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LADIES

THE

REPOSITORY.

APRIL, 1857.

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMERFIELD.

THE

BY BISHOP MORRIS.

HE first biographer of Rev. John Summerfield, it was alleged by reviewers, failed in an attempt to portray his eloquence. The charge was true; but the biographer was not accountable. The manner of Mr. Summerfield could not be transferred to paper. His eloquence was indescribable. None could fully appreciate his elocution but such as heard his moving, melting accents, teaching the sublime truths of the Gospel with becoming simplicity. If it be asked, in what did his excellency as a preacher consist, I can only reply, in a concentration of all excellencies. Such was the opinion I formed on hearing for myself about one-third of a century ago. I now propose to furnish nothing more than some of my personal recollections of that distinguished young evangelist.

Before I ever saw Mr. S., I felt an interest in him, occasioned by fragmentary notices of his preaching in the secular newspapers. That interest had been strengthened by verbal rumors that met me on my journey eastward, especially in the District of Columbia, where I met with some who had heard him. But on reaching Baltimore, where he had frequently held forth the word of life before vast multitudes, every one appeared to be led captive, without distinction of classes. Passing groups of colored people engaged in earnest conversation, I overheard them say, with apparent delight, "The great Mr. Summerfield!" A little beyond these, I passed companies of merry children, who even amid their street gambols, often repeated with evident complaisance, "Mr. Summerfield!" Members of the Church, in several instances, said to me, that they would rather go where Mr. Summerfield preached, although unable to get into the Church, or enjoy any thing more than to see him pass in and out,

VOL. XVII.-13

without hearing a word, than to hear any other minister preach his best sermon. When asked why, they could not explain it, only such was their feeling. All this to me appeared to evince an extravagant partiality. Of Mr. Summerfield's personal appearance I had forgotten to seek information, and had formed a most erroneous idea. Having learned that he had been some years a field missionary in Ireland, I had conceived a notion that he was a portly Irishman of imposing person, about the middle age of life, and whose stentorian oratory could, at his command, reach and control the multitudes of people that thronged around him. My mistake was soon corrected. The General conference of 1824 was holding its session in Eutaw Church. My seat was next to that of the now lamented Doctor M'Cann, who, calling my attention, by a gentle pressure of his elbow, inquired, “Would you like to see Summerfield?" "Yes," said I, following the direction of his eye. But in my anxiety to see the lion I overlooked him, till the Doctor whispered, "Look at that little boy on the seat near the side door," who, by the way, was only a few feet from

me.

Wonder of wonder! that youth the great Mr. Summerfield? astonishing! With the youthful appearance peculiar to young Englishmen, though twenty-six years old, he seemed to be only twenty, and not fully developed; for his form, naturally slender, was wasted by pulmonary disease. Though of nearly medium hight, his weight was probably not over one hundred and twenty pounds. The lower part of his face indicated wasting disease; for his cheeks were thin and his mouth prominent. But his forehead was smooth, elevated, and well proportioned. His hair was nearly the color of a mole, and of a soft, silky appearance. His eye sparkled with intelligence, but was softened with gentleness. His person, as a whole, was symmetrical, and his movements were graceful, but not pompous.

So

much as to personal appearance. The engraved portraits in circulation were probably correct when he was in health, but are too full for him as I saw him.

Toward the latter end of the week the Committee on Public Worship announced that Mr. Summerfield would preach on Sabbath at halfpast ten o'clock, A. M., in the Caroline-Street Church, and to enable the delegates to secure seats a love-feast was to begin in the same Church at half-past eight o'clock, A. M. By eight o'clock Sunday morning I occupied a seat near the railing, on the right side of the pulpit. When the house was comfortably filled, and the appointed time to begin had arrived, the doors were all locked. Nothing unusual transpired till ten o'clock inside, though it was evident most of the time that there was much outside pressure. At ten o'clock the doors were opened, when the rush of people exceeded any thing of the kind I ever witnessed. An army storming a citadel would scarcely move with more vigor or haste. They came as many abreast as could crowd along the aisles, not walking, but running, and many of them never halted or diminished their speed, till they landed in the side gallery pews opposite the pulpit. Some of the ladies were unusually fleet, and so excited that they seemed scarcely to touch the floor or door-steps as they bounded along. In a few minutes the house was filled and packed to its utmost capacity above and below, aisles, stairways, doorways, and all. At a quarter past ten, Mr. Summerfield arrived, but such was the crowd outside that his friends could not open a way for him to the front door, and if they had he could not have pressed the crowded aisles. As a dernier resort, they got him round to the rear of the Church, and introduced him through a window near where I was seated. The next difficulty was to reach his proper position; walking on the floor was out of the question, the people were so wedged in no one could move to make way. Mr. Summerfield, however, walked on the backs of the pews, carefully passing his feet over shoulders and between heads, till he reached the platform, and ascended the crowded steps as best he could. When he gained the pulpit he kneeled in the desk, facing the congregation, when we all breathed softly. Still the whole audience seemed agitated with anxiety, and I own to a participation in the general feeling. One thought suggested by the attendant circumstancos is distinctly remembered by me to the present; that is, I thought if the angel Gabriel had been there he could not have met the expectation of that assembly. And let it be re

membered this was not all novelty; for Mr. Summerfield had probably preached more frequently in Baltimore than any other city, being a member of the Baltimore conference.

Very soon Mr. Summerfield commenced the service by reading the beautiful words of Dr. Watts:

"I'll praise my Maker while I've breath,
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures," etc.

While Mr. Summerfield read these lines I heard sighs and sobs all around me, when, casting about, I saw tears falling in every direction. Said I to myself, What strange influence is come over the people? Any other minister might read the Hymn-Book through, and not bring the congregation to tears; but here we are weeping like children under the recitation of an old, familiar hymn. How is this to be explained? Is there a charm in the voice of Mr. Summerfield irresistible, or is there a heavenly unction coming down to attest his Gospel mission before he delivers his message of mercy ? Who can solve the mystery? That the people were deeply moved was evident; the effects were visible in their heaving bosoms and falling tears. Why not conclude that the Spirit of all grace was there, moving the deepest recesses of their hearts? In this state of the multitude praying was easy work, and Mr. Summerfield proceeded therein as if realizing by faith that Christ was in our midst, that his power was present to heal. He announced for his text the words of Paul to the Philippians: "Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." The sermon was in keeping with the text, evangelical, impressive, and highly encouraging. will not inflict on the reader a skeleton plan of that masterly discourse, so perfect in every part that I was prepared to admit the truth of a rumor circulated next day, that Mr. Summerfield had been seen on Sabbath morning promenading the long ropewalk in solitude for two hours, apparently engaged in close mental effort. I will, however, allude to his manner. All appeared natural and easy. He had not spoken five minutes before our undue solicitude was all gone, and we felt as composed as little children receiving maternal instruction. His placid countenance indicated a living fountain of joy welling up in his own heart,

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