HENRY WARD BEECHER.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 8124, 22 March 1887, Page 3

HENRY WARD BEECHER.

TBy the, Ebv H. E. Ha.weiSj> M.A.] The Eev Henry Wasd Beecher is one of the great figures c I a great age. He belongs to that little band of transatlantic patriots, thinkers, and authors who may be said to have created America. His special gif t is oratoryhis special grace is courage; his special charm, is wit and pathos* rendered persuasive' with argument and instructive with an inexhaustible store of illustration. In the dark days, when the rope of slavery threatened to strangle the Union, Henry Ward Beecher stood firm. His voice never for a moment wavered. He was a moving presence—a very herald of freedom. It is said that upon one memorable occasion he entered a hall packed with Confederates, spoke for six hours at a stretch, and sent them all out into the streets raving Liberationists. I was told when in America that his influence is at the present hour so great that no candidate for the Presidency is likely to succeed if Ward Beecher declares against him. He has carried the authority of the pulpit into every sphere of American life, and when he drops, there is no one to take his place. It would be no compliment to call Henry Ward Beecher the American Spurgeon. He may he that, but he is more. If we can imagine Blr Spurgeon, Dr Parker, and Mr John Bright, with a tincture of the late P. W. Eobertson—if, I say, it is possible to imagine such a compound being brought up in New England, and at last securely fixed in a New York pulpit, we shall get a product hot unlike Henry Ward Beecher. "Mr Beecher is quite as remarkable for wbat he lacks as for what he possesses. ( He has no mental monomania, no idiosyncrasy,; no new "doctrine,” no new "tongue/’ no new "revelation;” and it is altogether remarkable that the two most prominent preachers in England and America, Spurgeon and Beecher respectively, should be alike in this, that they have added nothing to the fertile field of theological dogmatism. Perhaps we ought

to be thankful; it may be a hopeful sign of the theological times—a new era may be dawning upon a world "weary of th** i.cat and duet of controversy/’ when men shall ho more run to and fro crying Lo bare! and Lo there I knowing that the kingdom of God is within them. Perchance the still small voice of common sense has whispered in the ear of each orator, " There is quite enough theology in the world, you need not manufacture any more ; do you not think it is time to see about the religion of the people ? There has been plenty of theology without religion; can you not fit up some of the old theological vessels (of wrath P) with a good sound freight of religion and morality, instead of sending; to sea your great pulpit argosies of pain and havoc, without a human heart on board, full of brimstone and all ablaze like so many fireships f” I have heard a great deal of plausible and superfine talk about the influence of the pulpit being dead; and if by this is meant that the influence of a good many pulpits is dead, nothing could be at once more true and more fortunate for society. But to talk about the influence of the pulpit itself as an institution being destroyed by the printing press or the spread of knowledge, is like saying that the influence of corn is dying out, since the invention of Australian potted l meats. The masses will no doubt now get more meat, and, therefore, will be less uttterly dependent upon the baker, but the cornsumption of floor will probably not decrease, and it is possible that the quality may be improved. Now just as a due proportion of farinaceous food seems essential to the health of civilised- communities; so : religious eloquence has hitherto been found l indispensable to their religions life ;■ there .never was a time when an eloquent preacher could not attract a large audience; and even now when a dull man chooses to speak about religion, he is- certain to get some one to hear him. It is very possible for literary gentlemen who attend “no regular (nor any other) > place of worship,” .but who kindly devote their eloquent pens to the enlightenment of a grateful public, to- suppose that all churches- and chapelsare either empty or filled with fools, and that all sermons are either dull .or fanatical. But a more accurate acquaintance with New York and London would probably lead to the modification of suchopinions. Mr Henry Ward Beecher was bom in 1818; and is nowv(1886); therefore, nearly seventy-three years of age. Every motion and every utterance of the man proves him to be in the full possession of all his remarkable powers-of mind and body. We have before ns two portraits.. In one Mr Beecher is-sitting;down;.in the other he is standing up.. Yet the impression left on the mind is exactly the same. Birst, there is a regular American before ns—a man who understands the meaning of the monosyllable " ’cute " —a man of singular "go;” and also, we should- say, great wisdom, prudence, and impartiality.;, a man who can afford to wait and bide his time, and be a master of men by firmness, tact, and intrepidity.. In one face there is a slight curl of quiet humour about the upper lip, but humour, undoubtedly under great control. As he stands, full facing: ns with > his arms -folded, .in a perfectly easy attitude, he seems to be saying (his own words),- "Blessed- be mirthfulness —it is one of the renovators of the worldmen will let you well-nigh scale them and skin them, if yon will only make them laugh. There are a great many men who will not go into the kingdom of Ged if you ap-proach-them soberly, but who will-go in if you will weave a sunbeam cord 01-mirth-to draw them in by.” It is Mr Beecher in one of his cheery, hopeful,, and most irresistible moods.

