Chapter XVIII (2)

“The influences which brood upon the soul in such a covert as the closet are not like the coarse stimulants of earthly thought. The soul rises to its highest nature and meets the influences that rest upon it from above. What are its depths of calmness, what is the vision of faith, what is the rapture, the ecstasy of love, the closet knows more grandly than all other places of human experience.”

It is not all sadness even in this year of the minor key. In August we have a long article upon “Hours of Exaltation,” in which he gives us some of those higher experiences which were common to him:

“... We are filled with the very affluence of peacefulness and joy. There is neither sorrow, nor want, nor madness, nor trouble in the wide world. The glory of the Lord, that at other times hangs upon the horizon like embattled clouds full gorgeous with the sun, on such days as we have described descends and fills the whole earth. The impassioned language of the psalmists and prophets, which on other days is lifted up so high above our imaginations that we can scarcely hear it, now comes down and sounds all its grandeur in our ears. The mountains do praise the Lord; the trees clap their hands. The clouds are His chariot and bear Him through the air, leaving brightness and joy along their path. The birds know their King. The flowers lift up their hands, and with the silent tongue of perfume praise God with choice odors. The whole earth doth praise _Thee_.”

In September of this year he visits Litchfield with his father—the latter for the first time since he had moved to Boston—and writes a letter upon “An Aged Pastor’s Return”:

“A man past eighty going through the streets, to visit all the fathers and mothers in Israel that had been young in his ministry there, was a scene not a little memorable. One patriarch in his ninety-ninth year, when his former pastor came into the room, spoke not a word, but rose up and, putting his trembling arms around his neck, burst into tears....”

“The particular errand that brought us hither was a lecture. A new organ was to be bought. All Litchfield boys were permitted to help. Our contribution was asked in the shape of a lecture. My part was soon done. Then the aged pastor came forward. A crowd of old and young gathered at the pulpit-stairs to greet the hand that had baptized them or had broken to them the bread of life. It was a scene of few words. One woman gave her name, but was not recognized in her married name. She then mentioned her maiden name. That touched a hidden spring. Both burst into tears, but spoke no words. The history came up instantly before both, but silently, which had occasioned the preaching of those sermons upon intemperance whose influence for good will never cease.”

And now he points to one of the dangers which he has learned to avoid, and opens to us some of the lessons which he has himself learned from the experiences of this year:

“Many troubles in life cease when we cease to nurse them.

“Many troubles are but the strain which we endure when God would carry us the right way and we insist upon going the wrong. Troubles come to us like mire and filth, but when well mingled they change to flower and fruit.

“It should be borne in mind and thought of with thankfulness that although a heavy pecuniary pressure has been resting on the community, _nothing perishes_. No ships will rot, as under embargo; stores will not go down; not a wheel will rust, but only rest; the railroads, whose creation has cost us so much, are created, and will not go back but thunder on. Not an acre will go again to the forest; not a seed will rot.

“We shall hold the substantial elements gained, losing no art, no science, no ideas, no habits, no skill, no industry, nothing but a little temporary comfort; and for that we shall receive back steadiness, safety, reality, and consolation worth a thousand-fold.”

That there had been no diminution of the prosperity of the church appears from an announcement in one of the New York papers of the annual pew-renting, which took place January 7 of the following year:

“The membership of Plymouth Church was never so large as at present, and the size of the congregation is undiminished. The building admits of an audience of about three thousand persons, and it is not an uncommon occurrence on a pleasant Sunday evening for fully as great a number as this to go away from the church-doors, unable to get even standing-room within the walls.”

If the year 1857 was one of sadness, that of 1858 was one of rejoicing. The sowing with tears was followed by the reaping with joy. Never in the history of our country were revivals of religion so frequent, so deep and wide-spread, as in the year that followed the great financial disasters of 1857. The shattering of men’s hopes of wealth, the disturbance and destruction of their confidence in material things, was followed by a very general turning to those things that endure. From a little book entitled “The Revival in Plymouth Church,” published anonymously, from the testimony of those who were active at that time, and from letters and sermons besides, we get a very clear idea of the part which Mr. Beecher took in this great work and the methods he pursued. Near the close of the year preceding he had received a letter from a young man in New York, who described himself as slowly but surely sinking beneath the temptations which he could not escape, and who implored help from the destruction that hung over him. He said, “Preach to me the terrors of the law, anything to arouse me from this fearful lethargy.” Mr. Beecher read the appeal to his audience, and answered it by preaching on the love of God in Jesus Christ as the only remedy for man’s sin and the only power for his salvation, and said: “If this remedy fails I know of no other. If love will not save you, fear will be of no avail.” He then led the congregation in a most earnest and tender prayer for that young man and for the great multitude which he represented.

It was by such means as this, enlisting the feeling of his audience in specific cases, awakening and directing the sympathies of the church, that the work began. He disclaimed any confidence in a revival, born of mere excitement, carefully explained God’s methods in saving men, and threw the whole responsibility for success upon Christians. If their hearts were filled with the love of God the influence would be felt with power by those around them.

