to fifteen preachers, many of them itinerating over a large territory. In 1810 the number had increased to forty. In 1820, when "the movement" had been going on half a century, there were about eighty preachers, several strong parishes, a General Convention, and several State Conventions and Associations. It had been a half-century of weary work, demanding much heroism and entailing many hardships. The new faith was beset by foes upon all sides. It was called upon to meet every argument that learning, ingenuity, or enthusiasm could bring against it, and to encounter every species of calumny, misrepresentation, and dulness. In several instances, it encountered persecution, acting under forms of law, and was sometimes subjected to the terror of mobs.

As the movement was entering upon the second half-century of its existence, American revivalism was at the height of its power as a religious influence. The spirit of Edwards's sermon-"Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God"—was the prevailing spirit of the revival preaching. It was an age of sharp controversy, of strong prejudice, of earnest conviction, when men could scarcely avoid taking sides in regard to the questions everywhere debated. While the churches calling themselves evangelical made large accessions, those who were repelled by their harsh doctrines naturally gave their sympa thies to the church which was then compelled, by the logic of events, to a constant controversy with those doctrines in behalf of a larger faith. From this time onward, for a generation, the debate was unceasing. In ten years more the Universalists had doubled their ministerial force; and in twenty years more, in 1850, they had again doubled their forces. Since that time the numerical growth has not been apparently so large, but in all the elements of denominational welfare the Universalist church has doubled its strength. It has in the last forty years done a work without which it could not have held its own, much less prepared itself for future growth. A large proportion of its parishes have passed out of the experimental stage. The number of its Sunday-schools have doubled. While forty years ago it had only three weak academies, it now has four colleges, three divinity schools, and five academies, and has invested

in its schools the sum of three million dollars. It has not only increased in wealth, but has so learned the art of giving that it is easier to raise $100,000 now for a denominational purpose than it was to raise $10,000 forty years ago. It is also organizing and giving for philanthropic work, and is already carrying on several charitable enterprises. It has made great progress, in recent years, in missionary zeal and activity; and the recent raising of more than sixty thousand dollars for foreign missions, and the gathering of the young people into societies for religious and missionary endeavor, are great gains over the past, and full of promise for the future. During the last thirty years Universalism has developed into a compactly organized body. From the simple congregationalism of the early churches there has been evolved, as a result of the church's experience and needs, a more compact and efficient organization, which may be described as an ecclesiastical republic; and the better organization has not hindered liberty or narrowed fellowship.

Faith in universal salvation is held by many in America outside of the Universalist church. It is held, with few exceptions, by the four hundred Unitarian churches; by many of the Dunkards, or German Baptists, who prefer to use the phrase "universal restoration"; by a large proportion of the Hicksite, or Unitarian, Friends; very largely in the Episcopalian Church; by many individual members of other churches; and by nearly all denominations upon funeral occasions.

American Universalism has greatly changed in its doctrines since its first promulgation. The doctrines of the Trinity and Vicarious Atonement were held by Murray and his early coworkers. Universalism then differed little from Orthodoxy, except in affirming universal redemption. But Hosea Ballou (anticipating by nearly twenty years the Unitarian movement) became a Unitarian in his ideas of the unity of God, renounced the idea of vicarious atonement, and soon revolutionized the theology of the whole church. The early Universalists were emphatic in teaching future punishment, or, as some prefer to call it, future discipline; and the doctrine of no future punishment met with little favor during the first half-century of the move

ment. But about the beginning of the second half-century Hosea Ballou accepted the idea that "the Scriptures begin and end the history of sin in flesh and blood"; and, as he did not give due weight to the revelation in reason and experience, he became an advocate of that doctrine of immediate salvation at death which has been well named the "death-and-glory" theory. The doctrine made rapid progress, and became for a time the prevailing theory. But, in judging this period, it should be remembered that in the prevailing ideas of that time punishment was regarded as something more than the inevitable and natural consequence of transgression; and the prevalence for a time of the "death-and-glory" theory is to be explained largely as a reaction from the notions of arbitrary punishment which then prevailed. Some who claimed to disbelieve in future punishment would not declare that our present conduct has no effect upon our future state. But in the hour of its triumph this idea met with vigorous protests from many Universalists. The controversy was long and bitter; and, as one result, there was in 1831 a secession of several preachers in New England, who formed an association of "Universal Restorationists," which maintained its existence for ten years, when, the advocacy of restorationist views in Unitarian pulpits and the manifest change in both opinion and spirit among the mass of the Universalists indicating its mission fulfilled, it disbanded. From that time the "death-and glory" theory found fewer and fewer advocates, and the future-consequence idea of retribution more and more prevailed, until now the great body of Universalists hold such a theory of future punishment, or discipline, as one must hold who believes in spiritual laws, who looks upon time as but a section of eternity, and believes that the laws of the spirit's life are the same in all worlds.

