ster in each town was
supported by tax, and being in some sense a public officer, the ceremony
of ordination was sometimes celebrated with procession and band of
music.

Jonathan Edwards, the great light of New England, at this time could
have been found in a quiet village on the Connecticut, whence his fame
had already spread to the mother country. How Northampton gloried in her
matchless preacher! For sixty years his grandfather, Solomon Stoddard,
had labored there. Let us linger a moment over those scenes which,
though fled like a dream, once witnessed the joys and sorrows of a
lifetime. Here in this retired street stands the weather-stained
parsonage, graced by a pair of saplings, planted by his own hands, to
which Northampton points as 'the Edwards elms,' and which now fling
giant shadows across the lawn. This dwelling, though scant of
furniture, is passing rich in its domestic treasures. Here is a wife of
lustrous beauty, sweet of disposition, fervent of spirit, and 'mighty in
prayer.' She is a matchless judge of sermons, wise in human nature, and
being wiser still in grace, must long rank as a model of the ministerial
wife. Here, too, is her group of daughters, well worthy of such
parentage, Esther, Sarah, Mary, and Jerusha, all beautiful and artless
as herself. Here a world of daily interest is found in the studies and
duties of a New England home. But who is he, of tall and attenuated
form, whose days are passed in his solitary study, secluded like a
hermit from the common experience of life? Like Moses, he is slow of
speech, and might be considered almost severe of countenance. The
lineaments tell their story of childlike simplicity of character, and
yet they are inspired by an expression of power, which at first seems
repellant. Those large black eyes seem to pierce and read on every
thought. I have referred to this family in a previous article,[D] but
would now speak at more length of its paternal head. This man has but
two pursuits, study and prayer. Of the outer world he has ever remained
in blissful ignorance, and even of his own parish he only knows what he
has learned of his wife. He has no 'turn' for visiting, and can not
afford time for vain talk. The secret of this is, that he breathes an
atmosphere of his own; his soul is like a star, and dwells apart. Behold
him seated at his table, jotting down casual thoughts on the backs of
letters and scraps of paper (for paper is very dear); he is building up