Mr. Aldis is a remarkable man. He has been in the ministry sixty years, and still retains much of the strength and enthusiasm of youth. Possessing such splendid gifts, and having been so long connected with the Associations, there is no man living better able to perform the task assigned to him than the venerable John Aldis. The address is a model of condensation. The speaker was almost as laconic as the tramp who called, late one evening, at a country residence, and said to the lady of the house: “Madam, will you please give me a drink of water? I am so hungry I don’t know where I am going to sleep to-night.” I wonder that one can say so much in so short a time. There is scarcely a superfluous word from beginning to end. It is marked, too, by great literary excellence, and contains some delightful bits of character sketches. Doctor Maclaren is at his best. I doubt whether he ever preached a better sermon than the one he delivers at this meeting. He warns his brethren that there is danger ahead, that false theories are creeping into their creeds, that it will never do to cut loose from the “old moorings.” He says in substance: “Brethren, the cold winds from the icy caves of Socinianism are chilling our blood and benumbing our limbs. We boast of becoming liberal-minded and broad. We should not forget, however, that broad streams are shallow, and that narrow ones are deep. Their currents are apt to be swift enough to cut up the mud and wash out the riff-raff from the channel, leaving a smooth, solid rock bed. God’s Word may lead us into deep water, but it will never leave us without a solid foundation. There is such a thing as being broader than wise, and wiser than good.” For more than an hour his audience of three thousand persons is under his magic power. At times they are breathless. The Doctor plays upon the fibres of men’s hearts like a skillful musician upon the strings of his harp. He strikes any chord—every chord—he pleases. The audience can neither resist laughter nor suppress tears. Every heart is pierced by the orator’s fiery glance, and thrilled by his matchless eloquence. As Goethe said of Herder, “He preaches like a God.” The enthusiasm of the meeting reaches its zenith Wednesday afternoon, when the Right Hon. John Bright delivers an address on “Sunday-schools.” The excitement is simply intense. One round of applause follows another until the very walls of the building are made to ring with glad huzzas. Then those who can not gain entrance to the immense hall take up the cry, and send it ringing through the streets of the city. The excitement really becomes painful. Mr. Bright is quite old and feeble—his head is white as cotton, still he is a perfect master of assemblies. As an orator, he is much after the style of the late Brooklyn divine.