On the last Sabbath in February he preached upon the reasonableness, usefulness, and Scriptural nature of revivals, combated objections against them, and finally brought it home to the conscience of his people: “Ought you not to have a revival?”

On the next Sabbath, at the communion season, he preached upon the words, “For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,” holding up before his people with great clearness and tenderness the privileges and the infinite rewards of patient, Christian following and labor. The father, who assisted at the service which followed, expressed the feeling of many hearts when, in his prayer, he said: “Lord, we thank Thee for the opening out of Thy word this morning; we have been brought very near heaven; we see not how we can be any nearer till we stand within the very gates.”

On the Wednesday evening following, at the usual weekly lecture, he spoke to a crowded audience upon the conversion of the Philippian jailer. It was a service of confession of the lack of faith in the ever-present grace of God, of instruction concerning the spirit and methods of the apostles, and of guidance to any who were seeking light and peace. A prayer-meeting followed, at which any who desired prayers for themselves or others were given opportunity to make their desire known, and the work was begun.

“Morning meetings were opened daily, and were attended by ever-increasing numbers, while so many remained afterward for instruction that the pastor’s work was rarely over before eleven or twelve o’clock. He called in lieutenants of both sexes, who helped him in the work. No one who attended on those occasions can ever forget the fascinating mixture of tenderness, earnestness, pathos, dry humor, quick wit, and sound common sense that ran through all the instruction of those meetings. One would be told to pray; another, whose knees were almost worn out and whose mind was diseased with useless anxiety, was told in the next breath to stop praying and go to sweeping; the many timid and shrinking ones were encouraged into freedom, while one or two, who thought that all the angels were anxiously awaiting the news of their conversion before the business of heaven could proceed, were taken down by a little quiet humor that cured yet did not wound; and all alike were brought into the one fold. Under such influences and instructions three hundred and thirty-five persons united with the church this season.

“The morning prayer-meeting has been in Plymouth Church emphatically a ‘love-feast,’ the attractive influences being love to Christ, to the pastor, and to one another in full and lively exercise. No better description of these meetings can be given than that of a happy and united family gathering together, under the guidance of a beloved and honored father, for morning worship. No wonder that men as they passed along the street, though unused to a prayer-meeting, could not resist the voice of song which fell on their ear daily in the sweet morning hour; and no wonder that, once having entered, they should be fascinated by the scene which met their eye and warmed by the atmosphere of love which they breathed, and should return saying: ‘Surely God is in this place, though we knew it not; this is indeed the house of God, and this is none other than the gate of heaven.’ There was no such feeling as that smiles, or even an honest laugh, were sinful; smiles and tears mingled in curious proximity, without any attempt at restraint; in short, everything was natural.

“At the close of a meeting, when, owing to the quaintness of speech of some of the brethren, especially the newly-awakened ones, in the relation of their varied experiences, we had laughed and cried alternately, the one as heartily as the other, Mr. Beecher said: ‘I call you to witness whether this has not been a good meeting, whether there has not been a tender spirit among us, and whether the influence of the Holy Ghost has not been here? I say this because, as you know, many persons entertain the opinion that laughing is quite inexpedient on such occasions as these and a sure means of grieving away the Spirit. Bear this meeting in mind, and let it be your answer to the charge of irreverence whenever it may be brought against us on this score.’”

He gave one of his own experiences:

“You know that my usual frame of mind is hopefulness. I am apt to look at the bright side of things and take cheerful views of life. On this very account an occasional experience of sadness is an inexpressible luxury to me. Last night, I know not why, but I could not sleep for some hours. I lay restlessly, turning from side to side, till this morning between one and two. No sooner was I asleep than it seemed to me I was in an Episcopal church, robed in black, where a clergyman was celebrating the Lent service. By and by he ascended the pulpit and began to speak. There was no eloquence in his language, nor anything particularly striking in his mode of dealing with his subject, but his heart was evidently in it. He was setting forth in simple language the sufferings of Jesus, and as I listened there seemed to rise up before me a vivid conception of the Saviour in His last agony on Calvary. I gazed till the tears gushed from my eyes, and I awoke to find my pillow soaking wet. I composed myself again to sleep, and my imagination took up the stitch just where I had dropped it, and knitted on. I beheld the same vision, and again the tears flowed. I gazed and wept until it seemed to me as if my very soul would dissolve and the fountain of tears be itself exhausted. Again I awoke, and, again falling asleep, the vision was for the third time repeated, and I seemed to weep my very life away. I know not when I had before such a sweet, rich experience of the love of my Saviour; and when I awoke finally this morning, it was with a tenderness of soul I cannot well describe. I was thankful I did not sleep sooner, and that when I did sleep I made such good use of my time.”

