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have said, we have had no design to depreciate his intellectual powers, or to represent him as not addressing himself in an eminent degree to the rational nature of his hearers. He did wonderfully enlighten and convince all those who attended on his ministry. He carried them by plain paths into high regions of thought and speculation, far above all that they had ever dreamed of before. He soared with them among the very stars of God, and expatiated free and unrestrained over all the works of nature and of grace, and did indeed, by his very powers of intellect alone, ravish and amaze them. What we have intended to say is, that it was not in that which was simply intellectual, that his vast power lay, but rather in the gushing tenderness that overflowed and deluged all besides; in the deep sincerity, that to the commonest observer was manifest in all his utterances; and in the perfect absorbedness which he felt and evinced in the true ends of all true preaching.

We have no idea, that the passages oftenest cited as illustrations of his eloquence, were, upon their delivery the most powerful that fell from him. We are quite sure that his greatest effects were produced by passages which now, that they are only seen in print, are passed over by the reader as quite unimportant and common-place, passages in which he made an appeal directly to his hearers' hearts, and pressed upon them the duty and the necessity of immediate repentance for sin and faith in Christ as a Saviour. An extract from a discourse of his on the text, "He that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed and that without remedy," has found its way into the religious newspapers, in which rising to a climax of earnest solicitation, he exclaims, "Death will come-the coffin will come-the mourners will come"-&c. A lady who was present, giving an account of this sermon in a letter to a clergyman of this country, Rev. Matthias Bruen, says, that this passage was "delivered with such power, that from the duchess to the apprentice boy, all wept." Oh, we can imagine how the whole soul of Dr. Chalmers would have dissolved itself into an appeal like that, and how he would visibly have yearned over the people, agonizing for them in the deep intensity of emotions, which he could not utter!

The most brilliant period of Dr. Chalmers' ministry was undeniably that of his settlement in Glasgow. He had not yet become involved, as he afterwards was, in the entanglements of church politics, and his whole soul was expended in his pulpit and pastoral ministrations.

"The Tron Church contains, if I mistake not," says the Rev. Dr. Wardlaw, who as frequently as he could was a hearer in it, "about 1400 hearers, according to the ordinary allowance of seat room; when crowded, of course, proportionally more; and though I can not attempt any pictorial sketch of the place, I may in a sentence or two, present you with a few touches of the scene which I have, more than once or twice, witnessed within its walls; not that it was at all peculiar, for it resembled every other scene where the doctor in those days, when his eloquence was in the prime of its vehemence and splendor, was called to preach. There was one particular, indeed, which rendered such a scene, in a city like Glasgow, peculiarly striking. I refer to the time of it. To see a place of worship of the size mentioned, crammed above and below, on Thursday forenoon, during the busiest hours of the day, with fifteen or sixteen hundred hearers, and these of all descriptions of persons, in all descriptions of professional occupation, the busiest, as well as those who had the most leisure on their hands, those who had least to spare taking care so to arrange their business engagements previously, as to make time for the purpose, all pouring in through the wide entrance at the side of the Tron steeple, half an hour before the time of service to secure a seat, or content, if too late for this, to occupy, as many did, standing room; this was indeed a novel and a strange sight. Nor was it once merely, or twice, but month after month; the day was calculated when his turn to preach again was to come round, and anticipated, with even impatient longing, by multitudes.

"Suppose the congregation thus assembled-pews filled with sitters, and aisles, to a great extent, with standers. They wait in eager expectation. The preacher appears. The devotional exercises of praise and prayer having been gone through with unaffected simplicity and earnestness, the entire assembly set themselves for the treat, with feelings very diverse in kind, but all eager and intent. There is a hush of dead silence. The text is announced, and he begins. Every countenance is up, every eye bent with fixed intentness on the speaker. As he kindles, the interest grows. Every breath is held. Every cough is suppressed. Every fidgety movement is settled. Every one, riveted himself by the spell of the impassioned and entrancing eloquence, knows how sensitively his neighbor will resent the very slightest disturbance. Then by and by, there is a pause. The speaker stops to gather breath, to wipe his forehead, to adjust his gown, and purposely too and wisely, to give

the audience as well as himself, a moment or two of relaxation. The moment is embraced-there is a free breathing-suppressed coughs get vent-postures are changed-there is a universal stir, as of persons who could not have endured the constraint much longer-the preacher bends forward-his hand is raised -all is again hushed. The same stillness and strain of unrelaxed attention is repeated, more intent still it may be than before, as the interest of the subject and of the speaker advance. And So, for perhaps four or five times in the course of a sermon, there is the relaxation, and then at it again, till the final winding up."

We have had a similar description from one who heard Dr. Chalmers often. This sermon was a succession of intense ravishments, each one rising in intensity higher than the other, until in the end, it seemed sometimes impossible for the excited nerves of the hearers to endure the violence with which they were wrought upon. Occasionally, in approaching one of his climaxes, individuals all over the church would be seen, drawn insensibly to their feet, and it was no unusual thing for persons, in entire self-forgetfulness, to be heard giving audible expression to their feelings.

