J amps, jitchers and 7rumpets
LECTURES
ON TIE
VOCATION OF THE PREACHER.
ILLUSTRATED BY ANECDOTES, BIOGRAPHICAL,
HISTORICAL, AND ELUCIDATORY, OF EVERY ORDER OF PULPIT
ELOQUENCE, FROM THE GREAT PREACHERS OF ALL AGES.
BY
EDWIN PAXTON HOOD,
MIN1STER OF QUEEN-SQUARE CHAPEL, BRIGHTON. AUTHOR OF "WORDSWORTH:
AN.ESTUETIC BIOGRAPHY," " DARK SAYINGS ON A HIAlP," ETC.
NEW YORK:
M. W. DODD, No. 506 BROADWAY,
1869.




In Press for immediate Publication,
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME,
Lamps, Pitchers and Trumpets,
$:0C llYd $ oiJoes.
Treating of the Pulpit of our own age and times
and discussing the Sermons and Characteristics of
ROBERTSON, PUSEY, MANNING, NEWMAN,
SPURGEON, the Abbe LACORDIARE,
and many others.




TO
CHARLES HADDON SPURGEON,
MY DEAR FmEND,
It is very natural that I should inscribe this volume
to you, as it is composed of Lectures mostly delivered to
the Students of your Pastor's College; and you, who heard
most of them, expressed yourself most kindly about them.
I will not deny myself this pleasure, although I have devoted a paper,* not delivered as a Lecture, to yourself in
the volume. I will only say these Lectures do not aim to
be a Course of Lectures on Homiletics, I may possibly attempt this more ambitious task some day. Please to take
this volume as an affectionate and reverent acknowledgment of that extraordinary work you have been called
upon to perform. With earnest desires for your longcontinued life and usefulness,
I am, my Dear Friend,
Heartily yours,
EDWIN PAXTON HOOD.
* Will be found in Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets, SECOND SERIES.




K'fpvrov rbv X6yov.
"th eath the   orvd."-TIM. iv. 2.
It were to be wished the flaws were fewer
In the earthen vessels holding treasure,
Which lies as safe as in a golden ewer.
But the main thing is-Does it hold good measure?
Heaven soon sets right all other matter.
ROBERT BROWNING.




CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
Page
LAMPS, PITCHERS, AND TRUMPETS            -       -   7
LECTURE II.
THE VOCATION OF THE PREACHER      -      -       -40
LECTURE III.
LAMPS, PITCHERS, AND TRUMPETS IN THE JEWISH CHURCH -   5
pulpit ^kono grapbs.-I. THE APOSTOLIC AGE: PAUL  -  91
LECTURE IV.
LAMPS, PITCHERS, AND TRUMPETS IN THE EARLY CHURCH  - 103
iulpit IDonotrapz.-II. THE EARLY CHURCH-CHRYSOSTOM- 113
LECTURE V.
MEDIAEVAL AND POST-MEDIEVAL PREACHERS    -      -138
pulpit 3logtrapbS. —III. ST. BERNARD: THE MEDIEVAL
PREACHER       -- 162
LECTURE VI.
THE GREAT PREACHERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES        -      -       -      - 16
pulpit 1.io-nogratpbz.-Yv. PURITAN ADAMS         - 229




vi                      Contents.
LECTURE VIL
WIT, HUMOR, AND COARSENESS IN THE PULPIT    -      - 249
LECTURE VIII.
THE USE AND ABUSE OF IMAGINATION AND ILLUSTRATION   - 295
uITpit 3lOno1orapJt..-v. CHRISTMAS EVANS   -      - 339
LECTURE IX.
ON THE FORMATION OF STYLE FOR PULPIT COMPOSITION, ETC. 375




I.
Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
HAVE taken a text from the wonderful story of
that great ancient judge and warrior, Gideon.
Do you not remember, when Gideon divided
his three hundred men into three companies,
he put a trumpet in every man's right hand and a pitcher
in the other, and a lamp within the pitcher?
And he said unto them, Look on me, and do likewise: and,
behold, when I come to the outside of the camp, it shall be that,
as I do, so shall ye do. When I blow with a trumpet, blow ye
with your trumpets and exclaim, The Sword of the Lord and of
Gideon. So Gideon, and the hundred men that were with him,
came unto the outside of the camp in the beginning of the middle watch; and they had but newly set the watch: and they
blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers that were in their
hands. And the three companies blew the trumpets, and brake
the pitchers, and held the lamps in their left hands, and the
trumpets in their right hands to blow withal: and they cried,
The sword of the Lord and of Gideon. And they stood every
man in his place round about the camp: and all the host ran,
and cried, and fled. And the three hundred blew the trumpets,
and the LORD set every man's sword against his fellow, even
throughout all the host.
The history seems to me to be a parable of the " foolishness of preaching;" an illustration of the genius and the
success of the pulpit-its method and its power. There(7)




8        Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumtpets.
fore, said the Apostle, " We have this treasure in earthen
vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God,
and not of us." I have given to this lecture this title, because words are lamps, are pitchers, and are trumpets.
Preaching to the intellect-to the intelligence-is as a
lamp-it sheds light over truths, over processes of argument, over means of conviction; preaching to the conscience is as a trumpet-it calls up the soul from slumber,
it makes it restless and unquiet; preaching to the experience is as a pitcher-it bears refreshment, it cools
and it calms the fever of the spirit, and it consoles and
comforts the heart. Ordinarily, the preacher should combine all these qualities; but there are those whose faculties
express themselves in one or the other of them; and therefore the image justifies a generalisation of the life of the
preacher beneath its distinctive sign.
Words, with a soul behind or within them, are the most
blessed and delightful means of intercourse. The age in
which we live beholds a most singular and perverse return
to symbols and symbolism; but these can never be to the
mind what speech is, for there can be no reason without
speech; even as also it is true there can be no speech without reason;* and symbols themselves are only vague and
pale conceptions of reasons within the mind, which must
be put into articulate words to become thoughts, and even
subjective truths. Language itself partakes of the infinite
nature of the human mind, for "it transcends in depth the
most conscious productions of it. It is with language, as
with all organised beings, we imagine they spring into
being blindly, and yet we cannot deny the intentional wisdom in the formation of every one of them." t
Now, this being the case, he whose profession it is to use
language for holy and sacramental purposes, should surely
* Max Muller, Lectures on Language, pp. 69-73.
t Schilling, quoted by Muller.




The Artist Faculty in Preaching.             9
attempt to use it with all due consideration of these, its
awful depths and powers; and while we find, in our age,
so large an apostasy of mind-we might suppose to be cultured, informed, and even educated-to the pictorial resemblances of the childhood of men, and societies, and nations,
we should attempt to hail spirits back, and to obtain dominion over them, by an earnest dealing with the rights,
and obligations, and privileges, and hopes involved in human speech. We shall see more distinctly, in the course
of the following remarks, that the master of speech in the
pulpit may be an artist; nay, that very much of his success, under God's influence, will depend upon his being
one. All preparation, all pulpit method, in fact, supposes
this. A preacher may be a born preacher, and have a possession of all the faculties necessary for his work, and he
still will need the care, the knowledge, the study, and the
reverence of the artist to give to him the human vehicle
through which he may speak.  Some will object to this
statement. Is Tennyson less a poet because he is a subtle
artist also? Is the Christian less a Christian, the preacher
less a preacher, because, before he delivers his words to the
thousand people who may hear him, he sits down to arrange his arguments-in some instances, even his wordsto furnish his mind with illustrations, to reject some which
present themselves as unfit to the subject, or unsuitable to
time or place? And all this belongs to the exercise of the
artist faculty; the prudence and wisdom which genius, informed by holiness, exercises upon its own works; and,
surely, if the highest powers need this exercise, it savors
only of the conceit usually associated with inferior powers,
to disdain it.
But my object in this lecture is rather to be anecdotal;
to present some illustrations of the variety of pulpit earnestness and excellence, some which may furnish examples
of heroism which can scarcely be regarded as models of
1*




I o     Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
method; and some giving motive from spirituality of character, where we would scarcely permit much homage or
approbation to the intellect.
Amazing is the power of sound; it searches the soul
more than vision; it vibrates and reverberates-sound
more immediately and more deeply penetrates. Nothing
presented to the eye tingles along the blood like things presented to the ear. Sound thrills in a wood at night, in
loneliness, and darkness; the fall of leaves, the stir of
creatures in the grass, and a thousand nameless sounds,
stir the feeling of mystic awe. Sight is finite; the imagination plays more freely among sounds-the forms are unshaped-the powers are more abiding. Memory-attention-seems to take a deeper hold upon the things presented in sound than in sight. And hence, the preacher is
a trumpet; the birth of the Society of Friends was in this
wise: George Fox was one of the most stirring trumpets
of the Church; in the power he possessed by his holy
earnestness to rouse men he shows in an eminent manner
what "the voice of one crying in the wilderness" may be.
And Whitefield was such a trumpet. Men heard and
trembled. A mysterious fearfulness shook the souls of
listeners; it must have been as when the prophet stood
on the mount, and the Lord passed by in the wind, and
the earthquake, and the fire, and broke in pieces the rocks;
they were the announcements of danger, and wreck, and
death. Such men, deep as their own peace was, had little
to do with the still small voice; to set on fire the forests
and to shake the mountains seemed their task; little had
they to do with the clear, calm light of the lamp, or the
refreshment of the pitcher. This was not altogether so
new as it may seem, I shall have many instances to cite
from the friars of the Middle Ages and preachers of other
times illustrating this; and is it useless? Has it been useless-this power of sound-to storm, and startle, and take




The Surprise Power in Preaching.    II
captive the soul? Useless, indeed, unless results are noted,
and the soul awakened is met afterwards, and brought
into the order and the health of the Christian life; and,
perhaps, the Church of Rome and the Methodist Churches
have alone known how to use and make useful seasons of
great religious excitement.
There is great danger, in the work of preaching, of
yielding to the demand for sensation and astonishment;
and one good man, whose field of labor has very naturally led him to adopt this method, has written a book, in
which what he calls "the surprise power," seems to be the
most important of all his ways and means of pulpit success.* It cannot be doubted that Mr. Taylor has been
successful, and his work, The Model Preacher,t does contain hints which may be read, and even followed with
advantage: but there are preachers who never enter the
pulpit without the determination to produce a sensation;
they must arrest attention, and they are careless how, so
long as the attention is arrested; still the work of the
preacher involves more than the mere forcible arrest of
the mind of the hearer; it must be held, and legitimately
held; and it must be not only aroused, it must be enlightened, and it must be informed. There are trumpets
-they startle and surprise, indeed; but even the trumpet
has another purpose; it marshals into order, it becomes
motive, beneath its inspiring strains men fall into ranks
and march, and it becomes not merely a blast-a breathits tones fall into the harmonies and melodies of othlr instruments, or we cannot long endure its shrill screams.
And if men could but believe that we are awakened as
surely by the gleam of a light upon our eyes, as by a
* Seven Years Street Preaching in California. By Rev. William
Taylor.
t The Model Preacher; a Series of Letters on the Best Mode of
Preaching the Gospel. Ibid.




I2      Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
storm of noises in our ears-if the bright, mild radiance
of the lamp could but do its work, I would rather this
than the loud uproar; but most prefer to receive even
their light as heat, though we know that these are but different modes of the same natural fact; and vibration and
radiation are one-radiation is silent vibration. There is
a different speed of vibration; in the lower form of heatthe rush of the red flame-the radiation is palpable; but,
as the heat vanishes, the red brightens-passes to orange
-higher still to green, to blue, to violet, to the azure sky,
to the deep green of the sea. It is in the quiet radiation
we pass to the more beautiful and essential life of things.
It is well remarked, that it is because the sky is blue that
our earth is not a barren, homeless wilderness, where
heat consumes the day and cold congeals the night. This
gives to us the atmosphere, absorbing and modifying the
solar rays; therefore, plants grow and bloom, and men in
happiness breathe. All that radiation is silent vibration;
and, if I were you, I would aim rather to radiate than to
vibrate-rather to enlighten and to refresh, than to astonish. Aim not to be-what you see may be literally
true-a noisy, a glaring color, but a chaste, beautiful, and
effective one. I know, as I have said, that often the most
sonorous and stirring preacher sheds forth a beautiful illustrative gleam. It was so with that extraordinary Yorkshire orator, WILIAM DAwSON. It has been well said, his
eloquence, on any other thought than his own, would
have seemed fantastic; but he often made his illustra.
tions resplendently beautiful. Thus, one says of him, who
heard him preach from the text, " Thou hast crowned me
with loving-kindness and tender mercies," "his imagination took fire at the metaphor, and presented before him
a regal coronet, studded with numerous gems, having a
centre-stone of surpassing magnitude, brilliancy, and value;
consentaneously this became the crown of'loving-kind



TWilliam Dawson and Richard Watson.   3
ness and tender mercies;' the countless brilliants represented the blessings of Providence and grace; and the
centre-stone the priceless blessings of salvation.  To express this as he wished was more difficult than to conceive
it, and several feeble sentences were uttered before the
crown was shown to the people; but when, at length, it
was exhibited in all its radiant glory, with its centre gem
of purest lustre, the deep crimson hue of which was caught
up and reflected in a thousand lights by the precious
stones which clustered around it, the saints shouted aloud
for joy."*  But Dawson was a trumpet; the effects he
produced when he spoke were amazing; men could- not
contain themselves; feelings were wrought upon and excited. He was a plain farmer, and had received only the
most ordinary education; but there was a bold, strong,
adventurous imagination in all he said, which, while it
enabled his mind to walk steadily in the most difficult
paths, and saved him usually from coarseness, vulgarity,
and profanity, bore his audiences along with him upward,
and compelled them intensely to realize his conceptions
and his descriptions.
On the contrary, the great RICHARD WATSON, a minister
of the same denomination, and incomparably the greatest
man that denomination has produced, was a lamp. Robert
Hall said of him: "He soars into regions of thought,
where no genius but his own can penetrate." Tall, calm,
graceful, timid, yet erect, his eloquence contradicted, it
has been said truly, the maxim attributed to Demosthenes.
He had no action, and all his utterances seemed simply
an emanation of soul; and vast thought, severe taste, and
solemn dignity characterized all his sermons.
Or, reverting to other times, I think of LANCELOT
ANDEEWES, the good old bishop, as a pitcher. His strange
Latin conundrums and quiddities, ever and anon occurring,
* West, Sketches of IVesleyan Preachers.




i4      Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
like the mystic lozenge-shaped quincuncial garden of Cyrus,
cannot prevent my love and admiration (on this I may
remark again); and his sermons have a sententious pith
-a fulness of Gospel meaning in them, which I am well
content to travel through the conceits peculiar to his age
to find and to feed upon. He did not like the Puritans.
It is our happiness that we can receive and love men who
thought they were far apart when living; we make them
tabernacle very lovingly in the same house, on the same
shelf of the library, in the same heart, and memory, and
experience. Andrewes did not exercise himself so much
in thought as in adoration. A devout narrowness characterizes all he writes; perhaps, we think sometimes, there
is an artificiality in the setting, but the gem is beautiful;
sometimes, lustrous and brilliant. The school to which
he belonged, and belongs, is intense rather than ardent;
the narrow-minded view will seldom be an ardent one. I
should not call Herbert ardent, nor Keble; but the devotion is pure-perhaps the purity of incense and thuribles
rather than the smell of Lebanon; theirs are comfortable
words; "Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem," was the
commission given to this order of mind.  There is an
order of ministration which does little or nothing to attract or to persuade. You must be within the church to
be able to translate even a meaning from the voice or the
word; but if you are within, full of comfort, full of refreshment are the rich sentences. The works of Andrewes are
a perfect " aurea sententia" of this kind. Let me select for
you a few. Thus he speaks of Jonah in the whale, likening it to the saint's security in the state, and hour, and
article of death:
There he was, but, look! no hurt there. As safe, nay, more
safe there, than in the best ship of Tharsis: no flaw of weather,
no foul sea could trouble him there. As safe, and as safely
carried to land; the ship could have done no more. So that




Lancelot Andrewes.                   15
upon the matter he did but change his vehiculum (carriage),
shifted but from one vessel to another; went on his way still.
On he went, as well-nay, better-than the ship would have
carried him; went into the ship, the ship carried him wrong,
out of his way clean to Tharsisward; went into the whale, and
the whale carried him right, landed him on the next shore to
Nineveh whither in truth he was bound, and where his errand
lay. And all the while at ease, as in a cell or study, for there
he indited a psalm. So as, in effect, where he seemed to be in
most danger he was in the greatest safety.  Thus can God
work; and the evening and the morning were Jonah's second
day.
So his sermon on the kings of the East-the wise men
coming to Christ.  "Here," he said, "are three stars:
the star in the firmanent, the star of faith in their hearts,
and Christ himself, the blight and morning star."  He
continues in the same sermon:
The Queen of the South, who was a figure of these kings of
the East, she came as great a journey as these; but when she
came she found a king indeed-King Solomon, in all his
royalty; saw a glorious king and a glorious court about him;
saw him and heard him; tried him with many hard questions;
received satisfaction of them all. This was worth her coming.
Weigh what she found, and what these here; as poor and
unlikely a birth as could be ever to prove a king, or any great
matter. No sight to comfort them, nor a word for which they
were any whit the wiser; nothing worth their travel. Weigh
these together, and great odds will be found between her faith
and theirs. Theirs the greater far.
Surely this is very sweet and delightful speech. There
is a simple pathos in his words-a simplicity which makes
them most effective. Thus:
Good hope we now have, that He being now flesh, all flesh
may come to Him to present Him with their requests. Time
was, when they fled from Him, but adcfactum carnumjam veniet
omnis caro. For since He dwelt amongst us, all may resort




16    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
unto Him, yea, even sinners; and of them it is said, Hic recipit
peccatores et comedit cum eis,-He receiveth them even to His
table.
Like refreshing springs are such words, and men want
to hear them.  I could mingle many figures, all to describe the same thing, when I speak of Andrewes and his
order of preaching. It is true that sometimes the strange
allegories, in which he and Herbert were wont to speak,
are like a quaint spiritual confection; but we soon feel a
sensation of refreshment, as of home-baked bread, or of
pure water-springs. These pages hold comfortable and
solacing words; good bread and home-baked, though in a
strangely-shaped mould-good water, though in a pitcher
of strange device.
And if this is not always "the one thing needful," yet
is it not the needful thing for the minister "thoroughly
furnished"?  How well has Robert Browning expressed
this:
Is God mocked? Shall I dare
To change His tasks?
Dispatched to a river head
For a simple draught of the element
Neglect the thing for which He sent,
And return with another thing instead?
Saying, " Because the water found,
Welling up from under ground,
Is mingled with the taints of earth,
While Thou I know dost laugh at dearth,
And could'st at a word convulse
The world with a leap of its river-pulse;Therefore, I turn from the oozings muddy,
And bring thee a chalice I found instead:
See the brave veins in its breccia ruddy!
One would suppose that the water bled.
What matters the water? A hope I have nursed,
That the waterless cup will quench my thirst."




Robert Browning:  The Vase, etc.              17
Better have knelt at the poorest stream
That trickles in pain from the straitest rift.
For the less or more is all God's gift,
Who blocks up or breaks wide the granite seam,
And here, is there water or not to drink?
I then in ignorance and weakness,
Taking God's help, have attain'd to think
My heart does best to receive in meekness
This mode of worship as most to his mind,
Where earthly aids being left behind,
His All in All appears serene,
With the thinnest human veil between,
Letting the mystic lamps-the seven,
The many motions of His Spirit
Pass as they list from earth to heaven,
For the preacher's merit or demeritIt were to be wish'd the flaws were fewer
In the earthen vessel holding treasure,
Which lies as safe in a golden ewer,
But the main thing is, does it hold good measure?
Heaven soon sets right all other matters." *
But I intended in this lecture rather to draw attention
to some of those more striking characters and incidents,
which illustrate, what I hope I may be forgiven for calling,
the Romance of the Pulpit'; for it has its romance, it has
* Christmas Eve and Easter Day, pp. 76-77. And it may not be
out of place to remark, that these verses, thoroughly in earnest,
would be read with profit, it is to be hoped, by all able to read
them. " The words are quick and powerful," sometimes they are
"sharper than a two edged sword;" with nervousness and force
they sometimes cleave right through some of the modern difficulties
in connection with modern believing and preaching. Modes of
thought, and forms of worship, are touched by a pen which is wondrously hard-nibbed; a very strong and devout mind expresses
apparently its own convictions, in such a tone as to give new intellectual and emotional views to the convictions or no convictions of
others.




I 8     Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumnpets.
its noble and wonderful men, who, in all ages, have been
willing to use its power and its privileges for highest and
holiest purposes-shining as lamps, sounding as trumpets,
refreshing as streams of water. The books, over which
the records of their achievements are spread, are many;
but they have- started forth prepared for witness and martyrdom, in every stirring age of the Ohurch.
The time of the Reformation in Europe was an age
when these trumpets pealed forth. What a story is that
of ALEXANDER DE LA CROIX! *  He had been a friar, but he
abandoned Paris, his convent, his cowl, and his monkish
title. He reached Geneva under the name of Alexander;
welcomed and instructed by Farel, his transformation became complete; Christ had become to him the Sun of
Righteousness, and bold in confessing Him, the Genevan
magistracy, under the influence of the priests, condemned
him to death as a heretic; but the sentence was commuted
for fear of the king of France, and he was simply turned
out of the city. On the high road, beyond the gates, he
stopped and preached to the people who followed him.
He inspired respect as deeply as he commanded homage
by his eloquence. Nobody could stop him, so strongly did
his zeal for truth inspire him to win people to the Lord.
He did not deceive himself, he knew what awaited himpersecution, bonds, imprisonment, death;-no matter, he
would preach to his countrymen; setting out, therefore,
from Berne he crossed the frontier of Switzerland, and
entered France. Few reformers strike us as being so absorbed by what may be called the passion of the Cross.
"Oh, my Saviour," he exclaimed, "Thou hast given Thy
life for me, I desire to give mine for Thee." Wandering
* I have condensed the account of this remarkable hero of the
pulpit from The History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time
of Calvin, Vol. II. The four volumes, all as yet published, are full
of these stories of the martyrs and heroes of the pulpit.




The Preaching, etc., of De la Croix.        9
along the banks of the Bienne, the Aier, the Seille, and
the Saone, he entered the cottages of poor peasants, scattering the seeds of the Gospel, and proclaiming the forgiveness of the Gospel. At Lyons, numbers heard him preach;
he went from house to house; persecution raged fiercely
in Lyons; the priests sought for him but could not find
him; friends hid him away; they sought for him in one
part of the city, he was preaching in an upper chamber in
another; they looked for him in some suburb in the north,
he was preaching in the south. Impelled by a magnanimity, which would be fanaticism if it were not holy devotion and consecration, the mysterious evangelist entered
the prison to console two who had been laid there; had
he been discovered, the gates would have finally closed
upon him; but he left the dungeon, and no man laid
hands on him. It was said he possessed Satanic powers,
and passed invisibly through the police. At last, he was
seized; he had moved long about-a mysterious presence
— ifted with those mighty powers, eloquence and holiness.
After a wondrously effective unfolding of the Gospel at
Lyons, principally through the imprudence of some followers it would seem, he was taken; he was brought into
Paris loaded with chains, but the surrounding guards and
archers in the course of the journey had learned to treat
him  with respect.  The captain of the archers was a
worthy man, and as he rode beside Alexander, he questioned him as to the cause of his arrest. It is an amazing
circumstance-the captain was converted while they were
journeying to Paris! As they journeyed on from village,
in that age of slow journeys, resting for the night in inns,
he used all his skill of speech; in many places the priest
of the village was sent for to dispute with him, it was unavailing.  "Wonderful things!" says the old chronicler,
" he was more useful at the inns and on the road, than
ever he had been before." Entering Paris, he must have




20      LIamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
known what awaited him-worse than death; the monks
of his order, the cruel Dominicans, outraged by his heresy
from the most orthodox of orders, were only too anxious
thattthe last resources of the torture should be tried upon
him. As he refused to name accomplices, and would give
the names of none who, like himself, had separated from
the Church of Rome, he was tortured by the wedges of the
boot; his left leg was crushed. The judge was amazed at
his patience: "It is enough," he said, " he has been tortured too much." The executioners lifted up the martyr
and carried him to his dungeon, a cripple; they brought
him forth again shortly after, condemned to be burned
alive. It seemed as though a flash of joy lit up his features.  "Truly," said the spectators," he is more joyful
than he was before!"  The priests gathered round him
to perform the sacerdotal degradation.   If you utter a
word," said they, "you will have your tongue cut out."
He uttered not a word, only as the absurdities and mysteries went on, some severe smiles escaped him; then they
dressed him in the robe de fol, a coarse garment worn by
the poorer peasantry.  "Oh God!" he exclaimed, "is
there any greater honor than to receive the livery which
Thy Son received in the house of Herod? " and then he
mounted a cart, used to carry mud or dust, and with the
Dominican monks proceeded to the place of execution.
As the cart moved slowly along, he threw out his words
upon the crowd by the side of the cart. "Thinking nothing of lis own death," says a writer, "he scattered the
seeds of the Gospel." "Either recant or hold your tongue,"
said the priest. Alexander turned round and said with
firmness, "I will not renounce Jesus Christ; depart from
me, ye deceivers of the people." He obtained permission,
at the place of execution, to address some words to the
people; but the words amounted to fervid and glowing
confessions of love to the Redeemer, and when he had




A  Bold French Preacher.                21
done, he said to the executioner, " Proceed." The officers
of justice then bound him to the stake, and set it on fire,
and amidst the crackling of the wood, and the ascending
flames, arose his voice, "Oh my Redeemer! oh my Redeemer  "  At last his voice was silent.  Even the executioners turned to each other and said, " What a strange
criminal this is;" and the monks turned to each other and
said, " If that man be not saved, who will be? " and the
spectators beat upon their breasts, and said, "A  great
wrong has been done to that man."  Such a death as this
is a triumph, and it tolls the knell of the executioners,
while it prepares the crown for the victim.
There was a preacher who when called, in those evil days,
to preach before that great persecutor, Francis I., in the
Church of St. Eustache in Paris, and before an immense
crowd of ecclesiastics and courtiers, had the courage to
exclaim, as he warmed with his subject: "The end of all
visible things is to lead us to invisible things. The bread
which refreshes our body tells us that Jesus Christ is the
light of our soul.  Seated at the right hand of God, Jesus
lives by His Holy Spirit in the hearts of His disciples.' Quc sursum sunt qucerite,' says St. Paul;' ubi Christus est
in dextera Dei sedens.' Yes,'Seek those things which are
above.' Do not confine yourselves during mass to what is
upon the altar; rise, yourselves, by faith, there to find the
Son of God. After he has consecrated the elements, does
not the priest cry out to the people,'Sursun,-corda!' —'Lift up your hearts!' These words signify: Here is the
bread; and here is the wine, but Jesus is in Heaven. For
this reason, Sire," he continued, turning to the king, "if
you wish to have Jesus Christ, do not look for Him in the
visible elements, soar to Heaven on the wings of faith.'It
is believing in Jesus Christ that we eat His flesh,' said St.
Augustine. If it were true that Christ must be touched by
the hands, and devoured by the teeth, we should not say




22       Lanps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.'sursum'-upwards, but'deorsum'-downwards! Sire, it
is to Heaven I invite you.  Hear the voice of the Lord.'Sursum,-corda,' Sire,'Sursum, —corda!"' And the sonorous voice of the priest filled the whole church with those
thrilling words, produced with a tone of the sincerest conviction. This was brave preaching, when a wave of the
royal hand might, for such words, hale the preacher away
to the prison and the stake.  They preached, these noble
men-whom some, in our days, affect to despise-in the
Courts, and at the very stake itself. D'Aubigne tells the
story of MASTER CATURCE, a lecturer on theology, and licentiate of theology, and a grimly humorous story it is:
He was declared a heretic, condemned to be burnt alive, and
taken to the square of St. Etienne.
Here an immense crowd had assembled, especially of students
of the university, who were anxious to witness the degradation
of so esteemed a professor. The " mystery" lasted three hours
of triumph for the Word of God. Never had Caturce spoken
with greater freedom. In answer to everything that was said,
he brought some passage of Scripture "very pertinent to reprove the stupidity of his judges before the scholars." His
academical robes were taken off, the costume of a merry-andrew
was put on him, and then another scene began.
A Dominican monk, wearing a white robe and scapulary,
with a black robe and pointed cap, made his way through the
crowd, and ascended a little wooden pulpit which had been set
up in the middle of the square. This by no means learned individual assumed an important air, for he had been commissioned to deliver what was called " the sermon of catholic faith."
In a voice that was heard all over the square, he read his text:
The Spirit spea7ceth expressly, that in the latter times some shall
depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits and doctrines
of devils. The monks were delighted with a text which appeared so suitable; but Caturce, who almost knew his Testament by heart, perceiving that, according to their custom of
distorting Scripture, he had only taken a fragment (lopin) of




Tlhe Preaching of Master (aturce.            23
the passage, cried out in a loud voice: " Read on." The Dominican, who felt alarmed, stopped short, upon which Caturce
himself completed the passage: Forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstainfrom meats, which God had created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe. The monks were
confounded; the students and other friends of the licentiate
smiled. " We know them," continued the energetic professor,
"those deceivers of the people, who instead of the doctrine
of faith, feed them  with trash. In God's service there is
no question of fish, or of flesh, of black, or of grey, of Wcdnesday, or of Friday.                It is nothing but foolish
superstition which requires celibacy and abstaining from meats.
Such are not the commandments of God."  The Dominican in
his pulpit listened with astonishment; the prisoner was preaching in the midst of the officers of justice, and the students heard
him " with great favor."  The poor Dominican, ashamed of his
folly, left his sermon unpreached.
After this, the martyr was led back to the court, where sentence of death was pronounced upon him. Caturce surveyed
his judges with indignation, and, as he left the tribunal, exclaimed in Latin: " Thou seat of iniquity I Thou court of injustice! " He was now led to the scaffold, and at the stake
continued exhorting the people to know Jesus Christ. " It is
impossible to calculate the great fruit wrought by his death,"
says the chronicle, " especially among the students then at the
university of Toulouse," that is to say, in the year 1532.
Would that we had some Vasari, or Lanzi, or Sterling,
to tell the tale of the pulpit, as those delightful writers have
told the tale of the art of painting, and its triumphs and
glories.  Surely, it is worthy!-surely, the story of the
lamp, pitcher, and trumpet is equal in interest and in value
to that of the crayon, the palette, or the pencil!  How can
the story of painting be expected to compare with the story
of preaching?-the story of the way in which souls in the
new creation were quickened and kept alive?  Looking
among the marvels of the microscope, bending the eye




24       Lamps, Pitchers, and  Lrumpets.
through the lens, the reader has, perhaps, watched the
crystallisation of some acid.  A marvellous sight!-gorgeous spears, and prismatic pillars of crystal shooting over
the disc! A moment since it was all opaque, and now it is
all acope, aflame with lightnings; a field with arms flashing
in the sun; a theatre resplendent with diamonds: but the
birth of souls-the awakening of souls; new  affections
shooting forth; new developments-consciousness, holiness,
and power; the minister has believed that he beheld all
this. The artist believes in beauty, in the ideal; the
preacher in holiness, in life. Therefore, what stories of
martyrdoms!-what enthusiasm! sometimes, it may be,
what fanaticism!  But artists have been fanatics tooBlake, Haydon, Ribera; but they neither interfere with our
admiration of the art nor the appreciation of the men.
In chapters in the Romance of the Pulpit, must be mentioned Dr. Abel Stevens's History of Methodism,* and Dr.
Sprague's Annals of the American Methodist Pulpit.t  Here
is a succession of tales of extraordinary power and wonder;
here are the stories of heroes, stories of marvellous adventure, and triumph, and spiritual conquest. It is a pleasant
conviction with us, that no human chapter is more full of
wonder and delight than the history of the pulpit in all
ages. It has always been wonderful where it has been real,
from that day when Peter's sermons pierced the hearts of
his hearers, down through the times of the dark and the
* The History of the Religious Movement of the Eighteenth Century, called Methodism. By Abel Stevens, LL.D., New York. A
most entertaining repertory of pulpit anecdote of the period to
which it refers; an eloquent story, told by a sympathetic and
hearty Methodist, only too little disposed to see the presence of the
divine life in others than that Church whose history he recites.
t Annals of the American Methodist Pulpit. By William  B.
Sprague, New York. This bulky work is overflowingly full of the
delightful garrulousness of many men.




Chapters im the Romance of the Pulpit.  25
Middle Ages, in every country, where it has tried and tested
its power-in France, in Geneva, in Scotland, England, and
America. Dr. Stevens tells one part of the story, and tells
it well-recites the rise and progress of Methodism, with
its mighty array of marvellous men. Heroism and adventure meet us everywhere, as in those days when stalwart
old woodland shepherds carried the first preachers on their
backs through the snowdrifts, which choked the old English
roads in the winter; or the days when a preacher was seen
with a spade strapped on his saddle behind, taking his departure from Macclesfield for the bleak portion of his circuit-the spade being deemed needful to cut a way through
the snow. "I am but a brown-bread preacher," said one
of them, "I have nothing of politeness in my language or
address; but I seek to help all I can to Heaven in the best
way I can. I have been in dangers by snowdrifts and land
floods, by falls from my horse, by persecution, sickness,
cold, pain, weakness, and weariness; trials of heart, and
understanding, and judgment, and various reasonings with
friends and foes, men and devils, and most with myself."
He goes on to say how "through all he has been kept," and
moderately ventures to believe he has not been useless,
while assuredly he has been happy. Such were the men
whose stories the goodly volumes of Sprague and Stevens
tell. It reminds us of Gideon dividing his three hundred
men into three companies, putting a trumpet into every
man's hand, a pitcher into the other hand, and a lamp in
the pitcher. Truly, a strange and wonderful sight to see
an army of thousands flying, cutting each other in pieces,
while the Israelites only stood by with the sounding trumpet, and the gleaming lamp! The story of the great Methodist movement is very much like this miraculous, historic,
and dramatic scene. But, on all hands we hear that the
pulpit is worthless now; there are not wanting proposals
to Abolish it. We receive lectures in homiletics from those
2




26      Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
remarkable preachers, The Saturday Review, The Times,
and The Daily Telegraph.  "Why," says one in a letter, we
believe, to The Times, or to one of the High Church organs,
" Why this preaching? why does this man talk to us? who
is he, that he should talk? why not be content to worship
only, when we go to church? Besides, ministers are simply nuisances;" and it must be said, so far, in apology for
this, that if the pulpit cannot prove itself, it had better go
down. But most of the sharp, shrill querulousnesses
against the pulpit have come from Church organs; and
certainly, of nearly the twenty thousand clergymen in the
English Church, few enough give full proof of their ministry. Do not most of these fastidious critics demand, as the
great essentials for pulpit eminence, that the ear should be
tickled, and the soul put to sleep? How truly amusing to
think of such unconverted pagans and Philistines as Saturday Reviewers and Daily Telegraphs jeremiadizing over the
decay of power in the pulpit. We have sometimes thought
of proposing the other thing:-" Instead of, or, as well as,
putting down the pulpit, why not put an end to sculpture,
or to painting?  Cutting out bits of things in marble,
smearing colors over canvas! Why not put down all
poetry? Are not poets proverbially nuisances, with their
skreeds of bathos? Let us put down all art; why not?
for, compared with the pulpit, what pictures or sculptures
excite so much, what music, or poetry awakens more emotion?"
What is this sublime impelling instinct for souls-for the
salvation of souls-which these preachers have known?this divine and hallowed fanaticism of love for souls and for
God? —the realization of those fervid words written by
that saintly woman, the Countess of Huntingdon:
My whole heart has not one single grain this moment of thirst
after approbation. I feel alone with God. He fills the whole




John Nelson.                      27
void. I see all mortals under my feet. I have not one wish, one
will, one desire, but in Him; He hath set my feet in a large
room. All but God's children seem but so many machines appointed for uses I have nothing to do with. I have wondered
and stood amazed that God should make a conquest of all within
me by love. I am brought to less than nothing-broken in
pieces like a potter's vessel. I long to leap into the flames to
get rid of my sinful flesh, and that every atom of these ashes
might be separate, and that neither time, place, nor person
should stay God's Spirit.*
And this sublime affection led her to forget, and almost
renounce her rank, and leave her fortune of ~100,000 upon
the altar of God her Saviour. The same divine passion impelled that very different character, but equally eminently
holy person, JOHN NELSON, through his adventurous and
holy career; when in country cages, and through howling
crowds, and guarded through streets by armed troops, and
multitudes huzzaing round him as if he had been one who
had laid waste the nation, he says: "The Lord made my
brow like brass, so that I could look upon them all as
grass-hoppers, and pass through the city as if there had
been none in it but God and me."  Insulted, and scoffed,
and persecuted-a giant in strength-a gentleman in nature and character; but a child of God, he says: "I was
able to tie the head and the heels of the wicked, ignorant
man, who could thus torment me, together. I found an
old man's bone in me; but the Lord lifted up a standard
when anger was coming in like a flood, lest I should have
wrung his neck to the ground, and set my foot upon him."
Such stories, the history of the pulpit has to tell, are surely not uninteresting to any who love to mark the conquests
of holy power and holy speech.
* Letter to Mr. John Wesley. See that remarkable story, The
Life and Times of Selina, Countess of lIuntingdon. Two volumes;
a work to whose rich store of anecdote Dr. Stevens has been largely
indebted.




28       Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
The Methodist pulpit of the United States is not one
whit less interesting, rather more so, I think, than our own.
Had not Dr. Sprague brought together such an interesting
variety of biography and anecdote in his Annals of the
American Methodist Pulpit, we should have hoped that the
subject would have brought from Dr. Stevens a fourth volume; and still there is room; and from his pen it could
only be most pleasant reading.
For very wonderful is the story of the lamp and pitcher
in many of the dark places of that great continent-the
varied region of the United States-the lives of bishops,
not addressed as " My Lord," wearing no episcopal title or
dignity, having no splendid palace, no magnificent cathedral, no snug diocese, no princely income. Scholars, men
of genius, like Asbury, separating themselves from all the
comforts and conveniences of life, for sixty dollars a year,
with a travelling equipage, not of a chariot and four, but
of saddle-bags and one; * plunging into the wilderness to
seek for lost sheep, preaching in barns, on stumps of trees,
in log huts, in illimitable woods, in the houseless forest, by
blazed trees in deep prairies; floundering through swamps,
swimming vast riyers, drenched by pitiless rains, scorched
by suns, bitten by frosts and driving snows. From some
of these places they wrote for a preacher: "Be sure and
send us a good swimmer;" there was considerable wonder
as to what this could mean, till it turned out that the district was full of bridgeless streams, and the last minister
had been drowned because he could not swim. Sometimes
the travelling preacher or bishop found himself among hostile Indians, in the solitude of the forest; he knew their
track and trail; at night he heard their yell, and unexpectedly found himself in the neighborhood of their camp~ See an interesting article, "Methodist Clerical Biography,"
North Amelricaa Rcview, No. 194, 1862.




Preachers in the American Backwoods. 29
fire, and the crack of the Indian rifle. The intrepid and
heroic preacher urged his way over mountains, and through
valleys, stirring the community, wherever he came, with
hymn and sermon; reaching the villages and little settlements dotting the country, amidst extensive wildernesses,
for the most part the undisturbed abode of the wolf and
the panther. Neither the cold, or storms of winter, nor
the abuse he received from wicked men, could weaken his
energy, or impede his progress. If the horse was not in
the way, then often the saddle-bags had to be carried over
the shoulder, and he travelled on foot. Sometimes, there
were no saddle-bags. "George," said Bishop Asbury to
George Roberts; ".George, where are your clothes?"
"Bishop, they are on my back. On receiving my appointment at your hand, Sir, I am not compelled to return to
my circuit for my clothes, but I am ready, at a moment's
warning, to go whithersoever you direct."  His son, Dr.
Roberts, says: "I have in my possession the needle and
thread case, which were his constant companions. If his
clothes, from any unexpected cause, needed attention, he
was in the habit of turning aside into some retired spot for
the purpose of taking them off and mending them." In the
lives of Romish saints-St. Francis, or St. Dominic-these
would be thought most picturesque and wonderful relics.
Sometimes, the preacher, in the depth of the prairie, came
upon a band of white heathen. Thus Richard Nolley, one
of these good and great men, discovered the track of an
emigrant family, and followed it. "What," said the man
who was leading it into the wilderness, "a Methodist
preacher! I quit Virginia to be out of the way of them,
but in my settlement in Georgia, I thought I should be beyond their reach. There they were, and they got my wife
and daughter into their church. Then I come here to
Chocktaw corner, find a good piece of land, feel sure that
I shall have some peace from the preachers, and here is




o30     Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
one before I've unloaded my wagon!"  "My friend,"
said Nolley, "if you go to heaven, you'll find Methodist
preachers there; and if you go to hell, I'm afraid you'll
find some there; and you see how it is in this world. I'd
advise you to come to terms with God, and then you'll be
at peace with us." Sometimes they died in the wilderness,
and "no man knew the place of their sepulchre." Months,
and sometimes years, elapsed before it was known they
had gone to their reward. These men have been called
the graduates of Brush College, Fellows of Swamp University. " How is it you have "no Doctors of Divinity?"
said one to fine old JACOB KRUBER, a preacher of this order.
"Our divinity is not sick, " and does.not need doctoring,"
said the old man. A witty, satirical old creature this
Kruber-able, learned, sarcastic, and eloquent. He lived
during the days of the Revolution in America, and being
called on to pray on some great public occasion, he delivered himself of the following petition: "0 Lord, have
mercy on the sovereigns of Europe; convert their souls;
give them  short lives and happy deaths; take them to
heaven, and let us have no more of them."  Sometimes
the biter got bitten. When he lived at Lewiston he came
frequently into contact with a Catholic priest, not much behind him in the use of edged tools. He met the priest one
day, not as usual, on horseback, but trudging on foot: said
Kruber, "Where's your horse? why don't you ride?"
"Oh," said the other, rather testily, "the beast's dead!"
"Dead! well, I suppose he is in purgatory?"  " Nay, the
wretched creature turned Methodist just before he died,
and went straight to hell." Old Kruber was greatly averse
to read sermons-for even in those days there were readers of sermons in the pulpit. Once a youthful Congregational minister read before him; Jacob also had to follow
the young man in preaching, and it was expected he would
give the young brother a thrust for the use of his notes




Preachers in the American Backwoods.  31
He finished, however, without saying a word that looked
towards the manuscript; but, in his concluding prayer, he
uttered these strange petitions: " Lord, bless the man who
has read to us to-day; let his heart be as soft as his head,
and then he will do us some good." "How do you make
your preachers?" was once said to one of these fine old
preachers of the woods. "TWhy, we old ones tell the
young ones all we know, and they try to tell the people
all they can, and they keep on trying till they can-that's
our college."  One was asked, "Do you belong to the
standing order?"  "No," he said, "I belong to the
kneeling order."*  They were sharp men.  One day,
while Dr. Bostwick was riding along on the well-known
Methodist horse, a man rode up, insolently laid his hand
on the Doctor's bridle, and said: "I would as soon ride
the devil as ride this horse."  " Oh!' said Bostwick, "how
it would look to see a child riding his own father!" The
man put spurs to his own steed, and, without a word, galloped away. There was Billy Hibbard, shrewd, powerful
in his dealings with the souls of men, but a mighty Arminian. "Brother Hibbard," said a Calvinistic minister to
him one day, "you hurt my feelings in preaching yesterday." " Why, brother, how did I do that?" He referred
him to some doctrinal remark in his discourse. "Oh!"
said Hibbard, " I'm sorry you took that, I meant that for
the devil, and you stepped in and took it yourself; don't
get between me and the devil, brother, and you won't get
your feelings hurt." Like our own famous Dawson, he
would scarcely be known by the more elegant and euphonious name of William: when Bishop Asbury was
presiding at the roll-call of the Conference, he objected
answering to that name, insisting that his name was Billy.
"Why, Brother Hibbard," said Asbury, "Billy is a little
* The Life of Jacob Kruber. By W. P. Strickland. Seventh
Thousand. New York, 1866.




32      Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
boy's name!"  " Yes, Bishop," he said, " and I was a little
boy when my father gave it me."  These men had few
books-the Bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and a few such, in
their saddle-bags, formed their whole library; yet some
became great scholars, and masterly divines. But the
open pages of the book of Nature were before them, and
in keen encounters with men they learned a thousand
things hidden from ordinary eyes; and thus were trained a
healthful body, a well-developed muscular system, large
strong lungs; a vigorous constitution, a workshop and
dwelling-place for a wise and vigorous mind. How a
man could become a strong preacher and thinker while
ranging those mighty solitudes, sleeping in small apartments, containing all the family and such domestic animals
as shared a backwoodman's fireside, seems wonderful. They
suffered many persecutions. They had not much to say of
moral beauty, necessary relations, a priori and a posteriori
volitions, and intellectual processes, and active powers;
but it is said, and we believe it, they talked of sin so as to
make the flesh creep, and the hair stand on end; and they
talked of the love of the Saviour and the freedom of His
grace, so as to make the heart rejoice, and tears come to
the eyes. Their intellectual heraldry was not in their armour, but in their muscle, they were not educated to a suppression of their instincts, nor formalized to a slavery of
metaphysics.. Certainly, they would not have deserved the
censure pronounced upon a florid metaphysical preacherof whom his people, during the week, saw nothing-that
"on six days of the week he was invisible, and on the
seventh he was incomprehensible;" and they might have
reversed the remark of the bishop to the young man who
applied to him for ordination: " I do not forbid you to
preach, but both Nature and Grace do."  Thus, without
dwelling at greater length on this subject-which I have
only touched for the purpose of introducing Dr. Steven's




Foolish Decoration of the Pitcher.    33
completed work to you, while expressing my regret that he
has not availed himself of the wealth of anecdotal material
for the continuation of the story to the pulpit of his own
land-I only again renew my expression of the interest of
the work itself. Bramwell and Bradshaw, Story, and Saville, Coke, Mather, Newton, and Bunting, Hanby, and the
glorious hymnologist, the Welsh cobbler, Olivers; such,
with a multitude of other names, are those which pass before us in those volumes.
To many, perhaps to some among my hearers, my remarks of admiration upon this soul-searching preaching
will seem simply contemptible. In none of the men to
whom I have referred was the pitcher of much importance
compared with the lamp. With us, almost all our attention goes to the pitcher; there is great attention to the
shape of it; it must be a vase-Etruscan-with a copious
amplitude of decoration. But let us change our figure.
If a man want water, if he be perishing for water, do we
say, "Ah! we must wait until we can fetch our gold cup,
our richly-chased, antique, Benvenuto Cellini cup?" " Never
mind that," says the man, "water-good measure of water
-in the common earthenware pitcher, will do. I perish
for water!" And many die for want of the "Water of
Life " in this land; like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner on the
salt sea:
Water, water everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water everywhere,
And not a drop to drink.
For ever decorating the pitcher! Some cannot even talk
good plain English-cannot even avail themselves of intelligible decorations. Thus, one minister describes a tear
" as that small particle of aqueous fluid, trickling from the
visual organ over the lineaments of the countenance, be2*




34      Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
tokening grief." I have heard of one talking in the pulpit
of " the deep, intuitive glance of the soul, penetrating beyond the surface of the superficial phenomenal, to the remote recesses of absolute entity, or being; thus adumbrating its immortality in its precognitive perceptions;" while
another-and he a highly eminent man! head of a college
for ministers!-when he read a well-known passage of
Scripture, shrunk from the plain vernacular, "' He that believeth on me, as the Scripture hath said, out of his' " —he
took refuge in the classics-" his ventriculum'shall flow
rivers of liying water.' " Yes, preachers ought to know how
to use words, or else calamities will happen. Take the following as an illustration: "A clergyman, while composing
a sermon, made use of the words'ostentatious man.'
Throwing down his pen, he wished to "satisfy himself
before he proceeded, as to whether a great portion of his
congregation might comprehend the meaning of these
words, and he adopted the following method of proof.
Ringing the bell, his footman appeared, and he was thus
addressed by his master,' What do you conceive'to be
implied by an ostentatious man?'' An ostentatious man,
Sir,' said Thomas;'why, Sir, I should say a perfect gentleman.''Very good,' observed the vicar,'send Ellis, the
coachman, here.''Ellis,' said the vicar,'what do you imagine an ostentatious man to be?''An ostentatious man,
Sir,' replied Ellis,'Why, I should say,'an ostentatious
man means what we calls, saving your presence, a very
jolly fellow.' It is hardly necessary to " add that the vicar
substituted a less ambiguous word."  Worse still. "A
clergyman was sent for the other day. "The man was
rather deaf to whom he was called.'What induced you
to send for me,' very pompously said the clergyman.' Eh!'' What induced you,' he repeated,' to send for me?''What does he say?' said the man to his wife. He says,'What the deuce did ye send for him for?"'




Jonathan Edwards.                  35
Remarkably, in this department of plain speech the Roman Catholics are before us. The work of the Methodist
revival is being done by the children of St. Philip Neri, the
Oratorians. These are the only people, almost, who preach
to the poor. What do Independents, or Baptists, or, for
that matter, the old Methodists either, know about preaching to the poor, to the very poor? Our chapels and churches
are, for the most part, it is to be feared, luxuries they cannot afford; and if we send ministers down to the alleys
and low courts, we do not send, as Rome sends, gentlemen
and men of genius, with a presence of dignity and a heart
of affection, we make the great mistake of sending those
who, while they possess frequently the coarseness which repels, do not carry along with it the sweetness and the dignity which would affect and command.
Man has within him  a nature which thirsts for living
water-sighs for light-longs for a certain sound; and the
whole story of the lamp, the pitcher, and the trumpet, is
the story of the efforts made by painful, patient, and earnest men to supply these infinite desires and wants. To
satisfy such infinite desires, some of the most glorious and
gifted of our race have separated themselves, and set themselves apart. JONATHAN EDWARDS had many of the attributes
of all-light, refreshment, and awakening; very much such
a character as the lovely and illustrious Bishop Berkeley,
he ran his metaphysics into impossible and unattainable
zeniths and heights. His freedom of the will is unanswerable, but it is dreadful; like Hegel, he dealt with the universe and mind as pure thought; but a tender affectionateness modulates every sentence in his History of Redempition;
and when he preached, his accents-permeated by deepest
feeling, justified to himself by profoundest speculation,
harmonized and fitted to his conception of God's purposes
and man's responsibilities-compelled men to listen, and
quiver, and tingle through every nerve of their moral being




36       Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
while they listened.  Marvellously inconsistent seem some
of the moods and powers of the preacher with some of the
speculations of the thinker; and wonderful, it sometimes
seems, that so sweet, seraphic, and tender a nature could
have been so severe.  Emotion welled up within him, but
it fell into the iron cistern and basin of hard imperious
logic. An American, in an extraordinary poem, has well
described Edwards, his life, his theology, and his preaching:
In the church of. the wilderness Edwards wrought,
Shaping his creed at the forge of thought,
And with Thor's own hammer welded and bent
The iron links of his argument;
Which strove to grasp in its mighty span
The purpose of God and the fate of man!
Yet faithful still in his daily round
To the weak, and the poor, and the sin-sick, found
The schoolman's lore and the casuist's art,
Drew warmth and life from his fervent heart.
Had he not seen in the solitudes
Of his deep and dark Northampton woods,
A vision of love about him fall?Not the blinding splendour that fell on Saul,
But the tender glory that rests on them
Who walk in the New Jerusalem;
Where never the sun nor the moon are known,
But the Lord and His love are the light alone!And watching the sweet, still countenance
Of the wife of his bosom rapt in trance,
Had he not treasured each broken word
Of the mystical wonder seen and heard,
And loved the beautiful dreamer more,
That thus to the desert of earth she bore
Clusters of Eschol from Canaan's shore?*
Perhaps, a little thought will explain the coherence of
* J. Greenleaf Whittier. Poems. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.
4 remarkable poem, called " The Preacher."




Whitefield.                    37
this remarkable character. The logical impossibility prepares the way for the Divine possibilities and assurances
of grace, when science only reveals her despair. The supernatural missions of the Spirit, which can never be
straitened, become more infinitely bright, and soothing,
and tender to that part in man, which can never be satisfied by sequences and conclusions, unless they minister to
its infinite hopes. In some way, this same contradiction
has been felt and transcended by all the greatest souls —
by Luther, in several notable and noble passages, and
more popularly by Whitefield, called to sound and gauge
the moral lapse of his race, and the times in which he
lived, and to draw in sharp lines the contrast of human
frailty, and the perfect law of truth;
To him, in the painful stress
Of zeal on fire from its own excess,
Heaven seemed so vast and earth so small,
That man was nothing, since God was all.
This would be all imperfect-is, perhaps, imperfect-if we
did not remember that the world can well afford a prophet,
his soul all on fire and ablaze with zeal for the Lord
of Hosts-coming down from his rapt communions and
divine and illuminating perceptions.  He may well be
hailed, when it is known that man is in a state of fearful
aberration from the rectitude and purity of the divine
law; the immense lapse in the one instance may well permit the fearful thunders of Ezekiel or Nahum to roll in
the other, and preaching never becomes the voice of inspiration to startle and alarm, until the infiniteness of divine
law, and the infinite consequences of its infractions are
perceived.
Of Whitefield, John Newton said:
I bless God that I have lived in his time; many were the
winter mornings I have got up at four to attend his Tabernacle




38       Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
discourses at five; and I have seen Moorfields as full of lanterns
at these times, as I suppose the Haymarket is full of flambeaux
on an opera night. As a preacher, if any man were to ask me
who was the second I ever had heard, I should be at some loss;
but in regard to the first, Mr. Whitefield exceeded so far every
other man of my time, that I should be at none. He was the
original of popular preaching, and all our popular ministers
are only his copies.
And is it unnatural?  Is it only in the material and
natural world that lightnings and thunders roll and rend?
-on!y in the lower heavens that their furies are seen to
play?  Highest minds have not judged so-the mind has
its tempests which, like tragical Titans, tear the heavens,
and seem to pluck down judgments-and Whitefield rent
men's souls as he stood and cried, "Oh, my friends-the
wrath of God! the wrath of God!"




II.
The Vocation of the Preacher.
91Xr^ OU have not to be told that there is a town, of
all the towns in this world the most wonderful,
the most ancient, the most powerful, the most
glorious, and the most famous. Other towns have
churches and cathedrals, but there would have been no
churches and cathedrals but for this town; other towns
have castles, and moats, and fortifications, but there would
have been no fortifications, no castles, nor bastions, but for
this town; other towns have had their senate houses, and
parliaments, and halls, and judicial courts, and majesties,
and thrones, but they are all the shadows falling from the
buildings of this town; other towns have had their battlefields, and the war of strife has raged through their streets,
and the shock of war and the lightning of strife blazed
over their fields-all the passions of the battle-field had their
origin in this town; other towns have palaces, but there is
no palace so beautiful or so brave as the palace of this
town-none with a furniture so rich, none with glory so
brave, or great, or subduing; I need not say, it is the town
of Mansoul.
Now, this town lies open to the Sea-the wonderful sea;
(39)




40       The Vocation of the Preacher.
the sea flows down to it through rivers and bays; all its
wealth, like that of more modern towns, lies in its neighborhood to the sea.  Strange land lies all around it, but
it opens to the great world to which it belongs by five
ports-the Cinque Ports-the ports themselves beautifully
constructed, are yet as nothing to the wealth they convey.
All the merchandise of pictures, and of charming furnitures; and all merchandise of music, and organs, and of
harps; and all merchandise of spices and of precious
gums; and all merchandise of clothing and of food, all
come hither borne in by the wondrous waves that flow up
to the gates of these ports of the town of Mansoul.  " Five
gates," said John Bunyan, "Ear-gate, Eye-gate, Nose-gate,
Mouth-gate, Feel-gate; but the greatest of these is Eargate."
Preachers have to do with Ear-gate.  But sometimes
the people in this town of Mansoul are all asleep. Over
the whole space there is as the slumber of an enchanted
palace; the people within are wonderful people, but you
can do ndthing with them till they are all awake. One of
the first of all conditions is to awaken the people within
the town of Mansoul. There is a well-known story in the
history of our country, of one of our earliest kings. Richard
I., on his way from the Holy Land, was taken captive and
imprisoned in a dreary castle away from his nation.  At
last, in the hands of his enemies, while wonder was dying
fast, and he was perishing from the memory. of mankind,
he was discovered in a very strange manner. He had a
favorite minstrel-Blondel; he knew that his master and
his king was confined in some cell in a castle among dreary
mountain forests; and he travelled from one to the other,
waking at the dungeon bars some well-loved melodies from
his harp. At last, the strain from the harp without was
answered by the king from within, down in the dungeon.
The song and the harp of the minstrel thus became the




Waking the People in the Town of Mansoul. 4I
means of the emancipation of the prince. Thus the king
regained his throne, and escaped from the horrors of his
exile, by the stray and floating air which had carelessly
wiled away his hours in the camp, or in the more lightsome gaieties of the palace. All Europe was interested in
the listening ear of the thrilled king to the wild and fitful
melodies of the faithful bard.
Thus the spirit of man sits like a captive king in a
dungeon, until the voice of the divine music wakes echoes
hitherto unknown along his prison house, and stirs him
with new knowledge-new consciousness. We have heard
of the mighty power of music. Mighty, too, is the power
of a Divine word, when the heart knows it and owns it;
"then the captive exile hasteneth to be loosed."  The
senses are the bars of our prison.  Behind and within
everybody there is a soul. God can make the words to
answer the Divine purpose. Preaching, and all its auxiliaries, are only useful to us as they do for the soul what
Blondel did for the King Richard —waken within him
memory, or hope; rousing him to thoughts of a world
beyond his prison bars-beyond his exile; waken him to
effort; to listen and to aspire; and every minister should
be a Blondel, seeking for imprisoned kings, contented with
their chains, sitting perhaps in despair, perhaps in contentment, in their dungeons, till the magic chords stir their
being.
And this is your work. One of the things I propose to
myself this evening and the following, is to seek to awaken
the sleeping people in the town of Mansoul. There is
Imagination, there is Memory, there is Thought, and there
is Attention. I suppose it can scarcely be said they are
asleep in you. No, your very presence here shows that in
a measure, at any rate, they are awake: But you see how
possible it is for a portion of the man to be awake, and
only a portion.  Some men are, after all, only abortive




42       The Vocation of the Preacher.
beings, and some men are only sensational beings. You
know how readily the mind is impressed by natural objects; but we cannot call this an educated, or awakened
mind. On the contrary, this mind in which sensibility is
awake and conscience and thought asleep, is most dangerously unawakened.
I say therefore, first, it is everything to awaken mind;
to stir the slumbering being within the t6wn of Mansoul.
Many things may do it: a conversation may do it-a word
may do it-the shields of Mitiades would not allow Themistocles to sleep; that is the case with many a young
man's heart, when thoughts make the young man strive to
be noble, and to do noble things, and to aspire, and to
put forth effort to awaken the man, the soul; a book may
do it; and this is the first intention of reading; to bring
light to the mind, as light comes in the morning to awaken
and to bless.
That was a great purpose the Apostle Paul set before
himself in writing and in speaking-" To commend him'self to every man's conscience in the sight of God."
"Why," said a friend of mine to a minister of the very
narrow Calvinist school, " Why will you not allow me to
sit down with your church at the Lord's Table. You know
me, you know my character and position in the town.
You are aware that all my views on the doctrines of grace
are substantially the same as your own."  The narrow
brother admitted all this. "I know, I know," he said, "I
respect you and your opinions highly, but somehow you
have not commended yourself to my conscience;" that
was a curious inversion of the Apostle's words, "Commending ourselves to every man's conscience." That is,
not merely to be present in the consciousness, that is, the
knowledge of a man. You know that I am here-that is
consciousness-consciousness is knowledge; but conscience
is the knowledge a man has of himself. This knowledge




Preliminaries.                  43
enters the soul, sheds light there; wakes up the powers
within the soul; says to Thought, "Awake;" says to
Emotion, "Awake;" says to Duty, "Awake."  This is
the value of a book-the value of a preacher.
I shall take up my Bible again, and Solomon shall
preach to us. Listen to what he says: "Through desire a
man, having separated himself, seeketh and intermeddleth
with all wisdom." Now, that is the great condition of the
intellectual life; "-first the "desire"-desire to save souls
-through desire, the yearning for knowledge; as the
same man says: "If thou searchest for knowledge and
seekest for her as for hid treasure, thou shalt find her."
Therefore it was said, " The entrance of Thy word giveth
light-it giveth light unto the simple."  Intellectual advancement here is not separated from the will: through
desire,-it is a love and a passion; it is also consecration;
the man must separate himself; walk alone; separate himself not merely from disreputable companions, from idle,
from thoughtless companions; I have known young men
who have lost the golden hours because they gave themselves, in their early days, when work was over, to the
mere insipid chatterings of frivolity. But here is the first
condition, the desire, then separation, and "intermingling
with all knowledge." Seize upon truth, it is all before
you; "ransack the ages; spoil the climes."  Your motive
must not he vanity. " A fool," says the wise man, "has
no delight in understanding, but that his heart may discover itself," that is, reveal his own vanity. But it is not
so with the earnest student, the thoughtful man; it is for
the pleasure of wisdom; "seek her for she is thy life;"
"exalt her and she shall promote thee."
But there must be the desire. Go to the grocer's, and
get the best tea, give the best price, mix it any way; but
what matters it? What makes a good cup of tea? Boil
ing water. Your water must boil. The pudding may be




44        The Vocation of the Preacher.
well made and mixed, but what makes it?  Why, boiling
water. Now, this desire is the boiling water; it is of no
use to have the largest library and the best books without
the boiling water. As the Psalmist said, " My heart boils
over with good matter." Ps. xlv. 1.
And I have said to you already, in effect, that whatever
you do, " take care of the words." When you study words
remember you are studying things.  We are constantly
enriching our language from the spoils of words; and
while I do think we are not chary enough of the introduction of new words, we do not guard enough the entrance of words; still there are foolish prejudices; for instance, the words subjective and objective. Well, they are
not so new as they seem; but I do not think that we could
at all dispense with them. And, in our language, they
remind us that a period has come when we not only sepa.
rate the outer from the inner world, but the knowledge
which the soul has, from the soul itself. The subjective is
the optic lens upon which the outer world is painted, while
the objective is the outer world which is painted on the
optic lens.
But while I think these topics are not unimportant, I
must not yet dwell on them too long.  I may now call
you to some other immediate hints on the vocation of the
preacher; nor shall I be careful or sorry that I strike distinctly again some of the chords I have just now touched.
It is clearly understood that your work is with souls, and
for souls, not minds merely, that is, the region of thought;
you are to go deeper; you are to be wielders of that
"word which separates the soul and the spirit," that is,
between the voice of the conscience and the voice of the
mind. You are to be the holders of "that word which
discerns the thoughts and intents of the heart." If you
are to be men of power you will come into immediate contact with the consciences of men; for this reason, many




The Test of Tears.                  45
have said, and say, there is no art of preaching. How ridiculous to say this, for every trade, for every profession,
there is a distinct art; and even the very meanest, the
shoemaker and the tailor, is apprenticed to learn his trade.
You are here to learn to preach. If I have ever had a
quarrel with the system of the college, it is that, for the
most part, it has prepared for the study, and not for the
pulpit; it has made schoolmasters, not ministers; like
some, of whom a witty German, Richter, speaks, who had
"learned the Paternoster in every tongue, "but never
prayed with it;" so some ministers have attained almost
every conceivable kind of knowledge, but never preached
with it.  I do not speak to you as if I supposed your
powers were above the average, and, in any case, therefore, I shall say, Culture, Culture, Culture.  Pray, read,
and  marshal your ideas; put them  in order.  It is
knowledge-it is more than knowledge, it is wisdomwhich enables the preacher to tell upon his hearers.  It
has been well said that hearers have often neither the
skill nor the will to take home to themselves general discourses, therefore the preacher must make the application
himself; as Nathan, "Thou art the man."  Bridges remarks on Ecclesiastes xii. 2, "The goads and the nails,
i.e., the words of the wise, must not be laid by as if the
posts would knock them in, but must be fastened by the
masters of assemblies." This must be your study-this is
your vocation, to reach the conscience. This is power in
preaching; but it needs deep experience and prayer, and a
knowledge of the Scriptures for truth and for power with
souls. I have no doubt that a far more efficient test than
the loudest acclamation and applause, is the test of tears.
St. Augustine, in his Art of Preaching, tells us that he
undertook to dissuade the people of one of those ancient
cities, Cesaraea, from a barbarous annual practice of civil
conflict, in which neighbors, and even sons, and fathers,




46        The Vocation of the Preacher.
and brothers divided themselves into two parties, to fight
at particular seasons of the year, each one killing whom
he could. He says:
I availed myself, as far as possible, of the grand in eloquence,
in order that I might tear away and banish from their customs
and their hearts this inveterate evil; but I did not think I had
accdnplished anything so long as I heard their acclamations
only-until I saw them in tears. Their acclamations showed me
that they were taught and delighted; but their tears showed me
that they were persuaded; and when I saw their tears, I felt
that the savage custom, which had been handed down from one
father's grandfather's ancestor to another, would be subdued,
and that, too, before I was authorized to feel so by the thing itself. Soon after, having closed my discourse, I turned to give
thanks to God-and, lo! Christ being propitious, eight years
and more have elapsed since anything of the kind has been attempted. Many other things have occurred in my experience,
from which I have learned that those who have been in any
measure affected by the grand in a wise display of eloquence,
show it by sighs rather than by clamor, sometimes by sobbing,
and finally by a change of life.
This guides us to the true vocation of the preacher.  We
read of an ancient father who wept at the applause given
to his sermons; he felt that his words had not gone deep
enough.  "Would to God," said he, " they had gone away
silent and thoughtful."  Well says Bridges,* "We must
preach to our people, as well as before them;" and says
Robert Hall, " The conscience of the audience should feel
the hand of the preacher searching it, and every individual
should know where to class himself." Our spirit in preaching should be, "I have a message unto thee."  If, as we
walk along, we hear a cry of fire, we feel an uneasy tendency to look or run every way; it is different if any one
* See the admirable and almost exhaustive work On the Christian
Ministry, By Rev. Charles Bridges, M.A.




