and there is not a single atom of verdure in their parched and withered up souls.”  Under the burning satire and mellowing pathos of his tremendous appeal for heathendom, tears welled out from every eye in the house.  I leaned over toward the reporter’s table; many of the reporters had flung down their pens—­they might as well have attempted to report a thunder storm.  As the orator drew near his close, he seemed like one inspired; his face shone as if it were, the face of an angel.  Never before did I so fully realize the overwhelming power of a man who has become the embodiment of one great idea—­who makes his lips the mere outlet for the mighty truth bursting from his heart.  After nearly two hours of this inundation of eloquence, he concluded with the quotation of Cowper’s magnificent verse,

   “One song employs all nations,” etc

With the utmost vehemence he rung out the last line: 

   “Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.”

He could not check his headway, and repeated the line a second time, louder than before, and then with a tremendous voice that made the walls reverberate, he shouted once more: 

   “Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round!”

and sunk back breathless and exhausted into his chair.  “Shut up now this Tabernacle,” exclaimed Dr. James W. Alexander.  “Let no man dare speak here after that.”

CHAPTER XIV.

SOME FAMOUS AMERICAN PREACHERS.

The Alexanders.—­Dr. Tyng.—­Dr. Cox.—­Dr. Adams.—­Dr. Storrs.—­Mr. Beecher.—­Mr. Finney and Dr. B.M.  Palmer.

The necessary limitations of this chapter forbid any reference to many distinguished American preachers whom I have seen or heard, but with whom I had not sufficient personal acquaintance to furnish any material for personal reminiscences.  In common with multitudes of others on both sides of the ocean, I had a hearty admiration for the brilliant genius and masterful sermons of Phillips Brooks, but I only heard two of his rapid and resonant addresses on anniversary occasions, and my acquaintance with him was very slight.  I heard only one discourse by that remarkable combination of preacher, poet, patriot and philosopher, Dr. Horace Bushnell, of Hartford,—­his discourse on “Barbarism the Chief Danger,” delivered before the “Home Missionary Society.”  His sermon on “Unconscious Influence,” was enough to confer immortality on any minister of Jesus Christ.  I never was acquainted with him, but after his death, I suggested to the residents of New Preston, that they should name the mountain that rises immediately behind the home of his childhood and youth, Mount Bushnell.  The villagers assented to my proposal, and the State Legislature ratified their act by ordering that name to be placed on the maps of Connecticut.  In this chapter, as in the previous one, I shall give my recollections only of those who have ended their career of service, and entered into their reward.