.

Ilis immeasurable superiority to Chalmers, in re¬
spect to conciseness, may be strikingly seen by bring¬
ing together the sermon of each on the death of the
Princess Charlotte. That of Dr. Chalmers was writ¬
ten, as he tells us, under circumstances which pre¬
cluded even the ordinary amount of care in its pre¬
paration, and therefore is not to be regarded as a
fair sample of his powers. Mr. Hall’s, on the con¬
trary, bears internal evidence of having received the
most scrupulous attention before it was given to the
world. It is, in truth, a master-piece, sufficient in
itself to stamp immortality upon its author. Bring
the two together, though for the reasons stated the
comparison is hardly fair, and the degree of merit
possessed by each in respect to condensation will be
apparent. Few contrasts can be stronger than that
between the diffusiveness of the one, and the com¬
pactness of the other. "We rise from the perusal of
the one with a feeling very like mortification, cer¬
tainly disappointment, in our expectations of what
the occasion and the man should have produced — •
from that of the other, with the impression that no
great occasion, like that which shrouded a nation in
mourning, was ever improved by a more solemn,

114

HALL AND CHALMERS.

dignified, and weighty religious service ; one calcu¬
lated to produce a more salutary and lasting influ¬
ence upon all classes of society.

Both these great preachers possess rare merit in
the conduct of their discourses. Mr. Hall’s subject
has evidently taken full possession of his mind, is
broadly delineated there, in all its harmonious pro¬
portions, before he gives it expression. In the dis¬
cussion of it, he presents for the most part two or
three points, the dependence of which is clear, and
leading to the most obvious conclusions. These are
sometimes divided into subordinate branches, but
the unique of the argument is so preserved, that the
mind of hearer or reader is in no danger of being
distracted by a multiplicity of topics, some of which
seem no wny related to each other. This is the fault
of many of the old divines — and truth to say, some
modern ones have not escaped it — of crowding a
multitude of topics, some of them irrelevant or far¬
fetched, into a single discourse, as though its excel¬
lence must be in exact proportion to the number of
points embraced. We greatly admire the ingenuity
displayed by many of these fathers and great men in.
the Church in their pulpit exercitations, but we can¬
not fail to remember that their hearers were but
men; that the memory of ordinary mortals is not

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

115

infinitely retentive ; that wliat is not retained, is no
better tlian a waste of labor and of words — vox sparsa
in auris — tliat, in short, to bewilder the mind, by
placing too many good things before it, can scarcely
be expected to nourish it more, than the various de¬
licacies of the table can the body which they fill to
repletion. Two or three, or even four points, seem
sufficient, without many subdivisions, for the most
part, for the discussion of any single topic that may
task the preacher’s powers, at least on any single
occasion. The most admired sermonizers seldom, it
will be found, have taken more. Mr. Hall found
these sufficient to give form and expression to the
most brilliant and elaborate of his discourses. Dr.
Chalmers employs, for the most part, fewer still. In
each discourse he has a single point that he desires
to illustrate and enforce. In most of his sermons,
not more than two formal divisions will be found.
The leading topic of his discourse is brought out
again and again, is held up to view in various at¬
tractive and striking forms, is presented with a clear¬
ness and urged home with a power, that force the
most unobservant to apprehend it, and the most sto¬
lid to feel. Forgiving to each sermon a broad indi¬
viduality, for so distinguishing from all others his
one grand idea, illustrated by the greatest variety of

116

IIALL AJSTD CHALMERS.

otlier ideas and images, all tending to fix his conclu¬
sions firmly in tlie mind, lie has no superior, and we
know of no man that may he fairly called his equal.
This has been called a great defect. u His mind
turns as on a pivot,” it has been said ; “ there is revo¬
lution without progress.” We could never feel the
force of tills criticism. For as we have followed
him, we have found light dawn upon and conviction
fastened on us, as in each revolution we have met
the constant evidence of progress. There is revolu¬
tion, but it is that of the wheels of an ocean steamer,
each one of which, in spite of wind and waves, urges
the vessel nearer to the destined port. The very
amplification of his theme, the repetition of the same
idea, has the effect in his case of impressing that
idea with a force which nothing can resist or evade.

The propriety of using written sermons in the
pulpit, a question on which much breath has been
spent and some paper wasted, may not be thought
too trivial to receive a little attention in connexion
with the distinguished subjects of this very imper¬
fect sketch. Mr. Hall, it is well known, never used
them. "While Dr. Chalmers read so closely that his
left hand was for the most part useless as an aid
to gesture, the fore-finger of it being employed in
tracing the lines of his manuscript. Ho thing appears

HALL AND CHALMERS.

117

to ns more absurd and puerile than sober contro¬
versy about the use or disuse of notes, as a matter
of propriety or duty. It were no doubt well, if all
preachers had the faculty of addressing their fellow-
men with point and effect without the use of
the manuscript. ¥e find no trouble in con¬
ceding this to have been the apostolic mode, and
that for obvious reasons. But we hold the prej udice
against them in certain quarters to be as stupid as it
is ridiculous. If we look at the subjects which the
preacher is expected to discuss Sunday after Sunday,
we shall see at once how widely different their
character is from that of most subjects on which men
are in the habit of speaking fluently, without writing
or reading their discourses. Take the advocate, for
example. He has his facts drawn from testimony,
something palpable and tangible, which he makes the
basis of his speech, and to which he is obliged con¬
stantly, in the course of it, to appeal. There are
circumstances about each individual case, which in¬
vest it with more or less of interest, enough generally
to secure attention for the advocate, if he only plead
with tolerable ability, to the facts which have been
elicited. It requires no very commanding power of
intellect to do this. In fact, practice may soon render
the mediocer , if he possess judgment, expert in

118

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

arranging liis evidence, and making only from liis
briefs a speech of respectable argumentative power.
Aided in this way by facts, which appeal to the out¬
ward senses of men, one of the first difficulties which
the preacher has to encounter, that of securing
attention, has been met and vanquished. The sub¬
jects presented by the preacher are more of a
didactic than of a practical character. lie must se¬
cure attention to them, if he get it at all, not by
appealing to matters of personal knowledge and
every-day experience, but to those which rest on
faith, and are beyond the reach of the outward
senses. Besides, he has not, as the advocate has, a
new array of arguments and facts applicable to each
successive case, and no other, and possessing, on this
account, the force of novelty. The very iteration of
subjects, removed as their character is from matters
with which men are experimentally conversant,
begets familiarity, and thus insensibility, so that the
attention becomes more and more languid. Hence,
to overcome this inattention is the preacher’s great
aim. To do it, and retain a hold upon his hearers, it
is necessary to prepare his pulpit utterances with the
utmost care — to make amends for the lack of tangible
facts by the wide variety of topics that he enlists in
the service of truth. Far greater pains and skill are

IIALL AND CIIALMEES.

119

requisite to interest an audience on the Sabbatli-day,
than the advocate finds necessary to interest bis.
And be whose preparation best effects a result so
desirable and important, is the workman who lias the
least cause to be ashamed.

Now we are far from saying that this variety is
inseparable from writing out discourses for the pulpit.
We know there are minds so constituted as to be
able to prepare for the pulpit with as great fulness
and accuracy by dint of the mental operation, as by
the use of paper. There are some who prefer this
mode of preparation to any other, and whose at¬
tempts to preach from written notes would be a sad
failure. This was the case with Mr. Hall. His
power of abstraction, by virtue of which he could
shut himself out from all surrounding objects, and
pursue his theme uninterruptedly till he had mastered
it, adjusting not simply the general train and current
of remarks, but the very sentences and words in
their proper places, is one of the most extraordinary
features of his mind. It cost him not only labor, but
pain, literally, to commit his thoughts to paper. He
had been a Samson short of his strength, had he
been forced to the manuscript as the medium of
addressing an audience. But of Dr. Chalmers the
reverse was true. He chose to write his preparations,

120

HALL AND CHALMERS.

and to give them from the paper. Had he been
forced to throw his paper aside, and rely upon his
mental laboratory, as the other did, we will not say
that his failure would have been ignominious — but
we have not a doubt that there would have been a
sad falling-otf in the overwhelming energy that so
remarkably distinguished him. There is no Pro¬
crustean bed to which a preacher should perforce be
fitted. That mode in which he can prepare best and
preach most effectively, is best. They who can
elaborate their theme maturely, and produce most
impression without notes, or who discard them out
of choice, for reasons satisfactory to themselves, are
certainly wise in doing so. While they who possess
no enviable gift of abstraction, or who, after writing
their discourses, are unable or unwilling to commit
them to memory, or who have not the gift of preach¬
ing well from analysis, and will not, by frequent ex¬
temporaneous speech, incur the risk of having their
discourses degenerate into jejune common-places — a
Scylla on which many an anti-note man has fatally
struck — should certainly be permitted to choose that
mode by which they can most effectively set forth
God’s counsel before men. If Chalmers be worth
anything as an example, it must be confessed that
a man may preach, even though he read. An ac-

HALL AND CHALMEKS.

121

quaintance with the practice in this respect of the
most noted divines, both at home and abroad, will go
far to conduct us to the same conclusion.

But we must close. The world will look upon the
faces and hear the voices of these eloquent great men
no more. The mighty leveller consigns to the worm
the strong man equally with the feeblest. We mourn
as we witness the sad effect of his doings. We ex¬
claim, “How are the mighty fallen,” in accents of
bitterness that would seem to proclaim our conviction
that such men lost to the Church, all is lost. But the
ark is safe, though the strongest arms that upheld it
are paralysed. The Church and the Truth live on
just the same, though the brightest ornaments of the
one and the ablest defenders of the other, fall into
the grave. God identifies not the prosperity of Zion
with the labors or the life of particular individuals,
however distinguished and important may have been
their services in its behalf. He condescends to em¬
ploy such men, as he does humbler ones, to accom¬
plish his designs. When their work is done, He still
liveth, to preside over the affairs of the world, and
of the Church especially— to guard his heritage — to
raise up the proper persons to defend it — to infuse
light into their mind and strength into their arm.

Hor may the men to whom this work is in great

6

122

IIALL AND CHALMERS.

part intrusted — the “ ministers of his who do his
pleasure” — sigh in despondency, as they remember
how feeble is their strength, compared with that of
those whose talents and eloquence the world have
honored. We have onr mission to fulfil as well
as the most rarely-gifted preachers who have
ever attracted the admiration of mankind. If the
five talents have been withheld from ns, we will
not be required to account for five. W e are answer-
able only for the improvement of that which has
been given us, be it less or more. To improve this
gift well, is to fulfil our mission well. While to such
truly great men as those who have been before us,
the worthy tribute of a world- wide esteem and ap¬
plause is accorded, a time is coming when the dis¬
tinctions of eternity will swallow up all minor ones
— when to the humblest laborer in the Master’s vine¬
yard who has done what he could in the noblest of
services, improving his single talent, if only honored
with one, with all diligence and sincerity, as beneath
the Master’s eye, will be awarded this decisive and
ever-abiding title to distinction, “Well done, good
and faithful servant, enter into the joy of thy Lord.”

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE, AND THE
DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

(A Sermon on the Disappearance of the Cholera, Oct. 1849.)

“ I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress — my
God — in Him will I trust. Surely He shall deliver thee from the
snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence.”

Psalm xci. 2 3.

The summer now past and a part of the fall, have
together formed a season which will he memorable
in the history of the country, as the season of 1832 is
memorable from a similar cause. God lias again been
abroad in the land, by the presence of one of those
dire scourges which Tie so often makes the ministers
of his wrath — to execute deserved punishment upon
nations that grow forgetful of his laws and of his
claims. The season has been one of fear and gloom,
of sadness and mourning. Those communities more
particularly which have felt the shock of the pesti¬
lence, — where it has enrolled among its victims many,
who a few months ago were rejoicing in firm health

124

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

and fair prospects, as we now rejoice, have been most
affected by this gloom, this sadness, and these fears.
5>ut the whole land has had reason to share these feel¬
ings, for where a scourge is abroad so fatal and un¬
distinguishing as the cholera ; where places remote
from each other were found liable to be simultaneous¬
ly attacked, and from no traceable cause ; where no
quarter of the country, no district, no city, no town,
no village, has been able to count upon absolute im¬
munity ; and where, even to those who remained in
apparent safety, the constant tidings were borne of
the sufferings of other places and the anguish of other
homes, — it were almost impossible for any heart of
sensibility not to have trembled and mourned, on ac¬
count of the ravages of so terrible and unpitying a
foe. While in the midst of a community where the
death-strokes fast and heavy, have actually fallen, as
they have in our own,* not to have felt any dread at
the mighty power of God, which was so impressively
displayed, or any grief for the bereavement and sor¬
rows of others, would argue a heart so cold and un¬
feeling, as to be beyond the reach of the softer
emotions.

* Some sixty deaths occurring in the place of the speaker’s
residence, Saugerties, N. Y., from this fearful visitant, out of a popu¬
lation of 3,000 souls, exhibit a degree of mortality without many
parallels in the land.

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

125

Sucli stolid insensibility, I trust, has occupied its icy
throne in the bosoms of very few. It may be safely
assumed, I hope, that all of you at least have shared in
the sober and pensive feelings of which I have spoken
—feelings creditable to our humanity, and show¬
ing that man is not utterly abandoned. Many graves
have opened in the midst of us since the summer
dawned. Many are lying there, the cold and still
dwellers of these narrow houses, who looked with
gladness as we did, upon the opening buds and flow¬
ers of the spring, who inhaled with us the sweet
perfumes of the fresh season, who hoped to see
and gather the fruits of autumn, and enjoy them in
the winter. But alas ! — the promise of their spring,
like that of many an early frost-nipped flower, is
blasted for ever. And so all over the land. The
newly closed and crowded graves near at hand which
glare upon the passer-by, repeat the same story that
is told by the graves heaped during the season, in a
thousand other localities ; and that story is the blasting
of human hopes with human life, by the hand of this
destroyer. It is a sad story and fruitful, if its lessons
be rightly heeded. I purpose this morning to ask
you to attend with me, to some considerations con¬
nected with this subject, to revolve some of the sen¬
timents which we should entertain in view of the

126

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

painful dispensations of Providence, during the season
past, and in view of our having survived, through
the Divine Mercy, those blows, before which so many
of our fellow beings, both here and elsewhere, have
fallen.

We have reason to congratulate one another that we
are alive to-day — that we have not fallen suddenly
before this “ noisome pestilence”

Though we may cherish the hope that, had death
stricken some of us, we should have met him not
unprepared for an exchange of worlds — though our
individual departure as Christians falling asleep in
Jesus had been a transition from a world of misery to
one of joy — yet we seldom rise so far above the
world’s attractions as to be careless of life, or as to
wish for death. It requires the very highest pitch of
spirituality and deadness to the world to enable us to
soar with the apostle above sense and sight, and re¬
spond to his lieart-desire to depart and be with Christ ,
which is far better. W e wish to linger still among
our friends — to rejoice in the endearments of family
and home — to preserve the pleasant associations of
various kinds which we have formed — and to be useful
to our kindred, the Church, and Society. We desire
to live longer, lest perchance our work, if it should
cease now, may be found unfinished — we desire to

AND THE DUTIES OF TIIE SAVED.

127

live that we may recover strength before we go lienee ,
and be upon the earth no more. And we desire to
live that we may spare for awhile yet the pangs of
those who survive us, who love us, and who, by our
departure, may be thrown unprotected and helpless
upon the cold charities of the world.

Call not this love of life that is so strong within us,
the evidence of a feeble piety, or a too powerful at¬
tachment to a world that is not our “ abiding place,”
in which we are but pilgrims and sojourners , as all
our fathers were. Call it rather the evidence of the
strength of mortal infirmity — of the imperfections of
a heart whose native corruptions lead it to vibrate
between earth and heaven, and which grace alone
can wean, as we trust it is gradually weaning it from
all that is grovelling and base.

The joy at our preservation should be proportioned
to the tenacious hold we have on life. And thus
even to the Christian who relies with unfaltering
trust and tenderness upon the merits of his Lord, is it
a source of heartfelt satisfaction that the storm of
the pestilence has swept by, and he is not numbered
among its victims. But far more should the worldly
man rejoice, whose hope is confined to the present,
that his span of life and season of mercy have not
been suddenly interrupted together by the bursting

128 THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE;

storm. In addition to all the considerations just pre¬
sented, which render life sweet even to the pardoned
child, there are in his case the vastly significant ones
of an offended Father to he reconciled, a long neglect¬
ed Saviour to he sought and found, — the inveterate
liahits and experiences of a rebel’s mind and career
to he supplanted hy those springing from the life of
God in the soul. W ell may intense congratulations be
exchanged hy this large and interesting class of wor¬
shippers that they are “ yet alive ” to-day — that while
the arrows of the pestilence that walketh in darkness
have been falling thick and fatally on every side, and
the groans of the stricken have blended with the
wails of the bereaved, the Lord has been their “ Re¬
fuge and their Fortress,” and has not suffered the
plague to invade their dwelling. Exemption from
the rough sundering of the closest ties which unite
heart to heart, is, I am sure, a theme of profound
rejoicing to Christian hearts this day. Exemption
from the doom of those who die unwashed of sin,
and the prospect that many days of healthy life
will furnish and repeat many opportunities for
wandering sinners to return, should expand and
overwhelm the impenitent bosom with a far livelier

j°y-

2. Mere joy at our escape from death were barren

AND THE DUTIES OF TIIE SAVED.

129

and contemptible indeed , if dissevered from a senti¬
ment of prof ound awe of the Supreme Ruled s might
and majesty , and of profound gratitude to Him whose
mercy has been our “ shield and buckler

God sends the pestilence. The Scriptures express¬
ly assert it. And if they did not, the knowledge they
give us of God and of nature, constrains the belief
that it could not be otherwise. Who but the God of
nature can control and impel nature throughout all
her departments — that great and mighty Lord, who
covereth himself with light as with a garment — who
hath stretched abroad the hea/vens like a curtain — who
has laid the beams of his chambers in the waters — ■
who maketh the clouds his chariot , and rides upon
the wings of the wind — who maketh his angels spirits ,
his ministers a flaming fire ! Yes, the flaming fire,
and the rolling waves, and the raging winds — all the
elements of nature are under liis control, are thrown
into commotion or lulled into repose at his command.
When he utters his voice the earth quakes and
groans, and the mighty city with its swarming popu¬
lation is swallowed up — the horrid fire from subter¬
ranean caverns is belched forth to appal the stoutest
heart, and overwhelm the habitations of men — the
fierce tornado tears along its impetuous way — the
ocean lashes itself into fury, now sending the affright-

q*

130 THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

ed mariner to the clouds, and anon plunging him
into the yawning abyss — the sands of the desert
arise, follow the tracks of the trembling traveller, or
hurl themselves upon the shrinking caravan, burying
man and beast indiscriminately in the most horrible
of graves. The simoom’s poisonous breath sweeps by,
and the poor wanderer in the desert who inhales it
falls and dies. And the “ noisome pestilence ” too,
the destruction that wasteth at noonday , comes
forth from its lurking-place at its Master’s nod, and
rushes from point to point, horror and havoc attending
it, to execute its mission, whether of wrath, of warn¬
ing, or of woe.

O God ! how great and terrible art thou ! How
vast thy power, how awful thy majesty, as seen
simply in the elements, when thy voice rouses them
into rage ! Who can stand before thee when thy
wrath is kindled but a little — wThen thou goest forth to
judge and smite the lands ! Worms that we are and
not men, when measured by thine infinite grandeur,
may the depth of our humility and the earnestness of
our adoration show that we have some sense of our in¬
significance, and of the amazing mercy which still
suffers such feeble dying things to crawl.

And “the sacred seals that bind the pestilence”
have been broken by His hands. His voice has bid-

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

131

den it to go, and it is gone — to smite, and it lias smit¬
ten — to cease, and tlie bloody sword has been returned
to its scabbard. What fearful effects, alas ! have at¬
tested the severity of the visitation. What hopes
have been blasted — what homes have been made de¬
solate — what pangs of body have been endured —
what countless hearts have been wrung, and what
weeds rest and will long rest upon many a sorely
stricken mourner, who, with bowed head, refuses,
like Rachel, to be comforted, because the loved are
not. But let all the inhabitants of the world stand
in awe of him. It is His hand, and let survivors
fear Him. Though some have been taken, the many
have been left. It is the divine mercy which has
kept the fatal strokes from falling still more thickly.
But for the divine forbearance, the wail of anguish
had risen from every household in the land, as it did
in Egypt, when there was not a house where there was
not one dead. What is any man whose breath is in
his nostrils , that the plague should put a difference
between him and others who have perished like the
moth before it? While we bow, therefore, before the
majesty of Him whose way is in the sea , and who
does according to his good pleasure among the inha¬
bitants of the earth — let the full hearts of the spared
pour the tribute of gratitude to Him who has been

132

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

their “ refuge and fortress ” in the hour of danger —
who rebuked the “ noisome pestilence ” which threat¬
ened to devour, saying, as he encircled our bosoms
with his arm of love, hitherto shalt thou come , but
no farther. How rapturous the song of Moses as he
looked back upon the tranquil waters which covered
the baffled and death-struck foe, and how fitly at this
time may our hearts respond to its majestic opening
sentiment of gratitude and praise, The Lord is my
strength and song , and He is become my salvation.

But the God-sent pestilence has not come and smit¬
ten without a purpose. The ministers of justice or of
wrath draw not the sword for naught.

What that purpose is, in so many words it were
presumptuous for man to say. So ignorant are we of
the secret counsels and designs of the Almighty, that
we must shrink from expressing a decided judgment
upon the design of those developments of Provi¬
dence which are transpiring around us, except in
cases where all uncertainty is removed by express
revelation. This is not granted us in the case of that
pestilence which having pursued its strange erratic
course in various countries of the old world, victims,
like the falling leaves of autumn, everywhere strew¬
ing its path, has again found on our shores the theatre,
of its unequal warfare and dire victories. Who shall

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

133

declare the specific purpose of the spoiler’s approach
and devastations ? Who can enter the council cham¬
ber of the infinite and learn it there ? Man is of
yesterday , and knows nothing , and least of all of the
secret things that belong unto the Lord our God.

One purpose, however, of sending forth the minis¬
ters of destruction may be assigned without hesita¬
tion, for it is one which again and again, as revelation
assures us, has caused the axe of judgment to be
wielded and laid vigorously at the root of the tree of
guilt and folly. It is to rebuke and punish sin. — •
Sin, which drowned a wTorld, brought the devouring
tempest of fire and brimstone upon the guilty cities
of the plain — caused the avenging sword to drink the
blood of so many nations of antiquity whose calami¬
ties stand out upon the pages of Scripture, as beacons
to warn us of their fate and bid us beware how
we follow in their footsteps of rebellion — upheaved the
foundations of mighty cities and empires — brought
angels down on anxious messages to men — and caused
the wasting pestilence to be sent forth to proclaim
that God and his laws are holy, and the sinner vile
and his rebellion odious, ever inviting the full con¬
tents of the cup of the Loris right hand.

And are our sins, whether national or individual,
so much fewer in number and smaller in bulk than

134 THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

those of the Jews, as to exempt us, on the score of
merit, from those special heaven-sent inflictions, by
which they were so often scourged into obedience?
Are we more grateful to God for his distinguishing
mercies than they — more habitually impressed with
the sense of his overshadowing presence and power,
less prone to lapse into rebellion — more pleased with
his service, more anxious for his glory ? Who will
rise up and say, that we deserve more favor and less
punishment than the covenant people of old ? Hatlier
let ns say, as we certainly shall, if we know our¬
selves, “ let the rod fall, we deserve its strokes,” — and
were they to come tenfold thicker and heavier than
they have fallen, we should still be, and must ever be,
insolvent debtors to the Divine forbearance.

Though the punishment of sin has been chiefly or
in part the purpose for which the plague-storm has
been sent, it is certain that we — no worthier than
many who have not escaped — have escaped it. And
for what ? May we not humbly seek the purpose for
which we are suffered in health this day to look
around upon the graves of the fallen, feeling that no
evil has overtaken us, because the Most High has
been our refuge and defence ? Those undeserved dis¬
pensations or interpositions which save man from
impending calamity or death, are at once the evidence

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

135

and effect of tlie divine love and mercy. Life re¬
deemed from tlie grave, is the continuance of the
opportunity of its being saved for ever. When the
tree is not cut down, it is suffered to stand that it
may peradventure bear fruit. May we not therefore
call God’s purpose in saving man from the pestilence
to he, that the reckless rebel may profit to his own
salvation, by the deeply solemn and affecting lessons
springing from the divine judgments? And more
than this, that not the dead in sins alone may he made
alive, but that a languid faith and love and zeal may
be stimulated in Christian bosoms, and that the sear
and drooping graces of a formal piety may be made
to bloom afresh ? Among the lessons which should be
graven as with a pen of iron on the heart, may be
mentioned these.

That God now demands the life consecration of the
spared. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of
the living God. But for the mercy which has saved
you alive amid the havoc of the plague, ye men of
preverse minds, the awful experience of these words
would now be yours. No more shall the accents of
invitation to the cross, the soft murmurs of the streams
flowing from the Fountain of Life, fall upon the ears
of the many who have gone down cpiickly to their
graves. Their work here is done, whether well or ill.

136

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

No space in tlie spirit-land whither they have gone,
can be found to repair what was wrong, to complete
what was unfinished. But to the living, the voice
both of entreaty and command speaks. The body
and soul are the property of Christ. They have
been bought with the costliest sacrifice, whose savor
has ever reached the skies. The noblest powers and
services of human hearts and lives are his, and
should now be devoted to Him, who claims them as
the reward of His agonies. No fife, indeed, is long
enough to pay the vast debt which each soul owes,
but no point of time is too early to begin its acknow¬
ledgment. The divine entreaty and command unite
to enforce the spared sinner’s attention to the worth
and importance of the eventful present. Now is
the accepted time — the future is veiled in darkness
and doubt. Though the plague has spared, scores of
diseases which may not spare, wait to stop the
heart’s pulsations. The stroke from any of these is
as decisive, and may be as sudden, as from the
hand of the noisome pestilence. The voice from
heaven, in the light of all these considerations, thus
speaks : — •

u Let the time past of your lives suffice you to have
wrought the will of the Gentiles , and no longer live
the rest of your time in the flesh , to the lusts of men ,

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

137

but to the will of God.” Oh, may you hear and heed
this earnest, loving voice !

If, after hea/ring what God the Lord has spoken,
you turn again to folly, abuse his sparing mercy and
provoke his wrath, the guilt will be greater, and the
blow soon to fall, heavier.

Look at Pharaoh. Each plague sent upon the
land produced apparent recognition of God and
humility of spirit, which vanished with the removal
of its cause, leaving his heart flintier than before.
Mere contempt and insensibility rose into defiance
and mad opposition, which ended only with his
decisive and terrible overthrow. Trace the chosen
of God themselves after their signal exodus, through
the successive degrees of ignoble fear and doubt, of
unmanly lamentation, of faithless murmuring, of
brutish idolatry, of foul fornication, of God-defying
crimes without a name — their carcasses strewing the
devious path of their wanderings, two only of the
liberated host escaping the horrors of the way, and
pressing the soil of the promised land. Well might
the apostle propose these things as examples written
for our admonition. The heart relenting under
affliction and hardening under its removal, becomes,
through each process of this kind, less liable to relent
than before. It is a treasuring up of wrath against

138

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

the day of wrath, to despise, when tlie calm returns,
the terrors and resolves which the storm inspired.
The whole magazine of nature, full of fatal maladies,
is under the control of Him who sends and who
recalls the pestilence. The least feared and most
despised disease, if He command, quenches the eye’s
light, and consigns man over to the worm. Let the
stiff-necked beware. If he turn not , lie will whet
his sword ; He hath bent his bow and made it ready.
He, that being often reproved, hardeneth his neck,
shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.

Hor will the lessons inculcated by the recent visi¬
tation have their perfect work if they fail to kindle
in Christian bosoms a spirit of confession, of thanks¬
giving, of zeal, and of trust.

Of Confession. When the royal mourner bowed
himself in the dust before a wronged Father, pouring
forth from the depths of lieart-feeling the tenderest
and noblest strains of penitential devotion that mor¬
tal lips ever uttered, how fragrant may we not sup¬
pose the sacrifices of his broken spirit to have been.

And though our crimes may not appear to have
been so great, because not so glaring — they are
surely great enough to prompt, day by day, the like
manifestation of profound sorrow. We have sinned,
and deserved the Almighty’s wrath. Our coldness,

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

139

and wretched formality, and barrenness of the fruits
of the Spirit, and conformity to the world which is
our worst foe, and love for its applauses, are enough
to have brought the sword out of its scabbard to
smite the land. Shall we not humble ourselves be¬
fore the powerful hand that lias lain so heavily upon .
us, and with true penitence confess the sins and
shortcomings which may have clamored long and
loudly for punishment, ere punishment came ? Had
the mighty scourge smitten the land and its inhabit¬
ants precisely according to their deserts, could any
of us have escaped with our lives ? If thou , Lord ,
shouldest mark iniquities , 0 Lord , who coidd stand f
We are sj3ared, not because we have no sin, nor be¬
cause it is not great enough for punishment, but
because the Infinite mercy is a hundred fold greater
than our greatest guilt.

Of Thanksgiving. A thankful spirit should ac¬
company and illustrate a contrite one. In the worst
extremity, when sorest troubles press, there is room
for its exercise. David, in his “great strait,” had
cause to thank and praise God, and did it. Job
blessed the name of the Lord even when the rolling
tide of his fast-falling sorrows seemed mighty enough
to overwhelm, for the time at least, every sentiment
of devotion. And since the insatiate pestilence has

140

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE.

J

simply slain its thousands where it might have slain
its tens of thousands, the thankful spirit should dis¬
play itself with peculiar vivacity. When the sword
was waving over the land and falling in fury upon
thousands, there was mercy to make us thankful ;
now that the calamity is overpast, and we are saved,
there is mercy to make us thankful; and thankful
should we be, when we reflect that the number of
the slain bears but a small proportion to the multi¬
tudes that survive. Nor can our feelings more ap¬
propriately express themselves than in the sweet
language of one who wras often exposed to death and
danger, and as often saved : “ Bless the Lord , 0 my
soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name ,
who redeemeth my life from destruction — who crown-
eth thee with loving Tcindness and tender mercies .”

A spirit of zeal and life consecration , longing to
love our Deliverer more , and to serve him better ,
should warm every heart.

Zeal, to be stronger and more effective, requires
not the display of sudden and spasmodic exertions to
prove its increased earnestness or depth. These, like
the mountain torrent, chafing and raging for a time,
and then seen no more, will quickly exhaust them¬
selves, leaving the channel dry. It should rather re¬
semble the river fed by unseen, far-off springs, calmly

AJND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

141

and ceaselessly rolling, with an ever-widening and
deepening current, till it mingles with the mighty
deep. Such a zeal, purified by love and directed by
knowledge, was that which the greatest of the
apostles had, and which he exemplified to the close
of his heroic course. Its lustre was heightened and
its strength proved, by all the dangers, hardships,
and trials, which signalized his illustrious ministry.
Happy, if our zeal resemble his! If the rod that
smites, instead of prompting discontent and reluctant
obedience, quicken our footsteps in the path of duty
— if the dangers which surround and the storms
which blow, instead of disheartening, awaken new
resolution to disdain the terrors of the way — to forget
the things which are behind and reach forth to the
things which are before , and press towards the mark
for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ
Jesus.

Finally , the spirit of Trust , implicit and un¬
questioning , should be ours.

They who make the Lord their refuge and fortress,
are ever calm and ever safe. They who trust in the
Most High are like Mount Zion, which cannot be
removed , but abideth for ever. The ways of the Lord
are a “ great deep.” And though no great or useful
purpose were apparent to us in the calamities he sends,

142

THE REFUGE FROM THE PESTILENCE,

faith will certainly infer, from what is known of the
nature of the Divine administration, that such pur¬
pose exists, though mortal eyes may not behold it.
Ho sentiment deserves to be more deeply cherished
in the Christian heart than this, that the Judge of the
whole eo/rth can do no wrong. "While the men of the
world, when dangers threaten, are often agitated
with distressing fears, rush to vain refuges to shelter
them from impending harm, or poorly disguise their
uneasiness by a forced, indecorous levity, the Chris¬
tian well knows in whom he trusts, and his eye, lifted
towards “ the hills,” views the gathering clouds with¬
out dismay ; nor can their bursting move him from
his calmness, because they cannot move him from his
firm foundation. The Father’s will is the child’s
security and happiness ; nor can any accumulation
of horrors, resulting from the Divine dispensations,
disturb the fervor of the sentiment — it is the Lord ,
let him do what seemeth good to him.

Hor is the future dark to the eye of such a trust.
He who delivers once can deliver always. He who
calmed the waves of Tiberias, can still the waves of
doubt and terror whenever, or from whatever cause,
they are thrown into agitation. The I^ord that de¬
livered me out of the paw of the lion and out of the
paw of the bear , will deliver me out of the hand of

AND THE DUTIES OF THE SAVED.

143

the Philistine , said David, with a most intelligent
and comprehensive trust. Die form or pressure of
danger or trial is indifferent, so long as the Lord is
our helper. Diough the pestilence should be poured
periodically, and with increasing violence, upon the
land, the result would be the same so far as calmness
and courage on the part of the Christian are concerned,
— and safety too, if He wills it, who hath said,
neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.
And as with the pestilence, so with snares, dangers,
and foes, of every form and name and degree — the
same lofty Dust lifts the soul above the influence of
their power or their rage. Diey may attack, but they
cannot conquer ; they may do their worst, but they
can neither appal nor harm the sheltered one, for
thouy Lord , wilt keep him in perfect peace , whose
mind is stayed on Thee , because he trusteth in Thee.
Therefore comfort one another with these words .

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

War, Famine, and Pestilence! The direst words
in onr vocabulary, the hare utterance of which arrays
before the mind repulsive pictures of wasting, wounds,
mortal agony, death, and desolation, on a scale of ter¬
rific magnitude. It were not easy to decide as to
which of this grim and remorseless trio is, in itself,
the most deadly and appalling. Israel’s offending
king had his choice between them, hut found him¬
self in a “ great strait unable to come to a decision,
and glad to refer the matter to the All-Wise Disposer,
content to bear meekly whichever He might inflict.
On the whole, however, war must bear the palm on
the score of greatest destructiveness. Its visitations
are more frequent, and its sway more enduring. The
theatre of its operations is wider, and its victims
incomparably more numerous. Of the three scourges,
war clearly is first, mightiest, deadliest. But there
is a fourth evil, which, though not usually enrolled
among the others, well deserves to rank with them.
It is Intemperance. It has no early written records,

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

145

like the others, to set forth its frightful ravages, hut
an unwritten history it has, and of many bulky
volumes too — every one of whose lines is traced in
tears and blood, or like Ezekiel’s vision-scroll “ writ¬
ten within and without, with lamentations, mourning,
and woe.” It towers “ in shape and stature proudly
eminent,” high above the highest, as a desolator of
mankind. To make this appear is the purpose of the
present parallel.

If we consider these evils in respect to the multi¬
tudes of victims falling before them, we shall find
intemperance to be vastly the more destructive.

I sa j falling before them , designing, by the phrase,
to limit the comparison to the present age, or at least
to the latter ages of the world. It would be rash to
assert, that in the earlier ages of the world strong
drink has been more destructive than the sword.
When drunkenness was produced simply by the use
of wine, and before the disastrous ingenuity of modern
times furnished to the world so great a variety of in¬
toxicating drinks as now exist to curse the race, the
number of deaths from this cause was doubtless far
less than at present. Besides, no temperance societies
having existed, no records or statistics having been
preserved by which the mortality from drunkenness
can be seen, it is impossible to draw a just comnarison

7

146

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

between tlie ravages of intemperance and tliose of
war in former times. War, however, lias stained
and defaced the annals of every age of the world.
The records of its ravages have been carefully pre¬
served. Each battle-field has its tale of glory and of
woe. Many of the great battle-fields of antiquity,
which ran red with human blood, are as familiar to
us as the battle-fields of our revolutionary history.
Hundreds of thousands, and these multiplied by
hundreds of thousands more, have fallen in the count¬
less sanguinary battles of ancient times. So frightful
has the carnage been at various periods of time, such
incredible multitudes have been offered up to the
Moloch of war, that it has been estimated that no
fewer than fourteen thousand millions* in all ages of
the world, or a tenth part of all the inhabitants of the
earth from its creation, have perished from this
single cause.

Leaving antiquity, then, out of the question, we are
at least competent to present and urge the com¬
parison in reference to the present times. Take the
last half century to serve as an example, and it can
easily be shown that vastly more victims have been
offered up at the shrines of intemperance than at

* See Dick’s Philosophy of Religion.

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

147

those of war — that more hones of those who have
lost life by its dire scourge, during this period, exist,
than could he found were all the battle-fields of the
last fifty years dug up, and their sad relics exposed to
the gaze of the world.

Napoleon was appointed to the command of the
army of Italy in 1796. From this period till the bat¬
tle of Waterloo, in 1815, which closed his brilliant
though bloody career, the most frightful scenes of
carnage and destruction were enacted. His wars,
from his rise to his fall, are said to be the direct
or indirect cause of the loss of seven millions of human,
lives. With his downfall, wars in Europe have
ceased, with a few inconsiderable exceptions, down
to the present time.* So that if we adopt this estimate
as probably near the truth, and add one million more
as the number of lives lost by all the other wars
of Europe since Waterloo, we shall have eight millions
of lives sacrificed to the god of war during a period
of fifty years.

Now, I profess not to be thoroughly acquainted
with the statistics of intemperance in Europe during
this period — but I think that an estimate may be
formed upon this subject, which, whatever its liteial

0 Written in 1848.

148

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

inaccuracy, cannot fairly be chargeable with being
placed too high. Nor should it be forgotten, that
this period embracing the wars of Napoleon, is hard¬
ly a fair average of the havoc wrought by war for
any given period for the same number of years — for
no twenty years in modern history can furnish a
parallel in scenes of blood and carnage to those which
preceded the final defeat and downfall of this extra¬
ordinary man. But not to insist upon this circum¬
stance, let the number of eight millions be taken as a
reasonable estimate of lives destroyed by war for the
period in question.

How many during the same time has intemperance
destroyed ? Europe contains a population of at least
two hundred and twenty millions. Christian civili¬
zation prevails there for the most part, as well as in
our own land — the use of intoxicating drinks prevails
there as well as here, and in some parts of Europe
even to a more lamentable extent. It is well known
that for several years from thirty to forty thousand
drunkards among us have gone down to drunkards’
graves. Our population is twenty millions. When
we were fifteen millions, the mortality from this
cause was hardly less appalling in extent. Then, to
be perfectly safe, let us suppose that instead of thirty
thousand drunkards dying every year, as among us,

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

149

but half this number, but fifteen thousand, that is one
drunkard to every thousand souls, have been cut
down in Europe in the course of every year. This,
out of the two hundred and twenty millions of Europe,
would give two hundred and twenty thousand drunk¬
ards perishing every year, while for fifty years at the
same low rate the number of victims would reach
the awful sum total of eleven millions, or three mil¬
lions more than were destroyed by war for the same
period.

If, however, we raise the estimate as high as it is
in our own country, it would appear that upwards
of twenty-two millions had perished within fifty
years. Nor is anything said in this estimate about
the vices of children, and others whose deaths are
wrought by the hands, or occasioned by the guilty
practices of drunkards. Nothing is said about the
various collateral evils springing from intemperance
and causing death, although this matter is embodied
in the other estimate touching the loss of life by
wars. The frightful mortality is confined to the in¬
temperate victims alone. If we should embrace their
victims, how much longer and blacker would the
awful catalogue become. Instead of twenty millions,
fifty millions of deaths would hardly suffice to stand
as the grand climacteric of mortality from this dire

150

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

cause. There can hardly he a doubt, that where the
sword has caused or occasioned one death, strong
drink has caused or occasioned jive. So much for
Europe. In the United States, where wars have been
so unfrequent and vastly less bloody, the difference
is proportionably greater, so broad and palpable in¬
deed, that to indicate the fact without dwelling on it,
is enough.

2. Intemperance is a worse evil than war, because
more continuous cmd lasting.

War is an evil every way. Hot only by the loss
of life it occasions, and the woe and desolation which
follow in its train, but by its enormous cost, and the
mighty burdens it imposes upon nations. It is well
for mankind that wars do not last always — that a stop
is put to the “ battles of the warrior.” Had Napo¬
leon’s wars lasted till now, and been waged on the
same wholesale scale, and in the same sanguinary
spirit, Europe had been well nigh depopulated. Ilad
our He volution ary struggle continued till now, sup¬
posing such a thing possible, instead of twenty mil¬
lions of population, we might number now perhaps
as many thousands. The sword — blessed be God-
does not devour for ever. The hurricane sweeps over
the nation and is succeeded by the calm. And when
the shock has been felt, and the time of rest from

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

151

war ensues — then may tlie battle-wearied nations re¬
cruit their exhausted energies. Then may a wise
government devise measures to recover the crippled
nation from the effects of the blows received. Then
may an enlightened public spirit, and a stern indus¬
try, and an indomitable perseverance, uniting with
the natural increase of population, bend their ener¬
gies to the work of healing the nation’s wounds, and,
ere long, returning prosperity is seen to smile where
these evils scathed and blasted.

The same with pestilence and famine. They strike
heavily, when they strike, but the blow is not per¬
petually repeated. A whole province or country
may pine and lament for bread as Ireland lately did.
The mighty populous city may feel, through all its
arteries, the awful shock of the “pestilence that
walketh in darkness,” as London did in the great
plague of 1665, but, in both cases, though death,
horror, and despair follow closely behind, by and by
these grim destroyers, having as it were fully glutted
themselves or wrought mischief enough, take their
departure, and permit the stricken and surviving
sufferers to recover from their anguish, and rejoice
in prospect of exemption from similar calamities.

But the case with intemperance is different. The
storm rages continually — without cessation or sue-

152

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

ceeding calm. In times of peace as well as war, its
victims fall and its ravages extend. Its poisonous
fountains are always open — always flowing — always
supplying the thousand streams which roll over the
land, carrying into every extremity of it wasting
havoc and death. While war is passive, and ceases
to molest and destroy at times, intemperance is
active, and never pauses in its terrible work of in¬
flicting wounds and desolation upon society. Like
burning streams of lava poured forth from the crater
of some volcano, for years and centuries together —
like some brooding famine lying upon a land, not for
a few months or a year at a time, but for a long and
unlimited term of years — like the devouring pesti¬
lence raging, not for a season, but from year to year,
with no prospect of ending its death-dealing career,
intemperance pours its burning streams over the land
and the world, with apparently no limit to the dura¬
tion of its Reign of Terror. It is a perpetual war, a
standing pestilence, an ever-devouring famine —
stretching on its way from year to year, from age to
age ; a gigantic power of evil and ruin, wounded
but not destroyed, struck down often by the well-
aimed and well-meant blows of its adversaries, but
rising again ever with renewed life and energy for
fastening itself, like the old man of the sea in the

INTEMPER AN CE AND WAR.

153

Eastern tale, upon tlie shoulders of men, so tenaci¬
ously, that the most earnest efforts seem insufficient
to shake it off, and consigning its tens of thousands
to an unhonored tomb, every time the earth performs
its revolution round the sun.

There seems literally no discharge from this war of
desolation: no stopping in the circuit of those horrid
wheels, which, more bloody than those of Jugger¬
naut, mangle and crush human bodies without num¬
ber at every inch of their remorseless progress.

3. Intemperance is a greater evil than war, because
it inflicts more actual hurt, suffering, and misery,
both upon its victim and those connected with him.

As respects the drunkard. The death which he
dies is for the most part a lingering one — a death
protracted sometimes to ten, twenty, and even thirty
years and upwards. Much of this period is filled up
with bodily diseases, and especially mental pangs,
arising from shame, remorse, and terror, and the dis¬
grace and contempt he encounters from society — his
worldly prospects blighted, and still more blighted
the prospects of a future life. Let a man be once
bitten by this serpent and stung by this adder, and
his whole life, be it longer or shorter, is one of suffer¬
ing and woe. The drunkard may seem a happy man
indeed, while under the influence of his drink — but

7*

154

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

when the fumes of his debauch have passed off, and
the time of sober reflection comes, and conscience
resumes the throne which rum had usurped — then is
the hour of the heart’s agony. Then the poor bosom
feels the stings inflicted by the body’s criminal ex¬
cesses, and the mind, forced to turn round and round
the dreadful subject which will be uppermost in it,
finds reflection so insupportable, that the bowl is
rushed to, to drown care and yield a transient ob¬
livion of sorrow.

Do the victims of war suffer pangs fearful and
lasting as these? I am not insensible to the pri¬
vations, hardships, and sufferings of war — and God
forbid that I should say one word to diminish the
heart’s horror of this practice and sympathy for its
victims. But the soldier, supposing him to be a
sober man — which he often is not — and supposing
him to be engaged for years together in toilsome
marches, and exposed to all the hardships incident to
his calling, is yet a happy man compared with the
drunkard. ITe is freed from that inward gnawing,
which preys upon the guilty mind as well as body
like a canker. He is often impressed with the justice
of his cause — feels proud of carrying forward to vic¬
tory his nation’s standards, and is stimulated by the
love of glory and sometimes of gain. So that when

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

155

tlie mighty struggle comes, lie can stand up in the
serried ranks of war, with erect countenance, and
dauntless mien, and when the signal is given for the
battle to close, can rush with an eye of fire and shout
of enthusiasm up to the very camion’s mouth. If he
falls and dies in battle, the bullet, or sword, or
bayonet that pierces him, gives often but a momen¬
tary agony. He might compare his death with the
lingering one of the drunkard, almost with words of
triumph :

“ While gasp by gasp, he falters forth his soul,

Ours with one pang, one bound, escapes control.”

Even if wounded, maimed in limb, and so disabled
as to be forced to drag out life in an enfeebled
and shattered body, he has yet the recollection of his
glory, and his country’s gratitude and substantial re¬
wards, to cheer his heart and solace the decline of
his days. How enviable, therefore, in comparison,
does the soldier’s lot appear !

And more enviable still, if we regard the two in
the light of family and other relationships. It is as
honorable to die fighting for one’s country, as to wear
through life the badges of wounds and scars, gained
in her defence. And amid starting tears of a whole
family circle, copious gushing tears, drawn from

156

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

them by the intelligence that a much-loved member
of it, a brother, a son, has fallen on a far-off battle¬
field, an emotion of pride, of gratified sensibility,
would be felt at the farther announcement that the
soldier fell gallantly doing his duty in the service of
his country. Mothers and fathers, I may safely put
the question to you. Which would you choose, were
the alternative offered, forced upon you ? To have a
beloved son, in the vigor of his first manhood, enlist
as a common soldier in the army of Mexico,* follow¬
ing his country’s flag from point to point, enduring
terrible hardship from heat, and thirst, and laborious
marches, and hard fighting, and then falling bravely
amid his foes, lying there, thrust through, mutilated,
trampled upon, in his last gory bed ; or have him re¬
main at home, first sipping at the wine cup, then
becoming fond of the sparkling joy, then spending
the night-watches in carousing and dissipation, then
giving unmistakable proofs that the lurking adder
had stung him, the manly form decaying, the innocent
open countenance of youth displaced by the glare of
guilt or the dark scowl of malignant passions, the
tottering gait, the stuttering speech, the bloated face,
the shaking hands, and by and by, perhaps, the

* The war with this power was in progress at the time this paper
was prepared.