The Two Audiences.                    47
touches us on the shoulder and says, " Your house is on
fire." So.great is the difference between the preaching
which deals in generals, and that which, coming home to
close particulars, arrests the soul.
But you will not suppose that all this, which is the very
highest order of speech and eloquence, can be attained
without culture-without deep knowledge of the ways and
springs of the human soul; or fancy that the power to do
this consists merely in action or vehemence; mistaking, as
the editor of Vinet* says, "perspiration for inspiration;" or
that the work is done by preaching to the nerves, instead
of to consciences and souls. You see the vocation of the
preacher is power, religious power. Suppose, then, we drop
the word eloquence, as an ambition to which you strive to
attain; perhaps the probability is, that as that word is understood, you are not eloquent, and never will be eloquent. I
believe we think of eloquence too much; what, then, should
you care if your own natures are divinely touched and
established?-you can touch, you can teach, you can instruct.
"I often repeat to myself," says Reinhardt, "that, after all,
the Christian preacher is more an instructor than an ora.
tor." Of course. Is not this the apostolic designation,
" Apt to teach"?  A preacher may be a perfect, a finished,
and most successful orator, and yet miss every purpose and
end, and almost every art of the Christian ministry; but
the instructor, the teacher, must be " thoroughly furnished"
himself, and he will furnish the minds of some, even if he
fails to touch their souls.
All persons accustomed to lecturing or public speaking,
will.have noticed that, in the course of their wanderings,
they meet with two audiences.  There is a plain, unedu* Few works will serve the really thoughtful student of preaching more than hlomiletics, or the Theory of Preaching. By Alexander Vinet, excellently translated and admirably annotated and
edited by Rev. A. Faussett, M.A.




48        The Vocation of the Preacher.
cated audience, unpolished, but unconventionaiized, to
whom, if you would speak, you must present your speech
in sharp, short, fiery sentences; in words that flash instantly, and in the flash convey and reveal. We have little
of this order of eloquence now; but where it is, and where
it meets its proper audience, it kindles, till the whole people
are borne along on the blaze and the passion of it. The
feelings of the people become ungovernable; they are
clasped and borne along by irrepressible emotion; they
shout, they cheer. The building in which the oration rings,
shakes with the peal of rapture and of praise. True, after
it is all over, you meditate that the people who yielded themselves to the fervor of thisfurore were a simple kind of folk,
much more accustomed to follow their feelings than to inquire for the verdicts of cultured understandings; but then,
the orator probably reflected to himself, that the strength
of his speech also was not in his culture, but in his soul;
that he and his audience captivated each other by their
possession of the over-soul: they took fire not by their
studied art, but by their great sympathies; and the voice
of the orator, as it rose aloft, was like a wind amidst the
trees, or sweeping down the dark hills-very fine, indeed,
but dependent, too, upon the trees and the mountains: the
wind had a voice in itself, but the trees and mountains
awakened the echo.
There is another speaker, and there is another audience;
an audience intensely, too intensely, capable of appreciating,
but incapable of applauding. The speaker who would succeed, must cut his sentences like cameos, and work all the
separate parts of his figures together, till they have the exquisiteness of mosaics. He makes a slip of one word: it
is fatal to him in the estimation of his audience. His
audience listens with a fine, hesitating, critical ear, much
more pleased with the sense of propriety than the sense of
power. It never yields itself until it is taken possession of,




Where is the Preacher's Model?           49
and conventionalism is a fine antidote to the being taken
possession of. This audience appreciates clever reading
more than lofty passion, and clear lines more than cloudy
and mystic glories. These two audiences, alive now in our
age, and usually to be found in many past ages, sufficiently
represent the two stages of poetry, or of oratory; poetry
in its primeval age-the age before the reign of Horace and
of art, when, in fact, there is no art of poetry; for poetry,
of course, precedes the art, even as the social man precedes
law and society-and poetry in the artist age, when. the
sensations are placed in the cabinet, and kept, and turned
over, and when mighty heavings of heart give place to
pretty little pictures, and the rapture and the passion are
succeeded by a fine eye for critical analysis; and the power
to review a fine poem, and to demonstrate its deficiencies,
is even far more than to write it. In the poetry of Palestine, in Hebrew poetry, we are brought into the presence
of the first of these two; and if such a plain illustration as
that we have used may serve, then let it serve to illustrate
the poetry of Judea and the poetry of Greece, after the age
of Homer, the poetry of passion and of truth, and the
poetry of culture and of form. The storm-lit and phosphorescent sea may image to us the one; the clear, calm,
cold, glacial mountain, visited all night by troops of stars,
may seem to us the type of the other. The first, a grand,
sonorous, and inadjectived world, where everything is nominative and intense in action; a speculative lens before
which all things turn into the qualities of bodies, may seem
to us a type of the last.
Where is the model of the vocation of the preacher —
where? Why, where should it be, but in the Book which is
to be to the Christian preacher - text, doctrine, creed, life,
inspiration, consolation, history, biography   everything?
There are some things in the manners and customs of old
Palestine, with reference to its prophets, you will have to
3




o50       The Vocation of the Preacher.
leave behind; but for your work, I say to you, enter the
schools of the ancient prophets. In the ancient prophet
man, your example is very greatly there.  In Dean Stanley's History of the Jewish Church, this fact is well brought
out.  He attempts. to bring before us the schools of the
prophets, and the power of the prophet as a commanding
teacher and leader of the people.  He brings out, with
considerable distinctness and force, the prophetic insight
into the human heart; the close connection of the prophet
with the thoughts, hearts, and consciences of men; the
consciousness of the presence of God; the teaching of the
future, constantly speaking of things to come; the power
of the future both for the Church and the individual.
" The whole prophetic teaching stakes itself on the issue
that all will go well with us when once we turn.  The
future is everything, the past is nothing. The turning, the
change, the fixing our faces in the right instead of the
wrong direction, this is the difficulty, the crisis of life; but
this done, then, cried the prophet,'Though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.''He will turn
again, He will have compassion upon us; He will subdue
our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the
depths of the sea."' Dean Stanley says:
0 if the spirit of our profession, of our order, of our body,
were the spirit, or anything like the spirit, of the ancient
prophets! if with us, truth, charity, justice, fairness to opponents, were a passion, a doctrine, a point of honor, to be upheld,
through good report and evil, with the same energy as that
with which we uphold our position, our opinions, our interpretations, our partnerships  A distinguished prelate has well
said, "It makes all the difference in the world whether we put
the duty of Truth in the first place or in the second place."
Yes! that is exactly the difference between the spirit of the
world and that of the Bible. The spirit of the world asks,
first, "Is it safe? is it pious? " secondly, " Is it true?"  The




Nationality of the Hebrew Prophet.    5 I
spirit of the prophets asks, first, "Is it true?" secondly, "Is it
safe?" The spirit of the world asks,first, "Is it prudent?"
secondly.  Is it right? " The spirit of the prophets asks, first,
" Is it right? " secondly, " Is it prudent? " It is not that they
and we hold different doctrines on these matters, but that we
hold them in different proportions. What they put first, we put
second; what we put second, they put first.  The religious
energy which we reserve for objects of temporary and secondary importance, they reserved for objects of eternal and primary
importance. When Ambrose closed the doors of the church of
Milan against the blood-stained hands of the devout Theodosius, he acted in the spirit of a prophet. When Ken, in spite
of his doctrine of the divine right of kings, rebuked Charles
II. on his death-bed for his long unrepented vices, those who
stood by were justly reminded of the ancient prophets. When
Savonarola, at Florence, threw the whole energy of his religious zeal into burning indignation against the sins of the
city, high and low, his sermons read more like Hebrew prophecies than modern homilies.*
And I will touch upon one very powerful source of inspiration through the whole Jewish prophet-host-it was national; they saw, they felt God in their history. I am
amazed that this is not more frequently, to us, inspiration
in our pulpit. I wonder much, and often seem to hear,
the old prophet saying to us: " What iniquity have your
fathers found in me, saith the Lord." Turn, for contrast,
to the Hebrew pages. What stories of battles! the harp
of Deborah, and the hand of Barak; when the storm of
sleet and hail burst over the Canaanites; and the rains descended, and the winds blew, and the flood and the torrent
swept them away. What hero in uninspired story reaches
the dimensions of Gideon, the victor over Zebah and Zalmunnah?  The shrill blasts of those trumpets, the crash
of those pitchers? How the tradition stirs us now! One
of the most glowing and glorious enchantments of Hebrew
*Lectures on the Jewish Church, Vol. i., pp. 41, 452.




52       The Vocationof the Preacher.
poetry is its nationality. The surge of Hebrew song
brought on every wave the thought, "God is with us."
This, in all ages, gave the ecstasy and passion to their
mighty tones of triumph. And how, as they all sang, the
thought of the God who called them and sanctified them,
gave the roll and the rush of melody! It must be admitted, there have been no other such national lyrics. "God
save the Queen," and " Rule Britannia," awaken thrillings
and tinglings of blood and soul; but they are poor affairs
compared with the national songs of Judea; and in our
national songs the music is far finer than the words. We
have never set our national incident to music. We are
poor in patriotic songs. Even the French, perhaps, exceed
us in this; and The Marseillaise tingles and kindles even
more than " Ye Mariners of England." In Judea the national history was well known, was burnt into the hearts of
the people. In a very tame way, I fancy, our history is
apprehended. Thus, for instance, the well-known, perhaps
the best known, national incident, the destruction of the
Armada, the Spanish Armada, the Invincible Armada; how
differently has Macaulay recited the story to the way in
which we can conceive it recited by some ancient Hebrew
in a similar instance. Our poet dwells, indeed, on the
mustering of the nation; but the true poem is left unsung.
We have the gathering of the people, not the scattering of
the foe. There is very much in that projected invasion
which reminds us of the invasion of Israel by Sisera; and
many of the words of that glorious song of Deborah might
well befit our case. It is quite wonderful what a propensity
there has been in tyrants, from time immemorial, to reckon
their chickens before they were hatched; as the mother of
Sisera sang, " Have they not sped? have they not divided
the prey; to every man a damsel or two; to Sisera a prey
of divers colors, a prey of divers colors of needlework, of
divers colors of needlework on both sides, meet for the




Our Preachers should be National.    53
necks of them that take the spoil?"  We. wonder how a
Hebrew would have chanted the story of those much misguided asses, the captains and chief governors of that most
imperial ass that ever was, Philip II., who had prepared
his armada-as a gorgeous flotilla, for a very festival of conquest: fitting out his large fleet with soldiers and inquisitors, who were to murder and to havoc in the streets of
London, and make the sack of Antwerp pale. Alas! they
calculated badly. London was all before their anxious
eyes. There was velvet, and gold, and baggage, for the triumph; lights and torches for the illumination, when London should be sacked. Every captain had received some
gift from the prince to make himself brave; and lances so
gorgeous —'twas a preparation for a triumph, not for a
war. And then came that night, and the sob of the storm,
and the drip of the mysterious oars, and the devil-ships of
Gianibelli, and the flame, and the mist; and the tempest;
and so — but we know the rest: only, what would an
Israelite have said over such a victory?   " Thou breakest
the ships of Tarshish with an east wind."
These are the things in a nation's history which make a
people look up. These are the foundations of national
pride and exultation. It is possible, indeed, that in many
a lonely Methodist chapel, in many a far-away village cottage, the sentiment, God for England, is felt just as truly,
and perhaps as profoundly, as in the hearts of the ancient
Hebrew. But these things have not entered into the texture of our national poetry. We have very little of what
may be called national poetry, and what we have does not
ring with the grand sentiment of " God is with us," the
perpetual sentiment of Hebrewism. Does this arise, as
some have said, from the fact that Christianity disclaims
patriotism? I am disposed in part to admit this; that no
land ever has been and ever can be what Palestine was to
the Jew; and hence, too, while he had no epic poet, every



54       The Vocation of the Preacher.
thing in his land became epical, and as I have said and
seen, all things of institution and of scenery became greatly
represented.
Our history has incidents as glowing and marvellous;
but have we the heart of the ancient Hebrew to recite the
story? Why, it is in the memory of men living now, and
here, how Napoleon I spread his mighty camp along the
heights of Boulogne, where a hundred thousand men waited
for the moment when, beneath the leadership of the First
Consul, they were to spring on England - those preparations were vast -- and fifty thousand men spread along the
coast from Brest to Antwerp. "Let us be masters of the
Channel," said Napoleon, "for six hours, and we are masters of the'world."' Also the master of the French
Mint received orders to strike a medal commemorating the
conquest - and although the die had to be broken, there
are three copies taken; two are in France and one in
England — the Emperor crowned with laurel, and the inscription in French, "London taken, 1804." But there
was One sitting in the heavens who laughed: the Lord
had them in derision. " He spoke unto them in His wrath,
and vexed them in His sore displeasure; " for, alas, alas!
Admiral La Touche Treville, having received orders to put
to sea, he alone knowing the destiny of the fleet, fell sick,
poor man, and died just then; and there was no head to
direct, and no hand to strike, and the thing had to be postponed. But Napoleon, Emperor Napoleon, did not give
up; in 1805 he was waiting still in Boulogne! London
was not taken, to be sure, in 1804, but it might be in 1805.
He climbed the heights, again and again, and waited for
the junction of the fleets; but he strained his' eyes in
vain: his admirals blundered, and so that fleet which was
to have taken London, while Napoleon supposed it hastening to Brest, was flying to Cadiz, there to meet with Nelson
at Trafalgar; and so,-in fact London was not taken.




The Preaching of Henry Smith.            5
But what would an ancient Hebrew have said? He would
have said, "As we have heard, so have we seen:" "God
is known in her palaces for a refuge. For, lo, the kings
were assembled, they passed by together. They saw it,
and so they marvelled; they were troubled, and hasted
away."  "We have thought of Thy loving kindness, 0
God, in the midst of thy temple." He would have sung
as Deborah sang, "So let all thine enemies perish, 0 Lord:
but let them that love Thee be as the sun when he goeth
forth in his might."
And fire your spirits by the consideration of the lives and
writings of those men who have eminently illustrated the
vocation of the preacher. I am sorry I am unable to point
you to a cheap edition of the sermons of HENRY SMITH;*
he was one of the early Puritans  one of the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, mentioned by Marsden, with Udall
and Penry; he was, by the hints of his memorialist, old
Thomas Fuller, only saved from their doom by the special
protection of Lord Burleigh, accorded to him, no doubt,
from his family ties with a large baronial family in Leicestershire. Udall and Penry were of more worthless extraction; and, therefore, fitting food for the gallows and the
gaol. But Henry Smith was of the very Praetorian band
of Puritans; he ran a brief course of faithfulness, and his
words ran very nimbly. I apprehend few of the Puritans
of that age had, in so eminent a degree, the blessing of
Napthali. "He was a hind let loose, and he gave goodly
words."  His was specially the eloquence that "makes
straight paths for its feet." No knotty or perplexed question, or discussion, could ever induce him to turn aside.
When the Strand was a wide street to that we see it now,
and St. Clement Danes a very different church, it was
thronged to listen to the intense earnestness of this youth* There is now an excellent edition, published by Mr. Nichol, in
the " Library of Standard Puritan Divines."




56        The Vocation of the Preacher.
ful Puritan, for he died young. Let me read to you some
illustrations of the method he adopted in dealing with the
conscience, and pressing Scripture home upon it. Thus he
exclaims on the text —Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all:
This is the anchor of the righteous; as he looks upon his
troubles, the promise cometh in like a messenger from Christ,
(while he is praying and weeping) and saith, The Lord will deliver thee out of all. Then he resolveth like Nehemiah, and
saith, Shall such a man as IJy y? Shall such a man as I recant?
If I be faint in the day of adversity, Solomon saith, "Thy
strength is small;" as if he should say, I was never strong, but
did counterfeit like Demas. If I want comfort in trouble, Solomon saith, "A good conscience is a continual feast."  As if he
should say, that I have not a good conscience, if I have not comfort in the Cross. Therefore, I will wait the Lord's leisure, because Essay saith, Faith maketh no haste. I will not break his
bands; because, then, I am like the heathen. I will not flatter
the judge; because Solomon saith it is in vain. I will not betray the cause; because God hath appointed it to try me. I
will not offend my brethren; because Paul had rather die than
do so. I will not charge my conscience; because it can vex me
more than their bands. I will not turn from my profession; because I learned it of God, and vowed to leave all for it, in the
day that I was baptized a Christian. Though my friends tempt
me, like Job's wife;. though my flesh flatter me, like Eve;
though my persecutors would bribe me, like Balaac; though
those which suffer with me should revolt for fear, yet I will be as
Joshua, which stood alone; and as Elkana was instead of children to Hannah, so Christ shall be instead of comfort, instead of
wealth, and health, and liberty to me. For many were the
troubles of Joseph; and the Lord delivered him out of all:
many were the troubles of Abraham, and the Lord delivered
him out of all: many were the troubles of David, and the Lord
delivered him out of all: many were the troubles of Job, and
the Lord delivered him out of all; therefore, he can deliver me
out of all. But if he do not, (saith Sidrach, Misaac, and Abed



The Preaching of Henry Smith.    5
nego) yet we will not do evil to escape danger: because Christ
hath suffered more for us. Therefore, if I perish, I perish,
saith Hester. She was content that her life should perish: but
if my purse suffer, my money doth but perish: if my body be
imprisoned, my pleasures do but perish: and who can tell when
he hath suffered that which is appointed? Therefore, God
saith, When I see convenient time, I will execute judgment. Not
when thou dost think it a convenient time. Therefore, saith
David to the Lord, In thee do I trust all the day: that is, if He
come not in the morning, He will come at noon; if He come
not at noon, He will come at night; at one hour of the day He
will deliver me: and then, as the calm was greater after the
tempest than it was before, so my joy shall be sweeter after tears
than it was before. The remembrance of Babylon will make us
sing more joyful in Sion.
Thus Moses describeth the journey of the righteous, as if they
should go thorow the sea, and wilderness, as the Israelites went
to Canaan. Look not for ease nor pleasure in your way, but for
beasts, and serpents, and thieves: until you be past the wilderness, all is strait, and dark, and fearful; but as soon as you are
thorow the narrow gate, all is large, and goodly, and pleasant,
as if you were in Paradise. Seeing, then, your kingdom is not
here, look not for a golden life in an iron world; but remember
that Lazarus doth not mourn in heaven, though he suffered pains
on earth; but the glutton mourneth in hell, that stayed not for
the pleasures of heaven. To which pleasures the Lord Jesus
bring us, when this cloud of trouble is blown over us. Amen.
Again, from the text, Almost thou persuadest me to be a
Christian.
Is this altogether like Paul or like Festus? Not at all. Now,
if we be almost Christians, let us see what it is to be almost a
Christian. Almost a son, is a bastard; almost sweet, is unsavory; almost hot is lukewarm, which God spueth out of His
mouth, Rev. iii. 16. So almost a Christian, is not a Christian,
but that which God spueth out of His mouth. A Christian almost is like a woman which dieth in travail; almost she brought
forth a son, but that almost killed the mother and the son too,
3*




58          The Vocation of the Preacher.
Almost a Christian, is like Jeroboam, which said, "It is too far
to go to Jerusalem to worship," and therefore chose rather to worship calves at home.
Almost a Christian is like Micah, which thought himself religious enough, because he had gotten a priest into his house.
Almost a Christian is like the Ephraimites, which could not pronounce Shibboleth, but Sibboleth. Almost a Christian is like Ananias, which brought a part, but left a part behind. Almost a
Christian is like Eli's sons, which polled the sacrifices; like the
fig tree, which deceived Christ with leaves; like the virgins,
which carried lamps without oil; like the willing unwilling son,
which said he would come and would not. What is it to be
born almost. If the new man be born almost, he is not born.
What is it to be married almost into Christ? He which is married but almost is not married. What is it to offer sacrifice
almostt  The sacrifice must be killed, or ever it can be sacrificed. He which gives almost, gives not, but denieth. He
which believeth almost, believeth not, but doubteth. Can the
door which is but almost shut keep out the thief? Can the cup
which is but almost whole hold any wine? Can the ship which
is but almost sound keep out water? The soldier which dotl
but almost fight, is a coward. The physician which doth but
almost cure, is a slubberer. The servant which doth but almost
labor, is a loiterer. I cannot tell what to make of these defectives, nor where to place them, nor unto what to liken them.
They are like unto children which sit in the market-place, where
there is mourning and piping, and they neither weep nor dance, but
keep a note between them both; they weep almost, and dance
almost. Believest thou almost? Be it unto thee (saith Christ)
as thou believest. Therefore, if thou believest, thou shalt be
saved —if thou believest almost, thou shalt be saved almost.
As when a pardon comes while the thief hangs upon the gallows, he is almost saved, but the pardon doth him no good. So
he which is almost a Christian, almost zealous, almost righteous,
which doth almost love, almost believe, shall be almost saved;
that is, if he had not been a Christian altogether, he should not
be damned. Thus every man is a Christian almost, before he be
a Christian altogether.




The Preaching of Robert Robinson.   59
Yes, there are two admirable men not very often referred
to- HENRY SMITH and ROBERT ROBINSON - both in their way
apostolic men; they are models of perspicuous force and
of ready clearness. If I desired that my words should
flow like a torrent, I would study Henry Smith; if I desired
the style of calm persuasion, of quaint and concentrated
power, I would read and study Robert Robinson. Henry
Smith is, every way, one of the happiest representatives of
the genius of the old Puritan pulpit; while Robinson,
alas! alas! was a sort of passionless farmhouse Abelard.
They both spoke to the multitude, recoiling from all mystic
questions. Eminently they kept the high road. Robinson's sentences have more the ring and sound of the hammer, and the accompanying spark; Henry Smith's have
more of the trumpet, the tone of the soldier, the conflict,
and the clash of the field. Robinson did not so much
preach to you as enter into conversation with you, and his
sermons, although so impressive for the pulpit, would have
been as impressive if spoken by the fireside. Smith ran
nimbly along like a prophet of the Lord sounding an alarm
upon the way, and bringing himself into immediate personal relations with the souls of men. These men have no
place in estimation by the great masters of the pulpit; but
if you rightly understand what a model should be, and
study those men, you will be far more able teachers than if
you gave your days and nights to Jeremy Taylor, or South,
to Barrow, or even to Hall.
Yes, Robert Robinson, of Cambridge,* was a remarkable
man, of whom Robert Hall, his illustrious successor, said,
"He had a musical voice, and was master of all its intonations; he had wonderful self-possession, and could say
what he pleased, when he pleased, and how he pleased."
*See Miscellaneous Works of Robert Robinson, with Memoir, in
four vols.; and The Select Works, in one vol. By Rev. William
Robinson.




60        The Vocation of the Preacher.
With few advantages of education in early life, from an
unhappy and neglected childhood, and bound apprentice
to the not very distinguished profession of hair-dresser -
although the profession which gave Jeremy Taylor to the
bench of bishops, Tenterden to the woolsack, and Arkwright to the manufactures of England - he made himself
a perfect and accomplished, although never an elegant
scholar. What he was as an orator the eulogy of Mr. Hall
has, in some measure, indicated. In truth, his style, and
the topics upon which he employed it were the counterparts of each other. He was a sort of William Cobbett in
the pulpit; he was a Bishop of Barns and Fields; yet he
handled the most grave and thoughtful topics, and he never
handled them in the pulpit with coarse and vulgar hands.
Or he might be called the Warburton of the conventicle;
unepiscopal, unecclesiastical, he had much of the rude
scholarly ruggedness and omnivorous variety of free-thinking delight in heresy of that singular and quarrelsome prelate. He was impatient of any thoughts which ranged
themselves above the ranks of common sense; and it must
be admitted that his mind retained a considerable degree
of that strength which enabled him to become the teacher
of the multitudes, while he raised himself above them.
His language was most vigorous, strongly imbued with
Saxon significance and vitality; but imagery in language
and mystery in religion seem to have been equally his contempt. HIe had great power of humor and satire -more
of the last than the first-and these he did not hesitate to
employ. The gownsmen of Cambridge frequently interrupted his service in a very disgraceful manner; but they
sometimes most undoubtedly got the worst of it, as appears
from the following anecdote:
One hot summer's day, when he was nearly in the middle of
his sermon, a clergyman fifty or sixty years of age entered. Pew




]?obert Robinson.                   61
doors were thrown open in vain. He walked to the table-pew,
took his seat and, began quizzing, and so disturbing the con*gregation, to the great annoyance of the ladies. Robinson's
spirit was stirred within him. Having paused long enough to
regain thoroughly the diverted attention of the audience, he
proceeded thus:-" I was speaking about complex and simple
ideas, but as few are acquainted with logical terms, I will give
an illustration or two. If, walking in the vicinity of the India
House, I were to meet a person wearing powder, and silver
buckles, and carrying a gold-headed cane, I should have the
complex idea of a wealthy merchant. This would be made up
of a number of simple ideas;" and the peculiarities of a successful merchant were enumerated. "Again, suppose I walking
in Pell Mell, I might there meet some one wearing a cocked hat,
a red coat, gold epaulettes, &c., and I should have the complex
idea of an officer of high rank in the army. This, as in the
former case, includes a number of simple ideas. Once more: if
I were walking near St. Paul's, I might see a portly gentleman,
in a shovel hat, full bottomed wig, black coat, black silk stockings, silver buckles,"- describing the dress before him -" and
I should have the complex idea of a venerable dignitary of the
Church of England. As in the former cases, this complex idea
would include many simple ideas, the gentleman, the scholar,
the divine;" and then followed an eloquent description of the
good minister of Jesus Christ. " But, my friends, you may have
forgotten the text. I will repeat it.' Judge not according to
outward appearance, but judge righteous judgment.' " Fixing
his keen eye on the stranger in the table-pew, he began to reverse the picture, and describe impertinence and folly in a black
dress. The intruder vanished in haste.
Robinson, moreover, was a tolerably successful farmer,
and as for some time the guaranteed income from  his
church was ~12 per annum, you will rejoice that he turned
his husbandry to good account.  He was, moreover, a very
voluminous writer; and, as a historian, his researches were
very extensive. I have often been surprised that a man so
able, so laborious, so self-denying, and gifted, should be




62         The Vocation of the Preacher.
consigned to so much obscurity. It is true, he was a heretic, a Sabellian, or something like it. The author (if he
was) of that sweet hymn, sung by the whole church,
Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
he was far from the possession of a sound faith. Moreover,
we have said his sermons were preached, for the most part,
in barns and cottages. Yet we have heard men, and men
of power, declare they would, for all practical purposes, exchange the style of Robert Hall for that of Robert Robinson; and others, again, that they would rather talk like
him than like any master of pulpit eloquence. But his
Notes on Claude, and the History of Baptism and the Ecclesiastical Researches, must, we suppose, be doomed to the
vault of rare, and forgotten, but valuable books.
He was born at Swaffham, in Norfolk, the 8th of October,
1735. He was awakened to a knowledge of God and interest in a religious life by a powerful sermon of George
MWhitefield. He then attended the ministries of Whitefield
and Wesley. Dr. Gill, and John Guise, and William Romaine were also among his most cherished teachers. These
men, however, perhaps, could not have satisfied him long.
He soon began himself to preach in villages. In this he
was encouraged by that singular piece of ecclesiastical eccentricity, John Berridge. Robinson highly valued him; and,
indeed, while the clergyman was considerably inferior to
the young convert, in the breadth and build of his mind,
they were very much alike in a certain rugged coarseness
of mind and character; but Robinson was constantly availing himself of all resources for mental furniture, whether
talking with a day-laborer, or translating Saurin, studying
Greek and Latin, or attending to the economy of a farmyard. The first days of his religious life were passed among
the Methodists. He very soon, however, became a Baptist,
and in 1759 he received an invitation to become the minis



The IExpositions of Robinson.             63
ter of the congregation in Cambridge, but continued on
trial for two years, and did not settle in Cambridge until
1761.
He continued throughout his life a thorough Dissenter,
and was wont to ridicule, I think with a somewhat graceless severity, the observances of the Established Church.
"Really," he says, "when I compare the little cheap decorations of Reformed Churches with the masterpieces of
Italy, our gaudy days with their grand processions, our
beggarly imitations of their pontifical magnificence, I call
theirs pomp, ours poverty. They are nature in the theatre
of the metropolis, we are strollers uttering bombast in castoff finery in a booth at a fair." The satire is neither true
nor kind; but the writer of the satire was honest. He had
many overtures made to him from Church dignitaries after
the appearance of his Plea for the Divinity of Christ, but he
resisted all; and the best sermons of their day continued
to be delivered in barns, or meeting-houses little better than
barns.
His expositions of Scripture were usually remarkably
felicitous-very plain and lucid. Thus we have before us
a popular rendering of a criticism upon the text, " Skin for
skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for. his life."
Imagine one of these primitive fairs. A multitude of people,
from all parts, of different tribes and languages, in a broad field,
all overspread with various commodities to be exchanged. Imagine this fair to be held after a good hunting season, and a bad
harvest. The skinners are numerous, and clothing cheap.
Wheat, the staff of life, is scarce, and the whole fair dread a
famine. How many skins this year will a man give for this
necessary article, without which he and his family must inevitably die? Why, each would add to the heap, and put skin
upon skin,for all the skins that a man hath will he give for his
life. Imagine the wheat-growers, of which Job was one, carrying home the skins, which he had taken for wheat. Imagine




64          The Vocation of the Preacher.
the party engaged to protect them raising the tribute, and threatening if it were not paid to put them to death. What proportion of skins would these merchants give, in this case of necessity? Skin upon skin, all the skins that they have will they give
for their lives. The proverb then means, that we should save
our lives at any price. Let us apply it to ourselves.*
Most of these sermons were addressed to villagers engaged in the occupations of farmhouse and country life.
Such a congregation would, we may suppose, very keenly
appreciate the exercise on early rising. The following extract is lengthy, but it is perfectly beautiful in the succession of suggestions and pictures it calls to the eye.  The
text of the preacher gives the refrain of each paragraph.
Let us look about us, and take notice, at least, of some of the
beauties of nature in a morning, for the heavens declare the glory
of God, the firmament sheweth his handy work, and day uttereth
speech. How incomparably fine is the dawning of the day, when
the soft and stealthy light comes at first glimmering with the
stars, and gradually eclipses them all! How beautifully fitted
to excite our attention is the folding and the parting of the grey
clouds, drawn back like a curtain to give us a sight of the most
magnificent of all appearances, the rising of the sun! How rich
the dew, decking every spire of grass with colored spangles of
endless variety and inexpressible beauty! Larks mount and fill
the air with a cheap and perfect music, and every bush and every
tree, every steeple and every hovel, emits a cooing or a twittering,
a warbling, or a chirping, a hailing of the return of day. Amidst
so many voices, shall man be dumb? Surely a good man must
say, My voice also shalt thou hear in the norning, 0 Lord.
It is in the morning, remarkably, that the ox knoweth his owner,
and the ass his master's crib. Then, if ever, man feels himself
the monarch, and to him who rises first, all domestic animals
pay their homage. One winds and purrs about him, another
frisks and capers and doth all but speak. The stern mastiff and
the plodding ox, the noble horse and the harmless sheep, the
* Village Sermons.




The Preaching of Robert Robinson.  65
prating poultry and the dronish ass, all in their own way express
their joy at the sight of their master; he is a god to them, for
the eyes of all wait on him, and he giveth them their meat in season.
It is to these animals that the prophet sends us for instruction,
and from their behavior to us he would have us learn our duty
to God. Let us observe how much these creatures contribute to
our ease and comfort through life; let us remark that we owe
them all they look to us for; let us acknowledge the debt, and
our inability to discharge it without the supplies of Providence;
let us address our prayers and praises to that good Master in
heaven, whose stewards we have the honor to be; let us lay up
for this great family, who have neither storehouse nor barn; let
us supply them with a liberal hand; and for wisdom and prudence to perform all these duties, let us resolve with the psalmist, " My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord. In the
morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up."
When man walks abroad in a morning, every sense is feasted,
and the finest emotions of an honest and benevolent heart are
excited. It is next to impossible to be sour or dull. Above, the
spacious canopy, the tabernacle or tentfor the sun, in a thousand
clouds of variegated forms, glowing with colors in every conceivable mixture, skirted and shaded with sulky mists, afford a
boundless track of pleasure to the eye. Around, the fragrant
air, perfumed by a variety of flowers, refreshes his smell. He
snuffs the odor, and tastes, as it were, in delicate mixtures, the
sours and the sweets.
The village pours forth its healthful sons, each with his cattle
parting off to his work, with innocence in his employment, a
ruddy health in his countenance, and spirits and cheerfulness in
his address, that make him an object of envy to a king. Here
the sly shepherd's boy surveys and plots for his flock, and there
the old herdman tales and talks to his cattle, and loves patting
their flanks to chant over the history of every heifer under his
care. And have I only nothing to do in this busy scene: have I
nothing to say among so many voices? Am I a man, and have
I no pleasure in seeing the peace and plenty, the health and happiness of my fellow-creatures? Have I no good wishes for
them?  0 Lord, in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee,
and will look up.




66        The Vocation of the Preacher.
Should we make our observations on a different season of the
year, on the morning after a tempestuous night, in which the
howling winds had torn up our timbers by the roots, overset our
tottering chimneys, and carried half the thatch of our cottages
away; or in which our sheep lay buried in drifts of snow, and
the other cattle were deprived of all their green winter meat;
or in which our rivers had swelled into floods, blown up the
banks, laid all our meadows under water, covered the very ridges
of our corn, threatened the lives of all our flock, and destroyed
the hope of man; in all these, and in all other such cases, the
perfections of God are displayed, the emotions of men and
Christians excited, and the language of the text enforced, My
voice shalt thou hear in the morning, 0 Lord, in the morning will
I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.*
The following most characteristic letter gives an idea of
the mingled industry, humor, and roughness of the man;
but I suppose few ministers could give such an account of
the spending of one day. It is addressed to Henry Keene,
Esq., of Walworth.
OLD FRIEND-You love I should write folios: that depends
upon circumstances, and if the thunder-storm lasts it will be so;
but what a sad thing it is to be forced to write when one has
nothing to say. Well, you shall have an apology for not writing,
-that is a diary of one day.
Rose at three o'clock —crawled into the library —and met
one who said, " Yet a little while is the light with you: walk
while ye have the light — the night cometh when no man can
work - my Father worketh hitherto, and I work." Rang the
great bell, and roused the girls to milking —went up to the
farm, roused the horse-keeper- fed the horses while he was
getting up -called the boy to suckle the calves, and clean out
the cow-house- lighted the pipe - walked round the gardens
to see what was wanted there - went up to the paddock to see
if the weanling calves were well — went down to the ferry to
see whether the boy had scooped and cleaned the boats — re*Village Sermons.




Queer Description of a Preacher's Day.  67
turned to the farm - examined the shoulders, heels, traces, chaff,
and corn of eight horses going to plough —mended the acrestaff- cut some thongs, whip-corded the boys' plough-whips -
pumped the troughs full — saw the hogs fed- examined the
swill-tub, and then the cellar —ordered a quarter of malt, for
the hogs want grains and the men want beer — filled the pipe
again, returned to the river, and bought a lighter of turf for
dairy fires, and another of sedge for ovens -hunted up the
wheelbarrows and set them a trundling -returned to the farm,
called the men to breakfast, and cut the boys' bread and cheese,
and saw the wooden bottles filled- sent one plough to three
roods, another to the three half acres, and so on- shut the
gates, and the clock struck five- breakfast —set two men to
ditch the five roods -- two more to chop sads, and spread about
the land - two more to throw up muck in the yard - and three
men and six women to weed wheat - set on the carpenter to repair cow-cribs, and set them up till winter - the wheeler to mend
up the old carts, cart-ladders, rakes, etc., preparatory to haytime and harvest — walked to the six acres, found hogs in the
grass - went back, and sent a man to hedge and thorn - sold
the butcher a fat calf, and the suckler a lean one — the clock
strikes nine -walked into barley-field - barleys fine, picked off
a few tiles and stones, and cut a few thistles - the peas fine, but
foul; the charlock must be topped -the tares doubtful; the fly
seems to have taken them- prayed for rain, but could not see a
cloud - came round to the wheat field - wheat rather thin, but
the finest color in the world - sent four women on the shortest
wheats - ordered one man to weed the ridge of the long wheats,
and two women to keep up rank and file with him in the furrows — thistles many - blue-bottles no end — traversed all the
wheat-field —came to the fallow-field —the ditches have run
crooked — set them straight —the flag-sads cut too much —
rush-sads too little, strength wasted, show the men how to threecorner them - laid out more work for the ditchers - went to the
ploughs - set the foot a little higher, cut a wedge, set the coulter
deeper, must go and get a new mould-board against to-morrow
-went to the other plough -picked up some wool and tied
over the traces - mended a horse-tree, tied a thong to the plough




68        The Vocation of the Preacher.
hammer — went to see which lands wanted ploughing first - sat
down under a bush - wondered how any man could be so silly
as to call me reverend —read two verses, and thought of His
loving-kindness in the midst of His temple, gave out," Come all
harmonious tongues," and set Mount Ephraim tune - rose up -
whistled- the dogs wagged their tails, and on we went-got
home - dinner ready -- filled the pipe - drank some milk -
and fell asleep - woke by the carpenter for some slats, which
the sawyer must cut - the Reverend Messrs. A. in a coat, B. in a
gown of black, and C. in one of purple, came to drink tea, and
settle whether Gomer was the father of Celts, and Gauls, and
Britons, or only the uncle -proof sheet from Mr. Archdeacon
- corrected it - washed - dressed - went to meeting, and
preached from The end of all things is at hand, be ye sober and
-watch unto prayer-found a dear brother reverence there, who
went home with me, and edified us all out of Solomon's song,
with a dish of tripe out of Leviticus, and a golden candlestick
out of Exodus. Really and truly we look for you and Mrs.
Keene, and Mr. Dore at harvest, and if you do not come, I know
what you all are. Let Mr. Winch go where he can better himself. Is not this a folio? And like many other folios?
R. ROBINSON.*
There was much in the affability of Robinson, most
pleasant and commendable.  We read that it was a maxim
with him, that if a child lisped to give you pleasure, you
ought to be pleased. The smallest expression of kindness
from villagers, if but the lighting of his pipe, was followed
by tokens of his esteem.  When preaching in barns, he delighted to visit his poor brethren; he not only was pleased
to regale himself with their brown bread and black tea, but
he took care that his poor friends should lose nothing by
their attentions.  He often thsed to say, "When a poor
person shows anxiety to administer to your comfort, do not
interrupt him; why deprive him  of the pleasure of expressing his friendship?"  After his death, among his
*Memoirs of Robert Robinson. By George Dyer, 1796. -




Robert Robinson.                 69
papers was found a list of memoranda, or little commissions to be executed by him when in London, such as the
following: —"B.'s petitions; gown for poor M.; M. M.'s
son to be seen; H. wishes Mrs. H. to be merciful; W.
thinks his son's wages are too small; Watts's Hymns for T.
H.; Testament for C." He appeared nowhere to more
advantage than among the poorest of his flock. Each
Sunday he devoted the intervals betwixt morning and
evening service to friendly intercourse, and being fond of
a pipe, though he was no drinker, he used to get his poor
people round him at an old widow-woman's house near the
meeting: here he gratified himself in hearing their distresses, in answering their difficulties, and, to the best of
his power, in relieving their wants. Robinson's brethren
often found fault with him for attending to farming. He
was not very courteous in his mode of replying to their
condemnations of him. "Godly boobies," he would say,
" too idle, many of them, to work, too ignorant to give instruction, and too conceited to study, spending their time
in tattling and mischief; are these the men to direct my
conduct, to censure my ministry?"
He died in Birmingham, whither he had travelled to
preach for Dr. Priestly. He had been somewhat depressed
in health; but the night before his death he rallied, and
seemed to have regained his usual vivacity:
Soon after eleven o'clock he retired to rest, and was found in
the morning dead, the bed-clothes being unruffled, the features
not distorted, the body almost cold. The physicians pronounced
the disease of which he died to be angina pectoris. His wish
had been to die "softly, suddenly, and alone."
The extracts I have given will sufficiently indicate the
style of Robinson and the structure of his mind. I have
said the architecture of his mind was of the plain barn-door
style. His writings abound in illustrations of plain, and




70        The Vocation of the Preacher.
simple, and unaffected grace; but his sentences can never be
called graceful. They go right forward to their object, and
they always reach it, and their directness produces a pleasing impression on the mind; but this is all. And the style
is irresistible, but by the force of simplicity. Every paragraph is laden with convictions. It modifies the admiration we might feel, to know that he had a manner of shocking coarseness, in which he delighted to express himself;
when he speaks of Calvin, Cobbett could not use language
more gross: "Nothing shocks me so much as to see the
Calvinist Baptists sing psalms around the tomb of that
bloody Calvin who burnt Servetus;" but he did not indulge
in this speech in the pulpit. Yet I find it easier to commend the architecture of his mind, than the fulness, warmth,
or sufficiency of his faith.
Now, in closing for the present, let me say, Obtain an
empire over souls-not for your own sake, but for Christ's
sake. Start from a centre with clearly-defined principles,
do not be afraid if they are called prejudices,-to lay aside
prejudices is to lay aside principles, only see their tendency;
weigh them in the balances of the sanctuary. Have, prejudices, settle some things once for all; do not have again to
lay the foundation. Settle some questions, and then go on.
Pray for strength to fulfil the vocation to which you are
called; for the weakness of your will will be shown not in
choice, but in execution. It is that doing which so sadly
defeats us all There is a remark of Schleirmacher that,
"every man is a priest, so far as he draws around him
others in the sphere to which he has appropriated himself,
and in which he professes to be a master; and every one
is a layman, so far as he is guided by the experience and
council of another within the sphere of religion, where he
is comparatively a stranger." It is one of those remarks
one cannot quite endorse; but how much truth there is in
it. Preach so as to be centres-prophets to the souls of




Anecdote of William  Jay.                 I
men. But remember your vocation. I heard the other day
an anecdote of a lecturer; he had been lecturing on George
Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends, in a very unsatisfactory manner, without any appreciation of his spiritual insight and depth; when, as he went out of the room,
an old Quaker went up to him and said, "Friend, thou
hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep."  That
may be said, I suppose, of many thousands of ministers.
How, then, can they reach the souls of men? It ought not
to be said of you; it possibly will be said of many of you.
You must aim, therefore, at culture-spiritual culture, that
you may have transactions with the souls of men, for their
sakes, for Christ's sake. Your power over the souls of
men will be from  your own sense of your relation to
eternity. It must be power-not to charm, not to please,
not to attract crowds, but really to obtain power over souls.
Man has been called a many-sided animal. I do not like
such definitions; but I see that the animal races have a
goal to which they attain. Each tendency is fulfilled, and
each individual and race expires. "But man," says Jacobi,
" is a yonder-sided animal;" he is, if he is an animal at all;
he has his true fulfilment beyond the rolling river, or all our
traditions and our hopes are vain; Christ is not risen, and
we are yet in our sins. Live, then, in the memory of these
great endeavors, and let them crown and glorify all your
efforts.
You may be young, but "let no man despise thy youth."
Please to remember that your being here implies that you
have sown your wild oats; surely I believe a man should
have sown his wild oats before he begins to preach; ah, not
merely in life-in faith. You know in whom you have believed; not by hearsay, but by experience, by conviction,
by knowledge; if not give up, retire away. I command
you to remember, your value as a minister of the Gospel
depends not on the fifty things you do not believe, but on




72        The Vocation of the Preacher.
the two or three you do. Your youth need not be despised;
the youth of William Jay was not despised; nor was the
youth of John Angell James. When a testy old gentleman said to William Jay, when he first began to preach, he
"had no notion of beardless boys becoming preachers," he
said, "Pray, Sir, does not Paul say to Timothy,'Let no
man despise thy youth.' You remind me, Sir, of what I
have read of a French monarch, who had received a young
ambassador and complaining, said,'Your master should
not have sent a beardless stripling.' Sir,' said the youthful ambassador,'had my master supposed you wanted a
a beard he would have sent you a goat. "
A distinguished traveller says:
Being at Calais, I climbed up into the lighthouse, and conversed with the keeper. " Suppose," said I, that one of these
lights should go out!" " Never! Impossible!" he cried, with a
sort of consternation at the bare hypothesis. " Sir," said he,
pointing to the ocean, "yonder, where nothing can be seen,
there are ships going to every part of the world. If to-night
one of my burners were to go out, within six months would
come a letter, perhaps from India, perhaps from America, perhaps from some place I never heard of, saying, on such a night,
the watchman neglected his post, and vessels were in danger.
Ah, Sir! sometimes in the dark nights, in the stormy weather, I
look out to sea, and feel as if the eye of the whole world were
looking at my light. Go out! Burn dim! Oh, never!"
That keeper truly felt the responsibility of his position.
His duty was to keep lights continually burning during the
night for the guidance of vessels. The Christian minister
is a lighthouse keeper. The world is enveloped in moral
darkness. This is not merely an accident, or attribute of
its condition; but its essence and principal element. It is
a darkness that pervades and overshadows all mankind.
And you are "lighthouse keepers."
In the story of the Council of Nice there are two incidents, which for the humor of the one, and the happy teach



Old Church Legends.               73
ing of the other, deserve to be borne in mind. It is said
that Nicolay, Bishop of Myra, when Arius was propounding
his heresies to the Council, quite impatient of all argument,
lifted his fist, and gave the great heresiarch a smart box on
the ear. A most impressive argument, and in spirit often
followed since. But the more happy incident is that related of Spiridion, a rude shepherd. It is said the disputes
were running high, and the philosophers sounding on their
perilous way, when before one of the chief arch-disputants
there limped the shepherd Spiridion; he had but one eye,
and he had a limping leg; he had lost the use of both in
the heroism of martyrdom for the faith, and now abruptly
he broke in and said, "Christ and his apostles left us not a
system of logic, nor a vain deceit, but a naked truth, to be
guarded by faith and good works." Turning full upon the
disputants, especially one Eulogius, nicknamed Fair-speech,
he said, " In the name of Jesus Christ, hear me, philosophers;-there is one God, maker of heaven and earth, and
of all things visible and invisible, who made all things by
the word of His power, and by the holiness of His Holy
Spirit;-this Word, by which name we call the Son of God,
took compassion on men, for their wanderings astray, anfd
for their savage condition, and chose to be born of a woman,
and to converse with men, and to die for them, and He
shall come to judge every one for the things done in life.
These things we believe without curious inquiry; cease then
from the vain labors of seeking proofs against what is
established by faith; and the manner in which these things
may be or may not be, but if thou believest, answer at once
the questions as I put them to you."
The philosopher was struck dumb by this new mode of
argument. He could only reply in a general way, that he
assented. "Then," answered the old man, "if thou believest, rise and follow me to the Lord's house, and receive
the sign of this faith." The philosopher was staggered, he
4




74        The Vocation of the Preacher.
turned to the crowd of his disciples, and he said, "Hear
me, my learned friends, so long as it was a matter of words
to words, whatever was opposed I overthrew by my skill in
speaking; but when in the place of words power came out
of the speaker's lips, words could no longer resist powerman could no longer resist power. If any of you feel as I
have felt, let him believe in Christ and follow this old man
in whom God has spoken."  And I thinli this story illustrates what we desire the power of the preacher to be: the
magnetic power of earnestness, and its simplicity, over
argument and speculation.
This hints to us the vocation of the preacher-it is immediately tofront, and interest, and arrest the souls of men. A
mighty work; do not place it beneath any work; magnify
the office, the office to which you have consecrated yourselves, and believe that no other work stands higher or
can stand so high; I trust I have not to ask you to believe
that the vocation of either the poet or the artist, or the man
of letters can be higher, or can be so high. Yes! I shall
say it! I put it strongly:-to mediate between the Saviour
and souls; to stand by the pure river of the water of life,
and to say, "Let him that thirsteth come;" "ho! every
one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters;" —this is the vocation of the preacher.
Finally: arrived at this preliminary point, I think I may
recite to you another old Church legend. It is said of an
old saint of the first ages, that to him once the prince of
evil appeared, arrayed in jewelled robes: "I am Christ,"
said he; but there was one mark of Messiahship he had
either been unable or neglected to assume. The old saint
looked steadfastly on him, and then said he, "But where
are the prints of the nails?" Let us remember, however
eloquence may glitter or intellect aspire, that this is the
test-it must not be wanted: it will be still said, " Where
are the prints of the nails?"




III.
Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets in
the Jewish Church.
| 4 EMINDING you of the idea and definition of the
Christian preacher already given, namely, that
he is the awakener and the searcher of the conscience; not an intellectual lecturer, not a classical teacher and schoolmaster, not a picture-painter, but a
man possessed by the knowledge of the infinite destinies
and obligations of man; I may yet again refer you, as I
referred you last week, to the character of the Hebrew
prophet. It is an illustration of the prodigious influence
of speech, that the whole history of the Hebrew people is
inwrought with the words of their great prophets. Perieles
and Demosthenes in Greece, and Cicero in Rome, were illustrious accidents in the histories of those great republics;
but in Judea the prophets formed a divine and royal succession. Their words became, from the earliest days of
national history, the sceptre, passed from hand to hand;
the law, from life to life; the prophets were the masters of
opinion and of emotion; the prophets roused the nation,
their words flamed along, lighting up the way to the battlefield; they were able to anoint, and crown, and to depose
kings; perpetually, from age to age, they fronted the vices
(75)




76     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
and idolatries of their times; their fiery breath, again and
again, cast down and consumed the idols, to which that
cruel and sensational people continually returned. As I
have said, they recited the national story; they were the
inspired depositories of the nation's annals and actions;
they were the inspired forerunners of the nation's hopes,
always pointing to the morning light, ever shining in the
most disconsolate epochs in the distant sky.
It was thus that Moses, the founder of the great commonwealth, was a prophet, although "He said unto the
Lord, oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, but slow of speech,
and of a slow tongue. And the Lord said unto him, Who
hath made man's mouth, or who maketh the dumb, or the
deaf, or the seeing? Have not I, the Lord?" It was thus
that She prophet became a domestic institution in the history of the Church in the wilderness, when "the Spirit
came upon Eldad and Medad, and they prophesied," and
received the sanction of Moses, as he said, " Would that all
the Lord's people were prophets." It was thus, when the
faintheartedness of men called for "great searchings of the
heart," that a woman like Deborah arose, reciting the splendors of her song beneath the old oak tree, while the sword
of Barak shone upon the field. Prophecy lightens the romantic heroism of Gideon, and exhibits its rays of flame
through the wild feats of Samson. And thus Samuel-the
Athanasius, as he has been called, of Judea, the last representative of the ancient Mediseval Church of Judea-is he
through whom the Lord revealed Himself, and through
whom He inaugurated the beginning of a more distinct
Messianic and prophetic dispensation. Rays of prophetic
insight and inspiration must have gleamed through the
mind of Saul, thus giving to us the hint of what was lost,
when "he departed from the Lord" and gave himself to
madness. I need not remind you of the illustrious succession from that time. But I would present Isaiah to you




Isaiah as a Model Preacher.               77
as at once the most sublime illustration of the Hebrew
prophet-the Dante of Judea-perhaps the loftiest of all
bards, inspired or uninspired, of any age, and as furnishing
a wonderfully complete portrait of the sacred prophet, the
minister in the world, or in the sanctuary, the reprover in
the one, and the consoler in the other. I would present
Isaiah to you as the preacher to our times, and would find
in his succession of glowing and wonderful words the
types of those states of minds and society you must address.
Isaiah is one of the prophets most constantly read; and
his words have a most penetrating clearness. It is possible
to enter into the meaning of some of the prophetic statements; and, no doubt, millions have, with very clear eyes
and hearts, read and interpreted much that flows along
with such astonishing power; but it is with this book, as
with most other books of Scriptures, it is not read or understood as a whole. The clear insight of the prophet into
the whole worlds of cause and consequence is not understood. He is called, most truly and appropriately, the
Evangelical Prophet; but the relation of evangelical truth
to the great system of the world, this is seldom perceived.
It is, perhaps, regarded as a book of magnificent fragments
rather than a coherent, and consistent, and most magnificent whole.
It is probable that Isaiah was twenty years old when he
began his ministry, in the last year of the reign of Uzziah.
He would then be eighty at the death of Hezekiah; he was
then approaching the close of his career; hence the mournful and pathetic, and elegaic strain:
The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart:
And merciful men are taken away, none considering
That the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.




78     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
Then followed the years of Manasseh; and tradition declares that the great poet was one of the martyrs whose
innocent blood that king shed. To him also is assigned
the mournful dignity, the melancholy reference of the eleventh of Hebrews,-"They were sawn asunder."  During
those years what a procession of events passed in review
before the eyes of the prophet, bringing with them ever
variegated, and brighter, or darker-colored experience.
No doubt, if we seek the centre from which Isaiah spoke,
we shall find, that to him was given that power of insight
by which we are able to " see into the life of things." All
the people round the Hebrew nation, and the Hebrew nation itself, the distant isles of the sea, and the distant ages,
all became, to the mind of the prophet, concrete parts of
one almighty plan. Amidst the rush of the nations, Isaiah
maintained and proclaimed entire trust in the Lord as
the actual ruler and ever-present friend, watching over
them every moment as the husband and the father. The
unity of God is the "master-light of all Isaiah's philosophy,
moral and political; the one lesson which in a hundred
forms he is continually teaching the people." We should
not hesitate to Tnaintain that to Isaiah was vouchsafed, in
a larger proportion than to any other of the prophets, a
revelation, an insight, into the great drift, and tendencies,
and plan of Providence. No one ever saw so clearly as he
into the pure and essential reasons of things.  "Our greatest master," as Isaac Taylor well calls him, "in the pure
reason."  His imagination was wondrously compact. He
saw into the life of all things. To him things the most remote became near and present; in the strength of the eternal truth by which he spake, and the clearness of the light
by which he saw, " one day was as a thousand years, and
a thousand years as one day."
To attempt to interpret Isaiah beneath the slavery of
classical rules, is to fail of the interpretation, and to do in



Isaiah.                     79
justice to the source and spring of his inspiration. He
cannot be understood at all, indeed, without some help
from that same Spirit which gave him utterance. He belonged to a race, ethnologically and individually, to whom
it was given to live in the future, in the golden age to
come.
The Hebrews were a nation of prophets. Distant times
and ages were their goal and appointed rest, and they
pressed as travellers through the present, and looked for
the "city which hath foundations."  So thoroughly this
imaginativeness of character pervaded not only the language of the prophets, but the historians too; so habitually
the imaginative and not the logical faculty dictated the laws
of Hebrew grammar, that, "It hath come to pass" refers
always to a future event. It was thus that Isaiah was
"rapt into future times," and sees the throne of the Lord
of Israel established in sovereignty over all the nations of
the earth, and sees all the peoples becoming willing subjects to Him, and friendly citizens to each other. He sees
true liberty when all submit themselves to Him whose service is perfect freedom; and the happiness and welfare of
all is to be secured, not by some new result of civilization,
but by carrying out God's original purpose and plan; that
the Jews should be ministers of truth to all the nations of
the earth, who in them should be blessed; that "out of
Zion should go the law, and the word of the law from Jerusalem."  He expounds the vocation of the Hebrew people.
He holds up the master-light to guide to all right action
when he says, " 0 house of Jacob, come ye, and let us walk
in the light of the Lord!" This concreteness of the imagination makes the prophecy of Isaiah one.
Sir Edward Strachey* has given a conception of the
* In a most instructive and delightful book; Hebrew Politics in
the Times of Sargon and Sennacherib; an Inquiry into the Historical Mleaning and Purpose of the Prophecies of Isaiah, etc., 1853.




80     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
youthful Isaiah entering upon his mission and ministry,
"in the year that King Uzziah died," with considerable
beauty and freshness. At no period, probably, after the
decay and destruction of its original majesty by Shishak,
was the temple more magnificent than then. The youthful
prophet is beheld in his rough hair or woollen garmentpossibly not unlike the Capuchin friar in the streets of
Rome-going up to the temple to worship. It is very
necessary, to a complete knowledge of the prophet, that we
also obtain a distinct view of the Temple of that age; its
ample courts and colonnades, and its porch with high spirelike front; its holy house, or holy of holies; its well-proportioned, elaborate workmanship, massive, after the manner of the Coptic peoples. Across the variegated pavement
the youthful prophet steps, between the tall pillars which
Solomon reared-Jachin and Boaz-whose magnificent proportions especially reminded the worshippers that the kingdom was established by God, and the constitution He
ordained would be upheld by Him. Isaiah's eye rested
on the molten sea, borne upon the backs of the twelve
oxen, with its beautiful floral ornaments of lilies and
pomegranates, with its smaller lavers resting on wheels,
ornamented with oxen, lions, cherubim, and palm-trees.
Beyond, before him, his eye beheld the great brazen altar
of burnt offering, with its never extinguished fire, and, overhead, the roof of thick cedar beams, resting on rows of columns. Isaiah would see through the open folding-doors of
cypress, carved with cherubim, and palm-trees, and open
flowers, and covered with gold upon the carved work, into
the holy place, whither, not being a priest, most probably
he could not enter. The light of the golden lamps on
either side would show him  the cedar panelling of the
walls, carved with knobs and open flowers, cherubim, and
palm-trees, festooned with chain-work and richly gilt; the
mosaics of precious stones, the cypress floor, the altar of




Isaiah'ls Vision in the Temple.         8 
incense, the table with the shew-bread; and, amidst the
interfulgent flashings, radiating from the solemn gloom of
the'gorgeous furniture, would be distinguished the veil of
blue, and purple, and crimson, and fine linen, embroidered
with the cherubim, symbol of the awful presence and unapproachable majesty of the King, the Lord of hosts.
Amidst such scenes we may conceive the young prophet
bowed and rapt into the thought of Him " whom the heaven
and the heaven of heavens could not contain."  And then
across his soul would sweep the memories of that house.
In the midst of a blaze of magnificence and pomp, faded
now, Solomon knelt and prayed on the brazen scaffold, near
the altar, "kneeling upon his knees before all the congregation of Israel, and spreading forth his hands to heaven;"
renewing the national covenant with the Lord, the God of
Israel, and receiving His ratification in " the cloud that filled
the house." In that house the hushed tramp of the men
of Judah and Jerusalem returning from battle had been
heard, when, with harps, and psalteries, and trumpets, they
came into the house of the Lord to celebrate their victories.
Down the sacred courts of that house had rushed the hosts
of the fierce invaders when they broke down its carved
work, its hallowed imagery, and destroyed, or carried away
its sacred things. In that house stood Jehoida and proclaimed the young king Joash, -while the youth "stood in
the midst of the people at his pillar," as the manner was;
and there the murderess, Queen Athaliah, shrieked,
"Treason! Treason!" while all the people shouted, "God
save the King!" Deep in the patriot-soul these things were
fused and glorified by the mingled fires of genius, and piety,
and inspiration. Aspirations and idealizations rising over
all, the youthful seer, with his imagination kindled and cultivated, prepared by purifying and burning powers within,
there he sat. Through him God would speak. He would
lead His people into a knowledge of His will, of Himself,
4*




82     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
and His love, by qualifying His messenger. God can, it is
true, speak through instruments all unconscious of His designs-Caesars, or Napoleons, whirlwinds, or earthquakesbut not so when He intends to lead to a knowledge of Himself. " fow this could be, how God reveals His mind and
will to men, how the poetic or other human faculty gives
form and expression to truths not imagined or discovered,
but communicated from on high, this can never be explained.
An explanation is a -contradiction in terms, an assertion
that the infinite is definable, that the superhuman is subject
to the laws, and expressible in the terms of the human."
How, we know not, but in some way, Isaiah was qualified;
and the moment when his mission became known to himself, seems to have been in the temple "in the year when
King Uzziah died."  The throng of worshippers had left
the courts; the chanting in alternate parts of the choirs of
singers, clothed in white linen, would have died into silence;
other devout Israelites were praying apart; and whiterobed priests, silently presenting their prayers in the fragrant cloud of incense which rose from the golden altars in
the holy place, and the stillness and solemnity of the scene
rather heightened than disturbed; " then," says Sir Edward
Strachey, "the veil of the Temple was withdrawn, and the
holy of holies discovered to the prophet's eyes, and he saw
the Lord sitting as a king upon His throne, actually governing and judging. His train, the symbol of dignity and
glory, filled the holy place; while around Him hovered the
attendant seraphim, spirits of purity, zeal, and love, chanting in alternate choirs the holiness of theireLord: the
threshold vibrated with the sound, and the'white cloud'
of the Divine presence, as if descending to mingle itself
with the ascending incense of prayer, filled the house. The
eternal archetypes of the Hebrew's symbolic worship were
revealed to Isaiah; and, as the centre of them all, his eyes




The Burdens of Isaiah Typical.           83
saw the King, the Lord of hosts, of whom the actual rulers
from David to Uzziah had been but the temporary and subordinate viceroys. In that presence, even the spirits of the
fire, which consumes all impurities while none can mix with
it, cover their faces and their feet, conscious that they are
not pure in God's sight, but justly chargeable with imperfection: and much more does Isaiah shrink from the
aspiring thoughts he had hitherto entertained of his fitness
to be the preacher of that God to his countrymen; he, a
man of unclean lips, sharing the uncleanliness of the people
among whom he dwells. In utter self-abasement he realizes
the exceeding sinfulness of sin and the utter separation it
makes between man and the holy God."*
Thus the meaning of his mission broke upon the youthful
prophet's soul, and he was fitted to develop the principles
of eternal truth in their relation to the Church, and the
nations. Hence there is the burden of Babylon, the doom of
the empire offorce: in the mountains to the north of Babylon is heard the hum of a great multitude; the northern
nations gathering to battle, mustered by the Lord of hosts
himself. Babylon represented the reign of mere power, and
by power it is to be overcome. "A man will be more precious than fine gold;" for the Medes care not for goldthey were for blood. The Lord had declared that he would
lay waste the vineyard of His own people; but of Babylon
He declares that it shall not even be a pasture-ground; the
Arab, wandering through the desert, shall shun it, shall
leave its palaces and pavilions to the owls, and the wolves,
and the satyrs that shall dance there, and the wild beasts
of the islands that shall cry in those desolate places, and
the dragons.in their palaces. And then follows that odewhich has been pronounced the finest of its kind extant in
any language-a song of triumph in the form of a dirge,
* Sir Edward Strachey's Hebrew Politics, pp. 78, 79.