Opportunity was given at these meetings to any who wished to ask the brethren to pray for themselves or for others, and was largely used. A little before the close of the meeting Mr. Beecher would rise, and, taking the slips of paper that covered his table, read from them aloud. After reading these he would ask, “Are there any here who desire to make requests on behalf of their friends?” And then when these had all been made he would say, “Are there any who desire to ask on their own account?” Then having caught the eye of each as they arose, and acknowledged the request by a slight inclination of the head, in token of recognition, until they ceased rising, “in a low, soft tone would come the words, ‘Let us unite in prayer,’ and instantly every head was bowed. The prayers which followed these scenes were the most precious opportunities of communion with the Lord Jesus Christ which we were ever permitted to enjoy. We believe that he who uttered them was taught of the Holy Ghost, and that he spake as the Spirit gave him utterance. There was an exuberance of faith and love in these utterances not usually found in prayer; a gladness on the part of the speaker, and a recognized consciousness of gladness on the part of Christ. They were the breathings of love into a loving ear.” “We always concluded with a hymn, for Mr. Beecher was wont to say that he liked to send us away with a full tide of song, and for a long time our choice for concluding hymns lay between ‘Shining Shore’ and ‘Homeward Bound.’”

March 27, 1858, Mr. Beecher gave a twenty-minute address in Burton’s old theatre in Chambers Street at the noon prayer-meeting. “I wish to leave the impression that the matter of salvation is a matter between your own heart and the Lord Jesus Christ; that there is between you a sympathy so plain that there is no need of any interference. You may become a Christian _now_, and go home to your household and be enabled to ask a blessing at your table to-day.”

Letters are frequent this year upon subjects like this, “Trust in God”:

“We ought not to forget that an affectionate, confiding, tender faith, habitually exercised, would save us half the annoyances of life, for it would lift us above the reach of them. If an eagle were to fly low along the ground every man might aim a dart at it; but when it soars into the clouds it is above every arrow’s reach. And they that trust in God ‘shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.’”

About this time he answers a criticism that appeared in several papers upon the extravagant income of Plymouth Church:

“It is easy to stand off and rail. Will any one suggest a plan by which five thousand men can be put into a church that can hold only three thousand?

“The poor should be held in lively remembrance. But ought we to provide for the poor in a way that shall punish those who are not poor?...

“In closing we will only say that from the beginning no church ever more conscientiously endeavored to give the Gospel to all classes, rich and poor, resident or strangers. For ten years the members of this society have cheerfully submitted to an inconvenience, for the sake of the poor and of strangers, such as has rarely had a parallel. Gentlemen have paid hundreds of dollars for pews which were, with the exception of a single Sabbath in the year, more or less filled with the poor.

“Every Sabbath day families who have paid hundreds of dollars for a pew, coming to church, find it pre-occupied by the poor and the stranger, and it is a rare exception that in such cases there is any irritation.

“Generally the owner, distributing his family as best he can, takes a seat in the aisle or stands in the entry. And this is not an occasional thing. It is the regular experience of the congregation, year after year.”

The year 1859 opens with some very characteristic letters from Mr. Beecher. He had been charged with having held the doctrine of total depravity up to ridicule in a lecture which he delivered in Boston. This brings from him a letter, two or three passages of which we here transcribe:

“But although we did not employ the phrase total depravity in any opprobrious sense at the time mentioned, we do not hesitate to say that we regard it as one of the most unfortunate and misleading terms that ever afflicted theology....

“On the other hand, we do believe, with continual sorrow of heart and daily overflowing evidence, in the deep sinfulness of universal man.... We heartily hate the phrase total depravity, and never feel inclined to use it except when reading the ethics of ——— or the religious editorials of ———.”

He was shortly after this attacked for lecturing in a “Fraternity Course” in the same city. This calls out a long answer upon “Working with Errorists,” in which he says:

“I have long ago been convinced that it was better to love men than to hate them, that one would be more likely to convince them of wrong belief by showing a cordial sympathy with their welfare than by nipping and pinching them with logic. And although I do not disdain but honor philosophy applied to religion, I think that the world just now needs the Christian heart more than anything else. And even if the only and greatest question were the propagation of the right theology, I am confident that right speculative views will grow up faster and firmer in the summer of true Christian loving than in the rigorous winter of solid, congealed orthodoxy or the blustering March of controversy....

“If tears could wash away from Mr. Parker’s eyes the hindrances, that he might behold Christ as I behold and adore Him, I would shed them without reserve. If prayers could bring to him this vision of glory, beyond sight of philosophy, I would for him besiege the audience-chamber of heaven with an endless procession of prayers, until another voice, sounding forth from another light brighter than the noonday sun, should cast down another blinded man, to be lifted up an apostle with inspired vision.

“But since I may not hope so to prevail, I at least will carry him in my heart; I will cordially work with him when I can, and be heartily sorry when I cannot.

“While we yet write word comes that Mr. Parker, broken down by over-labor, seeks rest and restoration in a warmer climate. Should these lines reach his eyes let him know that one heart at least remembers his fidelity to man in great public exigencies, when so many swerved of whom we had a right to expect better things. God shield him from the ocean, the storm, the pestilence, and heal him of lurking disease! And there shall be one Christian who will daily speak his name to the heart of God in earnest prayer, that with health of body he may receive upon his soul the greatest gift of God—faith in Jesus Christ as the Divine Saviour of the world.”

