,
with the rollicking freedom of a schoolboy. I never shall forget an
immense meeting--in behalf of a liquor prohibition movement--held in
Triplet Hall. Mr. Beecher was at his best. In the midst of his speech,
he suddenly discharged a bombshell against negro slavery which dynamited
the audience and provoked a thunder of applause. For pure eloquence it
was the finest outburst I ever heard from his lips. Like Patrick Henry,
Clay, Guthrie, Spurgeon and other great masters of assemblies, he was
gifted with a richly melodious voice--which was especially effective on
the low and tender keys. This gave him great power in the pathetic
portions of his discourses. Of his superabounding humor I need not
speak. It bubbled out so naturally and spontaneously that he found it
difficult to restrain it even on the most grave occasions. Sometimes he
sinned against good taste, and I once heard his sister Catherine say
that "Henry rarely delivered a speech or a sermon which did not contain
something that grated on her ear." His most frequent offenses were in
the direction of flippant handling of sacred themes and Scripture
language. This he inherited from his illustrious father.

Mr. Beecher is generally regarded as an extemporaneous preacher. This is
a mistake. He prepared most of his discourses carefully, and full
one-half of many of them were written out. Among these written passages
he interjected bursts of impromptu thoughts; and these were generally
the most effective passages in the sermon. While he repeated himself
often--especially on his favorite topic of God's love--yet it was always
in fresh language and with new illustrations. Abraham Lincoln said to
me, "The most marvelous thing about Mr. Beecher is his inexhaustible
fertility."

During the Civil War he was at the acme of his power. He was then the
peerless orator of Christendom. It was his intention (as he once told
me) to resign his pastorate at the age of sixty and to devote the
remainder of his life to a ministry at large. But the tempest of
troubles which struck him about that time forbade his cherished design,
and he continued at his post until the touch of death silenced the magic
tongue. Nearly thirty years have elapsed since I sat by him on the
crowning evening of his career, at his "silver anniversary," in 1873. As
to his later utterances in theology, and on some questions of ethics, I
dissented from my old friend conscientiously, and I expressed to him my
dissent