Sometimes he had to command, sometimes entreat, sometimes threaten, sometimes soothe.

'Father Beals' was a good man; and no higher compliment can be paid to any person. His head was very large, bald, and his hair was white. There was an expression of great benevolence in his face, and a cold calmness in his blue eye that never failed to command respect. He used to sit, on Sundays, just under the pulpit, with a red cotton handkerchief thrown over him, while his wide-brimmed hat, that he wore into the country, stood in front, on a table, and really seemed to listen to the

sermon.

'Aunt Graves' was a very useful body in her way, and the Puddleford church could not have spared her any more than 'Father Beals.' She was an old maid, and had been a member of the log-chapel from its beginning. She was one of those sincere souls that really believed that there was but one church in the world, and that was her own. She felt a kind of horror when she read of other denominations having an actual existence, and wondered what kind of judgment would fall upon them.' She did n't know very much about the Bible, but she knew a great deal about religion; she knew all about her own duty, and quite a good deal about the duty of her neighbors.

Now 'Aunt Graves' was useful in many ways. She kept, in the first place, a kind of spiritual thermometer, that always denoted the range of every member's piety except her own. Every slip of the tongue, every uncharitable remark; every piece of indiscretion, by word or deed; all acts of omission, as well as of commission, were carefully registered by her, and could at any time be examined and corrected by the church. This was convenient and useful. Then, she was a choice piece of melody; there was not another voice like hers in the settlement. It had evidently been pitched from the beginning' for the occasion. It possessed great power, was quite shaky, (a modern refinement in music,) and could be heard from a half to three quarters of a mile. She has been known to sweep away on a high note, and actually take the Puddleford choir off their feet. She rode through the staff of music headlong, like a circus-rider around the ring; and could jump three or four notes at any time, without lessening her speed, or breaking the harinony. She would take any piece of sacred music by storm, on the very shortest notice. In fact, she was the treble, aided by a few others who had received their instruction from her; and she was just as indispensable to worship, she thought, as a prayer or a sermon.

6

'Aunt Graves' always made it her business to 'keep a sharp look-out' after the morals of the preacher. Men are but men,' she used to say, and preachers are but men; and they need some person to give 'em a hunch once in a while.' Sometimes she would lecture him of the logchapel for hours upon evidences of piety, acts of immorality, the importance of circumspection, the great danger that surrounded him—her tongue buzzing all the while like a mill-wheel, propelled as it was by so much zeal. She said it almost made her 'crazy to keep the Puddleford church right side up; for it did seem as though she had every thing on her shoulders; and she really believed it would have gone to smash long ago, if it had n't been for her.'

Now, 'Sister Abigail' was n't any body in particular- that is, she was not exactly a free agent. She was Aunt Graves' shadow a reflection of her; a kind of person that said what Aunt Graves said, and did what she did, and knew what she knew, and got angry when she did, and over it when she did. She was a kind of dial that 'Aunt Graves' shone upon, and any one could tell what time of day it was with 'Aunt Graves,' by looking at Sister Abigail.'

Beside these lights in the church, there were about (as I have said) ten or a dozen members, and a congregation weekly of one or two hundred.

But I must not pass over the preacher himself. I only speak of one, although many filled the pulpit of the Puddleford church, during my acquaintance with it. Bigelow Van Slyck was at one time a circuit-rider on the Puddleford circuit; and I must be permitted to say, he was the most important character that had filled that station, prior to the time to which I have reference. He was half Yankee, half Dutch; an ingenious cross, effected somewhere down in the State of Pennsylvania. He was not yet a full-blown preacher, but an exhorter merely. He was active, industrious, zealous, and one would have thought that he had more duty on his hands than the head of the nation. His circuit reached miles and miles every way. He was here to day, there to-morrow, and somewhere else next day; and he ate and slept where he could.

Bigelow's appointments were all given out weeks in advance. These appointments must be fulfilled; and he was so continually pressed, that one would have thought that the furies were ever chasing him.

I have often seen him rushing into the settlement after a hard day's ride. He wore a white hat with a wide brim, a Kentucky-jean coat, corduroy vest and breeches, a heavy pair of clouded-blue yarn stockings, and stogy boots. He rode a racking Indian pony, who wore a shaggy mane and tail. Bigelow usually made his appearance in Puddleford just as the long shadows of a Saturday evening were pointing over the landscape. The pony came clattering in at the top of his speed, panting and blowing, as full of business and zeal as his master, while Bigelow's extended legs and fluttering bandanna kept time to the movement. The women ran to the doors, the children paused in the midst of their frolic, as his pony stirred up the echoes around their ears; and it is said that the chickens and turkeys, who had often witnessed the death of one of their number when this phantom appeared, set up a most dismal hue-and-cry, and took to their wings in the greatest consternation.

