to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of
our Saviour; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in
tears to heaven; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer
of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not
what they do,"--the voice of the preacher, which had all along
faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until, his utterance being
entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his
handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible
flood of grief. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded
with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit
him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard
of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the
preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be able to let his
audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without
impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps
shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But--no: the descent was
as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid and
enthusiastic.

The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence, was a
quotation from Rousseau: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus
Christ, like a God!"

I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short
sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the
man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before
did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such
stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure
of the preacher; his blindness, constantly recalling to your
recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating with his
performance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses; you are to
imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and
his voice of affecting trembling melody; you are to remember the pitch
of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and
then the few moments of portentous, deathlike silence which reigned
throughout the house; the preacher removing his white handkerchief
from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his
tears), and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it,
begins the sentence, "Socrates died like a philosopher,"--then,
pausing, rais