JOTTINGS FROM A TRAVELLER’S JOURNAL.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume IV, Issue 841, 13 January 1883, Page 2

JOTTINGS FROM A TRAVELLER’S JOURNAL.

XT. —[Concluded.]

An Interview with Henry Ward Beecher.

I am not going to describe Ne w York ; so many books are extant giving full descriptions of it and its various institutions that I take it for granted your readers can dispense with any remarks from me. But perhaps they may be interested if I relate a little incident of personal experience, a; it refers to a man of world-wide notoriety—the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. It was on Saturday I arrived at New York, and I anticipated hearing the c lobratod preacher at Brooklyn on the followin ; day But on enquiring I found that lie was enjoying his vacation at Peek’s hill. A gentiema i belonging to Mr Beecher’s church, to whom I had a letter of introduction, gave me this information, at the same time urging me to go and see Mr Beecher at his home, offering to give me a letter, and assuring me that self and wife would be sure to meet with a co dial welcome. I determined to follow his advice, as it was my only chance of seeing Mr Beecher. Accordingly we took train for Peek’s Hi)'. A cab from the station conveyed ua to Mr Beecher’s demesne—it may be truly socalled—a lovely spot about two miles from the bank of the Hudson river. Nature has done much, and Art has added many details to make the residence an earthly Paradise. We were met at the door by an elderly lady of noble features and commanding mien, whom I instinctively concluded to be Mrs Beecher. I presented my credentials and enquired if Mr Beecher was at home. “ No, he is not,” said the lady, in polite but freezing tones ; and with forbidding manner she added, “ I don’t know where he is ; he may be somewhere about the grounds, or he may have gone into the city ; you can wait if you please, but I cannot tell when ho will return—it may bo soon or some hours hence. You had better not dismiss your carriage as one of our horses is lame, and we could not send you to the depot.” All this occurred on the verandah. She had not asked us to enter the house. I interpreted the words and manner to mean that she did not wish us to stay, and that we had better be off, and was about to retire, when the cabman, who had been listening to the colloquy,

suddenly exclaimed, “ Here’s Mr Beecher 1” Lucking in the direction indicated, I saw emerging from a clump of trees, a manly form, approaching the aldermanic. Rapidly advancing towards the verandah, he doffed a drab felt wideawake, much the worse for wear, disclosing a brow broad and massive like the front of a temple, while the breeze played with the long locks of light brown hair which descended from the back of his head to his shoulders. He fixed a penetrating glance upon me, as much as to say, “Who are you?” “Oh! Henry,” said the lady, “ here’s a gentleman who wishes to s?e you ; he has brought a letter from Mr S ," and thereupon she handed the credentials I had given her to her husband, and retired into the house. “ Pray be seated,” said Mr Beecher* pointing t > the verandah chairs as ho took the card and letter. Fie had not read many lines before he exclaimed, “ Excuse me one moment,” and followed Mrs Beecher into the house. What occurred between them I cannot say. But presently he} returned leading her by the hand, and formally introduced her as Mrs Beecher. “ You’ll stay and take tea with us,” said he, “You may dismiss your vehicle, I will send you to the depot by and bye ” I thanked him, but said I had bean given to understand that it would not be convenient for him to do so, as one of his horses was lame. “Pooh!” said he, “I am the best judge of what is convenient for me to do.” Then, turning to the cabman, whom he seemed to know, he jocularly said, “ Harry, don’t you think I have a pair of horses as good as yours : couldn’t I beat you on a pinch?” “ I guess you could, sir,” replied the man with a grin on his countenance while touching his hat. Finding that Mr Beecher really wished us to stay I dismissed the cab, and accompanied him into.„tlifi_hxuiao — “snout the interior denoted a combination of comfort and taste. The furniture of the rooms I saw might be termed elegant, and the decorations and general arrangement evinced the rare talent of harmonious grouping. Mr Beec er’a manner was cordial and urbane. Personally, he is like the photos ordinarily to be seen, but they hardly do him justice. The expression of his face is more intellectual and less animal than the pictures represent it. Like most persons of his age he is becoming corpulent, though not to the extent of carrying all before him. After tea we sat and chatted on a variety of topics. There was nothing like an assumption of superiority in Mr Beecher’s manner: he was affable, but at the same time somewhat reticent. I had to draw him out. The affairs of Egypt, then occupying public attention, were referred to. I expressed a fear that complications might arise that would lead to a European-war. “No,” said Mr Beecher, “I think not. So long as Bismarck approves generally of the policy and procedure of England there will be no general war. Russia has been too much exhausted by her late war with Turkey, and has too much on her hands at home to engage in a foreign war. ” Referring to the Nihilists he said, “They are right in principle, but wrong in practice. They are entitled to the freedom they crave, but they know not how to achieve it. They are adopting devilish moans to accomplish a divine end.” Alluding in the course of our discursive chat to his visis to England during the war between the Northern and Southern States, I asked if he remembered saying in one of his public addresses, as reported at the time, “ When I am at home I am not afraid to move about; I have plenty of room f but here, if I go out after dark, I feel as if I were in danger of stepping over.” He laughed, and replied, “ I don’t remember. I have said so many foolish things in the course of my life that I don’t wish to remember them.” I turned the conversation to his book, “The Life of Christ,” and expressed a hope that he would be able to finish it. He said, “ There are many who sympathise with you in that matter. lam continually impertioned on the subject. My wife, there,” pointing across the table, “ is at me about it everyday.” “ No, Henry, not every day,” expostulated Mrs Beecher. “Ah, well,” he rejoined, “that’s a figure of speech, by every day, I mean very frequently. However,” he added, “ I am carrying on the work, and hope soon to finish it. I have got as far as the forty days.” In reply to a question of mine he said he did not intend the work to go beyond two volumes. I remarked than he was no doubt familiar with the books Canon Farrar and Dr Geikie had written on the same subject. “ Yes,” he replied, “ of the two I like Geikie’s the beat ; but I think both he and Canon Farrar treat more of the external features of Christ’s life, and the historical associations of it, than of His internal life and experiences. It is my aim to give prominence to the latter.” Just before leaving I ventured to allude to the great trial he had endured, and the wide-spread sympathy that had been felt for him in other lands. “ Ah,” he interrupted quickly, in a manner betraying some impatience, “ all that has passed away like a summer’s cloud.” On the whole 1 much enjoyed the interview. The foregoing scraps are but fragmentary reminiscences of a very pleasant time spent with this remarkable man. While he was absent from the room giving orders about the buggy to convey us back to the station,or depot (as the Americans’ call it), Mrs Beecher came and sat down by me and said, “I’m afraid you thought me very brusque and discourteous when you arrived, and that I must have given you a bad impression of our hospitality. But the fact is, sir, so many strangers call here, wanting to see Mr Beecher—most of them on begging errands —and he is so easily imposed on, and apt to be so lavish and inconsiderate in his charities, that I am obliged to be very careful whom I admit,” I hastened to assure her that I entertained no such feeling, that I was deeply sensible of the kind reception I had met with, and that I should carry away only pleasurable recollections of my visit to Peek’s Hill. A trait of Mr Beecher’s humor peeped out, as I was leaving. The buggy drawn by a pair of splendid ponies was at the door. We had shaken hands, my wife was already seated, and I attempted to mount, but the horses swerved at the moment, and I failed. On making a second attempt, Mr Beecher aided mo by a shove behind, saying, “ You’ve more solid theology than I gave you credit for,” and with a smile, and friendly wave of the hand as a parting salutation, he gave the signal to the driver and we were off. Viator.