84    Laamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
involving an undercurrent of sarcasm  and irony: "The
whole earth is at rest and quiet; they break forth into
singing-fir-trees and cedar-trees break forth into singing;
while hell from beneath, the unseen world of gloom, is.
stirred to receive the new inhabitants. The shadowy forms
of giant kings, the pale and mighty spectres, rise to greet
their brothers, now become weak as they."  Through this
doom, as through the rents in a ruin, shines the Divine
purpose, the righteousness of Divine intentions; in the
doom of Babylon, and the analogous doom of Moab, the retribution of lawless force; and fixes and expounds, with great
interest, the Bible statement of the law of political society
and its relation to foreign conquest.
We have the burden of Egypt; the doom of craft and false
wisdom. Here the prophet had to encounter the political
wisdom and inflated sagacity of his own times; and his denunciations of Egyptian alliances occur repeatedly through
the book. " Woe to them that go down to Egypt for help;
and stay on horses, and trust in chariots, for they are many;
and in horsemen, for they are very strong. But they look
not unto the Holy One of Israel, neither seek the Lord.
Yet He also is wise. The Egyptians are men, and not
God; and their horses flesh, and not spirit."  In Egypt
there was no national unity or national purity. The one
was absent because the other was absent. Among a multitude of idols and hereditary castes it was impossible that
either could be developed; but priestcraft and statecraft,
these "controlled a population aggregated like herds of
cattle, but debased, and therefore isolated as men." The
denunciations of Isaiah in reference to Egypt were especially
political; but "the vision was sealed." "Where there is
no vision," no sacred insight, "the people perish." Isaiah
had to suffer the punishment of all those who stand by true
insight, and oppose mere state and worldly craft. The
ecstasy of deliverance from Egypt is described in language




The Burdens of Isaiah Typical.            85
which, no doubt, is intended to suggest the deliverance of
Israel of old from their enslaved alliance to ancient craft
and cruelty. "Ye shall have a song as in the night, when
a holy solemnity is kept; and gladness of heart, as when
one goeth with a pipe to come into the mountain of the
Lord, to the Rock of Israel."
And there was the burden of Tyre, the doom of unhallowed
commerce. Tyre was the lady of kingdoms, a "joyous city,
whose antiquity is of ancient days;" but who should fall
"because the Lord of hosts had purposed to stain the
pride of all glory, and to bring into contempt all the honorable of the earth." She, whose ungodly and tyrannic, and
cruel prowess had given, for the gains of her trade and
merchandise, the gods and groves, the altars and furnaces
of Baalitish worship, she should exclaim, "Howl ye ships
of Tarshish, for your strength is laid waste."  All these
burdens are most evidently illustrations of principles in
themselves. The doom which fell on the nations, as I have
already intimated, copiously illustrates Isaiah's exuberance
of imagination, and love of concreteness, exhibited by such
expressions as "desert of the sea," "the valley of vision,"
" the land shadowing with wings," "Ariel, the city where
David dwelt." But there was far more than artistic and
ideal concreteness; there was moral concreteness. And
the various visions of the book of this prophecy become, as
in all the books of Scripture, shadowed by awful but faintly
descried wings. Hence the message they bear down to our
times.
But for this they would be history and poetry, and
no more. But they are weighty and eternal truths. Tyre,
and Babylon, and Egypt existed. It was not an arbitrary
destruction that swept them away. Their doom followed
upon their departure from eternal and immutable truth, and
equity; and wherever such departure is now, the same
consequences follow; and like causes will ever anticipate




86     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish Church.
like effects.  Isaiah, thus read, becomes, in truth, a very
stern and terrible book.
And this is also true of the Church.  The government of
God is especially shown in the denunciations against, and
the wasting of, Judea.  History declares the governmetn
of the providence of God. Even Niebuhr, as quoted by
Sir Edward Strachey, has remarked, that " there are occasional points of time at which the whole course of history,
and the fates of nations, is decided by some event which
does not grow necessarily out of previous events, and which
a reasonable man can only explain by referring to the providence of God;" and Strachey remarks:
Mr. Grote, on the other hand, recognizes, but leaves unexplained, such master-events of history. He points out, that if
Darius had not-contrary to probable expectation-delayed the
first Persian invasion till the Greeks had had twenty years for
efficient preparations, and Greece, such as it has been to the
world, would never have existed; and he draws the general inference, " that the history of any nation, considered as a sequence
of causes and effects affording applicable knowledge, requires us
to study not merely real events, but also imminent contingencies:" but there he stops. And when Niebuhr takes me a
step further, an! shows me a " cause affording applicable knowledge," where Mr. Grote only indicated an unexplained " effect,"
I must think that Niebuhr's is the more completely positive
criticism-criticism which takes scientific cognizance of all the
facts. I could not hear an explanation of all the facts. I could
not hear an explanation of the complicated workings of a steamengine, with arrangements for supplying its own water, oiling
its own wheels, changing vertical to horizontal movements, and
so on, and at last admit, that when the hand of the ever-watchful engineer did occasionally intervene to give the machine some
new application, or to prevent some hideous crash, this was an
inexplicable occurrence-much less pass it in silence, as though
its explanation had no interest to a rational man.




Development of Isaiahan Ideas.           87
Hence the study of history is, in a more especial sense
than even the study of nature itself, the study of God and
theology, because it is the study of moral characteristics.
It is no doubt true, that for a long time force and craft,
and mere commerce using these two, do seem to be the
most powerful and conquering of spirits; so have they always appeared; for there is a mysterious power in "the
god of this world," by which he seems well able to help
his own. But things are understood in the sanctuary which
cannot be understood elsewhere; and in the light of the
Church, and Church principles, many dark things are
comprehended. No doubt, in order to comprehend, we
have to "consider the years of the right hand of the Most
High;" and hence, too, the study of the sins and the
punishment of Israel becomes as instructive as the study of
Divine judgments in heathen nations.
Such is the elucidation of the Isaiahan ideas, and carrying them forward to the close we read the Divine intention
of the prophet as made more clear-to himself, from " the
years that bring the philosophic mind;" for there can be
little doubt of the true unity pervading the whole chapters of the prophecy-when the glow of his earlier expectations and hope had faded away-the human and finite
ideals of his youth, the fruits of his own ministry, and
Hezekiah's reign-when these had died down like the flower
of the field, then we may conceive him, in the spirit of the
Petrine expression, searching "what and what manner of
time the Spirit within him signified;" and then rose more
clearly before him that which is even the design and idea of
the whole book,-God's government of Israel and of mankind, according to the laws which He has given for all their
relations to Himself and to each other. But this is most
noticeable, that in the first portion of the book he is always
seeking for and setting forth this idea in the events of his
own times, but in the second he rises to contemplate the




88     Lamps, etc., in the Jewish C0hurch.
idea itself, and only embodies it in such shadowy anticipations as to the outward form of the glorious but indefinite
future, as his poetic imagination can project from the facts
and probabilities of his own time. Hence the true glory of
the prophecy heightens and brightens at the close. Of all
the highest flights of poetry, humanly and even Divinely inspired, perhaps it is not too much to say, that there is a
reach of splendor, a tenderness of pathos, a range of consolatory rest and thought, touched in the fortieth chapter
of this prophecy alone: infinite is the tenderness of that
voice which sighs over the wrecks of human things,"The grass withereth, the flower fadeth;" and mighty is
that other voice which rebukes the sigh,-" The word of
our God endureth for ever;" never, we suppose, by any
other voice, was there so human and so overwhelming an
appeal made to the heavenly bodies,,-" Lift up your eyes
on high, and behold who hath created these things. He
bringeth forth their hosts by number.  For that he is
strong in power; not'one faileth;" and he is the God of
human spirits, the sustainer of human souls. These were
the meditations of the old man, disappointed and persecuted, and preparing for the martyr's crown at the close of
his long day of faithfulness. The thought, too, of the Redeemer, and the perception of the region in which to
look for Him, brightens amongst the last chapters. The
introduction of the true Redeemer comes now with amazing force and beauty, after the voice which was heard exclaiming, " Keep silence before me, 0 islands;" and that
bitter irony in which the silence is only broken with the
sounds of the carpenter's plane, the goldsmith's hammer,
and the blacksmith's anvil, all manufacturing their gods.
Then from the calm of contemplation the old prophetic
heat of prophecy glows through his soul in all its most
ancient strength, and more than its ancient tenderness, and
gorgeousness, and beauty, till God the Redeemer rises




Development of Isaiahan Ideas.            89
through the hallowing airs of prophecy, and inspiration,
and song. Here, then, for the first time, is seen most
clearly "the design conceived in the eternal mind of God
Himself, of which the declaration and explanation is called
His word; the actual realization of the design His work;
the various processes by which He is effecting that realization, the operation of His hands; " and the ultimate end of
the whole is named,-the glory of God; "  It is seen that
"God the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth," has,
from the beginning, planned, and brought into operation, a
moral, political, spiritual constitution and order, as well as
a physical world; and that He has chosen one nation for
the first embodiment and illustration of the design, and to
be the main instrument for carrying it out to all other nations, and uniting them in universal brotherhood, providing
also an adequate Redeemer and Guide; "that the work
extends over all ages of time, employs races as well as
individuals, and is, in the main, spiritual, and the work of
God Himself."
I have dwelt thus at length upon the character of Isaiah,
and the power of the preacher, as illustrated in the Hebrew
prophet, because, as the Bible furnishes the subject matter
of the preacher's burden, so it also famishes the best illustrations of the method the preacher should adopt. To be a
close student of these prophets, to study them in the light
of the ever-recurring, ever-varying experience of man, it
becomes the duty of the minister to constantly notice how
truly their words represent national conditions, with all
their sins and all their grand national characteristics;
every form  of speech that can seize immediately upon
human souls like the immediateness of light, all present
some new aspect of dealing with man; but Isaiah seems
to comprehend all in the wonderful variety, and breadth,
and insight to which we have copiously referred. It is at
once the apocalypse and the parable of the whole scheme




go     Lamps, etc., in the Jewishc Church.
of Providence, of the dealings of God with the consciences
of men in every age, in every nation. It is history in the
light of its divine idea. It is the soul in the light of its divine relationships.  It is religion beneath the light of
sacrificial and Messianic hopes.




PULPIT MONOGRAPHS.
1.-The Apostolic Age:  Paul.
AUL is, no doubt, the epic hero of the Christian
Church-of course, wholly leaving out of all
such thoughts and analogies the Divine Head
I of the Church-then Paul is the greatest human
embodiment of its life, activity and truth. He, as a type,
seems at once Augustine and St. Bernard, Luther and Vincent de Paul, of the best and purest minds of the Mediaeval Church, the heroism of the Reformation and of Puritanism. John Knox, Samuel Rutherford, and Richard
Baxter seem to be faint reproductions of him. At times,
he looks like Hooker, or like Herbert. He changes again
into a quaint, all-knowing preacher, like Latimer, and surely
has all the ubiquitousness, and a thousand-fold more, of
Wesley. We still miss from our libraries the kind of work
which might inflame and bear on the spirit of the reader,
as a portrait of this marvellous man —"least of all the
apostles, not meet to be called an apostle;" as he styled
himself; "one born out of due time."  Sure I am, that if
there be a magnetic power in great lives-in the realization
of their fulness, their freshness, their glorious self-abandonment, their heroic strength, daring, clearness of vision, and
agility of movement-then, the more the life of Paul is
studied, the more the proportions of the greatness of this
(91)




92         Pulpit Monographs: Paul.
princely crusader rise to the eye, the more will his conversion, his appearance in the Church just then, and all that
he was, and all that he did, seem to partake of the miraculous. There is room for another Horce Paulince, and bearing
a different intention to that vigorous piece of shrewd analysis; while it is not possible that the acts of this Apostle
should be read, and the words of his Epistles compared
with them, without the mind of the reader becoming at first
insensibly, but presently sensibly, imbued with the influence
and spirit of this great master-mind and heart. We are
surprised that our literature bears so little of biographic
illustration to the memory of Paul; the materials are not
wanting, and they illustrate those words which have been
at once the sustaining food of the souls of highest and
holiest men, and the debatable grounds or battle-cries of
polemics of theologic warriors.
I have sometimes thought, that even not excepting the
life of Christ, a sceptical mind would be more likely to yield,
give way, and be prostrate before the life of Paul, than before any other presentation. Christ was His own evidence,
and still beyond any other, Christ is His own evidence;
still, He was self-sustained; his mind, whatever that awful
mystery may mean, or be, seems so separated and apart
from human and calculable motives and reasons; nothing
external of argument or circumstance pressed Him into a
course. Coarse Infidelity and Rationalism say, " He was a
wondrous fanatic! a sublime mystic! and there the matter
ends!"  He had altogether a new, almost unhuman, and
inappreciable way, both of looking at, and presenting Divine things; inappreciable, excepting to those to whom, by
the " mind of the Spirit," is given "the mind of Christ."
Then, with impudent audacity, the myth-theory has been
invented to account for what cannot be disproved-the unaccountableness of Christ.  His impregnability to all
human reasons; so that every attempt to make Him out,




The Greatest Hero of the Church            93
upon human principles, turns to foolishness; while it is the
glory of the believer, it is the difficulty of the skeptic, who
comes, determined to admit no supernatural fact into his
estimate of that life and its results. All this is very unlike
what meets us in Paul.
The life of him we have here called the greatest hero of
the Church, in all its expressions justifies that human designation; a high and princely type of man, he looks in
all the principles, motives, and relationships of his life,
perfectly manly; passion and reason contended in him for
mastery. We are certain, not only from the build and architecture of his character throughout life, but from what
is implied as belonging to him before conversion, that it
must have been a most overwhelming evidence which could
have carried his convictions captive. Rare have been the
instances, if any, which combined a character in such equal,
not to say marvellous, proportions, the processes of a
careful, slow, but accumulating logical faculty, with such
a triumphant wing of the mystical and the imaginative, and
all fused in the fires of a dominant, grasping, and farreaching passion; or, say rather, ardent spiritual affection.
This man talks like a mystic, but he also talks like a barrister. The close of the eighth chapter of Romans, in
which occur forms of expression over which the minds of
Dionysius, or Everard, hover with delight, is the triumphant termination of a chain of reasoning, so closely plaited,
and flawlessly interlinked, that it commands the apposite
admiration of such abstract thinkers as Jonathan Edwards.
Was there anything fanatical in this man? Then every
man is a fanatic who is a whole nature, self-devoted to one
great absorbing passion, or thought, which becomes to him,
idea, imagination, affection, and ambition. Paul, human
as he is, becomes humanly as unaccountable as his Master,
tried by any principle but that true one which he gives as
the turning-point, and henceforth the great intention of his




94         Pulpit Monographs: Paul.
life,-" a light above the brightness of the sun at mid-day! "
"a voice," —"I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest,"-the
blindness-the scales falling from the eyes.  "Henceforth
for me to live is' Christ!'"
I dare to say that Rationalism has never given, and can
give no account of such a phenomenon. It is trifling with
truth to attempt to refine upon the story; but thus much
seems distinctly to emerge. The conversion of Augustine,
such a man as he was, is an infinite perplexity; infidelity
finds itself dumb to any satisfactory reply, even in the story
of the great African Bishop, whose learned, and ample, and
vast mind has more or less influenced all Christian thought
from his century to this hour. But whence did this great
master derive his satisfactions-his life —his writings?
What are they all but commentaries upon portions of
Paul? And Augustine himself was but a small portion of
Paul-the contemplative portion, separated from that life
of protracted intensity and toil, passed in tent-making in
Corinth-" bound with this chain" in Rome-in Elijah-like
communion, we may believe, with the first aspects of Christian truth in Arabia-" waiting" and using the season for
preaching to the wits and sophists of Athens-in every
kind of peril, as he recites himself, in the wilderness and
on the sea; everywhere, like a wonderful general, master
of the circumstance and of the hour-everywhere with
wonderful agility, seeking not to be satisfied. " with another
man's line of things, but to preach" in the "nations beyond."  Apostle of the Gentiles; first bearer of the Gospel, possibly, probably, to Spain and these Isles; with
attributes of mind steeping him in that delicious ecstasy of
soul which contemplative spirits so well know; and knowing, do not resist, but cultivate, when all feelings and faculties are absorbed and " caught up into the third heaven"
of indescribable sights, and speechless sounds; and yet,
with a nature so plain and practical, that as soon as he




Intense Ardor and Character.             95
awoke from the trance, he plunged among the ordinary
things of every-day life, and seems by his allusions to have
been familiar with every kind of walk and work-the transactions of trade, and the courses of pleasure, and uniting
all in the singleness of aim. The story of his life reveals,
whether in the Acts of the Apostles, or his own Epistles,
"this one thing I do "-" All things are dross, that I may
win Christ and be found of Him." I repeat it, this man is
as unaccountable as his Master. Bits of him may be traced,
some lesser activity, like His; some lesser evangelic fervor,
but like His; some lesser contemplative fervor, but like
His, may have appeared here and there in different epochs
and ages of the Church; also martyr-like endurance and
long and faithful confession. But for the whole entire
man, we may safely challenge the history of the world and
the Church to produce the counterpart of Paul. His
words tingle through us still. What requiem equals the
close of the fifteenth chapter of the first epistle to the
Corinthians?  What rapture, the eighth chapter of Romans! What a grand resume of contemplation, the Ephesians! What felicitous and subtle strokes of lightninglike expressions in the Colossians! It avails little to us
that criticism cannot prove the Epistle to the Hebrews to
be his. We know it must be his. We feel Paul in every
line. It is all along his grand logic on fire! his accumulating crowd of images!-until they all rush together in their
fiery pomp and illumination, at the close, in the altogether
unparalleled splendor of expression, in the eleventh and
twelfth chapters. A miracle of a man! Not a tinge of
fanaticism about him-a simple life that something or other
had at some time compelled to be seraphic! One sometimes thinks, had we not received the Gospels and seen the
Saviour, we should perforce be compelled to acknowledge
that God had vouchsafed a revelation distinct and individual, and bow before its manifestation in Paul. Such are




96         Pulpit Monographs: Paul.
those reasons which lead me to remark that in some particulars it would almost seem as if his thoroughly human
side, and completely human character, would make Paul a
more accessible ground of appeal to a sceptical nature for
the divinity of the revelation involved in the Christian religion; and whileportions of these things have been brought
out at times, they do not seem to us to have been wrought
with that thorough fulness which might make them a triumphant appeal to that harder kind of intelligence which
seems as though it needed to have its human, and lawyer
like faculties touched, and possessed, before it yields up
the whole nature to the Divine Master, before whom Paul,
with all his splendor of endowment and being, confessed
himself as "nothing."  How shall we account for it, that
this religion has such an unaccountable Saviour, and such
an unaccountable first Apostle?
Thus Paul himself furnishes one of the most overwhelming evidences for the truth of the whole Christian system.
Perhaps of all Paley's valuable contributions to the cause
of truth, his Horce Paulince is the most valuable, although
the nature of the book necessarily limits its perusal to those
who are disposed only to close thinking and the fine comparison of coincidences and evidences; we believe still that
that book has neither received the profound attention it deserves, nor that which it will receive. In fact, the appearance of Paul in the early Church is a marvellous phenomenon-I have already said, rightly regarded, an evidence of
the nature of Christianity most irresistible. We have
brought before us the picture of a fragile man impersonating weakness and suffering, "filling up that which was
behind of the afflictions of Christ, for His body's sake,
which is the Church."  Dr. Howson draws some parallel
between the appearance of the Apostle Paul and St. Bernard, and in many points the parallel is striking. Possibly
they were not altogether unlike in their physique, somewhat




St. Bernard and Paul.              97
alike in their structure, much alike in the tenderness of
their minds, and in the intense personal devotion they inspired in a few sympathetic followers; but with these general features the likeness terminates. Everything favored
St. Bernard. Of course, he had not been the noble being
he was had he not met and conquered and overwhelmed
difficulties by his personality; but he had the whole age
on his side-all Europe was with him,
And kings to do him honor took delight.
Rome was all but imperial then, and he was the apostle
and chief senator of Rome. How different his case who
wrote to his young disciple Timothy, "This thou knowest,
all they that be in Asia be turned away from me."  Who is
this man, Paul? A poor, aged man, worn by bodily and
mental sorrow; who had been often scourged; who bore
upon his face the traces of indignity and suffering of every
form; led out of prison by Roman soldiers to death; a
creature of nervous sensibility, probably of feeble and imperfect utterance; yearning with passion unspeakable over
the lost world around him; inspired by a wonderful instinct for souls. Such a one it was who, faded and worn
out with long months of imprisonment, and with the chain
on wrist and ankle, had spoken a few eloquent words in the
cause of Christian truth, which had awed kings; had told
the tale of his own conversion in language of such simple
pathos that ages since have never heard the like.
There is something very amazing in an apparition like
this. Features in Paul's character are no doubt visibly
legible, in which his internal life seems to resemble that of
the great Alfred-that apostle among kings; in his external
life, that great saint whose name we have quoted already.
But Paul is all himself-he is a man utterly unlike any
other, and presents altogether a character marvellous in its
comprehensiveness. Such touches abound in his writings
5




98         Pulpit Monographs: Paul.
as show how his emotions and intuitions apprehended
the most subtle and mystical views of highest spiritual
truth; then unlike this order of character in general, he
plaits, and lays, and links the mail of language and of
thought, so that the glow of his language becomes only logic
on fire, taking possession of the more earthly order of reasoners, while yet some frequent glance of expression shows
how he related that which was intended to take captive the
understanding, to the highest ecstacies and hopes of the
soul  The question has often been asked, Could he have
been an orator? Without a doubt he was an all comprehensive and complete one; not Demosthenes himself apparently a more successful one; for in the most simple and
undesigned manner we have the account of his victories
over many audiences, over a band of philosophic skeptics on
Mars' Hill, over a monarch in the law courts, over a mob
on the stairs in Jerusalem.  The adroitness of speech
which we call oratory he possessed in a very eminent
degree; nor less that adroitness of the pen which not only
wins disciples in its own age, but forms the great texts for
followers in all other ages. To all this was united a life of
intense and unceasing activity, the incessant breaking up
of new ground, as he says, not content to be "satisfied with
another man's line of things, but plunging into the regions
beyond."  He was the Alexander, and, higher still, the
Charlemagne, if such parallels in such a case be not unhallowed, of the cause of Christian truth; most eminently
the Apostle of the Greek, barbarian, Scythian, Roman, in a
word, the Gentile world; taking possession of new territories, planting the Cross there; giving the law, discipline,
and order of the Christian Church; uniting all the
churches together in his large, clear, fatherly glance,
for, as he says, on him "came daily the care of all the
churches." All this seems naturally to point to a constitution of almost infinite elasticity, always on the borderland




lobuched Three Civilizations.             99
of death; in hungering and famine, in scourging and
wandering, in prison, stoned almost to death, in shipwreck
on the deep, in perils of the wilderness, and in perils of false
brethren; and this, too, with some especial trial which he
calls the " thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him "-to us apparently a mysterious trial, one which
coarser natures have sought to identify with the severe
temptations of the flesh, but which Luther tenderly, yet indignantly, set aside,-" Ah, no, dear Paul, it was not that
manner of temptation that troubled thee;" which some
moder critics are satisfied to have identified with weakness
of vision, by many little hints running over the Apostle's
writing. All these circumstances of life and character, and
many more, meeting in such a man, present a marvellous
field for every kind of mental labor.
Christianity, "the city of God," was built at the confluence of three civilizations; the Jews, the Greeks, and the
Romans, which had prepared the world for the Gospel.
Dr. Arnold has spoken of them as the three people of God's
election; two for things temporal, one for things eternal.
There are points in Paul's character and mind which
touched each of these; he was a Pharisee of the Pharisees,
he was learned in the lore of Greece, and he had, in an
eminent degree, the constructive mind of Rome. What he
was by Providential selection, is illustrated by reference to
individual traits: His tact and presence of mind are illustrated in several particulars; take, for instance, his behavior in the shipwreck; what ready resources and prompt
good sense! Dr. Howson says:The vessel is at anchor in a dark night on a lee shore in a gale
of wind. Breakers are distinctly heard, the soundings show
that danger is imminent, and no one can possibly tell if the anchors will hold; and besides this the ship is in so leaky a condition that it is highly probable she may go down before daybreak. The sailors are doing what is vWry oe.lfish, but very na



I00        Pulpit Monographs: Paul.
tural. They are lowering the boat, after having given a plausible excuse to the passengers, but simply with the intention of
saving themselves. If a tumult had been made, precious time
would have been lost, and probably the sailors would have accomplished their purpose. St. Paul said nothing to them or to
the passengers, but quietly spoke to his friend the military officer and the soldiers who had charge of him; and his argument
was that which all men in such cases understand: " Except these
abide in the ship, ye-ye-cannot be saved."  The soldiers before this.time had found good reason to trust the Apostle's
judgment; and the appeal to self-interest now was decisive.
With military promptitude they cut the ropes, and the boat fell
off. Thus the lives of nearly 300 persons were saved by the
right words being said to the right men at the right time. We
may without irreverence go further, and observe that, if those
words had not so been spoken, if those ropes had not been cut,
our Bibles would have been destitute of that precious group of
Epistles to the Philippians, Colossians, Ephesians, and Philemon, written from the imprisonment at Rome, and of that later
and not less precious group, the Pastoral Letters to Timothy and
Titus.
Other instances have been cited, such as his conduct in
his defence before the Sanhedrim, and again, when a temporary prisoner in the barracks of Antonia (Acts xxiii. 16)..
Look at his defence before Felix; it is remarkable with
what subtlety and intuitional tact a nice selection of
words is indicated-how different with different people,
how apt in every case! In perfect honesty his speech became "all things to all men;" with singular versatility and
ease, a Gentile to the Gentiles, a Jew to the Jew, an
Athenian in Greece, a Hebrew on the stairs in Jerusalem,
-condescending to men of low estate, or rising to the
height of royal auditors.  Dr. Howson has shown how peculiarly practical was the imagery of the Apostle, derived
from his intercourse with busy human life; from marriage,
from the making of wills, Greek games, from the markets,




Various Estimates of his Character.  i o 
from architecture, agriculture, and slavery. Himself illustrating his own advice; and what advice it is!-" Walk in
wisdom towards ther that are without.-Let your speech
be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know
how to answer every man."  "That is," says Dr. Howson,
" seize the opportunity while you have it-say words that fit
the occasion, and say them promptly-be not insipid-be
definite and to the point, and remember to whom you speak
-gracefully conciliate, do not rudely offend, for it may be
your last opportunity of winning a soul."
These are the traits which led the witty and sceptical Lord
Shaftesbury to eulogise the gentlemanly bearing of "the
learned and elegant Apostle."  But the tenderness and
sympathy of the Apostle were equal to his tact; nay, it is
truly said, that sympathy itself is one great secret of tact,
as when Paul advises in the very difficult task of speaking to
a friend of his sins: "The tones of the voice make all the
difference between wounding and healing."  " Considering
thyself, lest thou also be tempted." And here we have
very interestingly brought out Paul in his weakness. It is
very desirable to see him so, not as a strong stalwart hero
of the'old mythology, or knight of the Middle Ages, but
weak: "When I am weak, then I am strong."  This his
phrase looks like the very motto of his life. Professor
Jowett has indeed transgressed on. the other side, in representing Paul in the attire of mere weakness; but we may
believe in his frailty without beholding him at all lost to
the impression of personal dignity and command. His
nervous frame knew the alarms and fears of weaker spirits,
and high as was the physical and moral courage of the
man, he needed visions to strengthen him, and to sustain
him in the frequent depression of his spirits, in that incessant craving for personal sympathy, and in grieving over
the absence of friends or the defection of followers. "I
had no rest," said he, "in my spirit, because I found not




I02       Pul/pit Monographs: Paul.
Titus my brother."  "Demas hath forsaken me."  "All
Asia hath turned aside from me."  And to Timothy, "Do
thy diligence to come unto me. Do thy diligence to come
before winter." Then what noble indications of wounded
feeling! What desire for the good opinion of others! In
many ways, various and varying writers have marked the
completeness of his character.
Prof. Jowett (Rom. i. p. 300) quotes the saying, that St.
Paul was " the finest gentleman that ever lived; " and Prof.
Stanley (Cor. p. 391) adds, that he is the first example in
detail of what we mean by " a gentleman." Dr. Newman,
in his Sermons, expresses the matter thus (p. 133);
"There is not any one of those refinements and delicacies
of feeling, which are the result of advanced civilization,
not any one of those properties and embellishments of
conduct in which the cultivated intellect delights, but he is
a pattern of it in the midst of that assemblage of other
supernatural excellences which is the common endowment
of Apostles and Saints."




IV.
Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets in
the Early Church.
iy  ^ HAVE always said that the history of the Chris
i tian Church is the history of the achievements of
the pulpit. If you are desirous of going through
a popular compendium of illustrations of the
character of the pulpit in the early ages, I may refer you
to Mr. Horace Moule's Inquiry into the History of Christian
Oratory, during the First Five Centuries. As Church history
enters into your studies, you will not be able to review the
history of the Church without noticing the immense power
of speech. As in Scripture the Ear stood so distinctly for
the whole man-" Mine ears hast thou opened," "He that
hath ears to hear let him hear "-of course it was to this
very work that the first Church directed itself. It was a
message, not to be delivered in the porch, the academy, the
garden, the grove, or even the synagogue or the Sanhedrim;
but, taking captive the people by the omnipotence of irrepressible convictions, it was to the multitude, to the poor.
The first method was eminently a method with the conscience.
The historian will tell you when the learning of the mere
dialectician appeared, or the mere cunning of the rhetorician;
and the Church historian will tell you that those ages, even
the earliest ages, were remarkable for their spiritual weakness, not for their spiritual strength. In the very earliest
(103)




I 04     Preachers in the Early Clhurch.
Christian ages oratory was kept back, and was but a secondary agency to those without; and the success of Christianity has been attributed to the three extraordinary
manifestations of its power: (1.) the singularity of conduct on the part of believers; (2.) their blameless and
virtuous lives; and (3.) their heroic constancy and bold
confession under the pains of persecution. Neander says,
"As to the relation of the sermon to the whole office of
worship, this is a point on which we must write with the
most opposite errors of judgment."  If, however, when
churches rose, and some of them very large, in the Eastern
and Western divisions, you had stepped in, you would perhaps have found many points of resemblance to our own,
and some startling dissimilarities;-the ambo or desk,
often in the centre, the preacher sitting-most natural, and
effective, and happy of postures for preaching; preaching
was usually extemporaneous, with very rare exceptions;
understanding, by that general term, all kinds of delivery,
short of reading from a complete manuscript, or very full
notes; and it was thought very desirable that a preacher
should be able to discourse to the congregation on a part
of Scripture from the inspiration of the moment. In the
Church were those nuisances of our time, short-hand
writers, too. Usually, in length, the sermons were far
shorter than ours. The Greek fathers were always the
longer; the Latins did not usually occupy more than half
an hour, often not more than ten minutes. Very often the
preacher was interrupted by bursts of applause, and the
holy seriousness of Chrysostom was often shocked by this
supererogatory approbation; while Gregory Nazianzen
seems to have been, on the other hand, pleased by this contribution to vanity.
You must remember how broken these hints are which
I am attempting to give you of those times. The apostolic
age I have left with scarce a remark. The pulpit-the




Clemens.-Origen.-Tertullian.             105
ambo-vwas power; doubtless it had its faults, but they do
not seem to have been of the order we should most condemn. Critics find in CLEMENS declamation and diffuseness;
but even in the page, as we read it, there is a warmth
of piety and depth of fervor; he belongs to the philosophical period of that age, and thus he speaks:
Though the artizan can make an idol, he has never made a
breathing image, or formed soft flesh out of earth. Who liquified the marrow? Who hardened the bones? Who extended
the nerves? Who inflated the veins? Who infused the blood
into them? Who stretched the skin around them? Who made
the eye to see? Who breathed the soul into the body? Who
freely gave righteousness? Who has promised immortality?
The Creator of all things alone, the Supreme Artizan, made man
a living image; but your Olympian Jove, the image of an
image far differing from the truth, is the dumb work of
Attic hands. The image of God is His Word; the legitimate
Son of Intelligence; the Divine Word; the original Light of
light; and the image of the Word is the true man, the mind
which is in man, who, on this account, is said to be in the image
and likeness of God, being assimilated to the Divine Word, or
Reason, by the understanding in his heart, and, therefore,
rational. But the earthly image of the visible man, the man
sprung from the earth, the resemblance of man, appears, as it
were, a momentary impression, eicKayedov, far removed from the
truth.*
To the same period belong ORIGEN  and TERTUrLLAN.
Their sins as preachers were on the side of mysticism; and
perhaps there were moments when they seem to have permitted themselves to be too much perverted and turned
aside by their contact with the tropical exuberances of
Oriental imagination; but that which strikes us is the
intense reality with which the Christian life was described
by them.  Comparing the Christian life with the spec* Moule, p. 73.




Io6      Preachers in the Early Church.
tacles and the shows of Rome, Tertullian, whose style
has been compared with that of our Edward Irving, exclaims:And then if you do but reflect that even this life, too, is to be
spent in delights, how can you be so ungrateful as not to be
content with, and not to acknowledge, the many and the great
pleasures that God bestows on you? For what is more delightful than reconciliation with God, our Father and Lord?-than
the revelation of truth?-than the discovery of errors?-than
the pardon of so grievous offences past? What greater pleasure
than a distaste for pleasure itself —than a contempt for the
whole world?-than true liberty?-than a pure conscience?than a blameless life?-than no fear of death?-than to tread
under foot the gods of the Gentiles?-to cast out demons?-to
perform cures?-to seek for revelations?-to live unto God?
These are the pleasures, these the shows of Christians, holy,
everlasting, gratuitous. If knowledge, if literature delight a
man's mind, we have enough of books, enough of verses, enough
of maxims, enough also of song, enough of music; no stage
plots, but verities; no cunningly wrought stanzas, but simple
strains. Wouldest thou have fightings and wrestlings? Behold
immodesty cast down by chastity, perfidy slain by fidelity,
cruelty crushed by compassion, arrogance eclipsed by modesty.
Such are our contests in which we gain the crown. Wouldest
thou have also somewhat of blood? Thou hast Christ's.*
The same motives which impel the feet of the artist to
Rome, that he may study the ancient masters and know
the principles of their art, will lead you, as you possess the
opportunity, to make yourselves acquainted, if not in their
original, then in their English dress, with the life of
ATHANASIUS, the tenderness of BAsrI, and the magnificence
of CHRYSOSTOM. The preaching of Athanasius was the informing, practical mind of the first half of the fourth
century, and of whom we think as a severe patristic Calvin.
* Moule, p. 84.




A thanasius.                    07
He was the head of the long illustrious line of conservative
theologians. I cannot commend his spirit to you so warmly
as his faith; even Dr. Newman has gathered together some
illustrative epithets strewn along his pages-the flowers
of his rhetoric-against the Arians: Those favorite epithets
were,-" Devils,"  "Antichrists,"  "Maniacs,"  "Jews,"
"Polytheists," "Atheists," "Dogs," "Wolves," "Lions,"
"Hares," "Chameleons," "Hydras," "Eels," "Cuttle-fish,"
"Gnats," "Beetles," "Leeches."*  Yet we ought to know
the life of this great preacher, and we should remember
the horrible inveteracy of his foes. His life reads as one
long and most glowing romance; its incidents are most
startling and kindling. The pulpit occupied by him in
those exciting scenes and times becomes not merely the
great breakwater of faith, but not less, if I may say so, its
dramatic theatre.
There seems to have been much of Calvin in him, or
much of him  in Calvin; his style was barren of all
splendors or tenderness; he failed to touch the heart, or
disdained to attempt it; but there was in him an amazing
and most vital love to the Saviour. He, perhaps, did not
understand so clearly as. we do, or as we might wish we
understood, the rights of other individual souls, but he did
understand the rights of private judgment; and his
position for the truth has passed into a proverb, most
sublime in its expressiveness, of the claims of the individual
solitary judgment against the claims of general authority"Athanasius contra mundum"-Athanasius against the
world.
Amongst the most illustrious names of the early Christian
Church stands forth BAsnI; in him the orator of the Church
begins, and in all his writings the orator burns. An intellectual, but still imaginative Orientalism pervades all.
* Ahanasius.-Historical Treatises. Vol. ii. p. 34. Stanley's
History of the Eastern Church, p. 292.




108      Preachers in the Early Church.
Basil and his pupil Gregory Nazianzen were fellow students
of the Emperor Julian.  Basil led a less stirring life than
Athanasius, and his sermons are characterised by a devotional calm.  He preached ostensibly to the poor; but
crowds flocked to hear him. Accomplished master df the
science of Athenian rhetoric as he was, he concealed his art
beneath a persuasive and popular style.  He gathered
round him the poor indeed, the mechanics of Cesaraa, but
by his rare influence compelled the multitudes of the
celebrated too; and, when he died, his funeral, followed by
the whole province, excited envy for those who were crushed
to death in the crowd.
Let us read what he says on psalmody:Psalmody is the calm of the soul, the repose of the spirit, the
arbiter of peace. It silences the wave, and conciliates the whirlwind of our passions, soothing the impetuous, tempering the
unchaste. It is an engenderer of friendship, a healer of dissension, a reconciler of enemies. For who can longer count him
his enemy, with whom to the throne of God he hath raised the
strain? Psalmody repels the demons; it lures the ministry of
angels; a weapon of defence in nightly terrors! a respite from
daily toil. To the infant it is a presiding genius; to manhood
a crown of glory; a balm of comfort to the aged; a congenial
ornament to women.
The following passage enforcing, or rather illustrating,
the duty of praise, is elaborate, but very beautiful:
What reward shall we give unto the Lord, for all the benefits
He hath bestowed? From the cheerless gloom of non-existence
He waked us into being; He ennobled us with understanding;
He taught us arts to promote the means of life; He commanded
the prolific earth to yield its nurture; He bade the animals to
own us as their lords. For us the rains descend; for us the sun
sheddeth abroad its creative beams; the mountains rise, the
valleys bloom, affording us grateful habitation and a sheltering
retreat. For us the rivers flow; for us the fountains murmur;




COhrysostom.-Augustine.              I 09
the sea opens its bosom to admit our commerce; the earth
exhausts its stores; each new object presents a new enjoyment;
all nature pouring her treasures at our feet, through the
bounteous grace of Him who wills that all be ours.*
But what shall I say of CHRYSOSTOM? He is said to be
the study of a life-time in himself. His works are voluminous. Bishop of Antioch in its wealthiest day, his conduct
there commands our highest reverence. He passed his life
amidst the most virulent energies of persecution. But I
must refer you to Gibbon for the best, most popular and
comprehensive account of the Golden Mouth, and how he
was dispatched secretly in a post-chariot from Antioch, to
take the Archbishopric of Constantinople; it being feared
that the people would not resign their favorite preacher;
an ordeal through which very few preachers since have had
to pass in their ascent to the episcopal chair.
But immeasurably the greatest of all the preachers of the
early Church, was the Bishop of Hippo, the stupendous, the
enormous AUGUSTINE. I believe if I were to commend to
you the preacher of all others most likely to help you in
the pulpit, I would say Chrysostom in his expositions. And
his style was very expository-there is greatf wisdom and
clearness, it was eminently practical too; also, it was not
wanting in a fine declamatory fervor (some would say he
possessed it too abundantly)-which must be possessed by
the useful preacher-but the mental struggles of the age
and of the human mind, do not appear to have affected him.
There was no remarkable epochs in his religious history,
and his nature had not the roominess which is shown in
every page of the writings of Augustine.  The life of
Augustine made him the teacher he became; I do not here
touch upon it, the tender story of his mother Monica, of
his life of carelessness and sin, of his studies so vast and
* Moule, pp. 118, 119.




i I o    Preachers in the Early Church.
various in all the arts, and rhetoric, and poetry of the ancients and the pagans. He was intoxicated with sensual
beauty; in Carthage, where he fixed his home, thoughtful
but sensuous rather than sensual, he luxuriated beneath the
rich bright heavens, by the beautiful waters of the Mediterranean, and amidst all the variegated glories of art, in a
city, then one of the chief seats of civilization. In his sublime work, his affecting Confessions, he exclaims: "What
wert thou then to me, and how far from me? Far verily
was I straying from thee, carried from the very husks of the
swine whoiP with husks I fed; I sought for pleasures, sublimities, truths, and so fell headlong into sorrows, confusions, errors."  But his mind was of that kind that must
find a reason for everything.  And by-and-by came the
highest reason. What a story it is, his struggles to become
fiee, and how he became free! Your position to the mind
of Augustine must be relative. I commend Chrysostom to
all of you, but few can be able to plough with the heifers
of the Bishop of Hippo. Yet, unless you enter with him
into his wondrous art, as of logic and abstraction, and
thought, no preacher can be more homely; he is always
more illustrative than declamatory, and the racy, spiritualising puritans derived much of their flavor, and pith, and
unction from  him. I must think that the pleasant ingeliousness of Matthew Henry not only found its ancestor,
but much of its inspiration, in Augustine.
The "instrument of ten strings," upon which the Psalmist
would praise God, becomes in one place the Ten Commandments, made delightful and easy to keep by divine grace, or
the ten fingers which perform the mission of the will in divine service.  On the text, " Whereof every one beareth
twins."  What twins?" says he. "The Law and the Prophets-the two commandments whereon hang all in the life
of every believer!' The bread, and fish, and egg' the child
asks of his father in the parable are explained-the bread as




Augustine.                     I  I
soul, fish as faith which lives amidst the billows of temptation, and the egg as hope, a something, but not the
chicken."
But if you do not admire these things, do not smile at
them, they are only motes in the sunbeam, and if you are
able to follow him,there is no writer in the long procession
of preachers who will so minister to the minister as Augustine.   ir. Moule says:
Of Augustine it may most truly be said, that he, if any man
had, had experience of those phases in the soul's history when
"the tongue cleaves even to the roof of the mouth, and when
silence is kept, even from good words."  It was not only his being Prelate of the West, instead of a Prelate of the East, that
occasioned the wide difference between himself and Basil,
Gregory, or even Chrysostom. The intense passion of his temperament, which imparted so much energy to his intellectual
operations, and which is often the cause of the rich and vigorous
flow of his language, produces also that quiet rejection of rhetorical ornament which we find so prevalent throughout his unpretending sermons. The Civitati Dei has, as might be expected, a
good store of florid language, some specimens exhibiting the very
highest style of beauty. But his subject in that case, not only
was suited to elaborate ornament, it sometimes imperatively demanded the very grandest utterance. The general tone of Augustine was, however, that of a man who, while he was too
sensible to despise the aids of artistic eloquence, was himself,
for the most part, far above them. His words bearing directly
upon the subject are tinged with a speaking sadness. " Eloquence
is another stream of Babylon; it is one of the many objects
quce amantur et transeunt;" it is a mere frigus et Aquilo, compared with the genial breezes of God, the Auster translatus de
coelo.
He rose to the clear empyrean of faith himself; and
gradually through every school of illusion, and scepticism,
and heresy. He qualified himself to reveal to the believers




I 12    Preachers in the Early Church.
of every subsequent age the solidity of the rock on which
they build, and the precious vintage of consolation growing
on it.  On the contrary, he sounded the depths of
Pelagianism or, as we call it, Arminianism-Naturalism.
He saw what you must distinctly see as the basis of all
theological differences, that they are in fact a different view
of the relation of the Infinite to the finite, of God to the
universe, summed up in the two distinctions of Rationalism,
-Arminianism-or every man his own Saviour; and, on
the other hand, the doctrine of supernaturalism and grace;
or God in Christ the only Saviour. Familiarise yourselves,
if you be old enough, with the mind andmethod of Augustine, and you will find the cuirass which gleams beneath
his bishop's vest, or sword which peeps from his side at the
most unlikely places. He seems ready to strike a blow on
Donatist or Manichsean, or Pelagian, and furnishes a sug.
gestive method of dealing with heresies perpetually renewed,
because indigenous to the depraved soil on which they
spring.




PULPIT MONOGRAMS.  II.
The Early Church: Chrysostom.
[ay T can never be to the Christian mind either a
[1 1KI needless or indifferent task to study again, or in
I   some new portrait to seek to retouch or bring
)t~~   into greater vividness the sublime features of the
Fathers of the Early Church, whose words, while they were
living, were like battle-cries against the idolatry, selfishness,
and impurity of the age, and which, although the tongue
of fire has long been resolved into dust, retain still an inspiring and even vocal power. The orators and preachers
of the Early Church form a very illustrious gallery of portraits; there is much about them that is very exemplary.
As we study their words and deeds, we find, in truth, how
much, perhaps, they owed of their fame and influence to
that close union and alliance of the destinies of the Church
with the State, which continued so manifest after the period
of Constantine. But it may surely be questioned whether
their influence at court did not result also from the immense power they wielded over the multitudes of the cities,
by the purity of Christian doctrine. The reader of Church
history will very soon assure himself how the rise of the
Church illustrated its power by the " foolishness of preaching," and became a great social influence. The wonder
grows upon us how it came to be the mighty and hostile
(113)




II4    Pulpit Monographs: Chrisostom
force it exhibits itself as being; but the study of the character of the early Christian preachers explains this. The
school of the rhetorician was changed into the Churchthe place of souls; not the place for the discussion of trivial questions, the vain spoils of philosophy-it was a new
moral power in the world. Those men did not obtain their
mighty hold over the breathless multitudes by the "disputations of science, falsely so-called;" not by pretty little
Platonic essays; but by words which clave a way right
down to the soul: enforcing the providence of God, the redemption by Christ, the immortality of the soul, and future
retribution and judgment; these were the themes. Fantastic legends and literatures faded out, or fell prostrate and
powerless before such truths, flowing from the consciousness of the speaker, informed by the Holy Ghost and the
Divine Word, and flaming from the ardent light of vivid
experience. The bar, the senate, the school, could kindle
no such enthusiasm, and win no such echoes and responses
as those which followed the words of the great teachers of
those early ages.
It is superfluous to say that Nonconformist teachers have
not paid sufficient attention to these great masters. A
prejudice, it must be now admitted very unfounded, has
obtained entrance in many minds against them. This
prejudice is dissolving; and while it is the duty, especially,
of every minister to inform himself of the matters in the
great story of the Church, it is certainly true that he will
find in the first ages, and among the teachers of the third,
fourth, and fifth centuries, hints eminently useful to him in
assailing the sins and the heresies of our own times.  Especially eminent, as the orator of the Church, stands forth
John, the great preacher of Antioch, who received in the
seventh century the name by which now he is only known
popularly, Chrysostom, or the Golden Mouth. He was born
in that city over which his eloquence shed such lustre, and




Contrasted with Augustine.           I I 5
amidst the uproars aad agitations of which he became so
central an actor, in the year 354. His parents were of
considerable birth and quality; his father, Secundus, a
chief general of the army of Syria, died soon after John
was born; his mother, Secunda-not unlike Augustine's
gentle Monica-although, like his father, a Gentile pagan,
continued unmarried after the death of her husband,
living for her son, as we gather from an immortal passage
of exquisite beauty in his writings. She appears to have
been a woman of great gravity, beauty, and chastity. At
the age of twenty Chrysostom was placed, apparently, beneath the tuition of the great Libanins, a chief master of
rhetoric; from him, no doubt, he obtained lessons used
with very different purposes to those for which they were
given-for John became a, Christian, grew weary of what
seemed to him the unprofitable study of rhetoric; and the
lessons intended to make the shining orator of the bar,
went to furnish the priest, the preacher, and father of the
Church. It was a source of bitter regret to his old master,
and on his death-bed he grieved that there was no successor
to his school, because the Christians had stolen John from
him.
About the early history of Chrysostom, the years before
his conversion, there is nothing of the wonderful interest
attaching to the unconverted life of Augustine. Chrysostom  had not the same sensuous and passionate nature,
therefore had not so fierce a conflict to wage with himself;
he had not the same great roominess of nature as
that of the Bishop of Hippo, in whose soul, before his conversion, every sort and kind of heresy and infidelity seemed
at one time or other to find not a momentary but a logical
lodgment, until all were put to flight, as he tells us in his
immortal Confessions. Then Chrysostom had not very long
passed youth when he was converted; Augustine, on the
contrary, was in the very prime of life, in all the vigor of




I  6   Pulpit Mono gaph7s: CMrysostom.
his studies. Chrysostom had never known the ways of vice
and sin; the warm African nature of Augustine had known
every seduction of poetry and passion; he had to put away
the person he very tenderly loved, apparently; and we
know in what terms he has celebrated and made memorable his affection for his illegitimate son Adeodatus. But
the conversion of Chrysostom was marked by a reality as
distinct as that of Augustine; he and his friend Basilevidently not the great bishop-determined on abandoning
the world altogether, and flying to the monastery. This
was easy for Basil, who had no worldly ties, but Chrysostom
had debts to pay to his position and his property, and,
above all, to his mother, whose tender and overwhelming
appeal has been preserved to us. She reminded him of all
her troubles and miseries in widowhood, all the agitations
and disquietude attending her-a young woman, without
a husband-but all borne for his sake; how she was tossed
in storm and tempest, determined "not to bring a second
husband into your father's house;" not declining the hardships of the iron furnace that, as she says, "I might.daily
behold your face while you were an infant, and have continually before me the image, the character, and resemblance of your father." She implored him not to involve
her in a second widowhood. "When you have committed
me to the ground, travel whither you please." Many more
words to the same effect the poor mother poured out into
the ear and heart of her son. We are afraid that she did
not produce so much effect upon him as circumstances. It
is a proof of the importance of Chrysostom in Antioch,
that at this time, although he could not have been much
more than twenty years of age, and had not been very long
converted, a report was spread that the Church was about
to elevate him to the office of a bishop,-our readers will
bear in mind the immense difference between our idea of a
bishop and that of the early Christians. He fled from the




Two Miothers, Mlonica and Secundac        I 17
city, going for some time to reside among the monks near
Antioch. Of his mother we only hear that she died shortly
afterwards; it does not seem probable that he really joined
the monks until after that event. The beautiful, chaste,
self-denying pagan lady never saw the greatness and glory
of her son. She never heard any of those marvellous orations, did not know that the lips which had been so much
to her-kissed so fondly and so often, as mothers only can
kiss-were through all after ages to be called the golden.
She soon passes out of sight, but assuredly her son did her
justice, and treasured her memory. The name and memory
of Monica have been held very dear in Church history;
but let us, as we pass by, look lovingly and tenderly upon,
and set a fair white lily over, the grave of Secunda.
Six years Chrysostom continued among the mountains
and the monasteries; for some time he dwelt in a cave with
an aged hermit; solitary, shut up in a still more lonely cell,
he spent some other two years, taking little rest, pondering
closely the Word, conversing with himself; seeking out
that he might obtain the grace of spiritual strength to scatter, and rout, and put to flight the sins lurking in his nature. He seems to have been ordained by the Bishop Miletius a reader and deacon of the Church in Antioch about
the year 381. He returned to the city learned and accomplished in every art and gift necessary to the sacred orator.
When he left he was an accomplished rhetorician; and we
can well conceive what effect six years of solitude among
the mountains, with no other book but the Sacred Word,
would have upon a nature able to receive it. The moment
soon came when his mighty oratory was put forth with all
its vehemence and strength. So long as he continued in
Antioch his voice was like a bell, chiming or tolling,
and certainly the sonorous notes of the knell predominate over the chime. Among the most intrepid and noble
of his orations is the series on The Statues. Oppressed and




i 18    Pulpit Monograpwhs: Chrysostom.
harassed by taxation, the people of Antioch-naturally a
turbulent and unquiet race-rose in tumult and uproar
against a warrant for a new assessment. It created no
small irritation; they encouraged one another to revolt,
until, in the turmoil in the streets, the brazen statues of
the emperor and his wife Flavilla were torn down, and
dragged ignominiously by ropes, with insolent rudeness and
bitter sarcasm, through the city. Scarcely had the deed
been done than all the inhabitants were in mourning and
fear. In our country and age such an indignity would very
likely produce unhappy results; what then might be expected in the very era of imperial cruelty? Fear spread on
every hand; those who could fly the city, fled; those who
were taken were hurried off to prison. The forum, a few
days before crowded, was deserted, and here and there a
few frightened and trembling people might be seen skulking
about with dejected looks. Images of confiscation, death,
and worse than death, were before all men's eyes. In the
panic, the good Bishop Flavianus took upon himself to go
as an ambassador of peace to the emperor. It was winter;
he was aged, and a man of many infirmities. The distance
was considerable; his sister, too, was dying; but he went.
Chrysostom was left in the mourning city; he walked
through it, and saw its profound distress; its silence only
broken by the armed guards with swords and spears resisting the wailing women and children who were seeking to
throng the courts of justice to save their husbands and fathers. While the bishop was on his way to the metropolis,
Chrysostom called the people daily to the church; there,
in their agitated and trembling midst, he pronounced those
twenty-one homilies concerning The Statues. While the
bishop was seeking to turn aside the imperial wrath, Chrysostom wrought day by day upon the crowds in the church.
The following passage is a very fine illustration of the natural and easy, yet forcible way in which the orator turns




The Orations " On the Statues."              19
the circumstance to account, and, with great art, preaches
to the emperor for mercy, while, in reality, he reproves the
sins and passions of the people.  Thus he exclaims in a
passage on
THE DOUNDLESS LOVING-xrINESS OF GOD.
A man has been insulted, and we are all in fear and trembling
-both those of us who have been guilty of this insult, and those
of us who are conscious of innocence. But God is insulted every
day. Why do I say every day? Rather should I say every hour,
by rich and by poor, by those who are at ease and those who are
in trouble, by those who calumniate and those who are calumniated; and yet there is never a word of this; therefore God
has permitted our fellow-servant to be insulted, that thou mayest
know the loving-kindness of the Lord. This offence has been
committed only for the first time, yet we do not, on that account,
expect to reap the advantage of excuse or apology. We provoke
God every'day, and make no movement of returning to Him;
and yet He bears with all long-suffering; see you how great is
the loving-kindness of the Lord. In this present outrage, the
culprits have been apprehended, thrown into prison, and punished; and yet we are in fear. He who has been insulted has
not heard of what has been done, nor pronounced sentence; and
we are all trembling. But God hears day by day the insults offered to Him, and no one turns to Him, although God is so kind
and loving. With Him it is enough to acknowledge the sin,
and the guilt is absolved:... do you not hence conclude
how unspeakable is the love of God, how boundless, how it surpasses all description! Here he who has been insulted is of the
same nature with ourselves; only once in all his life has he been
so treated, and that not to his face, not while he was present
and seeing and hearing, and yet none of the offenders have been
pardoned. But in the case of God, not one of these things can
be said. For so vast is the distance between man and God, that
no words can express it, and every dlay is He insulted while He
is present, looking on, and hearing; and yet He neither hurls
thunderbolts, nor bids the sea overflow the earth and drown all
its inhabitants, nor commands the earth to yawn and swallow




20    Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
up all who have insulted Him; but He forbears, and is longsuffering, and offers pardon to those by whom He has been outraged, if they only repent and promise to do so no more. Oh,
surely it is time to exclaim, Who can utter the mighty acts of
the Lord? Who can show forth His praise?
As to the friendly bishop, it is pleasing to know that he
was well and kindly entertained by the emperor. He held
a long intercourse with him, during which the old man reminded him of the example of his ancestor, Constantine,
who, when his statue had been miserably abused, and its
face battered and broken, passed his hands over his face,
saying, "I do not feel myself bruised and broken, and my
head and face seem sound and whole; and then he used
the better authority of Him who said, "If ye forgive men
their trespasses," etc., etc.; and the emperor courteously
entreated him; and then, with pardons in his possession,
hastened his return back. The good old bishop, unable to
travel very fast, forwarded the good news before him; and
we learn how, when he entered the city, it was all ablaze
with rejoicing lights; the forum decorated with garlands
and flowers, and green boughs over all the shops and doors
-quite a festive solemnity. And then the dear old bishop
went to the church to give thanks; and Chrysostom, in the
place where, during the bishop's absence, he had poured forth
his jeremiads, now, for the prosperous success of the undertaking, pronounced an oration full of gratulation and joy.
No doubt the behavior of Chrysostom on this occasion,
joined to his favorable eminence in opinion before, made
him to be a man who could not be hid. In the year 398
he was consecrated and enthroned bishop of Constantinople. Ministers, at the present day, who leave one charge
or diocese for another, are in no danger of creating such a
turmoil as that caused by the rumor of the probable departure of Clhrysostom from Antioch. The people could
not tolerate the idea of the departure from their midst of




At Constantinople.              I 21
their admired and eloquent preacher; nor did it appear
that the preacher himself desired to remove; and, probably, had he known what circumstances were to come out of
this consecration, the emperor himself would not have been
so determined in his design. Fearing, however, a popular
tumult, a letter was written to the governor of the province to manage the matter. He desired Chrysostom  to
walk a little way with him out of the town, decoyed him
into his carriage, and drove him to the next stage beyond
Antioch; there he was delivered into the custody of the
officers of the Government sent by the emperor to receive
him. The emperor had desired that his consecration should
take place with circumstances of especial pomp and solemnity, and a convention of bishops was summoned to assist
at it; and thus, by guile and craft, seldom needed in the
history of the Church for elevation to such dignity, the
people of Antioch lost their pastor, and Chrysostom became
a bishop.
From this time, he enters upon that course of events in
his life which should commend him most to the notice of
preachers and teachers. In the great metropolis of the
East, he became a great social reformer. His discourses
are richly exemplary; vehemently lashing the vices of the
city and the vices af the clergy. There had been, indeed,
from the corrupt members of the Church of Constantinople,
considerable opposition to his elevation. Constantinople,
then the chief city of the world, the seat of the empire of
the East, the seat of the court, could not, of course, be supposed to be exempt from those sins especially peculiar to
great cities. The preacher, among those of his own profession, and those who lived only to amuse, found and satirized "such as sold their voices to their bellies"-a very
admirable description, by the bye, of many a preacher and
singer of succeeding times. Even Dean Milman has apparently judged Chrysostom somewhat coldly, because he
6




22   Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
carried into his pubic administration more of the manners
of the ascetic than seemed politic in a position of such importance. Gibbon, of course, cannot be expected to sympathize with the man whose loud thunders against the
scandals of the Church, or the vices of the city, ere long
brought him into immediate hostility with the indignations
alike of the chiefs of Church and State. It is probable that
such a temper as that possessed by the vehement orator of
St. Sophia was choleric; and in a state of affairs languishing beneath a plethora of ill-humors he attempted too rapid
a reform. The clergy were aroused, and sought to traduce
him to the people; but yet, the stainless grandeur of his
own life, so sombre and solemn, gave more vivid brilliancy
to his amazing orations. He soon found himself, however,
the centre of an immense conspiracy, to which also the emperor and empress lent themselves. It is possible, as Milman very distinctly reasons, that he permitted himself to
be too much influenced by the representations of his deacon
Serapion. Finally, however, he was cited to the celebrated
Synod of the Oak; forty-six charges were preferred against
him, which even the sceptical and sarcastic Gibbon, who
never misses his opportunity for snubbing and sneering at
a saint, says, " may justly be considered as a fair and unexceptional panegyric." Four times the citation was served
upon the bishop by the representatives of the Council; he
refused-as they considered, contumaciously-to intrust
either his life or reputation in their hands. While the
envenomed conclave was sitting, he continued preaching,
surrounded himself by the bishops of his party, and remained himself intrepid and unmoved. As we read of
these things, it is possible to move back, in imagination and
thought, to those agitated days. We are able to read
calmly until we remember that life and existence hung upon
the decision of the Council; but amidst the troubles of his
companions, some of whom were in tears, some unable to




On the Council of the Oak.              123
control or to confine their passion, humbly embracing, and
kissing his garments-" Brethren," said he, "sit down, and
do not weep; for me to live is Christ, and to die is gain;"
and then followed those magnificent, immortal words, we
presume not unknown to many of our readers; words falling from his lips while the sentence of banishment was being pronounced:
What can I fear? Will it be death? But you know that
Christ is my life, and that I shall gain by death. Will it be exile? But the earth and all its fulness is the Lord's. Will it be
the loss of wealth? But we brought nothing into the world,
and can carry nothing out. Thus all the terrors of the world
are contemptible in my eyes; and I smile at all its good things.
Poverty I do not fear. Riches I do not sigh for. Death I do not
shrink from; and life I do not desire, save only for the progress
of your souls. But you know, my friends, the true cause of my
fall. It is that I have not lined my house with rich tapestry.
It is that I have not clothed me in robes of silk. It is that I
have not flattered the effeminacy and sensuality of certain men,
nor laid gold and silver at their feet. But why need I say more?
Jezebel is raising her persecution, and Elias must fly; Herodias
is taking her pleasure, and John must be bound with chains;
the Egyptian wife tells her lie, and Joseph must be thrust into
prison. And so, if they banish me, I shall be like Elias; if they
throw me in the mire, like Jeremiah; if they plunge me into the
sea, like the prophet Jonah; if into the pit, like Daniel; if they
stone me, it is Stephen that I shall resemble; John the forerunner, if they cut off my head; Paul, if they beat me with stripes;
Isaiah, if they saw me asunder.
The emperor was called upon to ratify the decree of
deposition pronounced by the Council; and the too visible
and manifest reflections on the empress in the. passage we
have just cited, very likely made it more easy to him to
yield his sanction to the sentence. He was speedily arrested, in quite another fashion than that in which he was
hurried away to his stormy bishopric.  He was conveyed




124   Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
through the city by an imperial messenger, and landed,
after a short navigation, at the mouth of the Euxine. The
people of the city were astounded. During the Council of
the Oak, they had been comparatively mute and passive.
His arrest aroused the city to such a height of indignation
as has not often, in such an instance, been crowned with a
like success, even where its object has been devotion and
enthusiasm to greatness and goodness, in the presence of a
corrupt court. Very likely, not a little was added to the
intensity and wonder of the hour by the throb of an earthquake, which shook the city that very night; and, while it
created some ruin, seemed to be portentous of more. Even
the empress fell on her knees before the emperor, and besought him to recall the saintly but audacious orator. She
-who had certainly been involved deeply in the machinations against him, and, no wonder, when it is remembered
that she had not escaped either the satire or the vehemence
of this Knox of the Early Church-now protested herself
quite innocent of all the troubles which had come upon him,
declaring how she honored him, not only as her own bishop,
but particularly as the person who had baptized her children. Round the palace raged and roared the immense
waves of popular commotion; it was manifest that the public safety could only be purchased by the return of the minister, and messengers were sent to hasten his return; and
the historian of The Decline and Fall has, even without a
sneer, recited how the shores of Europe and Asia were illuminated, and the Bosphorus crowded with boats, to the
mouth of the Propontis, as the victorious people accompanied, with flaming torches, their archbishop from the port
to the cathedral. He, indeed, with an inflexibility, which,
of course, was part of his character, was loath to yield to
any prayers for his return, until his innocency should be
vindicated before a greater synod than that by which he
had been condemned, and his sentence legally reversed.