Another incident calls forth a similar response:

“At the recent celebration of Tom Paine’s birthday at Cincinnati the infidels present toasted: ‘The heretic clergy, Parker, Emerson, Conway, Chapin, Beecher, and all who love man above all creeds, and sects, and rituals, and observances, who regard man as the highest and holiest and most sacred of all in the universe—may their motto be: Ever onward, greater freedom, and clearer light.’” Having disclaimed any distinction as one who loves man more than creeds, since this is “true of all Christians when they are in their most Christian disposition,” and having accepted their motto as being in line with sundry passages of Scripture, he gives his true and honest feeling towards them in these words:

“Let no man think that we despise the sympathy and well-wishing of a convention of infidels. We thank them for their kind feelings. Like our Master, we had rather discourse with publicans and sinners than dine with the most select and eminent Pharisee. But we _love_ a true Christian better than either. But, infidel or Pharisee, all need the grace of God, and all, by repentance of sin and faith in Christ, the Saviour of sinners, may yet meet in heaven.

“Gentlemen of the Cincinnati convention of infidels! we should be ashamed to be less kind and courteous than you have been, and in concluding we take leave of you kindly, saying, in the words of Inspired Writ:

“‘Now may the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do His will, working in you that which is well pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ. To whom be glory for ever and ever.’ *”

The setting up of a new organ in Plymouth Church this winter is thus duly announced:

“The organ long expected has arrived, been unpacked, set up, and glorified over. It has piped, fluted, trumpeted, brayed, thundered. It has played so loud that everybody was deafened, and so softly that nobody could hear.”

After speaking of the characteristics of the many organists who have tried it, and of one who was an especially brilliant player, he says: “But he was not a Christian man, and the organ was not to him a Christian instrument, but simply a grand Gothic instrument, to be studied just as a mere Protestant would study a cathedral, in the mere spirit of architecture and not at all in sympathy with its religious signification or uses. And before long he went abroad to perfect himself in his musical studies, but not till a most ludicrous event befell him. On a Christmas day a great performance was to be given. The church was full; all were musically expectant. It had been given out that something might be expected. And surely something was had a little more than was expected. For when every stop was drawn, that the opening might be with a grand choral effect, the down-pressing of his hands brought forth not only the full expected chord, but also a cat that by some strange chance had got into the organ. She went up over the top as if gunpowder had helped her. Down she plunged into the choir, to the track around the front bulwark of the gallery, until opposite the pulpit, when she dashed down one of the supporting columns, made for the broad aisle, when a little dog joined in the affray, and both went down toward the street-door at an astonishing pace. Our organist, who, on the first appearance of this element in his piece, snatched back his hands, had forgotten to relax his muscles, and was to be seen following the cat with his eyes, with his head turned, while his astonished hands stood straight out before him, rigid as marble!”

In the spring of this year he purchased a farm in Peekskill, and explains his object as follows:

“I knew that the place was good for grass, for grain, and for fruits, of all which I talked a good deal during the preliminary approaches to a purchase, but for which I cared about as much as I should whether the inside of my boots were red or yellow.

“If the thing must be told—and I mention it to you, Mr. Bonner, confidentially—it was the remarkable aptitude of the place for _eye-crops_ that caught my fancy. It was not so much what grew upon the place, as what you could see off from it, that won me. It is a great stand for the eye. If a man can get rich by _looking_, I am on the royal road to wealth. And, indeed, it is true wealth that the eye gets, and the ear and all the finer senses; riches that cannot be hoarded or squandered; that all may have in common; that come without meanness and abide without corrupting. So long as it remains true that the heavens declare the glory of God, and the earth His handiwork, so long will men find both heart wealth and strength by a reverent admiration of the one and a sympathetic familiarity with the other.”

In a letter to his daughter he describes the new home:

“... _Farm_—I wrote so far at home, but being interrupted have brought it up to the green hills. You will be quite ashamed to think that Matteawan ever seemed beautiful to you when you shall have seen this place. It has no wild or romantic features, but it is full of soft, nice, beautiful views. No barren fields are seen, no brown pasture-lands, no rugged hills—the very mountains in the horizon are carved into round and graceful shapes. The near hills are round, gentle, smooth, and verduous to the very top. Only one summit is rugged and wild, and we keep that in the distant foreground as a contrast to all the other graceful shapes. The river in the distance is like a _lake_, except the fleets of sloops and schooners give it a sense of navigation. From the _top_ hill of the farm you can see almost as wide a prospect as from Bald Mountain in Salisbury—on the north and east, wild, mountainous, solitary; but all the rest beautiful and cultivated, with the Hudson rolling along the west. I have traced a rude diagram[6] on the opposite page, but it will be only just better than nothing, though you must confess that it is exceedingly well drawn for me!

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Footnote 6:

The Publishers regret that the diagram could not be given.

