trembling with his emotions, "what substitute have you for the faith of the Christian in the hour of affliction and mourning? I had a little child, the joy of my heart and the delight of my eyes; she clung the last to my neck when I left home on my itinerant journeys, and was the first to meet me with her cherub smiles when I returned; her little life was bound up with mine. I left her once at my door blooming with health and beautiful with her loving looks as I passed away from her eager gaze. When, after laborious days, I returned, I found her-what? a blackened cinder-she had been burnt to death! My heart was broken-no, it was not broken, for my faith came to my support. It whispered to my agonized soul, that though my lost child would never return unto me yet I should go unto her-that she still lived-that her charred frame should even be restored to its beauty. Would you take from me my faith, and leave me desolate and hopeless with my dead? What can your philosophy or infidelity do in a sorrow like this?" The effect was irresistible, tears seemed to jet out from all eyes around us. The story could not but touch every heart of parental feeling there, especially the heart of woman. There were probably mothers present who had lost their children; at all events, women in the galleries and below broke out into audible exclamations and sobs; and strong men, standing in the aisles, looked as if they would sink down. This was natural eloquence-the right kind of eloquence. There is nothing else like it for popular assemblies, or, indeed, for any kind of assemblies How salutary it is! How it enters the soul like a healing balm, though it wrings tears from the very heart! We all went home better people for that.

Now we cannot say that this was a specimen of Bishop Ames's preaching, as we never heard him before nor since; but it seemed natural to him. There was no labor, no effort in the discourse; he "talked" to the crowded assembly, and they seemed to take all the interest that interlocutors could take in a conversation.

We have heard the bishop on the General Conference floor; his remarks have always been distinguished for their good sense and direct pertinency. He had not the folly to attempt declamatory or oratorical speeches there, where they are so

utterly irrelevant. He is not the man to fall into precipitate or novel opinions, or to commit himself impetuously on dubious questions. Good sense, good temper, practical sagacity, and a rare power of projecting and executing large schemes, are said to be his chief characteristics. Western men who know him well, predict that he will leave a deep mark on the episcopal history of the Church. He is especially able in financial plans-a talent much needed by the great enterprises of the denomination.

It is for the very reason that he has these business capabilities—the talents that fit him to mix in with the mass of the conference members, and lead them in important discussions and measures-that we regret his promotion to the episcopacy, as we have said we do that of Bishop Simp

son.

Such men are too important to be spared for that office.

When Sir Robert Peel completed his Corn-Law Reform in the British Parliament, it is said that a peerage was offered him by the government, and he had the opportunity of " ennobling" his family; but the country acknowledged, with enthusiasm, his good sense in preferring a seat in the Commons, where he could lead the people, to a coronet and the inferior isolated power of a peer.

Now, though the office of bishop in the Methodist Episcopal Church is most venerable, and in one respect (the annual appointment of the preachers) is unparalleled in its power and responsibility, we know of scarcely any other function in the denomination which is more restricted either morally or legally. The bishop can exert the influence of the pulpit largely, to be sure, but so can any really popular man, for the opportunity is unlimited. The bishop has great official dignity, and by consequence a species of official moral influence that is doubtless very powerful; but this sort of tacit power is always greater when it is the result merely of great character or great talents, than when it is the result of official position; and it is actually the case that the exercise of such influence over public measures or great questions in the denomination is now so morally restricted, as it respects the bishops, that no class of men ainong us has really less liberty of speech or action then they. They are reduced at last (and we think most unfortunately) to be

little more than mere preachers and moderators in the conference-excepting always the cabinet right of making out the appointments. It is alleged that the necessity of impartiality on their part, and of unprejudiced confidence on the part of their subordinates, render this neutrality or isolation necessary. Be this as it may, it does not help the case; it only explains it. It was not so in the old times; the early bishops of Methodism were active in everything; they made speeches and voted in the conferences. We are not aware that they were considered usurpers for doing what their humblest brethren claimed the right of doing; but they would be so considered now, and we apprehend that the change (be it good or bad) has arisen from their own tacit concession.