Return from  Banishment.             125
But the people were. impatient of delay, and the empress
also sent to compliment him, declaring that his return to
the city was more to her than the crown she wore; and,
in approved Oriental language, expressing how she had restored the head to the body, the pilot to the ship, the pastor to the flock. So he yielded, and was met on his way
by multitudes of the people, singing hymns to God for his
return. Thus they bore him to the cathedral, and no protest of his that he was under ecclesiastical censure, and had
no right there, was of any avail; they would have him
ascend the bishop's throne, and give his blessing and an
extempore sermon, which has been lost, though some who
heard it spoke of it as one of the most considerable of his
life. We know little more of it than that he spoke till the
people would allow him to speak no longer-borne down
and overwhelmed by their acclamations. What men of
might were the bishops of those distant days!
But auspicious as were the circumstances of the orator's
return, no reader can be much surprised to find that they
were not omens, either of long-continued peace or of a
happy close to his career. He soon vexed the empress
again. Her irritation against him in the days of the first
persecution grew out of his sharp rebukes of court fashions.
It soon seemed that he had even a stronger and more
personal ground for rebuke as a Christian minister.
A silver statue of the empress, Eudoxia, was to be solemnly
erected; it was to be elevated on a porphyry pillar in the
street, and not far from the spot where stood the Church
of St. Sophia. Its elevation and inauguration were accompanied not only by many shoutings, dances, and extravagancies, but by certain loose sports and pastimes, very
suitable to the idolatries of Manicheeanism or semi-paganism.
The provost of the city was a Manichiean and therefore
encouraged this kind of looseness. Chrysostom's speech
rushed out instantly in an unwise blaze of vehement invec



126   Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
tive. If readers, quietly perusing these pages of Church
history, think that a milder course of expostulation would
have been more wise, let it be conceded that Rome and the
world were only just then emerging from paganism-these
rites were of the very nature of paganism. In the latter
years of the reign of paganism in the empire, emperors had
demanded and received the blasphemy of an apotheosis.
Assuredly, however, the preacher could have had little
affection or respect for the woman herself. In one of his
sermons at this period, he drew the character of an ill
woman, affirming that no beast in the world, nor lion, nor
dragon, is comparable to a bad woman; and he enforced
and illustrated this by many illustrations from Scripture;
then, also, he turned the tables, and discoursed of the
qualities, nature, and actions of good women. The empress
was again roused to indignation. Again, from this circumstance, active machinations were formed against him; the
persecution reached a considerable height; the clergy who
sided with him  were seized, beaten, wounded, and imprisoned; the waters of the baptistery, where he officiated,
were stained with blood. Looked at from this point of
view, we see that it was the strong and malignant action
of paganism against a pure Christianity.
At last, power used its utmost insolence. It was determined by the court, and that part of the Church which
sided with it, that he should again be deposed and banished.
The city was in strange agitation, when suddenly a fire
broke out in his magnificent cathedral. The conflagration
spread, and left no part of the stately fabric untouched;
the triumphant flames rolled along the aisles, and some
choice pieces of antiquity are now probably lost to us, as
they perished in that great calamity, in which, however,
neither man nor beast was injured. The most monstrous
circumstance of all was, that Chrysostom  was himself
charged with setting fire to the church; his case was in



His Final Banishment.               127
deed hopeless; he had left it, he had bidden farewell to his
deaconesses; he had, in fact, withdrawn from the friendly
custody of his adherents, and was on his way, while his
church was in flames, to the Asiatic shore. The charge,
of course, was only one of the monstrous malignities of the
time, vexing the heart, and increasing the agony of the
persecuted man.  After his surrender and departure in
that ill night, he never saw Constantinople again. Henceforth he was a prisoner, wandering amidst places, if it
were possible to find them, where his friends would not
flock round him, to love and reverence. But his influence
continued during his absence. From his solitary cell among
the mountains of the Caucasus, although another bishop
had been enthroned in his place, he governed his church,
almost the whole of the Eastern Church. As he entered
towns and neighborhoods-as when he came upon the
frontiers of Cappadocia and Tauro-Cilesia-bishops, and
monks, and holy women met him  in great companies,
thronging round him with tears, and saying, that it were
better the sun should not shine in the heavens, than John
should be silenced. He carrie'd with him a wasted and
painful frame; subject to many and grievous, sicknesses;
he wandered, shifting from place to place, regarding woods
and rocks as his best security; and Tavernier, the traveller,
tells of a town in Armenia, two miles from which, in the
midst of a plain, rises a rugged rock, in the which was a
hewn chamber, and bed, table, and cupboard; and, after
some several steps cut in the rock, a little gallery leading
to another chamber; and the tradition of the Christians
of that place in the time of Tavernier was that here the
eloquent and saintly exile passed a hard winter. The
Bishop of Rome, Innocent, wrote to him, assuring him
of his affection, seeking thus to sustain him in his exile.
This was towards the close of his course. It was necessary
to destroy his influence, as well as to compel his exile. The




128   Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
soldiers were cruel to him, by the imperial edict, compelling
him to travel, when his wasted frame could bear no toil,
through violent rains and burning suns.
At last they came to Comana, a town in Cappadocia; he
was not permitted to lodge in the town, but hurried forward
till they reached the oratory of St. Basil, five or six miles
off. St. Basil had been Bishop of Comana, and died a
martyr under Maximian. The legend says that, the night
before, the martyr had appeared to Brother John and said,
"Be of good cheer, brother, to-morrow we shall be together! "
Moreover, the legend continues, the martyr had appeared
to the bishop of the place, bidding him " provide for brother
John on the morrow."  When, therefore, Chrysostom
reached the oratory, he requested of his guard that he
might stay there, but they hurried him forward. They had
not, however, gone more than three or four miles, when he
became so ill that they were obliged to return. As soon as
he entered, he called for the brethren to give him some
clean, white raiment. He stripped himself, and having put
on the clothing brought,him, he received the sacrament
from their hands, and then, having performed these last
duties for himself, especially the former, indicative, we
have often thought, of the saintly delicacy of his nature,
he concluded with his favorite doxology, "Glory be to
God for all things that happen! " sealed it with " Amen! "
gently stretched himself out and died.
The secrecy with which he had been carried from place
to place and the lonely desert spot where he breathed his
last were unable to prevent an amazing throng of holy
people from following him to his grave. He was buried in
the same tomb with the martyr Basil, who had met him
and told him to "be of good comfort."  His long life was
packed up into the small compass of fifty-two years. His
remains were not allowed to rest in the obscure spot in
which they were interred. When the Emperor Arcadius




His Second  Return.                 29
and his wife Eudoxia had passed away, and Theodosius the
younger reigned, who had been baptized by the banished
bishop, he was besought to permit the restoration of the
venerable remains; the request was instantly granted.
Once more the Bosphorus was alive and aglow on account
of Chrysostom; but this time with a more melancholy
pomp. As the body touched the shore, the young emperor
and empress, accompanied by their sisters, approached the
coffin; he kissed it; covered it with his imperial cloak,
and implored forgiveness from Heaven for the wrongs his
parents had inflicted on the holy ascetic; then the remains
were carried to their final resting-place. Envy and malice
had done their worst.
The memory of the holy preacher has never needed a
defender; the virulence and the vice of party and power
cast him down in his own day, but even then, and ever
after, his righteousness has shone forth as the light. It
has been said, the works of Chrysostom are the study of a
lifetime; they are voluminous — the tender bursts of his
immortal eloquence; if, occasionally, they seem to verge
toward inflation, they are nevertheless fine models of the
way in which Christian rhetoric may reach its most passionate harangue and declamation; while, better still, his
more calm and sober moods furnish wiser models of exposition than even the wonderful and manifold pages of Augustine. Nothing can be finer, more rich in Gospel sweetness, and more elevated in pathos, than the following passage on
THE SALVATION OF THE THIEF.
Would you learn another most illustrious achievement of the
Cross, transcending all human thought? The closed gate of
Paradise He has opened to day; for to-day He has brought into
it the thief.-Two most sublime achievements these! He both
opened Paradise and brought in the thief. He restored to him
the primeval fatherland of man, He let him back to the ancestral
6*




30o    Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
city. " To-day shalt thou be with me," He says, "in Paradise."
" What sayest thou? Thou art crucified and fixed to the Cross
with nails, and dost thou promise Paradise? How wilt thou
confer such a gift?" Paul, indeed, says "He was crucified in
weakness;" but hear what follows, " yet He liveth," he says, " by
the power of God;" and again, in another place, "My strength
is made perfect in weakness. Wherefore, now on the Cross," he
says, " I promise, that by this thou mayest know my power."
The spectacle itself is sad: look not at what the cross is in
itself, lest thou despair, but raise thine eye to the power of the
Crucified, that thy countenance may gleam with the radiance of
joy-for this end he shows to thee there his might.
For it was not when raising the dead, it was not when commanding the sea, it was not when chiding demons,-but when
crucified, nailed to the tree, insulted, spit upon, railed at,
mocked, tortured by all,-that he exerted His might in drawing
to himself the sinful soul of the thief.-See, on this side and
that, the effulgence of his power. He shook creation, rent the
rocks; and the heart of the thief-harder than rock, He made
softer than wax. " To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.
What sayest thou? The cherubim and the flaming sword guard
Paradise, and dost thou promise admission there to the thief?
Yea, is His reply, for I am the Lord of the cherubim, and I
have the power of flame and hell, and life and death. And
therefore, He says, " To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise."
The moment these celestial powers behold their Lord, they will
withdraw and give place.
Though no king would permit a thief or any one of his servants to occupy the same seat with him, and to ride thus into
the city, yet our gracious Lord did it. For at His entrance into
His holy fatherland, He brings in along with him the thief;
not dishonoring Paradise with the feet of the thief — far
be it from Him-but rather in this way conferring on it honor.
For it is the glory of Paradise to have such a Lord, so full of
power and love, as to be able to make a thief worthy of the joys
of Paradise.
For when he called publicans and harlots into the kingdom,
He did this not to dishonor the kingdom, but to confer on it the




The Eloquence of Chrysostom.             i3 I
highest renown, and to show that the Lord of the kingdom is
such as to be able to bestow on harlots and publicans an excellence so perfect, that they are seen to be worthy of the honors
and gifts that are there.
As, therefore, we admire a physician, when we see those who
are laboring under incurable diseases released from their maladies and restored to perfect health, so, beloved, admire Christ,
and be astonished that, laying His hand on those that are afflicted with incurable maladies of the soul, he has power to deliver them from the evils under which they groan, and make
those who have reached the utmost extremity of wickedness fit
for the kingdom of Heaven.
The eloquence of Chrysostom is of that rich order, both of
expression. and illustration, that, weighty and magnificent
as it is, it becomes apprehensible by every order of mind.
How stirring it must have been, in the ancient Church,
in such an epoch, to have heard him break forth in the following exclamation, in which he contrasts the lamentations
of the heathen over their dead, with the lights, and hymns,
and sacramental service, with which the early Christians
celebrated the obsequies of the departed.
THE BURIAL RITES OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS.
Tell me what mean the bright shining torches?  Do we
not accompany the dead as brave warriors? What mean the
hymns? Do we not praise God and render thanks to Him, that
He hath now crowned the departed? that He hath freed him
from his sufferings, and hath taken him from misery to Himself?
Consider what ye sing at that moment! " Return unto thy rest,
O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee."
Again: " The Lord is on my side; I will not fear;" and again:
" Thou art my hiding place from the trouble which encompasseth
me."  (Ps. cxvi. 7; cxviii. 6; xxxii. 7.) Consider what these
psalms mean. But ye heed them not and are drunken with
grief. Or, regard the mourning of others, that ye may find
therein consolation for your own. Ye say; " Return unto thy




I32    Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom.
rest, 0 my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee 1"
and yet ye weep. (Ps. xvi. 7.)
Sometimes, with a startling, beautiful ingenuity, he seized
upon some little passing incident, and made it beautifully
effective. Thus once, while he was preaching, they began
to light the lamps, and he exclaimed:
Let me beg you to arouse yourselves, and to put away that
sluggishness of mind. But why do I say this? At the very time
when I am setting forth before you the Scriptures, you are turning your eyes away from me, and are fixing them upon the lamps,
and upon the man who is lighting the lamps. Oh I of what a
sluggish soul is this the mark, to leave the preacher and turn to
him. I, too, am kindling the fire of the Scriptures,; and upon
my tongue there is burning a taper, the taper of'sound doctrine.
Greater is this light, and better than the light that is yonder.
For, unlike that man, it is no wick steeped in oil, that I am
lighting up. I am rather inflaming souls, moistened with piety,
by the desire of heavenly discourse.
In this age of gorgeous household architecture, when the
saints in many a neighborhood are content to dwell in their
ceiled houses, while the house of the Lord lies waste, perhaps some may read the following with pleasure:
THE PALACE OF ABRAHAM.
Paul, when exhorting the rich not to be high-minded, taught
them the way to guard against it. They were to examine the
uncertain and treacherous nature of riches.  Wherefore he
said: "Nor trust in uncertain riches.  He is not rich who
possesseth much; but he who distributeth much. Abraham was
rich, but loved not his wealth; he regarded not the house of
this man, nor the substance of that man; but, going forth, he
looked round for the stranger and the needy, that he might
succor poverty; that he might entertain the wayfarer. He
covered not his ceilings with gold, but fixing his tent near the
oak, he was contented with the shade of its leaves. Yet so




Illustrations of Eloquence.             13 3
bright was his dwelling, that angels were not ashamed to tarry
with him; for they sought not splendor of abode, but purity of
soul. Let us, my beloved, imitate Abraham, and dispense our
goods to those who are in need. Rudely prepared was his
habitation, but more splendid than the halls of kings. No king
ever entertained angels; but Abraham, sitting under the oak, apd
having his tent pitched, was accounted worthy of that honor.
Neither was lie thus distinguished on account of the lowliness
of his dwelling; but lie enjoyed this gift because of the purity
of his soul, and the treasures therein deposited. Let us not
then adorn our houses, but rather our souls. Is it not a disgrace
thoughtlessly to adorn our walls with marble, but to neglect the
necessities of our Christian brethren. Of what use to thee, 0
man! is thy palace? Canst thou take it up and depart with it?
But thy soul thou canst take up entire, and carry along with
thee. Lo! now that so great peril hath come upon us, let our
palaces aid us; let them deliver us from the impending danger,
but they cannot. And ye are my witnesses, who, leaving your
palaces desolate, and flying to the wilderness, shun them as
snares and nets. Let riches now assist us; but the present is no
season for them. If the influence of riches be insufficient to appease the anger of man, much less will be their power before the
divine and implacable seat of judgment. If gold now availeth
us nothing against an irritated and wrathful man, its power will
entirely vanish before the displeasure of God, who needeth not
gold. Let us build houses to dwell in, not to make of them a
vain display. That which exceedeth our necessities is superfluous
and useless. Bind on a sandal larger than thy foot, and thou
wilt not be able to endure it. It will impede thy walking.
Thus also a house greater than is necessary impedeth thy passage to heaven. Wouldst thou raise vast and splendid habitations? I forbid them not; but let them not be on earth. Build
tabernacles in heaven,-tabernacles imperishable. Why ravest
thou about transitory things, things which remain on earth?
Nothing is more deceitful than wealth; to-day with thee, tomorrow against thee. It armeth on all sides the eyes of the
envious. It is a hostile warrior in thine own tent, an enemy in
thine own house; and ye who possess it are my witnesses, who
in every mode are burying and concealing it.




134    Pulpit Monograms:  Okrysostom.
The words and sermons of Chrysostom, like those of our
own Reeves or Brookes, are among the little historiettes
which bring vividly before us the manners, and vices, and
people of the cities in which he preached. One of his biographers says, that "the emperor, the commissioners, bishops, and prefects, are by his genius preserved like pieces of
sea-weed in amber."  And, running my eye down several
passages, I could easily fill pages with illustrations of this;
but my memoir of this illustrious Father has already extended to too great a length, and I must close my quotations with a noble passage poured forth soon after his brief
restoration to Constantinople:
HIS RETURN FROM EXILE.
Blessed be the Lord! I said it when I departed. On my
return, I repeat it: and I ceased not from saying it in my absence. You remember that on the last day I recalled to you the
image of Job, and his words, "Blessed be the name of the
Lord forever." It is the pledge that I left with you as I was
departing; it is the thanksgiving that I bring back to you.
The situations are different. The hymn of gratitude is the
same. In exile I was always blessing. Returned from exile I
am blessing still. Winter and summer work to the same end,
the fertility of the earth. Blessed be God, who allowed me to
go forth; blessed again and again, in that he has called me
back to you. Blessed be God who unchains the tempest: blessed be God who stills it and has made a calm.... Through
all the diversity of time the temper of the soul is the same;
and the pilot's courage has been neither relaxed by the calm nor
overwhelmed by the tempest.... See what the snares of
my enemies have done; they have increased affection, and
kindled regret for me, and have won me six hundred admirers.
At other times it is our own body alone who love me. To-day,
the very Jews do me honor;... it is not the enemies that
I thank for their change of mind, but God, who has turned
their injustice to my honor. The Jews crucified the Lord, and
the world is saved: yet it is not the Jews that I thank, but the




His Faithfulness in Preaching.             I35
Crucified. May th'ey see that which our God sees; the peace,
the glory that their snares have been worth to me. At other
times, the church alone used to be filled. Now the public
square is become the church. All heads are as immovable as
if they were one. All are silent, though no one orders silence.
All are contrite, too. There are games in the circus to-day: but
no one assists at them. All flow to the temple like a torrent.
The torrent is your multitude. The river's murmur is your
voices, that rise up to heaven, and tell of the love you bear to
your Father. Your prayers are to me a brighter crown than all
the diadems of earth.
On the whole, none of the great names of those early
ecclesiastical ages wins from us more admiration and affetion than that of this illustrious man. Great as he was as
an orator, he shines not merely by the splendors of his
rhetoric; indeed, he steadily resisted the growing, and too
prevalent idea, that the Christian teacher should be a mere
orator. He reproved the growing error of his times, a passion for public discourses, and the disposition of auditors,
as he says, "to conduct themselves like spectators at the
heathen games."  He constantly reproved the disposition
to applaud, and frequently, when it broke forth in hotiage
to himself, he exclaimed, " The church is not a theatre, in
which we should listen to be amused; of what avail to me
are those shouts-this applause, this tumult?  The praise
I seek is, that you show forth in your works the things I
have spoken to you." Applause in the church, very common in his day, he strongly denounced, as transferring to
that hallowed place the laws of the theatre.  He set a very
high standard for the Christian minister: "Let him," said
he, " not approach the pulpit who can neither combat the
enemies of our faith, nor bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ, nor cast down vain imaginations."  When he spoke of the preachers in his time
as going about rather after the fashion of harlots, " to seek




136   Pulpit Monographs: Chrysostom,
the favor of the people, than to instruct them," it is not
surprising that rebuke so vehement and indignant brought
down upon his head the condemnation of his own holiness.
Immense as was his power while living, and greater still
and more extensive as his fame has been since his death,
Chrysostom does not flatter the theory of those who demand a grand and imposing figure for the loftiest oratory.
He was low of stature; his head was big, but entirely bald;
his forehead large and full of wrinkles; still more singular,
his eyes were not prominent, but deep-set, sunk inwards,
though they are described as amiable and affectionate, nor
does his manner seem to be that of which we speak as the
"flood of eloquence"-it was the grandeur of expression,
the holiness and purity of conception, united, of course, to
a voice of considerable flexibility and strength of tone;nor does he seem to have attempted to inflame the people
by much action. Distinctness,-we gather to have been a
power with him; and in the old church, either of Antioch
or Constantinople, we do not find it difficult to conceive
the quiet power of his manner, expressing the delightful
and graceful graciousness of many a paragraph, or the
forefinger of the right hand elevated till it clenched the
argument; or, as was more common with him, expressing
some vehement and indignant sentence by pressing it on
the palm  of the left hand. He had, as is abundantly
shown, great copiousness and plenty of words, infinite
sweetness, and an impetus of soul and nervous efficacy,
which gave material strength to all his speech. Thus, in
every point of view, he compels our attention; we feel
that we are not merely with a man great in his own hour,
or age, or city. He had, in a very eminent degree, the talents of facility conjoined to perspicuity. We could trust
him not merely when a multitude has to be commanded,
but when a text has to be elucidated. Meantime, he also
had, in a very eminent degree, that profound intensity of




Compared with Paul.               I37
character, which, we are persuaded, is the root of all truest
oratory, which itself is the organ of faith, and which, as
in this illustrious instance, makes the life a high and noble
consistency. Writers have, ere now, compared Augustine
to St. John, Chrysostom to St. Paul; the correctness of
the comparison is not, at first sight, most distinctly recognized; yet the more we look upon the men, the more we
see this is their order; and much in the history of the
mind and life of Chrysostom suggests comparison with
him  whose writings he most dearly loved and closely
studied. Of course, we must not push the comparison too
far; Paul was an infinite man. WTe have said already
Chrysostom is the study of a lifetime; our knowledge of
his life and works is sufficient for the compilation of this
brief, and we trust not unuseful paper, from  popular
sources. Those of my hearers who desire to know more,
may consult the Paris edition of Bernard Montfauqon, a
Benedictine monk, in thirteen folio volumes. There is another, the Eton Saville edition, in eight folio volumes. We
only mention these, to justify the expression that this
great Father would take a life to know him well.




V.
Mediaeval and  Post-Mediaeval
Preachers.'v^'-]ITH the preaching and the preachers of the Middle Ages most readers have but a very slight
acquaintance; and many, indeed, fancy that the
~1((~%) pulpit and its powers were the birth of the Reformation, but this is far from true; no doubt, the stories
of the pulpit of those darker times are most inaccessible;
they are in other languages, and buried in the libraries of
colleges and monasteries, or they are scattered through the
hugh masses and incidental references of miscellaneous
church literature; but could they be rescued from their obscurity they would tell a very wonderful tale of the power
of speech in those rude times. The accomplished and lamented Dr. Neale has done this work in a slight, interesting, and popular book,* and with this may be mentioned
another even more interesting work, dealing with less
known names,t by a scholar whose taste leads him into the
* Medice:al Preachers and Mediceval Preaching. A Series of.Extracts, translated from the Sermons of the Middle Ages, with Notes
and an Introduction. By Rev. J. M. Neale, M.A., Warden of Sackville College.
Post-Mediceval Preachers: Some Account of the Most Celebrated
(138)




Pulpit Liqht in Dark Ages.            I39
study of all strange folk-lore-and truly these anecdotes of
preachers belong to a kind and branch of folk-lore-Mr.
Baring-GouJd. Anecdotes of the pulpit, of the monastery,
and the'Catholic Church are found strewn along the pages of
those immense and insane piles of manifold reading and
learning, The Mores Catholici, and the Comnpitum of Mr.
Kenelm Digby, but there is no well-wrought history of those
times; and he who would write it must spend his days and
nights for a long time among dusty piles of church antiquities, and be a very Bollandist in industry and patience.
As these lectures are not a course upon Church History,
so neither are they intended to be a complete review of the
history of pulpit eloquence; in leaving, therefore, the
earlier ages for the medieeval, I do not feel called upon to
trace the distinct links of instruction which held together
the doctrines and teachings of those times; specially when
barbarian hordes were ploughing up all the ancient landmarks of civilization inEurope. In many lonely cloistered
places the truth of form and the truth of feeling survived.
The sermons of the venerable Bede are known to us; they
are short and popular. We must also, in any measure of
prejudice we may feel against the follies and falsehoods and
tyrannous cruelties of the Papacy, be wise to distinguish
between the men and the ages. Dr. Neander's invaluable
Memorials of the Christian Life and his Light shining in Dark
Places will show you that in rude times the "fire the Redeemer came to kindle on the earth, among the human race,
never ceased to burn, either with a clearer or a duller flame;
that rude stock of humanity communicated its rudeness to
the chosen to be trained by it, and in virtue of human
freedom, it could be trained in no other way. " Christianity
was propagated in afew intelligible doctrines which verified themPreachers of the 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries; with Outlines of
their Sermons and Specimens of their Style. By S. Baring-Gould,
M.A.




140   Mediceval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
selves as the power of God in the souls of men; for the true
dignity of man does not consist in the harmonious cultivation of all the moral and spiritual tendencies of his nature,
but in the Divine received into the interior of the soul." *
There was darkness enough; we do know they were
dark ages; I especially allude to the period from the sixth
to the twelfth centuries; but I suppose that the pulpit had
its place in those times, and from the twelfth the light began to stream with a steady clearness, and even to blaze.
That attention was given to the art of reading in public
and preaching, even in the earliest times, is evident from
the book De Institutione Clericorum, by Rabanus Maurus,
afterwards Archbishop of Mentz; this work was written in
819, but Dr. Maitland, in his work on the Dark Ages, in
quoting it, shows that for much of it Maurus was indebted
to Isidor of Seville, who wrote more than two hundred
years before; but volumes might easily be filled with extracts illustrating the faith and the mental and the spiritual
power of those, and the subsequent times, evidenced in the
words and the works of the pulpit, referring more generally
to the method of the pulpit of those times; from all that
I know of it, I am sorry to agree with Dr. Neale when he
affirms that there was an immense and intuitive knowledge
of Scripture possessed by those preachers, setting them, in
these particulars, far above the preachers of our own or of
any times since the Reformation; there was a perfect
affluence of Scripture reference in them very instructive;
as Mr. Gould has said, " they did not make long extracts,
but with one light sweep brushed up a whole bright string
of sparkling Scripture instances," and he gives the following extract, we know not from whom it is taken:'AMANY ARE CALLED, BUT FEW ARE CHOSEN."
"Noah preached to the old world for a hundred years the
* Neander's Memorials of the Christian Life, &c., p. 415.




The Many Called,-Few Chosen.   14I
coming in of the flood, and how many were saved when the
world was destroyed? Eight souls, and among them was the
reprobate Ham. Many were called, but only eight were chosen.
" When God would rain fire and brimstone on the cities of the
plain, were ten saved? No! only four, and of these four one
looked back. Many were called, but three were chosen.
"Six hundred thousand men, besides women and children,
went through the Red Sea, the like figure whereunto Baptism
doth even now save us. The host of Pharaoh and the Egyptians
went in after them, and of them not one reached the further
shore. And of these Israelites, who passed.through the sea out
of Egypt, how many entered the promised land, the land flowing
with milk and honey? Two only-Caleb and Joshua. Manysix hundred thousand-were called, few, even two, were chosen.
All the host of Pharaoh, a shadow of those who despise and set
at nought the Red Sea of Christ's blood, perish without exception; of God's chosen people, image of His Church, only few
indeed are saved.
" How many multitudes teemed in Jericho, and of them how
many escaped when Joshua encamped against the city? The
walls fell, men and women perished. One house alone escaped,
known by the scarlet thread, type of the blood of Jesus, and
that was the house of a harlot.
"Gideon went against the Midianites with thirty-two thousand
men. The host of Midian was without number, as the sand of
the sea-side for multitude. How many of these thirty-two
thousand men did Go'd suffer Gideon to lead into victory? Three
hundred only. Many, even thirty-two thousand men, were
called; three hundred chosen.
"Type and figure this of the many enrolled into the Church's
army, of whom so few go on to'fight the good fight of faith!'
"Of the tribes of Israel twelve men only.were chosen to be
Apostles; and of those twelve, one was a traitor, one doubtful,
one denied his Master, all forsook Him.
"How many rulers were there among the Jews when Christ
came: but one only went to Him, and he he by night!
" How many rich men were there when our blessed Lord walked




142   Mediceval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
this earth; but one only ministered unto Him, and he only in His
burial!
" How many peasants were there in the country when Christ
went to die; but one only was deemed worthy to bear His cross,
and he bore it by constraint.
" How many thieves were there in Judea when Christ was there;
but one only entered Paradise, and he was converted in his last
hour!
" How many centurions were there scattered over the province;
and one only saw and believed, and he by cruelly piercing the
Saviour's side!
" How many harlots were there in that wicked and adulterous'generation; but one only washed His feet with tears and wiped
them with the hair of her head I Truly' Many are called, but
few are chosen.'"
There can be no doubt that this is earnest scriptural
preaching, and if the Bible is the power of God, it may
surely be expected that such preaching would be with
power.
I am  not concerned to recite all the madness of the
preaching friars, the races of men who wandered over
Europe with the rosary of St. Dominic, or the cord of St.
Francis, nor do I desire in this lecture to narrate their
achievements, but without doubt they do sufficiently affirm
the power of speech and of preaching. Dr. Milman has
shown how their popular eloquence became a new power,
reviving the languid faith, and rekindling the dying ardor
or superstition of the Church of the Middle Ages. Wondrously from burning lips, the enthusiasm spread; the
story of the preaching orders is a wonderful chapter in the
romance of the pulpit, and if we smile at, and even scorn
the fanaticism of some, it is impossible to forbear interest
in the magical effects of the harangues of St. Anthony of
Padua, and the spell of holiness, which even now seems to
attract, in the life and words of St. Bonaventura: we may




Jesus gives the flavor to Mediceval Sermons. 143
laugh, indeed, when the first preaches in sober seriousness
-and not, like his namesake St. Antonio of Vieyra, -in
satire to "the fishes who approached the shore, and listened to him, devoutly bowing down their heads, and
moving very gently." * But it is impossible, I think, to
misunderstand what Bonaventura intended when Thomas
Aquinas asked him whence he received the force and unction
he displayed in all his works, and he pointed to a crucifix
hanging on the wall of his cell and exclaimed, " It is that
image which dictates al my words to me;" he felt the presence
of Christ in his lonely cell, it wrought in him, it wrought
through him, it was the passion of his Redeemer which
moved his soul, his life, his pen.
Christ, His name, His works, did give unquestionably a
deep and constant pathos to the words of many of these
preachers; many of them seem to say, with the great Bernard, "Jesus; allthe food of the soul is dry, if it be not
mingled with this oil; is insipid, if it be not preserved
with this salt; if you write, I have no relish unless I there
read of Jesus; if you dispute or confer, I have no relish
unless in them I hear the name of Jesus."  Thus came
their discourses to be so eminently Scriptural; thus every
text, every incident became hallowed and perfumed with
the name of Jesus. There is a fragment of a sermon by
GUARuc of Igniac, a friend of St. Bernard, showing how
we ought to see Christ in all the histories of the Old Testament, and the very text strikes the note of the whole:
"THEY TOLD JACOB, SAYING, JOSEPH IS YET ALIVE."
And they told Jacob, saying, Joseph is yet alive, You will perhaps say to me, It is very well; but what is it to the point?
What has Joseph to do with the joy of this day -with the
glory of the resurrection of CHRIST? It is Easter; and are you
still setting before us Lent fare? Our soul is an hungered for
the Paschal Lamb, for which it has been preparing itself by so
*See The Life of St. Anthony of Padua. Paris, 1660.




144  lediceval and Post-Medieval PJrhers.
long a fast. Our heart burns within us for JESUS; we desire
JESUS; if we do not as yet merit to see Him, at least we would
hear of Him. We hunger for JESUs, not for Joseph; for the
SAVIOUR, not for the dreamer; for the LORD of heaven, not of
Egypt; not for him who fed the body, but for Him Who feeds
the soul that is hungry. In this, at least, your discourse may
help us, by causing that for Him after Whom we already hunger
we'should hunger still more. For we read "Blessed are they
that hunger, for they shall bejilled."  When we hear we hunger
the more; for he who commends a feast irritates hunger. If
we were to hear of JESUS, we should be "mnade to hear of joy
and gladness, that the bones which were broken may rejoice."
Broken they were with our Lent affliction and grief, yet still
more with the sorrow of His Passion; but they shall rejoice at
the tidings of His Resurrection. Why, then, are you setting
before us your Joseph, when we have no relish for anything of
which you speak except JESus; especially to-day, when the
Paschal Lamb is eaten, when Christ our Passover is sacrificed for
us? My brethren, I have given you an egg or a nut; break the
shell and you will find the meat.  Let Joseph be investigated,
and JESUS will be discovered-the Paschal Lamb after whom
ye hunger; who has so much the more sweetness in the eating
by how much there is more abstruseness in the hiding, and diligence in the seeking, and difficulty in the finding. You say to
me, What has Joseph to do with CHRIST; what has the history
which I proposed to do with this day? Much in every way;
-call to mind the story, and the loving kindness of the Mystery will reveal itself of its own accord, if only ye have JESUS
as the interpreter, who to-day, rising from the letter that killeth,
speaks to His own in the way, and opens to them the Scriptures.
Surely such passages show how sweet were the meditations of many of these men amidst their cloisters. They
desired to speak plainly; it was only in the latter part of
that long, and, to'us, dark age, that the reproofs of ANTHONY of Vieyra became necessary; that great preacher
says, and surely his language may stand as a rebuke to
many of our modern follies in this way:




Mediceval Bathos Reproved.               I45
Let us learn from the heaven the way in which we are to arrange our matter and our words. How ought our words to be?
Like the stars. The stars are very distinct and very clear. So
should be the style of sermons; very clear and very distinct.
And have no fear, let n this account it should appear low and
vulgar; the stars, clear ad distinct as they are, are most lofty.
Style may be very clear nd very lofty; so clear that those who
are ignorant may undstand it; and so lofty that those who
are wise may have much to find out in it. The countryman
finds in the stars rules for his husbandry, the mariner for his
navigation, and the mathematician for his observations and
judgments. So that the countryman and the sailor, who can
neither read nor write, understand the stars; and the mathematician, who has read every book that was ever written, does not
obtain to the complete understanding of the constellations. So
a sermon might be; stars that all can see and very few can
measure.
Yes, Father; but this way of preaching is not "the cultivated style." I wish it were. This unfortunate style which is
now-a-days the fashion is called cultivated by those who wish
to honor it, and obscure by those who condemn it. But even
the latter do it too much honor.... Is it possible that we
are Portuguese, and hear a preacher in Portuguese, and cannot
understand what he means? As there is a lexicon for Greek
and a Calepinus for Latin, so we want a vocabulary for the pulpit. I could wish one, at least, for proper names: for our cultivated preachers have unbaptized the saints, and every author
whom they quote is an enigma. Thus they speak of the Penitent Sceptre! thus of the Evangelistic Apelles! thus of the
Eagle of Africa! of the Honeycomb of Clairvaux! of the Purple
of Bethlehem! of the Mouth of Gold!  And this they call
quoting! They say that the Penitent Sceptre means David, as
if no other sceptre ever felt penitence; that the Evangelistic
Apelles is St. Luke; the Honeycomb of Clairvaux, St. Bernard;
the Eagle of Africa, St. Augustine; the Purple of Bethlehem,
St. Jerome; the Mouth of Gold, St. Chrysostom. But a man
might take it another way, and think that the Purple of Bethlchem was Ierod; the Eagle of Africa, Scipio: the Mouth of
7




146   Mediceval and Post-Medicval Preachers.
Gold, Midas. If there were an advocate who thus quoted Bartholus or Baldus, would you trust your cause in his hands? If
there were a man who thus spoke in conversation, would you
not consider him a fool? That, then, which is folly in conversation, why should it be wisdom in the pulpit?
This reminds us of a well-known anecdote of a young
preacher, or composer of sermons, who was reading a discourse before Charles Simeon for the purpose of obtaining
his approbation.  He reached the following passage:
"Amidst the tumult and the ecstacy of the children of
Israel, the son of Amram stood unmoved."  "The son of
Amram?" exclaimed Simeon, "the son of Amram, who
was he?"  "Why, sir, I meant Moses."  "Then if you
meant Moses, why not say Moses?"
The spirit of clearness and familiarity in these preachers
led them to illustrate their discourse by stories, homely
proverbs, and similes; their business was to win their way
to the hearts of the poor; this is best illustrated by Mr.
Gould; some of the preachers from whom he cites, and
whose names were quite unknown to me, had in the pulpit,
the fancy of Hans Andersen; it is impossible to divest the
mind of the feeling of an affectionate spirit pervading all
they said, they desired to rouse, inform, and comfort, and
they succeeded. In our day genius has been too proud to
condescend to the pulpit, or, even there, to the poor; or if
the poor are condescended to, it is in mistaken language,
as if they lacked the power of the appreciation of the beautiful, the tender, and the true. Some, it is true, stooped
to buffoonery, they loved to reproduce, in coarse and
homely guise, the manner of Elsop; like JOHN RAui,.
FRANCIS COSTER followed quite another style, and while I
will not commend, or give my sanction to it, any more than
I would the deliverance of one of Mrs. Gatty's parables
from the pulpit, I think, in a day when the pulpit was
everything in the way of teaching, when there was no




Hans Anderson in the Pulpit.              147
press, no books, there must have been those to whom such
lessons must have been very charming, touching as they
did the superstitious fancies of the time. Francis Coster
was born in 1531, and died in 1619, aged eighty-eight years.
Mr. Gould says, in introducing the story:
The stories Coster tells are very unequal. There is one delightful mediaeval tale reproduced by him which I shall venture
to relate, as it is full of beauty, and inculcates a wholesome lesson. There is a ballad in German on the subject, to be found
in Pocci and G6res' Fest Kalender, which has been translated
into English and published in some Roman children's books.
The story was, I believe, originated by Anthony of Sienna,
who relates it in his Chronicle of the Dominican Order; and it
was from him that the preachers and writers of the Middle
Ages drew the incident. With the reader's permission I will
tell the story in my own words, instead of giving the stiff and
dry record found in Coster.
There was once a good priest who served a church in Lusitania; and he had two pupils, little boys, who came to him daily
to learn their letters, and to be instructed in the Latin tongue.
Now these children were wont to come early from home, and
to assist at mass, before ever they ate their breakfast or said
their lessons. And thus was each day sanctified to them, and
each day saw them grow in grace and in favor with God and
man.
These little ones were taught to serve at the Holy Sacrifice,
and they performed their parts with care and reverence. They
knelt and responded, they raised the priest's chasuble and kissed
its hem, they rang the bell at the sanctus and the elevation; and
all they did they did right well.
And when mass was over they extinguished the altar lights;
and then, taking their little loaf and can of milk, retired to a
side chapel for their breakfast.
One day the elder lad said to his master" Good father, who is the strange child who visits us every
moring when we break our fast? "
"I know not," answered the priest. And when the children




148   Medicaval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
asked the same question day by day, the old man wondered,
and said, " Of what sort'is he? "
" He is dressed in a white robe without seam, and it reacheth
from his neck to his feet."
" Whence cometh he?"
" He steppeth down to us suddenly, as it were, from the altar.
And we asked him to share our food with us: and that he doth
right willingly every morning."
Then the priest wondered yet more, and he asked, " Are there
marks by which I should know him, were I to see him? "
"Yes, Father; he hath wounds in his hands and feet; and as
we give him our food the blood flows forth and moistens the
bread in his hands, till it blushes like a rose."
And when the master heard this, a great awe fell upon him,
and he was silent awhile. But at last he said gravely, " 0 my
sons, know that the Holy Child, Jesus, hath been with you.
Now when He cometh again, say to Him,'Thou, 0 Lord, hast
breakfasted with us full often, grant that we brothers and our
dear master may sup with Thee.' 
And the children did as the priest bade them. -The Child
Jesus smiled sweetly, as they made the request, and replied,
" Be it so; on Thursday next, the day of My Ascension, ye shall
sup with Me."
So when Ascension Day arrived, the little ones came very early
as usual, but they brought not their loaf, nor the tin of milk.
And they assisted at mass as usual; they vested the priest, they
lighted the tapers, they chanted the responds, they rang the bell.
But when the Pax Vobiscum had been said they remained on
their knees, kneeling behind the priest. And so they gently
fell asleep in Christ, and they, with their dear master, sat down
at the marriage supper of the Lamb.
Without some such illustrations I could not give an adequate idea of the pulpit of the Middle Ages, for the preachers recited to the people stories and traditions recalled from
refectory lectures and by kitchen fires of monasteries;
many probably, the mere invention of the cloisters, but I
hope not always the inventions of designing men, merely




The Frater Diabolus.             149
to delude and hold in the snares of designing priestcraft.
They all seemed, priest and laity, to live on such free and
easy terms with the world of souls; and nervous, spiritual,
and uninformed natures, wholly innocent of all scientific
principles, having no proclivities towards inductive reasoning, that I am sure I cannot undertake to say to what extent they did or did not believe in their own tales. Those
tales varied like national myths, they seem to have been
not so much transmitted from monastery to monastery, as
to have been indigenous to many. Some of them very likely
were always intended to be a kind of scarcely veiled parable;
one of the best known, is that which passed into the Magnum Speculum, from the pages of St. Antoninus of Florence. It is the story of a great preacher, and the fame he
acquired, and who at last he turned out to be-and the
most cautious and cultivated minds need not disdain the
evident lesson the story tells. A great preacher was expected at a certain priory church, but at the very hour
when the people expected his discourse he fell sick-preachers were not more ready on the spur of the moment then,
than now-the prior was distressed, and knew not what to
do; when at that very moment there came to the door of
the priory a strange brother in the garb of the order. He
saw the distress of the prior and inquired into its cause.
" Ah! " said he very piously, " you must trust in the Lord;
I hope that God by me will supply this want of yours.
Let me enter into your library for a few moments. You
need not toll the bell longer than usual, I shall be ready."
"Thanks! thanks! " said the prior, as he led the strange
brother into the library. Arrived there, he turned over the
Sumnia of St. Thomas, and the works of Albert the Great;
and, in a few moments he was ready; the strange Frater
was in the pulpit; it was indeed the Frater Diabolus. He
talked wondrously on the joys of paradise, and the pains
of hell, and the sin and the misery of the world; and he




5o   Mediceval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
moved all present to tears and compunction by his eloquence; but there was a holy man present who knew him,
and while he wondered, he waited to mark the result.
After the sermon he approached the Frater Diabolus.
"Oh! thou accursed one," said he, "vile deceiver, how
couldst thou take this office upon thee." And, adjured so,
Frater Diabolus replied, " Think you my discourse would
prevent a single soul from  seeking eternal damnation?
Not so; the most finished eloquence and profoundest learning are worthless beside one drop of unction, there was no
unction in my sermon. You see how I have moved the
people, but they will forget all, they will practise nothing,
and hence all the words they have heard, will serve to their
greater judgment;" with which words Frater Diabolus
vanished. As much as we insist, it was insisted in those
days, that the preacher should be a builder, not of words,
but of life and of character, nor did he disdain to talk
with peasants by the wayside, with children on the grassy
knoll, or rustic laborers following the plough. One of them
said, " A spiritual pastor, like a real shepherd, should carry
bread and salt in a bag, that is the bread of good life and
discretion; he should use water for drink, that is, living
water; he should eat green herbs, that is, have provision
of good examples; he should keep a dog to guard the
sheep, that is, a learned tongue; he should wear coarse
raiment, and a leathern girdle, indicating that he despises
earthly pleasures and subdues the flesh; he should sleep
under a low roof, implying that he has no remaining city
but sighs after Heaven; he should have straw for his bed,
as significative of living an austere life; and trees and
leaves for sheets in heat, representing the words of Scripture which are his covering and defence; he should have
a crook for a staff, as implying his dependence on the cross;
a pipe to play on to collect the flock, denoting the voice of
praise and prayer; and a sling for the wolf, to signify the




Thie Great Friar Preachers.           I51
justice with which which he may put to flight the deviL"*
I know of no work which does any justice to the pulpit
of the mediaeval times, or, indeed, to the history of the
pulpit of any age; the best is that by Dr. Lenz,t but it is
brief and quite insufficient; and innumerable names find
no mention at all, although occupying a large share of the
attention of their times. What do we now know of BERTHOLD
of Ratisbon-of the age of Frederick II. of Germany,
whose tomb is still, I believe, to be seen at Ratisbon with
its inscription, "Bertholdus Magnus Predicator?" We
only know that sixty, and sometimes a hundred thousand
persons assembled, hoping to see him, or to hear his voice;
and that still, in Bohemia, a field near Glatz, where he used
to preach, is called the field of Berthold to this day.
Great preachers in those ages were regarded with the enthusiasm which waits on great conquerors-they received
the highest honors, and wealthy cities contended for the
honor of hearing them. They were often great and marvellous missionaries too, and a halo of splendor and holy
mysticism surrounds the memory of such men as St. ADALBERT, the Apostle of Prussia, or JOHN CoRVINO, the missionary to the Tartars, or St. GALL; the words of such men
were so persuasive and eloquent, that voices, it is said, were
heard over the tops of the tall mountains, and mournful
elegies through the woods and forests in the silence of the
night, as if the broken idols were wailing amidst the acclamations of the people who had cast them into the fire, and
into the water, at the call of the preachers. Such also
were the effects which in later years followed the words of
the great preachers of the Middle Ages, as they appeared
in the rude or rich cathedrals, or the market-places, and
great broadways of French, Italian, or German cities  It
*Bcchius-The Book of Golden Conformity, quoted in Compitum.
tGeschichte der Christlichen Homiletik, &c., von C. H. G. Lenz.




i 5 2  Medieval and Post Mediceval Preachers.
was so with BERNARDINE of Sienna. At Bologna, it is said,
all the dice tables were brought out and thrown into a vast
fire in the centre of the square; and after preaching in
Florence, in the great square of Santa Croce, the listeners
erected a monument on the spot, on which was inscribed
only the name of Jesus; and it was so with ANTHONY of
Padua, a name associated in our memorywith much superstition; but who, after preaching in Pavia, burnt, in one
fire, objects of licentiousness to the value of two thousand
pieces of gold; and, after his Sermons in Sienna, Modena,
Perugia, committed to the flames immense piles of what
were termed the Castles of Satan: books-Ovid, Martial,
Boccaccio-and cards, ornaments and treatises of magic
and necromancy. It-is marvellous to hear of twenty thousand persons assembling to hear him; rising by night and
hastening by the light of lanterns to secure good places in
the field in which he was to preach; while the shops of the
cities were closed and all business suspended. We smile
at it, and perhaps do not regret that we have nothing like
it now, or only by very remote resemblance; but surely it
illustrates the wonderful power of the preacher. These
preachers attacked and reformed the vices of the ages.
Their sermons, like those of SAVONAROLA, combated the
vices and the follies of the times-indecent ceremonies, ridiculous dresses, the painting of the face, the decorating
the hair-in many ways they had a faithfulness which would
finish the popularity of a great preacher now.
It will be very possible, in referring to the history of the
pulpit of the Middle Ages, to find much to condemn or to
take exception to; but the pulpit was a great power, and it
was a power because it aimed at the consciences of men.
THOMAS A KEMPIS was surnamed the "Hammer," from the
force with which he struck the hearts of sinners. PrTmn
NERI preached a sermon on non-residence before Pope
Gregory, and thirty bishops, it is said, started to their




The Great Friar Preachers.            53
episcopates the next day; they were strange men, no doubt,
often carried out of themselves, even unto very questionable
speeches, as ST. FRANCIS, who commenced a sermon at
Spoletto, " Angels, men, devils;" bad taste, and we wonder
at it, but the effect produced by the sermon was not less
marvellous; the preacher, we are told, found the whole
city rent and confused, torn with dissensions and enmities,
and all parties by this sermon were reunited in love, and a
band of sanguinary robbers transformed into pacific and
blessed men.  Time would quite fail to tell of these
preachers;-of FrA Rocco, a celebrated Dominican preacher,
a sort of spiritual Joe Miller; he preached a celebrated
penitential sermon on one occasion, all the audience were
in terror and fell on their knees; while showing every sign
of contrition, he cried, " All who are truly penitent, hold up
your hands."-Every man in the vast multitude held up his
hand; then he said, "Holy Archangel Michael, thou who
with adamantine sword standest at the judgment seat of
God, cut me off every hand which has been held up hypocritically."-Every hand dropped. Nor can we omit to
mention the name of ST. BERNABRDiE of Sienna, who
imagined himself only fit to preach in small rustic towns
in the height of his celebrity; of BERNARDINE of Monte
Feltro, who traversed Italy in all directions, and travelled
on foot, through snow and rain, over rock and marsh;
of JEROME of St. Saviour, also one of those marvellous
mystic men; then there was another preacher, his contemporary, ARETINUS, to whom one said, "Those who hear
Jerome are changed into other men, they become devout
in manner and contrite in spirit; those who hear you
depart joyous and talkative, but they do not correct their
ways." And Aretinus replied, " I will not deny my poverty
and his virtues: what I find in books I bring forth with
no fervor, nor do I kindle those flames in myself which
I ought to excite in others. I am a coal but almost ex7*




54   Medieval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
tinct. How should I kindle my wood, but that poor and
simple man is all burning, and all the sparks of his love
kindle to a flame the cold fuel." This was that Jerome
of whom it was said, " Go and hear the preacher of the
best sentences, but the worst rhetoric; gather the fruit and
neglect the leaves;" and even dukes and senates followed
him when his sermons were ended. I wish that we had
a more comprehensive account than has yet been published
of these great preachers of the Middle Ages. Amidst all
the abuses I am  compelled to see more than sacred
eloquence, religious power: it is a study in itself to
contemplate the studies of these men. Meditation, long
meditation, and painful searching of Scripture marked them
all, or almost all.*
In many other instances, however, we shall find that the
ministry has been power in proportion as it has been the
work of the conscience upon the conscience. This is the
truth of all true preaching; it is a strange instrument for
the Divine Spirit to play on, "the foolishness of preaching," but God does use it as a divine instrument. Like the
harp or the organ, preachers are only the subjects of the
fingers invisible to themselves.  When Jerome asked
Gregory of Nazianzen the meaning of a passage in Luke,
he referred him to the exposition he would give of it in
the church; and there is, no doubt, as much difference
between the private exhortation and the public preaching,
as between private and public prayer; the sense climbs
higher and sinks deeper.
One of these preachers of the post-mediaval times, most
remarkable and most worthy of imitation, and now, by an
admirable translation, most accessible, is the FATHER
* The long and curious account of many of these forgotten men
in the Mores Catholici, or Ages of Faith, is, of course, by a most
intolerant Papist; but it is very interesting. See Vol. ii., Book vi.,
Chap. v.




Father Segneri.                 I55
SEONERI, he did not indeed appear until the seventeenth
century; his sermons are pervaded by intense earnestness,
and justify the tradition that he was inflamed when young
by a holy missionary ardor to follow in the steps and career
of Francis Xavier.   He was a Jesuit, and after he was
ordained a priest, while he spent the half of every year bi
the meditative life of a recluse, he gave the other half to
the task of traversing the towns, cities, and villages of Italy
as a home missionary. He died in 1694. He has been
called "the restorer of Italian eloquence."  He certainly
was a great pulpit reformer. He set Chrysostom before
himself as his model, but he studied so closely as to become,
while dignified and serious, colloquial and easy in his style;
in an age of great licentiousness he rebuked with most
remarkable vigor, and strength, and boldness, the sins
of the age. Of course, being a Romanist, the Protestant
will find many things in these sermons,-stories, traditions,
references to the lives of the saints, which will not only be
displeasing, but even false, from our point of view, but they
are remarkable pieces of faithful and firm handling of the
consciences of hearers, they may even be commended as
especially suitable as models for our own times; there is a
very striking, happy, and impressive dealing with Scripture;
as with all the great mediaeval preachers, there is remarkable freedom too in the handling of Scripture; and in the
whole conduct of the discourse, whatever the topic or text,
these men wandered with great ease through innumerable
ways branching out from it. I admire Segneri; it is impossible-even reading, and reading through a translation
-not to be carried away irresistibly by his earnestness; he
allows no time for thought, he permits to his hearers no
self-complacent survey of their own position, possessions,
t See the edition in English, The Quaresimale of P. Paolo
Segneri, translated from the origin Italian, by James Ford, A.M.,
Prebendary of Exeter Cathedral. Three Vols.




156   Mediceval and Post-Medieval Preachers.
or attainments; firm himself, and self-assured in every
word, he uses all his words with the power of a master,
they are like lightning in the severity with which they
search out the subterfuges of the soul, and set before it its
sins; there is tenderness and love too, but the precious
cup of consolation is only offered after the hearer is made
to drink of the wine of astonishment.  Hell was a great
reality to him, his pictures and personifications of Hell
were very daring-as in the following passage, in which he
deals with a well-known passage in Isaiah, often, both by
Protestant as well as by Papist preachers, misquoted and
inverted:
What then, after all, have I this morning to do, but pour forth
two copious streams of inconsolable grief for the many souls,
who see hell open before them, and yet do not draw back, but
boldly press on to launch themselves into its flames? Ah, no:
stop, ye wretched beings, for a moment; stop — and, before
plunging with a headlong leap into that abyss, let me demand
of you iA the words of the sale Isaiah- Which of you can dwell
with the devouring fire? Which of you can dwell with everlasting
burnings (xxxiii. 14, Vulg.)? Excuse me, my people; for this
once you are not to leave the Church, unless you have first made
a satisfactory reply to my demand —Which of you can dwell with
everlasting burnings? What sayest thou, O lady, who art so
tender in cherishing thy flesh?-Canst thou dwell with everlasting burnings? Now thou canst not bear it, should the point
of a needle at thy work lightly stain thy delicate skin. How
thinkest thou then? Wilt thou be able to endure those terrific
engines, by which thou must feel thyself dismembered, disjointed, and with an everlasting butchery crushed into powder?
What sayest thou, O man, who art so intent on providing for
thy personal comforts?-Canst thou dwell with everlasting
burnings? Now thou canst not tolerate the breath of a poor
man, who by coming near thee in the least offends thy organs
of smell. Wilt thou be able to stand those foul stenches, by
which thou must feel thyself poisoned, stifled, and with an
everlasting suffocation pressed down to the ground? And thou,




The Italian  Whitefield.              157
what sayest thou for thyself, 0 priest, who art so negligent in
the discharge of thy duties?- Canst thou dwell with everlasting
burnings? Now thou art not able to remain in the choir of thy
church a single hour without looking indecently about thee,
without being restless, without indulging thy tongue in every
kind of gossip. How then does it strike thee? Wilt thou be
able to remain through all the ages of eternity, I say not, reclining on thy elegantly carved stall, but rather stretched out
on an iron frame-work, on a bed of flames, there to be listening
to the demon's howls ringing in thy ears? What sayest thou,
O glutton? What sayest thou, O slanderer? What sayest thou,
O libertine?-thou young man, luxuriating so wantonly in all
thy heart's desires?-Canst thou dwell with everlasting burnings?
Alas! who, who among us can? And yet, why do I thus
enlarge on the case of other people? Excuse me: of myself,
of myself I ought to speak; of myself, an ecclesiastic it is true,
as cannot be denied from my dress, and yet a wretched creature,
so unmortified, so headstrong, so vain, so averse to that true
penitence; which my sins demand of me! If I am not able to
remain for a short time before the presence of my LORD in tears
for my sins, if I am so fond of my own ease, if I am so studious
of my own reputation, how can I hereafter, wretch that I am,
stand fixed for ever and ever at the feet of Lucifer, the place
assigned to such as myself, to such, as having undertaken to
confer benefits on other men and been gifted accordingly for
that purpose with so much light and knowledge, and so many
endowments, have betrayed my vow by my actions? Ah, LORD,
have pity, have pity! We have sinned; we know it; we confess
it.' We have done ungodly, we have dealt unrighteously in all
thy ordinances" (Baruch ii. 12). And therefore we cannot
make bold to ask Thee not to punish us. Punish us, then, since
we well deserve it.  Reward the proud after their deserving
(Ps. xciv. 2). Only, in Thine infinite mercy, may it please Thee
not to sentence our souls to hell. O hell, O hell, the mere
mention of thee is enough to overwhelm us with horror! This
is the punishment, from which, not for our merit's sake, but for
the sake of Thy agony, for the sake of Thy bloody sweat, we
entreat Thee to deliver us. 0 Lord, correct me, but with judg



I 58   Mediceval and Post-Mediceval Preachers.
ment; not in Thine anger, lest Thou bring me to nothing (Jer. x.
24). Behold us willing to suffer in this life the worst it may
please Thee to bring upon us; here, lay Thy rod upon us:
"Consume us here, cut us to pieces here; only spare us in
Eternity" (S. Augustine)! Send us poverty now; that we may
be spared in Eternity. Send us reproach now; that we may be
spared in Eternity. Send us sickness now; that we may be
spared in Eternity. Send us just as many evils as may please
Thee, in this world, provided we be spared for ever in the world
to come-that we may be spared in Eternity! that we may be
spared in Eternity.
This preacher had a very impressive and, usually, a very
real and natural way of turning the incidents of the Old
Testament to account for the purpose of alarming the conscience.
THE FALL OF JERICHO.
No one can know for a certainty when that day will be, which
GOD has appointed for the exercise of a vengeance, terrible in
proportion as it is delayed. This must depend upon the secret
disposal of those gudgments whlich the Father hath placed in His
own power. (Acts i. 7.) For even the heathen could say, " The
gods have feet of wool." Hence they step so softly over thy
head, that with thy utmost attention, thou art not aware of their
approach. Nothwithstanding, if with any probability we may
infer the future from the past, according to the famous saying of
S. Jerome, "Things future are known by things past," I think
we may designate the very hour with some probability at least,
if not with certainty. Attend, that you may know when that
hour will be. All among you must well remember the wonderful manner in which the city of Jericho was assaulted by the soldiers of Joshua. He had given orders that, during the space of
seven mornings, they should carry the Ark in circuit round the
walls, that the armed troops should go before, that the unarmed
people should follow after, and that the Priests, every time of
their going the round, should cause the trumpets to sound. This
was accordingly done! and precisely on the seventh day, at the
sound of those trumpets, the walls fell down and the city was




On the Fall of Jericho.               I59
taken. Permit me now, in my own way, to offer a few weighty
observations upon this victory, generally so well known. The
first morning, when the besieged people of Jericho beheld from
the top of their walls that imposing array and heard those
trumpets, what a terrible panic must the poor souls have suffered! They must have fancied that the soldiers were even already deploying for the attack, even already leaping on the ramparts, even already scaling the very battlements. But when they
soon afterwards perceived that all this noise was followed by no
practical effect, they must have begun to breathe a little more
freely. The second morning, when they witnessed a like repetition of the same performance, their fears must have assumed the
form of surprise; not one among them being able to comprehend what was the meaning of this clamorous demonstration
that all ended in nothing. The third morning their surprise
must have degenerated into a disposition to smile; as was natural to people, who now knew by repeated proof that the whole
assault vented itself in empty sound. But then, thefourth morning, and the fifth, and the sixth, when the besieged had more
thoroughly recovered their spirits; only conceive what must
have been the laughter, the ridicule, the hisses, and the shoutings, with which they saluted the enemy from their heights. I
can quite realize the scene to my mind. "Yes," they in all
likelihood exclaimed, " these fine trumpets of theirs sound beautifully. Take notice of their new invention for taking cities, not
by the force of battering trains, but by the effect of sound!
Blow on merrily by all means; for while you are blowing we can
be dancing. Why, what, in all seriousness, do you mean by
this? To frighten us out of our wits by your noise, when you
are unable to subdue us by your valor? We are none of those
big, stupid birds, who are brought down from their nests by
mere dint of clattering noises. If you have the hearts of men,
take the trumpets out of your mouth; come on, sword in hand;
and then we'll believe you." Thus with every possible insult
they may have cried aloud from their walls during those days.
But, if at any time their fear must have been at the lowest
point and their raillery at the highest, it was, if I mistake not,
on the morning of the seventh day, preceded, as that day had




160   Mediceval and Post-MIediavel Preachers.
been, by so many circumstances calculated to embolden their
minds under a feeling of their security. And, behold, it was on
that very morning that the entire overthrow of their city took
place. At the seventh time, when the priests blew with the trumpets,
the wallfell down flat. (Josh. vi. 16-20.) Now, you will conceive, whether this overthow was not all the more terrible from
its being the less expected. The wretched inhabitants find themselves with a smile on their lips, when, on a sudden, behold their
bastion wall tumbling down, their towers falling headlong, and
themselves, too, involved in the dreadful crash. And thenwhat with the groans, of some, who were wounded, of others,
who were mangled to pieces, of others, who were smashed under
the ruins-one simultaneous, universal outcry of distress must
have deafened the air and affrighted the very stars.  The
Israelites, in the meantime, each soldier at his proper post,
pushed forward intrepidly over the gaping breach, and making
their way over the bodies of the enemy buried before they were
dead, advanced with their pikes lowered and their swords
drawn. Taking different directions, they penetrated into the
private dwellings, and scattered on every side blood, on every
side havoc, on every side death, they quickly reduced the city to
complete desolation.   *    *      *       *      *      *
What was it you wished to learn from me, my dear Sirs?The time when destruction shall overtake the wicked? Do you
know when it will be? Why, when it overtook the people of
Jericho; which is tantamount to saying with the prophet Isaiah,
at the time when they were least thinking about it; whose
breaking cometh suddenly at an instant.  (Isaiah xxx. 13.)
* * *   In the midst of your merriment the wrath of heaven
shall fall on you; and when you perceive how, all of a sudden,
such irrecoverable ruin has overtaken you, "Alas! alas!" you
will exclaim, "we are lost and undone! See the blood, see the
slaughter, see the havoc, see the desolation, see the flames, see
the plagues, see the death!" and amidst such outcries as these,
stunned and stupified, you will terminate your lives, condemned,
so to speak, even before you die.     * *     When they shall say,
peace and safety-(peace now, safety hereafter) —then sudden
destruction cometh upon them..... and they shall not escape.
(1 Thess. v. 3.)