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

157

ravings of the trembling delirium, the shrieks of
mortal agony, and then the last mournful act in this
tragedy — the grave closing over the remains of a
drunkard ? No right-minded parent would ever
hesitate a moment “which of the two to choose.”
Better, far better, for surviving friends to have a son
and brother enlist, and fight, and die, in wars even
from which no laurels might be gained — to die
dishonored abroad — than perish step by step at home,
beneath the eye of relations who are involved in the
erring one’s disgrace, and by his folly and errors are
pierced through with many sorrows.

4. Intemperance is the greater evil, because so
sly, crafty, and insinuating in its character.

Look at war. Those who engage in it cannot fail
to know that theirs is a business of great danger as
well as hardship. An army must know, that when
the actual conflict comes, no man is secure from
frightful wounds or from sudden death. Each
soldier, it is true, may hope that he shall escape un¬
harmed, but he must know, that by the very chances
of the fight, he is, perhaps, as likely to die as to live.
So nations, when about to go into war, cannot be
blind to the consequences which generally follow it.
They know that each declaration of war will result,
probably, in the loss of many valuable lives — and

158

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

that a great amount of human suffering and woe,
and national treasure, and other losses, are well nigh
inseparable from its prosecution, No government,
therefore, save a bloodthirsty or imbecile one, with
this fearful array before its eyes, and in an enlight¬
ened Christian age, could , we may certainly believe,
precipitate its people into war, until every argument
had been used, every expedient to maintain peace
and prevent bloodshed exhausted — until, in fact, war
had become unavoidable — a thing of stern, absolute
necessity. And the reason is clear. W ar is an evil,
open and above board ; palpable as the sun in hea¬
ven. No muffled drum proclaims it. No recorder
or dulcet JEolian harp breathes its name in tones so
delicately soft as to deceive the senses which it
charms ; but the clarion’s peal, the trumpet’s clang,
“ the cannon’s deafening roar,” sound out its true
character to the ends of the earth. All men and all
nations know perfectly what it is, what evils follow
in its train, what evils spring from it, what evils, but
for it, had never existed. The alternative, therefore,
is before them. To avoid war altogether, and by
doing so, avoiding its evils ; or rushing into it, and
by doing so, encountering them. And the fact that
these evils are so glaring, so clearly seen by all, is
one grand reason why wars, frequent enough already,

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

159

liave not been more frequent still, to scathe, and de¬
face, and desolate the world.

Not thus openly, by the sun’s light, are recruits
raised to swell the army of intemperance. I grant
you, that the effects of this blasting evil are palpable
to every eye. No man who sees at all can fail to see
them. But not to the drinker as he first commences
the practice, as to the soldier enlisting for war, is
there the same probability of receiving wounds or of
perishing. The dangers that lurk in the wine cup
are not seen by him who takes it for the first time,
as the dangers of war appear to the thoughtful sol¬
dier, when he goes forth to battle with his country’s
foes. The incipient drunkard feels himself perfectly
secure from hurt, though he must see all around him
the fruits of drinking habits in others. There is not
to him, as to the soldier, a contingency in prospect,
of falling dying or wounded. He scouts all idea of
danger. He regards the sparkling wine as his friend
rather than his foe. No trump et-tongued tones of
caution startle him, or put him on his guard. Thus
the very delusion he labors under, in respect to his
safety, becomes the occasion of his fall. The wine
cup is worse, more to be dreaded than the rattle¬
snake, which alarms before it strikes. Happy for
the young man, about to raise the rosy wine to his

160

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

lips for the first time, could he hear the rattling
sound warning him that he held a reptile in his
hand — that he might be safe from its fangs by dash¬
ing the poisonous thing to the ground.

Hundreds and thousands of young men are, at
this moment, sipping the wine cup utterly uncon¬
scious of the least peril, who, ten or fifteen years
hence, will be among the sots of the land, or among
its unhonored dead. The reflection is an appalling
one. It is because intemperance is so sly and insi¬
dious an evil, that it is so much more terrific and
fatal than the other — for an open enemy is ever less
to be dreaded than a secret one. In the one case,
men see the horrible array, and prepare for the
attack ; in the other, surprise increases the effect of
the unsuspected blow, and renders it often decisive
and overwhelming.

5. Intemperance is a worse evil than the other,
because harder to cure.

War is hard enough to cure, as the bitter expe¬
rience of all ages can testify. It is a disease upon
the body politic, which ah the remedies of past gene¬
rations have as yet failed to remove entirely. Whe¬
ther a perfect cure is altogether practicable, is
a problem which remains still to be solved. Pro¬
phecy, indeed, points to the period when the sword

INTEMPEKANCE AND WAE.

161

sliall be beaten into a pruning-hook, and nations
shall cease from war — but this consummation re¬
mains still a prophetic one — a period to be looked,
and waited, and prayed for, till God in his own good
time and pleasure, bring it to pass. Though a per¬
fect cure has not been wrought as yet, something,
however, has been done towards it, some approxima¬
tion towards a cure has, we fondly hope, been
reached. The war spirit is less rampant than for¬
merly. Sentiments in favor of peace have been
gaining ground and taking root in the heart of the
nations. The spirit of the Gospel in respect to
bloodshed and strife is more extensively active and
influential. A disposition to have peace and pre¬
serve it, to loathe war and to shun it, is, we will
hope, exerting a noiseless but more wide-spread
influence than before. Since the slaughter of W ater-
loo, the temple of Janus throughout the world,
almost may be said to have been shut. With a few
exceptions the nations have enjoyed a profound ex¬
emption from the horrid din and blood-curdling
butcheries of war. And the aversion to breaking up
this repose, to rushing into conflict, seems to be
growing stronger and stronger — while the disposition
to settle controversies between nations by negotiation,
mediation, or convention, appears to be regarded

162

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

with increasing favor. This is right. This is a
cheering sign of the times — a happy angnry for the
future. And just in proportion as this disposition
prevails and gains strength, does the prospect of
curing this evil brighten, and the actual cure
advance towards a successful issue.

But Intemperance — what progress has been made
in arresting and curing it, and what prospect of its
complete eradication or removal opens before us ?
Seated in the very vitals of society — strengthening
itself by the aid of custom, habit, corrupt sentiment,
and evil example — assailing its victims not with
open, manly attack, but creeping stealthily and
tiger-like towards them, till within the distance of its
fatal spring — the ranks falling before it, as constantly
filled up, like the ranks of some liotly-contested bat¬
tle, by others who press forward from behind, laugh¬
ing to scorn all the arguments, efforts, organizations,
and hopes of its strongest foes — yielding for a time
to the tremendous blows struck against it, but rising
again to renew the struggle and win back the
ground which it had lost — heedless of all the re¬
straints of law, the blood of its victims, the anguish
of the countless bosoms wrung by its enormities, the
agonized feelings of humanity — standing up still in
unbroken might, notwithstanding all its past bruises

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

163

and wounds, and grinning exultingly as it proclaims
defiance to every foe-, and every combination arrayed
against it, — wbat prospect is there of removing this
giant malady — what remedies can be used which
have not been resorted to already? Do you say
that some progress has been made in effecting a
cure ? Thank God, there has been. We may indeed
shudder as we think, what had been the condition of
the land, had the insensibility of twenty years ago
continued, and had not the God-sent Temperance
Society, with healing in its wings, come forward to
the rescue ? The alarm has been taken, the destroyer
met, and his terrible progress partially arrested. But
notwithstanding all that has been done, the prospect
of a perfect cure seems almost as far off as ever.
The thousand fountains of intemperance continue
still to pour forth their streams of death all over the
land. The young still look upon the wine when it is
red, and sip it till the adder stings them, and thus
the ranks of the victimized are so well and con¬
stantly supplied, that no sensible reduction in the
total annual loss of life has yet been witnessed. Fast
as one year carries otf its thirty or forty thousand
victims in this country, as great a multitude come
forward to take the gloomy plunge into the regions
of darkness the next.

164

INTEMPERANCE AND WAR.

It is thus far more incurable than war. War, at
worst, is an intermittent dise.ase, while this rages and
burns, without the least cessation of its fury. The
fountains of war, supplied by men’s evil passions, are
deep and bitter enough ; but those of Intemperance,
fed and kept full by the unexhausted supplies already
named, are deeper and bitterer still. What, save an
Almighty arm, can dry them up ?

In this very reflection is our hope and undoubting
confidence of success. When Elijah poured forth
his soul to God that he would display the might of
His power to abash his foes, and magnify His name,
and render truth triumphant — the gracious answer
was revealed, “ the fire of the Lord fell and con¬
sumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood, and the
stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that
was in the trench” — -so that the very idolaters were
forced to acknowledge “the Lord He is God — the
Lord He is the God.” Such prayers of faith that
will not be refused, must still be wafted to “the
hills,” where the Holiest has his dwelling-place —
their sincerity proved by earnest persevering efforts,
which neither opposition can daunt, nor obstacles
turn aside from their purpose ; and He who answered
Elijah by fire will not fail to bless the efforts and
prayers of those who are engaged in this great work

INTEMPER AN CE AND WAR.

165

— causing the fire of truth and light and the Spirit’s
energy to descend, drying up to their very fountains
the streams which have so long borne death and
desolation through the world, and extorting even
from unbelieving lips the acknowledgment, “ the
Lord He is the God.”

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

DISCOURSE AT THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH.

“And I eay also unto thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this
rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it.” Matt. xvi. 18.

This verse and tlie one that follows it, have sorely
tried the patience and ingenuity of biblical critics.
And not without reason, for on the interpretation of
it depend two classes of doctrines or opinions wide¬
ly variant from each other; the one lying at the
foundation of one of the darling dogmas of the
Romish Church, while the other is interwoven writh
the spirit and integrity of the Protestant evangelical
faith. The Church of Rome bases upon this passage
mainly, the supremacy and infallibility of the Pope,
and the power of that hierarchy which professes to
recognise in the Pope a true successor of Peter, in¬
vested with all the authority with which, it is alleged,
Peter was invested by his Lord. If our Lord ad¬
dressed his disciple on this occasion as the rock on
which His Church was to rest in all coming times — it*

TILE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CIIUECII. 167

the Master’s declaration must hear and be restricted
to this meaning — if Christ designed to convey this
specific idea, and to clothe his disciple with this
authority, not to be afterwards revoked or annulled ;
then it is hard to see how the conclusion to which
the Romanist has come can be avoided. The Church,
in this case, must have been budded and now rests
on Peter, for what the Lord declares authoritatively
He will do, is final and beyond appeal. His successor
• — if the descent be truly derived and without flaw — -
now sits in his chair, and wields no usurped or un¬
delegated authority. He is what he is claimed to
be, the vicegerent of Christ, having the keys of the
kingdom at his girdle, with power to bind or loose, to
remit sins or not, as may seem most fitting to his
supreme and indisputable will.

Put this interpretation, however consoling to the
faithful, has flaws and defects about it to Protestant
eyes. It asserts a principle which can never be
admitted without demonstration, — for the principle,
though sounding plausibly, involves consequences
revolting to our reason, and derogatory to the claims
and authority of Christ. In an issue of such moment,
we require something more than a single unsup¬
ported text, though never so explicit, to satisfy us that
our blessed Lord designed to found His Church upon

168 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

an apostle, and to invest him and his successors with
powers so. vast and irresponsible as those arrogated
by the Pope and by his adherents. The words, how¬
ever, in their connexion, furnish a wide margin for
exegesis, that will neither rob the Master of the honor
and glory due unto his name, nor exalt a mortal,
weak, frail, and erring, and with all his weaknesses
and errors often full blown about him, to a seat
higher than angels occupy.

Our Lord had been asking his disciples the ques¬
tion, “Whom do men say that I, the Son of man,
am?” The reply was, “Some say that thou art John
the Baptist, some Elias, and others Jeremias, or one
of the prophets.” Lie saith unto them, “ Whom say
ye that I am ?” And Peter, wTho was the impetuous
out-spoken disciple, always foremost of the twelve to
answer questions put to them all, at once responds,
“ Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
The Master replies — “Blessed art thou Simon Bar-
jona, for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto
thee, but my Father which is in heaven — and I say
unto thee that thou art Peter, and upon this rock ” — •
that is, upon this confession of thine, thus divinely
revealed, of my true Sonship and Messiahship — a
confession embracing the cordial reception of the
divine plan for saving man, through the Gospel of

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 169

reconciliation, to be afterwards preached by you to
the Gentiles-upon this confession, the badge, as it is,
of a true apostlesliip, will I build my Church. In
other words, Christ declares, “I will build my
Church on thee, Peter, as one of the preachers of my
Gospel, confessing now, while others disallow and
deny me, that thou recognisest my claims, and art
ready to go forth at my bidding into all the world,
and offer the discipleship of the Gospel everywhere
to sinful and benighted men.” Or, if we make the
epithet refer directly to the disciple rather than his
confession, then, “Thou art Peter, — Pock — as thy
name imports, and corresponding with this name
shall thy work and office be, for upon thee — upon
thy ministry as upon a rock — shall the foundation of
the Church be laid.” And the promise here made
was accordingly fulfilled, by Christ’s using Peter’s
ministry in laying the foundation of the Church both
among Jews and Gentiles, he being the first and
most successful preacher to them both, and making
from them the first proselytes to Christianity. At
the Pentecostal effusion three thousand were received
into the church on confession of faith and baptism,
while the first mention of a Christian Church is
found in the same chapter that records this marvel¬
lous outpouring of the Holy Ghost. Among the Gen-

8

170 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

tiles also, the conversion of Cornelius, through the
instrumentality of Peter, signalizes the foundation of
the Church being laid, the comely superstructure
that should arise upon it being composed of ido¬
latrous throngs from various peoples, no longer
“ strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the
saints and of the household of God.”

If, then, any pre-eminence were given to Peter, by
the language in which the Lord addressed him, it is
a pre-eminence growing out of the position he was to
hold, as first preacher to the wandering and sin-
blinded — a preacher whose labors should, with God’s
blessing, be productive of larger and more signal
results than those of his apostolic co-workers in the mis¬
sionary field. His doctrines and preaching, with the
Master’s promised presence and aid, and the doctrines
and preaching, none the less, of his fellow “ambassadors
for Christ,” were the rock on which the fair and well
compacted fabric of the Church should securely rest.

This rock, this foundation, thus characterized in
general terms, deserves to be considered somewhat
more particularly. The Church was appointed to
rest upon the apostles, and those who should come
after them in the rightful exercise of their high and
heaven-derived functions — that is, upon the order of
the Christian ministry, which, by Christ’s direction

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 171

and decree, was to be perpetuated “ alway, even to
the end of the world.”

In the arrangements of God’s house, the institution
of the Christian ministry is essential to the extension
and well-being, and, so far as we can see, to the very
continuance and existence of the Church. “ For,”
asks the apostle, significantly, “ how shall they call
on him in whom they have not believed ? and how
shall they believe in him of whom they have not
heard % and how shall they hear without a preacher ?
and how shall they preach except they be sent ?” as
it is written, “ How beautiful are the feet of them
that preach the Gospel, and bring good tidings of
good things ;” that is, Faith cometh by hearing,
and hearing by the word of God, and the word of
God by the lips of the preacher, and the preacher
from Him who called him, raised him up, qualified
him by breathing the Spirit on him, made him an
accredited minister from the court of heaven, gave
him favor in the sight of the people, and crowned
his words and labors with the promised success. We
thus see the important relation which the ministry
sustain to the Church — how necessary they are to
the accomplishment of the distinctive objects for
which the Church exists. Strike this link from the
foregoing series, and the whole chain is parted — the

172 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

interval between Christ and tlie soul, between heaven
and the sinner, is boundless and impassable. The
sinner indeed might have been saved, perhaps, on
other terms and by another process. Christ Jesns
might have announced his Gospel everywhere mira¬
culously. A perpetual miracle might have intro¬
duced converts into the pale of the Church, and
supplied her with what is necessary for her subsist¬
ence and expansion. But God, in his wisdom, hath
ordered otherwise. ITe hath ordained the salvation
of souls through the “ foolishness of preaching,”
and through the agency of “ earthen vessels,” men
of “ like infirmities” with those whom they labor to
instruct and win to Christ. It is obvious, then, to see
how the Church may be said to be built on Peter, as
one of the apostles, and by certain deduction on the
preachers of Christ, who perpetuate the sacred
order. And in view of all this, the apostle’s empha¬
tic language to the Ephesian Church is as intelligible
as it is decisive : “Ye are no more strangers and
foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints and of
the household of God, and are built on the founda¬
tion of the apostles and prophets.”

But the Church is built on this foundation only
relatively , and by no means in an absolute and un¬
qualified sense. For the apostles and preachers of

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 173

Clirist crucified are nothing in themselves. They
have not the power of remitting sins, of giving abso¬
lution, of breaking the stony heart, of pouring celes¬
tial illumination upon the darkened mind, of driving
out the unruly demons of inborn lusts, of establish¬
ing within, holy principles and dispositions, or renew¬
ing the frame and temper of human souls. They are
nothing without the pure word of God, the blessed
Gospel of Him who spake as man never spake.
“ But though we or an angel from heaven preach
any other Gospel unto you than that which we have
preached unto you, let him be accursed.” If they
go about, therefore, with their own vain utterances,
with the enticing words of man’s wisdom, or words
issuing from the “ cunning craftiness of men,” or
with the barren dogmas of “ philosophy, falsely so
called,” what they speak — so far as any radical reno¬
vating effect is concerned — is “ as sounding brass
and a tinkling cymbal.” They are shorn of all
power, and are weaker than Sampson when his glory
was departed. It is the genuine message of the
cross, — Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and
for ever — the way, the truth, the resurrection, and the
life, which constitutes the essence of the heaven-sent
good tidings of great joy, and is made the wisdom
of God and power of God unto salvation. And just

174 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

as they honor and obey the Master by thus announc¬
ing Him, and showing themselves loyal and faithful
ambassadors, by setting forth His* word and gospel^
and nothing beyond nor short of this, can they count
upon His approbation, and find their work prospered
and the Church enlarged, and the high object of
their mission successful.

Hor is it the preaching of the doctrines of the cross
alone, by the true ambassadors, that makes their
labors savingly powerful and efficacious. Unless the
Spirit be poured upon them from on high, they toil
in vain, and spend their strength for naught. Peter,
with his rugged and indomitable courage ; Paul, with
his burning zeal and utter consecration ; Apollos,
with his fervid and melting * eloquence, may unite
their gifts and efforts to make the moral wastes as
the garden of the Lord — but except the increase
come from God, all remains an unbroken scene of
barrenness and desolation. Ho strength of towering
logic, no splendor of imagination thrown around
words of melodious sound, no energy of the most
persuasive and overwhelming oratory, no self-
abandoning heroism, which, in Christ’s service,
counts pains, perils, snares, enemies — what Job’s
leviathan counted the darts that rained upon him
as stubble — with the address and skill of disarming

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 175

prejudice and hostility, and forcing error to how
before the majesty of truth — none of these can move
at all the dry bones, nor the flesh that covers them,
while as yet no vital spark divine warms and ani¬
mates. Not until the breath of the Lord is invoked
to breathe upon these slain, and the Spirit, responsive,
quickens the inanimate clay — not till then is activity
displayed, and the sinewy arm uplifted, and the
buoyant shout heard, and all the power of the living
body put forth. It is the spirit that awakeneth from
the dead — that accompanying the word preached
by Christ’s ministers, makes it pungent, convincing,
piercing, and cleaving, like a two-edged sword — bring¬
ing the proud into the posture of the publican, caus¬
ing the wayward feet to be arrested, and the stubborn
will to bend, and the stout heart to relent, and the
dry eyes to overflow, and those at ease in Zion to
groan and utter the burst of agony, “ Wliat shall we
do ? ” And thus men are made willing in the day of
God’s power, and come thronging as weeping peni¬
tents to the door of His house, with tremulous hand
and voice, knocking and saying, “ Lord, open unto us
while the gracious promise, u Knock and it shall be
opened unto you,” is speedily verified, and lo, the
Church, the Lord’s holy tabernacle among men, is
filled with 'weeping, wrondering, rejoicing guests!

176 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

%

Thus you see, dear brethren, the beautiful con¬
catenation. The ordained preacher, called and sent
forth on his noble mission, the word of God which he
preaches, to take hold on the understanding and
heart, and the Holy Spirit to direct the arrows of
truth and make them sharp in the hearts of the
King’s enemies. Ho link of this chain can be spared,
and each link is kept together in its place by Him
who sits at God’s right hand, and the whole chain
held in His omnipotent grasp, so that whatever thing
it embraces and upholds, is firm and secure as His
own eternal throne. The Church is built on the
foundation of the apostles, but the apostles are
nothing without the truths which they preach, and
these truths devoid of all efficacy without the Spirit’s
life-giving power — while Christ the Lord sits supreme
on his royal seat, originating all, informing all, guid¬
ing, controlling, and prospering all, as the head rules
the body, and is essential to the vitality and health
of all the members. And hence you will easily infer,
that Christ himself in reality is the foundation of His
Church; that it rests on him when said to rest on
His apostles, and you will understand the significant
import of St. Paul’s striking expression, “built on the
foundation of prophets and apostles, Jesus Christ
himself being the chief corner-stone.”

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 177

II. I pass to consider the building of the Church —
the raising and finishing of the superstructure. Here
there is nothing difficult or perplexed, but all is ex¬
plicit and plain. The builder is Christ, according to
his express declaration : “ On this rock I will build
my church.” The expression is not only unmistak¬
able, but strongly indicative. It denotes not only
resolution, but power to will and to do according to
His own good pleasure — power to gather materials
for the edifice, such as will be most suitable for its
construction — power to make it a spacious as well as
beautiful structure ; to give it just and harmonious
proportions, and to adorn it with comeliness and
grace ; and power to impart to it strength and dura¬
bility as well as capacity and fitness. His determi¬
nation is, to rear the building His Church, and adapt
it in all its parts, for the grand purposes of its con¬
struction. And all might resides with Him to make
it just what he designs it to be, for with Jehovah
the Christ, to will is to do — to purpose and determine
is to effect and execute. Since, then, our Divine
Lord is the builder — the great Master-builder, we
may fitly call him — we may rest assured that the
structure will be possessed of these things, — suitable¬
ness of material, fitness, and grace, both of pro¬
portion and appearance, sufficiency of dimension, and

8*

178 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

enduring strength. I will touch upon these several
articles.

1. As to its materials. They will he stones, rough,
rugged, and unsightly, when first seen in their native
quarry, appearing stubborn and intractable as they
lie there, covered with dirt and excrescences, and
seemingly not worthy to be looked after and sought ;
but in fact costly and precious, like the marble for
the building of Jerusalem, sought afar off, quarried
and brought to the holy city with infinite skill and
labor, because just adapted for the purpose in view,
and a material not to be dispensed with in the rearing
of the imposing fabric. Sought out thus from afar,
these human stones, by Him who came travelling in
the greatness of His strength, bowing himself to the
attitude of one who serves and labors, that with
struggling, toil, groans, and sweat, He might tear them
from their bed, smooth off their roughness, hew and
shape them dexterously, and polish them till beauties
unsuspected before became disclosed to the eye.
And they appear there totally changed and ready to
form an useful not less than ornamental part of the
building. Yes, and these stones thus fitted for their
place and office in the edifice here, will become also
fitted for a nobler building — a house not made with
hands, eternal in the heavens. For, as Leighton

T11E FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCII. 179

finely remarks, “ tlie stones that are appointed for
that glorious temple above, are hewn and polished
and prepared for it here, as the stones were wrought
and prepared in the mountains for building the
temple of Jerusalem.” Such are the chief materials
employed in this great Christian temple, the Church.
Each sinner a stone in its rough and stubborn state,
but each new-born rejoicing convert, each blood-
ransomed member of the one true body of which
Christ is the head, a lively polished stone, occupying
its place in the sacred structure, and aiding in the
enlargement, compactness, and completion of the
work.

2. But there is grace also and comeliness about
the edifice.

The Architect has master-skill and ingenuity.
He loves beauty in the products of his hands, and
loathes defect and deformity. TIis fingers spanned
the graceful arches of the sky, blended and har¬
monized the delicate tints of the rainbow, stamped
order and concord upon the countless orbs wdiich
twinkle upon us from the vault of heaven, spread
beauty over all this earth in infinitely various forms,
impressed it on the mountain’s brow, on the rolling
flood, on the greenwood’s quivering leaves, on the
“ thousands hills” wdiere rejoicing cattle feed and

180 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

gambol, and on the little lily of the vale, more
glorious than Solomon in all his glory, with its bright-
hned companions everywhere exhaling their fra¬
grance, and tuneful in the praise of the hand that
robes them in splendor.

And since beauty and harmony are a fixed law of
his empire, shall his loved building, the Church,
reared with his own grace-scattering and order¬
shaping hands, lack them ? Shall this work arise
mis-shapen, disjointed, disproportioned, unseemly
— an anomaly amongst the products of his skill and
power — an eyesore to those who pass by, so that all
who behold shall mock and deride ? Shall the natu¬
ral temple shine with splendors all around us, and be
adorned with garments of loveliness and grace, and
the spiritual temple stand unsymmetrical and attrac¬
tionless ? No ; but this building, “ beautiful as Tir-
zah,” shall stand forth, arrayed in transcendent
charms. “ Awake, arise, O Zion, put on thy beauti¬
ful garments, O thou chosen temple of the Lord ; for
thy Maker, thy builder, is thy husband, and thou
shalt be adorned as a bridegroom adorns his bride,
decking her with ornaments, putting bracelets on
her hands, and a chain on her neck, and a jewel on
her forehead, and ear-rings in her ears, and a beau¬
tiful crown upon her head ; and thy renown, saith

TICE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

181

tlie bridegroom, shall go forth among the heathen
for thy beauty, for it is perfect through my comeli¬
ness, which I have put upon thee, saith the Lord
God.” — Ezek. xvi.

This is the building which, “ fair as the moon,’*
shall arise beneath the eye and the plastic power of
the great Master-builder. It is the Lord’s work, and
marvellous in our eyes. And as Solomon’s temple,
reared by divine direction, the fruit of long years of
stupendous industry and toil, glittered as the sun’s
rays fell upon it, with intolerable brightness, awaken¬
ing the pride of the Jewish heart, and the admira¬
tion of surrounding peoples, who gazed upon its
incomparable proportions and majestic outline, — so
the Church, constructed with consummate skill and
for a nobler purpose, without wrinkle to mar its
symmetry, or spot to deface its beauty, the Hew
Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven,
as a bride adorned for her husband, will stand
the wonder and joy of beholders, prompting each

glad and grateful heart to utter the burst of rap-

»

ture —

“ I love her gates, I love the road,

The Church adorned with grace
Stands like a palace built for God,

To show His milder face 1”

182 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

3. Its dimensions sliall be ample. There must be
room in it for all the ransomed of the Lord who
shall come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy.
“ Come, for all things are now ready,” was and is
the gracious invitation to the wayward and ruined.
And when many of the bidden came not, the com¬
mand issued, “ Go forth into the lanes and highways,
and compel the blind, and halt, and outcast to come
in, that my table and my house may be filled.”
Think of the vast number of the wretched, houseless,
trouble-burdened needy of our world, to whom this
blessed invitation still is made, and who will not
refuse to come at the call of the Lord — ready and
eager to exchange hunger for plenty, the frowns of
men for the smiles of Christ, human neglect for

4'

divine attention, scorn for honor, rags for comely
garments, and a paltry pittance doled out by the
reluctant hand of charity for a free and welcome
hospitality. There must be room in the grand edi¬
fice for all these ; and though the servants have done
as their Lord commanded, and have continued to do
so since, and the poor invited guests * have come
thronging at the Master’s urgency, the house and
table are not full. But yet there is room. Spacious,
indeed, must the inclosure be that shall contain them
all. But the invitation is not withdrawn, nor have

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 183

any wlio applied been refused admission, or sent
unsatisfied away. They enter still from the lanes
and by-places — the blind, the way-worn, the mise¬
rable, come and find accommodation. And so they
will find it till the time comes when the feet of
Christ’s servants shall no more appear beautiful upon
the mountains, as they come publishing salvation,
preaching good tidings of good.

Happy for the world that the Sovereign Messiah
is the builder of the Church ! His power and love
guarantee the spaciousness of the building to be fully
adequate to all the demands for accommodation
made upon it, and assure each trembling applicant
that the door shall not be shut against him, but that
he shall find ready access, ample room, and a hearty
welcome.

4. The enduring strength of the building. This
also is a necessary part of it. Beauty is not always
found conjoined to strength, and great extension is
sometimes incompatible with solidity, in structures
reared by human hands. But in Christ’s building,
— the Church — proportion, beauty, extension, and
strength go hand in hand together, illustrate each
other, and give finish and majesty to the whole.

The materials that enter into it render it strong.
For though there are many varieties of stone,

184 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

taken from all nations and peoples, yet each indi¬
vidual has received its shaping and polishing from
the same hand, is a tried and approved stone, and
well adapted to the place and purpose assigned it,
and without weakening the work by connexion with
others, giving, by variety, a more striking beauty to
the whole. Something like, if I may use such a
comparison, those various stones and blocks of mar¬
ble presented by different, States and Associations for
the great National Monument, each varying from the
other, bearing its own mark and inscription, but all
prepared and adapted, and accepted for the use
designed, and, without detracting from the strength
at all, adding to the picturesqueness, beauty, and
effect of the fabric. The component elements that
go to form the Church are, moreover, cemented with
blood, more precious far than that which drenched
the altars of Jewish sacrifice, so that no powers on
earth or in hell can start them out of their place.
And besides all, the piercing eye of Him whose
hand reared, is ever fixed on His prized building, the
Church, so that no fragment can be broken off with¬
out detection, and no lurking danger can be near
without discovery ; and because of the sleepless vigi¬
lance and tremendous power that guard it, no tongue
that shall rise against it in judgment shall prevail,

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 185

and no weapon that is formed against it can prosper.
Bnt this will lead me more particularly to notice —

III. Its Security.

The gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
Without going into any disquisition upon the critical
meaning of this phrase, which is also variously inter¬
preted, I shall take the signification to be that which
it hears upon its face, which is usually attached to it,
and which is most accordant with the spirit of the
whole passage. I understand it to refer to the stabi¬
lity of the church, founded as it is upon a Rock, and
built as it is by the great Head and Ruler of it — and
that its security is pledged omnipotently against all
assaults and foes whatever, until its glorious mission
shall have been accomplished.

1. It is secure against the force of change and
nature. The fashion of this world passeth away.
All things around us are full of fluctuation and
decay. In nature the grass withereth, the flower
fadeth. The green foliage of the spring gives place
to the sere and yellow leaves of autumn; and the
trees, adorned with beautiful garments, are disrobed
and stretch forth their naked arms toward heaven.
These natural changes, however, go on in an unvaried
round, the decay and death of autumn forerunning
the renewed freshness and blooming resurrection of

186 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

the following spring. Hot so with man. Infancy,
childhood, mature years, and old age, quickly succeed
each other ; and then comes the gathering of man and
of generations to their fathers. Age follows age ;
cycle, cycle. A nation rises up, becomes mighty, and
then passes away. Another takes its place, and oc¬
cupies large room in the world’s eye, to have in turn
its period of decadence and downfall, and make way
for its successors. And all this while, mankind bus¬
tle, struggle, plot, groan, weep, rejoice, and play their
little fantastic parts, with more or less of renown or
infamy, and then retire from the stage ; while
rumors of wars are heard, and stern collisions be¬
tween rival nations take place, and fierce conflicts of
opinion agitate and work commotion, and revolutions
and convulsions upheave society from its foundations,
changing the face of empires sometimes in a day.

Yet amid all this concussion and tossing to and
fro of the angry billows of human passions, the
ark of the Lord is safe. Truth is imperishable,
and the Church is time, and Christ is in the Church.
Ho change in the physical system can make it decay,
no revolutions in nations can move it from its fast
foundations. It is fixed in the Lock — it is moored to
the eternal throne. Heaven and earth may pass
away, but my word, saith the Lord, shall not pass

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 187

away. And tliat word declares and repeats, with
iterated emphasis, that Messiah shall see of the
travail of Ills soul, and shall be satisfied — that the
heathen shall he His inheritance — that His foes shall
be His footstool — that His Church shall live and His
truth triumph. And accordingly, like the bush all
on fire but not consumed, it has survived all the
tumults, animosities, dire and deadly ragings, and
conflicts which have been all around it, and which
have set their mask deeply upon, and spread desola¬
tion over, everything besides. But this conducts to
the remark that

2. The Church is secure against the • wrath and
malice of man.

If man’s frenzied rage could have prevailed
against it, it would long since have been destroyed,
for no method or means that human ingenuity could
devise, or malignity stimulate, or the utmost tension
of mortal power marshal against it, have been left
untried. Has not the Moloch of persecution in
various ages raised its blood-stained banner, and led
on its slaughter-breathing hosts against it ? Has not
the blood of God’s martyrs been spilled like water
over the face of the earth, for no other crime than
loyalty to Christ, and cried out from the drenched
and drugken soil against the fury of the oppressor?

188 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

Have not the saints had trial of sconrgings and tor¬
tures, of bonds and imprisonments, been stoned and
sawn asunder, tempted and slain with the sword,
been forced to wander in sheepskins and goatskins,
being destitute, afflicted, tormented ? Has not a
subtle infidelity exhausted its quivers of poisoned
arrows in every age, to pierce it to the death — •
labored by every foul art and expedient to scatter its
adherents to the wfinds, undermine their integrity,
and make faith in Christ the badge of infamy or of
an imbecile mind ? Has not the false prophet mar¬
shalled his intolerant legions against it, and sought
by the fury of a flood, by brute force, the sword and
fire, to extirpate it, leaving no trace of its existence
behind? Have not error, and corruption, and irre-
ligion, and a blighting philosophy, combined with
every sort of “ deceivableness of unrighteousness,”
sought to compass the final overthrow of the rock-
founded and Christ-guarded fabric ? And have they
not all been foiled, discomfited, rolled back, leaving
the object of their attack unharmed, having the
principles of life, activity, and expansion within it
still ? This is wonderful, my brethren, passing
wonderful ; the safety of the Church maintained
against assaults so frequent, so ferocious, so often
varied, so subtle and long-continued. It is a standing

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 189

moral miracle, invoking the astonishment of every
beholder, and the tearful gratitude of every saint.
“ O, our Redeemer, we see thy wondrous love, the
might of thy arm, the wisdom of thy counsels, the
truth of thy pledged word, in this great and signal
preservation. We adore and praise thee while we
wonder and rejoice. Write, Lord, we humbly pray,
our names upon the palms of thy hands, that when
our brief course is run, and the fight fought in the
Church militant below, we may rise and glorify thee
among the members of the Church triumphant in
heaven.”

3. The Church is secure, I again remark, against
the arts and fury of the infernal world.

Satan is the adversary of the Church, and must
needs continue such, for the Church aims to cripple
his power, overturn his empire, rescue souls from his
ignoble dominion, and raise them from the degra¬
dation of being children of the Devil to the dignity
of being sons of God. Satan is the enemy of the
Church, because the enemy, bitter and implacable,
of its Head, the enemy of truth and righteousness,
and of everything that tends to make men wiser,
holier, happier. And he is an enemy whose might
and resources are greatly formidable. Whatever he
possesses of craft and energy is enlisted in the war-

190 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

fare waged by him against Christ and his Bride.
Every fallen spirit that owns his mastership is made
an agent to execute his fierce desire to wound the
peace and mar the beauty of Zion. The wTorld, with
its pomp and show, its glory and honors, its flatteries
and deceits, its pleasures and vanities, is an ally con¬
stantly employed by him, to advance his designs,
and aid him in effecting by insidious arts what can¬
not be effected by open assault ; while the heart of
man, keenly susceptible to impressions from without,
and having a volcano of lusts slumbering within, is
the great citadel against which every attack is waged,
and is prone to yield to the dexterous onslaughts made
upon it with unceasing vigor and skill.

The Church is composed of its members, and
each member, with the same nature, sustains the
same relation to external things. When, therefore,
Satan prevails against the members by his seductions,
he prevails to that extent against the Church, and
with his restless zeal, and fell determination, and
wide resources, and the native weakness of the
human heart to resist, we can scarce forbear wonder
that he has not prevailed in every case, and
enticed away from the faith, and ruined beyond re¬
covery, the sacramental host of the Lord. God’s
grace in Christ, given largely, as pledged, to believ-

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 191

ers, lias prevented their hopeless fall, enabling them
to resist unto blood, to stand fast in their allegiance
in spite of all dishonoring solicitations, and overcome
each most easily besetting sin, in the name and
strength of their ascended Lord.

Tims the Church lias been preserved by grace
given to its members, and this grace has flowed
down from Christ the Fountain. He overcame, and
His people through him overcome. He vanquished
Satan, not only in the wilderness, but in the garden
and on the cross; and seeing him fall like lightning
from heaven, announced to His disciples, that he was
thenceforth a conquered foe, and would be impotent
to ruin His heritage or harm His chosen. And the
declaration has been verified. All his malice and
machinations have been baffled. The Church has
bidden defiance to his power — has gone forward in
her progress to victory, led and guarded by her Lord,
and will yet go on conquering and to conquer, till the
kingdoms of the world shall have become the king¬
doms of J ehovah and of His Christ.

You see, then, Christian friends and brethren, in
the light of these considerations, how it is that the
bush burning has not been consumed, how the ark
of our hopes, rocked to and fro by the swelling and
rolling waters, dashed against by the descending

192 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

floods, with tumult, agitation, and dismay all around,
has floated securely upon the bosom of the chafing
billows, and as they have subsided at the voice that
made them rage, has found ever an Ararat to rest
upon, sending forth from it hope and consolation to
the world. You see what God’s hand hath wrought
— how tender his mercy, how wakeful ever his
vigilance, and potential his guardianship — how abid¬
ing his faithfulness, how sacred the pledges of his
covenant. The Church, encircled by his arm, has not
only stood fast but made progress, not only remained
firm and on the defensive against the onsets of its
foes, but been actively aggressive, following on the
track of her routed assailants, and carrying the warfare
into the enemy’s country. The missionary spirit of
the apostolic age, smothered at times to appearance,
has been kindled afresh at the altar of Him who still
commands, “ Go ye into all the world and preach the
Gospel to every creature.” Obedience to this man¬
date has unfurled the banner of the cross, before the
eyes of rude, blinded, and pagan peoples, and planted
churches into which weeping penitents have been
gathered out of the throngs of the idolatrous, to the
glory of God’s grace. This broad continent, which a
few centuries ago was covered with the pall of Pa¬
ganism, is now redeemed from the curse of idol-

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 193

worship and superstition, and the Church rooted here
in weakness lias sprung up into strength, the mustard-
seed has expanded into the tree, the little leaven
has leavened a whole mass. The lines are now fallen
to us in pleasant places, and we have a goodly heri¬
tage. We may worship the true divinity as our
instructed convictions of duty prompt, and none
dare molest us, when we come up to how before and
praise Him, as we have done this day. The vine of
His own planting has taken deep root and put forth
countless branches, bearing fruit, and these are in¬
creased continually by others, as the dews and rains
of divine grace fall from heaven, fertilizing the soil,
cheering the vine, infusing fresh vigor into it, and
encouraging it to break forth on every side and fill
the land.

A new offshoot from this true vine greets our eyes
to-day, and we are here to commend it to the care
of the good Husbandman, and invoke in its behalf
the fostering influences of His protection and love.
There are few spectacles indeed more interesting and
impressive than the setting apart solemnly a Chris¬
tian temple reared for the worship and to the honor
of the Lord Jehovah, The object is one of the
worthiest, I may say grandest, that can occupy the
mind or fill the heart of the congregation it calls

9

194 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

together. The edifice reared is not for secular pur¬
poses, not to compass any worldly or ambitious
project, not to aid in carrying out selfish schemes of
temporal aggrandizement, or the amassing of wealth,
or the strengthening of mortal influence ; but the
end is to glorify God by furnishing wider facilities
for the proclamation of a free Gospel, in the opening
of a sanctuary where the means of worshipping him
publicly and statedly may he enjoyed — where the
humble poor and the stately rich man, the lowly
obscure and the person of mark and position, may
equally appear before God, who is no respecter of
persons, and sing those praises which God loves to
hear when the heart makes melody, and offer those
supplications which all men have need to pay, and
implore that mercy without which every man is un¬
done, and hear from the lips of the preacher that
blessed word expounded and enforced which points
to heaven and instructs in every duty.

This is the true end for which the house of wor¬
ship is reared, and the office to which it is dedicated.
It is a house which, as we look upon it, reminds us
of a brighter and better world — speaks of the destiny
of man as bound to the judgment-seat of Christ —
points to the vanities of this passing state, as too un¬
worthy to occupy much that mind which should be
filled with immortal aspirations — preaches with still

THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 195

small voice indeed, but persuasively, tlie marvellous
condescension of Him “ who though He was rich, yet
for our sakes became poor, that we through His
poverty might be rich,” and sets forth the claims of
that religion which His own voice announced with
authority and His own spotless life illustrated.

In short, this house, as you look upon it and enter
it, seems the Jacob’s ladder connecting earth with
heaven, on which the eye of faith may see bright
angels ascending and descending — the latter bringing
down to rebels the divinely free offer of pardon ; the
former bearing up the report of its acceptance or
rejection. It seems to stand on the boundary be¬
tween this world and the next. The rays of the
heavenly glory, issuing through the gates of paradise,
reach it and play upon it; while the feet of poor
wanderers, soiled through contact with this defiling
earth, pass its threshold, where the languid and
wayworn sit and are cheered with the voice, “ Come

unto me, ye laboring and heavy laden ones, and ye

«

shall find rest for your souls.” Here the voice of angry
passion is hushed, and all the clamors, strifes, and
acerbities which separate man from man, and proclaim
the bitterness of the curse, subside in the awful
presence of Him to whom vengeance belongetli.
Here all artificial distinctions which divide men into
high and low, rich and poor, honorable and base,

196 THE FOUNDATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH.

vanish before the oracle, “ To this man will I look,
even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and
trembletli at my word.” Here the character, temper,
and disposition of the soul is the chief recommen¬
dation, and every one that brings the sacrifice
that God requires will find his gracious benediction.

This, therefore, is God’s house, reared for Him, and
to be dedicated to Him. And in the light of these
sacred and tender associations, when an assembly
meet to consummate the act which sets it apart for
ever to these high purposes, the spectacle is beautiful
and imposing. We stand as it were with one foot
on the earth, and the other on the threshold of heaven.
We are beneath God’s eye. Holy angels are around
us. The glory of the Lord is in this place. What
we do is pregnant with momentous and lasting con¬
sequences. The act is to be recorded on high, and
we shall meet the record and the sentiments which
prompt and characterize it, on that great day when
the sea and death and hell shall deliver up their dead,
and “ every man shall be judged according to that
which he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” *

* The Service for the Dedication, as partaking the nature of a
formula, and containing what, in part at least, is usual on similar
occasions, it is not thought material to insert. Though the dis¬
course closes abruptly, the coherence and unity of the argument are
not impaired.

ENGLISH DICTION A MEANS OF PULPIT
EFFICIENCY.

Taking- up one of the back numbers of the Prince¬
ton Peview tlie other day, my attention was arrested
by a sprightly article bearing part of the above
title. The ground taken by the writer in it is, that
the Presbyterian ministry — and the remark may
hold good in respect to those of our own Church —
though thoroughly educated, and possessed of an
aggregate of talent at least equal to that of any
ecclesiastical body in the land, are yet surpassed by
some others, having a less carefully trained ministry,
in the effect with which their ministrations tell upon
the people. He quotes a passage from the Edin¬
burgh Witness , relating to the then recent discussion
in the United Presbyterian Synod of Scotland, and
in the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church
in the United States, of the practice of reading ser¬
mons, as a probable cause of crippling the power of
pulpit discourse, and infers that the very agitation of
the question proves that there is something wrong, for

198

ENGLISH DICTION

people are not apt to liave recourse to medicine with¬
out feeling themselves unwell. The reviewer, how¬
ever, regards the medicine proposed by these venerable
bodies as not at all adapted to the disease ; indicating,
in fact, if applied by synodical prescription, a sad
ignorance of the diagnosis of the case. ITe scouts
the idea that the disuse of written sermons would
restore or give to the ministry the efficiency they are
said to lack, and brings forward a remedy of his
own, which he thinks might compass the end in
view, and which in few words may be thus de¬
scribed :

The ministry often fail in their addresses to the
people, because they use a language which the peo¬
ple do not clearly understand. Their studies have
made them familiar with a vocabulary removed
from the range of ordinary conversation, and con¬
taining many words which convey to a plain hearer
no distinct idea. The racy idiomatic Saxon of our
language, in which people talk and express their
earnest sentiments, is displaced by a bastard mongrel
dialect, very intelligible no doubt to those who teach,
but very mysterious to the bone and sinew of their
hearers. Instead of using words which everybody
understands, they use those whose meaning is clear
to the initiated alone. They wonder, perhaps, that

A MEANS OF PULFIT EFFICIENCY.

199

their labored and finished discourses are listened to
with apathy, and give no sign of an impression made
or an interest awakened. The truth is, they have
not been understood ; and he who speaks in an “ un¬
known tongue5’ to the people, expecting to persuade,
arouse, or melt them thereby, would do well to
remember that the thing is impossible, unless a repe¬
tition of the Pentecostal miracle should liken his
hearers to the Parthians, Medes, Cretes, and Ara¬
bians, who heard with astonishment the gospel
preached at Jerusalem.

This theory is plausible, and a good deal more.
It is certain that many an ingenious and learned dis¬
course is shorn of its power to convince or edify
because people fail to comprehend it. Much of the
inefficiency of pulpit discourse is, no doubt, traceable
to this source. We believe, that in regard to many
a sermon looked upon by its partial author as pointed,
pungent, and plain enough too, if Philip’s question
to the eunuch were put with a slight variation to
many individuals of the audience, “ Pnderstandest
thou what thou hearest f ” the honest reply must be,
“ How can we, except some man guide us ?” The
interpreter of Scripture must have an assistant inter¬
preter at his elbow before his meaning can be plain.
Such an expedient might do good, especially in the

200

ENGLISH DICTION

case of those Coleridgean treatises sometimes put
forth for gospel at the present day, whose meta¬
physics are of a character so intensely subtle as to
leave speaker and hearer equally befogged.