Among the pioneers of the movement, Calvinism, Arminianism, Mysticism, and Christian Rationalism, all found strong support and earnest opposition; but out of this diversity there has been developed an essential unity, so that now few bodies of believers are in such substantial accord upon all the leading questions of religious belief. Trinitarian Universalism has been displaced by Unitarian Universalism. Belief

in vicarious atonement has given way to the moral-influence idea of Christ's work. Calvinistic and Arminian Universalism have given way to that eclecticism which accepts the truth in each, teaching human freedom within the limits of divine sovereignty. The old ideas of reward and punishment have been supplanted by the doctrine that we reap as we have sown in all the realms of human action. The idea of revelation has been broadened by recognizing the human element in the Bible, the divine element in all of nature and human experience, and by a firmer grasp of what is logically involved in the doctrine of the Divine Immanence. The definition of the supernatural has broadened, and faith in Christ has become less theological and more personal and practical.

Brunswick, Me.

CHARLES L. WAITE.

FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.

The fact which strikes us first and forcibly regarding Dr. Hedge is the comparatively small quantity of his more extended writings. His books can be numbered by one figure. Like the poet Bryant, his works are less profuse than those of most of equal fame. Apparently, his thought was placed in print only when most thoroughly digested and fundamentally constructed. His style was clear, coherent, consecutive, concise. He wrote neither in nuggets, like Emerson, nor verbosely and with expatiation. His style, as has been well said, was architectural; and we may add that its general quality was massiveness, yet it possessed those touches of beauty which add to rather than detract from the grandeur of a thought. In the writing of poetry, he was easily surpassed by his inferiors in intellect and in heart; as a poet, as one to whose prose the poetical and its subtle touch gave life and symmetry, he stood a peer to any. To coherency, clearness, and conciseness of expression he added another characteristic, equally, if not more, marked,-comprehensiveness of vision and of thought. He left no phase of the subject untreated, he sought to evade no puzzle, to pass lightly over no mystery. Some of his books are thus in themselves small libraries. The felicity of his style of treatment is nowhere more man

ifest than in that branch where he was easily a master, namely, German biography and literature. We read in this line the works of others, we are sometimes wearied with the monotony of treatment, we fail to enter with sympathy into the life of the men and of the literature; but, as we walk with Dr. Hedge through these gardens of genius, we wonder that we were never attracted thither before, the personalities impress themselves upon us, their thoughts become real, their experiences seem full of interest and helpfulness. What work could be more interesting and instructive than his "Hours with German Classics"! More logical than Channing, more thorough than Parker, scarcely less poetical than Martineau, he combined in a singular degree strength and grace. He was one of the leaders of Unitarian thought; he stood in the first rank of American authors.

And in his connection with German thought we pass naturally into consideration of him not merely as a writer, but as a philosopher. Here one prominent quality, to my mind, differentiates him from the great majority of philosophical writers of equal or approximate ability, namely, appreciation of opposing theories. The arguments for pantheism, pessimism, Calvinism and other doctrines he clearly perceived; and not only did he possess the intellectual conception of, but he felt, as it were, the case of his opponent. He could sympathize with that cast of mind, that aspect of facts, which seemed to compel the belief of others. For this reason one always feels, as he travels with him along some logical pathway toward a definite conclusion, that no objections are ignored or difficulties waived, and that no feeling or prejudice determines his thought, but rather that the goal will be reached through reason, the result of the best thought of a deep and unbiassed mind. In his "Atheism in Philosophy," a work which naturally deals largely with German thinkers, this quality is, perhaps, most marked.

If we accept the division of Unitarian thought of the past half-century into the two schools, the transcendental and historical, Dr. Hedge belongs, doubtless, as usually classed, to the former; yet he was imbued, it seems to me, with the meritorious spirit of the latter. If in his "Ways of the

Spirit" there be not the true historic sentiment, then I fail to know what that sentiment is.