The Soul's Flight from  Earth to Heaven. 16I
These are very fair illustrations of the method of this
great Whitefield of the Italian pulpit; here he is but little
known,, and anywhere now probably but little read; an
ascetic philosophy does, no doubt, prevade much of his discourse; but his sermons bear the marks of that spiritual
retreat in which he passed so many months of every year,
that life of meditation without which the life of the
preacher becomes forced, wearied, unnatural, and jaded,
from  the  incessant necessity laid upon  him.   In his
cloister, too, he probably plumed his wings for those high
and sweet meditative flights in which again and again he
indulges; and as when he exclaims, at the close of the
strange rapture entitled The Soul's Flight from Earth to
Heaven:
Let all here present determine to decline accepting whatsoever
the earth has to offer us; and lifting up at last our eyes to heaven, let us say, Glorious things, yes assuredly, glorious things
are written of thee, thou city of God! (Ps. lxxxvii. 3.)
But how am I grieved that I should have been so slow to
learn these glorious things that are written of thee! If, however,
I once so basely preferred the earth, it was not for thy demerit:
it only arose from this, that I knew thee not. But now who
shall ever prevail to shut thee out from my heart? Shall tribulation? (Rom. viii. 35.)-not so; for thou shalt change it for
me into the sweetest contentments. Shall distress?-not so; for
thou shalt transform it for me into the most perfect peace. Shall
hunger?-not so; for thou shalt satisfy it for me with a most
luscious nectar. Shall nakedness?-not so; for thou shalt cover
it for me with Royal apparel. Shall peril! —not so; for thou
shalt turn it for me into immovable security. Shall persecution?
-not so! for thou shalt recompense it to me with a glorious
triumph. Shall the sword?-No, no; not even the sword shall
ever cut me away from thee, my beautiful Celestial country! not
even the sword, I say; for thou shalt convert its steel into gold,
its point into rays of light, its circling edge into a crown of rejoicing!




PULPIT MONOGRAPHS.
III.-St. Bernard: the Mediaeval
Preacher.
ET. BERNARD is neither by name, character, nor
influence, unknown to our readers. His name
is a very prominent one in the Church history of
medieval times-of his age he is the very foremost man. He also may be designated as "the solitary
monk that shook the world." The form of the frail man
rises-amidst the encircling crowd of emperors and kings,
and popes, princes and priests, fighting barons and crusaders, the arch-disputants and polemical heretics of the timo
with commanding and most subduing power: he ruled
all, he influenced all. The lone hermit touched and impressed himself upon all the affairs of his time, always with
a powerful, often with a painful, distinctness. He moves
like the very Elijah of Europe through the nations of those
times; now pitching his voice to the shrill fervor or the
ensanguined furiousness of a mad apostle, as when he became the prophet of the crusades; now sinking it to the
deep and tender minor tone of Christian experiences, when
amidst his band of monks he breathes out his contemplative sermons on The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's.
From beneath the cloistral shades of Clairvaux he molded
(162)




Bernard.-Dijon.                  163
princes to his will. His was the voice which determined a
distracted people and church in their election of a pope.
The spiritual vivacity of the man, in an age when nations
received the law from the spiritual kingdom, was surpassingly amazing. That lonely man might have said, as a far
different chieftain said,
Of old things all are over old;
Of good things none are good enough.
We'11 show that we can help to frame
A world of other stuff.
I, too, will have my kings, that take
From me the sign of life and death;
Kingdoms shall shift about like clouds,
Obedient to my breath.
He was a Burgundian. His father was a feudal baron,
lord of the castle of Fontaines, near Dijon, by name Tesselin. When he became the successful abbot of European
fame, and cloisters rose in England in connection with his
order, one of the most glorious and graceful in Europe
sprang to his honor, as well as to the honor of the Lord;
and the ruins of Fontaines Abbey perpetuate the memory
of the birthplace of the great Middle Age monk and preacher.
Tesselin was, in his way, a pious fighting-man, surnamed
Sorus, which meant red-headed; a kind of Christian Rufus,
with a rude sense of justice, and ill-conditioned holiness in
him.  He is described as gentle, although brave; modest,
although strong; and pious, although rich. And so also
the mother of our saint was an earnest, loving, devout creature, Alice, or Alith, by name; a pale, shadowy, mournful
mother, the latter years of her life passed in austerities and
devotions; charitable after the fashion of the times, mother
of seven children-six sons and one daughter-such a mother of such a son would, of course, not be without monkish eulogists; and she has ever had plenty who have covered




164  Pulpit Monographs.-St. Bernard.
her name and tomb with all legendary and traditional
honor. The Abbe of Dijon requested her body for the
church of the blessed martyr, Benignus. There she was
buried. She was wont to appear, we are told, after death
to her son Bernard, advising him to continue in his good
work when he avowed himself to monkery, in which tradition we are to see no more than "the robe of beauty given
to the tomb unseen in the sunlight," and to hear only "the
words of the departed," which, as Mr. Morison, St. Bernard's latest and best English biographer, says, "acquire
a strange reverberating echo from the vaults wherein they
sleep."
Bernard was the child of these two good people-his
mind and heart, not less than his body; he studied at Chatillon. They were stirring times, the times of his early
boyhood; they were the days of the first crusade; there
was a blaze of wild enthusiasm for the liberation of the
Holy Land and sepulchre from the hands of the Infidels;
this wild idea was "the way of God," and all men were
embarking upon the great pilgrimage of nations. Lands
were sold for the love of Christ; barons and serfs all felt
the animation of a common tendency and hope. "Christ,"
says one old writer, " had thundered through the minds of
all." Some of the poor harnessed their oxen to their farmcarts, and placed therein their goods and their little ones,
and started in all simplicity for the Holy City. Along the
bad roads and the long journey, even from province to
province, they went, slowly moving and creaking over
marsh and moor.  As town or castle rose in sight, the children would ask, "Is that the Jerusalem we are going to?"
One of the chief leaders was the Duke of Burgundy. He
never returned alive; and he desired that his remains might
rest among the poor monks of the wretched Abbey of
Citeaux, rather than in any of the more sumptuous and
wealthy abbeys of his dominions. Citeaux was near to the




Two Instincts rule the World.              165
hearth of Fontaines, and the duke was the suzerain of Tesselin. The good Alith would print the lesson of this event
upon the mind of the little Bernard, then nine years oldthe great crusader going forth with his warriors in full panoply, and returning coffined and still to the cemetery at
Citeaux.
It was a strange age.  Two instincts ruled the worldan instinct for fighting and an instinct for praying. Men
passed from one action to the other with ease and happiness; nay, at last did not pass from one to the other, but
fought and prayed in the same breath.  Thus rose the
Society of the Templars; hence the stream  of the mad
crusaders; for ordinary fighters, the usual occupation was
besieging a castle; everybody was slaying or being slain.
A very fierce world; and thoughtful and refined natures
had very little hesitation in quitting it. Dukes and princes,
and peasants and paupers, all sought the haven in which
they desired to say their prayers, and lie down for the long
night in peace.
And such a haven was then opened, and inviting to all. Between the clash of arms and the din of wars, comes a silvery
peal of convent bells. In the deep, hushed winter's night, the
chorus-song of matins is heard in measured cadence, and the last
chaunt of compline goes forth as the summer sun approaches
the horizon. There, in the thick woods, sleeps the monastery,
from which these voices and bell-tones are heard. Calm and
holy it looks, casting long rays of light into the dark air, as the
" lated traveller" hastens to its welcome shelter. For a young
ardent spirit, entering the world, the choice practically was between a life of strife, violence, wickedness, of ignoble or ferocious joys and sorrow; or of sober, self-denying labor and solitude, with a solemn strain in the heart, lightening and prospering the work of the hands.*
* The Life and Times of St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux, A. D.
1091-1153.  By James Cottis Morison, M.A., Lincoln College, Oxford.




166    Pulpit Monographs. — t. Bernard.
At first Bernard heard, of course, the voices of the
trumpets and the clang and clash of arms, but he was too
frail for a knight. Then, in the time of the extraordinary
literary awakenment of the twelfth century, philosophylifted
up her voice and called him. The great  doctor of Paris,
William of Champeaux, is celebrated throughout Europe;
and still more remarkable, the young audacious knight-errant of heresy, Master Peter Abelard, was fascinating
crowds of thousands, over mountains and seas, to enjoy the
privilege of hearing him lecture. And the spell of intellect
almost called Bernard aside from the life of holiness and
prayer, to which his mother's example and conversation had
incited him. Then in a dubious but all distracted mood he
rode on his way through the tangled forest and the bare
bleak moor, and presently he came to a church; the clouds
of doubt rolled away before the rising sun of faith, and
upon his knees, in that wayside church, and in a torrent of
tears, he lifted up his hands to heaven, and poured forth
his heart like water in the presence of the Lord. That was
the hour of his conversion; from that hour his determination to enter the monastic life never faltered.
But Bernard would not enter the monastery alone. The
instinct was strong upon him which leads us to desire the
conversion of other souls immediately after the conversion
of our own; and he at once displayed that commanding
personal ascendancy, that overpowering influence of spirit,
which hardly met with a defeat during his long life. His
uncle, his brothers, Guido and Gerard, both knights, yielded
very shortly to the spell of his power. Nay, the effect of
his preaching was such, that mothers hid their sons, and
wives their husbands, and companions their friends, lest
they should be led captive by the persuasive eloquence of
the youthful enthusiast. At last he had gathered round him
thirty adherents; with them he retired into seclusion at
Chattillon, where for the space of six months they all de



Monastic Reformer.                167
voted themselves by preparation for the great change they
were to undergo. In the year 1113, Bernard, being then
twenty-two years old, knocked at the gate, and disappeared
within the walls of Citeaux.  It was a severe house; of all
religious houses one of the most severe. It was under the
rule of Stephen Harding, an Englishman, from Sherborne in
Dorsetshire. Within its walls he was carrying on a system
of monastic reform, keeping St. Benedict's rule most
literally, not conventionally and with large allowances, as
was usual in the strictest houses. No;-but eating only cne
meal a day; and they had risen twelve hours from their
couches, sung psalms, and worked in the fields, before they
got even that; never tasting fish, meat, grease, or eggs,
and milk only rarely; their dress consisting only of three
garments, all of the coarsest wool; their church, austere in
its simplicity. There was little sympathy with this pleasant
monastic life, and a fearful epidemic raging through the
cloisters seemed likely to bring the dream of monastic reform to a close, when Bernard and his brethren sought admittance beneath its cheerless shades.
But these austerities, and others we must not stay to particularize, were too few for Bernard, and he determined to
do his best, not only to subdue the desires of the flesh
which arise through the senses, but even those senses themselves. He excluded himself from all communication with
the outer world; time given to sleep he regarded as lost;
when importunate friends came to converse with him  he
heard nothing, he stopped his ears with little wads of flax,
and buried his head deep in the cowl; for food he lost all
desire, and the little he took seemed taken rather to defer
death than to sustain life; he betook himself also to hard
manual labor-digging, hewing wood, and carrying it on his
shoulders. One luxury for a time remained, the desire for it
unextinguished as yet, but to be also banished from the soul
by-and-by-it was the love of nature.  He lived in this




168      Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
love; to him, in his first monastic days, the love of God
and the love of nature were all; from nature to the Bible,
from the Bible to nature; the beeches and the oaks, the
woods and the fields, and the Scriptures-no word of
thought came between him and that glorious phantasmagoria; the result of a word of God, and at a word of
God, at last, to vanish away-only a procession of burning
thoughts swept through the soul, raptures of ecstatic love,
in the gloomy forest, and before the sailing clouds, and the
pomp of setting suns. No world of cause and effects, and
laws obscured or aided his vision. He says to a friend and
pupil:
"Trust to one who has had experience. You will find something far greater in the woods than you will in books. Stones
and trees will teach you that which you will never learn from
masters. Think you not you can suck honey from the rock, and
oil from the flinty rock? Do not the mountains drop sweetness;
the hills run with milk and honey, and the valleys stand thick
with corn?"
We have spoken of the surprise created by the selection
of Citeaux as the solitude to which Bernard consigned himself with his thirty companions. Great, however, must
have been the joy created by their arrival in that decaying
monastery. It was the turning-point in its history. Very
soon it became necessary to leave the spot of his selection;
and, selected by the Abbot of Citeaux, he became himself,
although only just turned four-and-twenty, the head of a
new community. Stephen Harding placed a cross in Bernard's hands, gave him twelve monks, and sent the young
Abbot forth to choose some spot for a new religious house
in the wilderness. He and his companions struck away
northward; passed up by the source of the Seine, by
Chatillon, a place of old school-day associations till he
reached a place called Ferte, equally distant between




In the Valley of Wormwood.            I69
Troyes and Chaumont, situated on the river Aube. Four
miles beyond La Ferte, they came to a deep valley; thick,
umbrageous forests giving a character of gloom and wildness.
It was called the Valley of Wormwood; a name, surely, befitting the austerities we have associated with our pilgrims.
Here he laid the foundation of that building, whose name
is immortal in the history of the Church and of Europe,
the famous Abbey of Clairvaux. It was a singularly unpretentious building, utterly excluding from the mind all
romantic associations with monastic piles —a building
covered by a single roof, under which chapel, dormitory,
and refectory were all included; miserable windows artistically contrived rather to exclude than to convey the light
The monks' beds are described as a kind of bin of wooden
planks, long and wide enough for a man to lie down in; a
small space hewn out with an axe allowed room for the
sleeper to get in or out, and the inside pleasantly strewn
with chaff or dried leaves; these below, and the woodwork
above are the mattress and bed-clothes, which furnish to
our imagination an idea of the comforts of the home. In
truth, all about the establishment marked its extreme
poverty.  They were near to September when the rude
building was completed. Autumn and winter were approaching. They had no stores laid by. Their food during
the summer had been a compound of leaves and coarse
grain; their food during the winter was to be beech-nuts
and roots.  The austerities of Citeaux, before Bernard
made his appearance had been severe; but those austerities,
which to him were the necessary conditions of his spiritual
life, began to be terrible to his twelve monks. Very shortly
there seem to have been signs of mutiny. Deaf to their
Abbot's entreaties, they talked of leaving the valley of bitterness and returning to Citeaux. At this period monkish
historians tax the faith of readers with the traditions of
miracles, now commencing to perform a part in the history
8




170o     Pupit Monographs: Bernard.
of Bernard, and henceforth never wanting to that history.
"Wait and ye shall see, 0 ye of little faith," said the
Abbot; and it seems they did see; if not miracles, marvels
made their appearance. But when are marvels wanting in
the life of faith?  He compelled the obedience, and,
eventually, the perfectly docile trust of his more faithless
brethren, and finally presented himself before his diocesan
for consecration over the, as yet, quite incipient abbacy. A
precious appearance he and his are described as presenting
in the palace of the renowned dialectician, William of
Champeaux. Before the experienced master of the Paris
schools came the threadbare care-worn youth, with attenuated body and emaciated countenance. That was a day in
which splendor was not wanting to the bishop's palace;
and we can easily figure the mirth of the loungers and
idlers as the grotesque band made its appearance.
But the old master soon detected the soul in the ragged
body, and a life-long friendship was formed between the
two from that hour, which, in the life of Bernard, presents
us with many pleasant glimpses and particulars.  And
now Bernard fell ill, which also is not surprising. William
of Champeaux, when he found his new friend resolute
against the relaxation of the painful austerities of his life,
started for Citeaux, bishop as he was, that from Stephen
Harding, the Abbot, he might receive the power to compel
the remittance of those toils and pains beneath which the
enfeebled constitution was failing fast. He received a commission to manage Bernard for twelve months himself.
Hastening back to Clairvaux, he found its Abbot now obedient and yielding. He caused a small cottage to be built
outside the monastery walls, and commanded that his diet
should no longer be regulated by monastic rule. All this
was irksome enough to the spirit of Bernard; but it is
easy to see, that probably but for this timely interference,
that magic influence, which gave to Clairvaux a far more




The Attractions of the Cloister.        I 7
than European fame, and moved popes, emperors, and
princes at its touch, had never been known. He, on his
part, seems to have received his lease of life and comfort
very ungraciously; and, when William  of St. Thierry
visited him in his hut, and asked him how he did, a satire,
not very common with him in those days, broke forth, as
he replied, "Excellent well. I, who have hitherto ruled
over rational beings, by a great judgment of God, am
given over to obey an irrational beast." Clairvaux, meantime, began to rear its loftier buildings. William of St.
Thierry breaks forth into rapturous exclamations at once
over the the beauty of the valley, and the consecrated labors which were there discovering themselves; a still
silent solitude, yet the valley soon became full of men.
The sounds of labor, the chants of the brethren, and choral
services began now to relieve the solitudes of the forests
and the gorges. We have also the story of Peter de Roya,
who turned aside into the valley from a long habituation, as
he tells us, "with festive banquets and silver salvers."
"To him it seemed," as he says, "that he had found the
building whose foundation is in the holy mountains-the
gates loved of the Lord more than the dwellings of Jacob.
In Clairvaux," says he, " they have found Jacob's ladder,
with angels upon it, some descending, who so provide for
their bodies, that they faint not on the way: and others
ascending, who so rule their souls, that their bodies hereafter may be glorified with them."  He continues: "To
judge from their outward appearance, their tools, their disordered clothes, they appear a race of fools, without speech
or sense; but a true thought in my mind tells me that
their life is hid with Christ in the heavens. Many of them,
I hear, are bishops and earls, and men illustrious through
their birth and knowledge. I see Godfrey of Peronne,
Raynald of Picardy, William of St. Omer, Walter of Lisle;
all of whom I knew formerly in the old man, whereof I see




172     Pulpit Monographs: Bernard;
now no trace, by God's favor." All this ended in his going
to Clairvaux.
From his retirement of sickness Bernard came forth, we
think, healthier in mind as well as in body. His nature
seems to have righted itself, as far as it ever righted itself
in its earthly tabernacle; and, in the course of a year or
two, he commenced that course of marvellous literary labors, infinite correspondences, sermons, extending governments, and travels, which alternate his name in our minds,
as the man of action not less than the man of contemplation. Not that he ever became tolerant or tender to any
kinds of self-indulgence; and his description of a wolf of
a prior, whose tender regards to the necessities of human
flesh had succeeded in fascinating one of his monks from
Clairvaux to Cluny, is sufficiently humorous: hear him:
"Wine and the like, soup and fat things, these are for the
body, not for the mind; not for the soul, but the flesh is
nourished by ragouts. Many brethren in Egypt serve God
a long time without eating fish, pepper, ginger, sage, and
cummin; they, indeed, delight the palate; but, think you,
youth can be passed in safety surrounded by them?" He
bids those who fear his fasts, and vigils, and manual labors,
to dwell on the thought of eternal flames. "The thought
of outer darkness will banish all fear of solitude. If you
reflect, that account is to be kept of every idle word, silence
will strike you as less appalling; and eternal weeping and
gnashing of teeth will make a feather-bed and mattress
equally indifferent. Arise, then, soldier of Christ."  But
the soldier did not arise: the morning slumbers, and the
ginger, and the pepper were too much for the beech-nuts
of Clairvaux.
At this period of the history of Bernard we might dwell
a little time, did space permit, upon the miracles which
form a portion of the life of St. Bernard; but we cannot
dwell. It may be sufficient to remark that it was an age




In the Age of Miracles.             173
in which material nature was supposed to be at the command of moral goodness.-Must not the earthly give way
to the heavenly? Must not Christ be the conqueror of
Satan?  One writer tells us how he saw a knight offer
thanks to Bernard for having cured him with a piece of
consecrated bread. There are plenty of stories of the diseases which fled at the command or the blessing of Bernard. When he came to the dedication of the church of
Foigny, it happened that an incredible number of flies
filled the place. "I excommunicate them," said the saint.
Next morning they were all found dead, they covered the
pavement, they were shovelled out with spades, the church
was rid of them; the cursing of the Foigny flies passed
into a proverb. Shall we laugh at these things?  Shall
we laugh at the story that, when his attendants were unable to catch his horse, Bernard said " Let us pray;" and,
kneeling down, they were not through the Lord's prayer
when the horse returned and stood before Bernard? We
give these stories in their crudity. At any rate, they are
significant enough, and show the estimation in which Bernard was held by his cotemporaries. And we must remember, in looking at the matter, that our talk about miracles
would have availed nothing with Bernard. " Laws of Nature I" we think we hear him  exclaim; "what do I know
of the laws of nature? Miracle is the law of God." Miracles, and apparitions, and Divine and demoniac interferences with human affairs! a man of the twelfth centuryand especially such a man as Bernard-would have as soon
parted with his existence as he would have parted with his
belief in these. Moreover, there was evidently that in the
psychological character of Bernard which would easily
hang round him the apparition of miracles to ordinary
minds: his whole life was a kind of miracle, resolvable by
us in a measure; and, if our readers are disposed still to
smile, we must remind them that miracles belong to that




174     Pulpit Mowographs: Bernard,
time as much as the feudal castle, vast monastic piles, and
the baron's chain mail.
At the age of thirty-four Bernard travelled to fortify the
population of his young community.
He visited Paris, "a little, thronged, dirty, ill-paved city:"
one smiles at the unrecognisable description. The schools
of Paris were the marvel of Europe. Bernard was requested to enter them and lecture in them. He did not
enter the schools, but he was glad enough to seize the opportunity for dilating on the true philosophy,-contempt
for the world and voluntary poverty for Christ's sake. His
visit, while not entirely unsuccessful, does not seem to have
greatly strengthened Clairvaux. He gladly returned to his
peaceful seclusion, from which, indeed, he was never a willing wanderer; and there are many passages of his life
which give us glimpses of serene and thoughtful days,
amidst the turmoil and barbarism of that wild, ungovernable time. In his way, we are pleased also.to see, that St.
Bernard set himself heartily to the reformation of burglarious barons, bishops who thought too much of their temporalities, and abbots who gave more attention to their
revenues than to souls. He set himself as the representative of the Church, to do battle with the exuberant animalism of the age-to tame it, and drill it-and it is truly
amusing, in this connection, to notice how, again and again,
the question of cookery forces itself upon our saint's attention. Some passages, in which he condemns the luxury
of the Cluniacs, are scarcely less curious than they are humorous. A Cluniac dinner must have been a tolerably inviting repast, " Who," says our saint, "could say, to speak
of nothing else, in how many forms eggs are cooked and
worked up? with what care they are turned in and out,
made hard or soft, or chopped fine; now fried, now roasted,
now stuffed; now they are served mixed with other things,
now by themselves; even the external appearance of the




His Inpeachment of the Monks.    175
dishes is such that the eye, as well as the taste, is charmed;
and when even the stomach complains that it is full, curiosity is still alive. So also," he continues, "what shall I say
about water-drinking, when even wine and water are despised?  We all of us, it appears, directly we become
monks are afflicted with weak stomachs, and the important
advice of the apostle to use wine, we, in a praiseworthy
manner, endeavor to follow, but for some unexplained reason, the condition of a little is usually omitted." In the
same manner he denounces the monkish lust of dress.
"You say religion is in the heart; true, but when you are
about to buy a cowl you rush over to the towns, visit the
markets, examine the fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all their goods, undo their bundles of
cloth, feel it with your fingers, hold it to your eyes or to the
rays of the sun, and if anything coarse or faded appears you
reject it; but if you are pleased with any object of unusual
beauty or brightness, you buy it, whatever the price. Does
this come from your heart or your simplicity? I wonder
that our abbots allow these things, unless it arises from the
fact, that no one is apt to blame any error with confidence,
if he cannot trust to his own freedom from the same."
Nor these vices alone. He speaks of others whose vice
was a mock humility: "Again, with our bellies full of
beans, and our minds of pride, we condemn those who are
full of meat; as if it were not better to eat a little fat on
occasion, than to be gorged, even to belching, with windy
vegetables." He looked with little more favor upon the
rich architecture, now beginning to adorn the churches of
Europe, than the sumptuary condition of the priests.
"The church's walls are resplendent," exclaims he, "but
the poor are not there."
" In the churches are suspended, not corona, but wheels studded with gems, and surrounded by lights, which are scarcely
brighter than the precious stones which are near them. Instead




176       Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
of candlesticks, we behold great trees of brass, fashioned with
wonderful skill, and glittering as much through their jewels as
through their own lights. What do you suppose is the object
of all this? The repentance of the contrite, or the admiration
of the gazers? 0 vanity of vanities! but not more vain than
foolish. The church's walls are resplendent, but the poor are
not there.... The curious find wherewith to amuse themselves-the wretched find no stay for them  in their misery.
Why, at least, do we not reverence the images of the saints,
with which the very pavement we walk on is covered? Often
an angel's mouth is spit into, and the face of some saint trodden
on by the passers-by.... But if we cannot do without the
images, why can we not spare the brilliant colors? What has
all this to do with monks, with professors of poverty, with men
of spiritual minds?
" Again, in the cloisters, what is the meaning of those ridiculous monsters, of that deformed beauty, that beautiful deformity,
before the very eyes of the brethren when reading? What are
disgusting monkeys there for, or ferocious lions, or horrible centaurs, or spotted tigers, or fighting soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle? You may see there one head with many bodies,
or one body with numerous heads. Here is a quadruped with a
serpent's tail; there is a fish with a beast's head; there a creature, in front a horse, behind a goat; another has horns at one
end, and a horse's tail at the other. In fact, such an endless
variety of forms appear everywhere, that it is more pleasant to
read in the stonework than in books, and to spend the day in
admiring these oddities than in meditating on the law of God.
Good God! if we are not ashamed of these absurdities, why do
we not grieve at the cost of them  "
Thus, finally, perhaps, Bernard would not be far from a
disposition to pronounce the objurgation of Thomas Carlyle, " Let the devil.fly away with fine arts." " I never met
with a man," says Ruskin, " whose mind was fully set upon
the world to come, perfect and right before God, who cared
about art at all."  We are disposed to commend the considerations of these sundry texts from all these worthies to




Secular and Spiritual Ji nighthood.  177
those who find a strong disposition to sneer at Puritanic
tabernacles and conventicles, on one hand; or who are disposed to estimate the worth of our modern Nonconformity
by its aesthetic developments, on the other.
As Bernard verged towards his fortieth year, the period
of his comparative retirement and rest drew to a close.
He attended the Council of Troyes-that celebrated council, famous for the part it took in founding the order of the
Knights Templars.  In this order those two grand instincts
of mediseval times to which we have already referred-the
fighting instinct and the praying instinct-became distinctly
one. Bernard's exhortation to the Knights of the Temple
is very characteristic of the times and of himself, although
issued some three or four years later.  He contrasts the
secular with the monastic warfare in the following extraordinary words, curiously remarkable for their saintly bloodthirstiness.
"You always run a risk, you worldly soldier, of either killing
your adversary's body, and your own soul in consequence, or of
being killed yourself both body and soul. If, while wishing to
kill another you are killed yourself, you die a homicide. If you
vanquish and kill your enemy, you live a homicide. But what
an astounding error, what madness is it, O, Knights, to fight at
such cost and trouble for no wages except those of death or sin!
You deck out your horses with silken trappings; you wear
flaunting cloaks over your steel breastplates; you paint your
shields, your spears, and your saddles; your spurs and bridles
shine with gold, and silver, and gems; and in this gay pomp,
with an amazing and incredible madness, you rush upon death.
Have you not found from experience that these things are especially needed by a soldier, viz., that he be bold yet vigilant as
regards his own safety, quick in his movements, and prompt to
strike? You, on the contrary, cultivate long hair, which gets
in your eyes; your feet arc entangled in the folds of your flowing robes; your delicate hands are buried in your ample and
spreading sleeves. In addition to all this, your reasons for fight8*




178    Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
ing are light and frivolous, viz., the impulses of an irrational
anger, or a desire of vain glory, or the wish to obtain some
earthly possession. Certainly, for such causes as these it is not
safe either to slay or to be slain.
" But Christ's soldiers can fight in safety the battles of their
Lord; fearing no sin from killing an enemy; dreading no danger from their own death. Seeing that for Christ's sake death
must be suffered or inflicted, it brings with it no sin, but rather
earns much glory. In the one case Christ is benefited, in the
other Christ is gained. Christ, who willingly acceptsan enemy's
death for revenge, and more willingly still grants himself to the
soldier for consolation. Christ's soldier can securely kill-can
more securely die: when he dies, it profits him; when he slays,
it profits Christ. Not without just cause is he girded with a
sword. When he kills a malefactor, he is not a slayer of men,
but a slayer of evil, and plainly an avenger of Christ against
those who do amiss. But, when he is killed, he has not perished, he has reached his goal. The Christian exults in the
death of a pagan because Christ is glorified. In the death of
the Christian the King's bountifulness is shown when the soldier
is led forth to his reward. The just will rejoice over the first
when he sees the punishment of the wicked. Of the latter men
will say,' Verily there is a reward for the righteous, doubtless there
is a God that judgeth the earth.'"
The following remarkable words, pervaded surely by a
droll grim humor, express his feelings at the departure of
the troops of crusaders for the Holy Land:
"But the most joyful and salutary result to be perceived is,
that in such a multitude of men who flock to the East there are
few besides scoundrels, vagabonds, thieves, murderers, perjurers,
and adulterers, from whose emigration a double good is observed
to flow, the cause of a twofold joy. Indeed they give as much
delight to those whom they leave as to those whom they go to
assist. Both rejoice,-those whom they defend and those whom
they no longer oppress. Egypt is glad at their departure; yet
Mount Zion and the daughters of Judah shall be joyful over the




Arbiter between Hostile Popes.         179
succor they will bring; the one for losing its most cruel spoilers,
the other at receiving its most faithful defenders."
The most distinct turning point in the career of St. Bernard was, perhaps, the death of the Pope Honorius I. on
Feb. 14th, 1130. His death led to a double election to the
papacy. On the same evening on which the Pope died,
Cardinal Gregory, of St. Angelo, was proclaimed supreme
Pontiff under the name of Innocent II., while another
party went through the form of election with their Pope,
dressed him in pontificals, and declared that Peter Leonis
was the vicar of Christ, under the title of Anacletus II.
Innocent fled from Rome to France, trusting in the allegiance of the nations of Northern Europe; and although.tzacletus had been a monk of Cluny, that monastery produced a strong presumption in favor of Innocent by the
recognition of his right. But the French bishops had not
decided, although it became necessary immediately to
decide. A council was convened at Etampes for the purpose of discussing the claims of the hostile Popes. To this
council Bernard was very specially invited by the king and
the chief bishops. He confessed afterwards that he went
with much fear and trembling; nor are we surprised that
on the road his eyes were saluted by a vision in which he
saw a large church, with all the people harmoniously
praising God. This raised his spirits. We can scarcely
conceive the importance of such a schism as that which
the council was called in some way to heal. Fasting and
prayer preceded its deliberations, and no clearer impression
can be conveyed of the immense fame and influence Bernard had acquired, than in the fact that the council unanimously agreed, first, that this business, which concerned
God, should be entrusted to the man of God, and that his
judgment should decide the assembly. We can scarcely
think that that assembly was in great ignorance as to the




80o      Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
verdict he was likely to pronounce; nor can we doubt that
this, too, was one of the occasions when that felicitous and
marvellous swell and sweep of all-subduing eloquence,
which mighty councils and vast convocations of princes,
barons, and scholars were destined yet many times to
prove, exhibited much of its matchlessness.  He rose
obedient to the call and examined the whole question; the
causes which led to the double election, the life and
character of the first elected; as he advanced, it is said,
the Holy Ghost seemed to speak through him. He pronounced Innocent, without hesitation or reserve, the legitimate Pope, and the only one they could accept as such,
and, amidst acclamations and praises, and vows of obedience
to Innocent, the council broke up. Henceforth, the way
of Bernard lay much among the higher principalities and
powers of Europe.
Immediately after the council it is interesting to find
him meeting, face to face, with our own Henry I., the
wisest soldier of his age, and the mightiest monk of the
cloisters of Christendom; old knight and young priest;
and the young priest conquered the old knight, for Henry
had been indisposed to acknowledge Innocent.  The
enthusiast convinced the man of the world. "Are you
afraid," said he, "of incurring sin if you acknowledge
Innocent; think how to answer your other sins before
God, and I will answer and take account of this one." And
Henry yielded to the quaint and not very polite reasoning.
It is not wonderful that Innocent should regard Bernard
as a necessary friend and adviser. Events, perhaps, subsequently prove that an Elijah-like kind of character was
not the most comfortable companion for the Vatican; but
for the present he was necessary to the Pope. They met
at Morigny near Etampes; they met also another man
whom we shall presently see much more distinctly, who
was one of the guests that night with the Abbot of




A  Pope in the Valley of Wormwood.  I8i
Clairvaux at Morigny-Master Peter Abelard. Very shortly after this, Innocent, the early days of whose papacy
were anything but tranquil, had to receive the comparative
hostilities of the Emperor Lotharius at Liege. Once more
Bernard came to the rescue. He boldly faced Lotharius,
smoothed matters of difference between papal and imperial
claims, persuaded the Emperor to acquiesce in the claims
of Innocent;. finally, urged by Bernard, the Emperor went
on foot through the crowd towards the Pope on his white
palfrey, and when Innocent descended from his horse,'the
Emperor was there to assist him; and thus, before all men
in that age of forms and ceremonies, he proclaimed his
submission. There was a strength of texture in the stuff
of which these churchmen in those days were made, yet
their temporalities  had  not reached the dangerous
ambitiousness of more recent times, and we find Innocent
spent some time at Clairvaux on his way homewards. He,
perhaps, was surprised at the marvellous austerity, the
self-restraint and solemn silence of the plain unornamented
church, and the bare walls of the monastery. The monks
received the brilliant cavalcade with closed lids; they were
seen of all and saw no one; nor do they seem to have
treated the Pope much better than they treated themselves: we read that if a stray fish could be caught it was
reserved for the table of the Pope alone.
We must pass by the circumstances of the Council of
Rheims; and Bernard, after this powerful intercourse with
the affairs and destinies of Europe, returned to the shades
of his own beautiful vale-returned to leisure, rest, reflection, and solitude. Fifteen years had passed away since
the grotesque foundation had been laid of the now famous
monastery. From his obscurity he had emerged to place
the tiara on the head of the chief of Christendom; but he
was regarded himself as the acknowledged chief of the
most active minds of Europe and of the age. Clairvaux




182      Pulpit Ioffnographs: Bernard.
was growing outwardly and inwardly. Houses connected
with it were rising in many parts of France; and especially
through the broad, unbroken solitudes of Yorkshire, where
still, two of the loveliest ruins-Riveaux and Fontaineskeep the memory of Bernard alive, and relate the mind
of the visitor to the crumbling wall. But Clairvaux itself
was expanding; it was too small. Numbers were coming,
and the existing site was quite insufficient for the necessities of the order-insufficient for the monks, especially for
the visitors. Soon a nobler structure arose. Large grants
of land were easily obtained, and every needful supply for
the erection lavishly poured in. Still it was a little haven
of shelter in the midst of a stormy sea. A strange and
motley population, we know, assembled within those walls.
Rough, strong, medieval knights, men of appetites and
passions, who had spent their days in intense animalism
and blood-shedding, felt a spirit touch their hearts as they
approached that place, or as its tidings approached them.
They came in the repentance of sackcloth and in strange
agonies of soul, bent their stiff, iron-clad knees before the
altar and in the cloister. We read of some, their faces on
the grass, foaming at the mouth. To this succeeded a
period of peace; they entered the narrow pathway for life:
a pathway now skirted by the gates of hell, now rising to
the heights of heaven.
And is it not beautiful to think of Bernard returning to
these his brethren and his children from those interviews
we have seen him holding with the statesmen of his age;
and in that same year, 1135, then aged forty-four, commencing to this congregation of miscellaneous heartssome subdued and hushed to a peace deeper than that of
woods, and -clouds, and hills, a peace that passeth all
understanding-and some wild, and fevered, and beating
still-that series of discourses which have been called
matchless, in which all the richness, the symbolism, the




The Preacher in the Valley of Wormwood. 183
mystery, tenderness, and beauty of the Ancient Church
were pressed out-his sermons on the Song of Solomon?
By these we suppose the name of Bernard will ever be most
affectionately immortalized. They form one of the richest
roses of the Mediaeval Church. Let us read them as they
should be read; world-wearied and wasted, but sighing
after peace. Let us think of ourselves as listening to them
in those still, cool aisles, sometimes while the sun is climbing in the early morning over the forest trees and hills, and
sometimes in what seems the more sweet and suitable hour
of meditative twilight. In reading, it is imperatively necessary to dismiss from the mind all the refining casuistries
of modern criticism; but read by the spirit of the ancient
book, and with a transference of soul to the time, the place,
the auditors, and preacher, there is something magical and
sweet in their deep experiences. The preacher himself had
been a man to whom life had been no child's play, who
had thought of all the burden of the weary and intolerable
world; perhaps quite as much as any who suppose they
have suffered more in this day of more fastidious tastes,
sometimes mistaken for more acute sensibilities; but he
had passed through his novitiate, and had reached the
peace spoken so deeply in every syllable of those discourses. There came sliding in the old monk, his mortifications almost done; there the young beginner, scarcely
yet habituated to a life so severe; there the possessor of
broad lands, relinquished now for Christ's sake; laborers
from the hot fields; or, rising from the night's vigils, they
gathered round the man whose words and conversation
they verily believed to be of another world. I must let
you see something of these discourses, so long treasured in
the scriptorium of the Church, that you may estimate their
strength and beauty:
GOD ALL AND IN ALL.
But who can grasp the magnitude of delight comprehended




184       Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
in that short word? God will be all in all. Not to speak of the
body, I perceive three things in the soul-reason, will, memory;
and these three make up the soul. How much each of these in
this present world lacks of completion and perfectness, is felt by
every one who walketh in the Spirit. Wherefore is this, except
because God is not yet all in all? Therefore it is that our reason falters in judgment, that our will is feeble and distracted,
that our memory confounds us by its forgetfulness. We are subjected unwillingly to this threefold weakness, but hope abides.
For He who fills with good things the desires of the soul, He
himself will be to the reason the fulness of light; to the will, the
abundance of peace; to the memory, the unbroken smoothness
of eternity. O truth! O charity! O eternity! O blessed and
blessing Trinity! to thee my miserable trinity miserably groans,
while it is in exile from thee. Departing from thee, in what errors, griefs, and fears is it involved! Alas, for what a trinity
have we exchanged thee away. My heart is disturbed, and hence
my grief; my strength has forsaken me, and hence my fear; the
light of my eyes is not with me, and hence my error. O trinity of
my soul  what a changed trinity dost thou show me in mine exile?
" But why art thou cast down, O my soul! and why art thou
disquieted within me? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise
him," that is, when error shall have left my mind, sorrow my
will, fears my memory; and serenity, sweetness, and eternal
peace shall have come in their stead. The first of these things
will be done by the God of truth; the second, by the God of
charity; the third, by the God of omnipotence; that God may
be all in all: the reason receiving light inextinguishable, the
will peace imperturbable, the memory cleaving to a fountain
which shall never fail. You may judge for yourselves whether
you would rightly assign the first to the Son, the second to the
Holy Ghost, and the last to the Father; in such a manner, however, that you take away nothing of any of them, either from
the Father, or the Son, or the Holy Ghost.
Of course, a deep mystical fervor pervades all these sermons, as in the following illustrative extract on
THE FEET OF GOD.
But I must not pass over in silence those spiritual feet of God,




The Feet of God.                  185
which, in the first place, it behoves the penitent to kiss in a
spiritual manner. I well know your curiosity, which does not
willingly allow anything obscure to pass by it; nor indeed is it
a contemptible thing to know what are those feet which the
Scripture so frequently mentions ill connection with God. Sometimes he is mentioned as standing on them, as "We will worship in the place where thy feet have stood;" sometimes as walking, as " I will dwell in them and willwalk in them;" sometimes
even as running, as " He rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race."
If it appear right to the apostle to call the head of Christ God,
it appears to me as not unnatural, to consider his feet as representing man-one of which I shall name mercy, and the other
judgment. Those two words are known to you, and the Scripture makes mention of them in many places.
On these two feet, fitly moving under one divine head, Christ,
born of a woman, he who was invisible under the law, then made
Emmanuel [God with us], was seen on the earth, and conversed
with men. Of a truth, he even now passes amongst us, relieving
and healing those oppressed by the devil; but spiritually and
invisibly. With these feet, I say, he walks through devout
minds, incessantly purifying and searching the hearts and reins
of the faithful.
Happy is that mind in which the Lord Jesus has placed both
of these feet. You may recognize that mind by these two signs,
which it must necessarily bear as the marks of the divine footprints. These are hope and fear. The first representing the
image of judgment, the other of mercy. Justly doth the Lord
take pleasure in them that fear him, in those that hope in his
mercy; seeing that fear is the beginning of wisdom, of which
also hope is the increase, and charity the consummation. These
things being so, in this first kiss which is received at the feet,
is not a little fruit; only be careful that you are not robbed of
either kiss. If you are pricked by the pain of sin, and the fear
of judgment, you have pressed your lips on the foot of judgment
and truth. If you temper this fear and pain by regarding the
divine goodness, and by the hope of forgiveness, you may know
that you have embraced the foot of mercy. It profits not to kiss
one without the other, because the dwelling on judgment only




i86       Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
casts you into the abyss of desperation, while a deceitful trust
in mercy generates the worst kind of security.
To me also, wretched one, it has been given sometimes to sit
beside the feet of the Lord Jesus, and with all devotion to embrace first one, then the other, as far as his loving-kindness condescended to permit me. But if ever, forgetful of mercy, through
the stings of conscience I have dwelt too long on the thought of
judgment, at once cast down with incredible fear and confusion,
enveloped in dark shadows of horror, breathless from out of the
deeps I cried, "Who knoweth the power of thy wrath, and
through fear of thee who can reckon thy displeasure;" if it has
chanced that I have then clung too closely to the foot of mercy,
after forsaking the other, such carelessness and indifference have
come upon me, that my prayers have grown cold, my work has
been neglected, my speech has been less cautious, my laughter
more ready, and the whole state of both my outer and inner man
less firm. Learning then from experience, not judgment alone,
nor mercy alone, but mercy and judgment together, will I sing
unto thee, O Lord; I will never forget those justifications; they
both shall be my song in the house of my pilgrimage, until mercy
being exalted above judgment, then misery shall cease, and my
glory shall sing to Thee for ever, and not be silent.
These were the discourses which charmed multitudes to
the cloisters of Clairvaux. In our day the practical bias of
life has so eclipsed and outstripped the speculative, that it
is difficult to conceive how men could have renounced all
earthly claims and every earthly emolument and position,
that they might have the opportunity of listening to such
spiritual raptures, and indulging in the austere pleasures
of the spiritual life. It is quite wonderful to us to see those
man-slaying barons drawn into the monastic life, often as
by a force they could not resist. Strange conversions took
place.  They hovered near the abbey, half knowing, half
dreading their fate; retired from it and returned, as a moth
returns to the candle with increased haste.  Mr. Morison
tells the stories of knights riding to a tournament, or a fair,
putting up over night at the welcome and opportune mon



The Death of his Brother Gerard.    187
astery, and spending a quieter night than was usual with
them. And the place, and solemnity, and order of the
monastery had not been witnessed in vain. The psalmsinging, and the ceremonies, and the music of the frequent
bells, sent emotions of awe and gentleness into the wearied
hearts of some of them. Perhaps they noticed some old
companion in arms, who was heard last shouting in the
shock of battle, now, instead, shouting Gregorian chants.
The rude barbarian nature is touched, and stays or returns,
to seek peace in the monastery too. There was peace in
the monastery, no doubt; but those hearts which beat so
vehemently beneath the cuirass and the breastplate we may
be sure often chafed against the new rigors of the cage.
The peace, however, which others felt-the peace which
so profoundly breathes along the sermons on the Canticles,
was scarcely the possession of the mighty Abbot. He experienced rather a foretaste of its pleasures, and presented
it in his mellifluous eloquence. He was called upon in his
vast correspondence to interfere, not only in the care of all
the churches, but persons of distinction throughout Europe
seem to have thought that Bernard's time, attention, and
influence should be at their disposal. Bishops in England,
the Queen of Jerusalem, the Kings of France, and Italy,
and Britain, and abbots and ecclesiastics without number.
And his brother Gerard fell sick and died; he was one
of the brethren of Clairvaux. The bereaved Abbot performed for him, whom he had most tenderly loved, the
funeral service. The brother had been also tenderly and
deeply loved by his brethren, and when his spirit passed
away we are told how the sobs and tears of others, not
less than those of Bernard, expressed their grief. Gerard
was his second brother. He had been a bold knight, and
had taken a worldly view of the Abbot's early enthusiasm.
"Ah! " said the young preacher, " tribulation will give thee
understanding, and thou shalt fear greatly, but shalt in




188      Pulpit Monographis: Bernard.
nowise perish."  There was a prophecy in the words:
tribulation came.  " I turn monk," said he, "a monk of
Citeaux."  He was one of his brother's first converts. It
was, upon the day of his death, one of Bernard's duties to
pursue his exposition of the Song of Songs, and at the
appointed time he ascended the pulpit and preached that
funeral sermon, which is also one of the most famous of
the whole course, from Solomon's Song i. 5: " As the tents
of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon "-that is, dark as is
the first, comely as is the last.
And I quote again from these extraordinary expositions,
so illustrative of the pulpit method of the cloisters of the
Middle Ages-As the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.
We must begin from this point, because it was here that the
preceding sermon was brought to a close. You are waiting to
hear what these words mean, and how they are connected with
the previous clause, since a comparison is made between them.
Perhaps both members of the comparison, viz., " As the tents
of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon," refer only to the first
words, "I am black." It may be, however, that the simile is
extended to both clauses, and each is compared with each. The
former sense is the more simple, the latter the more obscure.
Let us try both, beginning with the latter, which seems the
more difficult. There is no difficulty, however, in the first comparison, " I am black as the tents of Kedar," but only in the
last. For Kedar, which is interpreted to mean " darkness " or
" gloom," may be compared with blackness justly enough; but
the curtains of Solomon are not so easily likened to beauty.
Moreover, who does not see that "tents" fit harmoniously with
the comparison? For what is the meaning of "tents," except
our bodies, in which we sojourn for a time. Nor have we " an
abiding city, but we seek one to come." In our bodies, as
under tents, we carry on warfare. Truly, we are violent to take
the kingdom. Indeed, the life of man here on earth is a warfare; and as long as we do battle in this body, we are absent
from the Lord, i.e., from the light. For the Lord is light, and
so far as any one is not in him, so far he is in darkness, i.e., in




Tents of Kedar-Curtains of Solomon.  189
Kedar. Let each one then acknowledge the sorrowful exclamation as his own: " Woe is me that my sojourn is prolonged!
I have dwelt with those who dwell in Kedar. My soul hath
long sojourned in a strange land."  Therefore this habitation
of the body is not the mansion of the citizen, nor the house
of the native, but either the soldier's tent or the traveller's inn.
This body, I say, is a tent, and a tent of Kedar, because, by its
interference, it prevents the soul from beholding the infinite
light, nor does it allow her to see the light at all, except
through a glass darkly, and not face to face.
Do you not see whence blackness comes to the churchwhence a certain rust cleaves to even the fairest souls? Doubtless, it comes from the tents of Kedar, from the practice of
laborious warfare, from the long continuance of a painful
sojourn, from the straits of our grievous exile, from our feeble
cumbersome bodies; for the corruptible body presseth down
the soul, and the earthy tabernacle weigheth down the mind
that museth upon many things. Therefore the soul's desire to
be loosed, that being freed from the body they may fly into the
embraces of Christ. Wherefore one of the miserable ones said,
groaning-" 0 wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me
from the body of this death? " For a soul of this kind knoweth
that, while in the tents of Kedar, she cannot be entirely free
from spot or wrinkle, nor from some stains of blackness, and
wishes to go forth and to put them off. And here we have tho
reason why the spouse calls herself black as the tents of Kedar.
But now, how is she beautiful as the curtains of Solomon?
Behind these curtains I feel that an indescribable holiness and
sublimity are veiled, which I dare not presume to touch, save
at the command of Him who shrouded and sealed the mystery.
For I have read, "He that is a searcher of Majesty shall be overwhelmed with the glory." I pass on therefore. It will devolve
on you, meanwhile, to obtqin grace by your prayers, that we
may the more readily, because more confidently, recur to a
subject which needs attentive minds; and it may be that the
pious knocker at the door will discover what the bold explorer
seeks in vain.
The bursting forth of the grief is most pathetic and




19o      Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
beautiful. "It was fitting that I should depend for everything on him who was everything to me. He left me but
little besides the name and honor of superintendent, for he
did the work. I was called Abbot, but he monopolised the
Abbot's cares."
You know, my children, the reasonableness of my sorrowyou know the lamentable wound I have received. You appreciate what a friend has left me in this walk of life which I havo
chosen-how prompt to labor, how gentle in manner! Who
was so necessary to me? To whom was I equally dear? He
was my brother by blood, but more than brother by religion.
Deplore my misfortune, I beseech you, who know these things.
I was weak in body, and he sustained me; downcast in spirit,
and he comforted me; slow and negligent, and he stimulated
me; careless and forgetful, and he admonished me. Whither
hast thou been torn from me —whither hast thou been carried
from my arms, 0 thou man of one mind with me, thou man
after my own heart? We loved each other in life; how are we
separated in death! 0 most bitter separation, which nothing
could have accomplished but death! For when wouldest thou
have deserted me in life? Truly, a horrible divorce, altogether
the work of death. Who would not have had pity on the sweet
bond of our mutual love but death, the enemy of all sweetness?
Well has raging death done his work; for, by taking one, he
has stricken two. Is not this death to me also? Yea, verily,
more to me than to Gerard-to me, to whom life is preserved,
far gloomier than any death. I live that I may die living, and
shall I call that life? How much more merciful, 0 stern death,
hadst thou deprived me of the use, than of the fruit of life.
For life without fruit is a more grievous death. Again, a
double ruin is prepared for the unfruitful tree-the axe and the
fire. Hating, therefore, the labors of my hands, thou hast
removed from me the friend through whose zeal chiefly they
bore fruit, if they ever did. Better would it have been for me,
0 Gerard I to have lost my life than thy presence, who wert
the anxious instigator of my studies in the Lord, my faithful
helper, my careful examiner. Why, I ask, have we loved, only




Funeral Sermon for Gerard.              191
to lose one another? Hard lot I but I am to be pitied, not he;
for if thou, dear brother, hast lost dear ones they are replaced
by dearer still; but what consolation awaits wretched me, deprived of thee, my only comfort? Equally pleasing to both
was the companionship of our bodies by reason of the unison
of our minds, but the separation has wounded only me. The
joys of life were shared between us; its sadness and gloom are
mine alone. God's wrathful displeasure goeth over me, and his
indignation lieth hard upon me. The delights we derived from
each other's society and conversation, I only have lost, whilst
thou hast exchanged them for others, and in the exchange great
has been thy gain.
In place of us, dearest brother, whom thou hast not with thee
to-day; what an exceeding multitude of joys and blessings is
thine! Instead of me thou hast Christ; nor canst thou feel
thy absence from thy brethren here, now that thou rejoicest in
choruses of angels. Nothing, therefore, can make thee deplore
the loss of our society, seeing that the L6rd of Majesty and the
hosts of Heaven vouchsafe to thee their presence. But what
have I in thy stead? What would I not give to know what
thou now thinkest of thy Bernard, tottering amid cares and
afflictions, and bereaved of thee, the staff of my weakness? if,
indeed, it be permitted to one, who is plunged into the abyss
of light and absorbed in the great ocean of eternal felicity, still
to think of the miserable inhabitants of the earth. It may be
that though thou knewest us in the flesh, thou knowest us no
more, and since thou hast entered into the powers of the Lord,
thou rememberest only His justice, forgetful of us. Moreover,
he that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit, and is entirely
changed into one holy feeling; neither can he think of or wish
for aught but God and the things which God thinks and wishes,
being full of God. But God is Love, and the more closely a
man is united to God the fuller he is of love. Further, God is
without passions, but not without sympathy, for His nature is
always to have mercy and to spare. Therefore thou must needs
be merciful, since thou art joined to the Merciful One; although
misery now be far from thee, thou canst compassionate others
although thou sufferest not thyself. Thy love is not weakened,




192    Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
but changed. Nor because thou hast put on God hast thou laid
aside all care for us, for " He also careth for us." Thou hast
discarded thine infirmities, but not thy affections. "Charity
never faileth; " thou wilt not forget me at the last.
I fancy I hear my brother saying to me, " Can a woman forget
her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the
son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget
thee."  Truly it were lamentable if he did. Whom shall I consult in doubtful matters? To whom shall I trust in trial and
misfortune? Who will bear my burdens? Who will protect me
from harm? Did not Gerard's eyes prevent my steps? Alas,
my cares and anxieties entered more deeply into Gerard's breast
than into my own, ravaged it more freely, wrung it more acutely.
His wise and gentle speech saved me from secular conversation,
mad gave me to the silence which I loved. The Lord hath given
him a learned tongue, so that he knew when it was proper to
speak. By the prudence of his answers, and the grace given
him from above, he so satisfied both our own people and strangers, that scarcely any one needed me who had previously seen
Gerard. He hastened to meet the visitors, placing himself in
the way lest they should disturb my leisure. Such as he could
not dispose of himself, those he brought in to me; the rest he
sent away. 0 diligent man! 0 faithful friend! *
Yes it is, I think, the most wonderful of funeral orations;
and then that pathetic close: "And now my tears put an
end to my words, I pray Thee teach me how to put an end
to my tears."
To dwell upon all the minor details of the life of the illustrious Churchman, would be to write at length the history of the times.  The year following that in which his
brother died, 1140, when he was forty-nine years of age,
that great duel was fought, which has never been allowed
to pass from the memory, not merely of scholars, but even
of cursory readers,-the contest of Bernard with the her* I have quoted lengthily Mr. Morison's admirable and vigorous
translation, for, indeed, this is one of the most wonderful of funeral
orations.




Abelard and Bernard.               193
esies of Abelard. Time forbids me to dwell upon the romantic history and fortunes of that most famous of heresiarchs. From his pages innumerable heretics have filled
their minds with qualms and crotchets, sometimes of conscience, more frequently of notion and opinion. Perhaps
he may be best described by saying, that what David Hume.
has been to our own and to the previous age, that Abelard
was to his own and to the immediately subsequent times.
He pierced into that dread domain in which men inquire
for human and philosophical reasons-where they declare
their wish to understand as well as believe. He and his
disciples were the unconscious parents of a good deal. But
when he was condemned and sent in custody to the monastery of St. Bernard, it is impossible not to feel the anguish which extorted from him that cry —"Good Jesus,
where wast thou then?" But he was a vain, sensitive,
Rousseau-like being; yet it is also impossible not to notice
how much of the noble there was in his character, and how
he labored, with practical earnestness, to reform many of
the crying abuses of the Church. Upon Bernard, to whom
religion was faith and certainty, or nothing, we can easily
conceive he would look with a haughty and supercilious
condescension and pity. I pass all his interesting relations
with Heloise, which have also, no doubt, materially added
to his fame.
But the mind of the man could not rest and be still
and silent, and he was the apostle of free inquiry. His
inquiries had even pierced into the holiest of all-the
very ark of the Trinity. The disputes of the age were most
significant; and Abelard and Bernard, as the foremost men,
must inevitably come into collision. Bernard denounced
the opinions of Abelard, and Abelard challenged Bernard
to a logical disputation. All my hearers know of that great
gathering, that expected tournament at Sens, and how, to
the amazement of that wonderful assembly, when the hour
9




i94      Pulpit Monographs: Bernard.
came, Abelard refused to plead, but appealed from his adversary and from the assembly to Rome.
As Bernard drew near to the close of his life, his strength,
like that of meaner men, became labor and sorrow, especially as the time came when he very earnestly desired to
rest altogether. He was called to preach before the Pope
and the King of France the second crusade. Vezelai was
the place fixed for that wondrous gathering. The town
could not hold the people assembled. The vast throng
was convened upon the declivity of a hill overlooking the
plain of Vezelai; the king, Louis VII., and his queen were
there; barons and knights, and innumerable multitudes of
hardly wrought peasants. But king, or queen, or nobles
were not the objects of attraction. Bernard of Clairvaux
was there on the top of the hill. A high platform of wood
was raised. On this stood the preacher and the king alone.
Thence he could be seen by all, if not heard; and from
those lips flew the words of love, aspiration, and sublime
self-sacrifice. The wondrous light of that thin, calm face,
the flash of tenderness and terror from those dove-like eyes,
communicated themselves to the crowd. Then rose the cry
for " Crosses! crosses! " the murmur from the vast sea of
faces. He scattered them broadcast among the people.
They were soon exhausted. He tore up his monk's cowl
to satisfy the demand. He did nothing but make crosses
so long as he remained in the town. The mind of Europe
spoke through Bernard. The crusade was proclaimed.
And now he travelled through Germany to preach the second crusade at Friburg, Basle, Constance, Spires, Cologne,
Frankfort, Mayence; and, wherever he went, there the
same tumult gathered round him. A daily repetition of
the scene on the hill of Vezelai took place. A simultaneous
rush of the whole population to see him and to hear him,
and then the assumption of the cross by the larger portion
of the able-bodied male inhabitants. Bernard says, that




Death of the Last of the Fathers.    195
scarcely one man was left to seven women. At Frankfort,
he nearly lost his life. The crowd so beset him that he was
in danger of being suffocated. Conrad, the Emperor, for a
time did his best to keep off the press; but it was more
than he could do. At last, laying aside his cloak, he gripped
Bernard in his brawny arms, and hoisting him over his
shoulders, carried him away in safety. A procession of
miracles, too, attended him on his way; but they astonished
him. " I can't think," he says, " what these miracles mean."
It is altogether a sad, painful story of the fanaticism, not
only of a great mind, but of the age. We turn with pleasure from his wild proclamation of the fanaticism of the
sword against the Infidel, to his equally enthusiastic, and
more noble and Christian defence of the Jews from the horrors of persecution. This defence was one of the few items
of our saint's history in which he was in advance of his age.
The crusade was one long disaster; and the fate of the
mighty movement was sharply visited upon the head of its
chief apostle. But other cares pressed upon him, especially
the conquest of innumerable heresies, the writing of many
books and letters connected with the defence of the faith,
and also with efforts to repress the rising of the papacy, of
which he only saw the beginning.
He died at the age of sixty-two. As he was dying, even
ecclesiastics gathered round his dying bed to talk of public
affairs; but they could not interest him. "Marvel not,"
said he, "I am already no longer of this world." Earnest
contendings of prayerful struggles went on around, and in
the delirium of their grief, his friends implored him to stay;
and they created some contest in the mind of the expiring
saint, but only to the lifting his eyes, and the expression of
his wish that God's will might be done,-dying in the faith
and practice of his great and memorable saying, "So far
from being able to answer for my sins, I cannot answer
even for my righteousnes."




