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BISHO

BISHOP AMES.

ISHOP AMES has come of the good old Puritan stock. His grandfather, Rev. Sylvanus Ames, was a Massachusetts man, a graduate of old Harvard, a settled pastor at Taunton, Massachusetts, a stouthearted Puritan patriot, and died in the camp of Washington at Valley Forge, where he was a chaplain, in the hard winter of 1777-8; so, at least, a printed genealogical table of the Ameses, which we have seen, records. Bishop Ames's father settled early at Athens, Ohio, where the bishop himself was born, May 20, 1806. He was converted during a remarkable VOL. VII.-26

revival of religion which took place among the students of the Ohio University in August, 1827. It was a productive revival. Among the converts, who are now ministers, and who were associated as his fellow-students in the University, were Rev. H. J. Clark, J. M. Trimble, E. H. Pilcher, W. Herr, H. E. Pilcher, and E. W. Sehon.

In 1828 and 1829 Dr. Ames taught in the M'Kendree College, at Lebanon, Ill. In August, 1830, he was licensed to preach by Rev. Peter Cartwright, whom we have already sketched, and who could have no

man under his ministerial care without

"making or breaking him!" He was received on trial in the Illinois Conference the same year. On the division of the Illinois Conference in 1832, he was assigned to the Indiana Conference, and was ordained a deacon by Bishop Soule. In 1834 he was ordained elder by Bishop Roberts. He was employed in various fields of labor till 1840, when he was elected a delegate to the General Conference, held that year at Baltimore, and there chosen Corresponding Secretary of the Missionary Society. In this office he had the supervision of the German and Indian Missions of the Church. He traveled more than twenty-five thousand miles during the four years of his secretaryship, passing over the entire Indian Territory from Texas to Lake Superior, traversing wildernesses and camping out for weeks together. He had the honor to be the first chaplain ever elected by an Indian council, having served the Choctaw General Council in that capacity in 1842; and he drew up, at the request of the Committee on Education, the school law now in force in that nation-a noble bill, by the provisions of which a larger sum is appropriated for education per person than in Massachusetts itself.

Bishop Ames served as a delegate to the General Conference of 1844, and from 1844 to 1852 traveled as presiding elder on the New-Albany, Indianapolis, and Jeffersonville districts, Indiana Conference. In 1844 the State University of Indiana conferred on him the degree of A. M.

Bishop Ames is a stout, robust-looking man, as perfect a specimen of health as can be found among his ministerial brethren-which is saying much, for the habits of Methodist preachers have always tended to make them excel in two respects at least, viz., good health and good humor. Their travels, their common fare among the people, their rencontres with all sorts of examples of human nature, their vocal energy, their unstinted gesticulations, (a good sort of pulpit gymnastics,) and perhaps the hopeful geniality of their theology, have had a marked effect upon them. Bishop Ames's hair is deeply black, his head fully developed with a special prominence of the "perceptive organs," his cheeks full and florid, his eyes small and of light blue color, his chin double. There is a very marked characteristic expression

about his whole countenance; it indicates calm, frank earnestness. The indication reveals itself also in his voice, which, without being orotund, as usual with robust men, has noticeably this significance.

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The bishop is considered an excellent preacher. We never heard him but once, and that was in the old Light-street Church, Baltimore, during the session of the Baltimore Conference of 1854. We were placed (as a penalty for our dignity as a ministerial visitor) in the altar, and so wedged under the pulpit as not to get a single glimpse of the preacher-a manner, by the way, respectful reader, of showing special respect on such occasions to venerable visitors, to great men, and, sometimes by mistake, to such men as your humble servant. Of course we could hardly criticise the bishop under such circumstances; and we remember very well that we found more use for our handkerchief at our eyes than for any of the rhetorical canons of Cicero or Quinctilian. The sermon was on "Faith." It abounded in good, and not a few elaborate thoughts. It had not the usual tiresome "homiletic" Firstly," Secondly," and “Thirdly,” but was a series of reasonings and illustrations on the moral influence of "Faith." Faith was shown to be a condition of man's ordinary life; it was necessary to the relations of domestic life, business life, &c.; it is thus rendered necessary, in the economy of Providence, as a moral discipline; its salutary efficacy in this respect was strongly discussed. Its importance in the still higher relations of man with God was shown. Faith is rendered necessary by the necessary mystery of many divine truths; faith must necessarily be the ground of religious trustfulness; faith is essential to moral heroism, to religious self-sacrifice and labor, to religious consolation, especially under the disciplinary chastisements of Divine Providence. At this point a glow of devout interest and joyful sympathy was spread over the whole audience; some of our fellow-veterans (don't smile, Mr. Reader, for we are, inter nos, nearly a thirty-year-old Methodist) began to utter themselves rather distinctly in the old style, forgetting that the times have "improved" so much, and our own handkerchief began to grow wet. One step further in the discourse brought the feelings of the assembly to a crisis. "What," exclaimed the bishop, his voice

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 :

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"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?

In fine, no greater blunder has been committed by the opponents of the ecclesiastical system of Methodism, than their assumption that its bishops have such dangerous powers. They have scarcely any remaining power but that of making the annual appointments, and this is, nowa-days, virtually wrested from them, and vested in a cabinet of presiding elders. Look at a few of the restrictions upon them:

"1. They have no superior salaries above their brethren of the ministry, and are considered to be of the same ministerial order,

Bishops' Address to General Conference, 1849; Bishop Hedding on Discipline, p. 10; Bishop Baker, p. 40.

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 "3. Their conduct, both private and official, committee of one from each annual conference. They are thus virtually arraigned and examined every four years, however pure their reputation.

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 some points of education at this moment; it was so even with missions. Dr. Bangs 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.

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* 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.

W

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, eruel, 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

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