We hope that none of our readers will form an unfavorable opinion of Bigelow, after having read our description of him. He was the man of all others to fill the station he occupied. He was as much a part of, and as necessary to, the wilderness he inhabited, as the oak itself. He belonged to the locality. He was one of a gallery of portraits that nature and circumstances had hung up in the forest for a useful purpose, just as Squire Longbow was another. The one managed the church, the other the courts; and all this was done in reference to society as it was, not what it ought to be, or might be. There was a kind of elasticity about Bigelow's theology, as there was about the Squire's law, that let all perplexing technicalities pass along without producing any friction.

They were graduated upon the sliding-scale principle, and were never exactly the same.

Bigelow was a host in theology in his way. He could reconcile at once any and every point that could be raised. He never admitted a doubt to enter into his exhortations, but he informed his hearers at once just how the matter stood. He professed to be able to demonstrate any theological question at once, to the satisfaction of any reasonable mind; and it was all folly to labor with the unreasonable, he said, for they would 'fight agin the truth as long as they could, any way.'

I used occasionally to hear him exhort, and he was in every respect an off-hand preacher. He worked like a black-smith at the forge. Coat, vest, and handkerchief, one after the other, flew off as he became more and more heated in his discourse. At one time he thundered down the terror of the law upon the heads of his hearers; at another he persuaded; and suddenly he would take a facetious turn, and accompany the truth with a story about his grand-father down on the Ohio, or an anecdote that he had read in the newspapers. He wept and he laughed, and the whole assembly were moved as his feelings moved; now silent with grief, and now swelling with enthusiasm.

I recollect one of his sermons in part, and, in fact, the most of the services accompanying it. It was a soft day in June. The birds were singing and revelling among the trees which canopied the chapel. The church was filled. The choir were all present. Father Beals,' 'Aunt Graves,' and 'Sister Abigail,' were in their accustomed seats. The farmers from the country had 'turned out;' in fact, it was one of the most stirring days Puddleford had ever known. It was quite evident that the occasion was extraordinary, as 'Aunt Graves' was very nervous the moment she took her seat in the choir. If any error should be committed, the exercises would be spoiled, prayers, preaching, and all; because, according to her judgment, they all depended upon good music; and that she was responsible for. So she began to hitch about, first this way, and then that; then she ran over the music-book, and then the index to it; then she hummed a tune inaudibly through her nose; then she examined the hymu-book, and then changed her seat; and then changed back again. She was, in her opinion, the wheel that kept every other wheel in motion; and what if that wheel should stop!

But the hymn was at last given out; and there was a rustling of leaves, and an a-hemming, and coughing, and spitting; and sounding of notes; and a toot on a cracked clarionet, which had been wound with tow; and a low grunt from a bass-viol, produced by a grave-looking man in the corner. Then all rose, and launched forth in one of those ancient pieces of church-harmony, 'Coronation;' every voice and instrument letting itself go to its utmost extent. One airy-looking person was pumping out his bass by rising and falling on his toes; another, more solemn, was urging it up by crowding his chin on his breast; another jerked it out by a twist of his head; while one quiet old man, whose face beamed with tranquillity, just stood, in perfect ecstasy, and let the melody run out of his nose. The genius on the clarionet blew as if he were blowing his His cheeks were bloated, his eyes were wild and extended, and his head danced this way and that, keeping time with his fingers; and he who

last.

sawed the viol, tore away upon his instrument with a kind of ferocity, as if he were determined to commit some violence upon it. But the treble what shall I say of it? 'Aunt Graves' was no where to be seen, after the parts' had got into full play; she put on the power of her voice, and drowned out' every thing around her at once; and then, rising higher and higher, she rushed through the notes, the choir in full chase after her, and absolutely came out safely at last, and struck upon her feet, without injuring herself or any one else.

Then

When this performance closed, quite an air of self-satisfaction played over the faces of all, declaring clearly enough that their business was over for an hour at least. In fact, 'Aunt Graves' was entirely out of breath, and remained in a languishing state for several minutes. So they busied themselves the best way they could. They gazed at every person in the house except the preacher, and did every thing but worship. I noticed that it was very difficult for the female portion to 'get into position.' They tried a lounge and a lean, an averted face and a full one. their bonnet-strings troubled them, and then their shawls; and now a lock of hair got astray, and then something else. The men were as philosophical and indifferent as so many players at a show. He of the clarionet once so far forgot the day as to raise his instrument to the window and take a peep through it, so that he might detect its air-holes, if any there were; and he afterward amused himself and me, a long time, by gravely licking down its tow bandage, so that it might be in condition when called upon to perform again. In fact, the Puddleford choir was very much like choirs in all other places.