Nor would this expedient, if resorted to, be alto¬
gether startling from its novelty. Mar Yohannan
discoursed very plain and passable Anglo-Saxon to
his hearers, through the lips of Dr. Perkins. And
other unknown tongues have been rendered intelli¬
gible through similar channels. Why might not
those discourses, which the vacant look and half-
closed eyes of an audience plainly declare transcen¬
dental. , be rendered on the spot into the English of
the people? Tire object of discourse is avowedly
their edification and profit. Why should not this
object be certainly attained, even at the risk of a
little contortion of the muscles of an audience ? If
men cannot hear without a preacher, it is equally
clear that men cannot be instructed, if the preacher
clothes his message in words too high for their capa¬
city. Where the interpreter of Scripture needs him¬
self to be interpreted, whatever other things may
come from the “ hearing” of his words, “ faith” will
hardly be among the number.

Dr. Johnson had two modes of conveying his
thoughts — the natural and the artificial. The one

A MEANS OF PULPIT EFFICIENCY.

201

was employed in conversation, and when he wrote at
his ease and to his friends ; the other adapted for the
public eye. To nse the words of an eminent reviewer,
“ When he wrote for publication, he did his sentences
out of English into Johnsonese. Ilis letters from
the Hebrides to Mrs. Thrale are the original of that
work of which the Journey to the Hebrides is the
, translation. Sometimes Johnson translated aloud.
‘The Rehearsal,’ he said, ‘has not wit enough to
keep it sweet ; ’ then added, after a pause, ‘ It has
not vitality enough to preserve it from putrefaction.’ ”
The strength of the former version as compared with
the latter is obvious enough, and yet the famous lexi¬
cographer was perpetually committing the fault of
preferring the sonorous to the natural, and words
drawn from the Latin or Greek to those nervous and
sinewy Anglo-Saxon terms, whose meaning, often in
the very utterance and sound, strikes the mind of the
hearer with the force of a shock. How immeasurably
his style is depraved and his energy weakened by
this strange choice, has been commonly remarked.
Robert Hall, who confesses that at one period of his
ministry he was a zealous follower of Johnson in the
matter of style, and rejoices that in maturer years he
had succeeded in breaking loose from the trammels
of his early and fond admiration, furnishes eyidence

9*

202

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throughout his works that the victory he prided him¬
self on was never perfectly achieved. In his great
sermon on Modern Infidelity, the copy of which was
laboriously doled out to the printer page by page,
and at slow intervals, the sentence ending with,
“ What are those enterprises of guilt and horror that,
for the safety of their performers, require to be en¬
veloped in a darkness which the eye of Heaven
must not penetrate” was altered by the substitution
of pierce for penetrate ; the author remarking, as he
directed the alteration, that “ no man who considered
thefeyrce of the English language would use a word
of three syllables there but from absolute necessity.”
It would require no curious research to detect in his
really vigorous, though somewhat too stately lan¬
guage, many words and even sentences which might
by substitution and change be equally improved.
W e have little doubt that a more natural and simple
flow of his thoughts had rendered his ministrations
far more edifying and efficient with the bulk of his
hearers. Indeed, it is expressly stated by a writer
who knew him well, that the plainer sort of his hear¬
ers, composing the majority of most congregations,
seemed to listen to him without clearly apprehending
the scope or appreciating the influence or strength
of his thoughts, and that only towards the close, as

A MEANS OF PULPIT EFFICIENCY.

203

in liis earnestness to impress, lie threw aside tlie
measured and elaborate construction of liis sentences,
and clothed his thoughts in words of transparent
simplicity, the hearts of the audience warmed and
throbbed to the accents of the Christian orator.

In reading his works, we discern and feel the same
lack of simplicity. Much as we admire his intellect,
the vigor of liis thoughts, his mastery of language,
the propriety and strength of his analysis, his evi¬
dent capacity to grapple successfully with deep sub¬
jects, we must confess to having read many sermons
and treatises which, with less thought and force, were
less wearisome in perusal than those which he has fur¬
nished us withal. The words are fitly chosen and the
idea not darkly expressed, but excess of elaboration
has wrought a stately monotony, which seldom fails to
be irksome to the reader. In speaking, simplicity is
still more important. The hearer, unlike the reader,
cannot pause upon the expressions and study out the
meaning of an ambiguous term or an involved
sentence, but, borne along by the current of words,
if he fail to apprehend instantly, there is no remedy.
And where a goodly number of words occur “ too
high” for the bulk of a congregation, though the
sermon containing them is ingenious, profound, well
conducted, and all that, the element of persuasive

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power must be looked for in vain. The orator’s
blows, manful tbougb tliey be, instead of striking
home, are but the barren beating of the air.

And what is thought to be “ great plainness of
speech,” sometimes is really far from being such.
Many of our hearers are unscholarly persons, un¬
acquainted not only with the technical terms of
theology, but with very many wrords whose meaning
to an educated mind is perfectly transparent, and, as
we may hastily suppose, can hardly be misunder¬
stood by people of ordinary intelligence. And yet,
if put to the test, it would be found that the idea
received was extremely vague, or amounted in fact
to no idea at all, or one very far removed from the
true. A clergyman in England being about to
preach for one of his brethren, was expressly re¬
quested to use the utmost plainness of language, lest
a plain people should fail to be edified. The preacher
agreed, premising that he always made himself in¬
telligible to the simplest hearer. On asking his
friend after sermon whether he had succeeded, he
was surprised to hear him answer in the negative;
and inquiring what word in the sermon could possi¬
bly have been misunderstood, was told that the
word “ inference,” several times used, was a puzzler
to many. As a proof, he called in his man John,

A MEANS OF PULPIT EFFICIENCY.

205

wlio had listened devoutly to the discourse, and
abruptly inquired, u John, can you draw an infer¬
ence ?” “ Can’t say, sir,” replied John, “ that I can

draw one, but I have a yoke of oxen in the field that
will draw anything you please to put behind them.”
Honest John’s intelligence perhaps was hardly up to
the average, but a similar test instituted in many
other cases where the preacher fancies himself limpid
as a brook, might produce similar results. Dean
Swift is said to have read his sermon, before delivery,
to an old housekeeper, and if any word or sentence
occurred beyond her comprehension, to simplify till
the idea grew palpable. Perhaps the severe sim¬
plicity of his language is owing to some such process.
The fact certainly proclaims a sound philosophy, for
the humblest need to understand as well as the
highest ; their interests are as precious ; their num¬
bers are greater; their worldly comforts are fewer,
and religion more an “all in all” matter to them
than to their superiors in station. They are entitled
therefore to the full benefit of a public instruction
which they can fully understand ; and to restrict the
meaning of a discourse, through an ambitious style
or swollen verbiage, to the more enlightened, is to
treat the rest with injustice, and bar their ap¬
proach to those health-giving waters which sweetly

206

ENGLISH DICTION

murmur, as tliey flow, joy and a free welcome to
all.

'Nor is entire simplicity any way incompatible
either with force or elegance. Swift’s style is simple
and forcible, though his language is transparent.
Addison is natural and simple, and though intelli¬
gible to every person of ordinary understanding, is
not the less elegant on that account. Tire Pilgrim’s
Progress will hardly be cited as a specimen of ele¬
gant composition, yet so far as force, the effect of
employing the simplest Anglo-Saxon words is con¬
cerned, it is not surpassed by any uninspired book in
the language. A modern writer thus characterizes
it, nor is the high praise unfitly applied : “ The voca¬
bulary is the vocabulary of the common people.
There is not an expression, if we except a few tech¬
nical terms of theology, which would puzzle the
rudest peasant. We have observed several pages
which do not contain a single word of more than two
syllables. Yet no writer has said more exactly what
he meant to say. For magnificence, for pathos, for
vehement exhortation, for every purpose of the poet,
the orator, and the divine, this homely dialect, the
dialect of plain working-men, was perfectly suffi¬
cient. There is no book in our literature on which
we could so readily stake the fame of the old unpol-

A MEANS OF PULPIT EFFICIENCY.

207

luted English language ; no book which shows so
wrell how rich that language is in its own proper
wealth, and how httle it has been improved by ah
that it has borrowed !”

This is wTell and truly said. And the Bible was the
book from which John Bunyan formed his style ;
the book which imbued his spirit, colored his senti¬
ments, and varied his plain working-day language
into occasional sublimity. Let our pulpit harangues
have less elegance, if it must be so, but more of the
forceful simplicity of the greatest of models, and
their increased power will at once appear. “ Plain
working-men ” form no small part of almost every
audience, and, what is more, they form the most
devout and earnest part, intent to know what those
things are which the religious teacher professes to
explain. They deserve not to be disappointed in
their anxiety. And if we would not have the pulpit
illustrate in fact the sarcastic remark of Talleyrand,
the courtier and diplomatist, that “ language was
given for the purpose of concealing our ideas,” if we
would edify every class of hearers, strike strong
blows upon the conscience, and win souls to the
cross, the language used in discourse before the
Church, should be such as the simplest may under¬
stand. The “ enticing words of man’s wisdom ” may

208 ENGLISH DICTION A MEANS OF PULPIT EFFICIENCY.

do well enough for the world, hut seem sadly out of
place in the pulpit. The “ ambassador for Christ ”
should so utter his message, that its full meaning is
lost on no hearer whom he beseeches in “ Christ’s
stead to he reconciled to God.”

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF

HENRY CLAY.

(Delivered July 4th, 1852.)

Pascitur in vivis livor, post facta quiescit ;

Tunc buus, ex merito, quemque tuetur honoe. — Ovid.

“ Ilow are the mighty fallen.” — 2 Sametjl i. 19.

The lament of David over Saul and Jonathan, of
which this brief sentence forms a part, is one of the
most tender and pathetic that human lips ever uttered,
or that the page of written book ever contained. It
occupies, by common consent, the first place in the
catalogue of elegies. Dignified, simple, mournful,
and overwhelming, it appeals to all that is sympa¬
thetic within us, and demands of the reader, even at
this distant day, and notwithstanding the impairing
effect of a translation into a language which must
fail to give the full spirit and force of the original — •
the tribute of aroused sensibility and tears. If the
Bible had no other claim to the attention and homage
of the world, it well deserves to receive such homage

210

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

on account of its high and incomparable superiority
to all other books ever produced — its superiority in
every kind of composition ^calculated to interest the
mind, move the better passions, excite admiration and
respect, stimulate to deeds of honor and virtue, and
improve the heart.

Saul and Jonathan were dead, fallen in battle with
their foes. The relation which David had sustained
to these two men was in several respects dissimilar.
Towards Jonathan the warmest and most devoted
friendship had sprung up, and had become stronger
with the lapse of years. It was not mere friendship
which he felt for this noble and heroic young man,
but love, cemented by many sore trials, to which
himself had been subjected, and which served to
keep them apart from each other — and cemented by
the misfortunes, too, which had begun to fall upon
the house of David, in which Jonathan, though
innocent, was forced to participate. Though they
seldom were permitted to rejoice in one another’s
society, their mutual affection remained unabated,
and it had now grown, through years of constancy
and faith, into so firm a texture, that nothing earthly
could dissolve it. It feared nothing from the assaults
of coldness, or scorn, or misfortune, or distance, or
separation — for it had been weighed in all these

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

211

balances and never found wanting, and was sure of
standing steadfast “ till death should them part.”

Conceive, then, the agony which the intelligence of
the death of this more than brother must have pro¬
duced. What pangs it shot into the heart of the sur¬
vivor ; what anguish too great for language to speak
adequately, it occasioned. Is it wonderful that we hear
the wrords burst from him, “ Oh, Jonathan, I am dis¬
tressed for thee, my brother Jonathan; very pleasant
hast thou been unto me ; thy love to me was wonder¬
ful, passing the love of women ? ” There is nothing
strange that a friendship so unusual and ennobling
should, when roughly broken off by death, elicit such
intense and harrowing grief.

But with Saul the case was different. He had
long been the open and determined enemy of David.
He was at first envious of his rising greatness, and
of the evident favor with which the people regarded
him ; and as envy is closely allied to hatred, he
soon came to cherish towards David this darker sen¬
timent, and to hate him with all the fierceness of a
little and malignant heart. David’s prowess in war,
the Divine favor which manifestly attended him, the
humiliating comparison drawn by the women of
Israel as they sang, “Saul has slain his thousands
and David his tens of thousands,” fanned the flame of

212

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

his passions, and he cursed David, and cursed Jona¬
than for the steadfast favor shown to him whom he
now recognised as a formidable rival, destined at no
distant da y to wear the crown and occupy the throne
which he now called his own. And in his rage he
hurled his javelin at the stripling harpist, as he
sought with cunning melodies to exorcise the evil
demons that lacerated his royal heart, and hurled his
javelin at another time at his own son, for his reso¬
lute ardor in taking his rival’s part ; and afterwards,
when David fled for his life, cheered on his servants
to join with him in hunting the hapless fugitive,
forcing him to seek asylum among a strange people,
and in dens and caverns of the earth.

What might we suppose the feelings of his heart
to be, at hearing of the death of such an enemy and
persecutor? Would we think David most likely to
feel grief or joy — melancholy or lightness of heart?
He could hardly love Saul — he had reason, perhaps,
to feel dislike and enmity towards him — and at his
death to feel that a burden of care and uneasiness
was removed. What was the fact ? He experiences
profound sorrow at his loss. He bewTails Saul as
though he had been a bosom friend : “ The beauty
of Israel is slain upon thy high places — how are the
mighty fallen ! Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

213

the streets of Ashkelon, lest the daughters of the
Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncir¬
cumcised triumph. Ye daughters of Israel, weep
over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet with other de¬
lights, who put ornaments of gold upon your ap¬
parel.” All traces of any past unkindness on his
part, of any feeling of hostility and resentment, dis¬
appear. He remembers not Saul the persecutor,
Saul the envious, hating, unjust man, hut remem¬
bers only Saul, the Lord’s anointed — Saul the unfor¬
tunate sovereign of a people defended by the Lord — •
Saul the mighty warrior, whose prowess had been
proved in a hundred tights — Saul, the father of his
beloved Jonathan — and Saul, whose kindness had
been shown to himself on former occasions, and shown
to his family, and shown to the families of Israel, over
whom he had presided, leading the daughters of
Israel to bewail him, when he fell harnessed in the
battle. He remembers now only the best parts of
Saul’s character, and thinks tenderly and sorrowfully
of the loss, of all that endeared him to his people, and
made him honorable and illustrious. Death puts a
veil before all the blemishes of the fallen monarch,
and brings out in stronger light all his virtues and
all his generosities.

And this is no unwonted spectacle in this our

214

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

fallen world, to see those who are dead receiving jus¬
tice, and sometimes more than justice, at the hands
of the living. It is a redeeming feature in human
nature, that harsh judgments, sentiments of enmity
and hostility, the sway of unruly passion, and the
license of unbridled tongues should be arrested by
the grave, and should bow abashed and tamed be¬
fore the power of the great destroyer. There lies
the object who once excited resentment and rage
• — the man who crossed our path ; defeated our plans ;
opposed our principles ; secured a larger measure of
popular applause and favor than ourselves ; carried
his own ends successfully by the superior weight of
his talent and energy, in spite of all opposition ;
raised himself to honorable places, while we were
left in obscurity ; — the man who, in various ways,
excited stern opposition against himself, and stirred
up within us the foul pool of envy, wrath, malice,
and uncharitableness. There is the man whose mo¬
tives have been impugned, whose character has been
assailed with detraction, whose footsteps have been
dogged by the hootings and revilings of the evil-
minded. There is the man, we will suppose, who
has actually entertained wuong principles, and com¬
mitted wrong deeds; who, in his intercourse with
men, has been proud, overbearing, and scornfid ; and

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

215

lias, by his demeanor, not less than by positive inju¬
ries, excited the ill-will and hostility of many of his
fellow-men. There he is — fallen before a stroke
which no mortal can resist or evade. He lies there
tame, quiet, and unoffending enough. The fire of his
haughty eye is quenched ; the vigor of the stalwart
arm is paralysed. The ingenious plans of the fertile
and acute intellect can no more be developed, nor
carried forwards towards fulfilment ; the voice of
authority and command is never again to be heard.
He shall no more inflict injury, or defeat his neigh¬
bor’s plans, or excite animosity, or by moving
adroitly and popularly among the active hive of
mankind, become an object of the envy or malice of
narrow and envious minds. There he lies — gentle
and harmless as a sleeping babe ! He sleeps well,
and so soundly, that no earthly din or concussion
shall awaken him. And when they who may have
envied him, feared him, hated him, and labored in
every way to thwart and lacerate him, and pull him
down from his high elevation, approach, and look
upon his pallid face, and the placid or perhaps pain¬
ful expression which it bears, and see the motion¬
less limbs, and the slight bands which are now
enough to bind them — oh ! it is hardly in human na¬
ture not to find those feelings of antagonism — long

216

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

and deeply cherished, perhaps — insensibly soften,
and vanish before this plaintive spectacle. What
heart, save that of a fiend, could retain its malignity
while gazing upon the face of the dead, or inwardly
exult that the mighty had fallen, and thus an obstruc¬
tion to survivors’ progress been taken out of the
way ! The best parts of our nature would then he
likely to vindicate their existence and their power.
And even the unsanctified heart, awed and melted
by such a spectacle, would lay aside its unholy ani¬
mosities, and think with poignant regret upon their
former undisciplined and lawless exercise, and the
sad excesses to which they led ; and while feeling
mournfully that the wrong done to the poor sleeper
there could never he repaired to him, would remem¬
ber, in this time of strong reaction, all the bright
points in his character — how just, and kind, and mag¬
nanimous, and heroic he had been, and how skilful
to plan, and how efficient to execute, he certainly
was. No slur or reproach would be cast upon his
name or memory, but everything spoken would re¬
dound to his credit and honor.

Now, we rej>eat it, this disposition on the part of
man is a redeeming point in his character, showing
that he is not altogether lost to justice and humanity.
In the case of David, indeed, weeping over the death

TIIE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

217

of Saul, liis enemy, and mentioning only his good
deeds and kindnesses, and saying not one word to his
disparagement, it is not quite so remarkable. For
David had a gentle and tender heart, pervaded by
fervent piety, which led him to lie as a frequent
suppliant before the Almighty throne, and sue for
that mercy which he felt none needed more than
himself. But in those who have no piety in particu¬
lar, who are led to feel and act as I have described,
the remark is very noticeable — that resentments and
antipathies are forgotten, as it were, in the pre¬
sence of the dead, and buried, as they always should
be, in the grave. There is an inward monitor, whose
voice will be apt to cry aloud at such times, and say
to the persons who may have pursued a man with
clamor and revilings to the grave — “With what
judgment ye judge ye shall be judged, and with
what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you
again.” It is therefore creditable to our humanity,
that when the grave is about to close over one of our
fellow-mortals, his failings and errors (as far as possi¬
ble) should be forgotten, and his virtues and good
deeds only remembered. And it is certainly the
dictate, not simply of humanity but of justice, that
he who has been wrongfully and maliciously assailed
and traduced, should have, when death closes the

10

218

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

scene, his merits and virtues truly stated, and his
reputation vindicated, in the sorrowing and remorse¬
less confessions of those who have done him wrong.
Tliis remark applies more directly to the great man,
“ the mighty man,” than to one in obscure life ; for
in the former case the mark is broader and more
shining, and the arrows aimed at it more likely to
reach and pierce. The wrong is committed on a
larger scale, and its effect, unless counteracted, likely
to be more injurious and enduring. In the case of
such a man fallen, it is peculiarly refreshing to wit¬
ness the wrong of many years righted — in a measure
at least — by the voluntary acknowledgments and
cordial applauses which spring from that sentiment,
that beautilul and kindly impulse which has been
surveyed.

The principle here set forth is susceptible of a
wide application. I design to apply it to the case of
a single individual. A mighty man among our
fellow-citizens has recently fallen. A great name,
which for almost half a century has shone with dis¬
tinguished lustre, in the galaxy of our country’s
honor, will no longer be inscribed on the catalogue
of living men. A statesman, an orator, a patriot, a
benefactor, than whom no citizen of the republic, of
this age at least, has received and deserved a warmer

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

219

and a wider admiration, and devoted his high pow¬
ers with more unwearied fidelity to the public good,
is now enrolled among the illustrious dead. He
sleeps where the voice of praise or blame, honor or
reproach, adulation or detraction, can reach his ear
no more. His name has long been a household word
over the length and breadth of the land, familiar to
every home as the names of nearest kindred, parent,
wife, or child. And where that name has been pro¬
nounced, there have been no hateful or dreaded
images associated with it, such as the tyrant’s frown,
the oppressor’s wrath, the enemy’s and avenger’s li¬
cense ; but rather those pleasing images which the mind
loves to have presented and to dwell upon — the elo¬
quent voice uplifted for the cause of Right, Justice,
and Truth — -the sagacious and patriotic counsels aim¬
ing at the peace, welfare, and prosperity of the
country, and those of the families and individuals
composing it — the bland smile and address, and the
large, generous soul, all whose impulses were genial
and kindly, all whose energies were consecrated to
honor, liberty, and humanity. He is fallen ; the
mighty is fallen, and all that now remains for those
who revered and loved him, is to bewail the loss
they have sustained, honor his character and services,
and properly cherish his memory.

220

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

Few of our greatest men, whose lives have been
devoted to the service of the country, have been as¬
sailed with greater acrimony and fierceness of de¬
nunciation, and have encountered in every stage of
their public life a sterner opposition, aided, or sought
to he aided, by an unscrupulous resort to the most
reckless and calumnious accusations. Mr. Clay has
been, in certain periods of his life at least, the best
abused man in the country. One might have sup¬
posed from the clamorous representations made and
reiterated in certain quarters, that he was the worst
and most dangerous man among all his compeers — ■
that he could stoop to any dishonor — was adequate to
the commission of any crime — that his professions of
patriotism were a trick and a sham — and that to ad¬
vance his own vaulting ambition, he stood ready to
make any sacrifice of truth and principle. We state
this as a melancholy fact which will hardly be denied,
though we mean no particular disparagement to
any class or any party. For the same humiliating
thing has been witnessed, in the case of other public
men — in the case of Andrew Jackson, for example,
the same detraction was resorted to by his opponents,
the same unblushing falsehoods told and believed,
the same injurious criminations made, and no epithet
was deemed too bad with which to bespatter cha-

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

221

racter and principles. This is one of the evils of a
free country and of an unshackled press. There is
no muzzling the liberty of thought and expression,
and in times of high excitement, the greatest license
is sometimes indulged in speaking of the sentiments,
course, and character of the men who are put for¬
ward as the standard-bearers of their respective par¬
ties. If we were to believe the one party, at least
many of its men and organs who undertake to speak
for it, every measure and principle opposed to it
must he radically wrong, every prominent advocate
of its doctrines radically dishonest and corrupt, and
everything connected with its purposes and policy
destructive of the interests of the commonwealth.
If we were to believe the other party, we should be
driven to the same conclusion in respect to their op¬
ponents and their principles. Both cannot be right,
though both may easily be wrong. And the plain truth
is, that in every case and all cases of this loud-mouthed
and wholesale denunciation, neither party is to be im¬
plicitly believed. W e cannot doubt very much of their
abuse and crimination to be spiced with exaggera¬
tion, uncharitableness, and falsehood. We believe, as
a general thing, the men they declaim against are
far better than they are represented to be, and quite
as worthy and exemplary at least as the persons by

222

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

whom they are assailed. And we prefer on all oc¬
casions to exercise our own sober judgment and
intelligent convictions, in regard both to measures
and men, believing that we shall find in both some¬
what to commend and somewhat to condemn; and
quite sure that we shall find, if we are candid, abso¬
lute perfection in neither.

But what I would say is, that in the case of Mr.
Clay, the voice of clamor, detraction, abuse, and evil
speaking is hushed in presence of his cold remains.
The intelligence of his death — though the event has
been long expected — creates a general and profound
sensation. Persons of all parties, with a prompti¬
tude and cordiality which reflect great credit upon
their convictions and sensibility, vie with each other
in paying due honor to his services and character.
And “ how is the mighty fallen” is the deep-toned
sentiment echoed from Maine to Mexico, and from
the Atlantic to the Pacific shore. The blemishes
and imperfections of his character and life — and
who, of mortals, is without his share — are over¬
looked, if not forgotten, while his shining excellen¬
ces rise into brighter lustre, and elicit the sponta¬
neous sincere eulogiums not only of ardent friends,
but of those who have long and determinedly differed
from him on questions of national policy. He is fer-

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

223

vently, though pensively, commended as the saga¬
cious statesman whose best counsels and energies have
been unweariedly, and for half a century, given to
advance the interests and honor of the common¬
wealth ; the orator, whose burning words, the vehicle
of a powerful logic, have again and again echoed
from the halls of the nation’s capitol, carrying per¬
suasion to many minds, exciting admiration and
often astonishment in all, and poured forth uniformly
in advocacy of the rights, the interests, the honor
and welfare of the country, the sacredness of the
Constitution and the laws, the preservation of the
Union, the claims of the government, the duties of
the governed ; the patriot and benefactor — in whom
love of country was a principle dear as life, and the
prosperity and happiness of his countrymen a
kindred principle, cherished with almost equal ten¬
derness, and neither to be yielded up while he had
an arm to enforce or a voice to utter his sentiments ;
and the Christian too — alas! that his convictions
had not been acted on by an earlier consecration —
who found his crowning honor to consist in laying
all his fame, and talent, and influence at the feet of
the Crucified, deriving strength from the heavenly
support, consolation from the Divine promises of
mercy. I say all these things, now that Henry Clay

224

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

is no more, are pointed at, commended, applauded
in eloquent terms, with various voices from various
sections of the land, and by all sections of our citi¬
zens, showing the high estimate in which the vene¬
rated dead is held by his countrymen, and the pow¬
erful hold which such a character and such a life
have taken upon the public mind and heart.

It will not be expected that I should set forth,
with anything like detail at this time, the circum¬
stances connected with the stirring and eventful life

•

of our honored and lamented fellow-citizen. These,
for the most part, are well known, are matter of his¬
tory, are spread out on the pages of the public press,
and scattered among all the families in the land, and
will form the subject of those set discourses which
persons better qualified than I am will be called
upon, in due time, to deliver. I can only avail my¬
self of the occasion and the day — this appropriate
day, the anniversary of the birth of our nation — to
glance at some of the more prominent features in his
character — features which have served to impress
his name and influence indelibly upon the history of
this country.

As a public man, a statesman, he has most deser¬
vedly occupied, and for more than a generation, the
highest rank; adorning the stations which he has

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

225

held with the qualities of prudence, sagacity, sin¬
cerity, and ardent love for the welfare and prosperity
of his country and of all classes of its citizens, and
an earnest intention to devote all his ability to the
promotion of these high objects. At the age of 26
A.D. 1803, he was first elected to a seat in the Legis¬
lature of his State, and from that period to the pre¬
sent, with a few brief interruptions, he may be said to
have been continually engaged in the public service
— that is for a period of forty-nine years, from his first
appearance in a Legislative body, until death closed
his labors on a field where many a toilsome duty had
been discharged, many a sore struggle for principle
encountered, and many a signal victory won, and
many a pang of disappointment felt — for this long
period, with here and there a short interval, when
the harness of active service was laid aside, his name
has been known familiarly, and his services devoted
to matters of public concernment and interest. ILe
was not indeed so long in public employment as
John Quincy Adams — for his unprecedented term
extends from the age of fourteen to upwards of four¬
score — but how rare is it for an individual to spend
in the active service of the State the period of half
a century ; how staunch must be the energy and per-
severence : how rare the qualifications, and how

10*

226

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

early matured the understanding, of the person who
is called to occupy posts of honor and responsibility,
at an age when most persons have hardly completed
their preliminary preparations. His rise was rapid,
and well sustained at every point. Ho constituent
of his had ever cause to blush that his favorite can¬
didate proved himself disqualified for the office into
which he was placed, or unworthy of the honor con¬
ferred upon him. Whether as Legislator, Congress¬
man, Senator, Secretary of State, Commissioner to
adjust a National Treaty — he equally adorned each
station, and found himself amply adequate to the
discharge of its duties. And though the highest
office in the gift of the people, for which he had
been several times in nomination, was destined never
to be reached by him ; yet no candid man, he he
friend or foe, would ever have doubted his admirable
qualifications for this office, nor scrupled to confess,
that if inducted into it, he would have adorned it
with accomplishments such as rarely indeed, in these
later days, surround the Presidential chair. His
statesmanship was of a high order, combining skill
and sagacity in planning, fearlessness and indomita¬
ble energy in executing, with great directness of aim
and sincerity of purpose, over all which a glowing
patriotism cast its sunshine and its warmth, render-

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

227

ing his influence in every station as salutary as it
was potential and commanding.

His sagacious counsels he had the art and power to
enforce by an eloquence such as is rarely given to
mortals. Eloquence of the highest order is not com¬
monly bestowed. It is rare indeed that we witness
among men the unmistakable evidence of its pre¬
sence. But Mr. Clay certainly possessed it, and
according to the testimony of all who have heard
him in his happiest moods, the effect of his elo¬
quence at times must have been irresistible and
overwhelming. I had an opportunity of listening to
him, something upwards of two years ago (May,
1850), in a reply to Mr. Soule, of Louisiana, on the
great question of the Compromise Measures. He
was an old man then, returned to the Senate at a
time when his years demanded quiet and repose —
returned there in his love for the country, to exert
his influence and uplift his voice for the cause of
conciliation, peace, and union. He was an old man,
and much of the energy of his younger years might be
supposed impaired ; but his eye was not dim, nor did
his natural force seem abated, nor were the fine tones
of his clarion voice unstrung or tremulous, but as he
rose, and there was a hush to hear him, and every
eye in the crowded house was fastened intently on

228

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

him, and the importance of the subject got possession
of his mind, and the stimulating force of the occasion
and the surrounding circumstances, and the excite¬
ment of replying to a strong argument of a strong
opponent, aroused his feelings into activity — there
were volleys of words and arguments discharged,
aided by the glances of an eye that seemed to shoot
forth sparks, and every feature of a most speaking
countenance all alive, glowing, almost distorted, at
times with the earnestness of his convictions ; — while
the voice of the grand old orator rolled along the
arches, and filled every crevice of the hall, or sank at
times into deep, distant thunder tones, each accent
of which was distinctly audible to every hearer.

It was a fine spectacle, and imposing and instruc¬
tive, and one which will abide long in the memory —
a pleasant thing to revert to — to associate always
with it the name and services of the patriot orator,
whose untiring efforts in behalf of compromise and
reunion, went far towards effecting the desired result,
although the labor and excitement of this memo¬
rable contest hurried the sands out of his already
declining hour-glass. True eloquence is a wonderful
gift and faculty. It is a dangerous endowment,
because so powerful, when found in possession of
wicked and unscrupulous men, but a noble faculty

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

229

where it resides with patriotism, and honor, and in¬
tegrity. History has already written with bright
characters the purposes and objects which enlisted
the eloquence of Henry Clay for years and years,
during one of the most interesting and stirring periods
in onr nation’s progress towards greatness and ex¬
panding empire. And the records of future centu¬
ries will not unsay, but say more decisively, what
has already been said, in regard to the character,
purposes, services of the “ eloquent orator,” whose
voice shall no more thrill men’s hearts and prompt
their energies to high and honorable achievements.

The earnest, self-denying, devoted love of country,
has ever been regarded as among the most sa¬
cred and amiable virtues ; and they who have
possessed and exercised it, through evil report and
good report, who have shown its depth and sin¬
cerity by sacrifices of comfort, of substance, and
sometimes of life, are looked upon with veneration
and affection by all upright minds, and are embalmed
in unfading honor in all sincere hearts. A long cata¬
logue, a splendid galaxy, of noble names rise before
me as I mention the word patriotism, — names which
illustrate their own annals, and appear with un¬
dimmed lustre upon ours — names belonging to
various peoples and nations, and various ages of the

230

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

world— blit regarded by all liberal minds as not the
peculiar property of any nation or age, but as
belonging to the world,- — as the property of freedom
and human rights, as cherished members of an uni¬
versal brotherhood, whose aim is to elevate man’s
condition, and invest him with the rights and privi¬
leges for which the Creator destined him. These
names of illustrious patriots of former ages are min¬
gled and blended with illustrious names on the pages
of our own history : brothers united with brothers, in
one common cause, in one sacred pursuit, in one
noble aspiration and struggle. They wished to be
freemen, and many of them became such, though
some were baffled and cast into prison and loaded
with chains, and some died to save the country they
loved. Alas, for those martyr heroes ! whose blood
stained the soil they panted to redeem from bondage.
They died, — -but their names, and blessed be God,
their principles live ; and each blade of grass once
red with the blood of heroes, has a tongue and a
voice with which to swell the shout of freedom’s tri¬
umph, cries out against the oppressor, and becomes
a witness for the truth, and a prophet of a better
and brighter day that is swiftly coming.

The name of our venerated statesman and ora¬
tor who has just left us for the spirit-land is now

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

231

recorded, and worthily and ineffaceably recorded,
upon the imposing list of our nation’s and the
world’s purest patriots. Did they love their country
with earnest devotion? so did he. Did they give
means, and substance, and time, and toil, and abi¬
lity, and influence to advance its honor, promote
its wTelfare, secure the perpetuity of its benign
institutions ? so did he. Did some of them even
die for love of their native land ? so did not he,
literally — that is, hewn down like Hampden, Warren,
Bozzaris, who fell with weapons in their hands — but
he fell still while at his post of duty ; and it may be,
that a few years more might have been added to his
life, and that life ended amid the peaceful shades
and solacing attentions of his own home, but for the
yearning anxiety to aid in the settlement of a per¬
plexing and difficult question, and the exhausting
toils which his participation in it, at his advanced
stage of life, required. His patriotism, however, is
unquestioned, and entitles him to the gratitude of
the country he has served so long and so well. “ I
believe,” says Mr. Cass, “ that he was as pure a
patriot as ever participated in the councils of a
nation — anxious for the public good, and seeking to
attain it during all the vicissitudes of a long and
eventful life.” This is decisive praise on the part of

232

DI8C0UKSE OCCASIONED BY

one who knew him long and intimately, and was
moreover opposed to him on many national questions .
But it is praise which every candid bosom will
respond to almost spontaneously, and which will he
unalterably confirmed by the grateful voice of pos¬
terity. His country was enshrined in his affections,
and her welfare and happiness had a place among
the last faint expressions which trembled on his
lips.

He is not only regarded with veneration and
gratitude for his patriotism, and the distinguished
services which he has rendered the country, but with
a warmth of personal affection with which few
public men succeed in inspiring others. His perso¬
nal qualities were such as to exert a magic upon all
who came within his circle, and his legions of friends
all over the country were linked to him by hooks of
steel. There was a charm in his conversation, a
frankness in his manner and very countenance, a
heartiness in his salutation, a warmth of cordiality
beaming from his eye, expressed in his smile, in his
gestures, in the tones of his voice, which were per¬
fectly irresistible. His friends were ready to under¬
go any toil or sacrifice to do him a service, and
embarked in his cause with the utmost alacrity and
enthusiasm, when he was a candidate for the suffrages

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

233

of the people ; and when he failed of being borne
into the Presidential chair in the earnest, stirring
campaign of 1844, there was a voice of despondency
and sorrow, almost of lamentation, raised on the part
of his attached adherents everywhere, which pro¬
claimed how ardent was their affection, how intense
was their desire to elevate their favorite to the
position which his long and signal services richly
merited, and to which he had himself looked forward
with a steady and honorable ambition.

When an important measure was to be carried, he
prevailed not more in impressing his convictions upon
other minds by his public harangues than by his
personal influence, and the persuasions of his witch¬
ing conversation and address. He was a man evi¬
dently constituted for guiding and leading other
minds, not following in any beaten track. All who
saw and heard and associated with him acknowledged
the subtle mastery wdiich he exercised over them,
almost unconsciously, and followed a leader who
drew them with the gentlest yet the most irresistible
pressure.

And yet while such a power was his, he did not
exercise it sternly or tyrannically. He was kind,
bland, and gentle even in his triumphs, and those
who were vanquished by him found him always a

234

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

generous and considerate vanquisher. He used vic¬
tory so well, that it was neither shame nor pain, hut
almost pleasure, to he overcome hy him.

When defeated himself, he hore it with equanimity.
His natural buoyancy kept him from despondency,
and few signs of disappointment even could be seen
hy the closest observers. He infused his own elastic
courage and spirit into those around him, and when
defeated was not disheartened, hut with fresh ardor
renewed the contest for principle, and as his own
bright plume was seen to float, and his clear voice to
resound, his routed followers were sure to rally and
renew the struggle with undiminished ardor.

We will not dwell upon these qualities, nor will I
point to those imperfections which, to a nature so im¬
pulsive and impetuous, were almost inevitable. I
will speak only in the spirit of him who bewailed a
fallen monarch — of the good and the fair in his cha¬
racter, which, indeed, so far overbalances what
remains, as to render it insignificant and almost in¬
visible except with microscopic eyes. His crowning
glory was his faith in a crucified Lord — the meek,
child-like trust with which he reposed all his hopes
of mercy and salvation in Him who tasted death that
man might live for ever. To a representative from his
own State (Mr. Breckenridge) who had just returned

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

235

from home, bearing to Mr. C. some affectionate memo¬
rial from his family, he said : “I am not afraid to die ;
I have hope, faith, and some confidence. I do not
think any man can be entirely certain in regard to
his future state, but I have an abiding trust in the
merits and mediation of my Saviour.” To his own
spiritual teacher he expressed himself on frequent
occasions, fully and unreservedly, upon the great
truths of the Christian scheme — the unshaken, long-
cherished convictions of his mind of the truth and
grandeur of Christ’s religion — the grounds of his
hope and confidence — the calmness with which faith
in Christ’s atonement enabled him to look forward
to the immortal state, and feel some assurance that
his own unworthy name wrould not be rejected by
the merciful Redeemer. He received in his sick
room the affecting memorials, the bread and the
wrine, of that Redeemer’s love — rej oiced in the privi¬
lege of recording an unfaltering testimony to the
truth and preciousness of that religion which teaches
how to live usefully and to die serenely — wdiose
claims had long impressed him, though too long, as
he sadly owned, disallowed — and died at length, rest¬
ing on the eternal Rock, and calmly committing his
immortal part into his Saviour’s hands.

I will venture to call such a close of such a life

236

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

heroic. There is, in the whirl of politics, in the ex¬
citement attendant on public life, and especially in
the public life of a distinguished man, so much that
tends directly to hinder sober meditation and quench
religious influence, that it is scarcely wonderful that
the power of religion is so seldom seen in high
stations. The thoughts are preoccupied and wholly
occupied with other things, and hence u God is not
in all the thoughts/’ It is refreshing to see, under
these circumstances, a great mind struggling to break
away from the entanglements of such a dangerous
situation — yield to its long-restricted but never-
smothered convictions of heavenly truth and personal
duty, and undeterred by opposing influences, own
the mastership of Jesus Christ, and bow as a weep¬
ing penitent before him.

This Henry Clay did. And they who know any¬
thing of his sincerity and love of truth, must know
that his religious consecration was entirely cordial
and conscientious, and expressed the honest deep-
toned convictions of his soul.

The Christian religion, indeed, derives no honor
from man. The mightiest man who embraces it
aright honors himself infinitely, honors the religion
not at all. It receives no fresh dignity by the acces¬
sion to its ranks of the wise, the mighty, or the noble.

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

237

The power of its sway, the lustre of its excellences,
appears as clearly in the humblest as in the highest.
But it is pleasant, notwithstanding, to point to such a
disciple as the illustrious deceased, and reckon him
among those receiving the kingdom of God as a little
child — to hold up his faith as an example to a per¬
verse generation, to point his admirers to the source
whence he derived all his calmness and comfort in a
dying hour — to show the witlings, the scoffers, the
faithless and profane, who treat the most sacred
things with contemptuous levity, and turn scornfully
away from the pure teachings of the Son of God —
one of the grandest spirits of the age bowing sub¬
missively at the feet of the Aazarene, owning his
doctrines as the highest wisdom, his aid the only
support, his mercy the only joy and safety of the
soul. If there is force in example, what a striking
example have we here, and how loudly should it
speak. And yet this example, beautiful as it is, is
only the reflection, the copy of other nobler ex¬
amples, whose faith in a risen Lord, himself the
most glorious example, has recorded their names
imperishably for the guidance and encouragement
of all wandering souls. May their earnest united
voice not be uplifted in vain !

There are practical lessons which the survey of

238

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

this subject suggests, the outline of several of which
will appear in the following reflections, and then
my present task is done.

Let the young men of the nation learn what duty
to themselves, and duty to their country, requires.
A career of honor is open to you all. A post of use¬
fulness, if not of renown, may be certainly attained,
and should be determinedly sought. An humble
origin and crippled means are no impassable barriers
to stations of respectability and influence. Our free
institutions open the path to success, and invite the
aspirant to pursue it. And industry and diligence,
a courageous heart, a firm faith, with sincerity of
purpose, honesty, and uprightness in the use of
means, high principle, and moral decision, that op¬
poses a stern front to all dishonoring solicitations,
from whatever source, and trust in God’s aid and
mercy — are the materials evermore out of which
patriots, good citizens, honorable and honored men
are made. These made Henry Clay what he was,
and have embalmed his name in the nation’s heart.
Llis distinguished rank and reputation you may never
reach. This is the lot of very few, indeed, of man¬
kind, and the thing is not intrinsically important, for
neither usefulness nor happiness depends upon it. If
you have fewer talents, you will have fewer dangers

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

239

and cares, and less responsibility. But you may at¬
tain honor, every young man may attain it, and with
honor usefulness, and more or less of influence, which
may he exerted beneficently for the highest interests
of society. You may become Christian patriots,
though your sphere remain comparatively humble,
and honorable and respected wherever your name is
known, for

“ Honor and fame from no condition rise,

Act well your part , there all the honor lies.”

Let temptation be resisted, let truth be loved, let
dishonesty and insincerity be loathed, let corrupt as¬
sociates be shunned, let industrious habits be culti¬
vated, let the society of the just and wise be valued,

*

and their counsels and example be heeded, let the
religion of Christ shed its benign influence along
your path, and its fertilizing dews fall upon your
hearts, and whatever your hand finds to do of
good, do it with all your might, — and you rise to the
dignity of mm, patriotic men, large-minded and
liberal-souled men, virtuous and useful men — men
of whom every society may well be proud, and to
whom the commonwealth may point with pride as
the jewels of her crown, the ramparts of her de¬
fence, the safety and glory of her institutions, the

240

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

pledge of her abiding honor and increasing great¬
ness, and of the perpetuity of a heritage bought with
blood, and destined to he transmitted to remotest
generations. And when your work is done here,
that pure religion, which has the promise of the life
that now is, will prove a sure passport to that
blissful life which is to come. Your children who
come after you will bury you with honest lamenta¬
tions, and profiting by your principles and example,
will stand fast in the path of duty and honor, as
their fathers stood, and in God’s good time deliver
up into other hands the fair inheritance received
from you.

This is the Fourth of July, and the quiet repose
of the blessed Sabbath blends with the tumultuous
feelings awakened by this illustrious anniversary,
and gives a sober air to our joy. The Lord of the
Sahhatli is the God of nations, and the Father of his
people. And while we honor his institutions, and
bow before him here as suppliant worshippers, our
sentiments of piety are not incongruous with senti¬
ments of patriotism ; our confessions of sin, and praise
for His mercies, are perfectly accordant with the j oy-
ful hailing of another return of our nation’s birth¬
day, and the stirring recollection of all the privi¬
leges which it commemorates. Let the united

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

241

occasion receive united praise for the light of the
Sabbath, and the light of civil freedom. The Giver
of all good gifts has bestowed them both, with every
other priceless mercy by which onr “ goodly heri¬
tage” is distinguished. And let the wafted praises
which this day go upwards to His throne bear the
profound thanks and homage of our hearts for Chris¬
tian Sabbaths, with all their privileges continued,
our liberties preserved, our land prosperous, our
citizens happy, our past years marked by success
and expansion, our future by no lowering clouds to
excite serious alarm.

Time, nature, and change are doing their work,
but the course of Providence is uniform. The
strong pillars of the Republic fall one after another,
but the throne of the Omnipotent stands. The hoary r
and beloved patriot dies, but God lives — yes, and will
fulfil His purposes, and preserve His heritage, what¬
ever changes may take place in the natural world,
or in human society and affairs. The stability of a
state, any more than the course of nature, does not
depend upon the life or death of individuals. A
chasm is produced when a mighty man, like him we
mourn this day, falls, but it does not cripple nor
paralyze the State. W e honor the illustrious dead —
we mourn that he is taken from us — a nation’s tears

11

242

DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY

will fall upon his grave. Would that he had lived
a few days longer ; that he had been spared to greet
once more this natal day, which was wont, as it
returned, to fill his patriotic heart with joyful and
grateful emotions ; would that with Adams, and J ef-
ferson, and Monroe, he could have looked on his last
earthly day upon yonder bright sun shining upon a
prosperous and rejoicing people, and seen the fair
and fruitful fields of his loved country gleaming in
its rays, and felt the rapture which the sight and the
associations must have inspired, and then breathed
forth his spirit with the prayer, “ Lord, now lettest
thou thy servant depart in peace.”

This might seem to us the most fitting closing
scene of our honored patriot’s life, but God ordered
• otherwise, and ordered wisely. The mighty has
fallen — the scene has closed — the breach has taken
place ; but, as was remarked, however great the
loss, the course of affairs will not be interrupted.
The death of the individual, however distinguished
and useful, is but a ripple on the surface of society.
A little while, and all is tranquil and composed as it
was before. God administers the affairs of nations,
and unfolds and executes his purposes. He provides
the material and raises up the men to carry out his
design. He rules in righteousness and honors the

THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.

243

meek and lowly, the devout and truthful who honor
Him, and tremble at His word. He hates sin and
loves holiness ; and while he can by no means clear
the guilty, will visit the just and upright with deci¬
sive tokens of His favor. Let us love and practise
the principles which lie at the foundation of all
national greatness, of all social well-being and pro¬
gress. Let the love of country be warm and ardent,
but let it be purified and ennobled by the fear of
God, which is the beginning of wisdom, and by the
love of God, which casteth out fear of His anger, so
long as we are loyal to His authority. Then let time
and nature have their course. We need not be afraid.
Let dangers frown ; they shall be turned aside. Let
calamity overtake ; it shall not uproot our safety nor
destroy our peace. Let our mighty men fall into
the grave around us. The pillars of the Republic
shall stand; and guided by Infinite wisdom, and
shielded by Infinite power, the nation shall pursue
its steady course till its high destiny be fulfilled.

A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER, AND
SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER,

PRONOUNCED ON THANKSGIVING DAT NOV. 25TH, 1852.

“ Juotnm et tenacem propositi yirum,

Non civium ardor praya jubontium,

Non vultus instantis tyranni
Mente quatit solida.”