If we except their office as moderators, and the personal moral influence which any superior man may share with them, they have become mere ciphers in the General Conference. Hear what they

say of themselves officially :-
:-

"A bishop sustains the relation of moderator to the General Conference. He represents no section or interest of the Church; he can claim no right to introduce motions, to make speeches, or to cast votes on any question. As president, he can neither form rules nor decide law questions in the General Conference; and, on mere questions of order, there is an appeal from his decision to the deliberative body."

Is this the post for such men as we have been describing? Are abilities that might determine the grandest discussions, or carry the grandest measures, to be silenced and wrapped up thus in a straight coat of mere presidental dignity in the greatest arena of the talent and power of

the Church?

having only a distinct office, which itself is based on expediency, not on an alleged apostolic

succession.

"2. They have no vote in any question to be decided in General or Annual Conferences, not even in making rules by which they themselves are to be governed.

is examined at every General Conference by a committee of one from each annual conference. They are thus virtually arraigned and examined every four years, however pure their reputation.

"3. Their conduct, both private and official,

"4. Any person, lay or clerical, can appear before this committee and accuse the bishop, and that, too, in his absence, and without giving him any previous notice.

"5. A bishop may be arrested and expelled not only for immoral, but for improper conduct --a severity used toward no other member of the Church; for no one but a bishop, not even a child or a slave, can be expelled for the first improper act of that character.' And an improper use of his powers comes under this head.

"6. If a bishop be expelled he has no appeal: a privilege enjoyed in any other department of the Church.

"If there is any oppression in the Methodist Episcopal Church it is on the bishops. No officer of any other enlightened body on earth, civil or religious, is so severely restrained; and it is indeed questionable whether any man should expose himself to the liabilities which may result from such peculiar restrictions."

We are still then repentant, as we said in our sketch of Bishop Simpson, for our own vote in neutralizing forever so much of the peculiar talents of such men in the Church.

The episcopal office doubtless requires a high style of character and talent-this we have not denied. We only deny that the peculiar talent for conducting public measures and public questions which some men have should be transferred to, and so

much neutralized in, this very venerable

office.

We do not deny that it affords scope for such talents even in respect to administrative measures; but, unfortunately, most important measures and questions are not unanimously admitted; in Methodist Conferences and in the

Church generally they become, more or less, party matters, at least in their early and most critical periods. It was so somewhat with education; it is so with it was so even with missions. Dr. Bangs some points of education at this moment; says it was so about periodical literature in the Church; it is so still about the "pew-question," slavery, and every modification of the economy of the Church.

* See Hedding on the Discipline for these and fur ther particulars.

Grave dignity, good sense, the most cautious prudence, a thorough knowledge of economical as well as theological Methodism, and profound piety, are requisite for it; but the special kind of talent referred to, and which once found such ample opportunities in it, are hardly needed in it any more.

We have thus introduced to the reader the four latest elected bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church. We feel in a mood to give him one more sketch. If he will allow us to catch his eye in our next number, we will present to him a log-cabin bishop-a specimen of the old school of Methodist Episcopacy.

THE GARDEN OF SIR THOMAS MORE.

