ful acknowledgment. And do not fail to remember,
that he, who, even though self-impelled, goes out from the shelter of
his selfhood into the presence of the great congregation, incurs a Loss
which no praise can make good, encounters a Fate against which no
appreciation is a shield, invokes a Shadow in which the _mens conscia
recti_ is the only resource, and the knowledge of shadows dispelled the
only consolation.

* * * * *

THE MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY.

Mr. Henry Ward Beecher went to Great Britain already well known at home
as the favorite preacher of a large parish, an ardent advocate of
certain leading reforms, one of the most popular lecturers of the
country, a bold, outspoken, fertile, ready, crowd-compelling orator,
whose reported sermons and speeches were fuller of catholic humanity
than of theological subtilties, and whose sympathies were of that lively
sort which are apt to leap the sectarian fold and find good Christians
in every denomination. He was welcomed by friendly persons on the other
side of the Atlantic, partly for these merits, partly also as "the son
of the celebrated Dr. Beecher" and "the brother of Mrs. Beecher Stowe."

After a few months' absence he returns to America, having finished a
more remarkable embassy than any envoy who has represented us in Europe
since Franklin pleaded the cause of the young Republic at the Court of
Versailles. He kissed no royal hand, he talked with no courtly
diplomatists, he was the guest of no titled legislator, he had no
official existence. But through the heart of the people he reached
nobles, ministers, courtiers, the throne itself. He whom the "Times"
attacks, he whom "Punch" caricatures, is a power in the land. We may be
very sure, that, if an American is the aim of their pensioned garroters
and hired vitriol-throwers, he is an object of fear as well as of
hatred, and that the assault proves his ability as well as his love of
freedom and zeal for the nation to which he belongs.

Mr. Beecher's European story is a short one in time, but a long one in
events. He went out a lamb, a tired clergyman in need of travel; and as
such he did not strive nor cry, nor did any man hear his voice in the
streets. But in the den of lions where his pathway led him he remembered
hid own lion's nature, and uttered his voice to such effect that its
echoes in the great vaulted caverns of London and Liverpool are still
reaching us, as the sound