Hob. Ode hi. Lib. 8.

■‘For behold the Lord, the Lord of hosts, doth take away....
the mighty man .... and the honorable man and the counsellor
. . . . and the eloquent orator.”

Isaiah iiL 1-3.

The separation of these words from some of the
expressions with which they are immediately con¬
nected, neither breaks the continuity of the sense
nor impairs the integrity of the thought. They
point by certain descriptive marks, to that great man
on whom the grave has recently closed, whose de¬
parture from among us has caused a wide-spread sen¬
sation, and drawn forth from every part of the land
strong expressions of sorrow for his loss, of gratitude
for his services, and of admiration for his character.

DISCOURSE ON DANIEL WEBSTER.

245

I refer, of course, to Daniel Webster, “the mighty
mail and the honorable man, and the counsellor, and
the eloquent orator.” None will dispute the pro¬
priety of applying these epithets to 'him. He is now
done with the scenes and activities of this life, and
enmity or malice can have no motive to withhold
from him honors, which a long and arduous life, de¬
voted to the welfare of his country, entitles him to
wear. Accordingly, his merits and his praises are
on every tongue. North and South, the East and
West, seem to vie with each other in acknowledging
his greatness, and in doing honor to his name and
memory. The general sentiment is, “how is the
mighty fallen how wide is the chasm left in the
public councils — how hard, if not impossible, to sup¬
ply the breach that has been made. The whole
country knows his history by heart. His image fills
every eye, and the impress of his mighty genius is
left on the mind and heart of the nation. He has
stood so long before the country, in positions of honor,
trust, and danger, raising the hopes, encouraging the
efforts, and allaying the doubts and fears of men,
with his potential voice, that we feel something
bewildered, stupified almost, as we look up to the
place he occupied and find it vacant. He is gone.
His voice will be heard no more by listening senates

246 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

and applauding crowds. But his character, counsels,
and example remain — for all that is good and great in
these, is, like truth itself, imperishable. To use his
own forcible words on a memorable occasion, “he
lives and will live, in all that perpetuates the remem¬
brance of men on earth — in the recorded proofs of
his own great actions, in the offspring of his intellect,
in the deep engraved lines of public gratitude, in the
respect and homage of mankind, in the influence
which his life and efforts, his principles and opinions
now exercise on the affairs of men, not only in their
own country, hut throughout the world.”

I have thought that this anniversary season could
not he better improved, than by making it the occasion
of some remarks upon the character and services of
this extraordinary man. His career has been a
national one. His name and fame are connected
with all the great questions of public concernment,
which, for the last forty years, have been prominently
before the country. His name and fame, too, are in¬
separably j oined to some of those great events con¬
nected with the first settlement, and the Revolution¬
ary struggles of the country — the mention of which
stirs the patriotic blood within us. He ranks among
the first and purest of our patriots — the Hancocks,
Adamses, Jeffersons, Hamiltons, of our earlier history.

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

247

He lias labored manfully and long to preserve and
perpetuate all that is fairest and most valuable in our
institutions. And, as the result of his toils, he has
reared a monument to himself, which must last as
long as our annals endure.

It is fitting, then, to propose, on occasions like
these, the examples of distinguished public bene¬
factors, that lessons of wisdom may be drawn
from their principles, counsels, and life. Example
is a sage and impressive teacher. The great apostle
employs it, when he holds up before his hear¬
ers the noble achievements of the great and good
of former ages* He does not counsel a blind and
unreflecting reverence or imitation — for the best
men have blemishes, and these are not to be admired
or followed — but he counsels us to admire what is
truly admirable and heroic, and follow as far as
others have led the way in the path of honor and
truth. So would we counsel to-day — to follow no
one blindly, great as his intellect, renowned as his
name, may be — but follow wisely, follow with nice
discernment of the true course and way of honor — •
follow with truthful discrimination between the
shadowy and the real, the plausible and sincere.
That example, which leads to right principles and
right deeds, is the only one that can be safely pro-

248 A DISCOURSE OH THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

posed to any one, and certainly none other should be
set before a Christian audience.

Daniel Webster’s fame, I have said, is national,
not sectional. He labored and wrought out great
benefits for the whole country, not for a part. He
has set before us, and before our children, an example
which may be safely followed by those who dwell
where the feet of the Pilgrim Fathers first trod, and
those whose habitations overlook the waves of the
Pacific — by the dwellers beside the mighty lakes of
the North, and those who cultivate their rice-fields
within sight of the Mexican Gulf. His rare ge¬
nius, commanding intellect, and influence, have been
devoted to advance the common interests and welfare
of all sections of the country, of every class of its
citizens. His name and services are the common
inheritance of Americans. Providence has bestowed
this illustrious man upon the country, that the coun¬
try might derive great and, as we may hope, lasting
benefit from his sagacious counsels, honest admonitions,
earnest encouragements, clear exposition, and strong
enforcements of those great principles which lie at
the foundation of all our valued institutions. His
mortal work is done. He is no longer numbered
among living men. “ The Lord, the Lord of Hosts,”
who gave, hath taken him away. That which cannot

AtfD SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

249

die, however, remains and must remain, and it is
that which we are called to contemplate — his works,
his principles, his influence, his example, which form
the monument of his greatness, the ineffaceable record
of his long and memorable career. And while we
humbly thank our Father in Heaven this day, for civil
and religious liberty — for a country the most favored
and privileged of any on the face of the earth — for
institutions benign, wise, good, and capable of diffus¬
ing blessings large and free on every side — for laws
which guarantee the security of property and the
rights of every citizen — let us not forget the men
whose labors have been the means of guarding,
defending, and rendering stable and perpetual the
government, institutions, laws, under which it is our
happiness to live. Of these men, Daniel Webster,
beyond all controversy, is one, and one of the noblest.
And when we look for instruction to the lessons
which his life teaches, we do that which seems greatly
befitting on occasion like the present.

The high eminence he attained was the fruit of
stern and sore struggles in his boyhood and early
youth, and this part of his history, therefore, is full of
interest and instruction. For to see a restless and
strong boyish intellect, instinct with yearnings after
knowledge, push its way forward to a distant and

11*

250 A DISCOURSE OX THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

deceptive goal, through and over obstacles, before
which timid souls sit down in despair, and by
undaunted spirit and resolution conquering success,
is a refreshing and animating spectacle. Under these
free institutions of ours, such spectacles are not rare.
The unfriended, tatterdemalion boy has high examples
in our history to cheer and strengthen his aspirations,
and bid him press forward ; and each example, widely
spread out before a nation’s eyes, is a fresh motive
power applied to young struggling minds to aid the
throes which shall devetope the future statesmen and
guardians of the Republic. There is no luxurious
highway to learning under the most favorable circum¬
stances. And if there were, Webster had not been
suffered to pursue it. His father had neither wide
distinction nor ample fortune, and could not command
for his sons a liberal education, without their own
exertions contributing to gain it. But he was a
father of enlightened views and large heart, and
greatly desired to do for them what uncompromising
circumstances would not allow him to do for all, give
them education, which he regarded as more valuable
than silver or gold, or lands, or merchandise. In the
case of only one son, however — the subject of the
present remarks — did he venture the proposal of put¬
ting him in the way of securing a thorough education,

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

251

the advantages of which he well understood, though
without enjoying them himself. The father was to
remain at home, toiling harder than before ; the son
was to go to the Academy and thence to the College,
in order that

" Knowledge to his eyes, her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time,”

might become unrolled as the fruit of a father’s
sweat and self-denial. Well might the son, over¬
come with this mark of self-sacrificing generosity,
shed gushing tears when the generous proposal was
first made to him. The promised aid was given accord¬
ingly — all that could be given — furnishing partial sup¬
port, not wholly sufficient for the son’s maintenance
at college. But the son had the spirit of his noble
sire, and what was lacking he himself supplied, by
teaching school during his vacations, and for a year
after leaving college, at Fryeburg, Maine — not only
teaching there, but assisting the County Register at
the same time, with a hand that seemed to ache , as
years afterwards he spoke of its former toils. The
proceeds of his labor went not to pay his own way to
the law, simply, but to help forward,, also, his brother
Ezekiel, whom he had induced to attempt the ascent
of that “hill Difficulty,” which lies directly in the

252 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

path to be trodden by the humble learner’s foot, in
his progress towards the longed-for goal.

These things may seem trivial. They are, in fact,
important. They show character. They indicate
energy, decision, manliness, which are prophetic of
the great achievements of the future man. It is by
such a preparatory discipline, such laborious train¬
ing, such a baptism of toil and self-denial, that the
great character is formed, moulded, and fitted for
heroic deeds. The local habitation, nature, and early
associations of Webster, were well adapted to deve-
lope his character, and prepare him for what he had
to do. His father’s rude house was far towards the
North Star, to use his own expression, almost on the
farthest verge of civilized dwellings, amid the granite
hills of New Hampshire ; hills, bleak, harsh, and un-
temable, covered in winter with snow of great depth,
which loosened at times from its icy moorings, was
wont to rush into the valleys with the noise and im¬
petuosity of an avalanche. The giant forests, too,
towered around, and the wintry wind, as it swept
through their branches and over rugged upland and
moor, made such music as is apt to awaken high
emotions and lift the soul to God. To a mind pro¬
perly attuned, the contemplation of such grand and
solemn objects seldom fails to leave indelible im-

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

253

pressions. Noble and elevating images are brought
before the mind, frequent and familiar converse with
which imparts to it something of their own elevation
and grandeur. Whatever is base and mean in pur¬
pose or thought, slinks away, as feeling unfit for such
lofty association ; while what is truly magnanimous
in the nature, and which had possibly remained
dormant and hidden without such arousing influence,
is warmed into life and activity. Many a notable
character which has become historic, has had its
strength fostered and developed by influences like
these.* Besides, the father of W ebster was a soldier.
He had served in the French war, and also in our
Be volutionary struggle, gallantly occupying a Major’s
rank under the heroic Stark. And doubtless, the
thrilling narrations received at his father’s hearth¬
stone of the toils, hardships, and sufferings endured
by that illustrious band of patriot heroes, who won
for us our liberties — stories made more intensely
interesting by the narrator’s own experience, and by
the warm feelings of a bosom, retrospectively throb¬
bing with the memory of the fierce onset, the
desperate strife, the shout of victory, and now throb¬
bing with the consciousness of liberty won and all

* See Appendix A.

254 A DISCOURSE ON THE LTFE, CHARACTER,

its fair fruits freely enjoyed — went far to fill the soul
of Webster with patriotic aspirations, made love of
country a passion with him, led him to honor and
venerate those noble defenders of the soil, who
perilled all to secure its freedom, and to utter after¬
wards his ardent love and gratitude in words which
have embalmed the names of these heroes for ever —
words as undying as the deeds they commemorate.

But I cannot dwell on this, and pass to notice Mr.
Webster as a professional man. His preparatory
course was done. He was a lawyer, admitted to
practice in the courts. He was a well read lawyer
from the start, for his time had been diligently im¬
proved, and what he had read he had not only
remembered and arranged, but had digested and
fully mastered ; for his mind was one capable of
mastering, and not satisfied unless it did master
whatever subject it was intent on attaining. He was
impatient of knowing a thing by halves — of survey¬
ing it from a single position — of examining it in one
or a few aspects. He was intent and determined on
knowing it all. A subject should be surveyed on
every side, searched all round, and through and
through, before a person presumes to say he under¬
stands it, or undertakes to speak upon it with a view
of enlightening and convincing other minds. This

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

255

was liis theory, and this, too, was his practice. And
this will account for one of the marked peculiarities
of Daniel Webster’s style. He expresses no thought
ambiguously or darkly, but in language so clear that
a child almost may comprehend it. Ilis thoughts,
ingenious, far reaching, and massive as they are, are
limpid as the purest spring. He that runs may
read.

The reason is obvious. He understands his subj ect
himself. He has mastered it, in whole and in detail ;
and therefore has only to state to others, in a terse
and perspicuous manner, what is palpable as light
before his own mind. And this simplicity of state¬
ment he had in rare perfection. For clearness of
statement he had no superior, hardly an equal,
amongst the great men of our country. There is not
a phrase, not a sentence, scarcely a word — of course
I except those Latin quotations with which he was
fond of garnishing his more ambitious discourses, the
use of which in another might be called pedantry,
and which certainly do not prove, what Sir Charles
Lyell, who heard him give a long quotation from
Cicero in Faneuil Hall, supposed they did prove, the
general acquaintance of his audience with the foreign
tongue ; I except these, and perhaps a few technical
expressions besides, but with these exceptions, there

256 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

is little indeed to puzzle or perplex a reader of ordi¬
nary intelligence.

I might refer you to a number of his arguments on
important occasions as proof of this averment. A
single one I cannot forbear to mention — that in
behalf of the State of Rhode Island and against the
rebellion of Dorr, argued before the United States
Supreme Court. It is not only one of the most con¬
vincing and conclusive, but one of the most beauti¬
fully lucid and transparent arguments I ever read ;
chaste, simple, flowing on in an unbroken stream of
light — divested of all learned technicalities, it carries
captive the understanding, and furnishes delight to
the heart of the reader least acquainted with the
law. Ilis argument in the famed murder case at
Salem, in 1830, against the Knapps and Crowning-
shields, is another instance of lucid statement, mas¬
terly arrangement and analysis, and the power of
marshalling detached and stubborn and apparently
contradictory circumstances into an array of coherent
and convincing proofs. And still another, is the last
argument which he ever made before a court — that
in the great India Rubber case of Goodyear. All the
admirable qualities of his mind stand out boldly in
that speech, though delivered at the age of three
score years and ten — an age at which most men

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

257

crave repose, or at least decline tlie severe toil requi¬
site to master the details of a long and complicated
case. There are the accurate and minute knowledge
—the nice discrimination — the broad, comprehensive
view — the powerful logic — and the simple, energetic
language — expressing, with the greatest precision
and force, exactly what he meant to express and
nothing more — unravelling all the intricacies of the
case — giving, in fact, a complete history not only of
the case, but the natural history of the India Rubber
tree, and the various processes which have marked
the manufacture of the India Rubber, out of which
the long controversy arose. It is not marvellous that
he should have taken a high rank in his profession,
and very early too. Ho wonder that his services
should be secured in conducting the most momentous
suits — and that from beyond the sea, not less than in
his own country, his powerful aid should be enlisted
by those who had cases, difficult, perplexed, involved,
to manage, and which ordinary abilities might fail to
disentangle and bring to a favorable issue.

He was an “ honorable counsellor.” These words
of the text express the fact in his case. He took no
unfair advantage of his adversaries. He was igno¬
rant of the little arts of quibbling and subtle twisting
of a case to compass his own ends. He scorned, for

258 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

want of argument, to resort to the perversions of the
law, to disingenuous artifices by which the worse
might be made to appear the better reason. It was
all open and above board. His blows were down¬
right — struck in the open day — urged home and
made effective by sheer force of logic — by direct
straightforward argumentation, that defied tricks
and subterfuges, and stood in the manly conscious¬
ness of its strength. He made the law appear what
it is, in its true aspects, a noble profession, whose
province and mission it is to guard human rights —
shelter the oppressed — secure the privileges of the
humblest citizen — prevent power from trampling on
weakness — prevent crime from finding impunity in
the connivance of guilty men, or the false sympathy
of misjudging men. He knew nothing in practice,
and despised in principle, the paltry artifices by
which the law is turned aside and cheated of its
rightful victim, through false glosses, through leger¬
demain, or subtle sophistry of a class of advocates,
somewhat too numerous for the peace and well¬
being of society — and who, were our Lord now
on earth, would be sure to hear- a repetition of the
withering rebuke ; “Woe unto you, lawyers, for ye
lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye
yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

259

fingers.” Webster knew nothing in practice of this.
But an honorable profession derived lustre from his
having espoused and followed it. He was a true
man, and could not stoop to what he knew was false,
even in argument for a client. He was an honorable
man, and scorned whatever was mean and disin¬
genuous, as derogating from an honorable profes¬
sion and his own self-respect. He has illustrated the
law, not only by varied learning, profound insight
into its true principles, brilliant and powerful advo¬
cacy, and arguments which will never die — but
by the dignified manners, and polite tone of address
and intercourse, which he never laid aside, which
favorably struck all who approached or were associat¬
ed with him, whose influence was wholesome while
he lived, and will no doubt continue to do good, now
that his place is vacant in the courts and assemblies
that he adorned.

But he was a legislator and statesman renowned,
no less than a counsellor of confessed power. His
country would not suffer him to pursue the congenial
current of an honored profession in comparative
retirement, but called him into her councils. He
appeared upon a new field and a more conspicuous
arena. He was surrounded by the picked men of
the nation, some of them able to cope in argument

260 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

with the strongest, others no way remarkable except
as holding seats there, and holding seats there because
they had been chosen and commissioned to do so.
He soon became one of the most noticeable members
there, making a speech at an early day, which riveted
the attention of the House, and elicited the applause
and prediction of coming greatness, of that profound
jurist and exemplary man, Chief- Justice Marshall—
almost a guarantee itself of the truth of the pre¬
diction. I cannot pause upon his course in this
body. It was throughout “ honorable,” and esta¬
blished his reputation as one of the largest minds,
closest thinkers, ablest debaters, wisest and truest
legislators in the country. He was eight years here
in all, and then passed into the Senate in 1827. His
whole term in the Senate amounted to nineteen
years. The continuity of his Senatorial term was
broken by his being called to take charge of the
State Department by Gen. Harrison, an office which
he held two years. He occupied the same responsible
office about three years under the present adminis¬
tration, and in it, at his post of duty, death, when it
came, found but did not surprise him.

His career as Senator was distinguished and bril¬
liant. During the long period of service in this body,
it was his fortune to take part in some of the most

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

261

stirring and important debates which have ever en¬
listed the attention of the country — and to stand
shoulder to shoulder in unison, and sometimes face to
face in collision, with some of the greatest names in
the distinguished list of our public men. The
questions of the Tariff, the Public Lands, States’
Lights and Nullification, the Ite-charter of the
National Bank, the Destruction of its Charter, the
Removal of its Deposits — a feat performed by one of
the master spirits of his age — and the various
questions springing out of this exciting controversy,
were all prominent during his Senatorial term, and
were discussed by him with an earnestness, copious¬
ness, and power, with a dignity of manner and
weight of argument, which extorted admiration even
from stern opponents, and raised him high amongst
the great masters of reasoning, whom the world
honors and venerates through all its ages. In the
nullification controversy — so stormy and exciting —
the strong arm of Gen. Jackson leaned on Webster
for support, and the speech delivered by him on that
occasion, conclusive and overwhelming, went very
far towards settling the troubled elements, and restor¬
ing peace to the distracted councils of the nation.
This speech, which gained him the warm thanks of
the administration, and of patriotic persons through-

262 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

*

out the country — with the speech in reply to Hayne,
delivered three years before, and the speech on the
President’s Protest — may be appealed to as the most
lucid and cogent exposition of the true principles of
constitutional law ever delivered in the Senate, and
well entitles him to be called jpar excellence , as he
long has been called, and probably will not cease to
be called, “ the great Defender of the Constitution.”

His distinction is hardly less high and honorable
as a diplomatist. The Ashburton treaty, as it is
called, was made in 1842 — a treaty which in itself
is enough to establish the fame of Webster immov¬
ably, had he achieved nothing besides. A difficulty
of sixty years’ standing — complex, greatly intricate,
embracing varied and adverse interests — menacing
the peace of the country — threatening to bring upon
us the horrors of war with the nation from which we
sprang, and hence regarded with trembling anxiety
by citizens of all sections, was quietly and perfectly
adjusted through the skill and genius of our great
negotiator, in conjunction with the worthy represen¬
tative of England, to the infinite relief and joy of
both countries. This was a master-stroke of sagacity
and statesmanship, and it may well be doubted
whether any other man amongst us could have
effected the desired consummation. England, at

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

263

least, thought so. Ashburton thought so, and so
thought, and still think, many of our most sagacious
and deep-musing citizens. His letter on the Right
of Search, his letter on the Creole case, and his let¬
ter to the Chevalier Hulseman, hear all of them the
stamp of the consummate statesman, and demon¬
strate that the helm of the ship of state was in the
hands of the most courageous, dexterous, and reliable
of pilots. The last letter,* that to the arrogant Aus¬
trian, is a masterpiece of its class, and has secured a
world- wide applause and fame. For clear statement,
convincing argument, triumphant exposition of inter¬
national law, for dignified rebuke of unwarrantable
pretension, and for calm, energetic determination to
submit to nothing that is wrong, and to maintain
what is clearly right at every hazard, it is a state
paper which the annals of diplomacy can hardly
parallel. Other acts of creditable management in
this department I might name, but I pass them by,
along with those whose development and completion
were interrupted by the great man’s death, and

* At the time this Discourse was delivered, there had arisen no
question as to the authorship of this extraordinary state paper. As
the paper bears the marks of Mr. W.’s mind, I shall not alter the
text, though the merit of its preparation be no longer ascribed ex¬
clusively to him.

264 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

which, of course, are not now a fair subject either of
criticism or analysis, of praise or blame.

I pass to notice him as what the text describes,
u the eloquent orator.” He who can command and
sway an audience at will, and bend them to his
words, must needs be a remarkable man. This rare
faculty has ever been with men the theme of admira¬
tion, and they who have possessed it in an extraordi¬
nary degree, have been sure of a perpetuated remem¬
brance. The great orators of antiquity are familiar
names to us ; and those whose eloquence has been
exerted for beneficent ends, have, and deserve, our
love and veneration. Oratory and eloquence are
of different kinds and degrees. Ho two orators
hardly resemble each other in the qualities which
constitute their chief strength. Calhoun, Clay,
"Webster — that splendid triumvirate, whose names
are household words, the mention of which opens
before us many an intensely interesting page of our
past history, upon which we gaze with tearful eye —
were all orators, and each had his own peculiarities
of address, of style, of manner — differing from each
other, and yet each forcible and at times command¬
ing, and even overwhelming. Calhoun’s diction was
chaste and nervous — his periods in his more elabo¬
rate performances admirably rounded — his reasoning

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

265

close, compact, forming a burnished chain, each link
of which seemed beautifully adapted to its place
and use — his countenance deeply earnest, in severity
of outline approaching to sternness, yet alive and
glowing in debate, expressed as well by his vehe¬
ment gesticulation as by his fiery eye and speaking
features, and a voice sharp and harsh at times, which
in moments of great excitement poured itself forth
in a perfect torrent and tempest of impassioned
words. Grant him his premises, and let who can
escape from his conclusions. Clay had a blander
physiognomy, and won, as he rose, by the ease and
grace of his manner, and the suavity of his tones, the
favorable opinion of his hearers — until, as he went
on, warming with his subject, the whole man seemed
to undergo a change ; his tall person grew taller — his
eye seemed to kindle and emit sparks — his voice
clear, sonorous, and capable of running with the
utmost facility over the whole gamut of sounds,
swelled and rang until its clarion tones electrified his
hearers, while not only every feature, but hands,
arms, shoulders, sides, the whole body, as Cicero says
of Mark Antony,* seemed instinct with the senti-

* “ G-estus erat non verba exprimens sed cum sententiis congru-
ens, manus, humeri, latera, supplosio pedis, status, incessus omnis-
que, motus cum verbis et sententiis consentiens.”- — Cic. Brutus.

12

266 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

ments he would express, and conspired to pour these
sentiments into the minds and hearts of his audience.
Webster had greater calmness than either. He was
the most deliberate of speakers — expressing himself
in measured sentences, each word of which occupied
its own place, perfectly fitting there. Ilis voice was
deep-toned, but not unmusical, well adapted for his
sinewy Anglo-Saxon words and vigorous thoughts.
He had a more majestic presence than either — grave,
thoughtful, dignified, without being stern or over¬
bearing. A manifest

“ Grace was seated on liis brow” —

to whicn also was joined

“ An eye, like Mars, to threaten and command —

A combination and a form, indeed,

Where every god did seem to set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man.”

Except when excited, which was seldom, he had
little action ; an occasional gesture with the right
hand being all that he displayed. And even this, in
his arguments before the courts, he was wont to dis¬
pense with almost entirely ; standing erect and statue-
like, his keen deep-set eye glancing, his speaking
countenance and distinct voice, with an occasional

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

267

emphatic inclination of his body, being all that he
used to enforce his arguments. And yet with less of
action* posterity may regard him as the truest orator
of the three — the greatest orator, perhaps, of our
times. Less vehement and declamatory than either
of the others, less likely on ordinary occasions to
sway and captivate a promiscuous crowd than the
orator of the West, he had more breadth of view,
and more truthful logic than Calhoun, more com¬
pactness and solidity than Clay, and more than
either of these great men of that rare power of
thought — instantly striking from its truthfulness, and
diction admirably fitted to express it, which takes
the understanding captive, and, through it, the heart,
impressing itself long after the voice of the speaker
has ceased to be heard. Many mistake declamation
for oratory, a boisterous or impetuous manner for
eloquence. He, it strikes us, is the true orator, who
produces not the greatest present, but the most
lasting, effects in the right direction. And that is
true eloquence, be the speaker’s manner what it

* The “noble, sublime, godlike action,” which Mr. Webster
speaks of in his great eulogy on Adams and Jefferson, as superior
to the tricks of gesture, of language, or of rhetorical decoration,
is, it need scarce be remarked, a very different affair from the
action of the declaimer.

268 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

may, which most deeply impresses what is true upon
the minds of an audience. As W ebster has himself
said on one occasion, “ there is nothing valuable but
truth , truth , truth. It is not glossary or commentary
that is valuable — it is not that thing called eloquence,
never of the greatest value, and often mischievous,
but it is that which can stand the test of time and
eternity alone — truth” And judged by both these
tests, immediate impression and effect, and truth ,
more valuable than this, and whose influence abides,
Webster has combined them, at least on one memo¬
rable occasion, and more signally than either of his
renowned contemporaries. Ilis reply to Hayne is
no less truthful than its present effect was electric.-
That single master speech combines wit, humor, rail¬
lery, powerful sarcasm, withering scorn, overwhelm¬
ing invective, apposite illustration, convincing logic,
touching pathos, and splendid outbursts of patriotic
eloquence in one magnificent whole. Where, among
all our parliamentary records, are we to look for its
peer? So good a judge as Edward Everett said of
the manner of it, that it realized to him more com¬
pletely what Demosthenes in his great Oration for
the Crown must have been than any other speech he
had ever heard, and he had heard the most famous
orators on both sides of the Atlantic. Its instant

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

269

effect was indeed overpowering. The silence of
death rested npon the crowded Senate Chamber
after the thrilling words of that magnificent perora¬
tion, which every schoolboy has by heart, had
closed ; and hands remained clasped, and faces fixed
and rigid, and eyes tearful, while the sharp rap of
the President’s hammer could hardly awaken the
audience from the trance into which the orator had
thrown them. Were his character and rank as an
orator to be gauged by this single effort, I suppose
the verdict of men would not be doubtful or much
discordant.

The verdict to the high merit of this famous
speech — which Mr. Webster, I believe, regarded as
his masterpiece — is well-nigh unanimous, nor is the
judgment ever likely to be set aside. It possesses
an interest and importance reaching far beyond the
occasion that called it forth. It enunciates principles
with the love and maintenance of which, every most
cherished good for the present, and every hope for
the future of the country, is interwoven. It breathes
a broad national spirit, a tone of lofty patriotism,
which finds a vibrating cord in every true heart, and
will find it there, till the mad passions of men shall
have seared the bosom so, that liberty and union
themselves will no longer be words to awaken a

270 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

rejoicing echo. It were not easy, amid such a clus¬
ter of singularly suggestive and eloquent passages, to
point to a single one finer and more suggestive than
the rest. Each reader will have his preferences, were
such choice to he made, and hardly two perhaps
might he found entirely accordant. For myself, I
find nothing in the speech that excites higher admi¬
ration than the following noble sentiments : —

“ I shall not acknowledge that the honorable
member goes before me in regard for whatever of
distinguished talent or distinguished character, South
Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I
partake in the pride, of her great names. I claim
them for countrymen, one and all, the Laurenses, the
Pinkneys, the Sumpters, the Marions, Americans all,
whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State
lines, than their talent and patriotism were capable of
being circumscribed within the same narrow limits.
In their day and generation they served and honored
the country, and the whole country ; and their renown
is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose
honored name the gentleman himself bears- — does he
esteem me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism,
or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had
first opened upon the light of Massachusetts, instead of
South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

271

exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to prodnce envy
in my bosom ? No, sir, increased gratification and
delight rather. I thank God, that if I am gifted
with little of the spirit which is able to raise mor¬
tals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that
other spirit which would drag angels down. When
I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the Senate,
or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it
happens to spring up beyond the little limits
of my own State or neighborhood ; when I refuse
for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due
to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere
devotion, to liberty and the country ; or if I see an
uncommon endowment of heaven, if I see extraordi¬
nary capacity and virtue, in any son of the South, and
if moved by local prejudice or gangrened by State
jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair
from his just character and just fame, may my tongue
cleave to the roof of my mouth.”

The spirit of these words is so manly and catholic,
there is such a serious and convincing truthfulness
about them, such deep-toned national feeling, such
tender regard for the honor of the commonwealth, as
identified with the honor of its highest names, such
withering rebuke of sectionalism, which would mea¬
sure out desert to States or individuals according to

272 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

their geography or associations, and institute odious
comparisons between them, such touching allusion to
the obligations which the present owes to the past,
and to the fraternal spirit and united effort which
made the men and achievements of the past heroic,
and withal such a revealing on the part of the
speaker of a large, unselfish, magnanimous heart —
that the passage is ever invested to my eye with
exceeding impressiveness and beauty. The voice
uttering such sentiments takes every generous bosom
captive, drowns all dissonant, disorganizing voices
lifted against it. The orator expands before us till
he occupies the whole foreground, and his adversary
dwindles so that for the time he grows almost
invisible.

But I hasten to remark that Mr. "Webster’s elo¬
quence was eminently patriotic. He annihilated
Hayne and his nullification doctrines together — •
showed that the Union must be preserved — that
without union all that our fathers fought for, all that
their children inherited, prized, and enjoyed, was
lost. His arguments appealed to the understanding
and heart of the country, and were greeted with a
general outburst of acceptance and favor. The
public mind has pretty much settled down upon the
views of the Constitution as then presented, and as

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

273

they were expanded and enforced by him on subse¬
quent occasions. The benefit resulting to the whole
country from these great efforts is incalculable, can
hardly be over-estimated. They well entitle him to
the gratitude of all classes of citizens, and no doubt
he will receive it from children’s children, while
our annals continue to be swelled by the rolling
years.

But these strong, well-aimed blows, struck for the
Constitution and the laws, are not the only evidences
of his patriotism. His whole life, all his public acts,
all his recorded sentiments on questions of public
interest, have about them an “ odor of nationality.”
His great centenary discourse on “ Forefathers’ Hay,”
at Plymouth, in 1820 — his matchless eulogy on
Adams and Jefferson, in 1826 — his suggestive and
eloquent orations, at the laying of the corner-stone
of the Bunker Hill Monument, and at the completion
of that commemorative work — and his oration on the
4th of July, 1851, at the laying of the corner-stone
of the extension of the National Capitol, are, seve¬
rally and together, instinct with broad nationality,
and may be appealed to as models of that species of
discourse whose electric glow of patriotic feeling is
communicated to each reader, stirring the heart to
its deepest depths, and nerving it to court martyr-

12*

274 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

dom for tlie country’s cause, honor, and happiness.
On the last of these occasions he felicitously and
touchingly apostrophizes Washington, who had been
present when the first corner-stone was laid with
kindred solemnities, but under circumstances how
widely different. The orator’s sorcery causes the
scene to rise before us in all its vividness. We
behold Washington cross the stream on a fallen tree
which bridges it, and heading a short procession,
ascend the eminence then covered with original
oaks, beneath whose shade the ceremony of laying
the corner-stone of a young nation’s Capitol, was to
take place. We see him looking with grave benig¬
nity upon the scene then presented, and with the
lineaments of his countenance softened by concern
and anxiety, we seem to hear the solemn tones of
voice, bidding his countrymen u preserve the Union
of the States, cemented, as it has been, by our pray¬
ers, our tears, and our blood.”

All these addresses, and many kindred ones, are
replete with sage counsels, with deeply earnest and
significant admonitions, and are fragrant, redolent,
to use his own words, with love of country. lie
was emulous, indeed, to tread in the footsteps of
Washington. He proposed Washington’s great ex¬
ample as one which all should look up to, and strive

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

275

to follow. Washington’s name to liim was a tower
of strength. On one of the occasions referred to, I
heard him say, that “in all times of doubt and de¬
spondency, of danger and gloom, I turn to that
transcendent name for support and consolation.”
On another occasion, he declared with no less em¬
phasis, “ I go back every day of my life to the model
of Washington’s administration. And I say to you
here, to-night, were I to draw the character of a Pre¬
sident, such as W asliington, were he on earth, would
approve, Washington himself should stand before
me, and I would copy his master-strokes and imitate
his designs.” And on still another occasion : “K I
were to exhibit the spirit of the Constitution, in its
living, speaking, animated form, I would refer always,
always, to the administration of the first President,
George Washington. And if I were now to describe
a patriot President — I would present his picture
before me as a constant study — I would present his
policy, alike liberal, just, narrowed down to no sec¬
tional interests, bound to no personal objects, held to
no locality, but broad, and generous, and open — as
expansive as the air which is wafted by the winds
of heaven from one part of the country to another.”

He did not content himself with following in the
footsteps of Washington afar off, with gazing at a

27 6 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

distance upon the majestic and awful countenance,
which reflected truth, honor, firmness, incorruptible
virtue, the rare union of noble qualities forming the
soldier, hero, patriot, statesman, sage, meeting and
blending in him in beautiful equipoise and harmony.
It was not enough for him to look at these from afar,
dimly and in outline. He was anxious to get close
up to his object and model, to gain a position and
hold it, whence he could peruse and study, feature
by feature and lineament by lineament. He sought
to stand, and did stand, where he could scan and
learn each trait and peculiarity of that marvellous
character, which has drawn to itself not only the ad¬
miration and reverence, but the love of mankind.
He strove to analyse, and did analyse, the constitu¬
ent elements which had produced so grand a combi¬
nation of human excellence. He gazed till he saw
standing out before his mind’s eye, in living charac¬
ters of light, the prudence and energy, the coolness
and courage of the patriot soldier, undaunted by
dangers, unbroken by reverses or disasters, cheerful
when others were despondent, hopeful when the more
timid and less sagacious had given over all for lost,
and pressing forward toward his object with a
tenacity of purpose which forced the sternest ob¬
stacles to yield, and wrenched abiding victory from

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

277

the very jaws of defeat. He saw with increasing
admiration the same great qualities adorning the
council chamber and the chair of the nation’s Chief
Magistrate, adapted as ever to a new position and
other trusts and emergencies — the intuitive sagacity
with which counsellors and aids were called around
him — the passport to his own confidence and ground
of their elevation being fitness, honor, trustworthi¬
ness, and nothing else — the breadth of his views,
looking to the rights and welfare of his country and
every part of it, and in defence, and for the pro¬
motion of these, pursuing a course steady as that of
the sun in the heavens, as little overawed by threats
from abroad as disturbed by excitements or animosi¬
ties at home — determined to be just and to render
justice to all, and to require nothing more and ac¬
cept nothing less from others, infusing the spirit of
this principle into all associated with him, and desir¬
ing and laboring to diffuse it through all the branches
of government, and every ramification of society —
merging party in his country’s cause — loving his
country with a father’s yearning tenderness toward
his only child : watchful of its interests, jealous of its
honor, fearful of the dangers that might be lurking
to harm it, and the more to be dreaded because un¬
seen and unsuspected — lifting up a warning voice

278 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

against these dangers, inculcating the love of the
country as a whole and never to divided — the love
of its institutions, the cultivation of the sentiment of
nationality in its broadest sense, as bulwarks equally
against foreign foes and intestine discord, and point¬
ing to the inseparable connexion between God’s
smiles and public and individual justice, and virtue,
and a nation’s true progress, prosperity, and happi¬
ness.

These were among the qualities which made
Washington a model President to Webster, and his
administration a model administration. He gazed
upon and studied his model so constantly and closely,
that he became imbued with the living spirit which
it breathed. In his love of the Constitution, the
noblest charter that the associative wisdom of patriot
sages ever formed for the government of a people —
in his love of the Federal Union, whose existence he
regarded as interwoven with the healthy life and in¬
tegrity of the Constitution — in his broad and liberal
nationality, which looked ever to the rights, the in¬
terests, the welfare of the whole country and every
part — in his sensitive sympathy with the national
honor, and the sacrifices he stood ever ready to make
to preserve it untarnished — in his jealousy of the
agitations, the effect of which might be to shake,

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

279

to undermine, to impair confidence in establish¬
ed law and order — in bis reverence for tbe Great
Ruler of nations, and tbe Christian institutes, wliose
influence on public morals, on social and national
peace and welfare, none has recognised more uni¬
formly and earnestly than be — we see tbe master at
whose feet be bad sat as a learner, and tbe fruits
which bis docility and diligence bore. By bis senti¬
ments and course on such high matters as these, be
evinces how closely be followed in the path trodden
by bis illustrious guide and exemplar' — bow constant
and powerful was tbe influence exerted on him by
tbe life and principles of the great Pater Patriae.

His speech on March 7th, 1850, on tbe Compro¬
mise Measures, lias been loudly condemned in certain
quarters as unpatriotic, and at variance with bis
former opinions and course. I have never been able
to take this view of it. That speech was, as usual,
limpid as a brook, and of signal power in its influ¬
ence all over the country. His abolition enemies
love him none the more, certainly, that this speech,
so widely circulated, was so convincing and effective.
What did be set forth in it? Among other things,
that there was portentous agitation of the slavery
question, and that the stability of the Union required
that this agitation should be allayed — that the Slave

280 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

States had greatly changed their opinion on slavery
since the adoption of the Constitution — that from re¬
garding slavery as a “blight, a blast, a scourge, a
mildew, a curse,” as their own most enlightened and
trusted citizens formerly regarded it, they had come
to look upon it rather as a social and political bless¬
ing than otherwise, and that this great change of
view was produced by the great increase of cotton
exportation — the quantity exported in 1790 being
only in value some forty or fifty thousand dollars,
whereas now it amounts to over one hundred millions
yearly. The truth of these statements will hardly
be denied. Then he sets forth, that personally he
had warmly opposed the annexation of Texas — op¬
posed it early, opposed it steadily, and opposed it to
the end — opposed it on the ground that we had terri¬
tory enough, and of slave territory quite too much,
already. ITe proceeds to show that Texas was an¬
nexed by free-soil Northern votes, especially by those
in the Senate, of Mr. Dix of New York, and Mr.
Niles of Connecticut — that it was annexed, knowing
that it must come in as a slave State, and not only
so, but annexed with the express stipulation that
whenever population allowed, four new slave States — •
electing to become such — should also be admitted on
their application into the Union. This was the stipu-

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

281

lation, tlie law, which Mr. Webster considered irre-
pealable, and to the carrying out of which the good
faith of the government was solemnly pledged. He
had spoken and voted against the admission of Texas,
hut now that she was admitted, and by northern
votes too, he contended for the honorable observance
of the stipulations. He was unwilling to evade the
law, get round the stipulation, by applying a test
which was not contained in it, but would render the
law in fact nugatory and void. He stood upon the
faithful observance of laws, of treaties and compacts,
to be religiously observed between parties, which¬
ever might prove the sufferer. He regarded the
principle to be one of the most momentous character,
and that to swerve from it in a single instance might
endanger the stability of our institutions.

In regard to California and Hew Mexico, he con¬
sidered slavery excluded from both by the law of
nature, of physical geography, and was unwilling
“ to re-affirm an ordinance of nature or re-enact the
will of God.” The entrance of slavery into either he
regarded as an impossibility, and a proviso decree¬
ing its exclusion, besides being uttterly superfluous,
must operate as a taunt and reproach to the South,
and that taunt and reproach he was not willing to
utter and promulgate by his vote. His prophetic

282 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

words, if I may call them such, have been fully veri¬
fied. California lias come in as a free State ; and
there is no slavery, besides peonage, in New Mexico.
And what may seem strange in the history of this
transaction, but not so strange after all as it is
lamentable, is found in these words of Mr. Webster
himself: “ Of all the papers that reviled me so much
and so violently for affirming there was no necessity
for applying the Wilmot Proviso to New Mexico, there
is not one of them that has taken back the charge,
when they saw the truth of my assertion verified by
facts. Did they say, ‘Webster was right and we
wrong V No ; not one of them.” This declaration con¬
tains its own commentary.

Then as to the Fugitive Slave Law.* No humane
person approves of it in the abstract, any more than
of the slavery out of which it sprang. Our sympa¬
thies are spontaneously against it, and with the hap¬
less fugitive. Our hearts would gladly afford him
shelter, and food, and apparel, and money, and a
passport, with a “God speed” to encourage him, to
get quickly into a land where he is free from the
possibility of wearing manacles. But there is the
Constitution — the highest law in the land. It de-

* See Appendix B.

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

283

dares tliat persons bound to service in one State,
tinder tlie laws thereof, escaping into another, shall
not be discharged therefrom, bnt shall be delivered
np to the person to whom such service is due. There
is the supreme law, explicit, unmistakable, to which
we owe allegiance and fealty. That law must be a
dead letter, and the rights of those for whose benefit
it was more particularly framed, negatived and lost,
if the moment a slave steps upon free soil, he be¬
comes, through northern sympathy and adroitness,
wholly irreclaimable by those from whom he has
fled. To a slave, the crossing of a State line becomes
thus the castle of his safety and earnest of his free¬
dom — and the failure of an opportunity to escape, is
the chief security to the owner of slaves that he shall
continue to hold his own. How what shall be done ?
Shall the Constitution be kept intact, or shall it be
violated, or its violation connived at and promoted ?
That is the question. Mr. Webster thought the
former, and acted as he thought. He was for
keeping honor and good faith with the South, as
with every other section. He advocated the Fugi¬
tive Slave Law, because he conceived that law
to guard the rights of the South under the Consti¬
tution, and to deprive no section of its rights. The
law is not perfect, Mr. Webster saw and acknow-

284 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

ledged, and had he not been called ont of the Senate,
he meant to have introduced amendments to it. As
it is, the law is constitutional, and by convincing the
South of the intention of the North to maintain good
faith with them, has tended strongly to allay excite¬
ment and agitation. In advocating that law, Mr.
Webster simply stood wdiere he had always stood,
where he could not hut stand, by the Constitution of
his country ; and in preferring social order to chaos,
law to anarchy and revolution, has furnished ad¬
ditional proof of his consistent patriotism. While as
to the allegation of his being sold to the South — of
his speaking and acting as he did for the paltry con¬
sideration, the base bribe, of Southern support to aid
him in reaching the Presidency, the wretched charge
is refuted by all the principles and antecedents of
his life, and will be believed soberly only by those
who have a purpose to gain, a hatred to gratify, or
who love darkness more than light, loathsome
calumny more than heavenly- visaged truth.

In a recent discourse delivered in an eastern city,
that has gained a wide though not a very enviable
notoriety, the speaker denies to Mr. Webster the
faculty of originating, — says, in substance, that he
dealt in commonplaces, and wrought up skilfully the
materials furnished to his hands by others. The

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

285

allegation in a certain respect is quite undeniable.
If it be meant tliat Mr. Webster was utterly desti¬
tute of tbe faculty of devising schemes and expedi¬
ents for evading the force of constitutional law, for
getting round compacts and long-established ordinan¬
ces, without sacrifice of duty, for shuffling off all
awkward restraints imposed by oaths of fealty to the
government, and making the mere sentiment, or will,
or caprice of the citizen a justifying ground of
resistance to the law of the land — no man, it must
be confessed, was ever less gifted with the power of
origination than he. He had absolutely no talent
for this, not a particle of inventive genius. His
talent and strength all lay in the opposite direction,
and in proposing, advocating, maintaining, and
defending plans and principles, whose operation
looked to the true honor, welfare, and happiness of
the whole country and every section of it, his origi¬
nality is not the least conspicuous of his merits. If
he had it not, the defect is neither peculiar nor mar¬
vellous, and he only shares it with the greatest names
in our history. Washington had no originality, but
he conducted the war to a propitious close notwith¬
standing, and administered the government with
admirable ability and distinguished success. Thomas
Jefferson had no originality, but the Declaration of

286 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

Independence which he wrote, is none the less effec¬
tive, because old truths are stated in it in new
forms and combinations, and for a specific purpose.
John Adams had no originality, but his thrilling
accents in favor of the Declaration ££ moved men
from their seats” notwithstanding, and among the
words advocating the immortal charter of onr
liberties which will live the longest, are those
beginning, with ££ sink or swim, live or die, survive
or perish,” put into his mouth by Mr. Webster him¬
self, in one of his own famous orations.* Alex-

* This speech of John Adams, in Convention, in support of “ the De¬
claration,” and in reply to a strong adversary who had taken ground
against it, seems to me the finest conceit and most felicitously car¬
ried out of anything in the whole range of patriotic oratory — and
itself disproves the charge against Mr. Webster of a lack of origi¬
nality. It has for us a perpetual freshness, pathos, and power,
familiar and common as it has grown by incessant schoolboy mouth-
in gs. Charles Lamb, indeed, says in his paper on Shakspeare, “ I
confess myself utterly unable to appreciate that celebrated soliloquy
of Hamlet, beginning ‘ to be or not to be,’ or to tell whether it be
good, bad, or indifferent, it has been so handled and pawed about by
declamatory boys and men.” Byron expresses a like experience in
the 40th note to the 4th Canto of Childe Harold. While admitting
the truth of this as a general rule, I must mark as an exception to it
the effect produced by reading, in their connexion, the rousing, thril¬
ling, burning words ascribed to the revolutionary patriot. I can¬
not read them without full sympathy with Sir Philip Sydney’s

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 287

ander Hamilton had no originality, hut he neverthe¬
less “smote the rock of the national resources, and
abundant streams of revenue gushed forth.” And
so it would he easy, with a dash of the pen, to deny
great original thoughts to the most illustrious pa¬
triots and statesmen, whose career adorns our annals,
and has been productive of signal public utility.
The highest originating faculty, in truth, is often the
least useful in the practical good it achieves for
humanity or the public weal. Mr. Webster’s origi¬
nality will certainly hear favorable comparison with
that of the great fathers of the Republic. In his
case, as in theirs, the great good has been achieved — •
the high and patriotic purposes carried out by the
appropriate means, by the resolute will, by the
labors and devotion of a whole life. Originality ?
The words of a distinguished Pagan poet uttered
long before the Christian era, “ nullum est nunc dic¬
tum, quod sit non dictum prius” are but a variation
of “ there is no new thing under the sun,” spoken by
the sage of Israel centuries before the heathen
reproduced it. If Mr. Webster, therefore, has not
originality, his lack is no way strange, and if he has
it not, the thing will be hard to find amongst our

declaration, that he could never hear the old song of Chevy-Chase,
without finding his heart moved as by the sound of a trumpet.