By-and-by, Bigelow took his stand, preparatory to his sermon. I do not intend to follow Bigelow through his discourse, because I could not do so if I attempted it; nor would it be of any importance to the reader, if I could. He said he would not take any text, but he would preach a sermon that would suit a hundred texts. He did not like to confine himself to any particular portion of the Bible; but wished to retain the privilege of following up the manifold sins of his congregation, in whomsoever or wherever they existed. He then launched himself forth, denouncing, in the first place, the sin of profanity, which is very common in all new countries, evidently having in view two or three of his hearers who were notoriously profane; and after considering the question generally, he declared, 'that of all sinners, the profane man is the greatest fool, because he receives nothing for his wickedness. A'n't that true, Luke Smith?' he continued, as he reached out his finger toward Luke, whose daily conversation was a string of oaths; 'a'n't that true? How much have you made by it? answer to me, and this congregation.' Luke quivered as if a shock of electricity had passed through him.

Bigelow then gave a short history of his own sins in that line at an early day, before he entered the pulpit, when he was young and surrounded by temptations; but, he said, he reformed at last, and every other man might do so by the same means. 'When you feel yourself swelling with a big oath for every man feels 'em inside before they break out,' exclaimed Bigelow, 'jump up and cry 'Jezebel!' three times in succession, and you'll feel as calm as an infant. This,' he continued, 'lets off the feeling without the commission of sin, and leaves the system healthy.'

He next considered the sin of Sabbath-breaking; and he poured down the melting lava upon the heads of his hearers with a strength and ingenuity that I have seldom seen equalled. 'Men,' he said, 'would labor harder to break the Sabbath, than they would for bread. They would chase a deer from morning till night on this holy day, kill him, and then throw the carcass away; but week-days they lounge about some Puddleford dram-shop, while their families were suffering. Men, too,' he continued, fish on Sundays, because the Devil has informed them that fish bite better. It is the Devil himself who does the biting, not the fish; it is he who is fishing for you; for Bill Larkin, and Sam Trimble, and Hugh Williams, and scores of others: he's got you now, and you will be scaled and dressed for his table unless you escape instantly;' and then, to impress his illustration, he soared away into a flight of eloquence just suited to his hearers; rough and fiery, plain and pointed, neither above nor below the capacity of those he addressed.

Bigelow then made a descent upon lying and liars. He regretted to say that this sin was very common in the church. He had a dozen complaints before him now, undecided;' and he detailed a few of them, as specimens of the 'depravity of the human heart.' He did n't want to hear any more of them, as he had something else to do, beside taking charge of the tongues of his church.'

Then came an exhortation upon duties; and almost every practical virtue was mentioned and impressed. Early-rising, industry, economy, modesty, contentment, etc., etc., all received a notice at his hands. 'Don't sleep yourselves to death!' exclaimed Bigelow; rise early! work! for while you sleep, the Enemy will sow your fields full of tares; and the only way to keep him out is to be on the spot yourself!' This was a literal application of the parable, it is true, yet it was very well done, and productive, I have no doubt, of some good.

Bigelow closed in a most tempestuous manner. He was eloquent, sarcastic, and comical, by turns. He had taken off nearly all his clothes, except his pantaloons, shirt, and suspenders; a custom among a certain class of western preachers, however strange it may appear to many readers. Streams of perspiration were running down his face and neck; his hair was in confusion; and altogether, he presented the appearance of a man who had passed through some convulsion of nature, and barely escaped with his life.

I could not help thinking that Bigelow was entitled to great credit, not only for the matter his sermon contained, but in being able to deliver a sermon at all amid the confusion which often surrounded him. There were a dozen or more infants in the crowd, some crowing, some crying, and some chattering. One elderly lady, in particular, had in charge one of these responsibilities, that seemed to set the place and the preacher at defiance. She tried every expedient to quiet the little nuisance, but it was of no use.' She sat it down, laid it down, turned it around, nursed it, chirped at it; and finally, giving up in despair, she placed it on her knee, the child roaring at the top of its lungs, and commenced trotting it in the very face of the audience. This operation cut up the music of the innocent, and threw it out in short, quick jerks, very agreeable to the preacher and congregation.