Having selected his theme, and formed a general plan of treatment, Mr. Beecher trusts a great deal to the inspiration of the moment for his language and illustrations.  Some time ago, in reply to a friend who asked how he prepared his sermons, he said he generally has an idea during the week as to what he will preach about on Sunday, but does not attempt any thing like systematic preparation until an hour or two before going into the pulpit.  Sometimes it is easy to block out a sermon; but again it is hard work, and he does not fairly get into it until the first bell rings.  He writes out the headings of his subject, and marks the proper places for illustration.  He does not confine himself to this written outline, however, but, once in the pulpit, changes it according to the impulse of the moment.  He never preaches the same sermon twice, though he may use the same text several times, treating it in a different way each time.  He endeavors to preach his best sermons on stormy days, in order that the desire to hear his best efforts may keep his congregation from degenerating into “fair-weather Christians.”  “Once,” he said, laughing, “it snowed or rained every Sabbath in a certain winter, and the effort I had to make to remain faithful to this rule came near killing me.”  When asked if he studied his prayers, he answered promptly:  “Never.  I carry a feeling with me such as a mother would have for her children were they lost in a great forest.  I feel that on every side my people are in danger, and that many of them are like babes, weak and helpless.  My heart goes out in sorrow and in anxiety toward them, and at times I seem to carry all their burdens.  I find that when one’s heart is wrapped and twined around the hearts of others, it is not difficult to pray.”

The church is provided with a large lecture-room, a study for the pastor, and an elegant parlor.  Mr. Beecher does not pay pastoral visits to his people, unless he is sent for to visit the sick and dying, or persons seeking help in their religious struggles.  His parishioners are scattered over so wide a territory that a systematic course of visiting would consume all his time.  In place of these visits, he meets his congregation at stated times in social gatherings in the church parlor, and these evenings are looked forward to with eagerness by both pastor and people.

The most characteristic meeting of this congregation, however, even more so than the Sunday services, is the Friday evening meeting, which is held in the lecture-room.  This room is plain and simple.  It is provided with comfortable seats and a grand piano.  There is no pulpit in it, but a small table and a chair are placed for the pastor on a low platform covered with green baize.  The object is to banish every thing like formalism, and to make the meeting as free and unconstrained as a social gathering.  As at the Sunday services, the house is full, but now the persons present are almost entirely members of the church.  Strangers rarely come to these meetings, and in staying away from them miss the chance of seeing the true inner life of Plymouth Church.  A gentleman who was present at one of them, a few years ago, wrote the following account of it for the “Atlantic Monthly:”