Radical though he was in the sense that no one more than he descended to the root of things, and in the sense also that he rejected in toto the spirit and the letter of the old theology, he was not radical if by the term be meant in alignment with many recent thinkers on the nature and origin of human faculties. He was no evolutionist, as is commonly understood by the term, though, if I remember correctly a long and interesting conversation which I held with him, he accepted evolution, in part at least, as a method, and in relation to the physical universe. He believed in the directly divine origin of the moral and religious faculties of man, in the immediate inspiration of the Almighty Spirit. His views in this respect or in others may or may not have been correct; but, if philosophy be a "rational system of fundamental principles," then Dr. Hedge was par excellence a philosopher.

In this sphere and that of literature he will be known to the future; to the present, especially to many who have known him best and loved him most, he was, before all else, the preacher.

To illustrate what the Boston Herald calls his ability to marry rhetoric to theology, I quote two brief extracts from his dis

courses: —

"And thou, O man of the world! what means this everlasting coil of business which has wound itself about thy heart with Herculean strength? What means this wild waste of affairs on which thou art tossed, the giddy plaything of its yeasty waves? Is it to fence out a paltry portion of the world's broad common which you call property, or to occupy a corner of the world's wide annals which you call fame?"

"A stone or a block of marble may have a creed engraved upon it, and is as proper a subject for the kingdom of heaven as that nominal Christian whose marble heart receives no other impress than the system of doctrines which some dominant sect has chiselled there."

In the pulpit, as in the philosopher's chair, was found the same fairness toward men and ideas opposed. He possessed a sense of humor which ran deep, a vein of

satire more telling because employed not through the force of impulse, but of conviction, a fearlessness which was absolutely fearless. As "this most flagitious war" he characterized our conflict with Mexico. For those "detained at home by illness, for those also detained by fear of rain," is said on one occasion to have been the burden of part of his prayer in the church service.

He did not have especially, however, that power designated by the much abused term "personal magnetism." He himself said that he sought to reach the minds of his people primarily through the head rather than through the heart. He was not without emotion, but his feelings were too deep for sudden or commonplace manifestation. He belonged to that class of preachers—all in all, perhaps, the most far-reaching in influence-in which the logical or philosophical element predominates, in which every word is weighed, in which there is no lack of feeling or sympathy, but in which these rest primarily in the thought.

Author, philosopher, preacher, he was yet something more,—a prophet and a teacher.

Many of the thoughts in his earlier works have become household words of the liberal faith. His teachings have echoed-sometimes, indeed, amplified and extended-from a thousand pulpits, and have entered, to abide, into the intellectual life of the century. GEORGE C. CRESSEY.

Salem, Mass.

GOING TO HEAR SPURGEON.

The recent very severe illness of the great Baptist preacher of London has called new attention to him and his work, and adds fresh interest to my recollections of a visit to his church two years ago.

The Metropolitan Tabernacle, as his church is called, is located a mile and a half or two miles south of the Thames, in the very heart of that vast section of small shops and residences of middle class and poor people which has sprung up on the other side of the river from London proper. The means of access to the Tabernacle from every part of this great section-indeed, from every part of London-is excellent. Indeed, there is probably not a large city in the world in which communication between its various parts, no matter how remote, is

so easy as it is in the great British metropolis.

What is the history of Mr. Spurgeon, and how did the Metropolitan Tabernacle come to be built?

Charles Spurgeon was the son of a poor minister in the east counties of England. He began preaching at the age of sixteen. He had little education, but much earnestness and fervor and natural fluency of speech. At nineteen, while pastor of a little Baptist society in a village near Cambridge, he was invited to speak for a single Sunday at a Baptist chapel in South London. He himself has described his first experience in the great city,-how green and awkward he was, how self-distrustful, how forlorn among the seething mass of strangers, who neither knew nor cared for him, and how he longed to get back to the village from which he came. But, young and inexperienced as he was, he had in him native power to stir and move men by his speech. As the result of that Sunday's preaching, he was called to London. His first sermon in the metropolis was preached to two hundred persons. In three months' time he was speaking to thousands.