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”... I heard from H——— yesterday. He is well and lively, and wrote me quite a sprightly and witty letter. W——— is round, rosy, curly, and loving as usual. B———, the rogue, is fairly recovering from a double charge of scarlet-fever and whooping-cough, and is becoming most healthfully saucy.“

Early in the autumn they returned from the country and began life again in the city. We give copies of several letters written to his daughter:

”BROOKLYN, Sept. 4, 1859.

“... In the beginning let me say, my dear child, that I heartily approve of all that you have done. I am not a superstitious observer of the Sabbath, nor do I hold to the rigor either of the Jewish or the Puritan Sabbath. But I _do_ believe that one-seventh part of our time was originally appointed for rest, for home-society, and for religious culture....

“When I was myself in Paris I acted just as I do in Brooklyn. I took no more liberties, and was quite as observant of my home proprieties. And I must say that I do not relish the idea of our young countrymen going to Europe to learn how to get rid of religious habits. Foreign travel should improve our manners, increase our information, enlarge our experience of men, enrich our imagination, cultivate our tastes, but _not_ enervate our conscience....

“Everything is going well at the farm. I have bought a yoke of cattle, white with mottled necks and red heads; also two Ayrshire calves, and a little bull calf of the same breed. Your mother is driving away at her cheeses in the most housewifely style. She has already made, eaten, and given away two or three, and she has four or five on hand, good large ones, which are to grow old for city use. Already I imagine myself a nimble little maggot making the cheese fly. The pet ponies do bravely, the pigs are fat and flourishing, the chickens comely, and the ducks noisy but drawing very near to doom and dinner.

“I would not advise you to use wine unless you are weak and it is recommended by judicious advisers for real reasons of health; and then I should take it frankly and without hesitation. But while you do not use it, you are not bound to take it on any occasion for _others’_ sake. If the occasion comes, call for a glass of water and calmly lift that to your lips. But more of this by and by. I have no objection to your learning to _dance_ as a part of physical education.”

The home life in Brooklyn ran undisturbed through the autumn, until, early in 1860, a serious accident befell Mrs. Beecher, which Mr. Beecher describes in the following letter:

“FEBRUARY 11, 1860.

”MY DEAR CHILD H———:

“I suppose you will not scold me if I relieve your mother of letter-writing this steamer; it is, I think, the first time she has missed. But she is too lame to write to-day, having had an accident that _ought_ to have killed her, and that _would_ have killed anybody else. And that your fears may not magnify the matter, I shall go back and describe it all to you.

“On Wednesday last, February 8, she took the horse and chaise (a _two_-wheeled chaise, which we have bought of Mr. M———), and started to go to New York and meet and bring me home from the New Haven depot. Eliza and Bertie were taken in, the former to go over to the Hudson River Railroad for milk, and Bertie for the ride. The horse was spirited and soon got under way beyond control, but did not run till, turning into Hicks Street from Orange, she dashed off like lightning, ran to Fulton Street and right across it, up on to the pavement and headlong on to the Brooklyn Bank steps. The carriage was broken and turned over, and all, of course, heaped up together—horse, chaise, and people. Men sprang to the horse, held and detached her; others succored the party. Bertie had a smart thump on his right eye, or above it, which has done him no harm, and he has not been kept in from his play, though made a little homelier than he was before. Eliza was thrown against the stone and a smart slit cut in her head, which bled profusely, and though she has kept her bed by the doctor’s orders, she expects to be about to-day. Your mother, as usual, took everybody’s share on herself. She was shot out apparently head-first, and fell upon the right side of her head, neck, and shoulder, bruising her, but breaking nothing. She was insensible when taken into the drug-store close by. I know not how H——— was notified so soon, but he seems to have been on the spot within five minutes, and manifested as much self-possession and decisive wisdom as would have done credit to a much older head. He gave orders to have his mother taken home, sent for Dr. Adams to come to the drug-store, sent another messenger to the stableman to look after the carriage and horse (who, confound her homely self! was but little hurt), and then took a hack to meet me at the New Haven depot and bring me home.

“I reached the house very nearly as soon as your mother did. Found Mrs. E——— B———, Mrs. L———, Mrs. B———, Mrs. E———, and one or two strange ladies present, the doctor, a policeman or two, and scores of people running to and fro; yet, in the main, there was order and good sense.

”... The doctors regard her as out of danger, but she will be a sufferer for a week or more. Everything is going on regularly in the house, except that I am at home all the time, which is very irregular in my habits.

“... And so when you read this you must remember that though it seems to you as if it had just happened, it will have been all past, and your mother doubtless, while you read, will be marching forth in full authority. Everybody who saw the scene speaks in admiration of her courage and skill. She guided the horse to the last, though she could not control her, and was game to the end. But _that_ we should all _expect_. Nor does her courage flinch yet. Some one said to her yesterday: ‘Well, I suppose you will never drive that horse again.’ ‘Yes, _I shall too_,’ said she; and _she shall_. We are very grateful for her safety and merciful deliverance, and although she will suffer from twinges, yet, as there are no internal injuries, no bones fractured, it is only a matter of patience.... Slept very well and has the beginning of an appetite, although I am constrained to say that when I mentioned the little luxury of _gruel_ as something appetizing and excellent for her, she turned up her nose (I could not be mistaken) at the suggestion, so that she is evidently not quite settled yet in her mind. She can walk slowly, takes her bath, submits to packs, and has refreshed herself once or twice with a hand-glass, looking at the recent improvements about her countenance.

”... Love to all. I shall keep you faithfully apprised of her health, and you need not fear that anything is a bit worse than I say. I shall tell the truth. Good-by.

“May God have you in His care!

“Your affectionate father,
H. W. BEECHER.”

“FEBRUARY 14.

”MY DEAR H———:

“Your aunt has told you of your mother, and little is to be added on that score.... I wish you would take all your gauze paper and send it to Cardinal Antonelli, or the pope, or the—that is, burn it up, tear it up, crumple it, throw it away, do anything with it except sending it to me. Go forth and search and buy some that is respectable, for I wow a wow that I will vex my eyes no more with such intolerable stuff. I feel as though I could say a little more with great comfort to myself, but, as I must receive several letters before this reaches you and reforms your writing materials, I reserve a stock of wrath for those several occasions.

”_Wednesday, Feb. 15._—Your mother this morning is generally better, though suffering from cramps. She is now lying in a _pack_. Mrs. F——— has been as good as an angel, and a great deal more useful. Indeed, I do not think much of angels, unless they have a good serviceable body on. Of course Auntie B——— is on hand kindly and constantly. Everybody is kind. Mrs. G——— has spent four days here, two in the parlors to receive company, etc., and two with your mother. Mrs. L——— has been incessantly here, and has both watched, waited, and run for watchers and nurses without tire or fatigue. We had a meeting on Monday night for new church. The action of the trustees was confirmed, and they were requested to go ahead immediately and raise the necessary funds, and as soon as $100,000 were secured to proceed to lay the foundations. I do not regard the enterprise as _quite_ sure yet, though looking favorably. Give my love to the pope. I am sorry for his situation. If he only sat under my preaching how much his eyes might be opened! As it is, if he chooses to write to me in regard to any of his little difficulties, I hope he will allow no delicacy to restrain him. I will do the best I can for him. Ditto Antonelli.

“I am now the holder of _your_ room. There nap I, and there sleep I, and seldom either without a faint shadow of a rosy-cheeked, Minerva-eyed girl that whilom tenanted it. I have removed the boys, W——— and B———, into the room next it, formerly H———’s, while he holds the front large room, now pink-papered and famously carpeted and furnished. Eliza is quite well and trots about the house with a diligence that shows how wholesome it is for an Irishwoman to have her head broke. I have promised her, whenever she is sick, to give her a granite-steps course, instead of water, as being much better adapted to her wants and nationality. Give my love to all the great American family.... Remember that _paper_, THAT PAPER, THAT PAPER!

“Your loving and longing father,
“H. W. B.”

“Good-by, old fellow. Give my love to Hattie, and tell her that her father hasn’t forgotten her,” were the first words of Mr. Beecher to me that I remember. I had been introduced to him the evening before, but he had just returned from a lecturing tour, tired and sleepy, and if he said anything brilliant it has entirely escaped my memory. I was going, in company with Mrs. Stowe’s son, to take a pedestrian tour in Europe. We expected, in time, to join her party, who were then on the Continent, and were busy getting ready to go on board ship that day. It was a hearty send off to one who was comparatively a stranger, that was very characteristic of the man.

Of course I remembered the message and gave it faithfully; and after several months’ acquaintance, travelling in Switzerland and Italy, made an addition of the same in kind on my own account, which being accepted and reciprocated, we were married September 25, 1861.

“The innumerable friends of the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher would hardly forgive us if we were to omit mentioning the pleasing incident that occurred at his country residence at Peekskill last week. On Wednesday morning, after the dew was dry, Mr. Beecher chose a spot under the shadows of the trees near his garden, where, in the presence of a fit circle of friends and neighbors, he gave away his only daughter in a novel ceremony of marriage. The beauty of the day and the beauty of the ceremony together rendered the scene singularly charming, tender, and impressive.”

Of his method of making himself acquainted with the peculiar features of the villages in which he lectured, and his pleasant words concerning the people he met, the following letter is a good illustration:

“MY DEAR DOCTOR:

“I sent you a scrap from the goodly town of Norwich, N. Y., in which I have most pleasantly spent a portion of three days, and would fain have added as many more. It is one of the many towns in this Chenango Valley of which Dr. Dwight said that the time would come when men of wealth would leave the seaboard cities and retire to it as a place of rare repose.

“The great hammer manufactory of the New World is also located here. What hardware man has not seen David Maydole’s name? Many of the best improvements in the hammer have sprung from his ingenious skill. But there is room for improvement still. Thus our hammers have the power of _hiding_ themselves.

