IN apostolic times there was among the ministers of Jesus a Paul, an Apollos, and a Cephas, all possessing striking characteristics, that in the wide range, under the diversities of gifts communicated, the Church might be supplied with a ministry adapted to all its peculiarities. This variety, in the order of Providence, has been kept up in the Church to the present day. The keen, logical mind of a Paul, the fervid eloquence of an Apollas, the intrepid boldness and zeal of a Peter, and the mild, persuasive, simple eloquence of a John, all have their representatives in ministers of the present day. Such a variety in mental constitution, physical temperament, disposition, and education is admirably adapted to the itinerant system of the Methodist Church, because the variety of talent is diffused over the Church, and there can be no monopoly of any peculiar gifts, grace, or usefulness, as exhibited in the ministry, by any one par ticular congregation. We have often thought there was as much difference in the mental as in the physical constitution and conformation of our race, and that every man possessed an individual character peculiar to him self, and as distinguishable from the rest of his species as his features differed from all others; and that it would be as impossible to find two minds exactly alike in every respect as it would be to find two faces exactly corresponding in features.

As it regarded the toils, and hardships, and privations

of the early preachers of the west, there was a wonderful identity. There was then no post of ease and honor tc be occupied by a Methodist preacher-no presidencies and professorships of colleges, no editorships or agencies, no splendid stations with large salaries, no easy circuits with only Sabbath appointments, to be reached on turnpikes and railroads-no, there were none of these things; and yet the ministers of those days went to their work, and continued in it as cheerfully as the ministers of the present day fill the various appointments assigned them. But while among the early preachers there was an identity in regard both to the kind and quantity of labor in which they were engaged, there was, nevertheless, as great a diversity of talent as is found among them at the present day. We will not particularize, lest we should be considered presumptuous, or, perhaps, invidious in our comparisons; but whoever reads our biographical sketches, will be able to discover diversities of temperament, talents, and character as great as ever characterized the ministers of the Gospel in any period of the Church's history.

Samuel Hamilton belonged to a class distinctly marked. His position among the itinerant ranks the reader will be able to fix after he shall have read our sketch. He was the youngest son of William Hamilton, who emigrated from Western Virginia, in 1806, and settled in the wilds of Muskingum. Having purchased his land, and made every preparation for settling upon it, he called all the members of his household together, and, like Abram in Mamre, erected an altar, and consecrated his family and possessions all to God. This patriarch, with his devoted and pious wife, having given themselves and children to God in an everlasting covenant, were encouraged, by God's promise, to expect that the children of their faith, and prayer, and godly example, would soon

give evidence of the work of grace upon their hearts. At the removal of his father to Ohio, Samuel was in the fifteenth year of his age. His mind was early impressed with the importance of religion, and his tears and prayers gave evidence that the world and its pleasures could not fill the aching void in his aspiring soul. In the year 1812, when he was in the twenty-first year of his age, he attended a camp meeting, held on the lands of Joseph Thrap, in the bounds of Knox circuit, where he was powerfully awakened under the ministration of God's word. It was impossible for him to suppress the deep and overwhelming convictions of his soul, and in agony he cried aloud for mercy. For days and nights, in a distress bordering upon despair, he sought for pardon. We had witnessed his anguish, and the unavailing cries of his heart for mercy, and all the sympathies of our nature were deeply aroused in his behalf. We took him to the woods, and there, in the solitude and deep silence of the night, with the curtains of darkness around us, we fell prostrate before God in prayer. We arose upon our knees, and embraced him in our arms, while, with streaming eyes and faltering voice, he exclaimed, "O Lord, I do believe! Help thou mine unbelief!" Then, in a moment, quick as thought conveyed by lightning, the blessing of pardon came down, and heaven filled his soul. Instantly he sprang to his feet, and, like the man in the "beautiful porch," he "leaped, and shouted, and praised God" for the delivering grace he had obtained in that distressful hour.

At this time we were traveling the circuit on which his father lived, and we had the pleasure of aiding the young convert in taking up his cross. He was zealous, determined, and active, and the Church and world alike saw that God had a work for him to do. He exercised his gifts in exhortation, and sinners were awakened and

converted through his instrumentality. In the year 1814, at the conference held in Cincinnati, he was admitted on trial as a traveling preacher. His first field of labor was the Kanawha circuit. The circuits in Western Virginia at that time were called the Colleges of the Methodist Church, where the young preachers were sent to get their theological education, or, in other words, take their theological course. Sometimes they were called "Brush Colleges;" at other times, the fields. where the conference broke its young preachers. Some of the most prominent of our western preachers took their first lessons in the itinerancy upon this field. Here, amid the dense forests and flowing streams, the logical and metaphysical Shinn pored over his books, on horseback, as he traveled to distant appointments; and here, among the craggy mountains and deep glens, the eloquent Bascom caught his sublimest inspirations. In this wild region the preachers had to encounter much toil and hardship; and while they lived on the simple fare of the country, consisting of hominy, potatoes, and "mountain groceries," they were not afflicted with those fashionable complaints denominated dyspepsia and bronchitis. As a specimen of the trials of Methodist preachers, we will relate an incident that occured in the year 1836. One of the preachers of the Ohio conference, having reached his circuit, and finding no house for his family, built for himself a shanty out of slabs, on the bank of the Gaulley river. Having furnished his wife with provisions for a month-that being the time required to perform his round-consisting of some cornmeal and potatoes, he started out upon his circuit. To reach his appointments, which were sometimes thirty miles distant, it was necessary for him to take an early start. One morning, after he had progressed about half round his circuit, he started for an appointment which

lay on the other side of one of the Gaulley mountains. It had rained through the night, and having frozen, the earth was covered with a sheet of ice. The travel was difficult even on level ground, so slippery was the surface; and unless it should thaw, the itinerant felt an apprehension that it would be difficult to ascend the steep sides of the mountain. Instead of thawing, however, the weather grew colder; but there was no retreat. His appointment was before him, and the mountain must be crossed. At length, after passing for some distance through a narrow valley, he came to the point where his narrow path led up the ascent. It was steep and difficult, and his horse would frequently slip as he urged him on. On the right the mountain towered far above, and on the left, far down, were deep and frightful precipices; a single misstep, and horse and rider would be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. After ascending about twothirds of the elevation, he came to a place in his mountain path steeper than any he had passed over. Urging his tired but spirited steed, he sought to ascend; but the horse slipped. Seeing his danger, the preacher threw himself off on the upper side, and the noble animal went over the precipice, bounding from rock to rock, deep down into the chasm below. The preacher retraced his steps, and on coming round to the point where his horse had fallen, he found him dead. Taking off the saddle, bridle, and saddle-bags, he lashed them to his back, and resumed his journey, reaching his appointment in time to preach. The balance of the round was performed on foot, and at the expiration of four weeks from the time of starting, he joined his companion in her cabin, on the bank of the river, thankful for the providence which had returned him safely home.

Here young Hamilton studied theology and human nature, in both of which he became well versed. His