VI.
The Great Preachers of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
HAVE said that the history of the Church is the
history of the pulpit; I may also say that the
history of Protestantism is the history of free
speech; and while we have to notice, in the
course of the history, the alliance of many things to
which we can only express, for the most part, entire dissent, it is gratifying to notice that, in our country and in
the pulpit of Protestantism, no speech has obtained any
very great or wide currency, which has not, in a very distinct manner, represented "the truth as it is in Jesus." The
pulpit of Protestantism is placed at a great disadvantage,
all its faults and sins are open to the eye. The ages of
Protestantism have been the ages of the press; we have
not had the means of exercising a rigid watchfulness over
the abberrations of speech of the troops of preaching friars,
while all the unguarded heresies of speech and thought of
the men of the Protestant pulpit stand as if in a panopticon. The Protestant pulpit has been remarkable for its
free speech-and it must be admitted that speech has not
at all times been guarded by good taste and good sense;
we may speak in condemnation of those who have had so
(196)




Free oSpeech in the Church.           197
little reverence for ignorance and infancy, that they have
made their public address the medium for the exhibition cf
all the infirm deformities and ulcers, the doubts all unresolved and unexplored in their own life and faith.
The rise of Protestantism was the birth also of Puritanism, and if their ministry we trace the origin of a pulpit
power which is very distinctly separated from that of the
Romish Church. We have never enough cultivated that
which the Popish pulpit cultivated exclusively; we confine
the intention of our pulpit to those twofold energies,-persuasion and conviction, but these are so simply mental; or,
if emotional, they are so entirely through the operation of
thought, that they very partially, I think, represent our
work; and they do not represent the work of the Romish preacher at all; his aim has been to subdue, to
overwhelm, as he overwhelms by the power of music and
the efficacy of sensuous representations. You will see that
it is possible for such preaching to affect very powerfully,
but to leave the conscience quite unimpressed and untouched; such preaching is akin to the power of music,
and such preachers preach with the same effects and results
as those with which the master and prophet of song might
sing; the very thing is described to the life in the prophet
Ezekiel-" Lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song, of
one that hath a pleasant voice and can play well on an instrument, for they hear thy words, but they do them not."
Let me spend a moment in saying how many venerable
names there are all unknown. I have not taken you to St.
Paul's Cross, that famous place where LATIMER, HOOKER,
HOOPiER, RIDLEY, and many another eloquent tongue spoke.
We do not know the wealth of the old shelves where still
are to be found their remains. Here I have one, THOMAs
PLAYFERE, belonging rather to the sixteenth than the seventeenth century, he was professor of divinity in the University of Cambridge; a Calvinist, I may say almost, of




98 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
course: and he, further, was a fine type of the direct method
which Puritanism  fastened on men's consciences.  Dr.
Playfere has been called a trifler, unrivalled in an ornate and
flowery style; but he is lively, and life-giving, and resembles, in many particulars, his predecessor, Henry Smith;
he stood in the pulpit of the great unchancelled church of
St. Paul's Cross-no rood loft, no richly-carved or gilded
wood-work or screen, no paraphernalia of Popish idolatry
or corruption met the eye; it realized the often-acted scene
of the church-yard cross, in which the old friar was wont to
deliver his single sermon, when perchance denied the pulpit
of the church, but it was the whispering-gallery of the nation. Playfere was a favorite there. I think, however he
may be charged with trifling, his style was one to be eminently attractive to the multitude; for such an audience,
he had what would be a very striking way of repeating,
reiterating, as it were reverberating, his thoughts, images,
and words; notice it in the following:
THAT THE PREACHER MUST SAY WELL AND DOE WELL.
Both pastor and people must doe that themselves which they
teach others to doe. That must be. First for the pastor he
hath two kind of garments,-a breastplate, and an Ephod: the
breastplate shewes that he must have science to teach: the
Ephod shewes that he must have conscience to doe that which
he teacheth. And in the very breastplate itself is written, not
onely Urim, but also Thummim. Urim signifies light. Thummim signifies perfection. To proove that the pastor must not
onely be the light of the world, but also the salt of the earth:
not only a light of direction in his teaching, but also a patterne
of perfection in his doing. For even as the snuffers of the tabernacle were made of pure golde: so preachers, which should
purge and dresse, and cleare others that they may burne-out
brightly, must be made of pure golde, that by doing well they
may also shine themselves. Hence it is that the Priest hath out
of the sacrifices for his share, the shake-breast and the right
shoulder. The shake-breast puts him in minde of teaching




Thomas Playfere.-" Say Well, Doe Well."  I99
well: the right shoulder puts him  in minde of doing well.
That great Prophet Elias is called, the horseman and the Chariot
of Israel. A horseman directs the chariot, and keeps it in the
right way: a chariot goes in the right way it selfe. And so a
minister must not onely as a horseman direct others, and set
them in the right way, but also as a chariot, he must followe a
good course, and walke in the right way himself. He must be
both the horseman that teacheth, and the chariot that doth,
both the horseman and the chariot o" Israel. Therefore he hath
upon the fringes of his vesture pomg:-anats and bells. Many
preachers are full of bells which make a great ringing and
gingling, but because they have not pomgranats as well as bells,
therefore all the noise that they make is but as sounding brass,
or as a tinckling cymball. For the godly pastor must not onely say
well, and sound out the word of the Lord to others clearly as a
bell, but also he must doe well, and as a pomegranat be fruitfull himself and full of good workes. Even as the pillars of the
tabernacle were made of Shittim wood, and overlaid with pure
gold: so preachers (which are called in the Epistle to the Galatians the pillars of the Church) must not onely be overlaid outwardly with pure gold, teaching the word of God purely, but
also they must doe as they say, and inwardly be made of Shittim  woode, which never corrupteth, never rotteth, having no
corruption, no rottenness in their lives. Hereupon our Lord,
speaking to his Prophet saies, Lift up thy voice as a trumpet.
Divers things there are which sound louder than a trumpet,
The sea, the thunder, or such like. Yet he saies not, Lift up
thy voice as the sea, or lift up thy voice as the thunder, but lift
up thy voice as a trumpet. Because a trumpeter when he sounds
his trumpet, he winds it with his mouth, and holds it up with
his hands: and so a Preacher which is a spirituall trumpeter,
must not onely by teaching wel, sound forth the word of life
with his mouth, but also by doing well he must support it, and
hold it up with his hands. And then doth he lift up his voice
as a trumpet. Those mysticall beasts in Ezekiel, which S. Gregorie understandeth to be the ministers of the Church, had
hands under their wings. Many preachers are full of feathers,
and can soare aloft in a speculative kind of discoursing: but if




200 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
you should search for hands under their wings, perhaps you
should scarce find many times so much as halfe a hand amongst
them. But the godly pastor must have not onely wings of high
wisdome and knowledge, but also hands under his wings to doe
that which he knoweth. For as the Prophet Malachie witnesseth, The Priests lips should keepe knowledge. He saies not,
they should babble or utter knowledge to others, and have no
care to keepe it themselves, but having delivered it to others,
they must as well as others observe and doe it themselves. And
then indeede may their lips rightly be said to keepe knowledge.
For even as they which repaired the walls of Jerusalem, held a
sword in one hand and wrought with the other: so Preachers
which by winning souls repaire and build up the walls of the
heavenly Jerusalem, must not onely hold the sword of the spirit,
which is the word of God in one hand, but also they must labor
with the other hand. Els they shall pull downe and destroy
rather than build up. But if they doe as fast as they say, then
they shall build apace, and edifie very much. Therefore Saint
Paul exhorteth Timothie to shew himself a workeman, which
needeth not to be ashamed, dividing the word of God aright.
He must not onely be a word-man, but also a workeman. He
must not onely hold a sword in one hand, to divide the word of
God aright, but also labor with the other hand, and DOE his
best to shewe himselfe a workeman which neede not be asham'd.
And the same Apostle exhorteth the same Timothie againe, to
shewe the true patterne of holsome words. Holsome words is
sound teaching; the true patterne of holsome words, is well
doing. So that he shewes the true patterne of holsome words,
which patternes and samples his teaching by doing, making
them both matches and paires, so that (as Marke the Eremite
speaketh) a man may easily read all his sermons, and all his exhortations to others, written downe as it were, and expressed in
the lines of his own life. And thus must every faithful preacher
doe. He must have not only a brest-plate, but also an Ephod:
he must have written in this brest-plate, not onely Urim, but
also Thummim: he must be like the snuffers of the tabernacle,
not onely purging others, but also made of pure gold himself:
he must have for his share of the sacrifices not onely the shake



Thlomnas Playfere.-  "Say Well, Doe Well."  20I
brest, but also the right shoulder: he must be as Elias was, not
onely the horseman, but also the chariot of Israel: he must have
upon the fringes of his vesture, not onely bells, but also pomgranats: he must be like the pillars of the tabernacle, not onely
overlaid outwardly with gold, but also inwardly made of Shittim woode: he must not onely lift up his voice, but also lift it up
as a trumpet; he must not onely have wings, but also hands under
his wings: he must not onely with his lippes utter knowledge to
others, but also keepe knowledge himself: he must not only
hold a sworde in one hand, but also labor with the other hand:
he must not onely devide the word of God aright, but also shewe
himself a workman which neede not be ashamed: he must not
onely deliver holsome words, but also shewe the true patterne
of holesome words, which is a godly life. The sum is this:
The faithful Pastor must not onely teach well, but also DOE well.
For He that both doth and teacheth, the same shal be called
great in the kingdom of heaven.
Here also from the same sermon:
Beloved in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, it is a verie
monstrous thing, that any man should have more tongues then
hands. For God hath given us two hands, and but one tongue,
that we might doe much, and say but little. Yet many say so
much and doe so little, as though they had two tongues, and but
one hand: nay, three tongues and never a hand. In so much as
that may be aptly applied to them, which Pandulphus said to some
in his time; You say much, but you doe litle: you say well, but
you doe ill: againe, you doe little, but say much: you doe ill,
but you say well. Such as these (which do either worse then
they teach, or lesse then they teach: teaching others to doe well,
and to doe much, but doing no whit themselves) may be resembled to diverse things. To a whetsone, which being blunt
it selfe, makes a knife sharpe. To a painter, which beeing deformed himselfe, makes a picture faire. To a signe, which being weather-beaten and hanging without it selfe, directs passengers into the Inne. To a bell, which being deafc, and hearing not it selfe, calls the people into the Church to heare. To a
nightingale, which being restles, and sitting upon a thorne her
9*




202 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
selfe, brings others by her singing into a sweet sleepe. To a
goldsmith, which beeing beggerly and having not one peice of
plate to use himselfe, hath store for others which he shewes and
sels in his shoppe. Lastly, to a ridiculous actor in the citie of
Smyrna, pronouncing, o colum, 0 heaven, pointed with his finger
toward the ground; which when Polemo the chiefest man in
the place sawe, he could abide to stay no longer, but went from
the companie in a chafe, saying, This foole hath made a solecisme with his hand; he hath spoken false Latine with his
hand. Such are all they which teach one thing, and do another:
which teach well and doe ill. They are like a blunt whetstone:
a deformed painter: a weather-beaten signe: a deafe bell: a
restless nightingale: a beggerly goldsmith: a ridiculous actor,
which pronounceth the heaven and pointeth to the earth. But
he that sitteth in the heaven shall laugh all such to scorn, the
Lord shall have them in derision, and hisse them off from the
stage. Because howsoever they have the heaven commonly at
their tongues ende, yet they have the earth continually at their
fingers end. So that they speak false Latine with their hand, nay
that which is worse, they speake false Divinitie with their hand.
Whereas we might easily avoid all such irregularitie, and make
true cogruitie between the tongue and the hand, if we would
make this text of Holy Scripture the rule of our whole life. For
then, I assure you, we should every one of us play our parts so
well, that in the ende, the tragedie of this woeful life being once
finished, we should have an applause and a plaudite of the whole
theatre, not onely of men and angels, but even of God himselfe,
who doth always behold us.
That which has been called his trifling style, is well illustrated in the copious manner in which he gathers up
images and fancies in the following passage:
Otherwise, the remembrance either of vices or vertues, is so
farre from putting us any whit forward, that it casteth us backward. For as Marke the Eremite witnesseth, The remembrance
of former sinnes, is enough to cast him downe altogether, who
otherwise might have had some good hope. Our sinnes and
Elies sonnes are alike. Elie hearing his sonnes were slaine,




Playfere.-Copiousness of Fancy.   203
whom he himself had not chastised and corrected as hee ought,
fell downe backward and brake his necke. And so all they that
remember and hearken after their former sinnes, which they
should have mortified and killed, fall downe backward, and
turne away from God. For this is the difference betweene the
godly and the wicked. Both fall, but the godly fall forward
upon their faces, as Abraham did when he talked with God: the
wicked fall backward upon the ground, as the Jews did when
they apprehended Christ. Hee that remembers his sinnes to be
sorie for them, as Abraham did, falles forward upon his face:
but he that remembers his sinnes, to rejoice in them as the Jews
did, falles backward upon the ground. Wherefore if thou bee
upon a mountaine, look not backward again upon Sodome as
Lots wife did: if thou be be within the Arke, flie not out againe
into the world, as Noah's crow did: if thou bee well washed, returne not againe to the mire as the hogge doth: if thou bee
cleane purged, runne not again to thy filth, as the dogge doth:
if thou be going towards the land of Canaan, think not on the
flesh-pottes of Egypt: if thou be marching against the hoast of
Madian, drinke not of the waters of Harod: if thou be upon
the house top, come not downe: if thou hath set thy hand to
the plough, looke not behinde thee; remember not those vices
which are behind thee. No, nor those vertues neither. For as
Gregorie writeth; The remembrance of former vertues doth
many times so besot and inveigle a man, that it makes him like
a blinde Asse fall down into a ditch. When Orpheus went to
fetch his wife Eurydice out of hell, hee had her granted to him
upon condition that hee should not turn backe his eyes to looke
upon her, till he had brought her into heaven. Yet having
brought her forward a great way, at length his love was so excessive, that he could not containe any longer but would needes
have a sight of her. Whereupon forthwith he lost both her
sight and herself, shee suddenly againe vanishing away from
him. This is a poeticall fiction. Nevertheless it serveth very
fitly to this purpose. To admonish us, that if we have any vertue, which is to be loved as a man is to love his wife yet wee
must not be so blinde in affection, as to doate too much upon it,
or to fall in admiration of our selves for it, or to be alwaies gaz



204 In the Seventeenth and Ehighteenth Centuries.
ing and wonderin at it, lest by too much looking upon it, and
by too well liking of it, and by too often remembering it, wee
lost it. Because indeed he that remembers his vertues, hath no
vertues to remember.
Here is what would be to the audience of St. Paul's
Cross a delicious piece of trifling.
NAPHTHALI, THE HIND LET LOOSE.
So that the prophecie of the Patriarke Jacob is now also fulfilled, who saith, Nepthalic shal be as a hind let loose giving
goodly words. For Christ did first preach in the land of Nepthaly among the Jews. But seeing the Jews would not obey
him, therefore he had turned to the Gentiles. An( So Nepthalie
is as a hind let loose, giving goodly words. Because Christ, who
first preached in Nepthalie, is not now any longer in prison
among the Jews; but, as a hind let loose, leaping by the mountaines, and skipping by the hills, so he hath run swiftly over all
the world, and with his goodly words, with his gratipus words,
he hath persuaded Japheth aud all the Gentiles, to dwell in the
tents of Shem, and to ride in the chariots of Amminadab.
These chariots of Amminadab are called in Latine, Quodrige,
because each of them is drawne with foure horses. Which very
aptly befitteth the doctrine of the Gospel. For, as Calvin noteth
in his Epistle before his Harmonic, God hath of set purpose ordained that the Gospel should be written by foure Evangelists,
that so he might make a triumphant chariot for his sonne.
Which being drawn with fowre horses, and running upon fowre
wheels might quickly pass over all the earth, and so shew the
glorie of the Lord, unto all his Church.
Another writer may a little hold your notice. ANTHONY
MAXEY, Dean of Windsor, and apparently one of the chaplains of Charles I. In these sermons is less of strength
than in Playfere's, but there is assuredly even more of
tenderness.  There is another, less argumentative than
Playfere, not so tender and rhetorical as Maxey, but
abounding in strong and vigorous and more impressive




Old John Stoughton.                 205
images, JoHa  STOUGHTON, also one of the preachers before
kings.  A chaplain of James I., and one of thethunderers
at St. Paul's Cross.  There is one beginning of that thick
overlaying of the old learning and allusion, which, ornamental as it looks in print, is to be guarded against or very
dexterously used, lest it become only a means of rather
hiding the truth, than of revealing it. None of these men
were either Basils or Chrysostoms; we are not, it must be
confessed, so completely captivated with the setting, as in
the early fathers of Christian eloquence-their method in
the pulpit is the type of multitudes.  It would not profit
you, only should I amuse you, if I gave the method and
outline of any of the sermons of good John Stoughton,
especially in Baruch's Sore Gently Opened, indeed it is
egregiously ludicrous. Yet he was able to talk thus of
PEACE WITH CONSCIENCE.
The Bride that hath good cheere within, and good musicke,
and a good Bridegroome with her, may be merrie, though the
hail chance to rattle upon the tiles without upon her wedding
day: though the world should rattle about his eares, a man
may sit merrie that sits at the feast of good conscience: nay,
the child of God, by vertue of this, in the midst of the waves
of affliction, is as secure as that child, which in a shipwracke
was upon a planke with his mother, till shee awaked him
securely sleeping, and then with his prettie countenance sweetly
smiling, and by-and-by sportingly asking a stroake to beat the
naughtie waves, and at last when they continued boisterous for
all that, sharply chiding them, as though they had been but his
playfellowes. 0 the innocencie! 0 the comfort of peace! 0 the
tranquillitie of a spotless mind? There is no heaven so cleere
as a good conscience.
Againe, all outward blessings cannot make a man happie that
hath an ill conscience, no more than warme cloath can produce
heat in a dead carkasse, if you would heap never so many upon
it: there is no peace to the wicked, Aut si pax, bello pax ea
deterior. For with this, a man in his greatest fortunes, is but




206 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
like him that is worshipt in the street with cap and knee, but
as soon as he is stept within doores, is cursed and rated by a
scolding wife: like him that is lodged in a bed of ivorie, covered with cloth of gold, but all his bones within are broken: like
a book of Tragedies bound up in velvet, all faire without, but
all blacke within, the leaves are gold, but the lines are bloud;
0 the racke! 0 the torment, 0 the horror of a guiltie mind!
There is no hell so darke as an ill-conscience, from which no
earthly thing can free a man; if hee that is bound up in a
velvet suit, filletted with gold laces, were sure to escape this, I
think velvet would never be cut out for patches, to hang out for
signs of the tooth-ach: But is not a Crown of gold can cure
the head-ach, nor a velvet slipper can ease the gout, nor al the
Minstrels can make the Maid that is dead for sin rise and dance:
no more can honour, or riches, or pleasure, quiet the conscience:
onely the harp of David, the holy singer of Israel can charme
this evil spirit. For the Hebrewes observe, that the letters in
the name of God, are literce quiescentes, letters of rest. God
only is the Center, where the soul may find this rest; God
only can speake peace to the conscience, and God speaks this
peace only by religion which brings in the last place, peace
with God.
THE GOD OF PEACE.
God is the best store-house that a man can have, the best
Treasurie that a Kingdom can have: God is the best Shield
of any person, and the best Safe-guard of any Nation, if God
be our enemie, nothing can secure us; if God be our friend,
nothing can hurt us: for when the enemie begirts a Citie round
about with the straightest siege, he cannot stop the passage to
Heaven, and so long as that is opened, there may come releese
and succour from thence, if God be our friend, if He be in
league with us. Faith is a better Enginer than Dedalus, and
he yet made wings, with which he made an escape over the
high wals, within which he was imprisoned: let Pharaoh be
behind, the red Sea before, the mountaines on each side, the
Israelites can find a way, Restat iter celo, calo tentabimus ire:
When there is no other way to escape a danger, a Christian
can goe by Heaven. Againe, when a Citie is compast round




Old John Stoughton.                207
about with a wall that is impregnable, it will yet be open
still toward Heaven, and therefore cannot bee out of danger,
if God be an enemie: for all their wals and bars, God could
raine fire and brimstone upon the Sodomites from  Heaven.
Alexander asked the Scythians, what they were most afraid of,
thinking they would have said of himselfe, who was so
victorious everie where; but they answered scoffingly, They
were most afraid lest Heaven should fall upon them, meaning
they feared no enemy; but we indeed need not feare anything,
but this onely, lest the heaven should fall upon us, lest God
should be our enemy.
WITHOUT GOD IN THE WORLD.
For as feraclitus said, If the Sun were wanting, it would be
night for all the Stars; so if the light of God's countenance be
wanting, if he frowne us, a man may sit in the shadow of death,
for all the glister of all worldly contentments: for, I beseech you
tell mee, suppose the houses were paved with pearles, and walled
with diamonds, if the roofe were open to the injuries of Heaven,
would those shelter you from the storms and tempests? would
you chuse to bee so lodged in an hard winter? Suppose the
king should set you in a Chaire of State, at a table richly
furnished, royally attended, but his sword hangs over your head
in a twined threed, would that honour make you merrie? would
you desire to bee so feasted? Suppose God himselfe should
make you this offer, crowne your heads with rose-buds, and
wash your paths in butter; cloath your selves in purple, and fare
deliciously everie day, take your fill of pleasures, open your
mouth wide, and I will fill you with all that heart can wish of
worldly things, only this Facitum meam nunquam videbitis;
You shall never see my face: would you think you had a good
offer? would you accept of the condition?
In this rich and delightful way the Puritan preacher
of Aldermanbury talked, interlacing his words with a
variety of recondite allusion from the Rabbins, and from
the classics-in  the like of Him, however, and his
style.*
* A good deal of condensed information and acquaintance with




208  In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,
The dawn of tle Reformation was in a day when the
preaching  of the Romish Church was especially cold,
formal, and from the lips; the words of our Reformers,
and the words of awakened Protestantism, have been
especially characterised by this,-they have searched the
conscience. I might attempt to delineate the vices of the
French school of pulpit eloquence, and to lay down some
principles from the materials which the Puritan pulpit has
handed down to us. Both have their faults; true, the
French school, as far as it is represented to us by Bossuet,
seems to me audaciously sinful; and here let me say, that
I have no idea that my meeting with you thus, from week
to week, is for the purpose of making you eloquent as that
term  is usually understood-that is, florid, showy, artistic
and rhetorical speakers.  The work of the true preacher is
the searching of the entrance into men's consciences, by the
knowledge of his own. The preaching of Bossuet is sonorous and showy sound. Versailles, in those days, in the
age of Louis  II., had a theatre and a chapel, and the
spirit of the oAe presided over the other; alike in either
place it was the acting of things which did not for a
moment affect the auditors' life; produced, but never
really touched, the passions. What, then, is in preaching?
-Manner, matter.  The French is almost exclusively
attentive to manner.
In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries we are in
periods during which, in our country, we find the most
eminent illustrations of pulpit earnestness, and the most
remarkable illustrations of pulpit listlessness. We have
every variety of strange anecdote of that time, from the
reign of Queen Elizabeth to the close of the last century;
a long period I know, but time presses. We have heard
the Pulpit of St. Paul's Cross may be found in Sketches of the
Reformation and Elizabethan Age taken from  the Contemporary
Pulpit. By J. O. W. Haweis, M.A.




A  Shop-keeping Style of Eloquence!  209
of William Austin, in the reign of James I., who preached
on the words, "And Bartholomew" for St. Bartholomew's
Day. After noticing, what is perfectly true, that the name
of Bartholomew never appears in Scripture without being
preceded by the copulative particle, he proceeds to dilate
on the Christian duty, and benefit of mutual help, and
assistance, and doctrine, which was entirely evolved from
the words "And Bartholomew." And the ingenious repartee
with which a preacher of this order was once met is well
known. Having become a candidate for some lectureship,
he was required, in his turn, to exhibit his talents in the
pulpit, and naturally wishing to make the most of them,
he took for his text the word  "But"; he thence deduced
the lesson, that no lot is without its cross. Naaman was
a mighty man of valor and honorable; but he was a leper.
The four wicked cities were as fruitful as the garden of the
Lord; but the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners
before the Lord exceedingly. The inhabitants of Ai thought
that they had put the Israelites to flight; but they wist not
that there were liers-in-wait behind the city, &c., &c.
When our divine returned to the vestry, he was met by the
principal of the lectureship with the appropriate observation: " Sir, it was a most ingenious sermon, and we are
exceedingly obliged to you for it; but you are not the
lecturer that will do for us.
And this anecdote leads me to remark that this verbal
crochetiness is very characteristic of many of even the best
preachers of the reigns of James I. and Charles I.; you
will remember, some of you, how this defaces the sermons
even of Bishop Andrewes, and of a greater mind still, that
of Dr. Donne. No doubt our preaching has somewhat improved. Echart tells us of a preacher who may be said to
have a shop-keeping sort of eloquence. He told his hearers
that "Christ is a treasury of all wares and commodities,"
and then he cried aloud, " Good people, what do you lack?




21 o In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth  entnturies.
What do you buy? Will you buy any balm of Gilead, and
eye-salve? Any myrrh, aloes, or cassia? Shall I fit you
with a robe of righteousness, or with a white raiment?
Say, then, what is it you want? Here is a very choice
armory, shall I show you a helmet of salvation, a shield
or breastplate of faith? Will you please to walk in and
see some precious stones? A jasper, a sapphire or a chalcedony? Speak, what do you buy? what do ye buy?" To
some of our notions this is but little short of shocking.
But it has been usual to give the credit of all these sins
against bad taste, and therefore against good sense, to the
Puritan. Robinson, in his edition of Claude has given a
multitude of instances illustrative of the sins of the
educated, and even of bishops and High-Church dignitaries. At a later period the well-known Daniel Burgess
used to say: " That is the best key which fits the lock and
opens the door, though it be not a silver or a gold one."
In one of his sermons he told his congregation, that "if
they wanted a suit for a year they might go to Mr. Doyley;
if they wanted a suit for life they might go into chancery;
but if they would have one to last for ever they must go
to Christ Jesus, and get the robe of his righteousness to
clothe them." In William's reign he said, " The reason why
the people of God who descended from Jacob were called
Israelites was, because God did not choose that His people
should be called Jacobites." The times are full to overflowing of such stories as these.
Amazing and amusing are some of these things in my
possession. I have one sermon entitled The Royal Merchant.
A Sermon preach'd at Whitehall, before the King's Majesty,
at the Nuptuals of an Honourable Lord and his Lady. By
Robert Wilkinson of Cambridge. The second edition-for it
passed into a second edition-bears the imprint of 1708;
it is mainly a description of the bride, and the happy text
taken-" She is like a merchant ship, she bringeth her goods




A  Specimen of Foolishness in Preaching.  21 I
from afar." Every line of it is the most delightful nonsense.  A wife is to be like a ship-a merchant ship-to
teach! (1.) The merchant is a profitable ship, to teach a
wife in all things to endeavor her husband's profit. (2.)
The merchant is a painful ship, and she must be a painful
wife. (3.) He is the merchant, she the ship, she must conclude she was made for him, &c. (4.) She is like a merchant's ship, that is a friendly fellow and peaceable companion, not a man-of-war to him. Then we have the following exquisite passage:
But of the Qualities, a Woman must not have one quality of
a Ship; and that is too much rigging. O! what a wonder is it
to see a Ship under sail, with her Tacklings, and her Masts, and
her tops and top-gallants, with her upper Decks and her Netherdecks and so bedect; with her Streamers, Flags, and Ensigns,
and I know not what; yea, but a world of wonders it is to see a
Woman created in God's Image, so miscreate oftentimes and deformed, with her French, her Spanish, and her foolish fashions,
that he that made her, when he looks upon her shall hardly
know her, with her Plumes, her Fans, and a silken Vizard; with
a Ruff like a Sail; yea, a Ruff like a Rain-bow; with a Feather
in her Cap, like a flag in her Top, to tell (I think) which way
the Wind will blow. Isaiah made a profer, in the third of his
Prophecy, to set out by enumeration the Shop of these vanities;
their Bonnets, and their Bracelets. and their Tablets, their Slippers, and their Mufflers; their Vails, their Wimples, and their
Crisping-pins; of some whereof if one should say to me, (as
Philip sometimes said to the Eunuch) Understandest thou
what thou readest? (Acts 8.) I might answer with the Eunuch
again, How can I without a Guide? That is unless some Gentlewoman would comment on the Text. But Isaiah was then, and
and we are now; now that fancy hath multiplied the Text of
Fashions with the time, so as what was then but a Shop is now
increased to a Ship of Vanities. But what saith the Scriptures?
The King's Daughter is all glorious within, Psal. 45, and as
Ships which are the fairest in shew, yet are not always the fittest
for use; so neither are Women the more to be esteemed, but the




212 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
more to be suspected for their fair trappings; yet we condemn
not in greater Personages the use of Ornaments; yea, we teach
that Silver, Silks and Gold were created, not only for the necessity, but also for Ornament of the Saints: In the practice
whereof, Rebeccah, a holy Woman is noted to have received
from Isaac a Holy Man, even Ear-rings, Habiliments and Bracelets
of Gold, Gen 24, therefore, this is it we teach for Rules of
Christian Sobriety, That if a Woman exceed neither Decency in
Fashion, nor the limits of her State and Degree; and that she be
proud of nothing, we see no reason but she may wear any
thing.
It followeth, she is like a Ship, but what a Ship? A Ship of
Merchants, no doubt, a great Commendation; for the Kingdom
of Heaven is like a Merchant, Matt. 13. and Merchants have been
Princes, Isa. 23, and Princes are Gods, Psal. 82. The Merchant
is of all Men most laborious for his Life, the most adventurous
in his Labour, and the most peaceable upon the Sea, the most
profitable upon the Land; yea, the Merchant is the Combination
and Union of Lands and Countries. She is like a Ship of Merchants, therefore first to be reckon'd (as ye see) among the
Laity; not like a Fisherman's Boat, not like St. Peter's Ship;
for Christ did call no She Apostles. Indeed it is commendable
in a Woman, when she is able by her Wisdom to Instruct her
Children, and to give at Opportunities good Counsel to her Husband: but when Women shall take upon them (as many have
done) to build Churches and to chalk out Discipline for the
Church; this is neither commendable nor tolerable: For her
Hands (saith Solomon) must handle the Spindle, Ver. 19. the
Spindle or the Cradle, but neither the Altar nor the Temple; for
St. John commendeth even to the Elect Lady, not so much her
talking as her walking in the Commandments, 2 John 5. 6. therefore to such preaching Women, it may be answered, as St. Bernard sometimes answered the Image of the Blessed Virgin at
the great Church at Spire in Germany; Bernard was no sooner
come into the Church, but the Image straight saluted him, and
bade him, Good morrow, Bernard, whereat Bernard well knowing the Juggling of the*Fryars, made answer again out of St.
Paul. O (saith he) your Ladyship hath forgot yourself, It is not
lawful for Women to speak in the Church.




The Puritan Method with the Scriptures. 213
Assuredly, all the nonsense was not on the lips of the
Nonconformist. Of course, the period to which I refer
was the time when these moral essays abounded-those
pretty little performances, of which it has been well said
by Dr. Newman, to still and to overcome the force of the
passions they are as effectual as the feathers of the Chinese
thrown into the sea to quiet the storm and to drive away
the devil.
I have quoted some specimens of Romanist oratory,
which certainly show that prejudice had not blinded my
eyes to any measure of excellence among the orators of
that Church; but I could fill a volume with specimens of
nasty sermons, nonsense sermons, and vulgar sermons,
from the lips and pens both of Popish and Church-of-England orators. After such specimens as these, who shall ridicule the preaching of the so-called Puritan carpenters or
cobblers. Things come round, for the very sermons so ridiculed, were frequently preached by those who ridiculed
them. "Odd fate," exclaims Robinson, "of a Puritanical
sermon,-studied in a jail, preached under a hedge, printed
in a garret, sold at a pedlar's stall, bought by a priest's
footman, uttered from a pulpit in a Cathedral, applauded by
a bishop, and ordered to the press by a procession of
gentry."
A mode of treatment of Scripture truth more unlike our
now ordinary method, than that adopted by some of these
men, it is impossible to conceive. How different to Keil
and Delitzsch, to Lange, Olshausen, Ebrard, Ewald, or
Hengstenberg? These old men dealt with Scripture in altogether another fashion. When they sat down to the
Bible they never said, "What do you here? Who sent
you? Whence came you? How do you prove yourself?"
There were not many of them even who said, " What is the
meaning of you? " They accepted all that as understood
from the commencement; they said to the Bible, or the




2 14 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
part of it to which they addressed themselves, "You are
here and I am here; comfort me, help me, talk to me, be
wisdom to me, light to me, treat me tenderly, guide me
truly." They submitted themselves to the Bible with a simplicity and earnestness which, to most of our modern di-.
vines, would seem the most helpless and hopeless imbecility.
Do we mean by this to give altogether our admiration and
adhesion to the method of the old Puritan commentators?
No. We are thankful to the modern men for much; but,
assuredly, the things we cannot press out of them arecomfort, refreshment, and sweetness. Where is there one
of whom that can be said, which Mr. Grosart says of Richard Bernard's Ruth?-" As you read, you feel refreshed as
with the blowing of bean-blossom-scented breezes in your
evening walk; you fancy its author has a gentle spirit,
living apart from the crowd in cloistered piety; the pastor
of some small rural flock bringing the odor of kine and
grass into some antique village church." Again, he speaks
of him, and of another of his works-" As full of wit, wisdom, penetration, and ineffable touches, as the tints in seashells, or the cups in flowers." We shall look a rare long
time among modern theologians of the scholastic or expository, critical or exegetical order, before we meet with any
likeness to things so sweetly, so simply, and delightfully
natural. We have no doubt that, comparing the two orders
of men together in breadth of thought, perhaps in the
quality of pure thought, the moderns have an advantage
over their fathers; of criticism, of course, in our sense of
the word, most of these fathers were entirely ignorantthough even in this department we would back Owen on the
Hebrews against any of the innumerable efforts of modern
times to dig into the depths or scale the heights of that
stupendous epistle; and we still remember with homage
the immense labors of Lightfoot and Pocock; they excelled
in that which seems to be so much passed over, forgotten,




Tedious and "Painful" Preaching.  215 
unknown, or unappreciated among modern theologists;
whether from the pulpit, the professor's chair, or the press;
these ancient men were tender and emotional, experimental.
The probability is, if a man assay that nowa-days, he
sprawls over into the most deplorable stupidity, or, with the
most perfect sang froid, he offers you a glass of the most
watery milk and water. The old commentators were human, thoughtful, perfectly serious in their apprehension of
life and the life to come; they were profoundly experimental, and even now they better read the human states
of some of us than the men who are living in our midst.
Their diffuseness was immense; to us, if our convenience
did not permit us to skip huge gulfs, they would most of
them be frequently tedious. If it be true, as Guibert De.Nogent says, "A tedious sermon only causes anger, what
was good in it is forgotten, and men go away feeling only
aversion," then we think the auditors of those times must
have often gone away angry. It must be admitted that
about many of them there is a great sameness; but they
are rich in illustration and in feeling. Many of them could
scarcely ever have laid down their pen; they must have
been always in the study, they carried the study perpetually
with them, they communed with their own heart. It is
probable the night-lamp continued trimmed to a late hour,
" outwatching The Bear; " it is still more probable that they
were up at an early hour. One wonders how their works
contrived to find a sale sufficient to pay the printer-of
more than this they were usually careless. Conceits and
fancies fastened themselves like burrs upon them, and led
them to all sorts of even whimsical, spiritual, allegorical
interpretations, like Richard Bernard's description of the
marshalling the subjects of the proceedings in Manshire:
Sin is the Thief and Robber; he stealeth our graces, spoileth
us of every blessing, utterly undoeth us, and maketh miserable
both body and soul. He is a murderer; spares no person, sex,




216 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
or age; a strong thief: no human power can bind him; a subtle
thief: he beguiled Adam, David, yea, even Paul. The only
watchman to spy him out is Godly-Jealousy. His resort is in
Soul's Town, lodging in the heart. Sin is to be sought in the
by-lanes, and in Sense, Thought, Word, and Deed Streets. The
hue and cry is after fellows called Outside, who nod or sleep at
Church, and, if awake, have their mind wandering: Sir Worldly
Wise, a self-conceited earthworm; Sir Lukewarm, a Jack-on bothsides; Sir Plausible Civil; Master Machiavel; a licentious fellow named Libertine; a snappish fellow, one Scrupulosity; and
one babbling Babylonian; these conceal the villain Sin. To escape, he pretends to be an honest man; calls vices by virtuous
names; his relations, Ignorance, Error, Opinion, Idolatry, Subtility, Custom, Forefathers, Sir Power, Sir Sampler, Sir Must-do,
Sir Silly, Vain Hope, Presumption, Wilful, and Saint-like, all
shelter and hide him. The Justice, Lord Jesus, issues his warrant-God's Word-to the Constable, Mr. Illuminated Understanding, dwelling in Regeneration, aided by his wife; Grace;
his sons, Will and Obedience, and his daughters, Faith, Hope,
and Charity; with his men Humility and Self-denial, and his
maids Temperance and Patience. Having got his warrant, he
calls to aid his next neighbor, Godly Sorrow, with his seven
sons, Care, Clearing, Indignation, Fear, Vehement Desire, Zeal,
and Revenge: these are capable of apprehending the sturdiest
thief. He goes to the common inn, an harlot's house called Mistress Heart, a receptacle for all villains and thieves, no dishonest
person being denied houseroom. Mistress Heart married her
own father, an Old-man, keeping rest night and day, to prevent
any godly motion from lodging there. The house has five doors,
Hearing, Seeing, Tasting, Smelling, and Feeling. Eleven maids,
impudent harlots, wait upon the guests, Love, Hatred, Desire,
Detestation, Vain-hope, Despair, Fear, Audacity, Joy, Sorrow,
and Anger, and a man-servant Will. The Dishes are the lusts
of the flesh, served in the platter of pleasure; the lust of the
eyes, in the plate of profit; and the pride of life. The drink is
the pleasure of sin; their bedroom is natural corruption. "In
this room lieth Mistress Heart, all her maids, her man, and all
her guests together, like wild Irish."  The bed is Impenitency,




Their Quaint Oddity.                  217
and the coverings Carnal Security; when the Constable enters,
he attacks them all with "apprehension of God's wrath," and
carries them before the Judge, who examines the prisoners, and
imprisons them until the assizes, in the custody of the jailor
New Man. " If any prisoner breaks out, the sheriff-Religion
-must bear the blame: saying, This is your religion, is it?"
The keepers and fetters, as vows, fasting, prayer, &c., are described with the prison.
Or, as in another like description of the trial of the prisoner, and judgment without appeal:
The commission is conscience; the circuit, the Soul: the council for the king are Divine Reason and Quick-sightedness; the
clerk, Memory; the witness, Godly Sorrow; the Grand Jury,
Holy Men, the inspired authors: the traverse jury, Faith, Love
of God, Fear of God, Charity, Sincerity, Unity, Patience, Innocency, Chastity, Equity, Verity, and Contentation; all these are
challenges by the prisoners who would be tried by Nature,
Doubting, Careless, etc., all freeholders of great means. This
the Judge overrules; Old-man is put on his trial first, and David,
Job, Isaiah, and Paul, are witnesses against him. He pleads,
"There is no such thing as Original Corruption: Pelagius, a
learned man, and all those now that are called Anabaptists, have
hitherto, and yet do maintain that sin cometh by imitation, and
not by inbred pravity. Good my lord, cast not away so old a
man, for I am at this day 5,569 years old."  He is found guilty,
and his sentence is: "Thou shalt be carried back to the place
of execution, and there be cast off, with all thy deeds, and all
thy members daily mortified and crucified, with all thy lusts, of
every one that hath truly put on Christ."  Mistress Heart is then
tried, Moses (Gen. viii., 21), Jeremiah (xvii., 9), Ezekiel (xi., 19),
Matthew (xii., 34), and others give evidence, and she is convicted, and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment under the jailor,
New Man. All the rest ofthe prisoners are tried.
Some of my hearers will say, Precisely so, it is the spirit
of fancy and conceit; these "quirks and quiddities" of
speech, with which these men abound, are not pleasant to
10




21 8 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
us.  To which we may also reply, Where such characteristics are, this nimbleness of pregnant fancy brings many
other better things with it; it is like the light or the rainvaluable, not only for what they are in themselves, but for
what they open in others. We like such words as the following, quoted by Mr. Grosart from Samuel Torshell, in
which he so happily sketches the humble rustic believer.
He says:
There lies a great deal of wealth in some obscure and neglected Christians. They do not more ordinarily tread upon and
walk over the unknown veins of gold in America, than many
supercilious and conceited professors do pass by and neglect
golden and very precious spirits. One would not think what
dexterity in the Scriptures, what judgment in controversies,
what ability to settle and comfort a disturbed conscience, what
fervency and expressions in prayer, what acquaintance with God
and His providence, what strength of faith, what patience, meekness, moderation, contentedness, heavenly-mindedness, and what
not, may be now and then found out and discovered in plain
people, men and women that wear plain clothes, that have plain
carriage and plain speech. And besides, there may haply be
more where grace is expected than we look for; more in a saint
than a bare sentence or action will or can express. The golden
vein is broader and thicker than sometimes we guess it to be.
How then is the necessary use of wisdom to be able to see further than the russet? Not to be cozened with reverend beards
and grave furs, and demure countenances (like the councillors to
the Muscovian that I spake of in my Hypocrite), as if graces and
gifts dwelt only at those signs. And when we find a vein, there
mustbe skill to dig it. Oh I how did the old patriarchs remove
their habitations for the benefit of water-springs! how did they
rejoice when they found a well; and we, when we have met with
these " wells of living waters" how shall we fetch it up I (Proverbs xx., 5).
The reading of these men was peculiar, it was a reading
we have learned to despise.  They were not great in novels,




Their Sermons  Microcomas.            219
and compendious notes, and treatises of philosophy; these
were few then; indeed, modern philosophy had scarcely
left her kingdom of Egyptian night of the dark ages to set
forth upon her pilgrimage to the promised land. We read
a hundred books to their one; but for the weight of real
learning, we have in general, perhaps, the proportion of a
grain to a hundredweight. They were thoroughly well-bottomed men, they turned over the fathers with infinite delight. Dear to them Gregory the Great on Job; dear to them
Augustine on the Psalms; and words and works such as
these became index fingers to them of matters they were to
make their own by experience. They put us in mind of
that solitary of the desert, who came into the city of Alexandria and carried back with him a single text of Scripture,
refusing afterwards to learn another because he could never
fully practise the first We find fault with them because
they found a whole body of theology, a perfect universe, in
a text; and yet, perhaps, they were more reasonable than
we are, for as the whole firmament is held in a drop of rain
or dew, and all the forces of nature may be held in solution
in a single grain, so it does not seem unreasonable that
even a single portion of the Book of God should contain
the whole of the Book of God; and it was a characteristic
of most of these commentators that they liked to find and
to dwell upon texts which were to them little, but comprehensive Gospels, the self-contained chapters and portions
of the Book of God, and every text was a kind of geometrical staircase, and stood self-poised and balanced. Many
of these men can never be sufficiently loved, their lives were
the salt of our English earth, their ashes and memories
give a sanctity of memory to many an out-of-the-way village
church or tabernacle, and their words, while we receive
with thankfulness the thoughtful criticism of modern times,
possess a searching and sustaining grace and vigor which
thought and criticism alone can never bestow.




220 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
A notice of these men, their Commentaries and Sermons,
would be quite incomplete if it did not include a reference
to the great and bulky books of CHIUSTOPHER NEss* and
JOHN TRAPP; t the estimates formed of these seem also, for
the most part, the character of THOvAS GOUGE, of EDWARD
ELTON, of ELNATHAN PARR, of MICHAEL JERMN, of WMILLAM
COWPER, of DANIEL ROGES, and innumerable authors besides; amongst whom, it must be confessed, there is considerable sameness of doctrine, remark, and style; among
them, perhaps, Trapp may be regarded as chief, more desultory than many, less critical, more amusing and illustrative, but very substantially the same. Trapp was no
commentator to please the men of the modern critical school,
or nice, over-refining and fastidious tastes. A great deal
that he said will bear perhaps no sort of close scrutiny; he
set down every thing as it came to his nimble and wondrously-furnished memory, and rapid glancing mind; of
all the spiritualizing old commentators he is the chief
Matthew Henry has a flowing and felicitous style; he is
often quaint, never coarse, every word may be read in the
family; what he knew and had read never appears, he always keeps such a highway of speech that the most illiterate can apprehend him; he must have known Trapp's book
well. Their method is very similar, and both dealt with
Scripture exactly as Augustine and Gregory the Great have
set to all times the example. We do not mean, of course,
to compare in weight or worth our two dear commentators
with the grand and immortally-beloved bishops of Hippo
* A Complete History and Mystery of the Old and New Testaments,
Logically Discussed and Theologically Improved, etc., etc. 4 vols.,
folio. 1690.
A Commentary or Exposition upon the Whole Bible. By John
Trapp, M.A., once of Christ's Church, Oxford, now of Weston-uponAvon, in Gloucestershire, 1650-1660. 5 vols., folio. Now in course
of reprint by R. D. Dickenson, London.




John T2rapp the Commentator.           221
and Rome. But they all treated the words of Scripture in
a manner which seems now to be impossible. Every remotest thread of the fringe of sacred speech was to those
men penetrated with divine aromas of fragrances, like " the
oil that went down to the beard, even Aaron's beard, unto
the skirts of his garments," so spiritual power and meaning
pulsed along every syllable of the Holy Book. They could
not read a text without saying, " Surely God is in this place."
All the words, too, panted and were alive with spiritual
meanings-Christ must be everywhere. They constantly
heard him saying, in all the texts of the old Book, " They
testify of Me." This is Trapp's method. A good deal of
modem criticism and commentary results in a beautifully
adroit success in lowering to the reader's mind the whole
tone and intention, exclusiveness and spirituality of the
Book. There is a great deal of nonsense in Trapp; we are
often compelled to smile, and something more, perhaps, but
we do not hesitate to say that his nonsense is always innocent, and we would rather have it than a great deal that
passes for modem  critical refinement and sense. The
things in his pages which are most far-fetched and amusing
are delightful compared with some of the dreary dissertations, the occult, critical sagacities and impersonal etymological abstractions in which some modern minds cut themselves adrift from all the moorings of sense. His reading
must have been extraordinary, he lays it all under contribution; we have no commentary at all approaching it in
its multiplicity and variety of reference and suggestion.
The Fathers, the Greek and Latin poets, historians, and
philosophers, the chroniclers of our own country, all yield
him admirable illustrations; he who read no book but
Trapp, translating, referring to, and verifying, all the authors he quotes, could only be a learned man. Then he is
quaint and witty, and then he holds all in a solution of rich
unction and tenderness. His work abounds with anecdote,




222 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
and while there is much in so large a work with which we
might dispense, so that I have often thought it might be
well condensed for family reading, yet I am compelled to
feel that for ministers and teachers who desire to be masters of assemblies, no commentary is so rich and useful.
He does not refine either in learning or thought, he teems
with corresponding texts whatever passage he expounds.
His knowledge of Scripture must have been, so to speak,
infinite; he explains a text, and, in doing so, refers you to
some out-of-the-way text, or Scripture illustration, which
has most likely escaped your notice, and thus often guides
you to a whole chain of illustration. Certainly William
Orme's criticism, in his Bibliotheca Biblia, partakes only of
his often ungenerous, and always cold criticism, when he
says that " Trapp was a man of some vigor of mind, but
his language is often exceedingly quaint and uncouth."
A large volume would not suffice to trace the characteristics, and even slightly to illustrate the various features of,
the pulpit of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Yet I should like to mention some names, not often heard
now, names of men whose works are few and rare, and not
very likely to be reprinted: some of these are associatedwith a rare amount of learning, of piety, of calm thought,
and still more frequently with the excursions of a most lively
fancy. Turn to the shelves of the Puritan divines-those
massive, square, closely-printed volumes, those stately folios
-they were all spoken in churches before the great parties
came to their defiant struggle, and the madness of that
imbecile, old, frantic Laud tore the Church in twain; or
churches in villages and in towns, while the strife was
raging, and the Independents and Presbyterians were renewing the contest, which had been between freedom and
episcopacy; or, perhaps, in lonely village chapels and conventicles, in the poor meeting-house, retreating into the
lonely lane from the sneer of the satirist, or the warrant of




John Everard.-Kirjath-Sepher.    223
the magistrate.  Let me mention a few whose names and
works will be light, and help, and aid, if you place them
within reach in your study.  There were men to whom, I
confess, I have an attachment of heart-the Puritan mystics; especially GEORGE SIKnE, the friend and biographer of
Sir Harry Vane,* and,his friend, PETEn  STEBRY, whose
work on " The Freedom of the Will," and his rare and highly
prized " Rise, Race, and Royalty of the.Kingdom of God in
the Soul of Man in the Gospel," and his posthumous work
" On the Appearance of God to Mari," refract and glow with
broken and mystical splendors in every syllable, disorderly
and incoherent as they are. More to the level of ordinary
apprehension is JOHN EVEBARD* of Kensington; and to
those who care to enter upon the treasures of mystical divinity, this volume, as well as those mentioned before, is a
perfect exchequer of divine wealth and suggestion; and
not at all inaptly does he illustrate a large religious philosophy of his time, and the mode in which the letter of the
word was made to give up unexpected stores to the patient
seeker. An instance of this occurs in his mode of expounding Joshua xv. 15, 16, 17:
THE SMITING OF KIRJATH-SEPfER.
But to all this I reduce only thispart of this chapter now read,
to unfold and interpret all this: And for the present I have
made choice of these two verses, to give light to that whole chapter; and that chapter is the exposition of this, as I before said:
0, how like is my text, and every part thereof, to those new
washed sheep! Cant. iv., 2, Every word beareth twins, and there
is none barren among them.
Of which two verses, I shall say, as Abigail said of Nabal,
when David came to destroy him,
* Evangelical Essays towards the Discovery of a Gospel State. By
George Sikes, 1666. An Exposition of Ecclesiastes, or, The Preacher, First printed, 1680.
*Some Gospel Treasuries Opened, or the Holiest of atl Unvailing,
&c., &c. By John Everard, D.D. 1653,




224  In te.Seventeenth and Eighteenth   enturies.
Regard not this son of Belial, and let not my Lord be angry,
Nabal is his name, and so is he: So I may say of this text, as
their names are, so are they.
Here is Kiriath-sepher, and Caleb, and Othniel, and Achsah.
We will see what secrets and mysteries the Holy Spirit hath
couched under these vails: For as they are in Hebrew, they express nothing to us; but read them in English, and take off
their vail, and you may see what honey will come out of the mouth
of the eater, and out of the strong sweetness.
What, then, is Kiriath-sepher? In Hebrew it signifies the
City of the Book, or the City of the Letter.
We will first interpret them to you into English, and then we
shall come to show you what they are to every one of us; for it
is the office of the ministers of the New Testament, to strive to
take off the vail, that every one may see his own face in the Scriptures.
In the next place, what is Achsah? In Hebrew it signifies,
the rending of the vail.
And then what signifies Caleb? In the Hebrew it is as much
as to say, My heart, or a perfect heart, or a good heart.
And what, then, is Othniel? In the Hebrew it is, God's good
time, or the Lord'sfit opportunity.
I have, beloved, as yet read it to you but in Hebrew: And
then it runs as it is written, and Caleb said, Whosoever smiteth
the city Kiriath-sepher, and taketh it, to him will I give Achsah my
daughter to wife; and Othniel, the son of Kenaz, the brother of
Caleb, took it, and he gave unto him Achsah his daughter to wife,
and so on. But in English it is to be read thus: And my heart
said, or a good heart said, that whosoever smiteth and taketh
the City of the Letter, to him will I give the tearing or rending
of the vail; And Othniel took it, as being God's fit time or opportunity, and he married Achsah; that is, enjoyed the rending
of the vail, aud thereby had the blessing possessed by Achsah,
by the vail being rent, both the upper springs, and the nether
springs. To him that obtains this rending of the vail, to him
shall be given the mysteries of the kingdom  of God; he possesses full content, heaven and all happiness, and whatever his
heart can wish for, as we shall show hereafter, if God permit.




The Smiting of Kirjath-Seplher.              225
The smiting of this Kiriath-sepher is the smiting of the Letter; we must strike this Letter, this Scripture, and take it, and
then we shall have bonas, the gift, or reward; there isno getting
of Achsah to wife without the smiting of this Kiriath-sephei,
and taking it; you yourselves must be the Othniels, but it must
be a Caleb, a good heart, that must make proclamation in you,
encourage and put you on to this work; you must know this,
Self can never smite this Letter. If you smite it for your own
ends-for your own carnal advantages, or for your own libertythere is enough would so smite the Letter, as St. Paul saith, to
abuse their liberty by Jesus Christ, to the satisfying of theflesh
-this is nothing but the Devil's and Satan's smiting and taking
the Letter: forflesh and the old man wished there were no law
to rule and bridle it: this is not Othniel's, nor a Caleb's smiting
and taking; but this is ourselves-this is not to strike it in
Christ's name, but in our own names, and then we shall never
marry Achsah.
He that rightly strikes the City of the Letter, shall have Achsah
to wife: observe henceThat we may have the Scriptures, and yet not marry Achsah;
we may be very conversant with, and daily use the Scriptures,
and yet never marry Achsah, never possess the rending. of the
vail. Oh, brethren! know this for certain, we may be bred and
born with the Scriptures, live and die with the Scriptures, rise
and go to bed with the Scriptures, eat and drink with the Scriptures; they may be always in our hands and always in use: insomuch that we may be able to give account of the whole Bible
by heart, and yet not marry Achsah, and yet this rock yield no
water to quench our thirst, and all because we read them as a
history, as things done long ago without us, and not at present
doing in us.
Let us labor to preserve the Letter of the Word whole, entire
and untouched; but the Letter is said to kill, not that it doth so
in its own nature, but per accidens: it is so to him who looks no
farther than the Letter, we make it so to ourselves, a killing Letter.
As if, suppose I should give you a cogal, or an oyster, and I
should tell you, Take this, for therein is precious meat to sustain
10*




226 In the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.
and nourish you. Now if you take this and keep it by you and
never crack the shell, that so you may come at the meat and the
virtue that is in it; I may say now, the shell kills you, for if you
only look on the shells, and lie watching the outside only, will
this nourish, will this give life? Certainly no; but if you crack
it, and open it, and eat the meat, this will nourish: yet I may
justly and truly say, this cogal, or these oysters kill you, because
you depend upon that which will starve and undo you, but the
meat, that gives life, so in the same sense is it spoken concerning
the'Word. The Letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. If you be
always handling the Letter of the Word, always chewing upon
that, what great things do you? No marvel you are such starvelings; no marvel you thrive not; no marvel you are such monsters, always children, and never come to any growth; no marvel
you go not on to perfection; what do you more then every carnal
man may do? what do you more than hypocrites? Do not
hypocrites the same? Nay, do not the devil the same? For he
knows the Letter exactly, and he can discourse excellently thereof, far beyond the learnedest Rabby in the world; but I say then,
if you rest only in the Letter, that kills, except this Letter be
crackt, except this city, Kiriath-sepher, be smitten and taken, ye
cannot come at the kernel, ye cannot have Achsah Caleb's daughter.
Though the Letter contain in it life and nourishment, as the
oyster-shell doth the oyster, and as the shell of the cogal doth
the meat; and ye cannot have the oyster without the shell, yet
you see you cannot have the meat neither, without you crack and
break the shell.
This was a singular method of exposition; the style of
Peter Sterry was more suggestive, rich, and magnificent,
literally his pages shine like the dewy spangles of the hedges
upon a bright summer morning, they are glowing with a
mystical gold and glory.  Alas! how many names for the
present I leave unmentioned,the ages to which this Lecture
refers were the ages of Hooker, and Milton, and Barrow,
and Taylor, the age of the Field of Cloth of Gold of our
language and literature.




Puritan Worthies.               227
Every man's mind, as we shall see by-and-by, makes its
own style; I do not commend this style to you, but true
stateliness is strength, and even the most popular style
gains by that tone supplied by Hooker and Milton. I cannot conceive either of these vast men as orators, their works
had no nimbleness, they move like the sails of vast ships
and fleets, not like the wings of birds; this is not the impression the pulpit is to convey, the preacher is to attack,
to be busy with scaling ladders, to use the arrows of choice
words, these men rather blow the trumpet, and parley and
cry aloud for a truce while one matter is being debated.
Beloved names crowd on names. I find it good to pronounce them, but I cannot tythe the shelves that give
wealth to language, and speech, and thought. I can say
nothing of THOMAS WATSON; of THOMAS BROOKS; of NEHEMIAT ROGERS, the author of Tie Fast Friend, The Figless Fig
Tree, and other such pieces; of OBADIAH SEDGWICK, a master
of wit and tenderness, especially in his beautiful piece, The
Shepherd of Israel; and GODFREY GOODMAN, the quaint
author of The Fall of Man. Their faults are not so much
the want of clear arrangement, as of mere verbal and
desultory observation, a lively fancy led them too often to
the mere remarking about a word or a text rather than a
protracted inquiry into the scope and relations of it; from
this vice Willet and Sclater, Jacomb and the Goodwins,
and Manton, are very greatly free, but of all of them and
of these also it may be said for the most part they broke
their treatment of subjects and texts too much into heads;
we read them with love, and with use, but still are often
compelled to think as we read, of Herder's definition of a
sermon, "An animal, with an emaciated body, stretching
out two heads one after the other, displaying two or three
teeth, and dragging after it a four, three, or two-fold tail,
which feebly wags." Emaciated bodies these sermons can
scarcely be said to possess, but they were wanting in that




228 In the Seventeenth and Eighjteentl Centuries.
architecture in the laying of the bricks of the building,
likely to impose and to command success.
Nothing is more remarkable than that, while the writings
of Taylor, and South, and Barrow, should have received
the honor of incessant commendation and quotation, the
writings of Thomas Adams and Brooks and Watson should
be almost unknown, it cannot be the faults of their style,
they exist in even a larger degree in Jeremy Taylor, it
cannot be their inattention to the principles of ne quid
nimis, the presence of superfluities, that was a fault of their
age, there is scarce an exception to the sin of superfluity
in any of those whole pages upon which the fame of these
men has floated. Their wealth is overflowing, their language and their ideas and illustrations roll in waves
upon our mind. There is the wit and pungency with no
unhallowed and servile coarseness, and there is the richness of learning, and majesty, variety, and beauty of style,
with tender, imaginative pathos.




PULPIT MONOGRAPHS.
IV.-Puritan Adams.
[.. HOMAS ADAMS has been called the Shakspeare
of the Puritans. In no sense does this convey
any idea of the place he occupies; but perhaps
L[93 he was the Herbert-the George Herbert-of the
pulpit. There is scarcely a name the age to which he
belonged has preserved which is so surrounded by an
atmosphere of oblivion as his. He is now to us a voice out
of a cloud-at best a shade, and nothing more: "no man
knoweth his sepulchre;" there is no likeness of him;
nothing is known of his parentage; nothing can be
gathered of his life, or his manner of life; over his grave
" the inquity of oblivion," as Sir Thomas Browne would
say, "has blindly scattered her poppy." He is, doubtless,
found in the register of God; but all about him, if we may
trust the industry of those who have sought to perpetuate
his works, has passed from the record of man. Our folio
edition of his collected works bears the imprint of the year
1629.  He was alive in the year 1658, when the two
sermons were published included in Dr. Angus's edition.
He can be traced from pulpit to pulpit, but this is all that
can be gathered of him. In 1612 he was preacher of the
(2z9)




230   Pulpit Monographs: Puritan A dams.
Gospel at Willington, in Bedfordshire; in 1614 he was at
Wingrave, in Buckinghamshire; in 1618 he held the
preachership of St. Gregory's, under St. Paul's Cathedral,
and was "observant chaplain" to Sir Henry Montague,
the Lord Chief Justice of England; in 1629 he published
the folio collection of his works, now reprinted; in 1633
he published the well-known Commentary on the Second
Epistle of Peter; then he vanishes from sight. Hints
there are of his being sequestrated during the period of
the Revolution and Protectorate-possible, even probable.
In 1653 he was living in a "decrepit and necessitous old
age," and most likely died before the period of the Restoration. Through what an eventful period he lived we have
seen; through what changes of events and princes. His
sermons have all the marks of the transition age; they
have all the mannerisms of the Puritan theology; while in
his ideas of government he had all the traces of absolute
Toryism. Like most of the Low Church party of the
present day, he held no doubt to Puritanism in doctrine,
and Whitgiftism in Prelacy,'rubric and general Church
symbolism. Hence, he not only indulges in ample eulogy
upon Queen Elizabeth and her thrice blessed memory, but
floats with almost all the preachers and writers of his
age in flattering homage to James, and to the doctrine of
the divine right of kings. Puritan Adams, no doubt,
suffered by being what he must have been, a popular
preacher. Had Hooker been under the necessity of delivering his Ecclesiastical Polity in discourses at St. Paul's
Cross, had George Herbert been a city preacher, or Sir
Thomas Browne one of the divines of his day, in no
instance should we have had the rich, and rare, and
peculiar gems they have contributed to our language.
Adams is very popular, but his style is often very rugged.
He speaks to the populace, and his fancies and conceits,
his anagrams and conundrums of speech, are frequently a




A  Character Painter.                231
snare to him  throughout his discourses. He is usually
rather pretty than powerful. Instances of bad taste are
abundant in his writings; are they not also said to be
abundant in the writings of men of his times, far greater
than he?  Moreover, he was a preacher of an extinct
order; for sermons on manners have now gone quite out
of date, and his were such. In the pulpit he portrayed
character; we cannot say after the manner of Bishop
Earle, and Overbury, and Butler, since he preceded these
writers. Thus, the portrait of the inconstant and unstable
man, like  many another such  a  sketch, justifies this
remark:
He would be a Proteus too, and vary kinds. The reflection of
every man's views melts him; whereof he is as soon glutted. As
he is a noun, he is only an adjective, depending on every novel
persuasion; as a verb he knows only the present tense. To-day
he goes to the quay to be shipped for Rome, but before the tides
come, his tide is turned. One party thinks him theirs; the adverse theirs; he is with both-with neither; not an hour with
himself. Because the birds and beasts be at controversy, he will
be a bat, and get him both wings and teeth. He would come to
heaven but for his halting. Two opinions (like two watermen)
almost pull him apieces, when he resolves to put his judgment
into a boat, and go somewhither; presently he steps back, and
goes with neither. It is a wonder if his affections, being but a
little lukewarm water, do not make his religion stomach-sick.
Indifference is his ballast, and opinion his sail; he resolves not
to resolve. He knows not what he doth hold. He opens his
mind to receive notions, as one opens his palm to take a handful
of water: he hath very much, if he could hold it. He is sure to
die, but not what religion to die in! he demurs like a posed lawyer, as if delay could remove some impediments. He knows not
whether he should say his Paternoster in Latin or English; and
so leaves it, and his prayers, unsaid. He makes himself ready
for an appointed feast; by the way he hears of a sermon; he
turns thitherward, and yet, betwixt the church-gate and the
church-door, he thinks of business and retires home again. He




232   Pulpit Mlonographs: Puritan Adams.
receives many judgments, retains none: embracing so many
faiths that he is little better than an infidel.... He loathes
manna, after two days' feeding, and is almost weary of the sun
for perpetual shining. If the Temple pavement ever be worn with
his visitant feet, he will run far to a new teacher.... His
best dwelling would be his confined chamber, where he would
trouble nothing but his pillow. He is full of business at church,
a stranger at home, a sceptic abroad, an observer in the street,
everywhere a fool.
But while he performed this task well, it required a loose
and rapid manner and tongue to give effect to the delineations. He draws with a bold hand the pictures of the
manners of the times. Indeed, it is impossible to read
Adams attentively without feeling that the writers whose
names we have just mentioned, not only knew, but felt
themselves beneath the influence of his portraitures. Ho
is, perhaps, rather a divine moralist than a theologian. Ho
follows no thought out in the spirit of Aquinas and the
schools, or even in the spirit and manner of St. Augustine.
He is a man of quick impulses, and often seems to be
mastered by words and forms. He never ventures into the
region of abstract thought; is never tormented by the
causes of things. He is a preacher, and as such he holds
up the mirror to his hearers. He is never far from them
in heights or in depths. There is often a cheerful, easy
garrulity about him. He preached in stirring times, and he
knew how easily to turn the popular feelings by hints, and
reference to the political events of the day. He lived and
preached in the day of the gunpowder plot; preaching
from the text, "Thou hast caused men to ride over our
heads," he exclaimed, "They love fire still: they were then
for fagots, they are now for powder. If these be Catholics,
there are no cannibals." The point of many of his allusions lay in the memory, and therefore in the ready sympathy of the people.