288 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER, *

legislators or great men of tlie present or the past.
At least, we prefer greatly a single page that we
could cull from some of his profoundly wise and sig¬
nificant utterances, a single pregnant passage from
some grand oration, revealing both the speaker’s
sentiments and heart, even without originality if it
must he so, to all the bald theories, subtle spiritual
musings, day dreams, night visions, and rhapsodical
vagaries, however profound and original, of all the
transcendental philosophers of this wise age. Web¬
ster at least has something practical, something tan¬
gible and useful. The views and schemes of the
others are for the most part absurd and impractica¬
ble, and, so far as utility is concerned, are worthless
as the froth thrown up by the heaving waves. But
let this pass.

Mr. Webster had warm and genuine literary
tastes ; loved poetry and history ; loved the writings
of the wise, good, and great of former times. He
knew and loved the Latin language, and drank in
from the pages of some of the great Bo man authors,
large draughts of wisdom and philosophy. He had
evidently cultivated general literature to some ex¬
tent. He had no small acquaintance with books
And though, perhaps, not a ripe and varied scholar
in the full sense of the word, yet he had more scholar-

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

289

ship than many who have enjoyed the highest honors
of the country, and who have entrenched themselves
enduringly in the grateful affections of their country¬
men. His scholarly attainments, if not profound, *
were at least highly respectable. And had they
been far less extensive the lack might easily be
overlooked, in consideration of his mastery of legal
and civil science, his rare accomplishments as a
debater and as an orator, the scope and accuracy of
his general knowledge, and the excellence of his lite¬
rary composition. And the wonder is, not that he
knew no more, but that, with all his burdens of pro¬
fessional business, and public and private duties, he
should know so much that he should be able to turn
aside from the work-day beaten track, to which inexo¬
rable business called him, to refresh his mind with
writings in a foreign tongue — to slake his thirst at
those perennial fountains, the sweet murmur of
whose waters seems to impart to the aged something
of their own immortal youth and freshness.* His

* Witli his favorite Cicero, he could exclaim, with warm appre¬
ciation of the truth and beauty of the sentiment, as the frosts of
advancing years were gathering upon him — “ hcec stadia adolescen-
tiam alunt, senectutem oblectant , secundas res ornant, adversis sola¬
tium ac perfugium prcebent, delectant do mi, non impcdiunt for is,
pcrnoclant nobiscum, percgrinantur , rusticantur

13

290 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

Historical Discourse pronounced last winter, dis¬
plays liis tastes and acquirements in this direction in
advantageous light — shows much information and
research, with nice discernment and criticism, both
literary and historical, and shows how conversant he
was with subjects beyond the range of his stated
everyday engagements. All who heard him on
that occasion felt admiration and wonder ; and lavish
praise fell that night upon the eloquent old man,
from lips little accustomed to bestow it in that direc¬
tion.

His tastes were simple, genial, natural. He loved
his farm of two thousand acres, washed by the
ocean’s waves — loved to cultivate the soil, and see it
grow in fertility under enlightened and skilful til¬
lage — loved to rise with the lark and sally forth to
smell the fresh air, and brush the early dew from
the rejoicing herbage, and drink in the songs of birds
welcoming the morning, and see Nature’s face radi¬
ant with smiles, and hear the grand matin song of
the sea, and raise his own grateful thoughts to Him
whose fingers made the heavens and earth, and
whose love scatters profuse blessings along our path¬
way. He loved his surviving kindred with constant
ardor, and cherished the memory of those whom
death had snatched away with unabated tenderness.

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

291

lie could hardly speak of his deceased children, cut
down in the morning of life, without tears. Writing
to a friend, a few years ago, from the old homestead
in hTew Hampshire, which was then his own, he re¬
calls with strong emotion the form of his noble
father, who had done so much for him, and whose
kindness he had repaid as far as filial affection and
gratitude could repay it. He recalls, too, his brother
Ezekiel, the finest human form he ever saw, to whom
he had been strongly attached, and who had died
suddenly years before. “ I saw him in his coffin,” he
says ; “ a white forehead, a tinged cheek, a complex¬
ion as clear as heavenly light. The grave has closed
upon him, as it has upon all my brothers and sisters.
We shall soon be all together. Dear, dear kindred
blood, how I love you all.” He never forsook those
whom he honored with his friendship. All his
neighbors respected him, and they who knew him
best loved him, for he was affable, and kind, and
generous, and ever ready to do magnanimous offices
to those who sought his assistance. Ho enemy had
cause to fear the effects of his personal malevolence,
for he could not stoop to inflict a personal affront or
injury upon any man. In debate the same spirit
influenced him, and during his long term of service
in the public councils, so perfectly dignified and be-

292 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

coming was liis deportment on all occasions, that lie
was never called to order in his place for the
nse of unbecoming language or unseemly per¬
sonality.

Ilis religions feelings appear to have been deep-
seated, earnest, and abiding. He speaks of his
honored father, in the letter from which I cpioted
before, as a man of “ Puritan character, and deeply
religious.” Doubtless from him he derived that reli¬
gious principle, that respect for the Supreme Being,
and the Holy Scriptures, and the Christian religion,
which stands out conspicuously in his works. The
discourse I have referred to already denies him
much religion, except in its outward lower forms,
and allows him very little conscience , especially in
his latter years. But for his speech of March Ytli,
1850, or if, in place of it, he had come out with
equal power in favor of a law higher than the Con¬
stitution, and counselled resistance unto blood to the
lawful authorities, no doubt the proportions both of
his conscience and religion had been greatly enlarged
in the estimation of a class. The very thing, how¬
ever, which they regard as the proof of a lack of
conscience, we are inclined to regard as among the
evidences of its possession. The point, however, I
will not dwell on, as the state of another man’s con-

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

293

science is rarely a subject of profitable inquiry or
safe deduction.

Tbe Sacred Scriptures be constantly read and
studied, admiring them as mere literary productions
more highly than the noblest human compositions,
and admiring more their lofty spirit, simple, ener¬
getic style, pure morality, and sublime inculcations — •
teaching as they do how to serve God acceptably,
how to serve man efficiently, how to live usefully,
and die in the calm of the Divine sunlight and
peace. We easily gather from his recorded senti¬
ments everywhere, how deeply his mind was imbued
with the grand truths of the Book of Life, and how
great his obligations to it were. The very character
of his style, its compactness, its clearness, and sim¬
plicity, owing in great measure to the large use of
those nervous all-expressive Saxon words, whose
magazine is the English Scriptures, betrays his
obligations, as well as his express and ever reverent
testimony. I shall not dwell upon the evidence
furnished on all sides of the strength and constancy
of his religious sentiments, but shall be content with
adducing a single instance, which may be new to most
present, and this I give from personal knowledge.*

* Since the delivery of this Discourse, I have seen this anecdote,

294: A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

#

Mr. Webster dined some years ago at the Astor
House, meeting several of his acquaintances and
friends there by appointment, and among them Col.
Stone, then Editor of the Commercial Advertiser ,
and a warm personal friend. Col. Stone, in the
course of conversation, put this question to Mr.
Webster: “ What is the most important thought
that ever occupied your mind !” The reply was,
after a pause, “ My individual responsibility to God.”
And then, with becoming solemnity and earnestness,
the great man entered upon a conversation of some
half-hour’s duration upon this weighty theme, the
company the while remaining profoundly serious
and attentive. The speaker’s countenance and man¬
ner, the tones of his voice, with the weight and force
of his sentiments, conspired to produce an unwonted
effect, a particular proof of which was soon afforded.
A gentleman who had been amongst the guests, and
was somewhat addicted to the practice of profanity,
was observed, after Mr. Webster had retired, to be
silent and thoughtful, and, being rallied as to the
reason, declared that he had heard words from Mr.
Webster which impressed him more deeply than lie

with some variations, in the public prints. I relate the circum¬
stances as I received them, and have no doubt of their substantial
accuracy.

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

295

had ever been in his life before, that God, the just
and holy, is worthy of profonndest reverence from
his rational creatures — that he felt it to be a wrong
and an impiety to utter His name lightly and frivo¬
lously — and that his determination now was, with
God’s help, to repeat such strange folly no more,
lie kept his word, and reformed from a vice, which,
coarse and revolting as it is, many unreflectingly in¬
dulge, who would feel sorely aggrieved, were their
claim to honor and gentility denied them. A cir¬
cumstance so striking deserves well to be pondered
by those who are habitually or occasionally profane.
Happy for them, and for all men, if the claims of
human reverence, love, and loyalty, in all their
length and breadth, are ever recognised in principle,
and remembered in practice — the claims of Him,
whose holy law declares, that “ the Lord will not
hold him guiltless that taketh Llis name in vain.”

Mr. W ebster had blemishes — had faults. To have
been without them had raised him above our hu¬
manity. A great man is a shining mark, ever ex
posed to the slings and arrows of the designing and
evil-minded. What in ordinary persons might pass
unnoticed, or be at most but a peccadillo, becomes
magnified in him into a positive disfiguration and
deformity. For this reason, what fame has alleged

296 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

as an obliquity, lias been made worse, I have no
doubt, than it really is. lie held a public position.
He was surrounded by unwonted temptations. He
was fond of social intercourse. Tlie customs of
refined society are seductive. The smiles and ap¬
plause of valued friends are exhilarating. And nemo
mortalium omnibus horis sajoit. The rest need not
be told. Censorious friend, how would you have
resisted and carried yourself, if exposed to such an
ordeal ? Possibly made a speedy wreck of yourself,
sinking worn and broken down in person, mildewed
in intellect, blasted in reputation, prematurely into
the grave. This Mr. Webster did not. He lived
beyond three-score years and ten ; lived — honored
in name, unwasted in person, with eye undimmed,
and natural force unabated, and with glorious intel¬
lect, which in none of his recorded sentiments has
given the least indication of decay, vigorous, and
cloudless to the last. We are no apologists, how¬
ever, for any man’s short-comings. We hold up no
man’s blemishes for praise or imitation. W e are not
claiming for Mr. W ebster impeccability, nor the cha¬
racter of an exemplary and devoted Christian, any
more than we claim infallibility for his opinions, or
perfect perpendicularity for all his public acts and
course. We confess, however, to a disposition to

AND SEE VICES OF DANIEL WEBSTEE. 297

soften the severity of acrimonious censure, to look
charitably and pityingly, in every case, upon the
waywardness of a great soul, whose predominant
instincts, purposes, and deeds are towards the High
and Hoble, the Eight and True. We cannot forget
what pity we ourselves need from Him who knows
our frame, and remembers that we are but dust ;
and who, were He to “ mark iniquity” against us as
unsparingly as we are tempted to mark it against
others , would blast us with the lightnings of His
wrath, or make us exiles from His presence ever¬
more.

And oh ! what a calm and beautiful close of life
was that of the great statesman and orator. Loving
friends were around him ; countenances tearful and
sad, bosoms wrung with anguish at the parting just
at hand — but all was serene composure on the brow,
in the words, in the bosom of him whose last hour of
earth was just approaching. Ho tremors shook his
frame, no remorse distorted the visage, no poignant,
regretful accents pierced the ears of those who gazed
wistfully and sorrowfully, but words of confidence
and hope proclaimed the inward support, which the
soul derived from a source “ within the vail.” Those
Scriptures which had been read so thoughtfully and
earnestly through life, now seemed to shed upon the

13*

298 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

mind their tranquillizing beams. Tliat Saviour,
whose great propitiation had been rested on as the
only foundation of hope, now stretched forth his arm
to uphold and succor the soul that trusted in him.
That kind Father, whose name had always inspired
veneration, and who reconciles penitent sinners to
Himself, through His Son, now seemed to lift the
light of His countenance upon His feeble, languish¬
ing child, as he humbly committed himself by
prayer to His benignity and protection. And with
the Lord for his Shepherd, and the rod and staff of
His love to guide his feet and support his steps, he
quietly passed from among men, walked through the
valley of the shadow of death, entered the spirit-
land, and all that was mortal of Daniel W ebster was
no more.

* Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast ; no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise, or blame ; nothing but well and fair,

And what may quiet us in a death so noble.”

He is no more, and yet he lives — lives with his
great contemporaries who have preceded him by a
brief period to the dark mansion appointed for all,
and will live in the recollection of men while honor
and patriotism continue to be prized. He, as well

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

299

as they, is now gathered to liis fathers, leaving, as an
inheritance to those who come after him, what is
worthy and heroic in his life and example. lie has
left ns the Institutions which he loved and defended,
and the fair country which nurtured his youth, and
whose history he has illustrated. His departing
accents, if they teach anything, hid us prize our
goodly heritage as it deserves to he prized, and
never fail in the duties which we owe to that com¬
mon mother, from whose hosom we all draw nourish¬
ment and support.

These beneficent institutions, this beautiful country,
as our heritage and home, are still ours *, while ear¬
nest and touching voices of the departed wise, great,
and good fall upon our ears constantly, to remind us
of our obligations to the past, and to admonish us of
what we owe not only to the present, but to the
generations who are to come after us, and especially
to Him, the Great and Merciful, without whose un¬
ceasing aid and protection the builder’s toils to rear
the edifice, and the watchman’s vigilance to guard
the city, had been equally unavailing. These voices
from the spirit-world should come with power to
every American heart. Plaintive, solemn, intensely
sincere and solicitous, the spirit of their blended
counsel and admonition would find expression in

300 A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE, CHARACTER,

accents such, as these : “ The span of life is short.

#

Its swift current will soon merge the actors now on
the stage with those who have already had their
exits. To act your part wrell is the true and only
honor. There are present and pressing duties which
every citizen owes to God, to his country, to his
kind. God’s smiles and blessing on the toils and
sacrifices of the men Ilis hand raised up and
strengthened, have given you a country, fair and
fruitful as any which the sun shines upon, and rights
and privileges secured by wdse and benign laws,
richer and more valuable than any people ever had
before. Sources of support, of comfort, and happi¬
ness are opened here for the many, so steadily-flow¬
ing and inexhaustible, that no nation has ever fur¬
nished their parallel ; and these are the evidence at
once of the worth of the country, its institutions and
lawrs, and of what is due to the Divine favor for
bestowing such a heritage. Guard it, therefore, sa¬
credly and sleeplessly. Guard the well-compacted
ordinances which are the foundation of this magnifi¬
cent structure, and suffer no rash hand to detach or
loosen a single stone, whose absence may soon cause
a wider breach, then a cracking, then a sinking, and
finally an indiscriminate crumbling, overthrow, and
ruin. Such a dire catastrophe not only sweeps away

AND SERVICES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

301

present treasures, but blasts the hopes of the coming
ages, whose curses must rest for ever upon the
matricidal hands dealing out such remorseless and
unnatural death. Let your labor be to preserve
rather than destroy, and transmit safely to others
wThat has come unimpaired to you. Let the fast fol¬
lowing generations, as they receive uninjured the
sacred trust which you now hold, clap their hands
for joy while recounting your truth and fidelity, and
link you in their grateful hearts with the wise, vir¬
tuous, and patriotic of the nation’s earlier history.
This will nobly attest a work well done, and a course
honorably finished — a life passed, whose benefits to
man will reach far beyond its brief earthly period.”

An utterance such as this is not fanciful. I think
I hear this voice, and I would that every citizen
might hear and would heed it. While we honor the
accents of our illustrious dead, and him recently so,
who speaks to us audibly to-day, we will not forget
that God lives and reigns, and that our responsibility
is present. Our course is not yet run ; our work is
not yet completed. But each of us is passing on¬
ward to the tomb, where is no work, no knowledge
nor device. Let us act our respective parts well,
while the little remnant of our lives remains. W e have
majestic Institutions, let us cherish and strengthen

302

DISCOURSE ON DANIEL WEBSTER.

them. We have the Bible, and its blessed religion,
and houses of prayer inviting men to enter them and
worship ; let us rejoice in each heavenly gift, and use
it as beneath God’s eye, and with the judgment day
before us. We have talents, varying in number; let
us occupy and improve them diligently and unwea-
riedly. And we have a soul to save through Jesus
Christ ; let its deathless interests be first cared for,
and beyond all other things cherished and secured.
Then when our last hour comes we may meet it with
unfaltering serenity — our tasks done, our duties dis¬
charged, our faith firm, our hope well anchored, our
prospect cloudless — and laying aside all mortal bur¬
dens composedly, as we put off our garments for the
night, may rise through redeeming grace to occupy
the promised mansions,

“ Where cares molest not, discord melts away

In harmony, and the pure passions prove

How sweet the words of Truth, breathed from the lips of Love.”

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

APPENDIX A.

To illustrate the influence of natural scenery blending with
early associations upon the formation of character, I may cite the
following beautiful passage from a Discourse by Dr. W. E. C ban¬
ning, delivered at the dedication of a Church in Newport, his
native place, in 1836. The writer’s experience could be easily
confirmed by that of multitudes whose names have become
historic.

“ On looking back to my early years, I can distinctly recollect
unhappy influences exerted on my mind by the general tone of
religion in this town. I can recollect, too, a corruption of morals
among those of my own age, which made boyhood a critical,
perilous season. Still, I may bless God for the place of my
nativity; for as my mind unfolded, I became more and more
alive to the beautiful scenery, which now attracts strang¬
ers to our island. My first liberty was used in roaming
over the neighboring fields and shores ; and amid this glorious
nature, that love of liberty sprang up which has gained strength
within me to this hour. I early received impressions of the
great and the beautiful, which I believe have had no small influ¬
ence in determining my modes of thought and habits of life. In
this town I pursued for a time my studies of theology. I had
no professor or teacher to guide me ; but I had two noble places

304

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

of study. One was yonder beautiful edifice, now so frequented
and so useful as a public library, then so deserted, that I spent
day after day and sometimes week after week amidst its dusty
volumes, without interruption from a single visitor. The other
place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so often mingled
with the worship of this place, my daily resort, dear to me in
the sunshine, still more attractive in the storm. Seldom do I
visit it now without thinking of the work which there, in the
sight of that beauty, in the sound of those waves, was carried
on in my soul. No spot on earth has helped to form me so
much as that beach. There I lifted up my voice in praise
amidst the tempest. There, softened by beauty, I poured out
my thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There, in reverential
sympathy with the mighty power around me, I became con¬
scious of power within. There, struggling thoughts and
emotions broke forth, as if moved to utterance by nature’s
eloquence of the winds and waves. There began a happiness
surpassing all worldly pleasures, all gifts of fortune, the happi¬
ness of communing with the works of God. Pardon me this
reference to myself. I believe that the worship of which I have
this day spoken was aided in my own soul by the scenes in
which my early life was passed. Amidst these scenes, and in
speaking of this worship, allow me to thank God that this beau¬
tiful island was the place of my birth.”

APPENDIX B.

I must here disclaim the advocacy, in any sense, of the
Fugitive Slave Law in the abstract. A law, recognised by the

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

305

“ powers that be,” and found in the Constitution, the highest
authority of all, may be submitted to from a sentiment of loyalty
to the government, without being to the citizen necessarily an
object of idolatry or blind admiration. I have no sympathy with
the law itself. I deplore the necessity that gave it birth, and
the imperious circumstances, at the formation of the Constitution,
that demanded for it a place in that Charter. If I submit to
the law, in faith and hope that the time may soon come for its
just and orderly abrogation, and thus prefer present submission
to the confusion and anarchy that must ensue from lawless re¬
sistance and rebellion, I trust that I violate no duty of the
good citizen, but rather perform my duty in a spirit that He will
not disown who paid, on His own and His disciples’ behalf, a
miracle-produced tribute into the coffers of a government which
was anything but a just and righteous government to Him.

The charge of inconsistency and betrayal of freedom urged
against Mr. Webster for his sentiments and course in relation to
this law, is founded, I think, neither in justice nor truth.
Making the Constitution the standard, I cannot discover, in his
speech referred to, any abandonment of ground formerly taken
by him, any broaching of novel doctrines, any interpretations
of constitutional law, at variance with those put forth by him
so authoritatively on other memorable occasions, much less any
course of action dictated by the gross motives of personal am¬
bition, of which he is so unsparingly accused.

I have made an allusion or two to the Rev. Mr. Parker’s stric¬
tures on Mr. W., and will here submit a few further remarks on
this subject. I am not insensible to the rare merit of Mr. Parker’s
u Discourse ” as an intellectual performance, nor disposed to de¬
tract from the admiration due to those strong qualities which ho

306

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

is sure to stamp on his more ambitious performances, investing
them with interest and attraction, which secure them a large and
attentive audience, and which have given the one in question a
great circulation. While we commend the discourse for its
ability, we must condemn it for its bitterness. As a master of
scathing and terrible invective, Mr. P. has hardly an equal ; and
every weapon at his command, in this case, has been sternly
grasped, and hurled with all his force at the unwaking and un¬
witting object of his ire. The real strength of the position or
person assailed, is at once attested by the extraordinary fury and
virulence of the assault. Its excessive gall should occasion mis¬
trust of the motives, while they betray the animus of the assail¬
ant. And the question will arise, whether the law of love, the
gushing humanity by which Mr. P. professes to be governed, is
really compatible with the intense hatred exhibited towards one
who had loved and served his country long and well, and whose
living voice could no more, as it had often done, repel attacks
and cover assailants with confusion ?

The readiest weapons, and the easiest to use, are vituperation
and evil-speaking, but their use, especially when the grave has
closed over their object, is always suspicious. Their use is indi¬
cative, too. It points rather to a narrow and selfish than a largo
and magnanimous soul. The palpable cruelty of a single blow
decides more with men than volumes of humanitarian theory.
It indicates lack of the kindness, the forbearance towards
human infirmity, the mild-visaged charity, the humility, spring¬
ing from one’s own consciousness of being liable to mental and
moral obliquity — qualities which none need more than professed
reformers, and which the Nazerene taught and exemplified with
an authority which Mr. Parker possibly ignores. This harsh

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

307

and intolerant spirit which saturates his discourse, is not only a
disfiguration, but detracts greatly from any real force his teach¬
ings might otherwise possess.

Mr. Parker evidently, and in spite of himself, admires Mr.
Webster greatly. It could not well be otherwise. There seems
a perpetual struggle going on in his mind to repress bursts of
honest admiration as Mr. Webster’s great qualities and deeds are
surveyed, and the struggle is not always successful. But after
the praise is fairly spoken, immediately, as if to atone for a
momentary weakness, he deals out to his illustrious victim
thrusts with fourfold earnestness and energy. He raises him
high aloft ever and anon, that by knocking away the platform
beneath him, with remorseless hand, he may fall farther, and
faster, and more fatally. Mottling greatly meritorious and com¬
mendable in Mr. W. is set forth, without placing over against it
some vitiating counterpoise. And I hardly know which to
wonder at most — the ingenuity of the constant juxtaposition of
great and heroic qualities, and, according to Mr. P., of great
faults and vices, or the pertinacity with which he insists that a
few of the latter shall override a whole life-service given to the
country, and make Mr. W. irredeemably bad. Even Mr. Parker
acknowledges that up to the speech of March 7th, 1850, Mr. W.’s
sentiments and course had been on the whole patriotic and
straightforward, and thus the little two years that remained to
him of life, were enough to shipwreck for him all the honors
and trophies that all the former years of his life had accumulated.
And this he would have his readers believe !

Mr. Parker seems to as to be quite as unfitted by idiosyncrasy,
by mental and social aptitude, for understanding and hence
justly characterizing Mr. Webster, as Johnson, according to Hr.

308

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

Channing’s showing, was constitutionally unfitted for under¬
standing Milton. The meeting in the Broadway Tabernacle
several years ago will be well remembered, at which Mr. Wen¬
dell Phillips introduced and supported, with an eloquent speech?
the resolution “ that the only exodus for the American slave is
over the ruins of the American Church and the American Union.”
Mr. Parker opened this meeting with prayer, and in the course
of the meeting spoke at length himself, from which we may
infer that he cordially approved the sentiment of the resolution,
an inference which his spoken words on other occasions fully
warrant. I shall say nothing here about the ruin of the Ameri¬
can Church as a necessary preliminary to emancipation. But
the ruin of the American Union, involving that of the Consti¬
tution, is here proclaimed a necessity, to precede that great
“ exodus ” from bondage which Mr. Parker professes himself to
be laboring and most anxious to effect. The Union and the
Constitution, therefore, stand in Mr. P.’s way to his object.
They are enemies to freedom, and therefore to him. The Con¬
stitution, recognising slavery, is corrupt all over; and the Union
held together by concession, and compromise, and forbearance,
is a corrupt Union, and both should be, and deserve to be,
abolished. Consistently with these views, Mr. P., throughout
his discourse on Webster, has no word of commendation to
bestow upon either Constitution or Union — is fired with no zeal
for their honor, or desire for their preservation — is no way im¬
pressed with those great historic events which are full of glorious
associations to all patriotic hearts, and finds nothing in the senti¬
ment of nationality to stir the blood within him. To his eye,
slavery is the one lurid cloud that overshadows everything bright
and beneficent in our institutions. That present, all that is

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

309

good, and fair, and valuable beside, is absent. And though the
country has exhibited unexampled expansion and prosperity in
spite of slavery, and has become, through the wonderful facili¬
ties opened to all classes to find employment, competence, and
happiness, the admiration and envy of the world, “ all this

availeth him nothing, so long as he sees the ‘ Domestic Insti-

•

tution ’ fixed, as it is upon us, by others’ hands, ” and perpe¬
tuated through an unhappy necessity — not overthrown and
crushed by a summary blow. And though the blow, struck by
whatever hand, should involve the ruin of social peace and order,
and every dearly-prized national privilege and blood-bought in¬
stitution, that consideration would furnish him no reason why
the blow should not fall and the mighty sacrifice be made. Such
is the legitimate consequence to which his principles conduct.

To Mr. Webster’s mind all wore a different aspect. The Con¬
stitution was the most wonderful and sacred compact that
nation ever made for its government. It was to him not only the
Great Charter of our liberties, but, reflecting the united wisdom
of the sages that formed it, worthy to be an object of veneration
and love. He bowed to its august authority as supreme. He
revered its letter and its spirit. He looked upon that hand as
sacrilegious that sought to remove a single stone from its broad
and massive foundation. He was impatient of all attempts, from
whatever source, to undermine its pillars, impair its sanctions,
and nullify its all-embracing influence. And to elucidate what
in it seemed susceptible of misconstruction, and to bring out
clearly before the public eye its unmistakable meaning, which
sophistry often sought to obscure or evade, and thus preserve its
integrity unimpaired, he has bent again and again the whole re¬
sources of his colossal intellect, embalming his luminous expo-

310

APPENDIX TO WEBSTEK.

sitions of constitutional law in arguments which will only die
when the language which preserves them is no longer spoken.

So the Union of the States was to him a sacred Union. With
its continuance was identified the prosperity of the country, and
even its perpetuity. He could not see how dismemberment
could exist without horrible, fatal, and irremediable disaster. To
preserve the Union was the first duty of the true patriot; to
laugh at the dangers which seriously threatened it, above all,
to excite and aggravate these dangers, the part of the traitor or
madman. His great heart beat with a true and healthy national
pulsation. Every suggestive incident in his country’s history,
every memorial of the heroic past, every incipient struggle
against oppression, every toil and sacrifice suffered in the cause
of truth and right, every revolutionary battle-field, stained with
martyrs’ blood, had for him a voice that discoursed music to
which his heart of hearts responded. And with no small
number of the great descriptive facts and glorious events of our
history he has contrived to associate his name so inseparably,
that the events themselves will as soon cease to be, as his name
dissevered from them. The Constitution and the Union were
his watchwords ever, and if the earnest and consistent efforts
of his life have accorded to him the proud distinction of “ Great
Defender” of the one, they not less entitle him to be considered
as foremost among the “ Preservers” of the other.

Thus radically antagonistic — thus viewing these matters of
public interest and duty from such opposite standing-points —
thus with scarce one sentiment in common in regard to what
the real interests of the country demand at the hands of each
order-loving citizen' — how is it possible for Mr. Parker to under¬
stand Mr. Webster or to put a just estimate upon his public

appendix to webstek.

311

services and character ? The result is precisely what might he
expected. The portrait in some of its prominent features is
little better than a caricature, from this total want of sympathy
between painter and subject. Mr. Webster is branded as a
traitor to freedom, because he adhered to the Constitution as he
always had done, and refused to sacrifice the interests and rights
of the whole nation to the clamors and importunities of a
section. As if he, whose whole life had been devoted to the
defence of the Constitution, and whose highest fame had sprung
from its just interpretation, could overlook the rights of the
South recognised in that instrument, or fail to feel that the Con¬
stitution itself could never have been framed, or the government
organized, but for such recognition. Or as if, had Mr. Webster
laid his hand on that specific provision relating to fugitives,
to tear it from its place, and proclaim it of no binding force, he
would not have been doing the very work which the whole force
of his logic and eloquence had for years and years been devoted
to withstand and condemn. And, let it not be forgotten, that
his reverence for constitutional law, for compacts, for stipula¬
tions, which had become a habit and a passion with him, would
have led him, had he lived, to struggle with all his energies
against the Kansas -Nebraska Bill ; the enactment of which,
effected by less scrupulous hands, and violative of express
compacts, has opened anew, and with tenfold acerbity, the fierce
agitations which it was the darling purpose of himself and his
great compeers to allay. These things should be pondered while
reviewing the services and work of the illustrious dead. And
though the Fugitive Law, for which, in itself, every humane,
unbiassed bosom must feel strong aversion, has gone into force —
defective as it is, and without the qualifications and restrictions

312

APrENDIX TO WEBSTER.

Mr. W. desired to annex to it, and which, but for his removal
from the Senate, he would have labored to effect — let us do
justice to the motives and principles — judging these from the
whole tenor of his former history — by which his course was
shaped. We at least are not disposed to join in the clamor
which has been raised over the lamented statesman’s grave, nor
have we sympathy with the allegation that the Presidential
prize, as the reward of subserviency to the South, formed the
motive to his course on the Compromise Measures. That he
may have looked to the Presidency with honorable aspiration may
be readily allowed. That he had splendid qualifications for the
post malice alone will deny. But that he would have compassed
the object by unworthy compliances, by sacrifices of principle,
there is nothing to show but the assertion of his enemies. Mr.
Parker himself acknowledges Mr. W.’s magnanimity in deferring
his own claims, on a memorable occasion, to those of Mr. Clay,
and adds morosely, that, in return for the favor, Mr. Clay exerted
his influence to withhold the nomination from Mr. Webster at a
subsequent Convention, succeeded in his wish, and died happy !
—an interesting view certainly of the kind of consolation that
soothed the last earthly moments of Henry Clay.

Before leaving the subject of Mr. Webster’s motives and aims
in his speech of March Tth, 1850, I will present an illustrative
extract from a letter of Hon. John C. Spencer, acknowledging a
copy sent him of the foregoing discourse. I shall make no com¬
ment on the letter, which speaks for itself, farther than to say,
that the estimate here given by one of the leading minds of the
State and nation, belonging now, alas, to the “innumerable
caravan” of the distinguished dead, apart from its intrinsic
interest, carries with it the greater weight, from the rare oppor-

APPENDIX TO WEBSTER.

313

tunities the writer had of knowing thoroughly the matters about
which he writes : —

Albany, February 7th, 1853.

Beverend and Dear Sir —

* * * * When Providence gives us great and

useful men, it is more a duty to the living than to the dead
to commemorate their departure, and to exhibit for admiration
and example the traits of character which have rendered them
blessings to their country and an honor to their race.

Mr. Webster, in addition to all his other claims to our grati¬
tude, was a martyr in the cause of conscience. You have truly
as forcibly analyzed and explained his great speech of March
7th, 1850; but there are extrinsic circumstances about it that
render it heroic. He knew, just as well as Luther knew, he was
to be condemned by the Diet, when he determined to attend
their sittings. Mr. Webster knew that, in the utterance of that
speech, he severed the closest political ties that were ever formed
between a political man and his friends; — he knew that he had
himself been the innocent cause of much excitement on the
subject of Slavery, and that he had raised expectations which he
was about to disappoint. He knew that he was about to sunder
the cord that bound his Northern friends to him, and for ever
forfeit their confidence, without the least hope that it would be
supplied by Southern generosity — and yet he marched on, as
Luther did, to the altar of sacrifice, and willingly immolated
himself, his hopes, his ambition, his friendships — and they were
the strongest that man ever had = upon what he conceived the
crisis of his country’s fate. * * * *

With great respect, I am, Beverend Sir,

Your obedient servant,

John 0. Spbnobb.

14

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

Now that “ all that is mortal of Daniel Webster
is no more,” eulogy seems abont to exhaust itself in
the attempt to do honor to his illustrious character
and services. North and South, the East and West,
every section, every party, sound and prolong the
notes of praise, which, powerless as they are to
“ soothe the dull, cold ear of death,” show the wide
and profound impression which the genius of the
great New Englander has made upon the national
mind and heart. The country has lost one of the
greatest, if not the very greatest of her sons. The
Constitution mourns the loss of the mightiest of its
defenders. The vessel of State is deprived of the
most far-seeing, vigilant, and skilful of her pilots.
A mighty man, the energy of whose great intellect,
the full wealth of whose wonderful resources, were
earnestly devoted, and for long years, to his country
and the public good, is fallen — and who shall ade¬
quately till the chasm that is made ? This seems
well-nigh the universal sentiment. The plaintive

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEE. 315

accents liearcl, and the fervid praise spoken, are hut
natural, spontaneous outpourings of a grief and ad¬
miration whose full and honest utterance needs no
other prompter than the grave.

Mr. Rufus Choate, in a recent tribute to the cha¬
racter of his deceased friend, marked by that copious
yet chaste diction and affluence of beautiful illus¬
tration which so greatly distinguish him, mentions
the name of Johnson : “ to whom,” he adds, “ I
hope it is not pedantic or fanciful to say, I often
thought his nature presented some resemblance.”
The same resemblance has, at times, struck the
writer of the present paper ; and he indulges with Mr.
Choate the hope that it may not be thought “ fanci¬
ful,” if he ventures to mark a few of the points, cir¬
cumstantial as well as characteristic, in which these
strong, great men appear to resemble one another.

Both sprang from an ancestry not renowned, nor
distinguished by the gifts of fortune. Michael John¬
son, the Litchfield bookseller, and Ebenezer W ebster,
the Salisbury farmer, were both men of strong sense
and great personal excellence, impressed with the
worth and advantages of education, most anxious
that their sons should enjoy it, but able to furnish
only partially, and with difficulty, the means to
secure it. The path to learning, for both sons, was

316 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

thorny and toilsome ; but each had the longing
desire to pursue it, and the strong resolve and the
resolute will before which obstacles yield, and trials
are turned into pastime and pleasure. Johnson
pushed his way manfully through difficulties which
would have daunted and disheartened a less heroic
nature ; and the record of his straits and struggles,
before his endurance was crowned with triumph, is
enough to move our tears. Webster, with an ordeal
less stern and protracted to pass through, had yet
severe struggles to encounter, and both the conflict
and success showed a strength of determination and
constancy of purpose, enough to declare that greater
difficulties were not overcome, only because greater
ones were not presented.

Johnson’s precocity, his aptitude to learn, and the
foreshadowing reach of his intellect, the wonderful
tenacity of his memory, the force and manliness of
his boyhood’s opinions, his habits of study and obser¬
vation, striking to the teacher, and drawing forth
predictions of an extraordinary career, find all of
them a close resemblance, if not a perfect parallel, in
the schoolboy years of Webster. Johnson, in his
cloudy days, was a schoolmaster, and, like Milton, a
greater l^an he, disdained not to eke out a scanty
livelihood by teaching boys ; finding pleasure, no

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEK. 317

doubt, esteeming it, perchance, honor, to impart to
those who needed enlightenment somewhat of his
own ample stores. Webster relieved on occasion
the tedium of close attention to preparatory study,
by teaching his brother Ezekiel’s school, and more
formally, and for a longer period, at Fryeburg,
Maine, discharged the duties and bore the honors of
a public instructor, an employment which he ever
reverted to in after life with satisfaction and pride.

Johnson wrought out a world-wide fame for him¬
self, a place, by almost unanimous consent, upon the
highest literary eminence, by dint of hard and perse¬
vering toil, in spite of poverty and neglect, the dis¬
favor, if not contemptuous treatment, of the titled
patrons of literature — bringing his dictionary, after
seven years’ stern battling with the adverse elements,
“ to the verge of publication,” u without,” as he tells
Chesterfield, “ one act of assistance, one word of
encouragement, or one smile of favor.” He had
commanded success, and moved thenceforward a
monarch in the world of letters. Webster, more
favored by being the child of a Republic, where
merit is sooner seen and appreciated, was not forced
to battle so long, nor struggle so hard. The ascent
to a stand-point, lofty as that which Johnson occupied
after the publication of his dictionary, was easier,

318 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEE.

and it was more rapid. But had it been quite as
slow and painful in all respects, he had that within
him which must have rendered his advance and vic¬
tory undoubtedly certain, as himself and all men
knew it to be after the enduring words spoken by
him on Forefathers’ Day, on Plymouth Bock, in
1820, or the grand eulogy on Adams and Jefferson,
six years later, had been spread before an applaud¬
ing world.

Both Johnson and Webster inherited from their
sires the commanding stature, the broad, sturdy, and
stalwart frame which might seem best adapted for
the most determined manifestation of intellectual
energy. Strangers who came for the first time in
their presence gazed with a certain awe upon
them.

In the case of Webster, manly exercise, diligently
followed day by day, and from sheer love of it, im¬
parted to his brawny person firmness, vigor, and
elasticity, so that he, far more than the other, uni¬
formly had what the ancients considered the most
precious boon the gods could give — the sana mens in
sano eorjpore. Each was capable of vast and long-
continued intellectual exertion. In both, the feature
of mind which predominated was Titanic strength,
adequate to remove mountains, and which, pressing

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER. 319

right on towards its object, scattered hither and
thither the obstructions in its path as chaff, and
counted opposition what Job’s leviathan counted the
darts that rained against him, “ as stubble.” Nor
was it a mere blind display of terrible strength, like
that shown by the flying elephants of Pyrrhus,
trampling down and overturning every thing before
them, but an energy delicately poised, adroitly
adjusted, instinct with sound judgment, and guided
by reason, reaching its object with the most unerring
precision, and by the very means deliberately chosen
and determinedly prosecuted. As an instance of this
power in Johnson we would cite that part of his
essay on Shakspeare, devoted to the overturn of the
“ j:>oetical unities : ” his review of Soame Jenyns’
“ Free Inquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil,”
and the masterly logic with which he exploded the
evidence for the genuineness of Fingal. Webster’s
reply to Ilayne will suggest itself at once — many
readers having it by heart — and his masterly speech
on the Force Bill, in reply to Calhoun, as affording
proof of this all-compelling strength ; and many of
his forensic arguments come without seeking for
them, to swell the illustration. In both, loftiness of
aim and a profound earnestness breathing from every
sentence, invested their sentiments with a dignity,

320 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEE.

imparted to them a weight which rendered them the
more irresistible.

Hor was the stately and dignified tone of his more
ambitions compositions the only one that Johnson
had at his command. He understood well the varia¬
tions of which language is capable, and could, on
occasion, be familiar, natural, even playful. The
papers in the Rambler, compared with certain of the
“ Lives of the Poets,” and these with many of his
letters thrown off in the unreserve of friendly inter¬
course, will illustrate our meaning. W ebster’s versa¬
tility is still more marked, and instances of the
faculty he possessed of passing easily “ from grave
to gay, from lively to severe,” rise up the moment
his name is mentioned.

It is not extravagant to say of him, as another has
said of Bacon, that his understanding resembled the
tent which, according to the Arabian Tale, the fairy
Paribanou gave to Prince Ahmed. Fold it, and it
seemed a toy for the hand of a lady ; spread it, and
the armies of powerful sultans might repose beneath
its shade.

Both Johnson and Webster had large, humane,
generous souls, full of tenderness towards kith and
kin, acutely strung to the accents of suffering, and
prompting the willing hand to scatter benefits prodi-

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEK. 321

gaily around. No worthy applicant knocked at the
door of either in vain. Webster was careless of
money, was incapable of valuing it for itself, and
well-authenticated instances are on record of incre¬
dibly large gratuities having found their way from
his own into the pockets of those whom he thought
needy and deserving. Johnson would “ carry home,
on his shoulders a sick and starving girl from the
streets, and turned his house into a place of refuge
for a crowd of wretched old creatures, who could
find no other asylum ; nor could all their peevish¬
ness and ingratitude weary out his benevolence.”
Both loved a sumptuous table and generous fare, hut
could be abstemious without effort, and for what time
they chose. Both possessed rare social qualities, and
were wont to enliven, and at times electrify, the
respective circles they adorned. Johnson was great
in conversation, and Macaulay, following Burke, and
after him Sir James McIntosh, repeats the sentiment,
that the great man’s “ careless table-talk,” so indus¬
triously preserved by Boswell, will furnish with the
coming generations his chief passport to immortality ;
to which opinion, with “London,” the “Vanity of
Human Wishes,” “ Basselas,” and some of his exqui¬
site periodical papers in our eye, we enter a respect-
fid but earnest demurrer. But his conversational

14*

322

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEK.

exuberance, acumen, ancl force will, we doubt not,
remain linked to the best of bis writings, as the
decisive verdict of posterity.

The charm of W ebster’s conversation is the theme
of all who knew him well. His wide knowledge,
hoarded for years in the storehouse of a memory
that rarely failed him, his wealth of anecdote, his
felicitous diction, copious but precise, and simple
often as a child’s utterance, with a voice and manner
capable of giving infinite expression to what he
said, made him the most agreeable and instructive
of companions, close association with whom formed
a banquet, whose loss to those accustomed to enjoy
it will hardly cease to be a pensive recollection.

Both these illustrious men entertained deep reve¬
rence and veneration towards the Supreme, towards
His oracles, and towards the religion which, through
His beloved Son, He has given to the world. "When
Johnson is called simply the “ great moralist,” as
men have long called him, he certainly receives less
than justice at their hands. He seems to us an
earnest, _ devout, God-fearing man — truly conscien
tious, full of sorrow for his shortcomings, and seek¬
ing, at the cross of Christ, ease from the burden of
an upbraiding conscience. His confessions and
prayers reveal the struggles of a contrite soul, whose

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER. 323

only hope of peace is the great Propitiation, with the
guilelessness of the repentant child, sobbing all its
waywardness and sorrows into the ear of pitying
parents, whose pardoning, soothing words are looked
for as the only halm that can ease its pain, and
restore its joy. In the speeches of Webster, “ known
and read of all men in those memorable discourses
wdiich great public occasions called forth, and which
are embalmed in the nation’s heart, there is more
frequent and reverent mention of the Supreme
Being, and of the Christian religion, and the nation’s
obligations to it and its divine Giver, than can be
found in those of any statesman or civilian whose
words live amongst us, and have greatly influenced
society. Often and often have we compared his
spirit-stirring words in this respect with those of
other public men greatly honored, and our heart has
warmed to him as he has given to the God of nations
the glory of our civil exaltation, and assigned to
Christianity the first place amongst the causes from
which our happiness and prosperity have sprung,
lie might do this, indeed, without much depth of
religious feeling. It might spring from the force of
association or faithful Christian nurture, but it
seemed in one so earnest to be the fruit of principle
and faith, the evidence of a heart alive to the right

324 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

and true, and struggling against the force of ensnar¬
ing, worldly besetments — a force bow pressing,
unwearied, and determined in its assaults, we may,
remembering the position be occupied, somewhat
estimate, though not fully know. W ere the religions
workings of his large heart as well known to ns as
those of Johnson are known, we are persuaded that
we should find a kindred spirit of reverence and
devoutness prominent in both, amongst those inner
powers that give form and dignity to character.

The burly Johnson had a gentle heart, tender and
loving as a little child’s. How it gushed forth in
benevolence has been remarked. How it warmed
ever towards his kindred, the living and the buried,
is worthy of notice. His letters to his aged mother,
breathing tenderness, gratitude, and filial devotion
in every line, are worthy to be learned by heart.
His mourning for his deceased wife, by twenty years
his senior, appears to have lasted during all his life,
and each anniversary of her death, her image
recalled gave increased solemnity and tenderness to
his prayers and religious meditations. On his last
visit to Litchfield, an old man of seventy-five, the
poignant remembrance of one act of filial disobedi¬
ence, committed fifty years before, keenly smote
him. His father being indisposed at the time re-

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

325

ferred to, had requested him to go to the neigh¬
boring market town of Uttoxeter, and attend for
that day the bookstall he himself was wont to
occupy, and the son had refused, his pride prompt¬
ing, as he said, his rebellion. And now, fifty years
thereafter, he repaired to the same town on market-
day, and before the same stall uncovered his head,
and reverently, and heedless of the pelting of the
rain and the jeers of bystanders, stood for an hour,
as a sort of penance for a single act — the only one
he remembered — of contumacy towards his parent.

There is something touching in this, and evincive
of a sincere soul. Webster had equal strength of
filial tenderness. Writing only six years ago from
the paternal acres in 2STew Hampshire, which were
then his own, he affectingly recounts how his father
proposed to educate him, a raw lad, by his own toils
and self-denial, and how, overcome by this mark of
generosity, he wept: and adds, “I cry now at the
recollection.” Then his noble father, as he then
looked, seems to stand before him ; and his brother
Ezekiel, too, the finest human form he ever saw, ma¬
jestic in his very coffin, “the white forehead, the
tinged cheek, and the complexion clear as heavenly
light.” “ The grave,” he exclaims, “ has closed upon
him, as it has on all my brothers and sisters. We

326 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

sliall soon be all together. But this is melancholy,
and I leave it. Dear, dear kindred blood, how I love
you all l ”

There is a certain likeness in the very circum¬
stances attendant on the closing days of the lives of
these two men. Johnson had a mortal fear of death
and the grave, and to his mind it seemed better to
bear the ills he had — and very sore had the burden
grown — than “fly to others that he knew not of.”
When the physician scarified his swollen legs more
gently than he thought fitting for the emergency, he
cried out, “ Cut deeper, deeper ; I want life ; and
you are afraid of giving me pain, which I do not re¬
gard.” Webster exhibited a more uniform tran¬
quillity; and his reply to the kind physician who
offered him a palliative, “ Something more, Doctor,
more ; I want restoration,” seems the involuntary
expression of lingering fondness for scenes and
treasures he was soon to leave for ever. Johnson, a
few days before his death, oppressed with gloom and
despondency, which were constitutional to him,
questioned Dr. Brocklesby as he entered the sick
room, in the words of one of his poetical favorites,

“ ‘ Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER. 327

And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,

Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart ? ’ ”

And was much gratified with the Doctor’s ready
answer and application :

“ ‘ - Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.’ M

Webster murmured indistinctly the words, “Poet,
poetry — Gray, Gray,” and seemed to find pleasure in
hearing some stanzas read from the noblest elegy in
the language, always a favorite with him, whose fine
imagery in his “ Historical Discourse” he has so aptly
characterized. Johnson’s trust in the Crucified for
pardon and salvation, his devout conversations,
fervent prayers, his calmness and resignation, becom¬
ing greater as he neared the “ bourne,” are well set
forth by the greatest of biographers, and forcibly
suggest Young’s picture, beginning with “The cham¬
ber where the good man meets his fate.” Webster
surveyed the approach of his mortal hour with un¬
disturbed serenity ; waited patiently for the last sands
to subside ; fervently commended himself to his
Father’s protection and mercy through Jesus Christ;
gave precise directions about his worldly affairs, and

328 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEK.

his parting adieus and counsels to his friends, and
found, as his physician* suggested, “Thy rod, thy
rod — thy staff, thy staff,” the very prop he wanted
to comfort him in passing through the V alley of the
Shadow of Death. Viewing the great achievements
of his life, and its striking close in a death so tran¬
quil and sublime, at his own home, surrounded by
loving friends and endeared associations, it is fitting
to apply to himself the quotation he so felicitously
applied to another : Felix non tantum claritate vitm
sed etiam mortis ojoportunitate.