WE

HILE living in the neighborhood of Chelsea, England, we determined to look upon the few broken walls that once inclosed the residence of Sir Thomas More -a man who, despite the bitterness inseparable from a persecuting age, was of most wonderful goodness as well as intellectual power. We first read over the memories of him preserved by Erasmus, Hoddesdon, Roper, Aubrey, his own namesake, and others. It is pleasant to muse over the past-pleasant to know that much of malice and bigotry has departed, to return no more-that the prevalence of a spirit which could render even Sir Thomas More unjust, and, to seeming, cruel, is passing away. Though we do implicitly believe there would be no lack of great hearts, and brave hearts, at the present day, if it were necessary to bring them to the test-still, there have been few men like unto him. It is a pleasant, and a profitable task, so to sift through past ages, as to separate the wheat from the chaff to see, when the feelings of party and prejudice sink to their proper insignificance, how the morally great stands forth in its own dignity, bright, glorious, and everlasting. St. Evremond sets forth the firmness and constancy of Petronius Arbiter in his last moments, and imagines he discovers in them a softer nobility of mind and resolution than in the deaths of Seneca, Cato, or Socrates himself; but Addison says, and we cannot but think truly," that if he was so well pleased with gayety of humor in a dying man, he might have found a much more noble instance of it in Sir Thomas More, who died upon

a point of religion, and is respected as a martyr by that side for which he suffered. What was pious philosophy in this extraordinary man, might seem phrensy in any one who does not resemble him as well in the cheerfulness of his temper as in the sanctity of his life and manners."

We mused over the history of his time until we slept-and dreamed: and first in our dream we saw a fair meadow, and it was sprinkled over with white daisies, and a bull was feeding therein; and as we looked upon him he grew fatter and fatter, and roared in the wantonness of power and strength, so that the earth trembled; and he plucked the branches off the trees, and trampled on the ancient inclosures of the meadow, and as he stormed, and bellowed, and destroyed, the daisies became human heads, and the creature flung them about and warmed, his hoofs in the hot blood that flowed from them; and we grew sick and sorry at heart, and thought, is there no one to slay the destroyer? And when we looked again, the Eighth Harry was alone in the meadow; and, while many heads were lying upon the grass, some kept perpetually bowing before him, while others sung his praises as wise, just, and merciful. Then we heard a trumpet ringing its scarlet music through the air, and we stood in the old tilt-yard at Whitehall, and the pompous Wolsey, the bloated king, the still living Holbein, the picturesque Surrey, the Arragonian Catherine, the gentle Jane, the butterfly Anne Boleyn, the coarse-seeming but wise-thinking Ann of Cleves, the precise Catherine Howard, and the stout-hearted Catherine Parr, passed us so closely by that we could have touched their garments-then a bowing troop of court gallants came onothers whose names and actions you may read of in history-and then the hero of our thoughts, Sir Thomas More-well dressed, for it was a time of pageants— was talking somewhat apart to his palefaced friend Erasmus, while "son Roper," as the chancellor loved to call his son-inlaw, stood watchfully and respectfully a little on one side. Even if we had never seen the pictures Holbein painted of his first patron, we should have known him by the bright benevolence of his aspect, the singular purity of his complexion, his penetrating yet gentle eyes, and the incomparable grandeur with which virtue and independence dignified even an indif

ferent figure. His smile was so catching that the most broken-hearted were won by it to forget their sorrows; and his voice, low and sweet though it was, was so distinct, that we heard it above all the coarse jeste, loud music, and trumpet calls of the vain and idle crowd. And while we listened, we awoke; resolved next day to make our pilgrimage, perfectly satisfied at the outset, that though no fewer than four houses in Chelsea contend for the honor of his residence, Doctor King's arguments in favor of the site being the same as that of Beaufort House-upon the greater part of which now stands Beaufortrow-are the most conclusive; those who are curious in the matter can go and see his manuscripts in the British Museum. Passing Beaufort-row, we proceeded straight on to the turn leading to the Chelsea Clockhouse.