■ The other face is more thoughtful and preoccupied. The. preacher is not in the pulpit now ; he is sitting at home, very grave, but perfectly serene.. His side face is turned towards us, and he may be about to reply temperately to some advocate of the “total depravity of man”'(again in his own words): " Human nature is had' enough, but there are many things about it that are good, there are many tendencies in it that' are noble. Since &ier& is-so much heroism in common lifoand among common people, it is very, dangeroushabit to speak of the evil side of: human nature.” There is very little of Niagara about this, but the deep,, broad river is not always leaping down it flows sometimes through simple, green pastures, and is content to fertilise territories by no means remarkable for beauty.or richness of cultivation.” "BuV' says a.recent eye-witness, who. recordaa sermon preached on Charity* and who is struck, with the qpiet intellectuality, of the, opening, (after, the Srst half-houn or so, w& suppose)— " Bat by this time the preacher had passed from, the quiet stream of discourse into the rapids. He moved quickly, aboub the platform; his gesture became more violent—at last he raised both, clenched hands above his head and: seemed to rise to twice his height, as. he poured oc4 & volume of- sound which electrified us. He then stopped'abruptly, went back to his Bible, and began again, calmly—presently to hurry ca to new, rapids, and to thunder over a fall to another peaceful beginning.” From, this it will ba seen that Mr Beecher*- when a& home does not preach from a. pulpit, but from, a platform, on which is placed a gorgeous armchair —the only gorgeous thing in his very plain chapel, except the profusion of flbwers or autumn leaves, by which at each season, of the year he loves to be surrounded during the. service* and which be knows how to use so. admirably on occasion for illustration. and even for argument. Mr Beecher was brought up, in the country. His novel, " Norwood,” abounds in woods and streams, hills and dales, and flowers.. " The willows,” he tells .us somewhere, "had thrown off their silky catkins, and were in leaf; the elm was covered with chocolate-coloured blossoms, the soft maple drew bees to its crimson tassels.” Would that all preachers and writers used no. more offensive and superfluous flowers of speech thau such as those I Mr Beecher’s biography, as it appears in biographical dictionaries, is so bare and uninteresting that it is hardly worth while troubling the reader with it. His life is in his mind, in his pulpit, and in the hearts of his people. His father was a clergyman and a theological professor. He was educated under him at Lane Seminary. His first cure was at Lawrenceburgh, Indiana, where he stayed two years; his next cure was at Indianapolis, where he stayed eight years. He then (1847) came to Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, where he has remained ever since, at the head of the largest and most influential congregation in the United States. Besides preaching, he is an eloquent writer and a highly effective lecturer, especially to young men. He makes about .£IO,OOO a year. But if these outlines are meagre, the little autobiographical glimpses we get in his sermons are highly suggestive, and often piquant enough. When he wants to illustrate the comfort of the great unseen, though protective love, he tells us how, as a boy, he woke up one midsummer night and listened, with a sense of half uneasy awe, to the wild cry of the marsh birds, whilst the moonlight streamed full into his room; and then, as he grew more and more disturbed, he suddenly heard his father dear his throat, " a-hem,” in the next room, and instantly that familiar sound restored his equanimity. The illustration is simple, but it hits the mark, and goes well home. His affectionate tributes to his father and mother are constantly breaking forth in spite of himself. “ I thank God,” he says, “for two things. First, that I was born and bred in the country, of parents that gave me a sound constitution and a noble example. 1 never can pay back what I got from my parents. * . * * " Next I am thankful that I was brought up in circum-

