The pulpit was his post of honor, and the most polished and effective instrument of his power. The expectations of the people hung upon it, to such an extent, that he could hardly yield it, even for half a day, to another, without exciting remark, unless, indeed, the state of his health imperatively demanded relief. Already those fixtures had been prepared which enabled him, partly sitting and partly standing, to continue the discharge of his public duties, when, probably, he could not, unsupported, have sustained himself in a standing posture for an hour, even without speaking. Strangers were scarcely aware of the use of any such appliances: and as, at all times, the effect of his fascinating, impressive, and almost matchless delivery, depended chiefly upon the fire of his eye, the exquisite modulations of his musical voice, and a few very quiet but appropriate gestures, it was forgotten even by those aware of it.

Next, in point of importance and practical usefulness to his Lord's Day services in the church, were his week-day expositions in the Lecture-Room. Nor less thorough was his preparation for them; and if possible, his aptitudes were even greater. It was natural for him to sit; more simple, and, therefore, in more perfect harmony with his character to converse; and more allowable than to be alternately instructive, searching, persuasive, and tender. If possible, the modulations of his voice were more perfect when in a lower key. And then the music; it was all his own! Not that many voices did not unite in it; but he chose the tunes and raised them, and gave tone and character to the whole performance. Several years afterwards, in a stage-coach in Kentucky, I met an intelligent person from Philadelphia, and our conversation turned, of course, upon our mutual experiences and acquaintance there. He asked me about Dr. Bedell's Thursday Evening Lecture; was it still kept up. "Did the Doctor still invariably commence with the same hymn, and the same tune?

'Far from my thoughts, vain world, be gone,

Let my religious hours alone;

From flesh and sense I would be free,

And hold communion, Lord! with thee.""

"for," said he, "if he does, and I could hear him sing it once more, quiet Methodist though I am, and no friend to shouting, I do believe that for once I should turn a shouting Methodist. It is years since I heard him, and have since wandered far and long, but the memory of that man, of that scene, and of that music will never fade away!"

I am not sure that it was not this which led me to indulge in a little philosophizing upon the subject, to which I have sometimes been addicted. There is a certain charm-particularly with young persons, members of choirs, and a few others, in novelty. If there be considerably more merit in a new Hymn than is common-as, for example, in Heber's Missionary Hymn, and Dr. Muhlenberg's

"I would not live alway”—

and the music, with which the words come almost invariably to be associated, many others feel the powerful working of the charm, and the success, of its kind, is perfect. Still, it is very different from the effect of Old Hundred and the Evening Hymn, with its usual tune as sung in England. Associations are stronger than ordinary delight in harmonies; and countless clustering memories more powerful and more precious than fine music. A thousand repetitions will effectually use up a showy performance, however at first it might have been attractive; but a really meritorious performance, repeated thousands and thousands of times, and thickly hung all over with the memories of an eventful life-time, is consecrated forever. Old Hundred and the Litany forever! extempore prayer and modern Church Music to the contrary notwithstanding. By the way, in that New Tune Book I seem to hear, away off in the dim recesses of two eternities-the past and the future— in the musical genius of the son and of the friend, the soft echoes of the heavenly music of that voice!

Whilst in this philosophic mood, I feel strongly inclined to link a few facts, long observed, together, and then to deduce certain inferences from them.

I can well remember, as quite prominent among the slight yet significant signs of a high-Churchman, his undisguised hor

ror of night meetings. But the proclivities of a new age, and of a different state of society, have prevailed, and Trinity Church, New-York, is treading close upon the heels of Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, London, in opening wide its doors at night to other than the elite of upper-ten dom.

I have seen the Collegiate Churches of Philadelphia and of New-York, or at least one of them, and it alone of all the city churches, for thirty years together, opened not for daily morning and evening prayer; but on Wednesdays and Fridays, or as the precise of this class delighted to call them, the prayerdays, (just as if all days alike were not prayer-days!) and at long intervals, I have dropped in here and there, only to note and to sigh over the coldness of the few weary or listless worshippers, and the dull droning of the lifeless priest. I was told, all the while, that it was only a little better, if any better at all, in those churches of dear old England, where habit was somewhat more inveterate, and the pensioners from munificent endowments were a little more numerous; and at length, even in cathedral churches, I have seen it with my own eyes.