It is an old, patched-up, rickety dwelling, containing perhaps but few of the original stones, yet interesting as being the lodge-entrance to the offices of Beaufort House; remarkable, also, as a dwelling of a family of the name of Howard, who have occupied it for more than a hundred years, the first possessor being gardener to Sir Hans Sloane, into whose possession, after a lapse of years and many changes, a portion of Sir Thomas More's property had passed. This Howard had skill in the distilling of herbs and perfumes, which his descendant carries on to this day. We lifted the heavy brass knocker, and were admitted into the "old clock-house." The interior shows evident marks of extreme age, the flooring

being ridgy and seamed, bearing their marks with a discontented creaking-like the secret murmurs of a faded beauty against her wrinkles! On the counter stood a few frost-bitten geraniums; and drawers, containing various roots and seeds, were ranged round the walls, while above them were placed good stout quart and pint bottles of distilled waters. The man would have it that the "clock-house" was the "real original" lodge-entrance to "Beaufort House;" and so we agreed it might have been, but not, "perhaps," built during Sir Thomas More's lifetime. To this insinuation he turned a deaf ear, assuring us that his family, having lived there so long, must know all about it, and that the brother of Sir Hans Sloane's gardener had made the great clock in old Chelsea Church, as the church books could prove. "You can, if you please," he said, "go under the archway at the side of this house, leading into the Moravian chapel and burying-ground, where the notice, that

within are the Park-chapel Schools,' is put up." And that is quite true; the Moravians now only use the chapel which was erected in their burying-ground to perform an occasional funeral service in, and so they "let it" to the infant school. The burying-ground is very pretty in the summer time. Its space occupies only a small portion of the chancellor's garden; part of the walls are very old, and the south one certainly belonged to Beaufort House There have been some who traced out a Tudor arch and one or two Gothic windows as having been filled up with more modern mason-work; but that may be

fancy. There seems no doubt that the Moravian chapel stands on the site of the old stables.

"Then," we said, "the clock-house could only have been at the entrance to the offices." The man looked for a moment a little hurt at this observation as derogatory to the dignity of his dwelling; but he smiled, and said, "Perhaps so," and very good-naturedly showed us the cemetery of this interesting people. Indeed, their original settlement in Chelsea is quite a romance. The chapel stands to the left of the burial-ground, which is entered by a primitive wicket-gate; it forms a square of thick grass, crossed by broad gravel walks, kept with the greatest neatThe tomb-stones are all flat, and the graves not raised above the level of the sward. They are of two sizes only:

ness.

the larger for grown persons, the smaller for children. The inscriptions on the grave-stones in general seldom record more than the names and ages of the persons interred. The men are buried in one division, the women in another. We read one or two of the names, and they were quaint and strange : "Anne Rypheria Hurloch;" "Anna Benigna La Trobe;" and one was especially interesting-James Gillray, forty years sexton to this simple cemetery, and father of Gillray, the H.B. of the past century. One thing pleased us mightily—the extreme old age to which all the dwellers in this house seemed to have attained.

A line of ancient trees runs along the back of the narrow gardens of Milman'srow-which is parallel with, but further from the town than Beaufort-row-and

affords a grateful shade in the summer time. We resolved to walk quietly round, and then enter the chapel. How strange the changes of the world! The graves of a simple, peace-loving, unambitious people were lying around us, and yet it was the place which Erasmus describes as "Sir Thomas More's estate, purchased at Chelsey," and where "he built him a house, neither mean nor subject to envy, yet magnificent and commodious enough." How dearly he loved this place, and how much care he bestowed upon it, can be gathered from the various documents still extant. The bravery with which, soon after he was elected a burgess to Parliament, he opposed a subsidy demanded by Henry the Seventh, with so much power that he won the Parliament to his opinion,

and incensed the king so greatly that out of revenge he committed the young barrister's father to the Tower, and fined him in the fine of a hundred pounds! That bravery remained with him to the last, and with it was mingled the simplicity which so frequently and so beautifully blends with the intellectuality that seems to belong to a higher world than this. When he "took to marrying," he fancied the second daughter of a Mr. Colt, a gentleman of Essex; yet when he considered the pain it must give the eldest to see her sister preferred before her, he gave up his first love, and framed his fancy to the elder. This lady died, after having brought him four children; but his second choice, Dame Alice, has always seemed to us a punishment and a sore trial.

And yet