stances where I never became acquainted with wickedness." He often dwells upon the observance- of the Lord's day, and recalls pleasant anecdotes of the way in which even, as a child he grew ont of the dry letter into the free spirit of rest, recreation, and. worship. “ My memory goes back ts the Sabbaths of my childhood, to the bright hilltop, to church bell." Yet he wisely inveighs against making Sunday a doll day to children. "One Sunday afternoon with my aunt Esther did me more good than forty Sundays in church with my father ; he thundered over my head, she sweetly instructed me down in my heart.” Mr Beecher is never tired of taking cur into his greenhouse or showing ns over his garden; and much of his teaching could be epitomised in the words of a greater Preacher, "Consider the lilies of the field how they grow.” He describes his Gloire de Ei jon roses, his apples, his crops, and: always apropos- of something which every- . body is the better for hearing about. Atlast he may be said to get almost too fee* with his horticultural information —tats free for his own interests when he exclaims, "Come up and steal some of my flowers any of you that want to next summer. X shall not mica them. 1 have so- many that you might take a wheelbarrow-load and X should have enough the next morning.” Nothing is too homely to serve his tom. " I have a cat in the country," he eajs, "that knowing there is a rat in Hie drain will lie crouched in the grass for six honaatogether, waiting for that rat to come ont. And I know people that watch at doom where Christians are to come oat lost mm patiently, and with just as much humanity. * *■*■ They spy ont the faults of professed Christians, and say, ‘lf More are Christians, I do not need 1 to become- at Christian/ Hi another place he tells them that the lock of his door is a-very bad-one, and thafcthe latch-key requires a deal of humouring:. Sometimes when he oomes home ha has tO stand for ever so long trying to get in. Bat he says to the door. Yon have to com wen, and yon shall come open. Oh, if there was in the soul the same diligence. " Strive [agonisel to* enter in/* Ha has ». woadeifuL way of importing his leisure hours into the pulpit, and making th* great eooped-up multitude feel something of the joy and freshness oh his own exhilaration. Some of his sermonaare full oS vacation rambles. He passes through woods and gardens and plucks flowers and fragrant -' leaves, which will all have to do service in Brooklyn Church;. he watches the crowded flight of pigeons from the treetogs, and thinks of men's riches that so make them-selves-wings* sad fly away. As. he scales thomountains and aees-thesummer stomas sweep through the valleys-beneath him, h* thinks-of the stornu in the human heart*- " many, many storms there site that lie loir' and hug. the ground, and the way to escaper them is to go up the mountain sides and get higher thanthoy are.” Without violating the seal of any confession, he constantly permits ns to sea how intimate are his relations with those who have learned to trust and love him. Hetells of a.man who came a long distance to ask him to save Mm. from impending rain.. Of another- who told-himjhow he had first oome to believe in God and religion through finding himeelir wholly unequal fc* the task of- conducting a huge overgrown schooL On another occasion he- says s«— " There came to me last week one whose bad- ways I had known, and whom I had avoided,, supposing that he was but &. sponge;; hut, having since January lash maintained-a. better course, he Came to BMW and; to my surprise, spoke of Ms past life, of his degradation, af-hia now purpose, and said, ‘ The kindness thabsomc friends have shown, me has been very comforting and very, encouraging/ As I sat there my heart trembled. 1 rebuked myself that I hadieveahad- any. other thought than that he might- be rescued;, and as he went <w my heart went out towards him. X longed to takahim np in my armband oat of the entanglements and- temptations that beset him, and make a. man of him." _ In the aatmanof 1686, £ found myself ha. New York, and one Sunday night I graftfled a long-chaiiahed wish and went ova; to Brooklyn-tc-hear Ward Beecher preach. I. found a large plain building with a vast, organ,, and seats for about two thousand . three hundred- people.. On entering I wan. offered a slab-seat near: the front, and very' soon, on looking back; I saw all hope of retreat was completely out off. Every inch, of space was utilised and every seat warn * occupied.. Beecher* in ordinary frock coat and black tie, was seading from the Bibk> on a raised- platform.. A tali horn-shaped glass full* of yellow daisies was on one side, and a mass ofi tropical-looking scarlet foxr gloves and drooping creepers stood on the other. £ was struck with his appearance. Ward Beecher’s hair is completely whiter his oval face strongly marked, with finely cut profile, expressive mobile mouth, and rather restless eyes that sometimes flashed ont with sternness, and at others seemed concentrated with a sort of inward gases. His manner was very quiet; his voice very low and distinct and musieal ; his reading, to my mind, almnafc perfect In its natural but impressive emphasis. Mr Beecher preached on 'Christ before Mlate, and I shall not attempt to give any detailed analysis of his sermon. He read the whole account, and proceeded to deal with two criminals —one an individual Pilate, the other a collective body, th* multitude who cried, “Crucify Mm I” He showed up Pilate as a weak person, who had not the courage of his opinions, for he knew that Jesus was innocent, bat he would not do the right and honest thing, because it was “ bad politics.” Upon Hue theme he played, with many good side hits at immoral politicians; hut he only reached Ms full effectiveness when he earn* to deal with the corporate "criminal"— the crowd who, in their eagerness for their victim, had cried, " His blood be on ns and on our children.” “Oh, yes; they were quite ready to take the responsibility of the criminal action “ Beecher stopped suddenly and turned to a passage in th* Acts, where these same men, when confronted with the preaching of the Apostles, are found whimpering and complaining that the people are now charging them with the blood-shedding of Jesus. “It is always so,” said Beecher; " when passion is hot you will take any risk. But by-oad-by, when yon have to take the consequences, yon are not so well pleased " On tills theme he waxed most eloquent, with a solemn and altogether impressive and earnest seriousness. He dealt with th* inexorable nature of the moral law, the inevitable connection in the moral and ia the physical world between cause and effect. The penalty might be delayed, foe five, for ten years, but the day of reckoning would come, and every breach of_ the moral law would sooner or later be visited. Towards the close of his sermon he intreduced a very powerful and dramatic illustration. “ Down by Hell Gate," I under— ; stood him to sa£, in allusion to sqm* well-known place where certain blastadg was to .be carried out, "the rock »• ... tunnelled', and deep under the solid masse* over which men walk with such, careless- - ■ security, there are now laid twins «f explosive powder. All seems so safe and firm outwardly, it ia hardly possible 4* .<, . „ imagine that those solid masses will ever be shaken, bat the time will some wbe* *■ tiny spark will fire the whole train, and the mountain will be in a moment rent re the air and torn to atoms. There are . men,” he said, looking round—and a land of shudder went through the assembly—- " there are men here who sire tnnnelied, mined; their time will oome, not today or to-morrow, not for months or yearn perhaps, but it will come; in a moment, from an unforeseen quarter, a trifling incident, their reputations will be blowat to atoms, and what they have eown they . ' will reap— jutt that. There Isnodynswita . ' ’ like men's lasts and passions,*'