pouring itself along like a river of lava; and metaphors, which smite upon the heart like thunderbolts; and sudden bursts of feeling, which convulse the audience like successive shocks of an earthquake.

Father Taylor is emphatically the sailors' preacher. He loves the rude, rough men of the sea, and devotes all his energies of soul and body to their benefit. They are all very much attached to him, and there is scarcely a ship afloat on which his name is not frequently mentioned. His congregation in Boston is very large. The church is the sailor's own craft, and the preacher is the sailor's own captain. There he has privileges, and feels himself at home. The citizens of Boston-many even of the most refined and fastidious-frequently resort to the Bethel; for father Taylor is a general favorite, both on account of his sterling sense, and his stormy eloquence. But such interlopers are not allowed to crowd the sailor from his seat. "Get up there, you swallow-tails!" he will cry, to half a dozen young gentleman, seated perhaps on the pulpit steps, as some late-coming tar enters the door; "Get up there; make room for shipmate! Scull along there, Jack; here's a locker for you."

There is an amusing incident related of him in the newspapers, and the old captain corroborates it by his own statement. Not long since, on a SabIath morning, he was delivering himself, as usual, in a very earnest strain, when a sailor arose from his seat, and moved toward the door. 'See," said

66

*

the preacher, "he flies! the enemy flies! I've hulled him! I've hit him between wind and water!" "Never mind, Captain," exclaimed the tar; "take another turn or two there, while I go and splice the main brace, and I'll be back and hear you out.” "He's a coward !" replied the preacher. "He can't stand it! he flies! I've bored him through; and if he don't tack, and haul in to the gospel dock, he'll go down all standing!" This was too much for the tar. He had wrestled a hundred times with wind and wave; but to be called a coward was what he could not brook. "This old sea-dog a coward?" muttered he, as he resumed his seat. "No! I've stood stiffer seas than this-without grog too." Then, elevating his voice, "I hear you, Captain! go on with your yarn!" When the sermon was finished, he pressed his way to the pulpit, and solicited the prayers of the preacher.

In a missionary speech in New York, Father Taylor once said: "When I die, sir, I don't want to be smothered up in the dust with the worms. No, sir! carry me out a thousand miles from land, and let me down into my own green sea; where I have bespoken the sea-weed for my shroud, and the coral for my monument!"

* Take a glass of grog.

VIII. REV. E. W. SEHON, D. D.

*

(1846.)

HE is not one of those

great men, whose reputation has attained to such an attitude, that they are content to sleep upon their laurels. He is a most faithful and indefatigable pastor. But he seems impelled less by ambition than by love; and such is the sweetness of his spirit, and the courtesy of his manner, as to endear him greatly to his people, and render him extensively useful in their families. Nor is he wanting in pulpit popularity, as is sufficiently attested by the number and character of his hearers. The congregation is very large, and includes some of the most respectable families of the city.

Many pulpit men are distinguished for some single quality, which they inherit in an eminent degree, or have cultivated to the neglect of others. This is not the case with Dr. S. His excellence consists in the happy blending of many excellent traits. It is the just distribution of light and shade throughout the whole piece that makes up the perfection of the picture. I observed in the discourse an admirable combination of originality, strength, and beauty. His style is neat, without being studiously pretty; his pronunciation precise, without any thing finical; his manner fervid, without vehemence; his voice full, clear and musical; his whole delivery graceful and impressive; his personal ap

pearance, decidedly taking; his face, full of soul and sunshine; and every thing about him in the pulpit adapted to the finest effect.

Dr. S. has long been known as the very efficient general agent of the American Bible Society for the south-west, and the public advocate of several of our western colleges; in both which relations he has rendered great service to the country and the

church.

IX. REV. LYMAN BEECHER, D. D.

(1846.)

THE venerable President of Lane Seminary is a man of no ordinary pulpit celebrity. He seems quite careless of the lesser graces of oratory. There is no effort no mannerism-no studied display. He is a bold--rough-energetic man; who speaks right on, naturally and earnestly, the great thoughts that are swelling and struggling in his breast. He does not read his discourse, but uses extensive notes, to which he refers as he proceeds. He puts on his spectacles, and reconnoiters the paper for a moment; when, seizing the thread of thought, he lays aside his artificial aids, and pursues the train to its termination. Having finished the climax, he resumes his glasses, communes silently another moment with the manuscript, and then rushes off into another bold flight of eloquence.

The writer heard him on an occasion of considerable interest; when he opened the rich treasury of his mind and heart in a remarkably eloquent manner; and sent his hearers away, freighted with many a precious gem of thought, beautified by the golden settings of language. His subject was one in which all orthodox Christians are interested-the Christian Alliance, from the meeting of which, in London, he had recently returned. He gave us an account of the objects and nature of that august assemblage, the marks of Divine approval which attended it, the great men who figured most prominently in its deliberations, its prospective influence and tendency, &c. "The church," said he, "is the light of the world, and the Christian Alliance is the lens that is to collect that light into one bright, burning focus. The intellectual and moral energies of the church are diffused over the earth, and the Christian Alliance is concentrating them in a grand coalition against the Pope and the Devil, as the ocean concentrates river and rivulet from every continent of the globe."

Dr. Beecher shows the frost of years upon his brow, and his corrogated lineaments indicate that he has thought and suffered; but the fire is still burning upon the altar, and needs but a breath to fan it into all the fervor of former years. He is a man full of reading and reference—a living history. He never wants for illustrations, and they are always pertinent and peculiar, being gathered up princi