And, certainly, Christmas Evans was of that order who occupied the mind, and single eye, rather on the pathway of the planet beyond him, than in the study of the most exquisite shell on the sea-shore. Among religious students, and even among eminent preachers, there are some, who may be spoken of as Divine, and spiritual astronomers,—they study the laws of the celestial lights; and there are others, who may be called religious entomologists,—they find themselves at home amidst insectile prettinesses. Some minds are equal to the infinitely large, and the infinitely small, the remote not more than the near; but such instances are very rare. The power of great truths overwhelms the man who feels them; this gives rise to that impassioned earnestness which enables a great speaker to storm, and take possession of the hearts of his hearers: the man, it has been truly said, was lost in his theme, and art, was swallowed up in excited feeling, like a whirlpool, bearing along the speaker, and his hearers with him, on the current of the strong discourse. The histories of the greatest orators,—for instance, Massillon, Bossuet, and Robert Hall,—show how frequently it was the case, that the excited feelings of an audience manifested themselves by the audience starting from their seats, and, sometimes, by loud expressions of acclamation, or approbation. Some such scenes appear to have manifested themselves, even beneath Christmas Evans’s ministry. Some such scenes as these led to the report of those excitements in Wales, which many of our readers have heard of as “Welsh jumping.” Evans appears to have been disposed to vindicate from absurdity this phenomenon,—the term used to describe it was, no doubt, employed as a term of contempt. He says,—