itude in discovering the strong points of a case, a facility and clearness of illustration, a sprightliness of wit, and a keenness of satire, which he could employ with great effect, for the entertainment of his audience and the annoyance of his antagonist. In the language of one who knew him well, "his forte lay in addressing a jury: in this he had no superior. In an argument to the court on a point of law, when the occasion called for preparation, and required him to put forth all his strength, he was surpassed by few." He was much esteemed by his brethren of the bar, and greatly confided in by the community at large. The amenity of his general deportment, the urbanity of his manners, the ardor with which he espoused the cause committed to his care, with the candor and liberality exercised towards his clients, greatly attached them to him as a man, while his well known abilities and tried integrity, induced them entirely to confide in him as a counsellor. His prospects for earthly emolument, honor, and distinction, were as flattering as those of any of his associates, and never more so than when he surrendered them all for the sake of preaching the gospel of Christ. Mr. Jennings, as already stated, received a pious education, which had a controling influence on his principles and habits, amidst all the seductive influences to which he was exposed. But although he at all times maintained a respect for religion, and sustained a character reputable and moral, in the estimation of the world; it appears that he remained a stranger to the transforming power of the gospel on his heart until 1809, when he was constrained to make an unreserved dedication of himself to God. For an account of that important change, which gave a new direction to the whole current of his soul, we have been happily favored with a copy of a letter from himself, to his intimate friend, David Hoge, Esq., of Steubenville, at whose request, and for whose benefit, the letter was written. «WASHINGTON, APRIL 1, 1812. "Dear Sir,-You are pleased to intimate a desire to know my experience, &c. As I shall have no leisure for some weeks, I have concluded to write to you at the present, though in great haste. My experience, my dear sir, is very small. It is not long, as you know, since I set out in the Christian race, and my attention has been much, too much, diverted by the cares and allurements of this world. Such, however, as it is, I will give with cheerfulness; feeling, as I do, something of that infinite obligation I am under to Him, who, I humbly hope, " has called me from darkness to light." And here, my dear sir, suffer me, once for all, to express my deep sense of my inability to write on this subject, and my earnest prayer, that nothing of what I may say, may operate as a stumbling block in your way. The experience of one Christian, whatever may be his attainments, can never be the proper rule for another, though it may serve to encourage, strengthen, and confirm. Did I not, then, know something of the "terrors of the Lord," and of the absolute necessity of a change of heart, in order to obtain durable happiness, and did I not feel myself bound to give a reason for my hope when requested, and thereby to bear a testimony, however feeble, to the power, goodness, faithfulness, mercy and truth of Him who came not to condemn, but to seek and save that which was lost, I should on this subject be silent. "I was educated religiously, and had convictions from time to time from my childhood, up to youth and manhood. I however, still endeavored to obtain peace of conscience by entertaining a kind of half-way resolution, that I would at some future time seek for religion, and it was not until a short time before I was awakened seriously to inquire, what I should do, &c., that I began deliberately to think of giving up all hopes of making my peace with God. I had gone far in the paths of iniquity, and I have reason to look back with shame and horror upon my conduct. While I was in this state of mind, some time in the fall of 1809, while sitting in the most careless manner, hearing Mr. Snodgrass preach, "Eternity," upon which he was treating, was presented to my mind in such a way, as I cannot possibly describe. It made such an impression on my mind, that I began, immediately, to form a resolution of amendment. This impression was not wholly worn off, when the sudden death of Mr. Simonson was made the means of farther alarm to me. I was, not long after, led seriously to inquire, What I should do to be saved? I began to read the Bible, to meditate, to pray. But all only served to prove my inability to do any thing of myself. I found the Bible to be a sealed book. I could not understand it. I found I was grossly igno rant, stupid, blind, hard hearted, and unbelieving. Our Saviour : appeared to be a "root out of dry ground, without form or comeliness." I found I could no more believe in him or trust to him for salvation, than I could lift a mountain. How often was I tempted in this state of mind to give up all pursuit. Still, however, I felt and secretly cherished an opinion or belief that if I did but try, I could do something effectual. And every new trial, every struggle, every effort, only served further to prove my real situation, my weakness, my miserable condition, and to discover my secret enmity against God. What hard thoughts did I entertain of that Being who is infinite in goodness? What risings of heart against his sovereignty, and what enmity of heart against himself I could not see the justice and propriety of casting me off forever, provided I did all I could. I had no proper conviction of my guilt for my past horrid crimes, nor had I any proper knowledge, of the spiritu ality, the holy nature and inflexibility of that law of God which is immutable in its nature, and by which I was justly condemned. However, after many painful struggles, vain efforts, and ineffectual attempts to make myself fit to come to Christ,― after passing many dark days and sorrowful nights, I was at length, as I