“After investigating many cases it becomes plain that hammers have a power of locomotion, and that when we are asleep they crawl off. We have never seen them actually move, but we have _almost_. We have found them on the ground or floor, and they were probably on their way somewhere when we surprised them, and then, like many insects, they feigned dead.... We should be glad to listen every night to as sweet music as that which rose up before our window in Hamilton and in Norwich.”

As a complement to the above an experience in _not_ lecturing is here given in full:

“ST. LOUIS, ———, 1859.

”REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER, _Brooklyn_:

“DEAR SIR: On behalf of the Mercantile Library Association of this city, it is my pleasant duty to address you. We are now endeavoring to form the lecture programme for our association for the coming season, and we wish to do so as early as possible. Fully appreciating your well-known reputation as a lecturer and an orator, we should be pleased to make an engagement with you for two or three lectures the coming fall and winter. If you can serve us, will you be so kind as to give us your _terms_, _time_, and _subject_ as soon as possible?

“As our Association may not be well known to you, permit me to say one word in regard to it. We think that there is no library association in this country that is in a more prosperous condition than ours. It has some eighteen hundred members, and is rapidly increasing. Its members are merchants, clerks, and members from the several professions. As a matter of course these members come from all parts of our country, and naturally entertain a variety of views, both as to politics and religion. Hence it becomes our Association to be very careful to eschew all matters pertaining to either of these subjects in its lectures. Should you be so kind as to favor us with a course of lectures—and we sincerely hope you will do so—you will please bear the above facts in mind. Hoping to hear from you at your earliest convenience, I remain, Yours truly,

“R. H. D———,
”_Chairman Lecture Committee, M. L. A._“

They heard from him at once as requested, and this was the answer:

MR. BEECHER’S REPLY.

”BROOKLYN, ———, 1859.

“DEAR SIR: I have received your letter politely inviting me to give one or more lectures before the St. Louis Mercantile Library Association next fall or winter. But you ask, in consequence of the diversity of opinions among your members, that I should, if I accepted your invitation, ‘_eschew all matters pertaining to politics and religion_.’ I am too much of a patriot to eschew the one, and too good a Christian to neglect the other. Indeed, the only motive that I have for lecturing at all is the hope that I may make better citizens and better Christians of my fellow-men. And it seems to me that a course of lectures from which have been strained out ‘all matters pertaining to politics and religion,’ must afford but a very meagre diet to the young people of St. Louis.

“Nor can I imagine why you should, under the circumstances, have wished me to visit you. If I have ever been of any service to my fellow-men, it has been because I never would eschew any topic which I thought it needful for them to hear. Nor have I ever allowed myself to stand on any platform where I could not follow my own judgment as to what should be said with the most unlimited freedom. And it is too late in my life for me to yield up my sense of self-respect and come under a censorship.

“I hope I have not taken seriously a matter which, perhaps, you meant only as a pleasant jest. For, on reading your letter again, I hardly repress the conviction that you deemed it a pleasant jest to ask me to come all the way to St. Louis to give lectures, under an implied agreement that I should ‘_eschew all matters pertaining to politics and religion_!’”

When the title of Doctor of Divinity was offered him he declined it, as follows:

“PEEKSKILL, August 21, 1860.

”_To President and Board of Trustees of Amherst College_:

“GENTLEMEN: I have been duly notified that at the last meeting of the Board of Trustees the title of D.D. was conferred upon me. It would certainly give me pleasure should any respectable institution bear such a testimony of good will, but that Amherst College, my own mother, should so kindly remember a son is a peculiar gratification. But all the use of such a title ends with the public expression. If the wish to confer it be accepted, for the rest it would be but an encumbrance and furnish an address by no means agreeable to my taste. I greatly prefer the simplicity of that name which my mother uttered over me in the holy hour of infant consecration and baptism.

“May I be permitted, without seeming to undervalue your kindness or disesteeming the honor meant, to return it to your hands, that I may to the end of my life be, as thus far I have been, simply

HENRY WARD BEECHER.”

One of the peculiar features of Mr. Beecher’s work in those days of 1861-63 was the revival interest that continued, with variations of intensity, it is true, but with no substantial interruption, for years. The revival of 1858 had not entirely ceased at that time, and although those days of war, especially since he gave himself so intensely to public matters, would naturally be regarded as unfavorable to any marked religious interest, yet it continued notwithstanding, as is shown by the numbers that constantly sought admission to the church upon profession of faith. This was owing, we doubt not, to the perfect conviction of Mr. Beecher that the whole work of that time was the Lord’s, and to his entering upon it with such consecration that he was continually shielded and refreshed by experiences of the divine presence. This gave a deep practical spirituality to his preaching, which was appropriated and reflected by his church, making the Gospel attractive, in those days of trouble, as never before. Men turned to the refuge which they saw he had found, and which, with deepest sympathy and with abundant hopefulness, he was pointing out to them. He himself says: “It is a mistake to suppose that the preoccupation of the public mind with the war, and the great excitements which are fed by the ever-changing rumors and news, are unfavorable to the work of a true minister of the Gospel.”

