During the late war, Mr. Beecher took an active and energetic part in support of the cause of the Union.  His labors were so severe that his health was considerably impaired, and his voice began to fail him.  His physicians ordered him to seek rest and recreation in a tour through Europe, and he reluctantly obeyed them.  He was much benefited by his visit to the Continent, but on his return to England, on his way home, being solicited to speak in that country in behalf of the Union, he delivered a series of powerful appeals, which exhausted the greater part of the strength he had gained on the Continent, and caused him to return home almost as ill as when he went abroad.

Soon after his return the war closed, and he went to Charleston to deliver the address at Fort Sumter upon the occasion of the rehoisting of the flag of the United States over that work.  The news of the assassination of Mr. Lincoln met him upon his return to Brooklyn, and drew from him one of his most memorable sermons.  At the close of hostilities, he preached a sermon to his congregation, urging forgiveness and conciliation toward the South as the policy of the hour, saying truly that that crisis was a rare opportunity which would never come again, if spurned.  The sermon was unpopular, and caused him some trouble even in his own congregation.

Mr. Beecher is now fifty-seven years old, but is still in the flush of his intellectual vigor.  His eye is as bright, his step as firm and elastic, and his voice as clear and ringing as when he preached his first sermon.  His powers have grown with his work, and every year he seems to rise higher in his intellectual supremacy.  As a pulpit orator, he has no superior, and certainly there is no man in all this round earth whose eloquence has been productive of greater good to the cause he serves.  He is a stout, stocky man in appearance, with a large square face and heavy features.  It is the face of a great orator and a genial, warm-hearted man.  He is careful and temperate in all his habits—­except that he will work too hard—­and enjoys robust health.  He lives plainly and dresses simply.  He impresses one at once with his immense energy, and you would recognize him immediately as a man of unusual power in his community.  Said a friend not long since, “I was standing by Beecher in a book-store to-day.  He was perfectly still, as he was waiting for a parcel to be done up, but he reminded me of a big locomotive full of steam and fire, and ready to display its immense force at any moment.”

Mr. Beecher is not only a preacher, but a capital farmer.  He has a model farm at Peekskill, on the Hudson, and is brimful of agricultural and horticultural theories, which he carries into practice successfully.  His love for flowers is a perfect passion, and dates from his boyhood.  He is an excellent mechanic, and makes the repairs on his own premises, as far as he can, with a keen relish, which he has doubtless inherited from his father.  He is thoroughly read