But while such points of coincidence and resem¬
blance between these great men are discernible, it
must he remarked that there are discernible, too,
points of dissimilarity, and points wherein the one
rises above the other. Johnson had more literature,
and a scholarship more varied and extensive ; his

* Theodore Parker, in his discourse on the death of Webster, amid
much erroneous and exaggerated statement, and views distorted by
the intense hatred felt by the ultra-abolitionists towards Mr. Web¬
ster since his speech of March 7th, 1850, has some powerful and
graphic passages, and a few of rare beauty, as the following: “The
kindly doctor sought to sweeten the bitterness of death with medi¬
cated skill ; and when that failed he gave the great man a little
manna that fell down from heaven a thousand years ago, and the
shepherd David gathered it up and kept it in a Psalm: “The Lord
is my shepherd, &c.”

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER. 329

acquaintance with the Latin particularly enabling
him to converse in it fluently and well. Literature
was his profession, his passion, and his joy, and the
energy and enthusiasm with which he pursued it,
bore for him golden fruits. Webster knew the Latin
passably, and a few of his favorite authors, whom he
was fond of quoting, perhaps thoroughly ; but legal
science and civil science received his chief care, and
his attainments in both placed him not only high
above Johnson, but high above the highest of his
contemporaries. Had Johnson turned his attention
to the law or to statesmanship, he had qualities that
would have insured him rare excellence and distinc¬
tion. And Webster, beyond doubt, with his well-
known tastes, had attained -high eminence, if his
powers had been devoted chiefly to literature. The
occasional excursions of each into the field whereon
the other had won his proudest triumphs, show what
they were respectively capable of doing and might
have done, had their course been guided by a differ¬
ent star. Johnson’s manners were rough, his person
ungainly, his countenance stolid, his speech abrupt,
his temperament melancholic ; his religion had a
tinge of superstition which sometimes resulted in
grotesque and amusing exhibitions ; and such was
his susceptibility to prejudice, and the sway it oc-

330 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

casionaliy exerted over him, that the strong arm
which would have annihilated an opponent, felt para¬
lyzed when in the act to strike. W ebster’s manners,
person, countenance, speech, temperament, and re¬
ligious idiosyncrasy were all the reverse of these,
while mere prejudice could never warp his judgment
by “ the tithe of a hair,” nor give occasion for any
to say that a jaundiced eye led him to see objects
distorted, or mistake the unreal for the true. John¬
son’s style, in his most ambitious and what he con¬
sidered his best writing, was measured, pompous, and
elaborately artificial, composed largely of words of
“ learned length and thundering sound,” adopt¬
ed from a foreign lineage and detracting from
the grace and power of his compositions. Crowds
of imitators toiling to follow in his footsteps, show
the vitiating influence on taste of a single great and
perverted example. Webster expressed himself in
language never open to such obj ection ; ample, con¬
cise, forcible, all-expressing, its staple being the pic¬
turesque and sinewy Anglo-Saxon, which has a flow
and a music, and a directness, and a native charm
and vigor about it which no imported vocabulary
can ever reach. Johnson loved the big city’s walls,
and smoke, and turmoil, and was careless of the
sight of green fields and springing wild flowers, and

SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTER. 331

of nature’s varied and lavishly displayed finery,
while Webster loved in the country

“ The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,”

and loved to look upon the mad gambols and hear
the roar of old ocean, and draw inspiration from —
But we break off abruptly, aware that we have
drawn so largely upon the good nature of readers
and columns, that this matter of unlikeness may well
bear to be cut short. We only pause to add, that it
has been better for the world that these great men
have lived in it. Their sentiments speak, their
principles speak, their works and example speak, and
will long speak with the authority that shall com¬
mand attention and respect. And if what Carlyle
says of Johnson, whom he calls “ the largest soul in
all England ; a giant, invincible soul, a true man’s,”
may be received, that “he was prophet to his
people, and preached to them, as all like him always
do, in a world where much is to be done and little
is to be known, see how you will do it,” we may
without presumption place Webster in the same
category of prophets. ETo great man need wish a
nobler epitaph than this : “ While he lived, he strug¬
gled to do faithfully the work assigned him : being
dead, his deeds and example lead others to struggle

332 SAMUEL JOHNSON AND DANIEL WEBSTEK.

to do likewise.” Both Johnson and Webster we
believe well entitled to such a memorial. It will
speak eloquently to the coming years, long after the
voice of “ storied urn and animated bust ” shall have
become silent.

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

Frederick Schlegel, in his Lectures on the His¬
tory of Literature, notices suggestively the grave
defect, palpable in the histories of Gibbon and
Hume, and apparent in most others, of severing his¬
tory from philosophy. Instead of separating them
they should be kept, as far as possible, united. For,
he contends, “ history without philosophy is merely
a dead heap of useless materials, devoid of internal
unity, proper purpose, or worthy result.” The mate¬
rials of history, drawn from whatever sources, and
reduced to some order, and “ made up into loose por¬
traits of the fisher, the hunter, the emigration of the
early nations, and the different conditions of agricul¬
tural, pastoral, and commercial peoples,” are usually
dignified by being called “ A view of the history of
mankind.” Interesting and important as the record
of the progress and habits of our species may prove
to be, “ how little,” he adds, “ is gained by all this as
to the only real question, an answer to which should
form the proper history of mankind ! How little do
we learn as to the origin and proper state, or the

334 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

present lamentable and fallen condition of human
nature. The answer to this question, which is the
essence of all history, can only be supplied by reli¬
gion and philosophy — that philosophy , I mean ,
which has no other ambition and no other end but
to support religion

Were a similar test applied to the work of fiction,
a still more glaring absence of that true philosophy,
whose end is to support religion, would at once
appear. Nor is there any reason, in the nature of
the case, why such deficiency should here exist.
There is urgent reason, on the contrary, why this
class of compositions should be marked by a high
moral purpose, and pervaded by a genuinely philo¬
sophic spirit.

The fictitious work has stronger fascination for
ordinary readers than the historical narrative, and
for obvious reasons. The gay colors with which its
pages are adorned, the free and varied play of the
delineated passions, the minute drawing out of cha¬
racter in its wide and multiform ramifications, the
excitement attendant upon the gradual unfolding of a
skilfully wrought and incident-abounding plot, the
intermixture of dialogue with the narrative and
descriptive, joined to its simpler and more engaging
style, unite to invest it with an interest rarely pos-

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

335

sessed by the more formal and unimaginative history.
As a consequence, it has a wider circulation. It
finds its way to homes rarely lightened by the rays
proceeding from the graver and more dignified trea¬
tise. It comes in direct contact with the popular
mind and heart, embracing classes than whom none
stand in more need of faithful moral instruction — the
teachings of a true philosophy. Its influence for
good or evil — supposing it a work of real power —
must, of course, be on a scale proportioned to the
number of readers, and the hold it secures on their
sympathies. Thus it is easy to see what wide-reach¬
ing and momentous interests are interwoven with the
character of the fictitious work. Such work should
therefore have a high moral purpose, and be charac¬
terized by no tortuous and diseased philosophy, to
warp or inoculate with false principles the minds
coming in contact with it, becoming thus a bane
rather than a blessing to society.

It may be said, indeed, that the pages of a romance
are hardly the place where a reader expects to find
the Christian moralities, as such, exhibited and
enjoined. The religious novel — if this expression be
not a solecism — has rarely enjoyed the highest popu¬
larity. Of the excellent publications of this class,
written for the most part by persons of the gentler

336 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

sex, very few have succeeded in reaching the dignity
of classics, and have been forced to rest content with
a lukewarm approval and a narrow circulation.
Whether there is supposed to he a natural discor¬
dance between the direct teaching of the Christian
charities and works of the imagination, or whether
the readers who turn eagerly to fictitious composi¬
tions form, for the most part, a class of persons im¬
patient of Christian lessons, or who, if they must be
taught religiously, decline such instruction save from
those whose profession and office give them autho¬
rity to teach, we shall not undertake to decide. It
is certain that the religious element, strictly so called,
has been considered rather a hindrance than a help
to the popularity of the work of fiction. And those
authors who have most adroitly catered for the pub¬
lic taste, have taken special pains not to overburden
either their dramatis personal or their own reflections
with too much of the religious materiel. With a
wisdom and perspicacity which the children of this
world, in their generation, seldom lack, they have
adapted their books to the known predilections as
well as the mental aptitudes of those whom they de¬
signed to attract and amuse.

The religious character often stands as the syno¬
nym for cant, prudery, fanaticism, Puritanism, and

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 337

other ill-favored but significant epithets, which,
though making capital subjects for satire and carica¬
ture, are not well fitted for sober representation. It
is not their business, the novelist will argue, to teach
religion, or recommend its peculiar sentiments. Reli¬
gion is taught professedly by the preachers, and
written out in many a grave sermon or heavier
octavo, and all who desire it can at any time hear
the one or fall asleep composedly over the other.
But whep. readers take up a tale, they do not expect
to be lectured didactically upon the rigid prescrip¬
tions of the Christian code, and the attempt to do so
is apt to be regarded as an encroachment on the pro¬
vince and prerogatives of others.

Thus the novel, from its associations and very
name, would seem to forbid its being regarded as a
vehicle of religious inculcation. Its work, indeed,
has too often been the very reverse. It has been the
vehicle — and alas, has not ceased to be so — of scat¬
tering the loosest morality, the most depraving and
poisonous principles. Rot only has it been such in
an age when literature was most corrupt, but when
it was comparatively pure ; not only in the age of
Wycherly and Congreve, but in that of Johnson and
Goldsmith. Even in this latter age the novel was
marked by a character which rendered its introduc-

15

338 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

tion to a virtuous family dangerous. Frances Bur¬
ney published her “ Evelina” anonymously. Her
father, Dr. Burney, having read it, and little sus¬
pecting that its authorship lay with his demure and
bashful daughter, warmly recommended the book to
her, as among the very few tales of the period that
might safely be brought within the household circle.
“ The Vicar of Wakefield,” the product of the same
age, is another of this class. It breathes a purity of
sentiment, and teaches a lofty morality, which ren¬
der it well worthy of commendation, and to have
fixed its hold on the popular heart through all the
following years. There is no tale of the period,
scarcely of any period, in which the religious element,
so prominently and largely infused, so inwrought into
the very texture of the work, has enjoyed a popu-r
larity so cordial and undiminished. The good vicar,
unjustly imprisoned amongst hardened felons, preach¬
ing to them of a Sabbath, pointing out to them the
fruits of their follies and crimes, the need and the
way of reformation, urging upon them with the
same fidelity he would have used in his own pulpit,
the laws they had violated, the duties they had ne¬
glected, the Father’s love which they had spurned,
but which might be won back to raise them to peace,
competence, and honor among men, and the tears of

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 339

penitence which gushed from eyes long unused to
weep, as the sympathetic accents of the good man
swept chords of feeling which vicious indulgence
had long kept unstrung, presents one of the most
exquisite and touching pictures to be found in the
whole range of fiction. There are a few kindred
touches in Madame De Stael’s “ Corinne” — the pas¬
sage, for example, recounting the religious service on
the deck of a man-of-war- — but less minutely drawn
out and felicitously executed. These cases are
stated as exceptions, not often found, at least during
the period mentioned. While the novel has been
employed by the unscrupulous as the channel for
conveying a lax and often positively depraving mora¬
lity, few authors have had the boldness to give their
pages a tone so strongly religious, as to run the pos¬
sible hazard of forfeiting their favor with the public.

But the very success of the Yicar of Wakefield,
and some fictions of kindred purity of tone, proves
the groundlessness of such fears. Granting, however,
these fears to have been real — granting that religious
teaching, strictly so called, were something out of
place in the fictitious work, and that its prominent
presence there might have a damaging effect upon the
book’s circulation, is a writer therefore justified in
introducing corrupt and demoralizing principles, and,

340 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

for the purpose of securing a wide sale, pandering to
the coarse tastes and lower instincts of man — the
animal? Or is he justified, while studious not to
offend by direct coarseness, a more refined taste, or
virtuous sensibility, to ignore all religion by carica¬
turing it in the persons of its professors, or letting
no opportunity slip to deal out to it a covert stab,
while his honeyed accents all the while lull fear and
suspicion to sleep? This is a question in which
society, through all its extent, has a vital interest.
Works of fiction will be read. And where their
author is a man of genius, and possesses, with Mr.
Dickens, the faculty of charming all circles, it is
clear that a moral influence of some sort must be ex¬
erted. The strength of this influence, as has been
remarked, will be proportioned to the number of
readers and the hold taken on their sympathies. The
pages read may be negatively correct. The writer
may steer clear of open depravations, may insinuate
no odious principles, and yet fail to benefit society.
He may tickle and amuse his readers, may satirize
fashionable follies, may expose individual selfishness,
and tyranny, and social abuses, and crimes. All this
is no contemptible effect. But it is slight and tran¬
sient, compared with that, consisting in sound and
wholesome instruction, based on true and fixed prin-

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

341

ciples — principles not conventional or earthborn, but
derived from a divine philosophy. Though religion
he not expressly taught in the work of fiction, there
may yet be a teaching akin to it, making some ap¬
proximation to it, and running in the same direction.
The nearer the approach is to that high and im¬
movable standard, which for eighteen hundred years
has commanded the reverence and admiration of the
world, and the further the remove from the noisome
maxims, to expose and rectify which the Christian
rules were given to man, the purer must be the
pages of the book, and the more benign their in¬
fluence.

A teaching of this kind, in some degree, no novel¬
ists, of this age at least, who value their own repu¬
tation, and the respect of the public, dare utterly
despise. Nay, the present period promises to inau¬
gurate the revolution of making the fictitious work
evangelical in its tone and teaching. And the evi¬
dence is already furnished, that the strictly religious
element in a work of genius and power, if not a
recommendation, is certainly no barrier to its wide
popularity.* So it should be. The world cannot be

* This is clearly shown by the unparalleled circulation of “ Uncle
Tom’s Cabin,” than which no book of fiction is more decided and
earnest in the presentation of evangelical sentiments, and in setting

342 CHAELES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

prevented from reading with zest the strong works
of the imagination. These have ever asserted, and
will assert, their mastery, till the human constitution
is radically changed. What is needed and should he
demanded is, that such works he not only tinctured,
but imbued, with the lofty virtues and lovely charities
which give lustre to character, and are drawn from
the purest source ever opened. And while we bar
from the domestic hearth, as we would the plague,
that noxious literature which makes a mock of vir¬
tue and contaminates whatever it touches, we may
pause before we frown or look unkindly on that
other literature which, bathed in the “holy light,
offspring of Heaven, first-born,5’ exposes vice to the
detestation it deserves, and invests the forms of
Higlit, Truth, and Honor, with robes of simple grace,
which owe none of their beauty to foreign tawdry
decoration.

As a teacher of the lower moralities, Mr. Dickens
occupies a respectable position, and within a certain
range his influence must be considered salutary. As

forth religion as inseparable from moral excellence. Miss Wether-
ell, in her “ Wide, Wide World,” has successfully done the same
thing, while other popular tales of kindred tone and spirit, from
female pens mainly, have helped to explode the fallacy that re¬
ligious sentiments, strictly, are out of place in the work of fiction.

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY 343

a writer affording amusement to his readers, and in
no small measure either, his rank is high. The
mirth-moving parts of his stories are usually inoffen¬
sive, and pervaded by a genial good-nature, to
which the heart of the reader insensibly warms.
This inoffensiveness, however, is not uniform, and to
raise a good laugh he does not scruple, occasionally,
to shock the sensibilities of serious readers by pro¬
fane allusions. Thus Mr. Weller senior, speaking to
his hopeful son “ Sammy,” of Mrs. Weller the second,
some of whose associates and opinions did not meet
with his fatherly approval, says : —

“ She’s got hold o’ some inwention for grown up peo¬
ple being born again, Sammy, the new birth I thinks
they calls it. I should wery much like to see that
system in haction, Sammy. I should wery much like
to see your mother-in-law born again. Wouldn’t I
put her out to nurse ? ”

The humor of this passage will not redeem or
excuse its profanity and irreverence. It may fairly
be asked, what confidence any reader can feel, that
one who can thus ridicule and trifle with subjects
so grave and sacred, will not prove a treacherous
guide in other cases, and constantly lead astray?
Mr. Dickens finds, too, in the clergy, and in bene¬
volent associative enterprises, ready materials for

344 CHAELES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

mirth and caricature, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins
standing as a general exponent of the former, the
“ Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand Junction
Ebenezer Temperance Association,’7 serving to point
the finger of ridicule at the latter. In truth, the
great Temperance movement of the age, whose
benign effects, and on a broad scale, are transparent
as light, may be fairly said to be hooted off the
stage, so far as Mr. Dickens has the power to do it.
For the drinking usages of society, from its lowest to
its highest grade, from the unfledged stripling to the
grave dignitary and hoary patriarch, find nowhere a
more uniform, earnest, and almost enthusiastic advo¬
cacy; while never do we hear a sober monition
whispered : “Look not upon the wine when it is red.”
"Were an idea of the clerical order to be gathered
from his pages, hardly a man among them would be
found simple-minded, laborious, self-denying, and
wholly devoted to the Master’s cause, but selfish,
sensuous, and hypocritical, and deserving of contempt
rather than honor.

A similar disingenuousness is betrayed by Mr.
Thackeray. He avails himself of an absurd caricature
of the “ Clapham Sect,” and of an elaborate though
hard-drawn portrait of Rev. Charles Honeyman, to
bestow subtle thrusts at evangelical sentiments and

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 345

practice. The best commentary on the real worth of
snch sentiments and practice is found in a few of Mr.
Thackeray’s own portraits. The mother of Pendennis
and her sweet ward Laura Bell, afterwards Mrs. Pen¬
dennis, are instances in point. No finer pictures ap¬
pear npon his canvas. But the symmetrical vir¬
tues, the winning moral grace and loveliness, which
give such attraction to their character, spring from
the very religion elsewhere decried in the persons of
its disloyal professors. But inconsistency in the
novelist is, we suppose, as little marvellous or cen¬
surable, as those “ licenses” which the poets some¬
times indulge, so necessary on occasion to afford
proper scope and freedom to their soaring genius.

Mr. Dickens confesses few obligations to the
Christian religion. His best characters are possessed
of virtuous principles, and are invested with beauti¬
ful qualities, and because thus furnished and adorned,
they challenge our admiration, but quite irrespective
of the source whence alone virtue and moral excel¬
lence in their highest exercise can spring. The light
from heaven to guide the pathway and purify the
mind by its clear radiance — the divine grace to re¬
cover the fallen, and make the hands strong in resist¬
ing temptation, and doing works of charity and
goodness — the love of God as a predominating

15*

346 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

principle to life-consecration in His service, and as a
necessary basis of all true benevolence — all real sym¬
metry and loveliness of character — are nowhere ex¬
pressly recognised and marked in this author’s pages.
For aught that Mr. Dickens teaches to the contrary,
a heathen, without other lamp than that of nature,
might be as richly adorned with every virtue and
moral endowment as any other. There is a passage
indeed in “ Dombey and Son ” in which appears a
halting, half-way acknowledgment of the worth and
importance of the sacred Scriptures in soothing a sin¬
ner’s last hour of earth, and as such a passage is rare
exceedingly, it deserves to be quoted.

A wretched outcast from society, whose most
familiar companions for bitter years had been infamy
and woe, but whose last moments are cheered by
pity and tenderness, makes a final request of the
ministering angel beside her couch —

“ Flarriet complied, and read — read the eternal
book for all the weary and heavy-laden, for all the
wretched fallen and neglected of this earth — read the
blessed history in which the blind, lame, palsied
beggar, the criminal, the woman stained with shame,
the shunned of all our dainty clay, has each a portion,
that no human pride, indifference, or sophistry,
through all the ages that this world shall last, can

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 347

take away, or by the thousandth atom of a grain re¬
duce — read the ministry of Him who, through this
round of human life, and all its hopes and griefs from
birth to death, from infancy to age, had sweet com¬
passion for and interest, in every scene and stage, in
every suffering and sorrow. * * * She laid her

hand upon her breast, murmuring the sacred name
that had been read to her, and life passed from her
face like light removed.”

This is the nearest approach that we recollect in
all this writer’s volumes to a distinct acknowledgment
that hope and comfort to the dying really spring from
the “ eternal book,” and from Him who constitutes
its central sun and glory — the recognition of one
passing into the spirit- world finding some ground for
expectation of the future happiness in that Hame
alone revealed under heaven as a sure resting-place
for the feet when about to step from world to world.
That Name indeed — bald and infrequent as is Mr.
Dickens’s acknowledgment of it — is not only the
foundation of the soul’s confidence when the bands
which bind it to earth are loosening, it is the foun¬
dation as well and source of all those bright and
beautiful graces and charities which render human
character most amiable, and which Mr. Dickens
knows so well how to exhibit effectively without, at

348 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY,

the same time, referring their existence and exercise
to Him whose gift they are, and whose spirit they
dimly reflect. For what, after all, are those lessons
which the most estimable and faultless characters
ever portrayed by human pen are supposed to teach
and exemplify? Are they not lessons feebly and
afar off reflected from those given out with all the
emphasis of the most authoritative teaching in the
world, illustrated by an example perfectly upright
and stainless ?

To cite a few instances. Do filial piety and tender¬
ness, strong under every discouragement and temp¬
tation, as in Little Hell, leading forth her aged and
dependent grandsire, becoming his protector, walking
by his side with blistered feet and wearied frame,
and showing an unfaltering devotion, a precocious
heroism, amid the sorest hardships and trials, melt
us into tears ? All the qualities of her beautiful
reverence, fidelity, and devotion are marked, not
simply in outline but detail, in the Christian teach¬
ings, and enjoined by the loving voice of Him who
amid his own death pangs commended a mother to
the care of a faithful disciple. Are the social virtues
attractively exhibited, love and truth guarding the
portals of the domestic sanctuary, the soft answer
that turneth away wrath, made the assuager of or

CHAKLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 349

the barrier to, the strifes and discords which some¬
times disturb the peace of families, the endearing
tenderness which children claim, and which to the
right-minded it is happiness as well as duty to render,
invested with charms which no counterfeit can reach
— is the gentle working of the great law of kindness
which stamps beauty upon the homeliest faces, and
makes the rudest habitation bright and cheerful, so
pictured that we feel our hearts warm towards the
portrait, and our nature exalted by the contem¬
plation? There is nothing in all this foreign from
the spirit or even letter of the Christian teachings,
but everything rather is pointed out therein, and
made matter of express injunction. Is vice set forth
in colors dark, forbidding, horrible — the fierce greed
of gain, as in Ralph ISfickleby and Arthur Gride,
subjecting every generous impulse, every kindly in¬
stinct and sentiment to a single towering and master
passion — the hateful character of selfishness, pride,
arrogance, and stubborn self-will, which feels no
sympathy for others’ welfare, and will hear no advice
and brook no opposition, as in Mr. Dombey — the in¬
trigues and duplicity of the bold bad schemer, whose
crafty devices, as in James Carker and Uriah Heep,
end in disappointment, exposure, and merited retri¬
bution — the naturallv downward course of vice, when

4/ '

350 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

the restraints of virtue are overleaped, and the rein
is fairly given to lust, and the heart grows at length
wholly depraved, urging the victim to association
with the scum and offscouring of mankind, to burrow
in foul dens of infamy, wdiere he may find shelter
from justice, or a congenial haunt for his restless
spirit, and impelling him to crimes which darkness
alone can hear to look upon, and the hearing of
which makes the ears to tingle, as in the case of the
monster Sikes and the Jew Fagin, and their ghastly
crew of kindred spirits — it is still in the “ eternal
book,” where the way of the transgressor is pro¬
nounced hard, and the wages of sin shown to he
shame and anguish, and remorse and death. Are
honor, magnanimity, philanthropy, charity towards
the great brotherhood of man, in the humblest of
their forms, the most modest and unpretending of
their manifestations, — whether seen in rescuing the
oppressed from the power that tramples on and
grinds, in exposing and reforming social or edu¬
cational abuses, or in the loving, patient assiduity
that watches beside the pallet of the outcast and de¬
spised, or speaking words of encouragement and
hope to the most scorned and lowest fallen of all the
species, pointing them the while to the way which
leads back the wandering feet to the abodes of recti-

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 351

tilde and peace — whether seen in showing pity to the
widow and orphan, sheltering the houseless, giving
bread to the hungry, employment to those anxious to
obtain it, and, with a wide-exploring benevolence,
seeking out objects of distress from the lanes and
by-places where sin and misery hide themselves, —
bidding those found not to despair, as though vice
and woe were the inevitable conditions of the present
constitution of society, and hope of better days
hopeless ; hut assuring them that the path of escape
from crime, shame, and rags is open, and God’s aid
pledged to the penitent who are yet resolute to sur¬
mount the difficulties seeming to bar their return to
virtue, and will make their determined struggles suc¬
cessful — are all these pleasant sights to see, prompt¬
ing admiration and sympathy ? The Book of Truth
exhibits and commends every such virtue, charity,
self-denial, and high purpose, and illustrates their
importance and value by examples and apologues, as
apposite as they are touching and forcible. In a
word, there is in Mr. Dickens’s hooks no single ex¬
cellent quality or admirable virtue, whose exercise
attracts love and impresses its beauty on the heart,
that is not enjoined expressly or by implication in
the Christian Scriptures. !Sror is there any vice,
crime, dishonor, or meanness, exciting horror or dis-

352 CHAKLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

gust in the reader, which is not with equal clearness
pointed at, frowned upon, and interdicted. The
graces and lovelinesses with which he captivates onr
hearts are transcripts — tame and inadequate copies
— of the noblest original. The loathsome vices and
deformities which shock and horrify, are the con¬
trasts which set the principal figures in a fairer light,
and invest them with additional splendor.

This, however, the reader is not told, as the plot
of the story unfolds before him. The author’s por¬
traits, for anything the reader is informed to the con¬
trary, are not simply his own creations absolutely,
but owe nothing of their life-like truth to any copy,
sketch, or hint derived elsewhere. Mr. Dickens pre¬
sents us with the qualities and effects of virtue and
goodness, without naming or ascribing efficacy to
their origin and cause. ITe displays the fair fruits
of the tree, without indicating the soil that nourishes
the wide-spreading roots, which in turn sustain and
strengthen the trunk and branches, conveying life
and health to every part. As though these fruits
could ever have been matured if the roots were torn
up, or failed to find nourishment in a parched and
barren soil, or the bark were cut round and round,
through which the life-circulation is carried to the
extremities. As though the graces and charities

i

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

353

which adorn character, could flourish and he fruitful
without being grounded in right principles, or fostered
as well as bestowed by the plastic hand of the Great
Author and Benefactor.

It is this failure to connect effect with cause, to
refer virtue to its proper source, that constitutes a
grave defect, a positive disfiguration, in this writer’s
otherwise charming volumes — a disfiguration, how¬
ever, which his hooks share with too many of their
class. The impression is apt to be left on the mind
of readers, that goodness, in its highest and most
varied exercise, may exist and he fruitfully exerted
independently — without recognition of the necessity
of God’s gracious aid to mould, direct, reform, con¬
trol, and beautify. Such teaching is as preposterous
as it is false. Without God’s smiles, and succoring,
interposing hand, the exercise of the highest humani¬
ties is an impossibility ; and this truth, we insist,
ought to be stated, not in dark hints, or cold and
ambiguous generalities, but boldly and unequivocally.

Mr. Dickens would have detracted nothing from
the interest of his volumes, but would have immea¬
surably increased their wholesome tone and influence
with all classes of readers, had he displayed brightly
the connexion between goodness and its cause. How
palpable is this connexion, and how pleasant a thing

354 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

to acknowledge it. The idea of a benign and mighty
Killing Power compassing onr way, guiding our foot¬
steps, sheltering from harm, inspiring good resolves
and aiding to execute them, announcing the wise and
holy laws which regulate His administration, and
which encourage every excellence and frown upon
every vice — is one that all men need to have con¬
stantly propounded and enforced. The pages of the
fictitious work may derive lustre and dignity from its
clear and earnest presentation. As it is, by extolling
these nameless virtues and charities, and running
them out into such a wide variety of comely forms,
exciting thereby the admiration of countless readers
— not for the characters abstractly, but the virtues
which adorn them — Mr. Dickens not only betrays
obligations, which he seems reluctant to acknowledge,
to the great Christian standard, but pays an involun¬
tary tribute to its peerless majesty and worth.

A very conspicuous feature in Mr. Dickens’s vo¬
lumes, is their wide and comprehensive humanity.
This communicates to them a strongly-marked indi¬
viduality, and invests them with a decided moral
influence. But what is humanity without religious
philosophy f What is love to man, if disconnected,
or not springing, from love to God ? The Gospel
connects them indissolubly. But the humanitarians

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 855

of the age would make the highest exercise of bene¬
volence and love to our neighbor to be self-existent,
or independent of a higher and holier principle, per¬
vading the heart and shaping the purposes of men.
This is not only to ignore religious philosophy, but all
philosophy worthy of the name. It is absurd as well
as unpliilosophical. The truest and highest humani¬
ty that man can exercise, is but the reflection of that
which lie whose blessed feet trod the hills and val¬
leys of Palestine, on a sublime mission of love and
kindness to the race, taught in precepts graven on
human hearts, and illustrated by many vivid exam¬
ples besides the melting story of the Good Samaritan.

W e live in a wayward and selfish world ; and God
knows how much less prone man is to weep with
them that weep, than toil and struggle for honor and
emolument. The history of every day’s life-struggle
is one in which hard and unmitigated selfishness co¬
vers over with bold and glaring characters most of
the pages, concealing the fainter records traced there¬
on through human tears. The Son of Man came to
reform this selfishness ; to abase the proud ; rebuke
the tyrant ; bid the oppressed and outcast to hope ;
and to extend a kindly hand to aid them in their
struggles to rise. He came to preach good will, cha¬
rity, hope, and help for all sighing and struggling

356 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

souls. What he preached he practised, and hade all
men to practise who would be his disciples — the dis¬
ciples thus being like their Master, following in His
footsteps, reflecting His spirit, ever ready to a do good
and communicate,5' living to love mankind, and loving
them, because the essence and sum of practical Chris¬
tianity is the true heaven-born “ Charity 55 without
which all theory is worthless, and faith and hope,
both in themselves, and in the success of self-support¬
ing reformatory enterprises, “ as sounding brass or a
tinkling cymbal.”

There are few bosoms so utterly deserted by the
Divinity as to be beyond the reach of humane and
generous impulses. Touch the proper chord, and a
responsive vibration ensues. Dramatic art and ima¬
ginative power can sometimes compass such effect
where other methods fail. The scrambling, pushing
throng, as it rushes by, proclaims the towering sway
of selfishness, and the need to have lessons proceed
from somewhere that shall withdraw the mind from
looking supremely and always at self-interest, and
direct it to the welfare of the species. Such direc¬
tion, in such cases, the fictitious work may give ; and
with more certainty than the teachings of the pro¬
fessed moralist, which often fail to reach minds and
homes to which the popular story finds ready access.

CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 357

It is unwise, therefore, to denounce the work of ima¬
gination as such, and count it as an enemy. What
but a fictitious work is the Pilgrim’s Progress ? Its
characters are fictitious characters, and its whole
texture and framework sparkle with the gems and
gold of an exuberant fancy. Its beautiful lessons
are conveyed through a medium gorgeous as an ori¬
ental landscape. Though their attractiveness is thus
increased, their force is not diminished. And who,
besides the Devil, and they who serve him best,
would wish this marvellous book other than it is, or
its circulation curtailed, or its mighty grasp on the
mind and heart of the nations relaxed ? Who does
not feel the warmest affection towards its author, for
the delight, mingled with highest instruction, which
he has afforded successive ages, together with grati¬
tude to Him who endowed the “ immortal tinker ”
with a genius so extraordinary , an d made it so potent
an ally in the cause of religion and truth ?

There are those in the countless habitations lighted
by the lamp of genius, who sadly need the teaching
that shall refine, and exalt, and prompt to worthy
purposes and deeds. Why should barriers be mo¬
rosely raised to the entrance of lessons, coming though
they do in fictitious garb, calculated to stimulate in¬
dolence into activity, teach the cold heart to relax

358 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.

into kindliness, induce sympathy for the children of
misfortune and misery, for those in bonds as hound
and suffering with them, lead virtue not to scorn and
shun, hut pity and, if possible, reclaim the outcast
and crime-sunken, and inculcate that the end of each
well-regulated life always is, to love God and, as far
as the willing hands can, to serve Him, by doing
good to His creatures.

Such lessons, made captivating by the graceful
embellishments of the fancy, and the interest belong¬
ing to dramatic representation, will enter no home to
scathe and deprave. If true lessons, founded on
principles and proposing ends divinely sanctioned,
why should they he denied a hearty hospitality?
The popularity of Mr. Dickens secures him an au¬
dience, whenever he chooses to speak, of thousands
multiplied by thousands, and his voice, therefore, is
one of power. The influence of his utterances is
spread far and wide, and effects must have been pro¬
duced. That he has done good negatively, by keep¬
ing his pages free from downright depravations — that
he has done good positively, by the delineation of
what has tended to make vice odious, and virtue
comely, and philanthropy engaging — may be readily
accorded. But we are bound to aver that he has
done harm also, in just so far as he has left unac-

CHAJRLES DICKENS AND HIS PHILOSOPHY 359

knowledged, and kept out of sight, the Divine power
and grace as the mainspring and support of human
charities, and made earth-derived principles and hu¬
manities a satisfying rule of action and life. The
work is yet to come from his pen, in which the true
beauty and integrity of character, and the genuine
charities which illustrate it, in their proper supports
and dependencies, shall be portrayed. Should he
favor his readers with such, he may yet go down to
coming times, not as one who has afforded amuse¬
ment merely, or roused indignation, or excited horror
or disgust, or dissolved audiences in sympathetic tears,
but as one worthy to be classed amongst the real and
enduring benefactors of his kind.

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION.

A book which, within nine or ten months of its
issuing, has realized a sale of one million of copies,
or upwards, must needs be an extraordinary book.
Pointing to its laurels, it may laugh at the pains¬
taking criticism which seeks to parade before the
public a few minor defects of plot, character, inci¬
dent, or style. A good book, like a good man, is
very likely to be marked by blemishes, more or less
prominent. But it hardly deserves, any more than
the good man deserves, that a few spots, which,
without a very close and microscopic scrutiny, would
be almost undistinguishable, should be swelled into
such dimensions as to overshadow a whole cluster of
beauties and excellences. To our eye the good
book and the good man shine with the brighter
lustre, because of here and there an imperfection.
The contrasted effect of light and shade renders the
light sweeter and more refreshing. What is natural
to man — error and infirmity — admonishes us never
to expect spotlessness in the fairest development and
most harmonious proportions of human character.

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION.

36 1

Is it marvellous that one, whose “ best estate is
vanity,” should he the producer of works which pro¬
claim the conditions annexed to a fallen, and morally
if not mentally, diseased humanity? Would it not
be marvellous, indeed, were the pages of the most
excellent book entirely free from the defects which
in a degree shade, if they do not mar, the loveliest
and most faultless characters that have adorned the
world ?

The book of Mrs. Stowe, which has made so broad
a mark upon the face of society, far and wide, has
its defects, like others of its class. It is far from
being a perfect book. A captious, cynical criticism
has detected scores of fancied imperfections. A
candid criticism has pointed out some real ones.
Among this latter class it has not been discovered,
so far as we are aware, that the book justly ranks
with that large class of fictitious works which pan¬
der to the lowest and worst passions of the heart;
works which make vice attractive, decry virtuous
principles, inculcate the most pernicious moral les¬
sons, sneer with the air of a Mephistopheles at the
social and domestic charities, and aim to undermine
the pillars which uphold all that is seemly and good
in human relationship. Mrs. Stowe has not contri¬
buted a rill to swell this mighty stream of demorali-

16

362 UNCLE tom’s cadin and colonization.

zation which is sweeping over the land. Her hook
is removed from this loathsome crew, far as the east
is from the west. It has no affinity with them. It
scorns and detests their society. It could not live in
their poison-spreading atmosphere. It is their ear¬
nest and determined antagonist at all points and at
all times. It is the cherished inmate of virtuous
homes. The moral and religious portion of society
have received it with no suspicion or dread that a
deadly sting lay concealed amongst its leaves. Ho
criticism has discovered that its aim is to unsettle
moral principle, relax salutary restraint, and thus
corrupt and do serious injury to those who, uncon¬
scious of harm, should explore its contents. What¬
ever other objections may he fairly alleged against
it, its being a vehicle of questionable and depraving
morality is not among the number.

Hor does this hook owe its unexampled popularity
to the fact of its being an Abolition hook. Ho judg¬
ment could he more erroneous. Scores of portraitures
have been given to the reading world, displaying
slavery in its worst characteristics and features, and
drawn in colors more deeply dark and repulsive than
any presented in Mrs. Stowe’s hook. But the sub¬
ject, however variously and vigorously treated, has
not been found sufficiently attractive to insure any

UNUL'E TDM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION. 363

fascinated or very extended attention to the several
treatises, or guard them against the fate of most of
the ephemeral publications of their class. The intrin¬
sic qualities of this hook have done for it, in spite of
its subject, what the subject simply never has done
or could do apart from the qualities. It is a hook
of extraordinary power, judged by the usual tests
which measure the excellence of this species of com¬
position. The easy march and vigor of its narrative
• — the sprightliness of the dialogue — the vivacity of
its descriptions — the naturalness of its characters,
some of which are evidently drawn from no else¬
where found copy, hut original and unique, impress
the mind instantly and indelibly by the freshness
and power of their delineation — the happy and
graceful touches by which mirth is irresistibly pro¬
voked, or “ the water made to stand in the eyes
withal,” as quaint and honest JohnBunyan expresses
it — are among the by no means common attributes
which go to explain the secret of Uncle Tom’s
fame.

But this is not all, nor the most important. The
book is instinct with a high purpose, the spirit of
which breathes from every page — the electric glow
of whose earnestness is communicated to every
reader ; while more than all, the large, hopeful

364 UNCLE tom’s cabin and colonization.

spirit of humanity pervades it palpably, whose mis¬
sion it is to weep with the weeping, to look pityingly
upon the outcast, the friendless, the lowly, the
wretched, the oppressed, of whatever color or race,
and put forth a helping hand to succor or raise the
lowest fallen and most degraded of our species. Ho
book that combines these qualities, gracefully exhi¬
bited, can fail utterly ; any hook that has them deli¬
neated with remarkable skill and fidelity to nature,
must succeed well — the precise complexion, lineage,
or affinities of the subject of it being, for the most
part, indifferent. The rude Hottentot, the Siberian
exile, the half-famished Irish tenant-at-will, the
English subterranean coal-heaver, or she whose
weary fingers keep mournful time to the “ Song of
the Shirt,” excite, through the qualities in question, as
warm an interest and rise to as lofty a stature of
heroism as the American slave.

It is absurd to object to this book that its cha¬
racters are extravagantly drawn, colored too gorgeous¬
ly, and hence unnatural, as though the masses of its
readers, pronouncing the portraits faithful by a wTell-
nigh unanimous verdict of approval, could be im¬
posed on by an exuberance of flaunting and tawdry
decorations. Is not a little fancy coloring incidental
to, if not inseparable from, the whole class of fictitious

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION. 365

compositions? Are not the most exemplary books of
this sort open in a degree to the same objection?
Is there any tale within the whole range of any
reader’s recollection, highly finished as a whole, and
having individual portraits seeming to he almost
faultless, that would not, if analyzed feature by
feature, betray the too free use of the brighter hues
and tints ? Mrs. Stowe’s book, though no exception
to the rule, is yet more life-like in its character
sketching than most moral tales admitted to virtuous
homes, whose high excellence is proclaimed by their
high and enduring popularity.

Take, for instance, the two extremes, Uncle Tom,
and Simon Legree, the extreme of black excellence,
and the extreme of white brutality. Is the former
character impossibly good? To answer “yes,” is to
reproach our Christianity, by decrying the claims it
puts forth, and the influence it asserts in transform¬
ing the principles and life of Jew and Greek, bond
and free, black and white. Its renovating power is
promised and confined to no race, no caste or color.
It may exalt the down-trodden African into a Chris¬
tian hero and martyr, as well as the man of a differ¬
ent race or skin. Only grant to Uncle Tom since¬
rity, with ordinary intelligence, and there is nothing
impossible or unprecedented about the rest. The

366 UNCLE tom’s cabin and colonization.

Power that nerved Paul in the face of stripes,
scourgings, stonings, hardships, and indignities innu¬
merable to say, “ None of these things move me,
neither count I my life dear unto myself,” can infuse
into the lowliest of his children equal energy of en¬
durance for the truth. “The African Servant,” as
he appears in the well-known tract of Legh Rich¬
mond, is a fact, not a fiction, in the whole career of
his wonderful piety. And the noble black man
whose heroism Mr. Everett characterized, in his
recent Colonization Address, as worthy of a monu¬
ment, is the real flesh and bones exponent of such as
Uncle Tom.*

So of Legree. Miscreants of his class, cold-blooded,
tyrannical, vindictive, and unrelenting, are to be found
everywhere. We have them at the North, where
public sentiment and, what with them is more potent,
the law’s impending terrors, hardly suffice to check,
and do not always repress, . their brutal rage and
remorseless violence. Make them irresponsible, and
would the “ milk of human kindness” course so gently
through their veins, as to render them less fierce
and fiendish than the blood-thirsty tyrant Simon Le¬
gree? He is simply an illustration of the corrupt
tree, bearing fruit after its kind, and the crop a

* Written in 1835.

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION.

367

luxuriant one. Surely we need not travel to the
banks of the Red River to find creditable, full-blown
specimens of the abhorrent class.

Not to vindicate, however, or commend a book,
which has had already abundant attention of this
sort bestowed upon it, our further design in this
paper is, to notice what we do not remember to have
seen specially jiointed out elsewhere, the character it
bears as an ally of Colonization. Abolition as the
book is pronounced to be in its tone and animus ,
abolitionist as the authoress shows herself to be,
when she steps forth from behind the scenes and
lectures us didactically in her own person, she yet
warmly espouses the cause of Colonization, in the
person of one of her favorite personages, and urges
arguments in its behalf that would do no discredit to
President Roberts or Mr. Pinney. George Harris
states very clearly and cogently the reasons which
prevent him from remaining in America, and impel
him to cast in his lot with the hopeful freemen of the
African Republic. We commend those reasons not
only to the people of his own race who, being free,
yet remain among us, but to those querulous pale¬
faces, who having never been slaves, except to their
own passions and prejudices, find strange delight in
decrying and abusing one of the wisest and noblest

o68 UNCLE tom’s cabin and colonization.

schemes of philanthropy which the age or any age
can boast. Mrs. Stowe is scarcely kind or true to
her own peculiar associates and friends. They de¬
pict — many of them at least — the Colonization Society
as the incarnation of everything that is preposterous,
cruel, and corrupt — an engine of spurious philan¬
thropy, against which every kind of weapon that may
do it harm may be fitly employed. She presents it
in colors so soft and delicate, that its worst enemies,
we should suppose, would find it hard not to fall
desperately in love with it. To the Garrison and
Phillips school it is aa mighty engine of iniquity,”
and even to the less invective-dealing Gerrit Smith,
whose general benevolence we do not call in ques¬
tion, it is so unlovely and pernicious an institution,
that his meek lips characterize it, in his letter to
Washington Hunt, for instance, in terms of such
gross and repulsive bitterness, that we do not care,
by transcribing them, to see their copy reproduced.
Here is antagonism between Mrs. Stowe and her
abolition “lovers.” It is not for us to reconcile or
explain it. We mark the fact, leaving it for the
parties opposed to compound their differences as they
may.

Hor is this difference a mere unimportant accident.
It touches principles deep-seated and tenaciously

UNCLE TOM^S CABIN AND COLONIZATION. 369

held. The immediate emancipation of all slaves,
without colonization, fraught as it must be with evils
to the liberated themselves and to the country, to
which the most stolid cannot be insensible, seems to
proclaim the event an impossibility on considerations
humane as well as patriotic. To liberate, with the view
of swelling the numbers of free citizens of Liberia,
as soon as such a step can be properly taken, is what
every liberty and union-loving citizen desires as
ardently as Mrs, Stowe, In the name of such, we
would thank her for the good word she has spoken in
this direction, and the wide circulation she has given
her well-put argument. With her womanly instincts,
thus warmly enlisted for colonization, we almost
wonder that in certain quarters her orthodoxy on
vital questions, or those considered such, has not been
called in question. With -the views she has promul¬
gated on colonization, she can hardly fail to respond
to the remark of Mr. Webster in his speech in the
Senate of March 7th, 1850, that, of the eighty mil¬
lions of dollars received into the public treasury, the
proceeds of the public lands ceded to the Govern¬
ment by Virginia, and this sum swelled to two hun¬
dred millions by proceeds of the lands coming from
the same source, as yet unsold, he was willing that
Virginia and the South, if they saw fit to relieve

16*

3 to UNCLE tom’s cabin and colonization.

themselves from their free colored population, should
have any adequate sum paid them for the trans¬
portation and comfortable settlement of this popu¬
lation on their native shores. We go with Mrs.
Stowe to make slaves freemen as soon as practicable,
and then colonize them where they may enjoy a dis¬
tinct nationality, and are strangers to the dwarfing
influences growfing out of color and caste.

