VII.

NATHANIEL EMMONS OF FRANKLIN.

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ROBABLY there is a large class who never read, and would never think of reading, a book by Professor Park, or a memoir of an old New England theologian. They rank Dr. Emmons, Dr. Hopkins, President Edwards, Professor Park, under the same head, the only difference between them being that some are dead and some alive. They look upon them all as a kind of ecclesiastical columbiad of ten-inch caliber, the glory and the safety of New England; but columbiads, however valuable, are not entertaining, not sympathetic, not attractive in the social circle, not the kind of toy one would choose to sit down to of an October afternoon or a November evening. These eminent names are names, and scarcely anything else. So far as a personality attaches to them, it is a shadowy and distant one. They are supposed to dwell in a region remote from common life. Their talk is of the volitions and the affections,

of nominal essences and spiritual substances, of moral ability and disinterested submission. But with bread and butter, market-prices, the fashions, and the thousand little interests that agitate ordinary humanity, they have nothing to do. If this class of readers can be induced to take up the life of Dr. Emmons, by Professor Park, their opinions. will be likely to undergo a radical change before laying it down. They will be surprised to find, instead of an uninteresting narrative of an uninteresting life, one of the raciest books that the American press has ever produced. It carries us into the intensity of New-Englandism. It takes us back into the life of the last century. It gives us a key to the strength of the clergy of that day. It shows us on what meat our fathers fed that they grew so great. It is invaluable as a portrait of the past. It is full of suggestiveness for the present. To a young clergyman it will prove a guide, philosopher, and friend. To his people, and to all people, it will come fraught with wisdom and power.

For Dr. Emmons was eminently and preeminently a man, and he is painted as such. It is no sublimated saintliness, but a picture from life, with all the lights and shadows. Bright as he was, we see the spots. Great as he was, we dare sometimes to dissent from his views. But his wisdom and his folly are the wisdom and folly of a strong, upright nature, and his very

follies humanize, without degrading him. If he always lived on the level of his logic, we might feel that he was too far above our plane for sympathy, but the equilibrium is somewhat restored when we hear him confess, "I do not believe in signs, but I would rather not see the new moon over my left shoulder." We are delighted to see his unreasonable obstinacy in refusing to use his hands and feet. He early determined to devote himself to the work of the ministry, and this is the way he did it :

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Although he boarded within sight of his own house (which he was repairing), and frequently passed it while under repair, he never allowed himself to see its interior, until it was finished."

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Walking over his farm one day, he saw the bars of his fence down. His first impulse was to put them up, and thus save his fields from the depredation of cattle. But no; If I say A, I must say B; and it is safer not to begin the alphabet.' With this favorite maxim on his mind, he left the bars down, and went into his study."

"At a time when a large quantity of his hay lay exposed in the field, his men were suddenly alarmed at the prospect of rain. Though they knew that in ordinary circumstances it would be in vain to expect any aid from him, yet as there was now so much at stake, one of them went to the Doctor's study and told him that the hay must be wet unless he would give them aid.

• Then let it be wet,' said he. leave my work to do yours."

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I am not going to

Often, we are told, he spent fourteen or fifteen hours a day over his books. "No one could look about in his room without knowing where the veteran's feet usually rested. The marks which they left upon the wainscot attracted so much attention from visitors, that he was obliged to procure a new panelling for one place in his room, which would suggest fewer queries." He did make to physiology the concession of rising from his meals with as good an appetite as when he sat down, but we cannot help thinking what a pity it was that he did not eat good, hearty, reasonable dinners, and take brisk and vigorous bodily exercise. It must have made him higher-toned. But his wife helped him on. When asked how he could live on his small salary without working on his farm, he replied, My wife supports me." She made his pastoral visits as well as his ink and blacking, and respected the hook on his door, which was the "shut sesame " to all intruders.

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He was scrupulously neat and orderly, not dwelling so high in metaphysical clouds as to be careless of the small proprieties. Though he once rode home with another man's horse without discovering it, he would have a horse and chaise worthy of being called "the minister's." His barns and grounds were always in order. Precisely so must the wood be laid on the fire. At

such a time the wood-box must be replenished. No visitor was admitted to his study till his book or manuscript was tucked under the green baize table-cover. At the appointed hour he was at church, and expected to find his hearers in their seats, not loitering about the door.

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Punctilious himself, he desired his people to be the same. Never but once, during the fiftyfour years of his active ministry, did he go to the treasurer to receive his salary. Then a new treasurer thought he would turn over a new leaf, and make the creditors of the parish wait on him. He stayed at home. So did Dr. Emmons. Ten days passed. On the eleventh the treasurer saw the neat carriage driving up to his front door, and the three-cornered hat in the carriage. The Doctor alighted from the chaise, holding his reins and the whip. He knocked. The door was opened. Is Mr. A. at home?' He is.' I should be glad to see him.' Mr. A. came and stood before his minister. Good morning, sir,' was the minister's Good morning, sir,' was the treasurer's I have been expecting,' added the minister, for eleven days to see you at my house. Good by, sir,', and he added no more, but his fleet horse took him back straight to the parsonage, and the treasurer followed him before noon, carrying the delayed salary, and resolving to try no more experiments." He was careful, however, to award the same courtesy to others that he claimed

word. reply.

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