hope, convinced of my sin and misery,-that if I ever received any help, it must be from God; that if ever I was cured, it must be by the great Physician of souls. I was not long in this situation, before God, who is love, "revealed (as I trust) his Son in me." My views of the Divine Character were entirely changed. I could almost say, with Watts, "My rapture seem'd a pleasing dream, My hard thoughts of God were gone. I could now rejoice that the Lord God omnipotent reigneth." The mystery of God manifest in the flesh appeared indeed great. Jesus appeared altogether lovely, and the chief among ten thousand. My heart was ravished with his love, (which passeth knowledge,) in assuming our nature, to pay that debt which we could never pay,-in rendering that obedience to the divine law which we could never render,-in giving himself a sacrifice to make an atonement for our sins, whereby we may draw nigh unto God, -in becoming the end of the law for righteousness to all that believe. In short, my hard heart, which nothing could move, was conquered by his love, his dying love. He appeared to be the way, the truth, and the life; a hiding-place from the storm; an ark of safety; a city of refuge, where my guilty soul fled for shelter. I was constrained by his love, his kind invitations, and his grace, and in a highly favored hour, I hope I was enabled to give myself away to him in an everlasting covenant, never to be forgotten,―to commence a friendship which I hope will last to all eternity. "Yours, &c. "O. JENNINGS." In the year 1810, Mr. Jennings connected himself with the Presbyterian church, by a profession of his faith, and not long after, as already stated, removed to the town of Washington, Pa. Here he was elected to the office of Ruling Elder, the duties of which he continued to discharge until his licensure to preach the gospel. In this capacity he was eminently useful, not only as a member of the session, and congregation to which he belonged, but also in the higher judicatories of the church, in the Presbytery and Synod, and once as a delegate to the General Assembly. Upon his first attaching himself to the church, and for some time afterwards, it does not appear that he had any intention of relinquishing the profession of the law. His first serious thoughts on this subject, were occasioned by a visit from an obscure Christian, who happened to tarry at his house all night. The remarks of this humble messenger of Providence, accompanied with a request that the "parable of the talents" should be the subject of special examination and prayer in reference to his duty, awakened his inquiry, and left an impression on his mind which was never effaced. Anxious to know the path of duty, and determined to pursue it as soon as it was ascertained, he was for some time in great doubt and uncertainty. His friends whom he consulted, were divided in opinion. Many believed that his prospects of usefulness would be greater by abiding in his present calling. His high standing at the bar-his talents and popular manners-his Christian example in the courts where he practised, and among gentlemen of the bar and others, afforded an opportunity of exerting a powerful moral influence on many persons, in a great measure removed from ministerial intercourse. Others were of opinion, that all these advantages would be more than counterbalanced, by bringing at once the whole weight of his character and talents into the ministerial office. To himself, the practice of the bar had become, in many re spects, irksome, and contrary to his renovated taste and habits. Of the two professions, he had no difficulty in determining which would best accord with his own taste and feelings. The courts of God's house, he greatly preferred to the courts of earthly litigation. Often was he observed, after being engaged in the business of the court, to seek refreshment at the evening prayer meeting; and after pleading a cause at a human bar, would gladly retire to unite in the devotions of the pious, in pleading the cause of sinners before the tribunal of God. While his mind was vibrating on the great question of his duty, he was laid on a bed of sickness, and brought to a decision in the light of eternity. The disease with which he was attacked was violent, and he was brought down to the very verge of the grave. His recovery was considered by himself, as well as his friends and physician, as almost hopeless. It was, for several days, a time of intense anxiety to his family and friends. The awful interest of the scene was increased by the state of his own mind, which, for a time, was in great darkness, and deprived of the cheering light of God's countenance. Agonizing prayers were offered up in his behalf, which were graciously answered. A physician of eminence, from Steubenville, who attended him constantly, scarcely entertained a hope of his recovery, and when he opened a vein to bleed him, he remarked that it might possibly be favorable, but that it was done more with a view of lessening the pains of dying, than with a hope of restoring him. Soon afterwards a change was visible, and he was restored in a manner almost miraculous. He was also cheered with the returning light of God's countenance. The cloud was dispelled, and he was enabled to rejoice in God his Saviour. "The question," said he, “is decided. If God spare my life, it shall be devoted to his service in preaching the gospel of Christ." Soon after his recovery, he began to prepare for the ministry, by a course of study in theology: in the mean time closing his business at the bar; and in the fall of 1816, he was licensed by the Presbytery of Ohio to preach the gospel. Shortly after his licensure, he received a unanimous and urgent call from the congregation of Steubenville, where he had formerly resided. He received solicitations from other places, and a unanimous call from the congregation of Harrisburg, the seat of government of Pennsylvania. This station, though in many respects the most important, and presenting more flattering worldly prospects, he 66 |