One other remark and we have done. What is
known and designated as evangelical religion, is set
forth and illustrated in Mrs. Stowe’s book by life-
examples of the most spirited and striking character.
The religious novel, strictly so called, is rare indeed,
and we are acquainted with none which approaches,
more nearly than this, our idea of wThat one of the
kind ought to be. The “Evelina” of Frances Bur¬
ney, Goldsmith’s “ Yicar of Wakefield,” some of Mrs.
Sherwood’s and Hannah More’s tales, are, with all
their purity of tone and loftiness of moral incul¬
cation, less religious than this, in the direct sense of
teaching what Christianity is, and what it requires,
how personal responsibility rests upon each, and the
Divine mercy may be compassed by all. Mrs.
Shelby is a Christian, Evangeline is a Christian, Eliza
Harris is a Christian, while her husband and the
little imp Topsy become converts to a Gospel which

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN AND COLONIZATION. 371

regards not the person as anything, but childlike
faith in the Crucified as the great requisite for offer¬
ing the incense of a “ sweet smelling savor ” to Him
whose smile is the petitioner’s pardon and peace.
The Christianity which they profess and exemplify is
the very same that exalts and strengthens the purest
Christian society, and adorns the most refined and
virtuous household.

The wide circulation of this book, exhibiting as it
does the grace and grandeur of Christian principle
and life, can hardly fail to rebuke and counteract the
foul issues of an unscrupulous press, toiling and
groaning to scatter abroad seeds from which spring
baneful trees, whose unfolding “ leaves ” are for any¬
thing but the “ healing of the nations.” The time is
probably far enough off that tales will no longer be
read ; and since the world will read them, let such
be presented as are not only healthy-toned them¬
selves, but tend to beget distaste and loathing of
those which breathe pollution from every page.
They who are wont to respire a pure atmosphere,
become nauseated with the first contact with a foul
and fetid air. The swarming issues of a filth-reeking
press are among the most noisome and crying
nuisances that afflict the land. Whoever succeeds
in abating the evil, deserves golden opinions from

372 UNCLE tom’s cabin and colonization.

the orderly and decorous. And if Mrs. Stowe’s
book imposed no other obligations on society, the
telling blow which it has struck in behalf of this
great and good work, the effects of which must be
widely wholesome, entitles it to a high place in the
regards of all true hearts.

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

“ The white man landed! — -Need the rest be told?

The New World stretched its dark hand to the Old ;

Each was to each a marvel, and the tie
Of wonder warmed to better sympathy.”

Byron’s “ Island

In latitude 25° 4/ South, and longitude 180° 8/
W est, is situated the most interesting island, perhaps,
of all those picturesque groups which have reposed
for ages upon the placid bosom of the Pacific. In
size it is utterly insignificant, a mile and a half being
its greatest length, four miles and a half its circum¬
ference. Its surface is irregular, in part moun¬
tainous ; its soil favorable to the growth of vegeta¬
bles. Tropical trees and fruits, such as the cocoanut,
plantain, banyan, and bread-fruit, flourish there with
spontaneous vigor, though nothing either in its pro¬
ducts or appearance would serve to distinguish it
remarkably from many a wild sister whose lullaby is
the tuneful waters of the same mighty sea. The in¬
terest which attaches to it arises from its association
with the people who have their home and religious

374

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

altars there, and draw nourishment from its bosom.
Few histories that we have happened to read are
more striking and instructive than theirs. F ew spots
throughout the surrounding wastes of heathendom,
so bright and beautiful as this in the rays of the
Christian sun, proclaim the plastic power of that
gentle faith which works by love and purifies the
heart. And if we would have a fine example of the
evolution of good out of apparent evil, of the “ wrath
of man” praising Him who restrains “ the remainder
of wrath,” the eye need only turn to Pitcairn’s
Island, and find the object of its search.

The history of the people dwelling there may be
easily condensed, though the details, if space did
not forbid, would richly repay those not familiar with
them for the time devoted to their perusal A The
ship Bounty, Captain Bligh, sailed from Spithead,
England, December 23, 1787. Her destination was
the Pacific Ocean ; her mission, to collect plants of

* These details may be found — where the materials for this arti¬
cle have been gathered— in a book by Rev. Thomas B. Murray, pub¬
lished in London, entitled “ Pitcairn. The Island, the People, and
the Pastor, <fcc. and also to some extent in an article in Black¬
wood, copied into the Eclectic Magazine, entitled, “ The Paradise in
the Pacific;” the gem of the number, as the island described, is to a
Christian eye the gem of the ocean.

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

375

the bread-fruit tree, the design being to attempt the
cultivation of it in Europe. The vessel reached
Otaheite (now Tahiti) on the 26th of the following
October, and remained six months, during which the
warm-hearted natives treated the ship’s company in
the most hospitable and friendly manner, and fur¬
nished them every facility for the prosecution of the
object of their enterprise. The plants were at length
collected, the anchor weighed, and the prow of the
vessel pointed homeward. Everything promised a
successful voyage and prosperous return, when, on
the 27th of April, Captain Bligh, without the small¬
est premonition, without a single suspicion having
been harbored of any of his crew’s ill-designs, was
woke out of sleep by the vision of his cabin full of
armed men, by whom he was seized, bound, and
insultingly treated. The design of the mutineers
was soon apparent. Mr. Bligh, with eighteen of the
crew who remained loyal, was thrust into the ship’s
launch, a boat twenty-three feet long by six or seven
wide, with a scanty supply of provisions and water,
a few cutlasses, a small quantity of canvas, cordage,
&c., and cut adrift in that almost helpless condition
upon the treacherous waves. After incredible hard¬
ships, and some hail breadth escapes, he arrived, with
eleven of his surviving comrades, in England. His

376

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

story excited profound attention, and a vessel was
speedily despatched in quest of the mutineers, with
strict orders that the search should be a thorough
one, and the guilty men, wherever they might have
found a refuge, captured, or, if this were not practi¬
cable, slain.

What became of the mutineers, meanwhile ? Lord
Byron has told us, in the beautiful poem from which
the lines prefixed to this article are taken, that they
sailed at once for Otaheite ; established themselves in
that delightful home ; were found there by the
winged avenger sent over the seas to seize on and
destroy ; were hunted, shot down, captured, killed,
almost to the last man — Fletcher Christian himself,
the prompter and master-spirit of the mutiny, throw¬
ing himself down from a high ledge of rock, where,
with one or two comrades he had defended himself
desperately while defence was possible — and that
when his mangled body dropped into the sea,
bathing the fury of the avengers, the work of pursuit
and blood was over, for no remaining mutineer was
found to meet death or wear chains. One , according
to the poet, escaped by following in the wake of his
dusky bride, who, plunging and swimming beneath the
waves, conducted him to a submarine cavern, whose
rocky sides formed a snug shelter and secure asvlum.

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS. 377

But tlie poetry of this account is not very accor¬
dant with historical accuracy. A part of the muti¬
neers, indeed, made Otaheite their home ; hut a
part, of whom Christian was one, sought an asylum
elsewhere. Himself and eight of his comrades, with
their Otaheitan wives, and several others of the
natives, in all twenty-eight persons, sailed northward
twelve hundred miles, and landed on Pitcairn’s
Island, then perfectly solitary, so far as man’s voice
or presence was concerned, determining to make it
their future abode. The Bounty, which had trans¬
ported them hither, was broken up soon after the
landing, and their purpose of making this dreary
spot their lifelong home thus shown to be stern and
inflexible. There was to be no looking back, no
escape from the ocean-bound prison into whose rocky
arms they had voluntarily entered.

And now the bitter fruits of their crimes began to
appear, and grow rapidly toward maturity. The
wind had been sown, the whirlwind was about to be
reaped. The fierce passions which had flowered in
mutiny and rebellion, matured in discord, strife, per¬
sonal collisions, and bloodshed. Ferocious feuds and
sanguinary frays arose between the Europeans and
savages. The latter, prompted by hate and jealousy,
plotted the destruction of the former. The projected

378

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

massacre was disclosed to the white men by their
dusky wives, and the blow fell upon the heads of the
baffled projectors. Christian, however, with four of
his comrades, fell before the malice of the Otaheitans
within a year of the landing, while the murderers
were slain in turn by the arms of their surviving com¬
panions. Without tracing the dark detail farther, let
it suffice to say, that only two of the fifteen males
who had landed from the Bounty died a natural
death ; the rest all fell victims to those licentious pas¬
sions which, unrestrained by any holy principle, had
converted the little isle into an arena on which Satan’s
champions fought and destroyed each other till hell
grew jubilant at the sight.

One of the survivors, and the last of the nine
English settlers, was John Adams, whose coincident
association with the clarum, et venerabile nomen of our
history is not the only or most striking thing about
his own. He had been a high criminal in the sight
of God and man, had participated in the nefarious
deeds which rendered him an outcast from his coun¬
try, branded by its moral sentiment, condemned by
its laws. He had witnessed, by living among, the
scenes of violence and blood, from the frightful
effects of which he had only escaped with his life
through the Infinite mercy. What he had been,

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

379

what he had seen, what he now was, became the
subject of much deep and harrowing reflection. He
had enjoyed the advantages of early Christian teach¬
ing. He had known the good, though he pursued
the evil. Out of the wreck of the Bounty a Bible
and prayer-book had been preserved, and had now
become the possession— treasures more valuable than
gold — of John Adams. He applied himself to the
study of the Book, of all books the most inestimable.
The divine light beamed full upon his understanding.
The prayers that he offered there on his little sea¬
girt home rose none the less audibly for the ocean’s
thunder that seemed to overbear the contrite sinner’s
faint and tremulous accents. Faith bore them pre¬
vailingly to the throne. The gracious answer came,
and the wearied, torn heart found rest and j oy. He
was a changed man. The bold mutineer had become
loyal at last. Christ was his Captain, and the love he
bore his great leader would secure his good faith,
his devoted services, his unfaltering zeal, to the last
hour of his mortal life.

The sincerity of his faith was soon shown by his
works. A mixed progeny had taken the places of
their hapless parents ; but the half-English, half-
Otaheitan amalgam was animated by a soul as
precious as any that breathed from the whitest face.

380

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

The aim and prayer of John Adams was the conver¬
sion of these young semi-pagans ; and to effect this he
began at once to instruct them in the principles of
the doctrine of Christ. Morning and evening prayers
were offered by the devout teacher from the midst
of his island family. The Sacred Scriptures were
read, explained, enforced, with simple earnestness
and a constancy that never wearied ; and the fruit of
this pious assiduity soon appeared. The Bible be¬
came to these simple-hearted islanders inestimably
dear. The lessons they were wont to hear from the
lips of their rude but venerated teacher were more
delightful than food or recreation, or treasures reck¬
oned by them most valuable. The mine of celestial
truth opened to their wondering gaze poured forth
its uncounted wealth, sparkling, varied, precious,
though hands the least skilful, and implements the
rudest, were employed to disinter it.

The result is soon told. The islanders became
Christian, not in name only, but in very truth, and
deed. When sixteen years afterwards (1816) two
English men-of-war approached the island, and a
canoe with two men in it, savages apparently, dashed
through the surf, and, approaching the side of one of
the vessels, exclaimed, “ Won’t you heave us a rope
now ? ” the astonishment of the sailors was beyond

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

381

bound. But greater still was the marvel when,
having come on board, and being invited by the cap¬
tain, Sir Thomas Staines, to go below and partake of
some food, one of the young men before eating was
seen to place his hands in a posture of devotion, and
say solemnly, “For what we are going to receive,
the Lord make us truly thankful.”

What the captain saw on going ashore fully equalled
in the marvellous what had already transpired. He
became the guest of John Adams, and was treated
with the most warm-hearted and touching hospitality.
The number of grown-up people in the island at
this time was forty-six. Their personal appearance
was very striking. The young men were athletic,
manly, finely formed, with countenances full of intel¬
ligence and frankness ; the young women as modest
as beautiful, with “ teeth like ivory, even, regular,
without a single exception ; and all of them, both
male and female, had the most marked English
features.” “ Their little houses were models of com¬
fort and cleanliness, and the grounds all around were
carefully cultivated. The utmost harmony prevailed
in their little society. They were simple, sincere,
affectionate, and pious, and most exemplary in dis¬
charging their religious duties.” “ Their reverence
for the Sabbath would shame many a highly civilized

382

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

Christian community. It was indeed ‘kept holy,’ a
day of rest in truth, and of cheerful reverence towards
the Most High. Their services were conducted in
strict conformity with the usages of the Church of
England, the prayers being read by old Adams, and
the lessons by one appointed for that purpose.”

In 1825, when Captain Beech ey visited the island,
he bore witness to the religious character of the peo¬
ple in these words : “ These excellent people appear
to live together in perfect harmony and contentment ;
to be virtuous, religious, cheerful, and hospitable even
beyond the limits of prudence ; to be patterns of
conjugal and parental affection, and to have very few
vices. We remained with them several days, and
their unreserved manners gave us the fullest oppor¬
tunity of becoming acquainted with any faults they
might have possessed.”

John Adams, the good old patriarch, through
whose noiseless but most efficient labors, under God,
this wondrous result had been achieved, died in 1829,
and the mantle of pastor, surgeon , and schoolmaster ,
fell upon George IIitnn Hobbs. Mr. Hobbs’ early
career space forbids us to recount. Suffice it to say, he
had been tried over and over again in the furnace of
trials such as man is rarely called to encounter ; made
Pitcairn’s his home con amore / determined when he

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

383

came to identify himself with and devote himself to
the interests of its simple-minded people ; secured the
full confidence of Adams, and after his death, which
occurred within a year of bTobbs’ arrival, that of the
people themselves ; entered with zeal, and even
enthusiasm, upon the responsible duties of his new
situation ; discharged them with the most scrupulous
and laborious fidelity, the most evident acceptance,
the most unmistakable success ; enj oyed not only the
confidence, hut the warm filial respect and affection
of the people he was toiling to benefit; continued
twenty-six years at his post as pastor and school¬
master without any ordaining hands of presbytery or
prelate having been laid upon him ; then proceeded to
London for the purpose of being ordained, that the
duties he had hitherto discharged successfully, though
not quite regularly, might thenceforth not lack the
unction or grace proceeding from the true apostolical
authority ; was ordained by the Bishop of London ;
returned to the beloved little flock, from whom he
had parted with pangs, to rejoin whom he had
sighed every hour since his absence began, and who
received their now veritable pastor, hoped for and
longed for in the Lord, with tears and shouts of wel¬
come on his return.

There he lives, labors, hopes, rejoices, sorrows

384:

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

now, the venerated and loved pastor of a flock num¬
bering in all one hundred and seventy persons — a
“ little flock” indeed, yet how tenderly endeared to
the under shepherd’s heart, and how vigilantly
watched over, lest any should go astray ! And not
less tenderly endeared to the heart of the Good
Shepherd who knows and guards his sheep, and is
known of his, and ever gladly followed, wherever he
leads, by the humblest whose names he calls. And
there, in that quiet, interesting spot, the Sabbath
day witnesses the gathering of the flock, no straggler
absent, into the sanctuary inclosure — no unfit emblem
of the u green pastures” and the murmuring “ still
waters,” in and beside which they are refreshed and
regaled who are the favored of the Lord. There one
who formerly sat under the ministry of the writer of
this article, and who, with the enterprise of youth,
found his home on the Pacific for four years, during
a perilous but exciting voyage, entered with some of
his ship’s company one still Sabbath morning, and
sat down wondering, deeply interested, awe-struck,
amid this devout assembly of Christian Islanders.
The Pastor Hobbs conducted the services with sim¬
ple and affecting fervor. Ho liturgy hampered the
expression of thoughts that struggled for utterance,
but freely, spontaneously flowed upward to the

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

385

Throne of Grace, the stream of penitent confession,
devout desire, earnest supplication for mercy and
favor.

“ At church with meek and unaffected grace,

His looks adorned the venerable place.”

And if humility, truth, earnestness, “ godly sincerity”
are capable of expression from the looks and the air
of the preacher, those of Mr. Nobbs fully expressed
them. The solemn countenances of his auditors
showed how awful the jilace and the service were
felt to be, while the rapt attention with which his
words were listened to proclaimed how greatly they
valued the privilege of hearing Christ and the cross
preached, and how intense an interest they felt in the
message brought. And when they rose to sing, our
informant sailor-boy — whose choicest music having
been the roaring of winds, the dashing of waves, or
the hoarse bellowing which the struck whale makes
in his agony, could hardly be very critical — felt him¬
self, as it seemed, borne upward and away from
earth on the tide of song. So full and rich were the
voices of the singers, so earnest, hearty, and buoyant
were the notes which they warbled, so familiar were
the sentiments, and even the words, while the faces
and the scene were strange to him, that the effect

17

386

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

upon one from wliom the sights and sounds of the
Christian sanctuary had been for years shut out, was
instant and overpowering. Association bore him
irresistibly to his own loved home, a participant in
kindred solemnities there, and gave additional inte¬
rest and intensity to his emotions ; and it had been
vain indeed to struggle against the gushing tears.
His statements confirmed in every particular what is
quoted above, respecting the appearance, manners,
and character of this interesting people.

Thus it would seem that a church may, after all,
exist without a bishop, or regularly ordained preacher.
A Bible, with a layman’s homely exposition of its
mysteries, and a Spirit-guided faith in the doctrines
preached, may open the blind eyes, arrest the stray¬
ing feet, and make the besotted rebel a child and
heir of God. Old Adams, and Hobbs before his
ordination, saw the fruits of their toils and prayers in
the principles, life, works of a people gospel-won and
transformed ; nor did the subsequent imposition of
episcopal hands in the case of the latter render the
faith already professed by the island neophytes more
efficacious or their works more genuinely Christian.
The gospel thus becomes its own witness; and
though the Ethiopian’s question, “ How can I under¬
stand except some man should guide me?” might

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

387

seem to declare the insufficiency of the written
Word to conduct to the cross without the living
teacher’s guidance, yet the voice of pious laymen
may, through the all-controlling Spirit, he made as
safe and certain a guide as that of white-robed priest,
descended in the straiglitest line from the apostles.
And if narrow-souled bigotry disdainfully ask, “IIow
can these things be ?” we would point to the simple
faith of these lowly Islanders, and to the history of
that faith, leaving the words of Jesus to vivify the
illustration : “ The wind bloweth where it listeth,
and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell
whence it cometh nor whither it goeth ; so is every
one that is born of the Spirit.”

There is ground of hope and belief that what the
gospel has done for these natives it may and will do
for those of all the isles of the same broad sea, for
those of pagandom everywhere. The many great
and precious promises are yet unfulfilled which
declare the mighty and swift gathering of the Christ-
less peoples into one fold, having one Shepherd.
Missionaries may go forth from this little spot to con¬
quer and make Christian every dark and desolate
tract that has lain for ages unnoticed amid this wil¬
derness of waters, and from shore to shore spread
inwardly the truth that reclaims, and makes the

388

THE PITCAIRN ISLANDERS.

desert blossom as the rose. The glad shout is yet
to be heard, a The kingdoms of this world are be¬
come the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ.”
He who “ turneth the wilderness into a standing
water,” and kings’ and peoples’ hearts whithersoever
he will, can produce, by agencies the most unpromis¬
ing and unexpected, gospel results the most momen¬
tous and astounding. The “ little one” in the midst
of the sea may become a “ strong nation,” sooner
than a dull faith looks at, and the love divine that
has made Pitcairn’s Christ’s, diffuse its radiance over
a renovated world.

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

The office of professor in theology has about it lit¬
tle of that glare which attracts the notice or excites
the wonder of the multitude. Compared with the
popular preacher, who appears week after week be¬
fore a crowd, hushed and subdued by the tones of a
stirring oratory, it might seem, at the first view, that
the office of the former was insignificant and his work
barren of results. Judged by superficial tests — and
these sometimes have a surprisingly wide and potent
sway — the superior importance and utility of the
preacher’s labors would seem hardly to admit of a
question. According to such tests, if truth is to be
preserved, or its influence widened, or infidelity to
be rebuked, or rationalism undermined, or “spiritual
wickedness in high places” discomfited, and Gospel
light conveyed to benighted minds most irresis-

* Lectures on Pastoral Theology, by the Rev. James S. Cannon,
D.D., late Professor of Pastoral Theology and Ecclesiastical Histo¬
ry and Government, in the Theological Seminary of the Reformed
Dutch Church, New Brunswick, N. J. New York: Charles Scrib¬
ner, 145 Nassau Street. 1853.

390 de. cannon’s pastokal theology.

tibly, he is the likeliest to effect such results, whose
power to move and melt is confessed by captivated
crowds, loving to be charmed by accents which are
to them “ as a very lovely song of one that hath a
pleasant voice, and can play well upon an instru¬
ment.”

What equal claims to honor can the professor
advance ? He is a quiet, unobserved man. He has

his home and the arena of his labors usually “ remote

/

from cities,” or, if in them, he can hardly be said to
be of them. Though having exercised the functions
of the preacher in years gone by, and wielded the
influence of the honored pastor, he no more addresses,
except occasionally and by way of digression from
the treadmill routine of every-day duty, the “ great
congregation,” or visits from house to house, the
many-hued minds which an adapted Gospel is given
to guide, comfort, or impress. The lecture-room,
rather than the church, is the theatre whereon his
skill and prowess are to be displayed. A few disciples,
rather than a promiscuous gathering, constitute his
stated auditory, and the subjects for the reception
of lessons, whose design is to qualify fit and faithful
workmen for the service of the sanctuary. Hay after
day, and month after month, he passes backward and
forward from the house to the lecture-room with the

391

DK. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

regularity of a machine. He gathers noiselessly his
little class around him. He opens to inquisitive and
earnest minds treasures of sacred lore, which long
and laborious diligence has accumulated, more pre¬
cious, in their effects at least, than those brought by
devout Magi to the cradle of the infant Christ. He
is not covetous of the applauses of the bustling crowd
without, who hold on their accustomed way, heeding
neither him nor his teachings. Their indifference
gives him no concern. It is enough for him, to be
invested with the honor, and with the responsibility
not less, of guiding and instructing those, who are
soon to become the guides and instructors of the peo¬
ple. And it matters very little to him, whether the
world knows his name familiarly or not, if he can
but succeed in furnishing for the great battle with
the enemies of Zion, those who shall valiantly and
devotedly uphold the sacred cause of truth.

And thus it comes to pass not unfrequently, that a
person who has long occupied such a position as this,
and occupied it too most creditably and usefully, dies
without having acquired any wide-spread distinction,
and at his departure is followed with no general deep-
drawn sigh, “ how is the mighty fallen.” His name,
even as it appears on the list of the dead, may be
coldly glanced at by the world as being almost that

392 DU. cannon’s P ASTON AL THEOLOGY.

of a stranger. But fame is not tlie measure of utility.
The obscure life is not the insignificant life. What
has been wrought for the good of humanity, is not to
be estimated by any degree of worldly distinction, or
any amount of worldly adulation or applause. The
truth lies deeper. The true teacher of theology is
- one of the great powers of this earth. He moves — •
what the lever of Archimedes, however favorably
adjusted, never could move — human minds, disposi¬
tions, volitions, affections. The knowledge which he
imparts has not been easily obtained, but is the fruit
of weary and toilful years, brought from far and near,
and amassed as a common hoard, for the benefit of
those who stretch forth their hands at his bidding
and gather what they may. His knowledge is not
all theory ; has not all been gleaned from books. His
own experience of the pastor’s wants and trials , of
his discouragements and supports ; of what he should
be, and what he should do, and what he must or
may suffer, imparts to his teaching a practical cha¬
racter, which enhances its value ; for the professor
has, in most instances, been himself an overseer of
the flock of Christ. The lessons thus given to those
who are to be pastors, embody theoretical with ex¬
perimental knowlege. The choicest fruits of an active
and inquiring intellect, of the diligent study of the

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

393

“ lively oracles,” of fatiguing but successful excur¬
sions into all fields where valuable sheaves were
awaiting the gatherer’s hand, of counsels made
sagacious by intercourse with men, and life made
blameless by stern discipline and trial, are brought
forth, and freely offered to those who can hardly
partake for months and years of such a repast, with¬
out finding health increase, and the heart grow strong
for grappling with the great work which the pastor
has to do.

Accordingly, if we would estimate the professor’s
work aright, we must cast our glance abroad over
the church and over the world, and let it “ enter
within the vail ” that hides the coming years. The
young man, well instructed in the theory and practice
of winning souls, goes forth to become himself the
teacher and guide of men. He goes forth like trust¬
ing Abraham, not knowing whither the Divine will
shall lead him. The field is the world. The harvests
are whitening around him. The laborers are few.
The heavenly voice bidding him enter and reap, is
decisive and urgent. He goes whither he is guided,
and enters on his toils with the ardor of a volunteer,
rather than the slow and lingering pace of one who
undertakes reluctantly a task for which he has no
relish. The effects of his conscientious training soon

17*

394 dr. cannon’s pastoral theology.

appear. As a “ man of God thoroughly furnished
unto all good works,” he makes his mark upon the
district where he is called to labor. He wields, in
spite of every hostile array, the influence which is
well-nigh inseparable from educated, well-directed,
and devoted piety everywhere. The church is edified,
strengthened, expanded ; vice and irreligion, though
entrenched behind power, are made to tremble, as
Felix did, at the winged “ words of truth and sober¬
ness ; ” error and delusion vanish before the sword of
the Lord as brandished by Ilis accredited and loyal
ambassador ; and from the little circle within which
a single standard-bearer has planted his foot and dis¬
played his banner, inscribed with “ Christ and him
crucified,” an influence, as benign and purifying as
it is gentle, is conveyed to surrounding minds and
habitations, and through these still more remotely
abroad, so that the entire measure of the good
achieved baffles the power of present calculation.
Or, if the Macedonian cry, “ come over and help us,”
has given the energies of the devoted soldier another
direction, and he goes forth to win trophies for his
Lord on the foreign field, there, too, his works attest
his zeal and heroism. The wilderness and solitary
place are made glad by his presence ; the desert
rejoices and blossoms as the rose. The heart of the

DR. CANNON'S PASTORAL THEOLOGY. 395

church is cheered, perchance, by tidings wafted from
beyond the sun, of temples, whose altars smoked with
the blood of human victims, supplanted by those
which Jehovah’s praises and presence fill, and from
the myriads of a pagan world many devout worship¬
pers “ turned to God from idols, to serve henceforth
the living and true God.”

Such results may be wrought through God’s guid¬
ing and aiding Spirit, by a single well-disciplined
mind, whose powers have been trained and conse¬
crated in some school of the prophets. These are
among the fruits of those lessons given in the lecture-
room ; lessons, unregarded by the throng of bustling
men, daily repeated without noise or display ; weari¬
some at times to the teacher, from their monotony ;
to the careless observer, utterly unpromising. But in
God’s time the harvest has succeeded the seed season,
and the multitude of garnered sheaves will never be
fully known to us, till the great day come whereon
“ the Lord shall count when He writeth up the people
that this and that man was born there.” What sur¬
prising revelations await “ the pure in heart who
shall see God,” and rejoice that they no longer u see
through a glass darkly.”

The author of the book before us, illustrates to some
extent the idea designed to be conveyed by the fore-

396

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

going paragraphs. He became a teacher of theology
in the full maturity of his powers, having served for
thirty years previously, in the work of the ministry.
During all this period, he continued the pastor of the
same congregation, thus furnishing an example of the
u steadfast and immovable/’ which in this day of
comparative instability, it is quite refreshing to see.
He discharged the duties of his pastorate, laboriously,
faithfully, unblamably and usefully, and, with the
ripe experience of so many years, passed into the
professor’s chair, to which the confidence of the church
he belonged to, had elected him. The change oc¬
curred in 1826, from which period till his death in
1852, he performed, in a faithful and exemplary
manner, the duties which his office demanded, giving
instruction not only to the classes in the Theological
School, but also to those in the Literary Institution,
connected with it. The Seminary with which his
name is honorably and now indissolubly connected,
belongs to a church, which, though among the small¬
est of the denominational families that compose our
American Israel, is yet venerable for its age and
associations, estimable for the unbending firmness
with which it has held fast to the great doctrines of
the Reformation, and exemplary for its exemption
from those internal feuds and collisions, by which

DR. CANNON^ PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

397

other sections of the Christian church have been dis¬
tracted and torn. And, if somewhat deficient hitherto,
in that aggressive and enterprising spirit, which has
served to extend other denominations more widely
and rapidly, yet evincing ever a liberal, earnest and
catholic disposition, to co-operate with all true Chris¬
tian hearts, in sustaining and carrying forward those
good and great enterprises, which owe their birth
and vigor equally to the gift and genius of our com¬
mon Christianity.

Dr. Cannon was connected with this Seminary more
than a quarter of a century. During this period, a
succession of thoroughly educated young preachers
have gone forth into the world ; some to exercise their
gifts within the bounds of their own church, at home ;
some to prove the skill and excellence of their pre¬
paratory training, within the pale of sister denomina¬
tions ; others to break ground for themselves and
build, with Christ to help them, on no other man’s
foundation, amid the prairies and wildernesses of the
far western country, and a few, of whom the lamented
Abeel was the pioneer, to sow the seed of the Word
on soil moistened and fattened by the blood of human
sacrifices. What good has been achieved by the
consecrated energies of all these educated minds,
brought thus in contact with a “ world which by

398 de. cannon’s pastoeal theology.

wisdom knows not God,” and how far the influence of
one faithful and pains-taking professor, not widely
known to fame, has contributed to produce the united
result, whatever that result may he, it is of course
impossible to say. The aggregate of fruits, shall only
be seen when, “ in the presence of our Lord Jesus
Christ at his coming,” the “crowns of rejoicing”
shall appear, and the world witness the spectacle.

The lectures which form this volume are thirtv-six

t /

in number, the result of the diligent years during
which the author held the responsible position of pro¬
fessor, the matters treated in them having been all
along subject to such improvements as his taste and
judgment might suggest. A glance through the
pages of the book will show how wide and compre¬
hensive is the range of topics discussed, and that they
who undervalue the importance of this branch of
theology as compared with other branches, might
find it hard to rest their preference on good and sub¬
stantial grounds. In fact, among the subj ects treated
are some of the gravest and most important character,
which no workman who would not be ashamed, can
venture to slight or disparage. The portion of the
volume which exhibits the graces of the Divine life,
the fruits of piety, whose earnest cultivation is essen¬
tial, not only to the pastor’s growing usefulness, but

DB. CANKON’s PASTOBAL THEOLOGY. 399

to liis personal comfort in the trying work which has
received his consecration, is one of high interest and
value. There is the subject of prayer — public,
private, social— treated with great fulness and force ;
its importance and its qualifications shown ; the
argument in behalf of extemporary prayer clearly
stated; the argument against the exclusive use of
liturgical forms pungently put; how the grace and
gift of prayer may be improved ; how they may be
made to dwindle, and in what should consist the
matter, order and manner of those prayers in the
sanctuary, by means of which the pastor conducts
the devotions of his flock. There are also discussed
the Christian sacraments, as compared with those of
the past dispensation ; their nature, design, extent
and efficacy explained ; who are the proper subjects
to receive the benefits of these significant rites ; the
difference between John’s baptism and that of Christ ;
the corruptions engrafted on these simple ordinances
by the Komish church, and other hardly less scrupu¬
lous sects. These topics, together with those which
refer directly to what is requisite to prepare the
pastor to preach the Gospel most effectively, are all
treated in a style of argument both clear and cogent,
and with a copiousness which leaves little ground for
the charge that they have received at the lec-

400 de. cannon’s pastoeal theology.

turer’s hands no more than a hasty and superficial
survey.

The lectures are marked by clearness and discri¬
mination. The “ large sound roundabout sense,” as
Mr. Locke calls it, which every page discloses, forms
a very observable feature. The lecturer’s well
poised judgment never betrays him into sentimental
improprieties, and rarely suffers his expression to
relax into a tone unbecoming the gravity of the sub¬
jects discussed. He appears throughout to estimate
profoundly the worth and dignity of the ministeria.
office, and to desire heartily that his own convictions
should fix themselves in the minds of his pupils. So
great is his earnestness in this respect, that the
didactic style is occasionally merged and lost in the
hortatory, and the transition, instead of offending,
rather gives us pleasure, as revealing the ^workings
of a warm heart intent on reaching the heart as well
as the understanding of the neophyte. A tone of
deeply pious feeling pervades the lectures, rising at
times, in the closing parts, which are occupied with
practical reflections, into a style of remark impres¬
sively devout. The high place which “ the law and
testimony” held in the lecturer’s mind, and the
degree to which his mind was imbued both with its
sentiments and language, everywhere appear. Ex-

DB. CANNON’S PASTOEAL THEOLOGY.

401

pressions occur not unfrequently, distinctly pointing
to tlie copious well-spring whence the thought was
drawn, almost insensibly to the writer perchance,
while literal Scriptural passages illustrating his idea,
are interwoven through his pages, selected with his
usual judgment, and often very happily introduced.
To illustrate these views by apposite quotations, will
he to transcribe very largely from tlie volume.

The author has little fondness for abstract specu¬
lation. He nowhere launches forth upon a sea of
conceits where “ fathom-line can never reach the
ground.” He conducts his pupils, or his readers, to
no position where the ground beneath them is tremu¬
lous and liable to slide. He has not learned to
admire the German mysticism of thought, nor to
affect the outlandish jargon which Carlyle has helped
to make popular, by which true thought is so greatly
impaired, and the poverty of thought sought to be
concealed. He cannot trifle with his trust, nor with
the interests of those who are looking to him for
guidance, by pausing to plume his wings for a flight
whither others cannot follow him, or by stepping
aside to cull strange flowers of speech, which may
regale the sense, but not strengthen the heart. He
treats his subject with manly dignity and directness,
and himself illustrates the following remarks upon

402

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

the dignity of the pulpit, which, with a certain class
of preachers of the present day, seems to have be¬
come, if not quite an “ obsolete idea,” yet a rule
regarded as more honored in the breach than in the
observance :

u Especially is dignity in the pulpit opposed to all pert, quaint
and witty expressions. Displays of wit are out of place in the
sacred desk ; for, in proportion as wit excites onr admiration of
certain associations of ideas in men of wit, it stirs up those
emotions which are more allied to merriment than devotion,
and which divert our attention from the sublime realities of re¬
ligion. Hardly should a good religious anecdote be introduced
into a sermon, if with all the instruction it may afford it contain
much wit, and is calculated to make some hearers smile and
others laugh. To use the language of Seneca : ‘ Quid mihi
lusoria ista proponis ? Non est jocundi locus.’ . . . ‘ Religion
abhors the ridiculous and the witty in the pulpit, as bordering
too much on levity. The thoughtless in public worship may be
amused by remarks which inflict pain on the hearts of the
pious.”* — Pp. 160, 161.

* In Rev. Dr. Bethune’s Oration before the Theological classes at
Andover, in 1842, one of the most instructive and admirable that
any similar occasion has called forth, the following remarks in the
same line with the above occur, and may be fittingly introduced in
this connexion : “ There is no force nor wit in slang or cant expres¬
sions ; or, if they excite attention for the moment, it is at the ex¬
pense of the house of God, the ministry, and the Gospel itself, by
pandering to a low taste, and investing sacred things with ludicrous

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

403

Throughout these lectures the reader is never suf¬
fered to lose sight of the lofty aim, the thoroughly
earnest purpose controlling the mind and heart, that
gave them being and maturity ; and it is rare that
there is any seeming departure in the language from
that dignified seriousness which is the most fitting
expression of such an aim and purpose. Yet occa¬
sionally we come upon a sly satirical hit, a touch of
quiet and quaint humor, reminding us of the droll
strokes of artless old Izaak W alton, or the more attic
sallies of honest Thomas Fuller in his Church His¬
tory of Britain. A passage or two may be cited as
a sample :

“ Perhaps the greatest pulpit orators are not so useful in com-

and grovelling associations. The man who plays the buffoon or the
clown in the pulpit, leaves not that sacred place what he found it.
However dignified the preacher may be that follows him, the peo¬
ple cannot look up to listen and forget the tricks that were played
where he stands ; vulgar pruriency will long for the gross excite¬
ment, and the refined cannot wholly discharge the sickening images
from their thoughts. Let once the boisterous laugh ring round a
place of worship, and its echoes will disturb the meditations of the
pious for many a long day.” This is well and truly said, and we
will add, by way of commentary, that the effect of the “ boisterous
laugh” in God’s house is much the same, whether “ the clown in the
pulpit” or the refined man of wit occasion it. The merriment is
equally unseasonable and indecorous, and the difference, if there be
any, is one of degree and association alone.

404 dr. cannon’s pastoral theology.

municating solid instruction as those who, without oratorical
powers, enrich their sermons with deep thought, with heart¬
searching and practical divinity ; nor are those persons who, on
the Sabbath, are seen to be in chase of popular preachers, found
to have furnished their minds with a large measure of Scrip¬
tural knowledge. Great will be the mistake of such persons if
they suppose that they are to be lifted up to heaven by their
ears” — P. 145.

Indiscriminate reading of books without due re¬
flection is characterized thus :

u Father Augustine long since said : ‘ lectio inquirit, oratio
postulat, meditatio invenit, contemplatio degustat.” Some
young men in the ministry exhibit a voracious appetite in read¬
ing books, hut there is no digestion by them of what they read.
When they take up their pens to compose sermons, they are
obliged to borrow without ceremony, from the writers before
them, too lavishly. It is an unhappy condition in natural life
to live by borrowing — P. 150.

Again :

“ A preacher pays hut a poor compliment to the understand¬
ing of his hearers, and to the Bible itself, when he draws out of
it (and he might just as well have taken it out of an almanac)
the single word ‘ remember,’ in order to publish his philosophi¬
cal theories respecting the powers of memory and its indestruc¬
tible tenacity.” — P. 175.

“ It is much to be regretted that so many of our youth, after
passing through the forms of an academical education, think

405

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

that they are elevated above the study of English grammar, and
need no longer consult their dictionaries.” . . . “ Some enter
the ministry too wise in their own conceit to learn the art of
speaking and writing with propriety, the language in which
they are to preach the Gospel.” — P. 155.

Such quiet strokes as these occur where and when
the reader least looks for them, and have upon him
the effect of provoking a pleasant surprise, without,
however, suggesting the idea of unseemly incongru¬
ity, or forcing him to feel that they detract seriously
from the dignified tone which is for the most part
well preserved. They seem to have come spontane¬
ously, without being sought for, and are uniformly
used, not for effect, but for illustration.

The author of these lectures was an edifying and
effective preacher, to the close of his long life. ITis
habit was to commit his written preparations to a

m -*

memory of great tenacity, and strengthened by long
practice, so that in delivery his words seemed to
flow as naturally and with as little labor of memory
as in the most fluent extemporary discourse. This,
besides investing his instructions on this subject with
the additional value derived from his own successful
experience, may explain th q penchant he discovers in
his lectures for memoriter preaching, or, at least,
preaching without the written sermon before the

406 de. cannon’s pastoeal theology.

preacher’s eyes. He states, not so fully as lie might
have stated, some of the arguments usually assigned
in behalf of manuscript preaching, and then argues,
at considerable length, his own side of the question,
as we may term it, that is, adversely to the use of the
written sermon in the pulpit. Want of room forbids
the quotation of his remarks on this question, judi¬
cious as many of them are, and forbids, also, any
extended reflection that might be made in modifica¬
tion of one or two of the lecturer’s views on this
mooted subject. We will merely say, that a dis¬
course from the pulpit is a very different affair in its
character, not less than in its attendant circum¬
stances, from the plea which the advocate makes at
the bar, or the speech which the political haranguer
utters at the hustings. The advocate’s staple con¬
sists largely of facts, the product of testimony ; the
stump-orator’s appeals are based, too, upon facts, or
what he may consider such, growing out of the state
of parties or of the country ; facts, not only perfectly
familiar to his hearers, but having for them a present,
and, perhaps, a pressing interest. The successive
pleas or speeches made, present to the listener’s
attention classes of facts differing from those pre¬
viously commented on, and invest the subjects or
cases treated with the attractive freshness of novelty.

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

407

Tlie speeches, besides, are neither spoken periodi¬
cally nor very often, hut only on emergent occasions,
and usually to different audiences. The character
of the audience is, moreover, very often such, that a
more careless style of expression, a more uncon¬
strained and bolder declamation, with a more homely
and even coarser imagery than would be tolerated in
the pulpit, instead of offending the taste, really prove
quite palatable, and show themselves highly effective
in moving minds that would be impatient of a more
staid, precise, and elaborate style of oratory.

It is different with the preacher. He addresses a
graver assembly, on far graver subjects, and on the
most solemn of days. The great topics that he dis¬
courses upon are those which the apostles discoursed
upon from the beginning, and all true successors of
theirs have discoursed upon subsequently. He must
substitute in his discourses, in no small measure,
faith for sight, the distant for the present, the impal¬
pable for the tangible, the eternal for the temporal.
The didactic method which many of his weighty sub-
jects demand, has small affinity to that rough, racy,
and sometimes impromptu speech that best suits and
moves a promiscuous multitude. He has to observe
the decorums of time, place, and circumstance. He
cannot indulge in a loose style of declamation, or

408 dr. cannon’s pastoral theology.

clothe his thoughts in too plain a garb, or draw his
illustrations from too common sources, or give free
rein to his fancy, without sinking the dignity of the
pulpit, and giving a shock to the graver part of his
audience. The periodical frequency, too, with wdiich
the preacher appears before the same audience, who
would soon weary of monotony, were not his dis¬
courses made freshly various and interesting, instead
of presenting, from week to week, a jejune repeti¬
tion of common-place topics, varied only in arrange¬
ment, a fault which extemporary speakers are prone
to run into, demands that studied and careful prepa¬
ration which can rarely be made so well, that is, so
continuously well, if the preacher fails to write out
what he designs for the weekly edification of his
flock.

These points of difference may serve to show why,
in the preacher’s case, a written preparation for the
pulpit, as a general rule, cannot be safely dispensed
with. In fact, the duty of writing carefully is no¬
where enjoined more emphatically than in the lec¬
tures before us. But, granting this, it may still be
urged, u why should not the preacher commit to
memory what he has written, and banish the manu¬
script from the pulpit altogether ?” Because, it may
be replied : 1. Many preachers have not powers of

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

409

memory adequate to commit, statedly and accurately,
the discourses they prepare. 2. Discourses imper¬
fectly committed are apt to render the manner timid
and embarrassed, from the perpetual effort of the
mind to call up the appropriate words, and thus sen¬
sibly impair the power of the spoken sermon. 3.
Many, though able to commit, feel an unconquerable
repugnance to an habitual exercise, which, while
denying its necessity or superior excellence, they
regard as belonging more properly to the elementary
schools. 4. The outlay of time and toil in writing
sermons, is quite as great as can be spared from
other pressing duties which demand the pastor’s
attention, without imposing upon him the additional
and often more exhausting burden of committing
them to memory. 5. A sermon preached from notes
may, with proper care, and without this no man
should undertake to preach it, be delivered quite as
effectively, with as appropriate emphasis and action,
and with the preacher’s eye, too, as well able to scan
and control his audience, as though it were uttered
from memory. An appeal to the practice of many of
the ablest and most effective preachers, of our own
and of other times, would go far to establish this
averment. Of course, to be chained down to a
liieroglyphical manuscript;, which requires more in-

13

410

DE. CANNON’S PASTOEAL THEOLOGY.

genuity to decipher than to have composed, is not
the most favorable condition for producing oratorical
effects ; but then, speaking thus fettered will not be
miscalled preaching, by any save the “blissful igno¬
rant,” to whom all kinds of pulpit utterance are
alike. Without extending the subject, we will give
our author’s summing up of his argument on the
general question, from the tenor of which we should
not feel seriously inclined to dissent :

u What., then, must he the conclusion of the matter, so far as
students of theology are concerned ? It is obviously this : 1 .
They should aim in the course of their education both to read
and speak sermons well. The best speaker may, through the
loss of memory, or the want of time to commit his sermon, find it
necessary to fall back upon his notes, and read them ; then the
art of reading becomes a valuable acquisition. So the best
reader may be placed in circumstances which require him to
speak without notes ; how useful, then, will be his speaking
talent. He will not be silent, but do the best he can, for he is
not a bound slave to his manuscript. Let, then, both the gift of
reading and the accomplishment of speaking be cultivated in a
theological school. 2. Every theological student should seriously
examine into his natural and acquired gifts, and try to ascertain
whether these gifts fit him to be a better reader than a speaker
of sermons, or vice versd. Some, through indolence, will give
the preference to reading, though they read ill ; others, from
love of praise, will play the orator, when they should adhere to

DR. CANNON'S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

411

their manuscripts. That mode of delivery should be adopted by
the preacher which corresponds best with his gifts, and this he
should pursue.” — P. 231.

A similar line of remark is pursued by Dr. Yinet,
in his work on Pastoral Theology, recently presented
to the American reader by his accomplished trans¬
lator, Rev. Dr. Skinner. Extemporaneous preaching,
except where it is unavoidable, he disallows abso¬
lutely. He is for having the young preacher write
and recite, but to give ideas the preference to words
in the memory, and in all cases to prepare well and
solidly. His observations are pertinent and striking,
and well deserve to be weighed. And, since we have
introduced the name of the late well-known profes¬
sor at Lausanne, we cannot dismiss him or his work
without a passing remark. His “ Pastoral Theology”
is, in many respects, worthy of his distinguished
reputation, and deserves to be considered as a valu¬
able contribution to our theological literature. It
bears, like “ Gospel Studies,” u Separation of Church
from the State,” and other works from the same
hand, the characteristic marks of a mind of great
power and fertility. It breathes a tone deeply evan¬
gelical. It displays a happy facility both in analysis
and arrangement. It is marked, in parts at least, by

412

DK. CANNON’S PASTOKAL THEOLOGY.

a spirit genuinely philosophic. Its thoughts have an
air of originality, while the expression is charac¬
terized by a certain picturesque terseness and viva¬
city, which greatly heighten its effect. It is less
enigmatically metaphysical than parts of the u Gos¬
pel Studies,” and, though compactly written, is sel¬
dom obscure. The following passage, however, will
perhaps hardly justify the translator’s encomium on
the “ beautiful simplicity” of his author’s language :

“ The true form of a sermon is composed of the double im¬
pression of the subject, and of the subjectivity of the orator.
The form of a sermon acknowledges only these two laws, which,
so far from opposing, combine with one another.

“ As to the general forms which we may observe among
preachers, as the psychological and logical form, that of continu¬
ous discourse, and that of parallel developments, or of discourse
ramified, the analytical and synthetical sermon, they are neither
conventional nor artificial ; they are less differences of form than
of thought, points of view, methods of conceiving the subject of
discourse. They exist in the subjects themselves, and in the
human mind, anterior to all tradition.

“ There is the same difference between the conventional and
spontaneous form as there is between the two physiological sys¬
tems, one of which makes the prominences of the skull to
depend on the internal developments of the brain, and the
other these same developments to depend on the prominences
of the skull ; one expressiug the internal by the external, the

DE. CANNON’S PASTOEAL THEOLOGY. 413

other, by the external compressing and determining the internal ;

„ one, subordinating the external to the internal, the other, the
internal to the external. We ourselves prefer, that the external
should spring from the internal, and in respect to form, we give
no rule but this.” — Pp. 215, 216.