Aphorisms.                       233
Of illustrative aphoristic words the reader may take the
following:
A beast hath one kind of eye, a natural man two, a Christian
three. The beast hath an eye of sense; the natural man of sense
and reason; the Christian of sense, of reason, and faith.
To want the eyes of angels is far worse than to want the eyes
of beasts.
Riches are called bona fortuna, the goods of fortune; not
that they come by chance, but that it is a chance if they ever be
good.
Philip was wont to say, that an ass laden with gold would
enter the gates of any city; but the golden load of bribes and
extortions shall bar a man out of the city of God. All that is to
follow is like quicksilver; it will be running.
Not seldom a russet coat shrouds as high a heart as a silken garment. You shall have a paltry cottage send up more black smoke
than a goodly manor. It is not, therefore, wealth, but vice, that
excludes men out of heaven.
There are some that " kiss their own hands " (Job xxxi. 12)
for every good turn that befalls them. God giveth them blessings, and their own wit or strength hath the praise.
It is usual with God, when he hath done beating his children,
to throw the rod into the fire. Babylon a long time shall be the
Lord's hammer to bruise the nations, at last itself shall be bruised.
Judas did an act that redounds to God's eternal honor and our
blessed salvation, yet was his wages the gallows. All these hammers, axes, rods, saws, swords, instruments, when they have done
those offices they never meant, shall, for those they have meant,
be thrown to confusion.
The five senses are the Cinque Ports, where all the great traffic of the devil is taken in.
When the heart is a good secretary, the tongue is a good pen;
but when the heart is a hollow bell, the tongue is a loud and
lewd clapper. Those undefiled virgins admitted to follow the
Lamb have this praise, " In their mouth was found no guile."
Ask a woman who hath conceived a child in her womb will it
be a son? Peradventure so I Will it be well-formed and featured? Peradventure so? Will it be wise? Peradventure so I




234  Pulpit Monographs: Puritan Adams.
Will it be rich? Peradventure so! Will it be long-lived? Peradventure so! Will it be mortal? Yes, this is without peradventure, it will die!
The following passage upon the almost casual expression
in 2 Peter i. 17-" Such a Voice "-well illustrates how a
word caught him, and often carried him  away upon a
stream of learned and gorgeous fancy and discourse:
SUCH A VOICE."
Tully commends voices: Socrates' for sweetness; Lysias' for
subtlety; Hyperides' for sharpness; 2Eschines' for shrillness;
Demosthenes' for powerfulness; gravity in Africanus; smoothness in Lcelius-rare voices! In holy writ we admire a sanctified boldness in Peter; profoundness in Paul; loftiness in
John; vehemency in him and his brother James, those two sons
of thunder; fervency in Simon the zealous. Among ecclesiastical writers, we admire weight in.Tertullian; a gracious composure of well-mattered words in Lactantius; a flowing speech
in Cyprian; a familiar stateliness in Chrysostom; a conscionable
delight in Bernard; and all these graces in good Saint Augustine. Some construed the Scriptures allegorically, as Origen;
some literally as Jerome; some morally, as Gregory; others pathetically, as Chrysostom; others dogmatically as Augustine.
The new writers have their several voices: Peter Martyr, copiously judicious;  Zanchius, judiciously copious.  Luther
wrote with a coal on the walls of his chamber: Res et
verba Philip2us; res sine verbis Lutherus; verba, sine re
Erasmus: nec res nec verba Carlostadius. Melancthon had both
style and matter; Luther matter without style; Erasmus style
without matter; Carlsdat, neither the one nor the other. Calvin
was behind none, not the best of them, for a sweet dilucidation
of the Scriptures, and urging of solid arguments against the
Anti-Christians.  One is happy in expounding the words;
another in delivering the matter; a third for cases of conscience;
a fourth to determine the school doubts. But now put all these
together: a hundred Peters and Pauls; a thousand Bernards
and Augustines; a million of Calvins and Melancthons. Let




Ringing the Changes on a Word.    235
not their voices be once named with this voice: they all spake
as children.  This is the voice of the Ancient of Days.
Thus he rang the changes very effectively on a word as
in
DUST.
Dust, the matter of our substance, the house of our souls, the
original grains whereof we were made, the top of all our
kindred. The glory of the strongest man, the beauty of the
fairest woman, all is but dust. Dust, the only compounder
of differences, the absolver of all distinctions. Who can say
which was the client, which the lawyer; which the borrower,
which the lender; which the captive, which the conqueror,
when they all lie together in blended dust?
Dust; not marble nor porphyry, gold nor precious stone, was
the matter of our bodies, but earth, and the fractions of the
earth, dust. Dust, the sport of the wind, the very slave of the
besom. This is the pit from whence we are digged, and this is
the pit to which we shall be resolved. " Dust thou art, and to
dust thou shalt return again," Gen. iii. 19. They that sit in the
dust, and feel their own materials about them, may well renounce
the ornaments of pride, the gulf of avarice, the foolish lusts
of concupiscence. Let the covetous think, What do I scrape for?
a little golden dust; the ambitious, What do I aspire for?
a little honorable dust; the libidinous, What do I languish for?
a little animated dust, blown away with the breath of God's displeasure.
Oh, how goodly this building of man appears when it is
clothed with beauty and honor I A face full of majesty, the
throne of comeliness, wherein the whiteness of the lily contends
with the sanguine of the rose; an active hand, an erected
countenance, an eye sparkling out lustre, a smooth complexion,
arising from an excellent temperature and composition; whereas
other creatures, by reason of their cold and gross humors, are
grown over, beasts with hair, fowls with feathers, fishes with
scales. Oh, what a workman was this, that could raise such a
fabric out of the earth, and lay such orient colors upon dust!
Yet all is but dust, walking, talking, breathing dust; all this




236   Pulpit Monographs: Putritan Adams.
beauty but the effect of a well-concocted food, and life itself but
a walk from dust to dust. Yea, and this man, or that woman, is
never so beautiful as when they sit weeping for their sins in the
dust: as Mary Magdalene was then fairest when she kneeled in
the dust, bathing the feet of Christ with her tears, and wiping
them with her hairs; like heaven, fair sightward to us that are
without, but more fair to them that are within.
The dust is come of the same house that we are, and when
she sees us proud and forgetful of ourselves, she thinks with
herself, Why should not she that is descended as well as we
bear up her plumes as high as ours? Therefore she so often
borrows wings of the wind, to mount aloft into the air, and in
the streets and highways dasheth herself into our eyes, as if she
would say, Are you my kindred, and will not know me?
Will you take no notice of your own mother? To tax the folly
of our ambition, the dust in the street takes pleasure to be
ambitious.
The mind of Puritan Adams did not express itself in the
copious and sonorous eloquence of Hooker, nor had his
fancy the solemn, quaintly gargoyled style and thoughtfulness, the subtle paradoxical of Sir Thomas Browne; for,
as we have already said, he was a preacher, and he evidently
thought constantly of his audience; but in his sermons
will be found many of the best characteristics of all the wit
of Fuller, and the allegoric lights of Bunyan, and much
of the out-of-the-way learning and radiant fancy of Jeremy
Taylor. His method and style of treating a text or subject
are altogether his own; a style, however, adopted and found
very taking since his day. We cannot commend it. Thus
in his sermon, "A Generation of Serpents," from the text,
" Their poison is like the poison of a serpent, like the deaf
adder that stoppeth her ear," he expounds eleven characters.-1. The Salamander, the troublesome and litigious
neighbor, whoever loves and lives in the fire of contention.
2. The Dart, that is, the angry man.  3. The Dipsas, the
drunkard. This serpent lives altogether in moorish places:




On the Tongue.                  237
the serpent in the fens, the man at the ale-house. 4. The
Crocodile, the hypocrite.  5. The Cockatrice, said to kill
with its eyes-the courtesan.  6. The Caterpillar, or the
earthworm, emblem  of the covetous.  7. The Asp, the
traitorous seminary.  8. The Lizard, an emblem  of the
slothful.  9. The Sea Serpent, the pirate, a very common
character in Adams' day. 10. The Stellion, the extortioner.
11. Draco, the great red dragon.  Sometimes his illustrations are of the very queerest.  Thus he speaks of the
wonderful making of the tongue.
To create so little a piece of flesh, and to put such vigor into
it: to give it neither bones nor nerves, yet to make it stronger
than arms and legs, and those most able and serviceable parts
of the body.
Because it is so forcible, therefore hath the most wise God
ordained that it shall be but little, that it shall be but one. That
so the paruity and singularity may abate the vigor of it. If it
were paired, as the arms, legs, hands, feet, it would be much
more unruly. For he that cannot tame one tongue, how would
he be troubled with twain!
Because it is so unruly, the Lord hath hedged it in, as a man
will not trust a wild horse in an open pasture, but prison him
in a close pound. A double fence hath the Creator given to
confine it-the lips and the teeth-that through those bounds
it might not break.
A certain quaint and frequently happy ingenuity characterises all the sermons and the writings of Adams. We
have before noticed his resemblance to Herbert: the
quaintness of the good parson of Bemerton is found in
abundance here, not less than his piety. Churchman as he
was, we do not find, indeed, the same temple-like stillness,
or carved imagery of thought. Herbert's life was secluded,
lonely, and hermetic; that of Adams was passed apparently
for the most part in London. Herbert, too, was a more
intense ecclesiastic; his fervors were monastic; and although




238  Pulpit Monographs: Puritan Adams.
his poems are not organ-like airs, they are notes from a
choir, a strange piercing song. Adams was a man of action,
interested in all that went on in the great world; and
quaint as he is, his quaintness is rather that we notice
in the carved oak tracery of some domestic hall or ancient
manor, than the writhing gargoyles, or the dim forms of
ancient church window.  He did not, like Herbert, invite
his fancies in to stay and converse with him; he followed
them out; and even while he followed one, a host started
up, and we sometimes think he chases them all in rather
undignified gait or mood.  Yet there are some notes, and
they are very frequent, which remind the reader of George
Herbert or more aptly Jeremy Taylor.
Men and brethren, let us be thankful. Let our meditations
travel with David in the 148th Psalm, first up into heaven.
Even the very heavens and heights praise Him. And those
blessed angels in His court sing His glory. Descend we then
by the celestial bodies, and we shall find the sun, moon, and
all the stars of light praising Him. A little lower, we shall
perceive the meteors and upper elements, the fire and hail, snow
and vapor, magnifying Him, even the wind and storms fulfilling
His word. Fall we upon the centre-the very earth. We shall
hear the beasts and cattle, mountains and hills, fruitful trees
and all cedars, extolling His name. The chirping birds still sing
sweet psalms and carols to the Creator's praise, every morning
when they rise, every evening when they go to rest. Not so
much as the very creeping things, saith the Psalmist, noisome
dragons, and crawling serpents in the deeds, but they do, in
a sort, bless their Maker.  Let not man, then, the first-fruits
of His creatures, for whose service all the rest were made, be
unthankful.
And the following is very sweetly expressed:
Pride, fraud, drunkenness, is as Mount Seir to the lovers
of them. But, alas! how unsafe: if stronger against, and
further removed from, the hand of man, yet nearer to God's
hand in heaven, though we acknowledge no place far from God




Literary  Characteristics of the Age.   239
or from His thunder. But we say, it is not always the safest
sailing on the top of the mast. To live on the mountainous
height of a temporal estate is neither wise nor happy. Men
standing in the shade of humble valleys, look up and wonder at
the height of hills, and think it goodly living there, as Peter
thought Tabor.  But when, with weary limbs, they have
ascended, and find the beams of the sun melting their spirits,
or the cold blasts of wind making their sinews slack, flashes
of lightning, or cracks of thunder, soonest endangering their
advanced heads, then they confess (checking their proud conceit)
the low valley is safest. For the fruitful dews that fall fast on
the hills stay least while there; but run down to the valley:
and though, on such a promontory, a man further sees, and is
firther seen, yet, in the valley, where he sees less he enjoys
more!
Again:
There is so much comfort in sorrow as to make all affliction
to the elect, a song in the night. Adversity sends us to Christ,
as the leprosy sent those ten. Prosperity makes us turn our
backs upon Christ'and leave him, as health did those nine
(Luke xvii.) David's sweetest songs were his tears. In misery he spared Saul, his great adversary; in peace, he killed
Uriah, his dear friend. The wicked sing with grasshoppers, in
fair weather; but the faithful (in this like sirens) can sing in
a storm. When a man cannot find peace upon earth, he quickly
runs to heaven to seek it. Afflictions sometimes maketh an
evil man good, always a good man better.
We could imagine the author of the Urn Burial had the
following in his mind in a famous passage:
No, they that are written in the eternal leaves of heaven, shall
never be wrapt in the cloudy sheets of darkness. A man may
have his name written in the chronicles, yet lost; written in
durable marble, yet perish; written on a monument equal to a
Colossus, yet be ignominious; written on the hospital gates,
yet go to hell; written on his own house, yet another come to
possess it. All these are but writings in the dust, or ppon the
waters, where the characters perish so soon as they are made.




240   Pulpit Monographs: Puritan Adams.
They no more prove a man happy than the fool could prove
Pontius Pilate a saint, because his name was written in the Creed.
But they that are written in heaven, are sure to inherit it.
But it was the age of strange conceits; and absurdities
inwrought themselves with every department of taste, the
age had not recovered from the grotesque freaks of the
Elizabethan time. From those outrageous leaps, and acrobatic displays of genius, even Shakespere is not free, and
the archictecture of the time, like the speech, we know
abounds with strange displays; allegoric lessons were constantly offering their teachings from classic forms and allusions, and essays on the wisdom of the ancients were written in a way which often to us seem ludicrous enough,
graceless and tasteless in the different departments of
domestic architecture. The pulpit of those times has often
been found in harmony with the taste which only employed
the power of its genius
To raise the ceiling's fretted height,
Each panel in achievement's clothing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.
And quaintness and queerness did assuredly inspire not
only many of the lines of the poets and designs of the
architects, but the plans and conceptions of the preachers
too. Few could preach without interlacing the English
with little bits of Latin,-to our ears and eyes it seems
the merest pedantry-purposeless, for nothing is illustrated, and nothing proved. It was an absurd fashion of
speech, here are two illustrations of this most singular
mode; from both sermons I leave out, as too long, the
more ludicrous of similar passages from the text "Take
thou thy son," &c.
Not to preface away any more tyme, please yow to call to
mind these four gcncralls observable in the text:




Preaching in the Times of James I.   24I
1.-Victima, the Hoast or Sacrifice; described here by a
double name. 1. Proper, Isaak. 2. Appellative, or a name of
relation, Sonne; which likewise is further illustrated by two
other attributes; the one taken ab elections divina, the other ab
affectione humana. 1. Unigenitus, his onely sonne; there's God's
inscrutable election.  2. Dileetus, his beloved sonne; there's
Abraham's deerest affection.
2.-Sacerdos, the Priest which was to offer up this sacrifice.
The person not exprest, but in the word Tolle, Take thow. God
speakes to Abraham: Tile Father must bee the Priest and
Butcher of his own sonne.
3.-Altare, the Altar or Place where this was to be offered;
set downe 1, Generally, the land of Moryah. 2, Specially super
uno montium, one particular mountayne in that land.
4.-Ritus, the Rite and Manner of sacrificinge, or the kind
and quality of the sacrifice: Holocaustum, it must bee an whole
burnt.ofringe.
Again, from the text, " Then said Jesus, Father, forgive
them," &c.
In which Prayer and Supplication of his these six thinges
are observable.
1.-Quando, the tyme when. When hee was hanginge now
on the Crosse, and ready to yield up the Ghost; Tune, then
Jesus sayd.
2.-Quis, the party prayinge. Dixit Jesus, it was Christ Jesus.
3. Cui or ad Quem, the object to whome his prayer is directed'
and that is God his Father.
4.-Quid, the matter and subject, or thinge for what he
prayed; which is Pardon and Forgivenes.
5.-Pro quibus, for whome hee prayeth; Illis, them, his Enemyes.
6.-Quare, the ground and reason of his petition; which was
theyr Ignorance, for they know not what they doe.
The Tyme, when: the Persons, who; the Person, to whome:
the Persons for whome; the Thinge, for what; and the Cause,
wherefore.
In a state of transition from the times which produced
11




242  Pulpit Monogjraph]s: Puritan Adams.
these curious formularies was the age when Thomas Adams
began to preach. He must have been contemporary with
Bishop Andrewes and Dr. Donne. I love Bishop Andrewes,
but his style, almost through every line of it, abounds with
strange readings and words, thus, "Wherefore art thou
red in thine apparel?"  "Let Him be arrayed in scarlet, it
is His due."  His "Doctor's weed"ON THE BIRTH OF CHRIST AT EPHRATA.
Even so, Lord, saith our Saviour, for so is thy pleasure. And
since it is His pleasure so to deal, it is His further pleasure (and
it is our lesson out of this Bethlehem minima). Even this, ne
minima minimi, that we set not little by that which is little,
unless we will so set by Bethlehem and by Christ and all. He
will not have little places villified, little Zoar will save the body,
little Bethlehem the soul, nor have, saith Zacherie, dies parvuslittle times-despised, unless we despise this day, the Feast of
Humility. Nor have one of these little ones offended. Why?
for, Ephrata may make amends for, parvula, ex te for tu.
How quaint and singular reads the following:Will ye now to this inglorious Signe heare a glorious Song;
to this cratch of humilitie, a hymne of caelestiall harmonie? If
the Signe mislike you, ye cannot but like the Song, and the
Queer that sing it. The song I shall not be able to reach to,
will ye but see the Queer? and that shall serve for this time:
For, by all meanes, before I end, I would deal with somewhat
that might ballance this Signe of His low estate. This the
Evangelists never faile to doe; Ever, they look to this point
carefully: If they mention ought, that may offend, to wipe it
away streight, and the Scandall of it, by some other high regard.
See you a sort of poore Shepherds? Stay, and ye shall see a
troope of God's Angels. Heare ye one say, layd in the cratch
below? abide, and ye shall heare many sing, GI rie on high, in
honour of Him that lyeth in it.
Vidisti vilia (saith St. Ambrose) audi mirisica: Were the
things meane you have seen?
Wonderful shall they be, ye now shall heare and see both.




Lancelot Andrewes.                 243
Vilescit prcesepe, ecce Angelicis cantibus honoratur: Is the Cratch
meane? Meane as it is, it is honoured with the musike of
Angels; it hath the whole Queer of Heaven to sing about it.
This also will prove a signe, if it be well looked into; a counter-signe to the other: That, of His humilities; this of His
glorie.
Lancelot Andrewes illustrates the monastic method in a
Protestant Church, listen to him intently, bring to his words
what you will certainly meet in them, a spirit of prayerful
devotion; forgive the quaintness of the preacher for the
holiness which shines through all his words, and you will
not listen in vain. His sermons will bear modern adaptation, if the mind adapting them and using them be itself
informed and filled with ardent and seraphic reverence for
the great truth of the Incarnation; for indeed there is the
glow of a seraph about him-quaint as he is the aureola
of a saint shines over him; cloistral and monastic, his
sermons are wholly free from the wider inspirations of
thought and worldly knowledge, they are narrow in their
range but they are intense; the live coal from off the altar
has given to all his faculties a pure flame; but even as a
coal presents strange and grotesque faces in the fires, so
with the ardors of his style, they are as grotesque as they
are holy; fancies in words took him captive, often it must
be admitted very pleasantly. Thus Christ the Conqueror
coming from Edom and from the grave.
And comming backe thus, from the debellation of the spiritual
Edom, and the breaking up of the true Bozra indeed, it is wondered, Who it should be. Note this that nobody knew Christ
at His rising; neither Mlary Magdalen nor they that went to
Emmaus. No more doth'the Prophet here.
Now there was reason to aske this question, for none would
ever think it to be Christ. There is great oddes; it cannot be
He.
1. Not He: He was put to death and put into His grave and a




244 Pulpit Moonographs: Puritan Adams.
great stone upon Him not three days since.  This Partie is alive
and alives like. His Ghost it canniot be: He glides not (as Ghosts,
they say, doe) but paces the ground very strongly.
Not lie: He had His apparell shared amongst the souldiers;
was left all naked.  This Partie hath gotten Him on glorious
apparell, rich scarlet.
Not lie: if He come, He must come in white, in the linnen He
was lapped in, and laid in his grave. This partie comes in quite
another colour, all in red. So the colours suit not. To be short,
not He; He was put to a foile-to a foul foile-as ever was any:
they did to him even what they listed; scorned and insulted upon
Him. It was then the houre and power of darknesse.  This partie,
whatsoever He is, hath got the upper hand, won the field;
marches stately, Conquerour-like. His the day sure.
The following little extract illustrates the refreshing way
Andrewes had of pressing out comfortable truth in his barbarous Latinities.
There was then a new begetting, this day. And if a new begetting, a new Paternitie and Fraternitie, both. By the hodii
genuite of Christmas, how soone Hee was borne of the Virgin's
wombe. Hee became our brother (sinne, except) subject to all
our infirmities; so to mortalitie and even to death it selfe. And
by death that brotherhood had beene dissolved, but for this
dayes rising. By the hodie genu.te of Easter, as soon as Hee was
borne again of the wombe of the grave, Hee begins a new brother-hood, founds a new fraternitie straight; adopts us (wee see)
anew againe, by his fratres meos; and thereby, Hee that was
primogenitus d mortius, becomes primogenitus inter multos fratres: when the first begotten from the dead, then the first begotten in this respect, among many brethren. Before Hee was
ours: now wee are His. That was by the mother's side; so,
Hee ours. This is by P..t:remn vestrum, the Father's side; So
wee His. But halfe-brothers before; Never of whole bloud, till
now. Now, by Father and Mother both, Fratres germanie, FrMatresfraterimi, we cannot be more.
Bishop Andrewes talks like an old monk of the cloister,




John Donne.                   245
devout, narrow, and intense; John Donne, another of the
courtly preachers of those times, talks like a monastic
schoolman; he also was a contemporary of Adams, they
were both city preachers. But Donne was in himself wonderful, he was a kind of poetical Aquinas, in the pulpit most
metaphysical of preachers; he ran his speculative spirit
into all strange subtleties, his fancies were not verbal but
real. His mind, like mysterious lenses and glasses, explored the infinity revealed in little things and large things;
the remote orbs of distant, dark, and inaccessible heavens;
the unsuspected recesses of homely objects and tritest
truths.  His Gospel was the same as that which Andrewes
preached. As compared with Adams both Andrewes and
Donne had a more semi-Lutheran and semi-Romanist way
of regarding it, in their ideas of the functions of the Church,
and perhaps in their conceptions of a moral, rather than
forensic justification. Although none of these things must
be pressed too closely as the attributes of their theological
system. Donne had a consuming genius, its flames slew
him. But I have referred to him, because, amidst all its
magnificence, he illustrates the eccentricity of the age in
thought and in style, " Every man is but a sponge, a sponge
filled with tears." "We fell by Adam's fall into the dirt,
from that we are washed in baptism, but we fell into a heap
of sharp stones too, and we feel all those wounds and
bruises our whole lives after." There is nothing simply
barbarous in his style; his fancies startle, they do not degrade.
CLOUDS.
We take a star to be the thickest, and so the impurest, and
ignoblest part of that sphere, and yet, by the illustration of the
sun, it becomes a glorious. Clouds are but the beds, and wombs
of distempered and malignant impressions, of vapors, and exhalations, and the furnaces of lightnings and of thunder; yet by
the presence of Christ, and his employment, these clouds are




246 Pulpit Monographs: Puritan Adams.
made glorious chariots to bring him and his saints together.
Those vapors and clouds which David speaks of, St. Augustine
interprets of the ministers of the church, that they are those
clouds. Those ministers may have clouds in their understanding
and knowledge (some may be less learned than others), and
clouds in their elocution and utterance (some may have an unacceptable deliverance), and clouds in their aspect and countenance (some may have an unpleasing presence), and clouds in
their respect and maintenance (some may be oppressed in their
fortunes), but still they are such clouds as are sent by Christ to
bring thee up to him. And as the children of Israel received
direction and benefit, as well by the pillar of cloud as by the
pillar of fire, so do the children of God in the church, as well
by preachers of inferior gifts, as by higher. In nubibus; Christ
does not come in a chariot and send carts for us. He comes as
he went; " This same Jesus which is taken from you into heaven
shall so come, in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven;"
say the angels at his ascension.
GOD IN A CIRCLE.
He shows no mercy which you can call his greatest mercy, his
mercy is never at the highest; whatsoever he hath done for thy
soul or for any other in applying himself to it, he can exceed
that. Only he can raise a tower whose top shall reach to heaven;
the basis of the highest is but the earth; but though thou be
but a tabernacle of earth, God shall raise thee piece by piece into
a spiritual building; and after one story of creation, and another
of vocation, and another of sanctification, he shall bring thee to
meet thyself in the bosom of thy God where thou wast at first,
in an eternal election; God is a circle himself, and he will make
thee one; go thou not about to square either circle, to bring
that which is equal in itself to angles and corners into dark and
sad suspicions of God,, or of thyself, that God can give, or that
thou canst receive, no more mercy than thou hast had already.
This, then, is the course of God's mercy, he proceeds as he begun,
which was the first branch of this second part, it is always in
motion and always moving towards all, always perpendicular,
right over every one of us, and always circular, always commu



' Unknown, yet well known."            247
nicable to all; and then the particular beam of this mercy shed
upon Ahaz here in our text is Dabit signum, " The Lord shall
give you a sign." It is a great degree of mercy that he affords
us signs. A natural man is not made of reason alone, but of
reason and sense'; a regenerate man is not made of faith alone,
but of faith and reason; and signs, eternal things, assist us all.
But, as we said of Adams, he is now unknown, save by these
reliquaries of his pen, like his predecessor in metropolitan
fame for Puritan speech, Henry Smith, of whom, indeed,
little as we know, we know more, for of him we have a rumor, and an effigy-such as it is-but of Adams nothing.
Surely these felicitous and happy sayings, these brilliant
and vivid pieces, must have won the ears of multitudes:
they could not have been delivered with any cold and feeble
mannerism. His friendships have gone, too. He knew
Donne: they both ministered in the same old St. Paul's
Church. What appreciation they had of each other-the
subtle, metaphysical speaker, with the clear, practical one
-the quaint creature, full of visible oddities of eloquence,
with the solemn spirited man, the dark sayings of whose
harp none the less practical, spoke to the depths of inner
conduct and speculation. It is interesting to think of him
in London, while the great roar of events rose to the ear
from the Continent, and throughout the land. It was a
glorious age-the age immediately succeeding that of Elizabeth-the great struggle rising in England between the
people and prerogative; the great struggle rising in France,
too-the age of the independence in Holland-the age of the
Mayflower-the age of the murder of Raleigh; of the fall
of Bacon; the translation of the Bible; the Quixotism of
Laud; the execution of Strafford; the rise of the civil war.
Adams was preaching through all these events, and in the
most powerful and wealthy district of the city of London.
He was there when the members took shelter from the
King within its liberties; and the spirit of that free age




248  Pulpit Monographs: Puritan Adams.
seems to speak out in the words of the man. What does
it matter really that we know so little of him. As men live
neither in their names nor their bodies, so neither do they
live in their tombs nor the hatchments over them; and of
millions of men, perhaps as worthy or as mighty as Adams,
we know as little, or less. So drifts away many a simple
parish minister, or conventicle teacher: no tombstone marks
his grave, no printed piece of paper commemorates his
name, but the "enduring substance" abides in spiritual
power conferred, although its ancestry cannot be traced.
Fame is a most capricious inheritance, even like wealth: it
is distributed very blindly. We know a great deal about
that ridiculous Pepys, and that absurd jackanapes BrummelL  Our author goes altogether out of sight, wraps his
invisible cloak about him, and goes altogether away from a
world which did not, it would seem, treat him too well, becomes possessor of the " oblivion which is not to be bribed,"
and some may think his lot enviable.
His works have been long prized as a vast mine of illustrations, a fertile field of happy imagery. Adams we in no
case commend as the architect of Thought or of Theology.
His views-and decidedly Calvinistic they were-were clear
to himself, but they were expressed in too much of the
style of Paul's Cross to be the best means of furnishing a
student; but, for a happy, witty characteristic, for the
quaint intermingling of learning, allusion, fable, and fancy,
for felicitous description, for powerful appeals to, blows indeed on, the conscience of the hearer-say rather, vivid
lightning-like glances into the eyes of conscience-Adams,
we believe, has few rivals and scarcely any superior.




VII.
Wit, Humor, and Coarseness in
the Pulpit.*
IMONG  the contributions of Huram, king of
IU7/~\j Tarshish, to the great builder of the temple of
Jerusalem-in the report presented in the Second Book of Chronicles-there stands the curious
item  of monkeys and peacocks.  Monkeys and peacocks
have been very plentiful in the building of the temple in all
* Among the innumerable volumes published illustrating this,
we may mention:
1. Autobiography of Peter Cartwright, the Backwoods Preacher:
the Birth, Fortunes, and General Experiences of the oldest American
Methodist Travelling Preacher. Edited by W. P. Strickland. London; Arthur Hall, Virtue & Co.
2. The Rifle, Axe, and Saddle Bag, and other Lectures. By William Henry Milburn. With a Preface, including a Life of the Author. By the Rev. T. Binney. London: Sampson Low, Son & Co.
1857.
3. Ten Years of Preacher Life. Chapters from an Autobigraphy.
By William Henry Milburn. With Introduction by the Rev. William Arthur, M. A. Sampson, Low & Co.
4. An Essay on the Composition of a Sermon. Translated from the
Original French of the Rev. John Claude. With Notes by Robert
Robinson. In Two Volumes. 1788.
5. The fietropolitan Pulpit. By James Grant.
6. Scot's Presbyterian Eloquence. Tenth Edition, 1766.
7. Answler to Ditto, 1798.
8. English Presbyterian Eloquence, &c., 1720.
&c., &c., &c.
11'                          (249)




250       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
ages since, especially the apes-the monkeys.  It might
seem singular how that quaint and disgusting beast can
ever minister to the service of the masters of wisdom, or
the priests of the temple; but it seems certain that his
foolishness has aided the plans and purposes of even highest
and holiest things. Indeed we are not squeamish in our
ears, whatever we may be in our appetites; it is with food
for the mind as with food for the stomach: all food which
seems coarse is not really coarse; good oatmeal is a fine,
honest, nutritive diet, while the fine kickshaws of a Paris
cook, drenched in condiments and sauces, are among the
most gross and vicious-the most really coarse and innutritious abominations which can vex the stomach. The Rev.
Mr. Treacle sometimes has offended our gastric tastes, but
we could never listen to the Rev. Mr. Honeyman for five
minutes without being surfeited and sickened; true, we
have no wish to make a meal of either the one or the
other.
The subject of these remarks is a very large one, and is
capable of a great variety of treatment; it is perhaps true
that the taste of the nation and of the Church has improved. Perhaps the things altogether outrageous to good
sense and propriety would not be dictated now to the mind
of any speaker. We are far from thinking they would not
be tolerated if uttered. And we think we perceive a disposition to return to those times when the unction of a discourse was in its gross coarseness, and its pith and its power
in its offensiveness. Perhaps it is impossible to wield an influence over immense masses of people without something
of this. Certainly it has usually been the case that those
sacred orators who have moved multitudes have done so, if
not principally, yet frequently by offences against the canons
of good taste. The time has gone by when even gentlemen
and scholars thus indecorously exposed themselves; the
history of the pulpit furnishes some strange instances to




The Function of Humor.              25 I
some of which we may refer-but these are comparatively
old. Against the legitimate use of humor, wit, and satire
in the pulpit we have little to say; those who can use them
with skill may find these weapons of speech as available,
perhaps more available, than any; for they certainly are
weapons which lie on the side of the more simply human,
perhaps, even in the case of satire, the more shining part
of human nature. We gain power over men principally as
we remove from the regions of the abstract. Even imagination is most powerful, not when it ascends into the
heights and heavens of unrealized poetry, but when it
rather descends into the household and the shop; and here
is its most legitimate realm. No one can doubt that humor
may be purified, who has heard some of the great pulpit
masters of even the present day; and we believe that its
judicious use, reined and guided by piety, tenderness and
taste, would do more to bring truth near to the hearts of
the multitudes than any other element of speech. It is
singular that so rich as our language is in humor, in the
pulpit it has been so seldom employed, nay, it has become
so rare that it has also become distasteful; and he who
uses it has to calculate on a fair share of unpopularity with
his brethren in the ministry for his condescension to the
popular infirmity of a smile, even if he stop short by many
degrees of the more flagrant heresy of a laugh. And yet
the minister may be sure that his successful speech will depend greatly upon his ability to use this; for it is humor
which is the great detective in character-it distinguishes
the shades of minds, and hearty humor also has a keen eye
for the frailties and failings, the sins and infirmities, the
lesser and the larger sorrows, and the lighter or the
weightier joys of the whole human family. I have often said
that a man may as well preach without humanity as without humor, but then perhaps most men do preach without
humanity-they find their truth, and dissect off all its human




252        Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
relations, and hold it up, a mere piece of curious theologic
osteology to the eye.
In the pulpit any man who does not aim to lift his audience out of the region of every-day life-out of the region
of sorrow  and of sin, out of the region of doubt and
trembling-the preacher who does not perpetually aim to
influence the mind from higher regions, had better for his
own sake hold his peace; if that guiding thought-which
is only what the essayists and reviewers would call the
ideological way of speaking of the glory of God, as the
reviewers' chief end-if that commanded all the faculties
and powers of the preacher it would balance all his efforts.
Truest humor is tenderness; coarseness is always synonymous with hardness; a gross, overflowing, sensual nature
may say a multitude of clever, shrewd, laughable things,
but not for a moment merit the character of the humorist;
they may be just the luxuriant outgrowth of a hot tropical
climate; that wilderness of rank luxuriance does not delight us, it is the nestling ground of very dangerous things;
the very beauty needs to be educated in a less voluptuous
soil.  Such productions may be wonderful, but scarcely
beautiful. Such is the coarseness with which the old pulpit
abounded; hardness and blasphemy are characteristics of
many of the sermons of the old times.*
* No doubt, in very rude and primitive times, and over very
rough and ragged congregations, this weapon even may be used,
and not in vain. Mr. Milburn gives us an account of an old American preacher of the backwood districts in the days of the Saddle
Bag:
" Take the following as a specimen of their predilections. It was
a discourse delivered by the Rev. James Axley, familiarly known
as'Old Jimmy,' a renowned and redoubtable preacher of East Tennessee. It was related by Hugh L. White, for many years a distinguished judge in that State, and afterwards a conspicuous member of the Federal Senate.
"It was noised through the town of Jonesborough that Mr,




Singular Personal Applications.    253
Yet this is not so objectionable as many other styles of
preaching to which we may yet have occasion to refer. We
can almost match it ourselves, from the unpublished pulpit
reminiscences of a dear departed friend. It may be sixty
years since there frequently came to Bristol a well-known
Calvinistic Methodist preacher of that day-in a day when
flattering titles were not very lavishly distributed-called
Sammy Breeze by the multitudes who delighted in his ministry. He came periodically from the mountains of Cardi.
ganshire, and spoke with tolerable efficiency in English.
Our friend was in the chapel when, as was not unusual, two
ministers, Sammy Breeze and another, were to preach.
Axley would hold forth on the morning of the ensuing Sabbath.
The famous divine was a great favorite-with none more than with
Judge White. At the appointed hour, the judge, in company with
a large congregation, was in attendance at the house of prayer. All
was hushed in expectation. Mr. Axley entered, but with him a
clerical brother, who was' put up' to preach. The congregation
was composed of a border population; they were disappointed;
this was not the man they had come to hear, consequently there
was a good deal of misbehavior. The discourse was ended, and Mr.
Axley rose. It is a custom in the new country when two or more
preachers are present, for each of them to have something to say.
The people opine that it is a great waste of time to come a long
distance and be put off with a short service. I have gone into
church at eight o'clock in the morning, and have not come out again
until five o'clock in the afternoon. Short administrations are the
growth of thicker settlements.
"Mr. Axley stood silently surveying the congregation until every
eye was riveted. He then began:
"' It may be a very painful duty, but it is a very solemn one, for
a minister of the Gospel to reprove vice, misconduct, and sin, whenever and wherever he sees it. But especially is this his duty on
Sunday and at church. That is a duty I am now about to attend
to.
"' And now,' continued the reverend speaker, pointing with his
long finger in the direction indicated,'that man sitting out yonder
behind the door, who got up and went out while the brother was




254       Wit, Humor, etc., in  the Pulpit.
The other took the first place-a young man with some
tints of academical training, and some of the livid lights
of a then only incipient Rationalism on his mind. He took
for his text-" He that believeth shall be saved, and he that
believeth not shall be damned;" but he condoned the
heavy condemnation, and, in an affected manner, shaded
off the darkness of the doom of unbelief, very much in the
style of another preacher, who told his hearers that he
" feared lest they should be doomed to a place which good
manners forbade him from mentioning." The young man
also grew sentimental, and begged pardon of an audience,
rather more polite than usual, for the sad statement made
preaching, stayed out as long as he wanted to, got his boots full of
mud, came back and stamped the mud off at the door, making all the
noise he could, on purpose to disturb the attention of the congregation, and then took his seat; that man thinks I mean him. No
wonder he does. It doesn't look as if he had been raised in the
white settlements, does it, to behave that way at meeting. Now,
my friend, I'd advise you to learn better manners before you come
to church next time.-But I don't mean him.
"'And now,' again pointing at his mark,' that little girl sitting
there, about half-way of the house-I should judge her to be about
sixteen years old-that's her with the artificial flowers on the outside of her bonnet and the inside of her bonnet; she has a breastpin on, too (they were very severe upon all superfluities of dress),
she that was giggling and chattering all the time the brother was
preaching, so that even the old sisters in the neighborhood couldn't
hear what he was saying, though they tried to. She thinks I mean
her. I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart for any parents who have
raised a girl to her time of day, and haven't taught her how to behave when she comes to church. Little girl, you have disgraced
your parents as well as yourself. Behave better next time, won't
you?-But Idon't mean her.'
" Directing his finger to another aim, he said,'That man sitting
there, that looks as bright and pert as if he never was asleep in his
life, and never expected to be, but that just as soon as the brother
took his text, laid his head down on the back of the seat in front of
him, went sound asleep, slept the whole time and snored; that




Story of a Welsh Preacher.                 255
in the text.  "But, indeed," said he, "he that believeth
shall be saved, and he that believeth not,-indeed, I regret
to say, I beg your pardon for uttering the terrible truthbut indeed he shall be sentenced to a place which here I
dare not mention."  Then rose Sammy Breeze.  He began
-"I shall take the same text to-night which you have just
heard.  Our young friend has been fery foine' to-night; he
has told you some very polite things. I am not fery foine,
and I am not polite; but I will preach a little bit of Gospel to you, which is this-' He that believeth shall be saved,
and he that believeth not shall be tamned,' and I begs no
pardons."  He continued-" I do look round on this chapel;
man thinks I mean him. My friend, don't you know the church
ain't the place to sleep? If you needed rest, why didn't you stay
at home, take off your clothes, and go to bed? that's the place to
sleep, not church. The next time you have a chance to hear a sermon, I advise you to keep awake.-But Idon't mean him.' Thus
did he proceed, pointing out every man, woman, and child, who
had in the slightest deviated from a befitting line of conduct;
characterizing the misdemeanor, and reading sharp lessons of rebuke.
"Judge White was all this time sitting at the end of the front
seat, just under the speaker, enjoying the old gentleman's disquisition to the last degree; twisting his neck around to note if the audience relished the'down-comings' as much as he did; rubbing
his hands, smiling, chuckling inwardly. Between his teeth and
cheek was a monstrous quid of tobacco, which, the better he was
pleased, the more he chewed; the more he chewed, the more he
spat, and behold, the floor bore witness to the results. At length,
the old gentleman, straightening himself up to his full height, continued, with great gravity:
"' And now I reckon you want to know who I do mean. I mean
that dirty, nasty filthy, tobacco-chewer, sitting on the end of that
front seat' —his finger meanwhile, pointing true as the needle to
tLe pole-' see what he has been about! Look at those puddles on
the floor; a frog wouldn't get into them; think of the tails of the
sisters' dresses being dragged through that muck.' The crest-fallen
judge averred that he never chewed any more tobacco in church."




256       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
and I do see people all fery learned and intellectual. You
do read books, and you do study studies; and fery likely
you do think that you can mend God's Book, and are fery
sure you can mend me. You have great-what you call
thoughts-and poetries. But I will tell you one little word,
and you must not try to mend that-but if you do it will be
all the same. It is this, look you-' He that believeth shall
be saved, and he that believeth not shall be tamned,' and I
begs no pardons. And then I do look round your chapel,
and I do see you are fine people, well-dressed people, wellto-do people. You are not only pious, but you have fery
foine hymn-books and cushions, and some red curtains, for
I do see you are fery rich, and you have got your monies,
and are getting very proud. But I will tell you it does not
matter at all, and I do not mind it at all-not one little bit
-for I must tell you the truth, and the truth is-' He that
believeth shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be
tamned,' and I begs no pardons."  "And now," continued the
preacher, "you will say to me,'What do you mean by talking to us in this way? who are you, Sir?' And now I will
tell you I am Pilly Preeze. I have come from the mountains of Cardiganshire on my Master's business, and His
message I must deliver. If you will never hear me again,
I shall not matter much; but while you shall hear me, you
shall hear me, and this is His word to me, and in me to
you-' He that believeth shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be tamned,' and I begs no pardons." But
the scene in the pulpit was a trifle to the scene in the vestry.
There the deacons were in a state of great anger with the
blunt teacher; and one, the relative-we believe the ancestor-of a well-known religious man in Bristol, exclaimed" Mr. Breeze, you have strangely forgotten yourself to-night,
Sir. We did not expect that you would have behaved in
this way. We have always been very glad to see you in
our pulpit; but your sermon to-night, Sir, has been most




The Devil and the Herd of Swine.   257
insolent, shameful."  He wound up a pretty smart condemnation by saying-" In short I don't understand you."
"Ho! ho! What! you say you don't understand me.
Eh! look you then, I will tell you I do understand you.
Up in our mountains, we have one man there, we do call
him exciseman. He comes along to our shops and stores,
and says,'What have you here? anything contraband
here?' And if it is all right, the good man says,' Step in,
Mr. Exciseman; come in, look you.' He is all fair, and
open, and above-board. But if he has anything secreted
there, he draws.back surprised, and he makes a fine face,
and says,'Sir, I don't understand you.' Now you do tell
me you don't understand me; but I do understand you,
gentlemen: I do, and I do fear you have something contraband here; and now I will say good night to you; but
I must tell you one little word, that is-' He that believeth
shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be tamned,'
and I begs no pardons."
Some sermons are much more coarse in seeming than in
reality. We have lying before us now on the table the old
sermon, well known and often quoted, Beelzebub Driving and
Drowning his Hogs, by J. Burgess, with its queer divisions:
In these words, the devil verified three old English proverbs;
which, as they contain the general drift of my text, shall also
contain the substance of this ensuing discourse.
1. The devil will play at small game, rather than none at all.
"All the devils besought Him, saying, Send us into the swine,
that we may enter into them."
2. They run fast whom the devil drives.
" When the unclean spirits entered into the swine,"'tis said,
"The whole herd ran violently."
And 3. The devil brings his hogs to a fine market.
" Behold the whole herd ran down a steep place into the sea,
and were choked."
But in the sermon itself there is nothing characterized by




258       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
especial bad taste, while we should suppose it would, to a
plain people, not be delivered without useful hint and suggestion. There is much more real coarseness in the following quotation, given by Robinson from a Romanist sermon;*
but indeed our readers db not need to be informed that,
for illustrations of "filthy talking,"-and "foolish talking
and jesting, which is not convenient," they will find no sermons like some of the old Romanist sermons.
It is the exordium of a sermon which Father Selle, a French
Dominican, had the courage to preach in Poland before his Excellency Cardinal de Janson, ambassador there:
"Gen. ix. 13.'I do set my bow in the cloud.' It is not
enough for the celestial rainbow to please the eye-it conveys
the richest consolation into the heart; the Word of God having
constituted it the happy presage of tranquillity and peace,'I do
set my bow in the cloud.'
"The' bow,' enriched with clouds, becomes the crown of the
world-the gracefulness of the air-the garland of the universe
-the salubrity of heaven-the pomp of nature-the triumph of
serenity-the ensign of love-the picture of clemency-the messenger of liberality-the mansion of amorous smiles-the rich
stanza of pleasure-in fine, the trumpet of peace, for'I do set
my how in the cloud.'
"It is a'bow,' gentleman, with which, the roaring thunder
being appeased, the heavenly Orpheus, in order insensibly to
enchant the whole creation, already become immoveable by his
divine harmony, plays upon the violin of this universe, which
has as many strings as it has elements-for' I do set my bow in
the cloud.'
" Yes! it is a' bow' in which we see Mars, the eternal god of
war, who was just now ready to overwhelm the world with
tempest, metamorphosed into a god of love. Yes! it is a' bow'
all gilded with golden rays-a silver dew-a theatre of emeralds, rubies, and diamonds, to increase the riches of this poor
beggarly world.'But you perceive, gentlemen, I am speaking
of that celestial star, that bow in the cloud, Mary Magdalen!' 
* Robinson. Claude, Vol. p. 237.




Coarse Sermons, and Worse.               259
"Bravo! Mary Magdalen is like a rainbow, and a rainbow is
like a fiddle-stick! "
The Church of England, also, must bear her share of
this burden of coarse comparison and allusion. Here is a
citation from a sermon by Edward Willans, vicar of Hoxne,
Suffolk:
He that hath no charity in his cribbage must needs be bilkt
at his last account, for all that faith, which he turneth up in his
profession. Let us prog less for gifts, and pray more for grace.
The fairest way into the city of the text, is through the suburbs
of the verse before it. It is a bargain of God's own making, to
honor them that honor him. As soon as we are loosed from our
mother's womb, we are all bound towards the womb of our greatgrandmother, the earth. The most emphatical words in the
text (Matt. xiii. 45, 46) are borrowed either from that richer way
of merchandizing by wholesale, or from that poorer way of
peddling by retail. All usury cannot draw all the guts and garbage of the earth into one man's coffers; no, nor so much as the
white and yellow entrails of the Indian earth.
Robinson says:
Some comparisons are odious. The filthiest sermon that ever
I read was preached by the glorious author of "Icon Basilike,"
Dr. Gauden, before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of Iondon, in
St. Paul's, 1659. The text is Jer. viii. 11, "They have healed
the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly." The Doctor
says, " The prophet's bowels were pained by that coarctation,
which fear makes upon the lactes and smaller bowels near the
heart." There is hardly a species of hospital nastiness which is
not introduced here. " The text has six parts: a patient, the
sick Church of England; HER hurt; her present healing; the
cheat of it; those magniloquent mountebanks, fanaticks; and,
lastly, the true way of healing by that catholicon Episcopacy."......Ah, Doctor!...... The Doctor's patient is "his daughter, his
sister, his mother, a forsaken virgin, a rich married wife, and a
poor desolate widow." This good lady has got " flesh-wounds,
ulcers, gangrenes, pustules, angry biles, running issues, and fis



260        Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
tulas; she is plethorick and consumptive, her spirits are flat,
and her head is cracked; she has got the itch and the scratch,
and her inward wounds are bleeding;" and in this miserable
plight " sons of Telial commit a horrible rape upon her."  Presently they bring " salves, elixirs, and diurnal doses, and sing
lullaby." At last comes Dr. Gauden, and applies " lenitives, unguents, and poultices; he purges humors, removes proud flesh,
probes and cleanses festered places; cures pantings and fainting
fits; and all the other fetidity which that unmannerly medicaster, the devil, had caused by his infernal eructations."......All
this-and ten times worse —at St. Paul's Cathedral, before the
Lord Mayor and all the city magistrates, the several livery companies, the Lord General Monk, the clergy, gentry, ladies, and
populace, by their "humble servant in Christ, John Gauden,
D.D.," afterwards the Right Rev. Father in God, John, Lord
Bishop of Exeter.
In reviewing the history of pulpit eloquence, we are often
reminded of the old fable of the cuckoo and the nightingale.
Both contended who should sing the sweetest: and the ass,
because of his long ears, was made the judge. The nightingale sung first, the cuckoo next.  The ass's determination
was that truly the nightingale sang pretty well; but that
for a good, sweet, plain, taking song, and a fine, clear note,
the cuckoo sang far better. Well, we too have our own regards for the cuckoo, but we must remind that bird that,
in fact, it is not a nightingale. We see some dispositions
now-a-days to elevate the cuckoo to an unseemly dignity.
But coarseness is, indeed, neither cuckoo or nightingale.
Yet in many ages of the Church has not this been the most
pleasant and  engrafted  word?  There is an order of
preaching and of prayer which shakes hands and says
" Hail, fellow, well met " to blasphemy.  An old volume before us-"Presbyterian Eloquence Displayed "*-abounds
* It may most trulybe said of this selection, An enemy hath done
this; but they enter into the history of the pulpit, and are not altogether unfair illustrations of its character in the times to which




The Foolish Preaching of Good Men. 261
in illustrations of this shocking mood of mind. We select
a few illustrations, far from the worst:
One John Simple, a very zealous preacher among them, used
to personate and act sermons in the old monkish style. At a
certain time he preached upon that debate, Whether a man be
justified by faith or by works, and acted it after this manner:
" Sirs, this is a very great debate; but who is that looking in at
the door, with his red cap? Follow your look, Sir; it is very
ill-manners to be looking in: But what's your name? Robert
Bellarmine. Bellarmine, saith he, whether is a man justified by
faith or by works? He is justified by works. Stand thou there,
man. But what is he, that honest-like man standing in the floor
with a long beard, and Geneva cowl [hood]? A very honest-like
man! draw near; what's your name, Sir? My name is John
Calvin. Calvin, honest Calvin, whether is a man justified by
faith or by works? He is justified by faith. Very well, John,
thy leg to my leg, and we shall hough [trip] down Bellarmine
even now."
Another time, preaching on the day of judgment, he told them,
"Sirs, This will be a terrible day; we'll all be there, and in the
throng I, John Simple, will be, and all of you will stand at my
back. Christ will look to me, and he will say, Who is that
standing there? I'll say again, Yea, even as ye ken'd not [knew
not] Lord. He'll say, I know thou's honest, John Simple; draw
near John; now John, what good service have you done to me
on earth? I have brought hither a company of blue bonnets
for you, Lord. Blue bonnets, John! What is become of the
they refer. We have in our possession a curious collection of tracts
to the same purpose, exhibiting the defects of several sides and
parties-such as Pulpit Sayings; or the Characters of the PulpitPapist, examined in answer to the Apology for the Pulp:its. Sold at
the Printing House on the Ditch Side, Blackfriars, 1688. A Century of Eminent Presbyterian Preachers. By a Lover of Episcopacy,
1723. An Apology for the Pulpits; being an Answer to the Book intituled Good Advice to the Pulpits, 1638. Seventeen Arguments Proving the Unlawfulness, Sinfulness, and Danger of suffering Private
Persons to take upon them Public Preaching, 1651. The Preacher;
a Poem, 1700. &c., &c.




262        Wit, Humor, etc., in  the Pulpit.
brave hats, the silks, and the sattins, John? I'll tell, I know
not, Lord, they went a gait [a road] of their own. Well, honest
John, thou and thy blue bonnets are welcome to me; come to
my right hand, and let the devil take the hats, the silks, and
the sattins."
Mr. Simple (whom I named before) told, "That Sampson was
the greatest fool that ever was born; for he reveal'd his secrets
to a daft hussy [foolish wench]. Sampson! you may well call
him fool Thomson; for all the John Thomson's men [hen-peckt
men] that ever was, he was the foolest."
I have a sermon of theirs, written from the preacher's mouth
by one of their own zealots, whereof this is one passage: "Jacob
began to wrestle with God, an able hand, forsooth! Ay, Sirs,
but he had a good second, that was Faith: Faith and God gave
two or three tousles together: at last God dings [beats] down
faith on its bottom; Faith gets up to his heels, and says, Well,
God, is this your promise to me t I trow, I have a ticket in my
pocket here: Faith brings out the ticket, and stops it in God's
hand, and said, Now, God! Is not this your own write? deny
your own hand-write if you dare? Are these the promises you
gave me? Look how you guide me when I come to you. God
reads the ticket, and said, Well, well, Faith! I remember I gave
you such a promise; good sooth Faith, if you had been another,
thou should have got all the bones in thy skin broken."
Mr. John Welsh, a man of great esteem among their vulgar,
once preaching on these words of Joshua, "As for me and my
house we will serve the Lord," &c., had this preface:
"You think, Sirs, that I am come here to preach the old jogtrot, faith and repentance to you; not I, indeed; What think
you then I am come to preach? I came to preach a broken
covenant. Who brake it? even the devil's lairds, his bishops,
and his curates; and the de'il, de'il, will get them all at last. I
know some of you are come out of curiosity to hear what the
Whigs will say. Who is a Whig, Sirs? One that will not
swear, nor curse, nor ban; there is a Whig for you: But you
are welcome, Sirs, that come out of curiosity; you may get good
ere ye go back again. I'll give you an instance of it: There
was Zaccheus, a man of low stature, that is, a little droichy




Peter Cartwright.                 263
[dwarf] body, and a publican, that is, he was one of the excisemen; he went out of curiosity to see Christ, and, because he
was little, he went up a tree: do you think, Sirs, he went to
harry a pyot's nest [rifle a magpie's nest]? No, he went to see
Christ; Christ looks up, and says, Zaccheus, thou art always
proving pratticks, thou'rt no bairn now; go home, go home, and
make ready my dinner, I'll be with you this day at noon. After
that, Sirs, this little Zaccheus began to say his prayers, evening
and morning, as old honest Joshua did in my text: " As for me
and my house," &c., as if he had said, Go you to the devil and
you will, and I and my house will say our prayers, Sirs, as
Zaccheus and the rest of the apostles did."
This state of things, I might hope, has, with us, long
gone by, and yet we have here, circulating widely, the life
of Peter Cartwright, a gentle-minded, lamb-like Christian,
to whom it was about a matter of equal indifference whether
he should fight or preach, and whose discourses, not unfrequently, had all the most offensive vulgarity of the quotations we have given above, although set to the tune of a
widely different theology. Now, it is with us a pretty
definite conviction, although we are aware how fearful the
hazard is, that we may be contradicted, that Christianity
does not smile upon and approve bullying and pugilism.
Certainly, if circumstances arise to develop the spirit of
the prize ring in the Christian preacher, this does not seem
to be the thing to exalt to the ideal of Christian biography.
The age of the early Christians was very favorable to the
inculcation of these pugilistic lessons, but singular to say
the New Testament contains none. He was a strange fellow, this Peter Cartwright-no doubt much about him that
was manly, and noble, and truthful; but the young men
who read it to their great edification, may remember that,
even admitting some virtue in the book, it belongs to an
order of society we hope entirely unlike ours; a society of
rowdies and filibusters, of scoundrels and slave-holders.
Well, we do not desire to see this spirit return into the




264       Wit, Rumor, etc., in the Pulpit.
midst of our pulpit life. We have passed through the
midst of it. And perhaps the coarse and vulgar pugilist,
Peter Cartwright, was inherently a finer character than the
scholarly SOUTH. Meanness is never so detestable as when
it condescends to besmirch itself with grossness. What
could be expected from a man who could say, "gratitude
among friends is like credit among tradesmen, it keeps business
up, and maintains the correspondence; and, we pay not
so much out of a principle that we ought to discharge our
debts, as to secure ourselves a place to be trusted another
time?"  A nice clean sentiment for a Christian teacher!
But it takes away all surprise at the following passage,
from  a sermon preached before the King, of virtuous
memory.
" Who that looked upon Agathocles first handling the clay,
and making pots under his father, and afterwards turning robber, could have thought that from such a condition, he should
have come to be King of Sicily?
" Who that had seen Massaniello, a poor fisherman with his
red cap and his angle, would have reckoned it possible to see
such a pitiful thing, within a week after, shining in his cloth of
gold, and with a word or nod absolutely commanding the whole
city of Naples?
" And who that beheld such a bankrupt, beggarly fellow as
Cromwe!l, first entering the Parliament house with a threadbare
torn cloak, greasy hat (perhaps neither of them paid for), could
have suspected that in the space of so few years, he should, by
the murder of one king, and the banishment of another, ascend
the throne?" At which the king fell into a fit of laughter; and
turning to the Lord-Rochester said, " Ods fish, Lory, your chaplain must be a bishop, therefore put nie in mind of him at the
next death."
It is impossible to read South with pleasure: in the
most unlikely places the abusive spirit of the foul-mouthed
old renegade, for he had been of the Puritan party, and
wrote a Latin ode of fulsome adulation of Cromwell, offends




Robert South.                 265
any reader who regards decency and decorum of language.
We feel that he who could write this had attained to no
knowledge of the text and purity of the Christian life. To
this he also owes much of his popularity; yet his style is
certainly robust and masculine, but it is heavy, the sentences are long, and sometimes drag wearily. It is strange
to say it reads like a very honest style: there are no glowing words, no fancies, there is nothing imaginative or ideal
He never rises beyond common sense. He is impatient of
all those topics which belong either to the symbolism of
the Church or to the spiritual aspects of its faith, and his
wit is not profuse, and when it comes, it is either in low
vulgar coarseness, or it is merely a remark with some point
in its analogy. When those who are not acquainted with
his writings read of the wit of South, they must not expect
the affluence and redundancy of Swift, or the smartness of
Sidney Smith; and some acquaintance with his works will
reduce his proportions to those of a by no means extraordinary writer, as he was in no sense an admirable man.
His excellency is to be traced to the fact that he stated,
with great clearness and precision, truths quite level to the
ordinary mind. His cube was a very contracted one, and
he had neither the intelligence nor genius nor taste to look
beyond, or to attempt to gauge wide relations; this is evident in his sermon on Contingencies, which at once illustrates his shallowness in philosophy and abusiveness in
spirit. Perhaps his supposed wit and real coarseness have
obscured his more solid excellences, for they are to be
traced; but among those who have sinned by the introduction of drollery into the pulpit I know of none so disgusting as he. He had not the shelter of a harassed and
persecuted party, nor the motives of an impulsive nature.
He was simply a spiteful, malevolent time-server; there
was nothing kind or genial in the humor of the man, and
his satire was only able to take aim at Puritanism or at
12




266       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
piety. There are fine passages in South.  "A blind man
sitting in the chimney corner is pardonable enough, but
sitting at the helm he is intolerable."  "Solomon built his
temple with the tallest cedars; and surely when God refused the defective and the maimed for sacrifice, we cannot
think he requires them for the priesthood."  When we find
him discoursing to us as follows we listen impressed and
thoughtful.
Every judgment of God has a force more or less destructive,
according to the quality and reception of the thing that it falls
upon. If it seizes the body, which is but of a mortal and frail
make, and so, as it were, crumbles away under the pressure,
why then the judgment itself expires through the failure of a
sufficient subject or recipient, and ceases to be predatory, as
having nothing to prey upon. But that which comes out of its
Creator's hands immaterial and immortal, endures and continues
under the heaviest stroke of his wrath; and so is able to keep
pace with the infliction (as I may so express it) both by the
largeness of its perception and the measure of its duration. He
who has a soul to suffer in, has something by which God may
take full hold of him, and upon which he may exert his anger
to the utmost. Whereas, if he levels the blow at that which is
weak and mortal, the very weakness of the thing stricken at
will elude the violence of the stroke; as when a sharp, corroding rheum falls upon the lungs, that part being but of a spongy
nature, and of no hard substance, little or no pain is caused by
the distillation; but the same falling upon a nerve fastened to
the jaw, or to a joint, (the consistency and firmness of which
shall give force to the impression,) it presently causes the quickest pain and anguish, and becomes intolerable. A cannon bullet will do terrible execution upon a castle-wall or a rampart.
but none at all upon a wool-pack.
But he will not allow us to enjoy in quiet long. Even
his most spiritual passages prove themselves to be the offspring of an unreal mind, as when he closes his exposition




Robert South.                   267
of David's desire for the tabernacle with his customary
insolence.
What says David, Psalm lxxvii. 13, " Thy way, 0 God, is in
the sanctuary." It is no doubt, but that holy person continued
a strict and most pious communion with God, during his wanderings upon the mountains and in the wilderness; but still he
found in himself, that he had not those kindly, warm meltings
upon his heart, those raptures, and ravishing transports of
affection, that he used to have in the fixed and solemn place of
God's worship. See the two first verses of the lxiii. Psalm, entitled, " A psalm of David, when he was in the wilderness of
Judah," how emphatically and divinely does every word proclaim the truth that I have been speaking of! "0  God," says
he, " thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land,
where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have
seen thee in the sanctuary." Much different was his wish from
that of our nonconforming zealots now-a-days, which expresses
itself in another kind of dialect; as " When shall I enjoy God
as I used to do at a conventicle " " When shall I meet with
those blessed breathings, those heavenly hummings and hawings, that I used to hear at a private meeting, and at the end
of a table?"
We can neither love nor respect South.  "God will not
accept their barn-worship, nor their hogsty worship;" all
Puritans are "sly, sanctified cheats; they are all a company of cobblers, tailors, draymen, drunkards, whoremongers, and broken tradesmen; though since, I confess, dignified with the title of the sober part of the nation." The
audience no doubt laughed at all this rubbish, but it does.not seem to me to be either elegant or witty; some things
are more disgusting still, as when the execution of the King
is compared to the execution of Christ, which it transcended
in iniquity, since the murder of Christ was but His murder, but the execution of the King was the crucifixion of




268       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
Christianity itself.  I push away the great droll and wit of
the pulpit of the Restoration, and do not care to make his
further acquaintance.
The greatest of all the wits and satirists of the pulpit we
have known was the great Spanish orator, ANTONY of Vieyra;
Spanish wit and humor, that wit and satire of the keen
Damascus blade; the wit of Quevedo or of Cervantes shone
from him in a sustained and instructive manner, unlike any
other great pulpit master we can mention, and he dealt with
the sins and vices of his age, in an age of especial vice, with
searching and scathing severity. There is nothing of the
coarse buffoon, or the low droll in any of these sermons,
take for instance, the celebrated
SERMON TO THE FISHES.
What! and are we to preach to-day to the fishes? No audience
can be worse. At least fishes have two good qualities as hearers
-they can hear, and they cannot speak. One thing only might
discourage the preacher-that fishes are a kind of race who
cannot be converted. But this circumstance is here so very
ordinary, that from custom one feels it no longer. For this
cause, I shall not speak to-day of heaven or of hell; and thus
this sermon will be less gloomy than mine are usually considered,
from putting men continually in remembrance of these two ends.
*        *        *        *        *
To begin, then, with your praises, fishes and brethren. I
might very well tell you that, of all living and sensitive creatures,
you were the first which God created. He made you before the
fowls of the air; He made you before the beasts of the earth;
He made you before man himself. God gave to man the monarchy and dominion over all the animals of the three elements,
and in the charter in which He honored him with these powers,
fishes are the first named. " Let them have dominion over the
fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle."
Among all animals, fishes are the most numerous and the largest... ~For this reason, Moses, the chronicler of the creation,




Vieyra's Sermon to the Fishes.             269
while he does not mention the name of other animals, names a
fish only. " God created great whales."  And the three musicians of the furnace of Babylon, brought forward in their song
the name of the same fish, with especial honor, " 0 ye whales
bless ye the Lord."  These and other praises, then, and other
excellences of your creation and greatness, I might well, 0 fishes,
set before you; but such a matter is only fit for an audience of
men who permit themselves to be carried away by these vanities,
and is, also, only suited to those places where adulation is allowed, and not in the pulpit.... Great praise do ye merit, 0 fishes, for the respect and
devotion which ye have had to the preacher of the Word of God;
and so much the more, because ye did not exhibit it once only.
Jonah went as a preacher of the same God, and was on board a
ship when that great tempest arose. How did men then treat
him, and how did fishes treat him? Men cast him into the sea,
to be eaten by fishes; and the fish which followed him carried
him to the shores of Nineveh, that he might there preach, and
save those men. Is it possible that fishes should assist in the
salvation of men, and that men should cast into the sea the ministers of salvation? Behold, fishes-and avoid vain-glory-how
much better are ye than men.....Aristotle, speaking of fishes, says, that they alone, among
all animals, can neither be tamed nor domesticated.... There
they live, in their seas and rivers; there they die in their fountains; there they hide themselves in their grottoes: and none
among them is so large as to trust man, or so small as not to
avoid him. Authors usually condemn this characteristic of
fishes, and attribute it to their little docility, or exceeding brutishness; but I am of a very different opinion. I do not condemn-on the contrary, I very much praise-this their retirement; and it seems to me that if it were not natural to them, it
would be a proof of their prudence. Fishes, by how much the
further from men, by so much the better. Hate conversation and
familiarity with them. God preserve you from it! If the beasts
of the earth and the birds of the air choose to be man's familiars,
let them do it and welcome: it is at their own expense. Let the
nightingale sing to man: but it must be in her cage. Let the




270       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
parrot talk to him: but it must be with her chain. Let the
hawk go to the chase with him: but it must be in her jesses.
Let the ape play the buffoon for him: but it must be with his
ring. Let the dog content himself with gnawing his bone: but
he must be dragged where he likes not, by his collar....
In the time of Noah happened that flood which covered and
drowned the world; and of all animals, which fared the best?
Of lions, only two escaped-a lion and a lioness; and so of other
beasts. Of eagles, two only escaped, the male and the female;
and so of other birds. And of the fishes? All escaped; nay,
and not only all escaped, but were much more at liberty than before: because the land and the sea were then all sea. If, then,
in that universal chastisement all the beasts of the earth and all
the birds died, why did not the fishes also die? St. Ambrose
says, because the other animals, as more domestic, and more
nearly allied, had greater communication with men; the fishes
lived at a distance, and retired from them.... See, fishes, of
how great benefit it is to live at a distance from men. A great
philosopher, being asked which was the best country in the
world, replied, " That which has the largest portion of desert:
because it has men at the greatest distance." If St. Antony
preached this, also, to you, and if this was one of the benefits for
which he exhorted you to give thanks to God, he might well
have asserted with respect to himself, that, the more he sought
God, the more he fled from man....
But before you depart, as you have heard your praises, hear
also that which I have to blame. It will serve to make you
ashamed, though you have not the power of amendment. The
first thing which does not edify me in you, fishes, is, that you
eat one another. A great scandal in itself, but the circumstances
make it worse. You not only eat one another, but the great eat
the little. If the contrary were the case, the evil would be less.
If the little ate the great, one would suffice for many; but as the
great eat the little, a hundred-nay, and a thousand-do not suffice for one.... St. Augustine, who preached to men, in order
to set forth the atrocity of this scandal, pointed it out to them
in fishes; and I, who preach to the fishes, in order to show how
abominable is the custom, wish that you should look at men.