But now, near the close of fifteen years of almost superhuman efforts to set the hand back, in this regard, on the dialplate of time; and to render popular and crowded once more the public services of the Church every morning and evening of the year; the result that might have been expected is pretty well pronounced! As well might our Methodist brethren in the mining and manufacturing districts of our country, attempt to restore Wesley's practice, persevered in for forty years, and at eighty mentioned by him among the secrets of his hale longevity: the practice of preaching an hour at five o'clock every morning in the year. It is precisely in respects like these, that

"Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur cum eis."

The engagements and duties, the tastes and habits of the people do allow of evening meetings; and when a serious spirit is abroad, they are crowded, as now, on Sunday evenings, in London and New-York; and will be well attended, as to my own knowledge they have been for thirty years or more, in the

lecture-rooms of those of our Clergy who are wise enough to follow humbly in the footsteps of Griswold, Milnor, and Bedell. The mid-day prayer-meetings in our great cities, during the wonderful religious interest of the past year, are the only apparent exceptions, and time no doubt will show that they have been exceptions precisely of that kind which most strongly prove the rule.

Had half the time, the energy, the effort been expended in promoting, to a greater extent, the sadly neglected duty of family prayer, which have been misdirected to the restoration of an obsolete practice, impracticable in all rural parishes in the existing state of society, who can doubt the greatness of the practical and happy results? Or who, at all familiar with the contrast, can refrain from thanking God that the evening lecture must soon every where, and especially in villages and country places, come into the place of the feudal daily prayer, in the Church? Indeed, prayers, without a word of exposi tion, counsel, or comfort, never will be largely attended; since the lips which God has touched and attuned to prayer and praise, are always accompanied with the ears which He hath opened to hear His word.*

And yet, after all, some good may result from these mistaken efforts. They will leave behind them the good fruit of occasional, more frequent services. The sacred season of Lent and the daily service of Passion week seem to occupy precisely the desired place, between protracted meetings, which are fitful, exciting, and artificial, and that unbroken uniformity of established routine which to some becomes tasteless, and to many, wearisome. And few things in the manifold, happy adaptations of the services of our branch of the Church, have struck me more forcibly than the testimony of two of our most eminent and devoted Presbyters, in very different parts of the country, that the visible fruits of the last Lent services, furnished only a fractional increase over the increasing fruits of several previous years, notwithstanding the powerful sympathetic influence experienced over their congregation, in the deep, powerful, and

*The introduction of gas-lights in our streets and in our churches, no doubt has exerted a most powerful influence in bringing about this great change in the social habits of Christendom.

wide-spread religious interest, by which the winter had been signalized.

Just at the height of Dr. Bedell's distinguished career, the Sunday-school movement was moulding, and in turn was being moulded, by the coming together of those mighty and gracious elements which originated the St. Andrew's Church enterprise, and that large and long succession of efforts in Philadelphia, which have grown, and are growing out of it. And truly wonderful in my eyes, was the gentle wisdom which quietly kept in restraint its few evils, and guided to larger and better results its many good tendencies. In this respect, as well as in many others, he was preeminently the man for the place and the hour. The zeal which elevated the Sundayschool of St. Andrew's to an honorable place in the front ranks of all those of our country, of whatever denomination, must have been great. Through his influence, aided by a noble corps of devoted coädjutors, an influence was brought to bear upon the young men of the congregation, at the turningpoint, and most eventful period of their lives, just when passing from the Sunday-school to the Bible-class, which I have rarely seen equalled. This still remains the great want of the age and of our country. It is better met in our branch of the Church than elsewhere; but so imperfectly, that I know of no existing evil which presses so heavily upon the consciences of the fathers and elders of our Church, than the difference of the result of our Sunday-school efforts upon the boys and the girls, which is tested by the fewness of the young men who enter the Bible-classes, come forward to confirmation, and pass from the position of pupils in our Sunday-schools, to that of teachers! What can be done to meet and remedy this difficulty?

Whilst dwelling upon this subject in this connection, and during this very writing, I met with the following passage in Dr. Sprague's charming Annals of the American Episcopal Pulpit, in that racy, touching, and highly appreciative notice of that remarkable man of God, the Rev. Jarvis Barry Buxton, of Fayetteville, N. C., drawn up by his pupil and successor, the Rev. Joseph C. Huske: