PLACES OF WORSHIP IN NEW YORK IN 1742.

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1. Lutheran. 2. French. 3. Trinity. 4. New Dutch. 5. Old Dutch. 6. Presbyterian. 7. Baptist. 8. Quaker. 9. Synagogue.

HENRY WARD BEECHER,

THE GREAT PULPIT ORATOR AND REFORMER.

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BIBLE BROUGHT OVER IN THE MAYFLOWER."

IN the dark days of the War of 1812 there lived and labored in the town of Litchfield, Connecticut, a Congre gational minister named Lyman Beecher. Like most preachers of that day, he was poor in this world's goods, but rich in children. Seven of these already gathered around his fireside when, on June 24, 1813, his son Henry Ward Beecher, destined to leave so deep and strong an impress upon the life and thought of his day, was born.

Dr. Beecher's salary was eight hundred dollars a year, not always promptly paid; and under these circumstances it may easily be imagined. that the tenth member of the family received only such care and attention as were absolutely required. The struggle for existence was too severe to leave much time or thought for other things. Litchfield was a mountain town, where the winter was a stern reality for six months of the year, where there were giant winds, and drifting snows of immeasurable depth, and ice and sleet storms of a sublime power and magnitude. Under this rugged nursing the boy grew outwardly vigorous. When but three or four years old he was sent to the Widow Kilbourn's school, where he said his letters twice a day,

and passed the rest of his time in hemming a brown towel or a check apron. It was not expected that he would learn very much from "Marm Kilbourn," but the school kept him out of the way of the "home folks" for the greater part of the day. Next, a small, unpainted district school-house being erected within a stone's throw of the parsonage, he graduated from Ma'am Kilbourn's thither.

Henry Ward was not marked out by the prophecies of partial friends for any brilliant future. His utterance was thick and indistinct, partly from bashfulness and partly from enlargement of the tonsils of his throat, so that in speaking or reading he was with difficulty understood. The last success that ever would have been predicted for him is that of an orator. "When Henry is sent to me with a message," said a good aunt, "I always have to make him say it three times. The first time I have no manner of an idea, more than if he spoke Choctaw; the second, I catch now and then a word; by the third time I begin to understand."

Sunday was a day of terror to Henry, for on that day the Catechism was administered to him. "I think," said he afterward to his congregation, referring to this part of his life, "that to force childhood to associate religion with such dry morsels is to violate the spirit, not only of the New Testament, but of common sense as well. I know one thing, that if I am 'lax and latitudinarian,' the Sunday Catechism is to blame for a part of it. The dinners that I have lost because I could not go through 'sanctification,' and 'justification,' and 'adoption,' and all such questions, lie heavily on my memory! . . . 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. The promise that she would read Joseph's history to me on Sunday was enough to draw a silver thread of obedience through the entire week; and if I was tempted to break my promise, I said, 'No; Aunt Esther is going to read on Sunday;' and I would do, or I would not do, all through the week, for the sake of getting that sweet instruction on Sunday."

When Henry was twelve years old his father accepted a call to Boston and removed thither with his family. At this time the boy developed a great love of adventure, and he was filled with a longing to be a sailor. This feeling made him restless and discontented, and he resolved to leave home and ship on board some vessel sailing from the harbor. He hovered about the wharves, con

AT MT. PLEASANT SCHOOL.

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versing with the sailors and captains, and sometimes carrying his little bundle with him. But the thoughts of home were too strong for him, and he could never quite summon resolution enough to run away. In a fit of desperation he wrote a letter to his brother, telling him of his wish to go to sea, and informing him that he meant to first ask his father's permission, and if that were not granted he would go without it. This letter he dropped where his father would be sure to find it. Dr. Beecher soon discovered it, and, reading it, put it into his pocket without comment. The next day he asked the boy if he had ever thought of any definite avocation for his future life.

"Yes," said Henry, "I want to go to sea. midshipman, and rise to be a commander."

I want to enter the navy, be a

"Oh, I see," said the Doctor, cheerfully; "but in order to prepare for that you must study mathematics and navigation."

"I am ready, sir."

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Very well. I'll send you up to Amherst next week, to Mount Pleasant, and then you'll begin your preparatory studies at once. As soon as you are well prepared, I presume I can make interest to get you an appointment."

The boy was delighted, and the next week started for Amherst. The Doctor felt sure that the sailor scheme would never come to anything, and exclaimed, exultantly, as he bade his son good-bye, "I shall have that boy in the ministry yet."

At the Mount Pleasant Institute young Beecher took lessons in elocution from Professor John E. Lovell. Under the instructions of this able teacher, he learned to manage his voice, and to overcome the thickness and indistinctness of utterance which previous to this had troubled him so much. He continued at this school for three years, devoting himself to study with determination and success, and taking rank as one of the most promising pupils of the school.

As time passed on, the ardent desire for a seafaring life began to weaken. The stories of Nelson's conquests and Captain Cook's wanderings lost something of their old fascination. Life was filling fast with larger meanings. About this time, when in a mood of spiritual anxiety, a religious revival arose, stirring the deep undercurrents of his nature. Henry Ward Beecher resolved to be a Christian, and set himself to "follow the Lord fully." His conversion-if we may use that word in this connection-was not the doleful giving up of every thing glad and beautiful to live a life of gloom and sadness. It was a joyful consecration to the Lord. If Mr. Beecher could not have been a joyful Chris tian, he would not have been a Christian at all. All life was glad to him Existence alone, under the blue skies and in the happy fields, was a luxury. And he judged that the Christian life ought to be of all lives the most joyful. True to these convictions, his life was sunny where some thought it should only be solemn. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe writes of him at this period in her own

characteristic manner: "The only thing," she says, "which prevented Henry from taking the first rank as a religious young man was the want of that sobriety and solemnity which was looked upon as essential to the Christian character. He was like a converted bobolink, who should be brought to judgment for short quirks and undignified twitters and tweedles among the daisy heads, instead of flying in dignified paternal sweeps, like a good swallow of the sanctuary, or sitting in solemnized meditations in the depths of pine trees, like the owl."

In 1832 Dr. Beecher removed from Boston to Cincinnati, to enter upon the presidency of Lane Seminary, to which he had been elected. Henry followed him to the West after his graduation at Amherst, and, in 1836, completed his theological studies at the

seminary, under the tuition of his father and Professor Stowe, the latter of whom married Henry's sister Harriet.

Immediately on finishing his theological course, Mr. Beecher married and settled in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, accepting the very first offer

made him. It was work that he wanted, and one place he thought about as good as another. His parish was a little town on the Ohio river, not far from Cincinnati. Here he preached in a small church, and did all the work of the parish sexton, making his fires, trimming his lamps, sweeping his house, and ringing his bell. "I did all," he said whimsically, "but come to hear myself preach-that they had to do."

Mr. Beecher was soon invited from Lawrenceburg to Indianapolis, the capital of the State, where he labored for eight years. A member of his church in Indianapolis thus gives his recollections of him :

"In the early spring of 1842 a revival began, more noticeable than any that