One Sabbath evening, in the Tron Church, he preached on Proverbs i. 29, "For that they hated instruction, and did not choose the fear of the Lord." One, in giving an account of the scene says: "The power of the oratory, and the force of the delivery were at times extraordinary. At length, when near the close of the sermon, all on a sudden, his eloquence gathered triple force, and came down in one mighty whirlwind, sweeping all before it. Never can I forget my feelings at the time. Neither can I describe them. It was a transcendently grand-a glorious burst. Intense emotion beamed from his countenance. I can not describe the appearance of his face better than by saying, as Foster said of Hall's, it was lighted up almost into a glare. The congregation, in so far as the spell under which I was, allowed me to observe them, were intensely excited, leaning forward in the pews like a forest bending under the power of the hurricane, looking steadfastly at the preacher, and listening in breathless wonderment. One young man, apparently by his dress a sailor, who sat in a pew before me, started to his feet, and stood till it was over. So soon as it was concluded, there was (as invariably was the case at the close of the Doctor's bursts,) a deep sigh, or rather gasp for breath, accompanied by a movement through the whole audience."

We never had the happiness ourselves to hear Dr. Chalmers preach, but an admirable idea of his eloquence we think, was given to us by plain, uneducated persons in Scotland, who having often attended his preaching, had a vivid sense of the impression which it had made upon them.

"Tell me about Dr. Chalmers," we said to a person of this class, with whom we were one day conversing. “Oh, Dr. Cha'mers!" (In Scotland, almost universally, the name is spoken as though it were spelt Chawmers.) "Oh, Dr. Cha'mers!" he replied, "he's just unlike ony man ye ever heard of." "Well, but what is so peculiar about him?" "Indeed, I can not just tell, but he quite amazes you. He takes away your breath."

"Have ye heard Dr. Cha'mers?"-inquired another, of us on one occasion. "No, I have not." "Eh, sir, but you should hear him." "Have you no preachers," we asked, "who can do as well as Dr. Cha'mers?" "Indeed, sir, we have many good preachers, many excellent preachers. There's Dr. nice men, very nice men; Mr.

is a

and Dr. nice man; and Dr. is a powerful gifted man, a great man; but O, sir, Dr. Cha'mers! Dr. Cha'mers! he's the boy to make the rafters roar.'

Yes, Dr. Chalmers made the rafters roar, we have no manner of doubt. He amazed people, and took away their breath. Not more by the wonderful brilliancy and originality of his thoughts, than by the simple, earnest, natural eloquence with which he uttered them. Absorbed himself with his theme, he had the power of absorbing others with it also. Where he spake, he stood in the world of his own mind, and he had the power to draw up his hearers with him into the same world, and to hold them there while the occasion lasted; or if they were utterly stifled with amazement at what they heard and saw, he would let them down now and then for breathing spells, and catch them up again whenever it pleased him.

It is sometimes asked, if Dr. Chalmers had not a very strong Scotch accent. From our own recollection, we should say that this was not so apparent, at least, in ordinary conversation, as some have represented it. We remember hearing the following anecdote related some years ago, by an American divine, who had recently returned from Britain, having enjoyed much of Chalmers' society. In company with the Doctor, and some other of the Edinburgh literati at one time, he expressed his astonishment that educated Scotchmen retained so much of the

peculiar accent of their country. Dr. Chalmers immediately turned to him and said: "What, sir, ye dinna think that I ha'e ony o' the brog, d'ye?" Now this was clearly a jest. He had a rich and fine accent, but he was certainly as free from the "brog," except when he sometimes pleasantly affected it, as that American divine himself. The tones of his voice were ordinarily, not melodious; but we remember being struck with the singular beauty and gracefulness of his inflections, and with the perfect expression, which in ordinary conversation, he invariably gave to every shade of thought and feeling. His words, where there would have been no peculiar force in them had they been written, as he uttered them, painted. They gave you his idea in a form, kindled and glowing with the life of his own emotions. As we have said, it was not our privilege to hear him preach, but we could well imagine how he would preach, and we read now his printed discourses with an interest largely borrowed from our vivid recollection of the We can put them on his own lips, and catch somewhat, we are perfectly sure, of his imprinted fire. We can see and feel the play of his living, leaping thoughts, and surround ourselves with the moving imagery that sprang up almost wholly from the manner of his utterance.

man.

A striking quality of Dr. Chalmers' mind was its inquisitiveness, its utter incapacity to let go any theme upon which it had fastened, until it had travelled all over, and all around, and all through it. He must view it on every side, in every light, and then he must take it all to pieces, and subject each part to a like minute inspection. He must positively know all about it, if all about it could be known, and nothing less would ever satisfy him. He and Edward Irving once went together to pay a visit to Coleridge. In his journal, giving an account of this visit, he says, Coleridge's "conversation, which followed in a mighty unremitting strain, is most astonishing, but, I must confess, to me still unintelligible. I caught occasional glimpses of what he would be at, but mainly, he was very far out of all sight and all sympathy." It is said that, "returning from this interview, Dr. Chalmers remarked to Mr. Irving, upon the obscurity of Mr. Coleridge's utterances, and said that for his part he liked to see all sides of an idea, before taking up with it. Ha!' said Irving in reply, 'you Scotchmen would handle an idea as a butcher does an ox; for my part, I love to see an idea looming through the mist.'" Chalmers could have no patience with this. Any degree of mist, however an idea might loom

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