The continued ingathering into Plymouth Church during all those years of the war was something almost phenomenal. One marked occasion, the May communion of 1862, was described in a newspaper of that day: “Every part of the house was densely packed. The platform and desk were decorated with vases of flowers, while banks of azaleas, magnolias, carnations, fuchsias, white lilies, roses, and other plants in blossom reached from the pulpit floor to the orchestra. After the usual exercises of singing, reading, and prayer, Mr. Beecher read a list of about eighty names of persons who were to unite with the church. Many of them were members of the Sabbath-schools and Bible-classes. Some were persons of middle age; a few were persons of advanced years. After a brief address Mr. Beecher read the articles of faith, to which the parties gave their assent. The ordinance of baptism was then administered to those who had never before received it; after which the members of the church arose and received the new members into full and cordial communion. Mr. Beecher took his text from John x. 3, 4. There had been provided memorial bouquets for each new communicant, which were distributed at the close of the services.”

These floral decorations may almost be said to have been introduced by Plymouth Church, and were justified by Mr. Beecher upon the highest moral and religious grounds. He says of “Flowers in Church”:

“They are simply the signs of gladness. They are offerings of joyful hearts to God.

“Flowers are not of man. They are divine. Man can, by culture, develop all that God has hidden in them, but can add nothing to them, nor can he invent or build them.

“God has made flowers for everybody. They are next in abundance to the great elements—air, light, water. The poorest man has a roadside flower-garden. No mission-church is so poor that it cannot afford wild flowers upon the altar and a few assorted leaves in the windows. How beautifully would woman’s hand light up the dreary plaster wall and frigid seats of many a church room, if permitted to garnish them with these field-thoughts of God!

“The effect upon children is well worth our thought. To teach a child to love flowers is to give him riches that no bankruptcy can reach. This is the wisdom of finding our pleasures, not in conventional arrangements, but in sympathy with nature, which never is confiscated, or goes out of fashion, or becomes old and exhausted. There is a new heaven and a new earth every day, as if suggesting that grand and final event of prophecy.

“The use of flowers on social and religious occasions soon gives to them meanings which they had not to us before. We read nature more thoughtfully and lovingly.

“Weeds change to flowers. The moment a plant inspires intelligent emotion in us it ceases to be a weed and becomes a flower. The natural world is not any longer godless or commercial and mechanical. It has a moral power.

“At first many will shrink at seeing flowers upon the speaker’s desk or on the pulpit. But why? Is the place too holy? But is it holier than God? And are not flowers His peculiar workmanship? If God deemed it suitable to His dignity and glory to occupy His mind with making and preserving such innumerable flowers, are we wise in disdaining them or considering the place too sacred for God’s favorites? Do men reflect that God has been pleased to name Himself from flowers? ‘_I am the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley._’”

In line with this are his views upon “Christian Liberty in the Use of the Beautiful”:

“I cannot but think Christian men have not only a right of enjoyment in the beautiful, but a duty, in some measure, of producing it, or propagating it, or diffusing it abroad through the community.

“But in all your labors for the beautiful, remember that its mission is not of corruption, nor of pride, nor of selfishness, but of _benevolence_! And as God hath created beauty, not for a few, but hath furnished it for the whole earth, multiplying it until, like drops of water and particles of air, it abounds for every living thing, and in measure far transcending human want, until the world is a running-over cup, so let thine heart understand both the glory of God’s beauty and the generosity of its distribution. So living, life shall be a glory, and death a passing from glory to glory.”

If we have supposed that his love for nature was intuitive or came to its fulness without effort or study, the following letter will correct that impression:

“We are performing not alone a work of love in commending Ruskin, but paying a small part of a debt that can never be discharged. We are more indebted to him for the blessings of sight than to all other men. We were, in respect to nature, of the number of those who, having eyes, saw not; and ears, heard not. He taught us what to see and how to see. Thousands of golden hours and materials both for self-enjoyment and the instruction of others, enough to fill up our whole life, we owe to the spirit excited in us by the reading of Ruskin’s early works.

“The sky, the earth, and the waters are no longer what they were to us.

“We have learned a language and come to a sympathy in them more through the instrumentality of Ruskin’s works than by all other instrumentalities on earth, excepting always the nature which my mother gave me—sainted be her name!”

We have again come to the point, 1863, which we once before reached in this biography, but this time upon entirely different lines. In our first examination, for the sake of unity of impression, we confined ourselves to the events of the great anti-slavery conflict. In this which we have just completed we have sketched the outline of other labors and the events of his home life during this period. No one, we suspect, reading the first record, the record of strife and battle, would conceive it possible that a life so full of all manner of peaceful pursuits and home labors was being lived; nor, on the other hand, would any one going over his work of preaching, lecturing, writing helpful Star articles upon all manner of common subjects, imagine that he had the time or the spirit for the former work. But, in fact, in his case they were each the necessary complement of the other.