There are not many passages, however, like the
above, whose precise idea, words either conceal, or
force ns to look at, as it were “ through a glass
darkly.” On the more practical subjects, the author
is sufficiently direct and clear; his simplicity is
often very engaging. A considerable portion of the
volume is occupied with subjects of this description,
forbidding from their very nature, those metaphysi¬
cal excursions toward which the author’s mind had
a strong bias. His book furnishes, in some respects,
a lively contrast to that of Dr. Cannon. He has a
more vivid imagination, an easier flow of words, a
more racy style of expression, greater copiousness of
illustration, and more picturesqueness in the presen¬
tation of a thought. He has surveyed some topics
which Dr. Cannon has wholly passed by, to the
serious detriment of the completeness of his work.
Among these may be instanced the subject of the
minister’s domestic life, embracing his “ house and
household economy,” the “ government of his family,”
and the subjects of u the choice of a parish” and

414 dr. cannon’s pastoral theology.

“ministerial changes,” with some others included
within the chapter on “Worship.” Several of these
topics are too interesting, and belong too intimately
to the experiences and duties of a pastor, not to
deserve a prominent place in treatises of this charac¬
ter. On those points, too, which are discussed by
both writers, it is striking to observe the different
forms of expression given by them respectively to
similar ideas, and how the matter described has
more or less distinctness, proportion, and body, as
presented to us from this or that position, or through
the medium of this or the other mind.

On some topics which we should have expected
Dr. Yinet to treat copiously, he is meagre and un¬
satisfactory enough. The subject of prayer, so fully
and luminously surveyed by Dr. Cannon, and obvi¬
ously involving the highest interests of both pastor
and people, has, in the transmarine treatise, hardly
the cold respect of a passing glance devoted to its
character and claims. The comprehensive and
deeply interesting subject of the sacraments, to
which, with their cognate questions, Dr. Cannon
devotes not less than fifteen lectures, is almost wholly
omitted by Dr. Yinet, for the reason, we suppose,
that the subject was regarded by him as ranging
appropriately under some other department of the-

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

415

ology. There are, moreover, some matters intro¬
duced of a character more congenial to a transat¬
lantic atmosphere than to our own, while, upon the
questions of liturgies and the perpetuity of the
Sabbatic obligation, the translator has not thought
proper to suffer the author’s views to stand unchal¬
lenged, and has accordingly expressed his dissent
from them in the appendix to the volume.

These reasons, among others, dispose us to give
the preference, both as a class-book and one for
ordinary readers, to the lectures of the American
professor. They form a book which combines, in
our judgment, more fully than the other, the quali¬
ties which a treatise of the kind ought to possess,
and better adapt it for the use and profit of the
young men among us, who are preparing to enter on
the responsible work of the Christian ministry. Its
entire freedom from anything speculative or misty,
its thoroughly practical character, the sterling good
sense and judgment which pervade it, the lofty tone
of its moral inculcations, its admirable arrangement,
its large and catholic spirit, its homogeneity to the
liberal institutions whose spirit is reflected by the
American church, with a style, which, if not bril¬
liant, is yet dignified, expressive and forcible, all bid
us esteem it very highly, and through it, its departed

416

DR. CANNON’S PASTORAL THEOLOGY.

author, “ for Iris work’s sake.” It well deserves a
favored place in the theological class, and in the
Christian family, where it could hardly he perused
with thoughtful attention without affording a plea¬
sant and strengthening repast.

We have but a single word to add. The lines
which we have traced have had for us a deeper
interest than they can have, peradventure, for the
ordinary reader. They have served to revive asso¬
ciations at once pensive and pleasant. We have
seemed to sit once more at the feet of an honored
instructor, and listen, as in days gone by, to lessons
imparted in faith, hope, and love, but too negligently
received, alas ! as the living voice conveyed them.
We have looked again upon the manly form, blend¬
ing dignity with grace, upon each well-remembered
lineament of a countenance which petulance and
passion could not ruffle, while we have seemed to
hear the calm earnest tones of a voice, wont to utter
many a sage counsel besides those preserved by the
printed page. It would be strange, if soothing and
grateful sentiments should be divorced from such
recollections, or fail to impart a tone of kindliness to
the terms in which we have spoken of the departed
teacher and his work. Knowing very well how
prone the feelings are to bias the judgment, we find

DE. CANNON’S PASTOEAL THEOLOGY.

417

little trouble in conceiving that wliat has seemed
greatly commendable to us may be less decidedly so
to others. We feel, notwithstanding, strong confi¬
dence that when the perfectly sober verdict shall
have come, with no partialities of any kind to warp
it, it will prove to be not less favorable to the piety
and diligence of the author, than to the enduring
merits of his book.

18*

GOD’S WAY IN THE SEA.

(A Sermon on the loss of the Arctic, preached, Oct. 22d, 1854.)

“ Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy
footsteps are not known.” — Psalm lxxviii. 19,

The Sea is one of tlie stupendous products and
proofs of the Divine power and skill. Beheld in any
of its phases it proclaims Jehovah to he its maker,
and brings vividly before the thoughtful mind the
boundless deeps, the awful energies of the Infinite.
Viewed in a calm, its broad bosom upheaving with
its mighty respirations, and its sluggish billows roll¬
ing with sullen roar upon the sand, it presents the
picture of terrific power in repose. Its very rest is
terrible and suggestive — for we think how easy it is
for the hand that made, controls, and confines it, to let
loose upon it the spirit of the storm, to rouse it up
from its lethargy, toss its billows to the skies, threat¬
ening, in its phrensied rage, damage and death to all
who float upon its surface. Then when the tempest
is abroad, and deep calleth unto deep, and wave

god’s way in the sea.

419

lashes wave in tlie strife and uproar of the uncurbed
waters, what a pigmy is man ! How puny his prow¬
ess, how insignificant his skill and forecast, how vain
his pride and pomp and resources, amid this frightful
war of the elements. The bark that bears him seems
a bubble, tossed hither and thither at the mere sport
or scorn of winds and waves. He goes up to the
clouds, reeling and staggering like a drunken man,
and anon sinks into the yawning abyss, happy, if in
his descent he be not dashed on rocks or quicksands
lying in wait to destroy him. God have mercy upon
the poor mariners in such a time as this ; and when
they cry unto Him in their trouble, may He who
maketh the storm a calm and the waves thereof still,
bring them safely out of their distresses.

Frightful as the sea may become, and destructive
as its wrathful energies often are to man, it is yet one
of his best and most unwearied benefactors. Its
capacious bosom receives without repining the floods
of waters poured down ceaselessly from mountain and
highland, each rill, rivulet, river, stream, great or
small, bearing its tribute to the same mighty reser¬
voir provided for it, and without which the fruits of
the ground, and the dwellings of man, would be con¬
stantly liable to inundation. The vapor which the
sun’s rays detach from the sea, goes up in the form

420

god’s way in the sea.

of clouds, and becomes the cisterns of the skies,
which being opened, the gentle dews and showers
descend upon the evil and the good, making the fur¬
rows soft, and the little hills clap their hands, and the
heart of man rej oice. The fishy treasures of the sea
furnish the daily bread of multitudes, which but for
these would hardly have husks to keep them from
starvation. The circumambient waves have constituted
to many nations, walls and ramparts, which haugh¬
tiest enemies have lacked the hardihood and power
to scale — and behind these impregnable bulwarks
they have laughed to scorn the impotent menaces of
the oppressor. The unwearied sea bears up the ves¬
sels of all nations, which, obeying the promptings of
enterprise and commerce, glide along in all directions
over this ever open and ever prepared highway,
exchanging the products of the most remote climes —
bringing civilized and barbarous regions into close
association — carrying the living missionary with
the lamp of life, to the doors of the benighted, and
scattering the benefits of science, art, literature, and
all that Christian civilization affords, among the
inhabitants needing most to be elevated, refined, and
blessed by such intercommunion.

Without greater detail, these glances will show us
what the sea is, as a universal benefactor, and what

god’s way in the sea.

421

nations and individual man owe to its lavishly scat¬
tered and inexhaustible supplies, its succoring energy,
and prodigally scattered stores. With all its treach¬
ery, it is yet one of man’s best and most constant
friends, as untiring in doing him good as the ever
open hand of Him who made it. Though ever and
anon it rises into rage, hurling man hither and thither,
with the proudest fabrics which his science and skill
have constructed to guard his life, scattering navies
tall and proud, dashing ship against ship, foiling the
most desperate and agonizing struggles, baffling the
best laid plans, and burying man and his hopes and
most precious treasures, together, deep in its remorse¬
less waves — it yet continues on a grand scale to do
its work of kindness and mercy to the human race,
smiling upon man, and with soft breezes wooing him
to launch forth upon its bosom, and seek pleasure,
health, knowledge, gain — as though it were incapable
of harming the humblest mortal that trusts to its
aid, and makes its watery wastes the pathway to his
obj ect.

There is much of mystery about the sea. This
idea is ever associated with it, and enhances the awe
with which the mind is prone to regard it. Standing
on the sea shore, or on the deck of a vessel out of

X •

sight of land, the broad expanse which the eye takes

422

god’s way in the sea.

in, is but a fragment of the whole volume of water
that rolls round all the earth. How vast and mys¬
terious unspeakably, is the whole accumulated bulk.
How far down, down, down, do those briny waves
descend below the deceitful surface. There are spots
where fathom line can never reach the ground.
What wonderous caves, what j agged and horrid sur¬
faces, what rugged mountains perchance, and scarce
less rugged vales, what forms of beauty, gems, pearls,
reefs of coral, conjoined to the slow-accumulating
treasures of many a wreck — what charnel-houses of
bones of dead men and animals, petrified from the
lapse of time and the action of water — what forms of
life, grotesque, monstrous, drawing sustenance from
the recesses of the mighty abyss, might astonish the
eye, were the waters to leave their bed and the bot¬
tom of the sea be unfolded to view. In this great
and wide sea leviathan is made to play, and things
creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts,
sport upon its surface or gambol in its depths. The
mysterious veil of waters hides from sight all the
trophies which the sea’s insatiable greed has seized
and collected for centuries, out of human lives and
works and wealth. Its very calm is shrouded in
mystery, and its awful stillness may only presage the
thunder of the storm, the wild commotion, and the

god’s way in the sea.

423

succeeding wreck and ruin. They that go down to
the sea in ships, that do business in the great waters,
see the Lord’s works and wonders in the deep and
stand in awe of Him when the waves lift up their
voice — and to each thoughtful gazer on the same
works and wonders, the mystery that overhangs
these wide-spread w^atery realms of God, increases
the awe, by making the heart feel “ thy way, O God,
is in the sea, thy path in the great waters, and thy
footsteps are not known.”

And thus the wide unfathomable ocean symbolizes
God. It is an emblem — slight and inadequate in¬
deed, but adapted to a vision and faculties so narrow
as ours — of might, majesty, grandeur, terribleness,
resources divine. In its calm and storm, its smiles
and frowns, the benefits it confers unweariedly upon
men, its inexhaustible resources, the awful thunder
of its voice, its terrible capability to work dis¬
may and ruin, the impenetrable screen which hides
its secrecies from mortal eye, the unchangeableness
of its features and character from age to age, cycle
to cycle — it strikingly images to us the Almighty
maker who gave the sea its bounds and said to its
proud waves from the beginning, u hitherto shalt thou
come and no farther.” It proclaims God, reflects
God, points to the mind of God, in each billow and

424

god’s way in the sea.

cavern, in everything beautiful and beneficent, and
mysterious and terrible, that marks it or belongs to
it. And in looking from the sea up to Him who
made it, the devout soul owns with an involuntary
burst of wonder and awe, “ O Lord, how great are
thy works, and thy thoughts are very deep.”

Much mystery shrouds the dangers besetting the
life of those who go down to the sea in ships. Shall
they who boldly launch forth upon the ocean wave,
for a voyage of days, or weeks, or months, reach the de¬
sired haven, and safely set foot on the dry land again ?
“They surely shall,” so Confidence whispers. “They
may never more come back, but perish and be buried
in the sea” — so Fear and Doubt, and perhaps Mis¬
trust suggest. “Ships are but boards and sailors
but men.” Winds, waves, rocks, sands, flames, fogs,
collisions, all suggest perils, besides those unseen
causes of destruction more fatal sometimes, because
man does not guard against what he does not see and
dread. The heaviest calamity often springs from a
cause the least regarded. The President and the
City of Glasgow perished amid the waves, and none
has returned to tell what unexpected blow stilled the
brave hearts that beat upon their decks. The dread¬
ful secret is safe in the bosom of the sea — safe as the
sad secret which has locked up for years, from the

god’s way in the sea.

425

sympathy and curiosity of the world, the fate of Sir
John Franklin* and his gallant crews, and promises
to lock it np for ever, though tender hearts and strong
arms dare compass the very pole, to wrest, if it were
possible, from the eternal ice that guards it, a
solution of the mournful mystery.

No common or looked for blow struck successfully
at the life of the Arctic, as she ploughed her gallant
way toward her home-haven whose arms were open
to receive her. No danger, of this nature at least,
was apprehended by her gallant commander, or by
the hearts of the many with him, beating fresher as
home drew nigher, and feeling increasing confidence
from his own security. It was a casual shock as it
seemed, and one too slight to awaken fear, — the oc¬
currence of which a moment before seemed barely
possible, — the effect of which, now that it has come,
cannot prove disastrous. Not so, misjudging and
hapless wayfarers on the sea ! Death sits upon the

* If the recent intelligence of the discovery of the bones of Sir
John Franklin and his companions be authentic, one mystery of
the sea at least has been eplained. The story has something of a
dubious look. But as certainty in a case like this is so much bet er
than suspense, we hope to find the r port confirm d. Of course all
rational hope of the heroic navigators being yet alive, has long since
been abandoned.

426

god’s way in the sea.

prow of the doomed vessel, and you will soon see,
though you see not now, the grim presence that so
appals. He is there to hold a carnival upon the sea ;
but not without God’s presence or permission is he
there. Mightier than Death, mightier than the
waves of the sea, mightier than the universe, whose
forces he holds in the hollow of his hand, is One who
sees the end of the voyage from its beginning, with
the interval that divides the two extremes, and the
dangers, slight or imminent, that environ every step.
It is the great and sovereign and mysterious Lord,
who is in all places and about every pathway,
whether on the deep or on the dry land ; whose
“ way is in the sea, whose path is in the great waters,
and whose footsteps are not known.”

There is, my brethren, in this direful calamity,
which has shrouded so many families in sackcloth,
and to a certain extent brought the whole nation as
mourners, at this great burial in the waves, much,
that to our imperfect sense wears an aspect of
extraordinary strangeness and mystery. Obvious¬
ly the mystery is confined to us who are of yes¬
terday and know nothing : to God it is not a mys¬
tery, and cannot be such. The relation which
our little and limited understanding bears to the
Infinite intelligence, is such as perpetually to re-

god’s way in the sea.

427

mind us of our insignificance. In our utter helpless¬
ness we need to lean upon the arm that moves and
upholds all things. In darkness, doubt, and despair,
the soul beseechingly stretches forth its hands, for
the Divine light and guidance. God knows what¬
ever transcends the limits of finite knowledge — un¬
ravels the most tangled complications — is not affected
by the chaos and confusion which besliroud our
faculties — has a certain purpose where mortals can
discern only chance, and in the dire calamities which
stun, oppress, and overwhelm whole communities
and even nations, remains ever the same wise, just,
merciful, and good Lord, u whose way is in the sea,
whose path is in the great waters, and whose foot¬
steps are not known.” It is in this aspect of the case
that I would view the recent calamity, which has
brought bereavement and anguish into so many
homes. It is wisdom for the heart-stricken, baffled,
confounded, to lift itself to God: rest for the tossed
spirit may be found there, and consolation too.

The nnmber of the Arctic’s passengers was unusu¬
ally large, and composed to an unwonted extent of
persons of mark and influence, whose loss would be
likely to make the widest gap in society. Hot that
one man’s life is dearer than another, or his soul in¬
trinsically more precious. But society is constituted

428

god’s WAY m THE SEA.

so, that talent, education, means, social culture, invest
men with an influence, and power, and position, not
possessed or occupied by those lacking these requi¬
sites, and making their loss more widely felt and dis¬
astrous when the places knowing them know them
no more. Whence had all these persons come, and
by what chance were they all thrown on this home¬
ward hound vessel ? Some had spent months in
foreign lands — had floated on the Nile and gazed
wonderingly upon the hoary Pyramids — had stood
beneath the dome of St. Peter’s, exploring the curi¬
osities of Italian art — had gazed from the vale of
Chamouni upon the awful grandeur of Mont Blanc ;
had visited what lands and seen what sights they
chose — and now, with many a trophy taken from the
memorable spots trodden by their venturesome feet,
and with health renewed by the strengthening tour,
they were recrossing the bridge of billows wdiich
alone separated them from the loved ones left at
home. Others had been drawn over the sea by the
demands of business, and their purposes achieved,
were returning home after a shorter absence. The
places which some filled on board the ill-fated vessel,
were those which others had designed to fill. The
exchange seemed the result of chance or was brought
about by unforeseen circumstances, not looked upon

GOD'S WAY IN TIIE SEA.

429

as greatly important at the time, but involving no
less an alternative than life or death. Some, acain,
were voyaging towards the New World for the first
time, with the same lively curiosity and high wrought
expectations that an American would feel on his first
passage towards Europe. Among these was that
unfortunate young French nobleman, who had de¬
signed to embark for this country several months
before, but had twice been thwarted by circumstan¬
ces which he could not control, and impatient of
longer delay, had been hurried off by his family,
that he might reach the vessel before she sailed, and
as it proved, shared the sad fate of the most who
embarked with him. In a recent letter by one of his
countrymen (Baron de Trobriand), giving an account
of his family and the circumstances of his coming to
this country, the writer remarks, “ no one can escape
his destiny, and here is a striking example of it.”
This is true, though destiny is not blind fate, reckless
of God, but the mysterious development of plans too
deep for man to fathom, the result of that wisdom
which hath appointed the bounds of man that he
cannot pass. And in this view no man can escape
his destiny ; and, strange as may appear, the concur¬
rence of causes which assembled the throng on the
Arctic’s decks, for whom death was waiting — terrible

430

god’s way in the sea.

as was the surprise to find the billows that should
have borne them home, about to become their wind¬
ing-sheet and grave — paralysing as must have been
the thought of encountering death on the deep, in
place of the solacing endearments of family and
friends longing to embrace them — let us not detach
from this mournful catastrophe that all-controlling
Providence which heeds each sparrow’s fall and
compasses our individual pathway, but draw rather
from the very weight and mystery of the strokes he
sends fresh grounds of confidence in the wisdom of
his administration.

The time, mode, and circumstances of this great
calamity, are such as to deepen the impression of its
strangeness and mystery. The gallant ship had
crossed the sea many times before, and always with
safety, though visible terrors had at times threatened
her. She was a noble specimen of the genius, art, and
science, which have given glory to this branch of our
marine. She was fitted to grapple with the ocean in
his worst fits of plirensy, and dared to defy the ocean
waves to do their worst, though now no storm was
abroad to call her powers of resistance and of van¬
quishing into requisition. No thick darkness brooded
on the sea, to invite disaster, and confound the skill
and resources that might be exerted to baffle it. But

god’s way in the sea.

431

there was midday and the calm to lull all fears to

rest. And though the fog was there, as it always is

%

in that region, yet its curtain was lifted frequently,
enabling the watchful pilot to see far before and
around him. And had the fog remained dense and
unyielding even, so broad is the great highway of
waters, that days sometimes elapse under the bright¬
est sky, ere one vessel sees another on the sea. Each
vessel that traverses the Atlantic is said to have on
the average seventy square miles of sea room to itself,
and the chances of collision, according to Capt. Luce’s
testimony, are hardly as one to a thousand. No dan¬
ger was therefore apprehended. But danger was
nevertheless at hand, and the shock came at the
moment of greatest apparent security. The jar was
almost unperceived, and the injury received too tri¬
vial to alarm the most timid soul. But in that slight
jar there was death. The stout, brave vessel had
received her mortal stab. Her decks soon presented
a scene of the wildest confusion and dismay. To
look through the vista of a few hours and see the
friendly haven, and anxious, loving friends waiting
to welcome, and the family circle with all it contains
to soothe and solace the returned wanderers after
their separation, and to make them feel how far more
precious to them than all the Old World contains are

432

god’s way in the sea.

tlie simple joys of home — to have this vista suddenly
closed by ghastly death in a terrible form — Oh, the
revulsion is too horrible for words to express, and I
gladly draw a veil over the agonies of those few
mortal hours before the doomed vessel sank under the
treacherous waves — agonies, which those who have
been saved from the sea, and recounted their most
mournful story, one by one, to thrill the heart of the
nation, have had experience of in part, though their
simple, graphic words fall far short, as we easily feel,
of the stupendous reality.

And as we sit safely in our comfortable homes, and
speculate upon this disaster, we think and say that
this great loss of life ought not to have been, even
after the vessel was death-struck and must go down
in the deep. "W e think how widely different a result,
filling countless houses with joy, which are now robed
in sackcloth, should, and with the proper manage¬
ment would, have come to pass — how, if the noble
captain, in the first alarm, and under a wrong impres¬
sion as to the damage sustained by the other vessel,
had not dispatched to her aid his first officer Gourlie
(may God preserve his life amid encompassing perils),
whose influence upon the crew is acknowledged to
have been most direct and commanding — or if he
had received him back again when he returned to his

433

god’s WAY m THE SEA.

own ship, thus establishing and holding that subordi¬
nation and systematic determined effort adapted to
the crisis — the lives of very many more must have
been saved, besides those of the wretched, faithless
cowards who fled from their post, and purchased safety
for themselves by leaving others to destruction. Or
if the vessels could only have known each other’s
real condition, and have kept together, there was
ample time to transfer every soul from the foundering
shfp to the one that had life and vigor enough left to
carry them all to shore. Or, if in the confusion of
the hour, sufficient order could have been preserved,
to place in each boat all whom it could have safely
carried, the sea would have had snatched from its jaws
three-fourths of the victims whom it was waiting to
devour. W e think of each helping, saving thing that
might have varied the result and turned death away
from his expected prey. We feel oppressed by this
mysterious, wholesale destruction upon the sea. We
wonder at the mystery, blame the craven and false¬
hearted, admire with tears the lofty heroism which
placed duty before death, and feel a sympathetic
anguish with the torn hearts, whose wounds long years
can hardly staunch. But we must not forget God in
this hour of calamity. The sea is His and He made
it. Human life is His, for He gave it, and when He

19

434

god’s way in the sea.

wills can recall it, and under what circumstances His
sovereign pleasure may direct. His mind is higher
than heaven, and deeper than the deepest depths of
his watery domains. There are secret things which
“ belong to the Lord our God.” His way is in the
sea, his path in the great waters, and his footsteps are
not known. Could my voice reach the specially
stricken and bereaved I would speak to them thus :
“ Ye hearts that are wrung with anguish because of
those whom the sea has taken from you, who call
upon loved ones buried there, and there is none to
answer, will ye no longer trust the Lord because
clouds and darkness are around Him — because there
is mystery about His ways and doings — because He
takes from you treasures which the fond heart hoped
to cling to long, and gives no account to you of His
reasons for what He does ? Lather trust him with
the stronger trust now, for herein is the only rest,
comfort, hope, and safety that the stricken soul can
find. For “ God is our refuge and strength, a very
present help in trouble ; therefore will not we fear
though the earth be removed, and though the moun¬
tains be carried into the midst of the sea. Be still and
know that I am God. I will be exalted in the earth.

r ” A

The Lord of hosts is with us. The God of Jacob
is our refuge.” Other refuge than this have we

435

god’s way in the sea.

none, in our most terrible days of darkness and
distress.

Besides this great lesson, which all bleeding hearts
should learn, there are others of a more general cha¬
racter, springing from this calamity, at several of
which I will barely glance.

One shall be taken and another left. Few escaped
from the death-dealing surge, wherein all were in¬
volved, and struggling almost against hope with a
common enemy. The brave commander lived ; the
son, whom he would have rescued, died. The hus¬
band reached his home, leaving wife and child buried
in the sea. Providence makes strange discrimina¬
tions, and the laws, the principles on which they are
made, who of mortals can explain? The faithless
and treacherous even, found safety in their selfish
flight from duty ; the loyal and true-hearted perished
where cowardice deserted them. What a wondrous
economy is God’s ! Yet amid seeming chaos, and
the evil at times favored more than the good, and
distinctions made, and events occurring which seem
to confound our ideas of right and wrong, the wheels
of the Divine government are never clogged ; maj es-
tic order ever reigns ; the scales' of justice never lose
theh- rightful poise, and the ways of God, sometimes
misunderstood and oftener misinterpreted by men,

436

god’s WAY EST THE SEA.

will be sublimely vindicated in the revelations and
retributions of a coming day.

How beautif ul is devotion to truth and duty every¬
where ! How spontaneously does the heart warm to
deeds of moral heroism ! What but a divine breath¬
ing on the soul, is its instinctive sympathy with what
is most noble and disinterested in human sentiment
and action ? The words of the Arctic’s commander,
“ the ship’s fate shall be my own, and my fate shall
be my son’s,” are worthy to be graven on tables of
brass, and the heroic conduct illustrating the words,
raise both into the sublime. Well might a thrill of
joy shoot through the nation’s heart, at the tidings
of his marvellous escape from the perils of the sea,
and acclamations bursting from thousands of voices
greet him all along his journey home. And this
wide-spread utterance of joy is the spontaneous ex¬
pression of the heart’s approval of what is magnani¬
mous, right, and true. It is the implied utterance, too,
of loathing and abhorrence of what is mean, selfish,
and cowardly. And thus the very plaudits lavished
on the commander, point the most withering condem¬
nation at the heads of the deserting crew. And from
this springs one of the grand benefits of this disaster.
The influence of such feelings can neither be tran¬
sient nor confined to a little space. It lives long and

437

god’s way in the sea.

works beneficially, far and wide. A single noble
example like this in the nation’s eye may transform
each sailor into a hero and make death far preferable
to life saved through the abandonment of principle,
and thus bear golden fruits for the general weal.

But without pursuing such a train of remark, I
would say again, that human sympathy is often
stzmngely inconsistent. Hie loss of life by this disas¬
ter has struck the chords of every heart till they
vibrate strongly, and with eager interest spring¬
ing from intense sensibility is each fresh incident
connected with the fatal event scanned by eyes
often gushing as they read. This is well, for sym¬
pathy with others’ sorrows is seemly. But who
weeps at the tidings which have reached us within
the past week from the shores of the Black Sea?
Bloody battles — it is said — have been fought —
Sevastopol has fallen — ships have been burned or
sunk — war has wielded its horrible enginery of des¬
truction-twenty or thirty thousand warriors are
reported to have fallen maimed or dead upon the
drenched soil, sending sorrow and desolation, it may
be, to as many homes — and yet who mourns over
such carnage and ruin as this? Perhaps not one —
joy rather is felt, that Russia is beaten and that the
W estem Allies are victorious. The loss of the Arctic,

438

god’s way in the sea.

compared with the siege and sacking of a single
populous city, or the frightful slaughter and havoc
of one great battle, where glory is won, is but as an
infant’s gentle death, beside the sudden engulphing
in the waves of all whom the Arctic bore. And yet
the death of these sends consternation and grief into
every home, while those perish on their gory bed and
no man layeth it much to heart. I mark the fact
without pausing to explain the anomaly — barely add¬
ing, that if intense sympathy in the lesser calamity is
comely and proper, it ought at least to be felt so
strongly in respect to the greater, as to rouse the
nations with one mind to frown upon and forbid fero¬
cious war, and send the whole church in wrestlings to
the Throne of Mercy, that the sword may be turned
into the ploughshare for ever.

Religious trust in God through Jesus Christ , is
calmness and safety everywhere. Such trust lifts the
soul above sudden terrors or calamities — fits man to
five, suffer, or die, as the Infinitely Wise may appoint.
And he who is ready to die is ready for every emer¬
gency. At home and abroad, on the shore or on the
sea, if the summons come to enter the spirit-world, it
is equally well to those who have no will but their
Father’s in Heaven. If death stare them in the face
on the great deep, they can look upon him without

439

god’s WAY IN THE SEA.

blenching, and at the command of a loving Father,
can lie down as calmly to their last sleep among the
waves, as though the softest conch witnessed their
closing struggle, or freshest flowers bloomed over the
spot containing their remains. Be ye therefore ready.
I hear a voice from Heaven addressing these momen¬
tous words to living men — addressing them with
emphasis at all times, in view of every danger that
besets and every uncertainty that shrouds man’s mor¬
tal hour — but addressing them with special emphasis
to a nation in tears, in view of that distressing calam¬
ity which in a moment quenched hope and joy and
life in a watery tomb. I hear that voice address
itself to each of you — adding with impressive tone,
lest you should reject, as at other times, the counsel
of God against yourselves, and spurn the oft repeated
warning, and lapse, through the world’s freezing con¬
tact, into former insensibility : “ Go and sin no more,
lest a worst thing come unto you.”

THE LATE REVEREND DR. BRODHEAD AS A

PREACHER.

When a minister of Christ, whose steadfast and
loyal services, for long and wearisome years, the
Master has signally honored; who has approved
himself a man greatly expert in the noblest of sci¬
ences — that of winning sonls ; whose power to touch
and melt the heart with the publicly spoken mes¬
sage, and persuade men, “in Christ’s stead, to he
reconciled to God,” the experience of numbers has
attested, — sinks to his grave, laden though it be with
years as with honors, the event is hardly less sadden¬
ing than full of interest. The pensive feelings, how¬
ever, with which we regard it, are relieved, and even
cheered by the reflection, that the weary and way-
wrorn is now at rest, sleeping profoundly at the close
of life’s toilful day, without liability to have the rest
broken, save by the last trumpet’s call.

The memory of such is the heritage of the Church.
The savor of his name is fresh and fragrant. His
memorial needs not to be written with human hands.

THE LATE KEY. DE. BEODHEAD AS A PEEACHEK. 441

It is graven on tire fleshly tablets of the hearts of
those whom his life-long assiduity and labors guided
to the cross, and of those to whom these became,
in turn, instrumental in determining to choose “ that
good part” which the docile Mary chose, sitting at the
feet of her Lord. And thus the record of a good man’s
character and achievements requires not to be often
brought before the public eye, lest it should pass into
oblivion ; for that record which is laid up in the
archives of many Christian hearts, linked together
by a common association, is most likely to be endur¬
ing. Such record, nevertheless, it is fitting from
time to time to present, as may enable men to derive
from an eminently useful career, the full benefit it is
designed and adapted to yield.

That Dr. Brodhead was one of the most popular
preachers of his times ; that his popularity was not
factitious and ephemeral, and, as a too frequent conse¬
quence, empty and void, but was composed of solid
elements, giving it genuine vitality and power — and
power judged by the truest tests — it would be captious
to deny. It is, however, no disparagement to say
that, intellectually, his rank would have been no
higher than that of numbers of his order, who lead
useful, and laborious, and devoted, but not remark¬
able lives. Were the sermons before us in print,

19*

442 THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

with which his highest effects were produced, the
leisurely examination of them might disclose little
to extort onr admiration at the mental scope and
resources therein revealed ; and we might even
wonder, as the readers of Whitfield have wondered,
at the disproportion between the thing written and
the thing spoken. We might vainly seek to find
what should strongly remind us of the suggestive
thought, the keen and comprehensive survey of a
subject, the acute and subtle, yet sinewy and all-com¬
pelling logic, forging its massive argument, link by
link, to the last link of the unbreakable chain — such
as a discourse by South or Barrow presents. Nor
might we find a Jeremy Taylor’s affluence of
imagery and illustration, joined to the curious learn¬
ing poured out almost as lavishly as Montaigne’s, and
enriched by a meteor-brilliancy of imagination ; nor
the felicities of Tillotson’s or even of Scougal’s style,
nor the severe elaboration of stately sentences, such
as Robert Hall furnishes constant examples of, — the
fitting medium for his massive thoughts; nor the
striking appositeness of Scripture quotation, seeming¬
ly natural, almost spontaneous, yet intensely artistic,
dovetailing the inspired utterance into the preacher’s
thought, which forms one of Blair’s, and still more
of our own Mason’s, most noticeable excellences ;

THE LATE KEY. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 443

nor should we find, either singly or in combination,
those highest qualities which give to a written dis¬
course the ring of the finest metal.

In these respects our recently departed father
would bear no shining comparison with many of his
class, many, too, whose spoken words had been tame
and inert, compared with the effect of his own. And
thus we see that, in God’s wise arrangements, the
highest intellectual endowment, and the greatest
variety of furniture and accomplishment adorning it,
are far from being the conditions of the most fruitful
and successful ministry ; that the effective power of
such may be excelled by a ministry less highly
endowed, the arrows launched from whose bows,
heaven-directed and impelled, are sent unerringly
to the hearts of the King’s enemies.

Dr. Brodhead was, emphatically, a preacher.
This was his distinctive mission, and this, he knew
well, was his specific province and work. His ex¬
cellent sense was shown in the resoluteness with
which he adhered to this simple path, cultivating
earnestly the gift with which he was honored, and
resisting every seduction to enter on another arena,
where he might lack the proper weapons or strength
to insure a successful issue to the conflict. He chose
the sacred desk in preference to the professor’s or the

444: THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

essayist’s chair, in either of which he might have
attained, it has been said, high distinction. We
doubt whether he would have signally succeeded
in either position, for high distinction in neither can
be compassed without a class of qualities, which it
does not appear to us that he possessed, in such a
measure, at least, as to give him a decided preemi¬
nence. This preeminence, as a preacher, he attained.
He chose the very field to which his tastes, instincts,
special gifts, and zeal for the cause of souls, adapted
and inclined him. To utter the gospel message to
wayward, blind, and rebel men, to urge that mes¬
sage home to the conscience and heart, making the
listless anxiously attentive, and the hardened confess
the two-edged sword of truth, and the morose sceptic
a weeping inquirer, and the u almost persuaded ”
“ fully persuaded,” to renounce sin, cleave to Christ,
and compass his pardoning mercy — this was the sphere
within which his powers might, and did, find full and
auspicious exercise. This high post he filled long,
filled honorably, filled with signally beneficent re¬
sults to the Church ; filled so, we have no doubt,
that when the Lord writeth up his jewels, very many,
won through his cogency, to seek and secure the king¬
dom of God, will rise up and call his name blessed.
To do this work well requires remarkable qualifica-

THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 445

tions, the more prominent of which may now he briefly
pointed out.

His discourses, if not displaying the higher evi¬
dences of intellectual power, were yet well written,
betraying care and earnest study in their prepar¬
ation. And as he preferred to read his discourses
rather than give them from memory, or trust to any
of the ordinary modes of extemporaneous speaking,
his custom was, to write them throughout. The
vigor and effect of his preaching, even with manu¬
script before him, would hardly be cited by those
who clamor for the utter disuse of notes in the pulpit,
as an illustration of the certain death of all ani¬
mation, proper expression, and forcible action, said
to ensue from their use. The language which he
employed was the language in which people
ordinarily speak. There was little attempt at orna¬
ment, and no seeming wish to try the effect or
experiment of rhetorical excursions. The diction
was natural without being homely, and that hearer
must have been stolid indeed, to whom the preacher’s
meaning was not clear as a sunbeam.

In this its great strength lay, but not in this alone.
The sentiment was intensely evangelical. Both
the warp and woof of his discourse were strongly
colored with the thoughts of inspiration. And no

446 THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

man who saturates his preaching with the utter¬
ances, judiciously selected and used, of those who
u spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost,”
can fail utterly of force and impressiveness, unless
he have glaring and stubborn deficiencies, to over¬
bear such an advantage. Were we to characterize
the materiel of Dr. Brodhead’s discourses in a single
sentence, we should say that it was clear in arrange¬
ment and thought as in language, distinct in the
development of its scope, richly freighted throughout
with the fragrant spices and precious gems of the
Holy Book, and, in its application, direct and pungent.

Such preaching is adapted to the most intellectual
as well as to the humblest. Of the former, it is well
known that no inconsiderable number were to be
found during his ministry, amongst his regular and
most interested hearers. Hor is the fact wonderful.
The lawyer, whose mind is often taxed for six days
out of seven, with complicated cases, will not be apt
to find most attraction in that preaching, which
demands, for the satisfactory comprehension of it, the
same severe tension of the faculties. He will choose
that rather, whose argument is direct and clear ;
whose illustration is striking ; and especially that
which impresses him most, as a practical man, with
what the preaching of Christ is designed to accom-

THE LATE REV. DR. BRODIIEAD AS A PREACHER. 447

plisli. This was Daniel Webster’s experience. I4e
wanted the preacher to make him feel his position
as a sinner before God, and bring home to him the
sense of personal responsibility. It may hence
appear, that the strongest intellect, instead of crav¬
ing a repast of abstruse metaphysics, or impalpable
logic, or finding delight in glittering figures of
speech, or venturesome flights of fancy, really craves at
the preacher’s hands a widely different entertain¬
ment.

The effect and impressiveness of his discourse owed
much to his delivery. We shall not repeat the stale
saying, fathered on Demosthenes, about the excessive
proportion that delivery in a discourse bears to its
other components. Viewing the matter somewhat
more moderately, it is at once conceded, that the
proper delivery of a sermon is a very important
element indeed, to bring it home to the understand¬
ing, as well as soul of an audience. This element of
power Dr. Brodhead possessed in an eminent de¬
gree. There may have been those among our minis¬
try, who could, on occasion, declaim with greater
vivacity or with more impressive power, but we
question whether, in the delivery of a discourse as a
whole, and from week to week, and especially from
youth “even to hoar hairs,” any minister of his

448 THE LATE EEV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

denomination, or perhaps of his times, can he men¬
tioned as fairly his equal.

For this he had remarkable requisites. His voice
was one of singular sweetness, compass, and flexi¬
bility. His enunciation was distinctness itself. The
effect of his speech was heightened by his personal
appearance and manner. He possessed the advan¬
tage which, as Gibbon remarks of the personal
beauty of his favorite Mahomet, few persons look
upon with indifference, save those to whom nature
has signally denied it — of a fine presence and com¬
manding stature. His action, though certainly not
acquired by practising before a glass, nor squared
by the most approved elocutionary rules, was na¬
tural, becoming, and expressive. These qualities
alone were sufficient to command close attention
to his utterances. Particular sentences which,
spoken by many another, had been regarded as some¬
times tame, sounded grandly, and carried signifi¬
cance with them, when pronounced by a voice
admirably modulated, and removed to the furthest
verge from the sing-song monotony, which acts as a
lullaby upon many a susceptible sense. It was im¬
posing to hear him read portions of the Scriptures,
and certain of his favorite hymns, or the more ex¬
pressive formularies of our Church, and especially to

THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 449

hear him, with hand on the head of kneeling expec¬
tant, prononnce over him the solemn words, which
set him apart as a bishop over the Lord’s heritage.
His tones, his manner, his grave and dignified aspect,
invested what he said and did with a solemnity and
weight which few could hear and witness unmoved.

Dignity in the pulpit was a part of himself. His
sense of the grandeur of his high office, and of the
responsibilities it imposed, was deep and constant.
He seemed to realize himself as standing full in the
awful presence of the King whose ambassador he
was, and in whose name he was announcing to men
the terrors of the judgment, and the mercy of the
cross. He was impatient of all flippancy, of every¬
thing that looked like a trivial and irreverent treat¬
ment of sacred things, in the presentation of his
theme. He spoke as though necessity were laid upon
him to utter with the greatest solemnity the most
intensely solemn and momentous message that can
fall on human ears. He shrank appalled from
any utterance by a “ legate of the skies,” preach¬
ing Christ and his cross, that might set the benches
“in a roar.” For this reason among others, he
looked with little favor upon the platform of the
religious anniversary. We have heard him speak
in a tone bordering on indignant contempt, of

450 THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

occasional exhibitions witnessed there, as not only
derogating from the gravity of the ministerial office,
presenting the incongruity of mingling the frivolous
with the grave, but as begetting a prurient and dis¬
eased taste in matters of religion, and tending to
bring the ministry itself into reproach. And, truth
to say, it were not easy to decide why the absence of
the very gravity which is insisted on as inseparable
from the staid propriety of pulpit ministration, should
become on the platform, not only no indecorum, but
actually one of the cardinal requisites of a refreshing
harangue. Dr. Brodhead had not the u optics
keen 55 enough to mark the distinction, nor the
“ metaphysics ” to remove the discordance, and make
the two things harmonious. USTot that his own
gravity had anything of the morose or intolerant
about it. It was not stern, chilling, repulsive. It
was not the gravity of the sanctimonious bigot, who
thanked God that he was not as other men, but that
which resulted naturally from the profound sense he
cherished of the nature of the office he was com¬
missioned to hold, and the work he was called to
perform. They who saw and heard him, felt the
sobering influence of his presence and speech irresisti¬
bly, and acknowledged that the place was holy where
they worshipped.

THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 451

His earnestness in preaching was very marked.
Nothing about his manner indicated the preacher
present merely to perform a task in which his heart
was not enlisted — cold, listless, and indifferent
whether men should heed and obey, or reject and
perish. The period of his youthful prime, or manly
vigor, within which his fullest energy of delivery
and intensity of expression were thrown into his ser¬
mons, was passed before the present writer knew
him ; yet we easily comprehend how impressive, and
even overwhelming at times, he must have been in
the palmiest days of his popularity. But advancing
years never disrobed him of the earnestness with
which he persuaded the wayward to return to the
Good Shepherd — nor did the message he announced
ever, up to his last public utterance of it, lose the
irresistible attraction of gushing warm from a heart
kindled with love to the Master, and throbbing in
sympathy with the misery of those ready to perish.
Had Angell James known him, he would have given
him a prominent place among his illustrations of an
a Earnest Ministry ” — a ministry alive to the de¬
mands of the great cause, prompt to preach Christ
and him only, with the demonstration of the Spirit
and with power, warning every man, beseeching
every man, even with tears, so as to be able to pre-

452 THE LATE REV. DR. BRODIIEAD AS A PREACHER.

sent every man faultless before God, with exceeding
joy, in the grand approaching day.

And this suggests his tenderness, which was a
strongly characteristic feature of his preaching. Not
they who are wont to exhibit the greatest amount
of sensibility have absolutely the tenderest hearts.
The lion-hearted Ney, marching from Moscow at the
head of his forlorn hope, through driving, piercing
snows, and the serried ranks of an implacable foe,
could clasp to his manly breast, and carry to a place
of safety the wailing infant, whom a mother had
thrice thrown from her to perish, that she might be
less encumbered in her struggles to escape the hor¬
rors of that unparalleled retreat. The mother, in her
selfishness and despair, could forget her sucking
child: the soldier, stern, cold, and impassive to ap¬
pearance, evinced more than a woman’s tenderness.
Thus the outward aspect may easily mislead and
prompt to erroneous judgment. The softest and
most susceptible nature may be veiled by a frigid
and reserved exterior, and the preacher u unused to
the melting mood ” may be voted cold and unsympa¬
thetic, while, in reality, the warmest of hearts throbs
in his bosom. He, on the other hand, whose coun¬
tenance and manner are fitted best for tender ex¬
pression, usually receives the credit of being the

THE LATE KEY. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 453

possessor of the kindliest sympathies, though his
warmth and depth of feeling may not he a whit
greater than those of other men. The absence of the
outward manifestation is counted as an absence of
the thing itself ; while the faculty to express keen
sensibility, which is often as purely a gift of nature,
and as much under the control of personal volition
as a fine voice with its modulations, is regarded as
decisive evidence that the heart is overflowing with
those tender emotions which give a nameless grace
to the preacher’s character, and the strongest fasci¬
nation to his words.

We make the remark to guard against a fallacy.
The tenderness of our departed father was palpable,
striking, and often deeply effective, and no doubt as
deeply genuine. We should hesitate, however, to
award him a warmer heart and broader sympathies
than many of his brethren not gifted with the faculty
of imparting to tender feeling its most touching out¬
ward expression. It is unfortunate for the preacher
where this lack is very glaring; for the heart, with
the mass of hearers, is mightier than the reason ; but
more unfortunate is it, where the preacher having
little heart, yet aware of the power of tenderness
over others, assumes a snivelling sensibility, to pro¬
duce, if he can, by the counterfeit, the natural effect

454 THE LATE EEV. DE. BEODHEAD AS A PEEACHEE.

of the true. He only who can sweep the heart’s
delicate strings with the hand of a Master, is surest
to reach and overcome its passion-guarded citadel.

The faculty to do this well must he counted
amongst the rare felicities of endowment which con¬
spired to render Dr. Brodhead’s words so telling and
effective. It was a part, and an important part, of
the garniture with which the Master’s prodigality
clothed and equipped him. The gift was used with¬
out boasting and vain-glory. It was made subservient
to the Master’s honor. It proclaimed its celestial
origin. It unveiled the broken spirit, prostrate
before Him from whom cometh down every good
and perfect gift, and a heart fired with zeal for the
winning of souls, and pervaded with a childlike trust
and a devoted piety. Its exercise dissolved audiences
in sympathetic tears. It arrested the feet of the
way-worn wanderer, and pointed the penitent’s
streaming eye to Him whose blood alone cleanses
from sin. It directed hope to a brighter sphere, and
incited the resolves to renounce the world and follow
Christ, which resulted in adding many rejoicing sons
and daughters to the multitude of the sacramental
host.

Such — without extending remarks already drawn
out too far — were the prominent elements of Dr. Brod-

THE LATE KEY. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER. 455

head’s popularity and success as a preacher. Judged
by the one grand test — his success in winning souls, — ■
it must he confessed that his ministry was extraordi¬
narily effective and important. It has been alleged,
and we know no reason for denying the averment,
that God has honored his long ministry, by bringing
more souls into the Church through his means than
through that of any other in the annals of the
denomination. Such a fact stamps his ministry as
one of the most powerful that our Church has en¬
joyed. He must, therefore, rank deservedly high
among the names whose memory the gratitude of the
Church has embalmed. For, though the qualifi¬
cations, not less than the increase, come from God,
we associate inseparably the messenger with the
effects of his message ; the workman, with the work
which, through him, God has wrought.

He has gone down at last, in a fruitful old age, to
the grave, where is no more work. The Master,
whom he served so faithfully, has taken him to his rest.
He has left, in his good name, the most priceless of
legacies to his children, and, in his works and cha¬
racter, the best remembrance and stimulant to the
Church. We sigh as we think that we shall see his
face and hear his eloquent voice no more. But we
rejoice that so long a life has been illustrated by such

456 THE LATE REV. DR. BRODHEAD AS A PREACHER.

signal and memorable services. Thongli departed,
he will not be absent ; for his influence and example
will still speak potentially to the Church ; and the
voice whose accents were so loved by the many yet
remaining on earth, will still utter its counsels and
appeals from the grave, belonging henceforth to

“ Tongues of the dead not lost,

But speaking from death’s frost,

Like fiery tongues at Pentecost—

Glimmering as funeral lamps

Amid the chills and damps

Of the vast plain where Death encamps.”

THE END.

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