been better prepared to take the sudden and awful plunge into eternity that he did; to him it was but a transition from a world of sin and wo, to one of eternal purity and happiness. He rests on the bosom of his Saviour, but his widowed relic and her helpless offspring are left to weep in anguish over their irreparable loss. She may say, in the pathetic language of Catullus,

Omnia tecum una perieunt gaudia nostra,

Quæ tuus in vita dulcis alibat amor.

But let her not weep, her loss has been his gain-he has exchanged a scene of agony and strife, for an eternity of happiness and joy. 'Wherefore should

we weep? can we bring the dead back again? We shall go to them, but they shall not return to us.""

About the same time, another writer, and one who knew him well, gave a beautiful and striking delineation of Mr. Cookman's character and style of preaching:

"There seems now to be little doubt that Mr. Cookman and his fellow passengers, on board the President, have been lost. This is a mysterious Providence. We cannot comprehend it. But in this regard it is not singular. How little do we know of the dealings of Providence! We see his footsteps, but they are often in the deep. That they are taken in wisdom we do not doubt; and we must wait until he shall become his own interpreter in the day of eternity. His dealings with us will then be explained and understood. We shall then see that wisdom and mercy have been in all his ways.

The Church will feel, deeply feel the loss of this eminent and pious minister. Speaking after the

esteem.

manner of men, his place cannot be supplied. He filled a broad space in the Church, and in the public His talents were so diversified, his manner so peculiar, and his eloquence so extraordinary, that it is not probable his superior will soon appear.

Without going out of the Church to which Mr. Cookman belonged, ministers may be found who excelled him in talent and acquirement-men of a stronger grasp, and of a more comprehensive judgment; but in the faculty of arresting the attention of his auditors, and giving the deepest interest to his subject, he was unsurpassed.

It was said that Mr. Cookman acquired his reputation for eloquence chiefly at Washington City, where he was stationed two years; and at Alexandria, where he laboured one year. Two years of this time he acted as Chaplain to Congress.

That his reputation was greatly increased by his labours in this important and trying station, may be admitted; but his merits prior to this time may not have been impartially considered. However this may be, at Washington City, and as Chaplain to Congress, he made a stronger impression than had been made by any other man. Whether he preached in the chapel, or in the hall of the House of Representatives, it was crowded with hearers, without regard to the inclemency of the weather. He was heard by the learned and the unlearned. The profoundest statesmen, jurists, and orators, were found in his congregations-men who could not be carried away by the tricks of oratory, or a superficial view of the subjects he discussed. And they heard him with increasing interest. The hall of the House was as much crowded the last sermon he preached there, as it had been at any former time.

In person Mr. Cookman was below the middle size. He was slender, and in height did not exceed

five feet eight or nine inches. He had not reached the meridian of life. There was nothing remarkable in his appearance. His countenance gave no strong indication of the power he possessed. His forehead was low, his head not large; and although his eye was expressive, and his mouth showed acuteness, there was little to be seen in his face of the soul that was within him. His dress conformed to the simplicity of Methodism.

No one could hear Mr. Cookman read his hymn, or a chapter in the Bible, at the commencement of his service, without feeling that he was no ordinary man. It is indeed a rare thing to meet with a good reader in the pulpit; and it is matter of astonishment that this admirable attainment is not more common. You might have read the chapter or the hymn a thousand times, and yet to hear it read by Mr. Cookman would give it a freshness, a beauty and power, of which you had never been fully sensible. His prayer was fervid, and characterized by dependence and faith. His language would sometimes, approach to familiarity, but never unmingled with the deepest reverence.

His text taken, Mr. Cookman was never long in reaching the body of his discourse. Long introductions are seldom interesting or useful. The text might be one with which his hearers were most familiar, and which they had often heard discussed. But not only the reading of it gave it a new aspect, but the mode of its illustration and enforcement was also new. There was nothing hackneyed nor common in his sermons. While method was not neglected, it was not regarded as the chief merit of the discourse. The rein was somewhat slackened, and the inspiration of the moment led the speaker onward and upward; and he never failed to carry his hearers along with him.

Mr. Cookman had a fondness for figurative language. But his figures were animated beings, full of life and power. At his call, they clustered around him, ready to do his bidding. In imagination you could see their forms and hear them breathe. They were the instruments of mercy or of vengeance to the children of men.

Who that heard him, can ever forget, in one of his last sermons in the Capitol, an apostrophe as eloquent as ever fell from the lips of man? His subject was the mercy of God. He brought before his hearers, in the strongest light, the disorder and crime of a ruined world. Its beauty had been marred by sin. Man sought the life of his fellow. Desolation and death marked the course of ambition and revenge. Rapine and murder prevailed. Disease, suffering, and death covered the earth. They were the common inheritance of all. The voice of mourning and sorrow was heard. Despair found a habitation on earth. Many with eyes and hearts uplifted sought consolation from on high. He stopped as though by some sudden impulse, and lifting his eyes to heaven, he saw the angel of mercy, as a comforter, descending from above. She was clothed in white; her form was heavenly, and in her countenance shone forth the godlike attributes of love and compassion. A halo of glory was around her. You saw her descending, and was enraptured with her loveliness and divinity. Passing by the great and honorable of the earth, she came to the cottages of the poor and the afflicted, and bound up the broken hearted. She knocked for entrance at the hearts of the weary and heavy laden, but she was no obtruder. She must be made welcome before she entered, and she remained no longer than she was treated with the respect due to her heavenly origin.

I can give not even a faint outline of this beautiful

figure. Nor do I believe that any pen can give it. It was the inspiration of the moment, and could only have been produced by such an inspiration.

On one occasion I heard him speak of the handwriting on the wall. You saw before you Belshazzar and his guests, and the luxuries of Babylon; and you heard the voice of mirth and revelry. Of a sudden there was a pause-a pause portentous of some awful event. Full of the subject and of the conception, a feeling of awe came over the preacher and the congregation. There was not one in the assembly, perhaps, who had not read the story a hundred times, yet all seemed to await the announcement of it, with painful suspense. At length, in slow and tremulous accents, you were pointed to the hand and the writing on the wall. The effect was awful.

On another occasion I heard him speak of Paul at Athens. The apostle was on Mars' hill. The philosophers, orators, and great men of Athens were before him. Armed with the panoply of the Gospel, this bold and unflinching apostle met the dread array. He pointed his weapon against the concentrated prejudices of this learned and great nation with so much skill and effect, that, accompanied by the power of God, like the force of electricity, it produced a terrible shock to his adversaries, and secured a triumph over them.

Mr. C. was less distinguished by his reasoning powers, than by his power of combination and description. His manner was eminently dramatic, without the smallest degree of affectation. He would have made an eminent actor in tragedy, had he chosen the stage for his profession. A distinguished gentleman observed to the writer, after hearing him preach, that he would make a tragedian of the first order, and that he should like to hear him act Macbeth. But there was nothing of the actor about him.

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