find a successor, he took the necessary measures. His peculiar qualifications had brought him acquainted with some young men who were preparing for the duties of the ministry, and to their notice and care he recommended his little flock. No time was lost in relieving him of a part of his Sunday labors, and in accustoming the people to follow another voice than that which had so long led their devotions. The introduction of these young preachers formed an era in the history of the village. The room in which they had been accustomed to assemble, though the most commodious in the place, was too small and inconvenient for the purpose; and the stupendous conception of a meeting-house having been familiarized to their minds by their new friends, they were easily excited to the effort of erecting one. Masons and carpenters offered their gratuitous labor, and their families the little they could spare from their earnings. The remaining funds came, they knew not how or whence, through the hands of the young preachers. Very soon the white walls of the new chapel were seen rising among the trees which crowned a little eminence at the outskirts of the village. The laborer stopped to survey the work as he returned from the field: the children peeped into the vestry where they were to learn their Catechism and read the Bible; and here and there an aged woman wished that another Whitefield might deal forth the spirit and power of the Gospel within those walls.

When all was completed, a day was appointed for the opening service, at which several ministers and other friends to the cause had agreed to attend. It was the wish of all that Edwards should take a share of the honorable labors of the day, as he had been the prime mover in the work which was now accomplished: but it was so painful to the old man to be brought into notice by any call but that of duty, that the point was yielded, and he was allowed to

enjoy the scene in his own way,- as a spectator. He was, however, the most distinguished person in the throng; and while the reverend gentlemen were entertained with all due courtesy and respect, a heartier welcome and a kindlier smile were reserved for the old man. His grey hairs won him more respect than clerical robes could have done; and his complacent smile seemed to give new pleasure to the day.

Though the building could conveniently accommodate three hundred persons - the whole population of the place

the number of visiters was so great that it was evidently impossible that all could obtain admittance. When every bench was occupied, and the aisle filled, a crowd still remained without. A young minister, who was well known to the people, therefore invited those who could not find room to follow him to the hill-side. He took his place under a tree, and an audience of some hundreds seated themselves round him. It was one of the early days of autumn, mild, bright and calm. Not a leaf was stirred; not a sound arose to interrupt the voice of the preacher, which might have been heard to a great distance. Though quite unprepared for preaching, the occasion afforded sufficient inspiration, and he discoursed with vigor and simplicity, and with so much earnestness, that he forgot the time, till informed that the congregation within was about to begin the closing psalm. He immediately brought his discourse to a conclusion, and gave out the same psalm. The doors of the chapel were thrown open, and all voices, as well as all hearts and minds, were united in the swelling hymn. If any stranger had chanced to pass by at this time, he would long have remembered that music, and felt the impression of the solitary voice which preceded it. Of the force of this impression I can judge from my own observation. It was powerful enough to open the lips and dispel

the reserve of one who had seldom, if ever, been known before to speak on any subject connected with religion.

I refer to a gentleman who lived in the neighbourhood, and at whose house I was on a visit at the time. I had a general idea that he disapproved of the use of forms in religion, but whether this dislike extended to all outward observances, I knew not. On all occasions when the conversation referred to the most interesting of all subjects, he showed a sensitiveness for which I was at a loss to account. He was neither careless nor contemptuous; but profoundly and uneasily silent. The conversation was frequently directed to the topics which he would fain have avoided; for of his many friends none could penetrate the mystery which hung around this recess of his mind; and some were urged by curiosity, others by a better motive, to attempt to gain some insight into his views. But it was in vain. This day afforded the first occasion, and I was made the first depositary of any communication of the kind.

I had joined the congregation on the hill-side. Towards the conclusion of the service, I observed with some surprise and more pleasure that my friend L was standing among the trees at a little distance, and (as I knew by his attitude of attention) within hearing of the preacher. Before the last notes of the hymn died away, he was gone; but not towards home. As I was about to enter the village in company with some of the visitors, I met him, and immediately turned back with him. As we passed within sight of the chapel, we observed Edwards standing in the door-way, speaking to the children of the Sunday School, as they were about to depart with their books.

"Your primitive preacher is in his glory to-day," observed L— 66 'He is idolized by the people here, but what would be thought of his services in the next cathedral?"

"Primitive preaching would be misplaced in a cathedral," I replied. "But if the worshippers were to admit his teaching to be primitive, and follow him hither to listen to it, they would afford it the highest possible praise."

"There is but little probability, I imagine, that Edwards's services would suit any but those who have heard no others."

They would suit only hearers of simple habits and tastes."

"Not exactly so. Many a scholar, and many a divine, might hear him with profit and pleasure, if they bring with them the true spirit of religion. Yet he is not the man one would set in the pulpit of a metropolitan church, to lead the devotions of an enlightened society."

"You admit then that the best, that is, primitive preaching is not suited to an enlightened society."

"It is with regard to the spirit, and not to the mode, that I call primitive preaching the best. The best mode is that which is most suited to the auditory."

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"I cannot," observed L "believe that religion destined to be universal which must needs be altered and accommodated continually as the fashions of thinking and feeling, mere fashions of the world — change and succeed

each other."

"You make no distinction between the spirit and the form," said I. "The same spirit pervades all the preachings of Paul, yet what can be more various than their forms? The same Gospel appeared under a different aspect to the Romans and the Hebrews, and a third mode of address was made use of to the polite Athenians. If Paul had lived to this day, can you suppose that his teaching would not have varied with every century and been adapted to every auditory? Would he have used the same dis

courses for a conclave of Cardinals and for the Vaudois? Would he use the same mode of address in a university and to this little flock among the hills?"

"If forms are instituted and modes adopted only to be dismissed or changed," replied L, "it would surely be better to dispense with them altogether, and let the religion of every man be between himself and his God. While these people were left to be religious in their own way, they were at peace with each other and happy among themselves; but now that their religion is made a matter of external observance, there will soon be an end of this state of things. The Methodists will be upon us presently; the Baptists will be instituting their ceremonies, and by and by we shall have a church, and the children will be devoutly taught to bow to the east. And so religion will degenerate."

"If inseparably connected with unvarying forms," I replied, "religion must indeed degenerate; witness the absurdities which would ensue if the whole Christian world were to become followers of Ann Lee, and dance because David danced before the ark. But religion would not only degenerate but expire, if deprived of expression."

"You surely dishonor religion in saying so."

By no means. The best honor is paid to religion by showing that it is adapted to our nature. Our nature is not wholly spiritual, and we cannot therefore entertain a continual regard to objects which are never presented in a sensible form. While we are composed of body and spirit, the spirit of truth will be apt to escape us unless it be occasionally embodied It follows, that while our attention is incessantly attracted to sensible objects, the best mode of keeping religion awake in the soul is to associate it as extensively as possible with these objects. The common error, and that of which you complain, is, that religion is thus associated with a limited range of objects; con