This was in the year 1853. For some time he spoke in Surrey Music Hall. But by the year 1859 he had set a movement on foot to build a great tabernacle. The movement prospered. The money was raised. The building was finished and dedicated in 1861. Its cost was $156,000. Its seating capacity was nearly 6,000. It is here he has preached ever since, filling the house steadily to its utmost capacity. His church organization, at first small, has grown and grown, until it now numbers more than 5,000, and is the largest Protestant church in the world.

It was in August that I went to hear Spurgeon. Consulting the daily papers, I found he was announced to preach at 11 A.M. and at 5 P.M. Wishing to go to Stopford Brooke's in the morning, I chose five o'clock for Spurgeon.

I set out with my wife from our rooms near King's Cross at three o'clock. First we take an omnibus to the Bank, passing along Gray's Inn Road, Holborn, Newgate St., and Cheapside. At the Bank we take another omnibus to and across London Bridge and along Wellington St., Blackman Street, and Newington Causeway to the "Elephant

and Castle," a central point where six or seven of the most important thoroughfares of South London meet. Here we alight, and find our way on foot to Spurgeon's, a walk of but two or three minutes.

Almost before we know, we are at the iron gates that shut off the tabernacle from the street. It is a comfortable summer afternoon, with some signs of rain. It is half-past four o'clock,-thirty minutes before time for the service to begin. Can we get in? Yes, one side gate is open, and by way of this a few people are beginning to enter. We pass through the gate. Two men are standing guard inside, one of whom hands us an envelope. I take it and put it in my pocket, and pass on. Reaching the side door of the church, the only one open, we attempt to enter, but are stopped. "Did you drop the envelope into the box?" I am asked. "No." "Then please go back and do so." Thus commanded, I read what is printed on the envelope. There I am told a few words about Mr. Spurgeon's "Pastors' College," and am asked to put some money into the envelope and deposit the same in the box for the benefit of the college. I must put the envelope into the box. It is earnestly hoped that I will put in a good enclosure of money as well as the envelope.

My deposit duly made, the church door is opened to us and we go in. An usher gives us a seat in a raised section of the church, near the entrance. Here we wait the halfhour. The comers grow more and more numerous. The raised section where we are is quickly filled. Soon another, opposite, fills up also. The regular holders of pews begin to come. These gb directly to their seats. Five minutes before time for the service to begin the signal is given, and pews are reserved for their owners no longer, but are thrown open for strangers. We who are waiting in the raised seats by the doors are told to go down into the body of the church and enter pews wherever we please. We have our eyes on some vacant seats well forward and central, where we shall be in good view of the preacher; and thither we make our way. In less than five minutes every seat in the great room is filled.

The tabernacle is dingy and commonplacelooking outside. It is very plain-looking inside. Two wide galleries extend around all sides of the room. Some pews are

cushioned, some are not. At the farther end are two large elevated platforms, one above the other. On the upper one is the pulpit.

Soon from a door at the rear of this platform Mr. Spurgeon makes his appearance, followed by several officers of the church, who come forward and take their seats near him. Mr. Spurgeon takes his seat by a table. This is his pulpit. On the table are a pitcher of water, a small bouquet of flowers, a Bible, and a hymn-book.

We recognize the great preacher instantly from his pictures. A man could not look plainer. Hardly could one look less intellectual. His short but abundant hair, which stands out almost straight from his head, is getting gray. His beard is trimmed close. He wears a plain black sack coat, very long, a turn-over collar, and a plain black tie. He carries a cane, and, as he walks, leans heavily upon it, showing that he is suffering from lameness.

The service begins, but not with music of the organ. There is no organ here, and no instrument of music of any kind. Mr. Spurgeon gives out a hymn. A young man sitting on the platform at his left comes forward to the rail and starts the tune. The vast congregation rises and joins as with one voice.

And what singing it is! We miss the organ at first, but soon are lost, borne away on the swelling tide of those six thousand voices.

Prayer is offered by a young man that we take to be a preacher belonging to Mr. Spurgeon's college or other assistant in his work.

The chapter of Scripture is read by Spurgeon himself, and accompanied with running comments. And now we begin to see the great preacher's power. The reading is very natural, very expressive, and the comments are exceedingly happy. Nothing could excel the ease with which they are thrown in. They are simple, pointed, practical,— flashing light upon the meaning of sentences, unsealing little hidden fountains of tender sentiment, driving home lessons of duty.

After the second hymn and the giving out of the church notices, in connection with which an earnest plea is made for more consecrated work in district visitation and more