The Sermon to the Fishes.               271
Look, fishes, from the sea to the land. No, no, it is not that
way that I mean. Are you turning your eyes to the forests and
to the interior? Here, here! it is to the city you must look.
Do you think it is only the Tarpongas that eat each other? The
shambles here are much larger; white men eat each other far
more.
Is any one of them dead? See how they all fall upon the miserable man, to tear him in pieces and to eat him. His heirs devour him; his legatees devour him; his executors devour him;
his creditors devour him; the commissioners of orphans, of the
dead, and of the absent devour him; the physician who helped
to kill him devours him; his wife herself devours him, when
she gives him for a shroud the oldest sheet in the house; he is
devoured by the grave-digger; by the bell-ringer; by those that
sing as they carry him to the grave: in fine, the poor dead man
is not yet swallowed up by the earth, but he is already swallowed
up by its inhabitants. *  *  *
With the flying-fish, I must also have a word: and my complaint is not a trifling one. Tell me-did not God make you
fish? and why, then, do you set up to become birds? God
made the sea for you, and the air for them. Content yourselves
with the sea, and with swimming, and do not attempt to fly...
You seek to be better than other fishes; and for this reason you
are worse off than any. Other fishes of the deep are taken with
the hook, or the net; you are taken without hook or net, by your
own presumption, and your own caprice. The ship pursues its
course; the mariners are sleeping; and the flying-fish touches
the sail, or the rigging, and falls on to the deck. Other fishes
are killed by hunger, or deceived by the bait; the flying-fish is
killed by the vain desire of flying, and his bait is the wind.
How much better it.were to dive beneath the keel, and to live,
than to fly above the yards, and to die! It is a great proof of
ambition that, the sea being so immense, the whole ocean does
not suffice to so small a fish, but he must needs desire a larger
element. But see, fishes, the chastisement of ambition. The
flying-fish was made by God a fish; he desired to be a bird:
and God permits he should have the perils of a fish, and besides
that, those of a bird....




272       Wit, Htumor, etc., in  the Pulpit.
From this example, fishes, keep, all of you, this truth in mind.
He that desires more than befits him, loses that which he
desires, and that which he has. He that can swim, and desires to fly, the time will come when he shall neither fly nor
swim...
With this last remark I bid you farewell, or allow you to bid
me farewell, my fishes. And that in departing, you may receive
some consolation from this sermon (for I know not when you
will hear another), I wish to remove from you a very ancient
grievance under which you have lain from the time that the
book of Leviticus was published.  In the Ecclesiastical law,
GOD chose certain animals which should be sacrificed to Him;
but they were all, either beasts of the earth or birds-fishes
being totally excluded from these sacrifices. Who doubts that
this universal exclusion would be the cause of great disquietude
and sorrow to all the inhabitants of so noble an element which
affords the matter for the first Sacrament? The principal motive for the exclusion of fishes, was this: Other animals can go
alive to the sacrifice, but fishes, not so; and GOD desires not
that any dead thing should be offered to Him, or should approach His Altar. This point would be very important and
necessary to men, if I were preaching to them. 0, how many
souls approach to that Altar in a state of death, because they
approach, and are without a fear of approaching, in mortal sin.
Fishes, give great thanks to GOD, that he has delivered you
from this peril; far better is it not to approach to the sacrifice,
than to approach to it in a state of death...
O ye whales, and all that move in the waters, bless ye the
Lord. Praise GOD, 0 fishes, both small and great; separate
yourselves in two choirs and praise Him  with one accord.
Praise GOD, because He has created you in such numbers; because He has distinguished you in so many species: because
He has invested you with such variety and beauty: because He
has furnished you with all the instruments necessary to life;
because He has given you an element so large and so pure;
praise GOD, Who coming into this world, lived amongst you,
and called to Him those who lived with you and of you; praise
GOD Who sustains you, praise GOD Who preserves you, praise




The Pulpit Droll, Abralham  Sancta Clara. 273
GOD Who multiplies you; praise GOD finally, by serving and
sustaining man, which is the end to which He created you;
and as at the beginning He gave you His blessing, so may He
bestow it on you now. Amen. As you are not capable of
grace nor of glory, so your sermon neither ends with grace nor
with glory.
If Antony of Vieyra was the greatest satirist, ABRAHAM
SANCTA CLARA was the greatest droll; yet he was descended
from noble ancestors, near the City of Moskirch in Suabia.
He belonged to the order of Barefooted Augustine Monks;
his fame was made as the preacher to the Convent of
Dachall, in Bavaria. In 1669, he became Imperial court
preacher to Leopold I., and filled that office for twenty
years; he died in 1709. He was, although the preacher
to the Court, an orator of the people, his humor was of the
very broadest character; he has been called "a clerical
zany," yet he is also said to have had a genuine enthusiasm for virtue and religion, he had "a complete mastery
of languages, a great " affluence of imagery, a brilliant wit,
an animated delivery, and excoriating satire."  He seems
to have been a good and useful man, and yet who can
commend such a deliverance as the following?
VTHE PRODIGAI SON.
Of what country the prodigal son was, is not precisely
known; but I believe he was an Irishman. What his name
was, is not generally understood; but I believe it was Malefacius.  From what place he took his title (seeing he was a
nobleman), has not yet been discovered; but I believe it was
laidsberg or tromenham. What was the device in his coat of
arms, no one has described; but I believe it was a sow's stomach
in a field verd.
This chap travelled with well-larded purse through various
countries and provinces, and returned no better but rather
worse. So it often happens still, that many a noble youth has
his travels changed to travails. Not s'eldom also, he goes forth
a good German and returns a bad Ilerman, What honor or
12*




274        Wit, Humor, etc., in the-Pulpit.
credit is it to the noble river Danube that it travels through
different lands, through Suabia, Bavaria, Austria, Hungary, and
at last unites with a sow. The pious Jacob saw, in his journey,
a ladder to heaven; but alas! many of our Quality find, in their
journeys, a ladder into hell. If, nowadays, a man travel not, he
is called a Jack-in-the-corner and one who has set up his rest
behind the stove. But tell me, dear half-Germans! (for whole
Germans ye have long ceased to me) Is'it not true? Ye send
your sons out that they may learn strange vices at great cost in
stranger-lands, when, with far less expense, they might be
acquiring virtues at home. They return with no more point to
to them than they went out, except that they bring home some
new fashion of point-lace. They return no more gallant, unless
it be that gallant comes from the French galant. They return
more splendidly clad, but good habits were better than to
be finely habited.  New-fashioned hats, new-fashioned periwigs, new-fashioned collars, new-fashioned coats, new-fashioned
breeches, new-fashioned hose, new-fashioned shoes, new-fashioned ribbons, new-fashioned buttons, — also new-fashioned
consciences creep into  our beloved Germany through your
travels. Your fool's frocks change too with every moon; and
soon the tailors will have to establish a university and take
Doctor's degrees, and afterwards bear the title of Right-reverend
Doctors of fashion.
If I had all the new fashions of coabs for four and twenty
years, I would almost make a curtain before the sun with them,
so that men should go about with lanterns in the day-time. At
least, I would undertake to hide all Turkey with them, so that
the Constantinopolitans should think their Mahomed was playing blind-the-cat with them. An old witch, at the request of
king Saul, called the prophet Samuel from the dead, that he
might know the result of his arms. It will soon come to pass,
that people will want to call from the dead the identical tailor
and master who made the beautiful Esther's garment, when she
was so well-pleasing in the eyes of Ahasuerus.   *    *    *
*  *  * So the prodigal son learned but little good in foreign
lands. His doing was wooing; his thinking was drinking; his
Latin was Proficiat, his Italian, Brindisi, his Bohemian, Sas



John  Berridge.                  275
dravi, his German Gesegnets Gott. In one word, he was a goodly
fellow always mellow, a vagrant, a bacchant, an amant, a turbant,
a distillant, &c. Now he had wasted his substance in foreign
provinces and torn his conscience to tatters as well as his
clothes. He might, with truth, have said to his father what
the brothers of Joseph said, without truth, to Jacob when they
showed him the bloody coat, "fera pessima," &c., "an evil
beast hath devoured him." An evil beast devoured the prodigal son; an evil beast, the golden eagle, an evil beast, the
golden griffin, an evil beast, the golden buck, an evil beast, the
golden bear. These tavern-beasts reduced the youngster to
that condition that his breeches were as transparent as a fisherman's net, his stomach shrunk together like an empty bladder,
and the mirror of his misery was to be seen on the sleeve of his
dirty doublet, &c. And now when the scamp had got sick of
the swine-diet, more wholesome thoughts came into his mind
and he would go straight home to his old father and seek a
favorable hearing at his feet; in which he succeeded according
to his wish. And his own father fell quite lovingly on the neck
of the bad vocativo, for which a rope would have been fitter.
Yea, he was introduced with special joy and jubilee into the
paternal dwelling, sudden preparations were made for a feast,
kitchen and cellar were put in requisition, and the best and
fattest calf must be killed in a hurry and cooked and roasted.
Away with the rags and tatters! and hurrah! for the velvet
coat and the prinked up hat and a gold ring I Bring on your
fiddlers! allegro!
Some preachers have had apparently an  irresistible
faculty for drollery. The other day I went over to Everton
to look at the grave of JOHN BERRIDGE, one of these men
upon whose lips, perhaps, it became as really sacred a
thing-if the expression be permitted-as on those of any
man gifted with such a dangerous faculty.  He wrote his
own epitaph, and here it is itself as plainly as any word he
ever wrote, revealing what manner of man the quaint, but
really earnest old vicar of Everton was:



276        Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
Here lie
The earthly remains of
JOHN BERRIDGE,
Late Vicar of Everton,
And an itinerant servant of Jesus Christ,
Who loved his Master and His work,
And after running on his errands many years,
Was called up to wait on Him above.
READER,
Art thou born again?
No salvation without New-Birth!
I was born in Sin, February, 1716.
Remained ignorant of my fallen state till 1730.
Lived proudly on Faith and Works for salvation till 1754.
Admitted to Everton Vicarage, 1755,
Fled to Jesus alone for Refuge, 1756.
Fell asleep in Christ, January 22nd, 1793.
But the words of honest John Berridge, if they were
droll, were seasoned with the salt of good conversation,
which has often been wanting to the words of those who
have indulged themselves as he did; thus he describes the
doctrine of the contingency to the promise of the grace of
eternal life under the image of
SERGEANT IF.
The doctrine of perseverance affords a stable prop to upright
minds, yet lends no wanton cloak to corrupt hearts. It brings a
cordial to revive the faint, and keeps a guard to check the froward. The guard attending on this doctrine is Sergeant If;
low in stature, but lofty in significance; a very valiant guard,
though a monosyllable.  Kind notice has been taken of the
Sergeant by Jesus Christ and his apostles; and much respect is
due unto him from all the Lord's recruiting officers, and every
soldier in His army.
Pray listen to the Sergeant's speech: "IF ye continue in my
word, then are ye my disciples indeed."-John viii. 31. "IF ye
do these things, ye shall never fall."-2 Peter i. 10. "IF what y,
have heard shall abide in you, ye shall continue in the Son and




Jacob KrEuber.                   277
in the Father."-1 John ii. 24. "We are made partakers of
Christ, IF we hold fast unto the end."-Heb. iii. 14. "Whoso
looketh and continueth (that is, IF he that looketh does continue) in the perfect law of liberty, that man shall be blessed in
his deed."-James i. 25.
Yet take notice, Sir, that Sergeant IF is not of Jewish, but of
Christian parentage; not sprung from Levi, though a son of
Abraham; no sentinel of Moses, but a watchman for the camp
of Jesus.
But drollery in the pulpit! Artemus Ward in the pulpit!
surely there is something shocking and repulsive in the
idea. Surely it is not so that we can conceive the Master
of preachers ever preaching. Surely not so did the apostles preach. Not so ever could they preach who lived on
the confines of eternity, and there should the preacher ever
find the home of his thought and his heart; to permit the
undisciplined fancy to mount a grotesque idea, and set forth
prancing and  curveting, almost the astonishment and
laughter of an audience, whose ldwest nature will no doubt
be tickled while the highest intentions of the pulpit are
thus entirely kept out of sight.  Surely if the preacher who
goes into the pulpit to say fine things, commits a great sin,
not less does he sin who turns the pulpit into a booth, on
whose boards he gives forth his queer, extravagant and
droll things, for drollery is satire on the lips of the clown;
it is truth degraded to the party colors of the harlequin, or
the buskin of the fool, grinning to make the multitude
grin; yet nature will come on the lips of men who love to
be at the mercy of their own fancies. This also must be
said in defence of some of these children of humor, whose
lives were nevertheless holy and sanctified, that the droll
things abide in the memory of the audience, when the serious things, and even the intentions and lessons of the droll
things themselves are forgotten and pass away.  Such a
preacher was JACOB KPUBER of America; he seemed to riot




278      Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulit.
in the pulpit, and become intoxicated upon the schnapps of
his own free humor: perhaps he was the Rowland Hill of
his country and his denomination. When in Huntingdon,
U. S., the Universalists, who had become a large body
there beneath the teaching and leadership of a person
named Crow-and who were influenced by the flattering
doctrine, that men and women dying unconverted in this
world, would be converted in the next-came with their
preacher in thronging' multitudes to hear and to mock him.
After a strong assault upon the doctrine itself, he exclaimed,
"Now any man who could conceive such a thing must be
born in a crow's nest, and he must have been brought up
in a crow's nest, as he never could get up any higher.
He must have been fed on dry bones, without any meat on
them or marrow in them. Lord, stir up this crow's nest!
Lord! the crow is a very ugly bird; it is all black-make
it white. It has a very harsh croaking noise-Lord, put a
new song in its mouth, even praise to our God. Lord, give
it wings, that it may fly away to the third heavens and be
converted;" and we read that such poor drollery shot poor
Crow. Kruber, like most of these droll men, had as much
horror of anything graceful in a sermon as he had of anything attractive and beautiful in a dress, and he took real
pleasure in trying how rough and uncouth he could be in
his expressions in the pulpit. The Latter day Saints told
him their meat was too strong for him; he said, " Yes, it
is very strong! it is tainted; go and bury it, that it may
not poison any person." Then he suggested a change of
two words in the designation of their sect, instead of " day,"
say "night;" and instead of "saints," say "owls."  Cautioning against the reliance on conversion, however clear
and satisfactory -instead of aiming at daily growth in
grace, he exclaimed, "some people believe if you are once
converted, you are just as safe as if already in heaven-and
the door shut, and the key lost."  Perhaps few of our




Jacob Kruber.                    279
readers have ever seen, and will have no objection to read
his satire upon fashionable preachers, and their modes of
meeting and helping in cases of conversion.
IIe chose for his subject the conversion of Saul of Tarsus.
Ananias, who resided at Damascus, was made to represent the
velvet-lipped modern preacher. He thus introduced the subject:
" A great many years ago a bold blasphemer was smitten by conviction when he was on his way to Damascus to persecute the
Christians.  He was taken to Damascus in great distress.
Ananias, after hearing of the concern of mind under which Saul
was laboring, started out to find him. It seems that he was
stopping at the house of a gentleman by the name of Judas, not
Judas Iscariot, for that person had been dead several years. The
residence of this gentleman was in the street which was called
Strait. I suppose it was the main street or Broadway of the
city, and hence it was not difficult to find. Arriving at the mansion he rang the bell, and soon a servant made her appearance.
He addressed her thus: "Is the gentleman of the house, Mr.
Judas, within?"  "Yes, sir," responded the servant, "he is at
home."'raking out a glazed, gilt-edged card, on which was
printed, Rev. Mr. Ananias, he handed it to the servant and said:
"Take this card to him quickly." Taking a seat, with his hat,
cane, and gloves in his left hand, his right being engaged in arranging his classical curls, so as to present as much of an intellectual air as possible, he awaited an answer. Presently Mr.
Judas makes his appearance, whereupon Mr. Ananias, rises, and
making a graceful bow, says: " Have I the honor to address Mr.
Judas, the gentleman of the house " " That is my name, sir;
please be seated."  "I have called, Mr. Judas, to inquire if a
gentleman by the name of Mr. Saul, a legate of the high priest
at Jerusalem, is a guest at your house." " Yes, sir; Mr. Saul is
in his chamber, in very great distress and trouble of mind. He
was brought here yesterday, having fallen from his horse a few
miles from  the city on the Jerusalem road.' Oh! I am very
sorry to hear of so painful an accident. I hope he is not
dangerously wounded."  "No, sir, I think not, though the fall
has affected his sight very much, and he complains considerably
and prays a good deal." " Well, I am very sorry; but that is not




280       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
very strange, as I believe he belongs to that sect of Jews called
Pharisees, who make much of praying. How long since he received this fall, Mr. Judas? About three days since, and all the
time he has not taken any refreshment or rest."  " Indeed! you
don't say so! he must be seriously hurt. May I be permitted to
see Mr. Saul? " I will ascertain his pleasure, Mr. Ananias, and
let you know if you can have an interview." After being gone
a short time Mr. Judas return, and says: " Mr. Saul will be much
pleased to see you." When he is ushered into his presence Saul
is reclining on his couch in a room partially darkened. Approaching him, Ananias says: " How do you do, Mr. Saul? I
understood you had done our city the honor of a visit. Hope
you had a pleasant journey. How did you leave all the friends
at Jerusalem? How did you leave the high priest? We have
very fine weather, Mr. Saul. I thought I would call and pay my
respects to you, as I was very anxious to have some conversation
with you on theological subjects. I am extremely sorry to hear
of the accident that happened to you in visiting our city, and
hope you will soon recover from your indisposition."
No man sinned more in this way than the celebrated
RoWLAND HILL. He also was a droll in the pulpit.  We
have heard him indulging in excursions, in his extreme old
age, which we suppose would scarcely be tolerated now;
and many of the anecdotes recorded of him are alike intolerable to good sense, good taste, and Christian feeling.
Rambling and digressive, he seemed to be at the mercy of
his humor, and to follow  it whithersoever it led him.
Speaking to students of Dr. Bogue's academy, he said:
The Gospel is an excellent milch-cow, which always gives
plenty of milk and of the best quality. I never write my sermons. I always trust to the Gospel. I first pull at justification,
then give a plug at adoption, and afterwards a bit at santification, and so on, till I have in one way or other filled my pail
with Gospel milk; and if you will only do the same, young men,
depend upon it you will make far better ministers than you will
ever do by writing your sermons and preaching from memory.
Again, on another occasion, he said:




Rowland Hill.                    281
The mere professor reminds me of a sow that I saw two hours
ago luxuriating in her stye when almost over head and ears in
the mire. Now, suppose any of you were to take Bess (the sow)
and wash her, and suppose after having dressed her in a silk
gown, and put a smart cap upon her head, you were to take her
into any of your parlors, and were to set her down to tea in
company, she might look very demure for a time, and might
not give even a single grunt; but you would observe that she
occasionally gave a sly look towards the door, which showed
that she felt herself in an uncomfortable position, and the moment she perceived that the door was open she would give another proof of the fact by running out of the room as fast
as she could. Follow the sow, with her silk gown and her
fancy cap, and in a few seconds you will find that she has returned to her stye and is again wallowing in the mire. Just so
it is with the unrenewed man: sin is his element; and though
he may be induced from a variety of motives to put on at times
a show of religion, you will easily perceive that he feels himself
to be under unpleasant restraints, and that he will return to his
sins whenever an opportunity of doing so, unknown to his acquaintances, presents itself to him.
But this is not the whole of Rowland Hill; his beauty
and true excellence are forgotten, and only the frequent
coarsenesses are now remembered, although Robert Hall,
we understand, hyperbolically said of him, "No man has
ever drawn, since the days of our Saviour, such sublime
images from nature; here Mr. Hill excels every other man."
He had a rapid succession of many-colored and many-shaped
ideas, and of their singularity even Mr. Edwin Sydney gives
many illustrations. This was remarkable in his collection
sermons.  "There is," he exclaimed once, "a perpetual
frost in the pockets of some wealthy people; as soon as
they put their hands into them, they are frozen and unable
to draw out their purses. Had I my way, I would hang all
misers, but the reverse of the common mode; I would hang
them up by the heels, that their money might run out of




282       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
their pockets, and make a famous scramble for you to pick
up and put in the plate." On a wet day, when a number of
persons took shelter in his chapel during a heavy shower,
while he was in the pulpit, he said, "Many people are
greatly blamed for making their religion a cloak; but I do
not think those are much better who make it an umbrella."
When he was told he did not preach to the elect-upon an
early opportunity, in the pulpit, he said, "I don't know
them, or I would preach to them. Have the goodness to
mark them with a bit of chalk, and then I'll talk to them."
"I don't like those mighty fine preachers," he said, "who
so beautifully round off all their sentences that they are
sure to roll off the sinner's conscience." "Never mind
breaking grammar," he said to his excellent co-pastor, Theophilus Jones, "if the Lord enables you to break the poor
shiner's heart." A strange illustration he gave when he introduced his sermon on the text, "We are not ignorant of
his devices: "
Many years since I met a drove of pigs in one of the streets of
a large town, and to my surprise they were not driven, but quietly
followed their leader. This singular fact excited my curiosity;
and I pursued the swine, until they all quietly entered the butchery: I then asked the man how he succeeded in getting the poor
stupid, stubborn pigs so willingly to follow him, when he told
me the secret: He had a basket of beans under his arm; and
kept dropping them as he proceeded, and so secured his object.
Ah! my dear hearers, the devil has got his basket of beans, and
he knows how to suit his temptations to every sinner. He drops
them by the way,-the poor sinner is thus led captive by the
devil at his own will; and if the grace of God prevent not, he
will get him at last into his butchery, and there he will keep him
for ever. Oh, it is because " we are not ignorant of his devices," that we are anxious this evening to guard you against
them.
The illustration is not very elegant, but it would tell on




"Bold' Tom  Bradbury.'"              283
many rude natures; it was Scriptural-it was human, and
true.
"God," says an old Scotch divine, quoted by William
Jay, had but one only begotten son, and he made a preacher
of Him;" the truth of which remark may perhaps be allowed to atone for its homeliness. The preacher who
constantly remembers this will perhaps be saved from these
really sinful escapades and follies of speech, which call to
mind the remark that there is a great difference between
what St. Paul calls "the foolishness of preaching" and
foolish preaching.
Dean Ramsay tells a story of some old Scottish lady who,
while mourning over the moral state of one of her relatives,
exclaimed, " Our John swears awfu'; and we try to correct
him; but," she added, in a candid and apologetic tone,
"nae doubt it is a great set-aff to conversation."  It seems
to be so even with pulpit drollery and humor. It is very
much condemned, but no doubt it is a great set-off to the
pulpit. It has been said,* " In every denomination there
will occasionally spring up a'.Tom Bradbury,' preaching
with eccentricity enough, and drollery enough to afflict the
Church and to amuse the world. Billy Dawson was one of
this stamp." The writer can know neither the one preacher
nor the other to whom he refers. I glanced, as I read this,
to the eleven volumes of the Sermons of BRADBURY; The
Great Mystery of Godliness, and the Christus in Coelo, and
felt that some wonderful injustice had been done to his
memory; his wit and humor were like the wit and humor
of South, but seem  to have been more rich and genial;
they were not consecrated to flatter a corrupt court and
triumphant cause, and did not at all mar the ample knowl* "Punch in the Pulpit; or, the Danger of Novelties and other
Improprieties in Religion, and especially of Jocularity in the House
of God." By Philip Cater, Author of "The Great Fiction of the
Times." Printed for the Author.




284      Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
edge, and sound and lofty views of evangelical truth and
copious acquaintance with Scripture by which he delighted
his hearers: even his celebrated sermon, " The Ass and the
Serpent," contains little that the fastidious of our day could
condemn. He hated the Stuarts, and in his sermons he
maintained at once with indignation and humor, the right
of a people to resist tyrants.
But "Tom Bradbury " has some sins to answer for;
even if he deserves to live in the honor and esteem of men
to whom civil and religious liberty are blessings. Queen
Anne was wont to call him " bold Bradbury."  Few persons, it is said, had a greater share in promoting the succession of the house of Hanover. It is also said, that upon
Queen Anne's death, he preached from the text, "Go, see
now this cursed woman, and bury her, for she is a king's
daughter:" it was he who was wont to express his dislike
of Dr. Watts' psalms by saying "Let us have none of Dr.
Watts' whims." In fact, he was the South of the Nonconformists, but he had incomparably more decency than that
disagreeable time-server.
William Dawson may, perhaps, seem to be nearer to the
above author's idea of Punch in the pulpit, yet he was a
master there, and only disgraceful ignorance can so insult
his memory. He seldom indulged in drollery for its own
sake; he had immense power over vast audiences. We
have many powerful preachers living now, but in the power
of self-abandonment we have no speaker like Dawson. He
spoke to the people in parables; he sometimes spoke in
very bold, to our thought, even in coarse imagery and language; but the world needs preachers such as he was.
And the writer I have quoted finds Punch in the pulpit
during the singing of many hymns. Those exquisitely
beautiful hymns, "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed," and
that most tender one, "The waves of trouble, how they
rise," awaken only his disgust. This is called "queer




The Folly of Learned Sernons.           285
hymnology."  We live indeed in hypercritical times, when
such sweet and sacred notes of the Church can be profaned
by such a vulgar designation.
There is no doubt plenty of cause for a smart satire upon
many of the ways and words of the men of the pulpit. It
is a difficult thing to determine —nothing can determine but
the cultivated and sanctified sense of the preacher-the extent to which humor may be permitted-in the pulpit. Some
will protest against its use altogether, but the boughs of
the old elmtree which once shed its autumn leaves in St.
Paul's Churchyard, and which has not been long removed,
while preserving to the eye of memory the cross over which
it waved, where stood the pulpit, once the most celebrated
in all England-the Pulpit of St: Paul's Cross-defends the
use of it. Of what that pulpit was we have no resemblance
now; for, indeed, times have altered, and the pulpit work
is different; that pulpit was The Times newspaper of its
day; it was far more, it was the platform-it was the book
-the focal lens-the ventilator of public opinion; and not
only true things, but humorous things, did that useful
sounding-board echo over the multitudes. There Colet, the
learned Dean-there Hooker-there the grave and dignified
Ridley; and there, too, was the most popular preacher of
them all-the anecdotal, the witty, the fable-loving and humorous Latimer. If we did not regret that there is found
so little freedom in the pulpit, we should rejoice that with
the multitudes of preachers there is so little infringemeut
of the bounds of good taste. At the same time it is to be
remembered that there is a pedantic Punch in the pulpit,
as well as a frolicsome one, and it is difficult to say which
of the two is the more irreverent. Fine sermons, learned
sermons, metaphysical sermons, are shocking things. A
very old writer has said:
Some take a text sublime and fraught with sense,
But quickly fall into impertinence.




286       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
On trifles eloquent with great delight
They flourish out on some strange mystic rite;
But to subdue the passions, or direct,
And all life's moral duties they neglect.
Most preachers err, except the wiser few,
Thinking established doctrines, therefore, true.
Others, too fond of novelty and schemes,
Amuse the world with airy, idle dreams.
Thus too much faith or too presuming wit
Are rocks where bigots or freethinkers split.'Tis not enough that what you say is true,
To make us feel it you must feel it too,
Show yourself warm, and that will warmth impart
To every hearer's sympathising heart.
The style of some preachers is quite as ludicrous as that
ridiculed by Pluche in his History of the Heavens:A carpenter who understood his trade, and was in tolerable
circumstances, had given his son a good education, that is, had
made him pass through a course of liberal studies and philosophy. We know no other method. The father dying just as
the son had gone through his public disputations, and leaving
some undertakings unfinished, the young man took a liking to
work, and followed his father's profession. But he bethought
himself of recalling his art to certain principles, and subjecting
it to a methodical order. He treated the whole in his head as
he had seen his masters treat the art of reasoning. At length
he got together a number of journeymen of the trade, and
promised to lead them by a new way to the quintessence of
carpentry.
Our new doctor, after a long preamble on mechanicks, which
he promised to treat on by genus and species, came to the first
question, and very seriously examined whether there was a
principle of force in man. He long discussed the reasons pro
and con, and at last enabled his disciples, knowingly, and without any apprehension of mistake, to affirm that man was capable
of a certain degree of strength, and able to communicate motion,
for instance, to an axe, or to a stone, if not too great. He was




Humorous Juxtaposition of Ideas.   287
contented with this modest assertion, being persuaded, that,
with this small strength multiplied, he might, towards the end
of his treatise, come to transporting the largest pieces of rough
marble, and to heaving of mountains. He next proceeded to
examine the place where this force resided; and after many
disputations on the brains, the glandula pinealis, the spirits,
and the muscles, he, out of economy, and for brevity's sake,
determined, that the arm was the chief agent, and the instrument of human strength.
In a third paragraph (for you would have wondered how. well
he divided and put his matter in order) the strength residing
in the arm gave him occasion to examine all the constituent
pieces of the arm, and to make an exact anatomy of it. He
made long dissertations on the nerves, muscles, fibres, and descended to the minutest filaments. He multiplied the lengths
of the muscles by their breadths, and the product of these by
the sum of the fibres. From one calculation to another he came
to determine the strength of each degree of tension, and, by
means of these determinations, made himself able to fix the
strength of percussion. Thus he weighed a cuff, and joining
the strength of the fist to the sum of the blow of a hammer, he
showed you the exact weight with which this percussion was in
equal proportion. Finally, to sum up his matters, and for the
conveniency of the young carpenters, he reduced this whole into
algebraic expressions.
The author's conclusion on the whole work is, " that not only
in point of religion, but also in natural philosophy, we ought to
be contented with the certainty of experience, and the simplicity of Revelation." *
In thoughtlessness, in  sheer vacant thoughtlessness,
some of the effects, equal to the most ridiculous drollery,
have their origin; like the escapade of speech heard from
the lips of a very holy minister by a friend of our own, in
describing the happiness of the heavenly state:-" Oh, my
friends, there Satan shall harass you no longer; there the
enemy of souls can distress you no more, for there you
* Pluclh, Ilist. of the Ieavienls, vol. ii. b. 4.




288        Wit, Humor, etc., in  the Pulpit.
shall be like Him-there you shall see him as He is." It
is to be hoped all his auditors were sufficiently at home in
Scripture, to understand the extraordinary juxtaposition
of ideas.*
But I do not know that any of these strange developments disgust more, than what results in tame feebleness
from  the absence of earnestness.  We have the "laced
coat of mere orthodox twaddle," we have men who stand
like cast-iron pumps, and exercise their preaching as a
kind of parish-pump faculty; we have somnolence sleeping itself to death; and we have the platitudes uttered,
when men having no voice in their own conscience, fail of
course to reach the consciences of others.
* One Saturday afternoon Robert Robinson received a visit from
the Rev. Clement Carnifex, who, at that time, lived at " Enon, near
to Salim, because there was much water there." The following
dialogue between these two men will afford a still more striking
illustration of these impertinent allusions to the devil:
Clement Carnifex.-" I am come from a great distance to hear you
preach to-morrow."
Robert Robinson. —" Then, brother, you shall preach for me."
C. C.-" 0 no, no; I cannot preach in Mr. Robinson's pulpit."
R. R.-" Why not; my pulpit is a wooden one; is not yours?"
C. C.-"Yes, sir; but I cannot preach to Mr. Robinson's
people."
R. R.-" Why not? my people are like other people-some good,
some bad-are not yours?"
C. C.-" Yes, sir."
R. 1.-" Well, then, I daresay the sermons last Sunday at home
would be very suitable. What were they? "
C. C.-" Why, in the morning I preached from Esther vii. 9-'Hang him thereon."'
R. R.-" Very well, brother.  You had a good opportunity of
showing that the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.
Did you take it up in that light, brother? "
C. C.-" No, sir; I considered Haman as the devil, who is always
endeavoring to injure the Lord's people, and would be glad to
destroy them."




Strange Preaks of Speech in the Puiplt.   289
You have heard many sermons preached upon the publican and pharisee; but did you ever hear that preached
in St. Giles-in-the-Fields. " It was sad," said the able and
eloquent preacher, " that any of our fellow creatures should
so fall, as to stand in need of such a degrading confession
as the publican's; but he besought his hearers to be upon
their guard, lest by drawing too favorably a contrast between such outcasts and themselves, they incurred the
censure pronounced on that otherwise most amiable character, the pharisee."  And James Haldane mentions, in
one of his missionary tours in Scotland, that he heard a
minister solemnly warn his people, and he was a minister
of the Scotch Establishment, against putting any trust,
R.R. -"Very good, brother; nothing can be more suitable.
Here is old Nanny, the pew-opener at our place; she can never get
to meeting in time, for she says that the devil always finds her
something or other to do. Then there is old Farmer Jones, who
lives about three miles off. He says that before he has got half
way to meeting, the devil tells him that somebody is breaking into
his barns, and he is obliged to return. Now, brother, if you could
prove that you have hanged the devil, nothing in the world would
be more suitable. That will do for the morning. Now, what is
the afternoon subject, brother?"
C. C.-" Why, sir, in the afternoon I preached from 2 Kings
xviii. 36-' Answer him not.' "
R. R.-" Very well, brother. You have an opportunity of showing not only that the king's business requires haste, but that it is
sometimes good policy not to reveal the secrets of State affairs.
Did you handle it that way, brother?"
C. C.-" No, sir. I endeavored to show that the devil would be
always harassing and distressing the dear people of God; but the
best way was to pay no regard to his temptation.' Answer him
not a word."'
R. R.-" Ha! ha! brother; that will never do.  Now, in the
morning, you see, according to your sermon, you hanged the devil;
that was very fortunate; but in the afternoon you brought him to
life again. At any rate it must be wrong for these two subjects to
follow each other.
13




290       Wit, flumor, etc., in the Pulpit.
while they continued sinners, in the blood of Christ
"Repent," said he, "become righteous, atone for your
sins by probity, and virtue, and then if you please, you
may look to that blood, but not before." Widely different
all this to the "warning every man, and teaching every
man, that we may present every man perfect in Christ
Jesus."
We need not read the celebrated " Sermons to Asses."*
We need not go to hear the Friar Gerund.t  We need not
listen to the preacher who took for his text " 0," and said
a thousand fine things; or that learned and judiciously
educated monk, who, preaching upon the servant of the
High Priest warming himself, began, " My brethren, see
how the evangelist relates, not merely as an historian
would-'he warmed himself,' but as a philosopher —'because he was cold.'"  The speech outruns the ideas of
some preachers, as in the instance cited by the Wyckhamist
of a missionary-describing the horrors of the Cafre war,
and its desolating effect on his\own estate, wishing to wind
up with a good sonorous cadence, who ended thus, in words
which certainly were remarkable as the experience of a
living man, "And when I got home to my house I found
my children fatherless and my wife a widow." We need
not go for the purpose of marking the humors of the pulpit to that repertory, above all other repertoires of pulpit
anecdote, Robert Robinson's edition of "Claude,".unless
to note how admirable are his remarks upon vulgarity in
the pulpit; and they afford a reason for many of Robinson's own frequent lapses in hat way.
Nothing is more necessary than self-denial. Beside all that
* "Sermons to Asses, to Doctors of Divinity, to Lords Spiritual,
and to Ministers of State." By the Rev. James Murray, 1819.
t " The History of the Famous Preacher, Friar Gerund de Campanzas, otherwise Gerund Zotes." Translated from the Spanish.
In 2 vols., 1772.




HIumorous Literature in the Pulpit.              291
self-denial, which belongs to ministers in common with their
fellow-Christians, there are exercises of it peculiar to divines,
and essential to the discharge of the pastoral office. Visiting
and conversing with the poor, and allowing them to come for
spiritual advice, are articles of this kind. Can it be imagined,
that a man of learning is gratified by illiterate conversation?
That a polite, well-bred man relishes the vulgar, awkward rudeness of clowns? That men, who know the worth of time, and
who love study as they love life, can be pleased with interruption and nonsense, and long-winded tales of complaint, which
begin, perhaps, in an ale-house fray, and end in a case of conscience? Can they, whose company is courted by accomplished
men, who would pour into their bosoms of wise and pious conversation good measure, pressed down, and shaken together,
and running over-can these, I ask, of choice spend half a day
in searching for one grain of wheat in a bushel of chaff? Yet
he who cannot submit to these things, however qualified for a
nobleman's domestic chaplain, or for a dignitary in a rich
church, can never make the less splendid but more useful minister of a parish, or pastor of a flock. A poet may give himself
airs, toss his haughty head, take snuff,'and chant-Odi profa.
num Vulgus; but the minister of the meek and merciful Jesus
must not do so. He must try to take the ton of his poor people,
if he would do them real spiritual good. It will be his glory
sometimes to be rude in speech, to conceal his abilities, to adapt
himself to their weaknesses, to prefer Bunyan before Beza,
Dodd's sayings and Wright's poems before the casuistry of
Hoadley, and the poetry of Milton or Young.
Thus, also, some preachers are fond of discoursing on
the Book of Leviticus, a book needing a very fine spiritual
hand and insight, and capable of yielding glorious teaching; yet the effect is usually bad because there is no eye
for the Divine meaning. Thus a young clergyman hearing
a minister preaching on the types, and expounding Leviticus iii. 3-." And he shall offer the fat that covereth the
inwards, and all the fat that is upon the inwards, and the
two kidneys, and the fat that is on them, which is by the




292       Wit, Humor, etc., in the Pulpit.
flanks, and the caul above the liver, with the kidneys, it he
shall take away "-it is said, turned sick at the suggestive
pictures. It is a singular chapter in the history of the
human mind, the irreverence of reverent men. The shelves
of our own library give to us John Stoughton's (not our
excellent friend of Kensington, but the old 1640-man)
"Baruch's Sore Gently Opened, and the Salve Skilfully
Applied."  We have the "Church's Bowel Complaint,"
"The Snuffers of Divine Love."  Then are there not the
"Spiritual Mustard Pot to Make the Soul Sneeze with
Devotion," "A Pack of Cards to Win Christ," &c., &c.?
Looking back upon these things, we almost feel that our
age has advanced in reverence as well as in culture.
Yet we wish we had more freedom in the pulpit. There
would be more useful results if ministers felt more and
spoke more openly and heartily; if every man had more
his own style. If, in fact, the pulpit could be less than it
is, it would be more than it is; it over-rides far too intolerantly other ministerial duties. We ourselves speak much
of it, and yet we long to hear less of it. And then it will
do its work better, when its words shall be a flow of kindly,
friendly, solemn, cheerful, thoughtful talk: a conversation
with people, rather than the sweep of a stately flight above
them, talking to them-which is in sympathy-rather than
talking at them. Certainly, in the work of the pulpit, the
true preacher makes his own work, and uses, by an instinct
deeper than his own knowledge, the kind of method most
suited to his nature. Toplady says, "the painter chooses
the materials on.hich he paints-on wood, on glass, on
metals, on ivory, on canvas. Some natural endowments
are not high, there the painting is on wood; others on
marble-quick sensibility and poignant feeling; some on
glass, very beautiful, but especially dangerous, since by
the first stone of penetration they are fractured and
broken, and fall from their first love. The earliest an



The Reader and the Hearer.          293
cionts painted only in water, like hypocrites; but God
paints in oil, accompanying Himself the word by unction
and by power."
And when attempts are made either to sneer down the
pulpit or to hold it up to ridicule, the response ought to
be-that it is really by far the most important means for
the education of thought and emotion in the hands of men.
It cannot be cared for too much, or guarded too sedulously.
It needs indeed to be taken away from the tongue of bigotry and formalism-it needs to be made less a mere
amusement and luxury-more of tenderness, experience;
teaching-more of humanity in it; and then it will be
hailed as one of the most delightful means of cheering the
toil of the working-man with the love of Jesus, the story
of the Cross, and the good news from the far country,
inwrought with lessons and pictures of life, homely, powerful, and practical, becoming at once light to the eye and
a power to the conscience.
Southey entertains us with a story of a certain Quaker
who took a manuscript to Franklin to print and publish.
Franklin looked over it, and said to the author that it was
somewhat deficient in arrangement. "It's no matter," said
the author, " print any part thou pleasest first." I almost
fear lest I should seem, by the fragmentary words of this
lecture, to lay myself open to a similar laugh. The fault
is, perhaps, that all persons live too exclusively on the life
of the book or of the speaker. The man who lives on the
orator alone may have his mental and moral life destroyed
by a plethora or spasm, if I may not rather call it a spontaneous combustion. The man, on the contrary, who lives
the life of the mere bookman may die of indigestion.
There is a danger of being mere bookmen, or else mere
hangers-on at public meetings and frothy lecturings. We
educate our thoughts by the book, we enlarge our informal
tion by the book, we extend the territory of our imagina



294       Wit, Humor, etc., in, the Pulpit.
tion by the book; but we educate our affections by speech,
we intensify our impulses by speech, we acquire the grace
of manner and the felicity of diction by speech, not merely
by speaking, but by hearing. The book is for the head;
from the book we must expect to obtain ideas; from the
book we must gain mental forms; the book will surround
the spirit with all those graceful fictions, those ineffable
charms of proverb and parable, which give to the soul the
evergreen and the flower, as well as the hardy fruit. Speech
will give fire to us, it will give light to us, such light as
shines through a vault when the heavens are alive with
flame. The bookman becomes a mere cold critic, watchful
for the slips of speech; the mere speaker or auditor becomes careless, save of all that ministers to stirring sensation-by drollery or humor, rhetoric or fancy-he is careless how it comes.
But we must kindle the torch if we intend to track our
way through the " palpable obscure." At present our faith
is not great, as a whole, either in the book or in speech.
And our age is too critical. In these times we seem  to
have the obstinacy of the dogmatist without his weapon of
certainty. That our nature may be perfected, we must
permit the river of speech to flow through the ear into the
soul as well as the river of thought to flow through the
eye into the soul. By our homage to each we shall find
our nature built up and sustained.




VIII.
The Use and Abuse of Imagination and Illustration.
ENRY  WARD  BEECHER, the most fertile
master of varied illustration in our modern pulpit, has a fine passage in'one of his sermons,
setting forth the extent to which this wonderful
provision is made for us and spread out for us in the Bible,
spreading out everywhere into types of nature:
What if every part of your house should begin to repeat the
truths which have been,committed to its symbolism? The
lowest stone would say, in silence of night, " Other foundations
can no man lay."  The corner-stone would catch the word,
" Christ is the corner-stone." The door would add, "I am the
door." The taper burning by your bedside would steam up a
moment to tell you, " Christ is the light of the world." If you
gaze upon your children, they reflect, from their sweetly-sleeping
faces the words of Christ, "Except ye becometh like little
children." If, waking, you look towards your parents' couch,
from that sacred place God calls Himself your father and mother;
and disturbed by the crying of your children who are affrighted
in a dream, you rise to soothe them, and hear God saying, "So
will I wipe away all tears from your eyes in Heaven." Returning to your bed, you look from the window, every star hails you,
(295)




296  The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
but chiefest, " The bright and morning star." By-and-by, flaming from the east, the flood of morning bathes your dwelling
and calls you forth to the cares of the day, and then you remember that God is the sun, and that heaven is bright with His presence.  Drawn by hunger, you approach the table: the loaf
whispers as you break it, " Broken for you," and the wheat of
ihe loaf sings, "Bruised and ground for you." The water that
quenches your thirst says, "I am the Water of Life." If you
wash your hands, you can but remember the teachings of
spiritual purity. If you wash your feet, that has been done
sacredly by Christ as a memorial. The very roof of your dwelling has its utterance, and bids you look for the day when God's
house shall receive its top-stone.
Go forth to your labor and what thing can you see that has
not its message? The ground is full of sympathy: the flowers
have been printed with teaching. The trees, that only seem to
shake their leaves in sport, are framing divine sentences; the
birds tell of heaven with their love warblings in the green
twilight; the sparrow is a preacher of truth; the hen clucks
and broods her chickens, unconscious that to the end of the
world she is part and parcel of a revelation of God to man. The
sheep that bleat from the pastures, the hungry wolves that blink
in the forest, the serpent that glides noiselessly in the grass, the
raven that flies heavily across the field, the lily over which his
shadow passes, the plough, the sickle, the wain, the barn, the
flail, the thrashing-floor; all of them are consecrated priests,
unrobed teachers, revelators that see no visions themselves, but
that bring to us thoughts of truth, contentment, hope, and love;
all the ministers of God. The whole earth doth praise Him, and
show forth His glory.
Imagination lays hold upon the innermost truth, grasps
it firmly, and holds it up embodied to the mind; it is thus
that analogy becomes one of the most, if not the most essential and successful elucidator of divine truth; it does
this sometimes by a close comparison of resemblance, and,
sometimes, by what may be regarded as more than this,
even an entering into the very innermost heart of the sub



fThe Argument from Analogy.              297
ject, and extraction of the mystery of resemblance; hence,
mystical views of divine truth have very often been very
helpful; and, hence, even some pretty, and not unforced resemblance, has not been without its value as a taper, if not
a torch. A beautiful little book, now almost forgotten, is
Barton's Analogy of Divine Wisdom, in the Material, Sensitive,
Moral, Civil, and Spiritual System of Things (1750.)  It is
not like Butler's work, a firmly-plaited argument; but the
learning is very interesting and entertaining, and especially
where he uses the difficulties of mathematics for the purpose of unfolding the difficulties of revelation. Many matters of science, also, are handled most interestingly. Certainly many readers, who find Butler difficult will find Dr.
Barton's work most illuminating and entertaining, This
work of divine analogy is one of the most helpful torches
of the Christian minister, and its literature is of rare and
great interest  The fame of the work of Butler has too
much put out of sight what has been done before; we have
the Divine Analogy of Bishop Brown (1733), and the remarks upon the same subject in the Minute Philosopher of
Bishop Berkeley.  While Butler was maturing his own
views, these works and others were emanating from the
minds of authors, whose words and thoughts are still
worthy of pondering, although the more famous work has
so suggested, shall we say exhausted, the depths of the subject.
But does the well-known argument of Butler satisfy?
James Martineau has, we know, ventured to express himself thus:
You have led me in your quest after analogies through the
great infirmary of God's creation, and so haunted am I by the
sights and sounds of the lazar house, that scarce can I believe in
anything but pestilence; so sick of soul have I become that the
mountain breeze has lost its scent of health; and you say, it is
all the same in the other world, and wherever the same rule ex13*




298   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
tends; then I know my fate, that in this world justice has no
throne.  And thus, my friends, it comes to pass, that these
reasoners often gain indeed their victory; but it is known only
to the Searcher of Hearts, whether it is a victory against natural
religion or in favor of revealed. For this reason I consider the
Analogy of Bishop Butler (one of the profoundest of thinkers, and
on purely moral subjects, one of the justest too), as containing,
with a design directly contrary, the most terrible persuasives to
Atheism that have ever been produced.  The essential error
consists in selecting the difficulties, which are the rare exceptional phenomena of nature-as the basis of analogy and argument.
There is a remarkable conversation recorded by Wilberforce with William Pitt, in which Pitt declared to Wilberforce, "that Butler's work raised more doubts in his mind
than it answered."  And Sir James Macintosh is reported
to have said of the Analogy, "This can only be an answer
to Deists; Atheists might make use of his objections, and
have done so." By another writer, Dr. Schedel, the argument of Butler has been characterized as "the analogy of
uncertainty," and " the analogy of mystery." While Miss
Hennell, a well-known extreme sceptical writer, has claimed
the Analogy as an ally to scepticism. Yet this is not the
impression Butler produced upon the sceptics of his own
day. David Hume-the great king of sceptics of almost
any age or nation, but especially of the later days, looked
upon him with something of owe;-mentions how anxious
he was to have the bishop's opinion upon some points in his
treatise on Human Nature, before its publication, and says, in
one of his letters, "I am at present cutting off its nobler
parts-i. e., endeavoring it shall give as little offence as possible, before which I could not pretend to put it into the
Doctor's hands. This is a piece of cowardice for which I
blame myself, though I believe none of my friends will
blame me."  Hume called on Butler, but did not see him;
and some persons have speculated on what might have




Butler's Analogy.                299
been, had Butler been within when Hume called-the sceptic might have been a believer. Miss Hennell has attempted to invalidate the argument of Butler also on personal grounds; but the character of Butler every way
shines forth as the clearest; this profoundest of theologians
was also the simplest of believers, The great sentiment of
the Analogy seems to have been ever present with him, giving animation to all its thought,' He looked to Christ as
a poor sinner," he said, "for salvation."  And one of the
most interesting anecdotes is of his walking in the garden
with his chaplain, Dr. Foster, stopping short and turning
round-a way he appears to have had-and with great
earnestness saying, "I was thinking, Doctor, what an awful
thing it is for a human being to stand before the great Moral
Governor of the world, and to give an account of all his
actions in this life."
We may well, however, as this is the state of the argument, desire to see the argument of analogy fairly expounded, and its extent and limitations defined; for there
is a tendency to undue extension of analogy, as when Hegel
affirms, "that as in the doctrine of the Trinity, the Father
and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, represent the infinite and
the finite, and the union of the two, their identity first,
then their distinction and their return to identity; so the
doctrine of the Incarnation has a meaning no less philosophical," &c., &c., &c. We may well be jealous of any attempts to establish the doctrine of the Trinity upon a rational basis, chiefly by means of certain natural analogies
supplied by the consciousness of the human mind; there
are casuistical, jesuitical, and refining sceptics, as well as
such among believers and theologists, and we believe it is
from such hands, perhaps on both sides, the argument of
analogy, and Butler's argument in particular, has suffered
wrong; the application of the argument needs a broad and
honest mind, a mind not so much allured by certain pretti



30o     The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
nesses and fanciful resemblances, as able to group and to
grasp its comparisons, and to rise from them to independent
judgment and generalisation. Thus it is that analogy has
been, in so many and quite countless instances, the prompter and the guide of life; this is the translation of Butler's
very modest and most pregnant starting-point in reasoning,
this is his point of view, of the likelihood of the truth of
the Christian system.  He started from  this singularly
modest beginning-" It is not so clear that there is nothing
in it." The character of modern infidelity has quite changed
since Butler's day. His book was written in reply to th0
elegant Deism  of his times.  A course of nature was
granted, an author of nature was admitted; the form of
modern sophistry has changed, a course of nature is admitted but not an author. How is the modern dream of
Pantheism to be broken? Will analogy serve for the waking? If we think, then, we should think in order; the
greatest danger in modern thought is its inconsecutive,
and scattered, and informative character; but, alas! that
which is inconsecutive in thought is not therefore inconsequential
Thus, analogy itself may be like any other law of thought,
a dangerous guide; the use of analogy is not to be denied,
it is invaluable-invaluable as speech, it is the inner speech
of the soul, it is the power by which the soul realizes and
expresses itself. All the discoveries in the world,-in mechanics, in science, seem to have been happy guesses, reasonings from analogy: Harvey, and the circulation of the
blood; Columbus, and the discovery of America; Newton,
and his system of the universe; Stephenson, and the principle of the locomotives. Biography is full of such instances.
"It may be almost sid, without qualification," says Archbishop Whately, "that wisdom consists in the ready and
accurate perception of analogies; and Archbishop Thomson says, "This power of divination, this sagacity which is




Experience-Moral Analogy.                30 
the mother of all science, we may call anticipation. The
intellect, with a dog-like instinct, will not hunt until it has found
the scent; it must have some presage of the result before it
will turn its energies to its attainment." Thus analogy is
an instinct of thought; the poet and the metaphysicianTennysoin and Bishop Berkeley-meet together in their
statement of this, when the one says:
Thought leapt out to wed with thought,
Ere thought leapt out to wed with speech;
and the other says, "An idea which, considered in itself, is
particular, becomes general by being made to represent or
stand for all other particular ideas of the same sort." This
is, in fact, analogy and the statement of the law of analogy.
Now, how is this power in man to be used by the religious
teacher, man being unable to think or act intelligently without the use of analogy? Does it aid the entrance into, and
the dealing with, the higher facts of the universe —the universe and its author; is it a light?-may it be made yet
more a light for the exploring the kingdom of moral relations? It has been finely said by Robert Boyle, "that revelation may be to reason what the telescope is to the eye;"
but the telescope needs fixing, needs some skill in using.
God gives nothing-neither a hand, foot, nor spade-that
does not need education for useful exercise. The very
charm of analogy may lead to its being misused. Experience is a powerful teacher, because experience is only another name for induction.or moral analogy; hence man
should be taught to construct his moral science for himself
upon the basis of Scripture and experience; and Dr. Buchanan well says, "One or two instances clearly discerned
and intelligently applied, by the exercise of a man's own
mind, will be of more practical avail than a hundred examples presented on paper, and read, but not followed up by
reflection."




302   Thie Use and Abuse of Imagination.
It is very clear that Scripture, in the appeal it makes to
the understanding of man, rests strongly on this instinct of
analogy-" the invisible things of Him are clearly seen, even
his eternal power and Godhead." Thus the sin of idolatry
is condemned. Forasmuch then as "we are the offspring
of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto
gold or silver, or stone graven by art and man's device."
Dr. Whately has very directly traced our knowledge of the
properties of man to our knowledge of the perfections of
God-the showing that the proof of a being possessed of
them is, in fact, the very same evidence on which we believe
in the existence of one another. How do we know that men
exist, that is, not beings having a certain visible bodily form,
for that is not what we chiefly imply by the word man, but
as rational agents such as we call men? Surely not by the
immediate evidence of our senses, since mind is not an object of sight, but by observing the things performed-the
manifest result of rational contrivance. If we land in a
strange country doubting whether it be inhabited, as soon
as we find, for instance, a boat or a house, we are as perfectly certain that a man has been there as if he appeared
before our eyes. Now we are surrounded with similar
proofs that there is a God. In the same manner of argument from analogy, I have recently read a paper by Professor Hitchcock, in the Bibliotheca Sacra, "On the Law of
Nature's Constancy as Subordinate to the Higher Law of
Change,"-truly a most pregnant subject of thought-for
if natural changes are consistent with fixed laws, they are
no less consistent with perturbations which seem to shock
and threaten the stability of the whole system. From the
time of Paley to this, frequent references have been made
to the ceaseless disturbances upon the regularity and permanency of the celestial motions; but so far from disturbing, they secure the permanence perhaps of a whole Zodiac
-the fallibility of a system secures eternal stability. What




Pantheism.                    303
an endless lesson this reads us! The analogy of nature
leads us tirough all her works to believe that the principle
of change-which has been hitherto mightier than any
other in the government and preservation of the universe,
and in promoting its happiness-has its moral analogies,
and that it may furnish some light as to the dealing of God,
not only with the kingdoms of matter, but also with the
kingdom of souls. It is the modern fashion to declare that
this poor sort of argument is overlooked, that the apparent
manifestation of design is no proof of "the manifold wisdom of God;" that living infinite Consciousness, which we
call God, has been dethroned by the mighty modern
thinkers.
With deep intuition and mystic rite
We worship the Absolute Infinite;
The universe Ego, the Plenary void;
The subject-object identified:
The nothing something, the Being Thought,
That mouldeth the mass of chaotic thought;
Whose beginning unended and end unbegun
Is the One that is All, and the All that is One.
The great totality of everything
That never is, but ever doth become.
Perhaps to attempt to shiver this Pantheistic gibberish
by any serious appeal to argument would be vain work.
Mr. Mansell, in his effort to do this, has been thought to
be not a very serviceable ally to the cause of faith. Perhaps
"the great power of God" will never nerve with supreme
and almighty force the arm wielding the brightest sword
from the armory of the human understanding; but if the
constitution of nature is to be augured from as a Divine intention, as well as existence, it will be by illustrations from the
wide field of analogy; indeed, this form of argument might,
I believe, be most successfully and triumphantly applied to




304   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
the utterly wild and most baseless " absolutisms" of Hegel
and Compt; and it would be very interesting t8 ask those
gentlemen who look shudderingly and disdainfully on the
doctrine of analogy, what they think of the lawless departure from it,-that cheerless voyaging in the phantom ship
of abstract timbers of the good ship No Thing, to the Continent of No Where.
No doubt, the nature within the man determines the
character of his moral analogies, as it has been well said,
"The wolf, when he was learning to read, could make
nothing out of the letters but lamb, whatever other words
they might form," and the clearest and purest light will
burn but in certain atmospheres. The Scripture theory
presumes an understanding purified and prepared for a
clear, a holy, and correct judgment. The exercise of. analogy is indeed to be prized as an inestimable weapon; it is
valuable and available not only for the almost negative purposes I have indicated-important as these are-it is valuable in all the parts of the building of the Christian system
and the Christian life. "Our Lord regarded all nature as
a symbol, whose more literal meaning had a spiritual application. Hence, he spoke of knowledge, under the name of
light; of spiritual renovation, as birth; of faith, as mental
eyesight; the Spirit's agency, as similar to the influence of
the unseen wind." Visions and symbols, types and parables, symbolical objects and symbolical actions abound in
the Scriptures of Truth-a great scheme of representationalism opens to the eye. " These things were our examples."
Hence, if Lord Bacon could say, " We must observe resemblances and analogies, they unite nature, and lay the foundation of the sciences," we may say, we must observe resemblances and analogies, they unite nature and Scripture,
and lay the foundation, broad and immovable, of rational,
and faithful religion; and, in a higher sense than that
which Newton wrought, the physics of the earth become




An Argument from Analogy on Chat Moss. 305
the means of exploring and understanding the mysteries of
the heavens.
We should be glad therefore of any help towards trimming this lamp, and making more bright, and pure, and
clear the teachings of analogy. It will do very much, and
be very useful to enlighten intelligences, and to make more
vivid the perceptions for the noting the system, natural and
moral, beneath which we live; as also, we may naturally
hope, the awakening minds to the study of the highest
order of the Christian evidences, and the satisfactory persuasion of the human understanding, that there is not only
no discrepancy, but wondrous harmony between the works
and the Word of God.
Imagination is not always, however, so ambitious  A
stroke of illustrative analogy sometimes answers the end of
the speaker. When preaching from the words of our Lord,
— "If I have told you earthly things and ye believe not,
how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things? " —I
found it impossible to forbear commencing by a reference
to the great legal contest for the purpose of throwing out
the Bill for the line of rail between Liverpool and Manchester. Chat Moss, over which it now passes, had been
for ages a vast mysterious bog-men, travellers and soldiers
had often been buried in its weltering slough. When
George Stephenson's plan was proposed engineers showed
that it would be impossible to start a train in a gale of
wind, and then Mr. Alderson, afterwards Baron Alderson,
summed up in a speech which extended over two days, he
declared Mr. Stephenson's plan to be the most absurd
scheme that ever entered into the head of man to conceive.
Said he:
"My learned friends almost endeavored to stop my examination; they wished me to put in the plan, hut I had rather have
the exhibition of Mr. Stephenson in that box. I say he never




306   T1e Use and Abuse of Imagination.
had a plan. I believe he never had one. I do not believe he is
capable of making one. His is a mind perpetually fluctuating
between opposite difficulties; he neither knows whether he is to
make bridges over roads or rivers, of one size or of another, or
to make embankments, or cuttings, or inclined planes, or ih
what way the thing is to be carried into effect. Whenever a
difficulty is pressed, as in the case of a tunnel, he gets out of it
at one end, and when you try to catch him at that, he gets out
at the other." Mr. Alderson proceeded to declaim against the
gross ignorance of this so-called engineer, who proposed to make
" impossible ditches by the side of an impossible railway" upon
Chat Moss. " I care not," he said, "whether Mr. Giles is right
or wrong in his estimate; for whether it be effected by means
of piers raised up all the way for four miles through Chat Moss,
whether they are to support it on beams of wood, or by erecting
masonry, or whether Mr. Giles shall put a solid bank of earth
through it, in all these schemes there is not one found like that
of Mr. Stephenson's, namely, to cut impossible drains on the
side of this road; and it is sufficient for me to suggest and to
show that this scheme of Mr. Stephenson's is impossible or impracticable, and that no other scheme, if they proceed upon this
line, can be suggested which will not produce enormous expense.
I think that has been irrefragably made out. Every one knows
Chat Moss, every one knows that the iron sinks immediately on
its being put upon the surface. I have heard of culverts, which
have been put upon the Moss, which, after having been surveyed
the day before, have the next morning disappeared; and that a
house (a poet's house, who may be supposed in the habit of
building castles even in the air) story afterstory, as fast as one
is added, the lower one sinks I There is nothing, it appears,
except long sedgy grass, and a little soil to prevent its sinking
into the shades of eternal night. I have now done, sir, with
Chat Moss, and there I leave this railroad."
Remembering how often we have travelled over Chat
Moss in the rushing train, whose rails were laid by the
man so scoffed and scorned, what an illustration it gives
of that mysterious truth and kingdom of which our Lord




Varisd Imagery.                  307
said, "If I have told you earthly things and ye believe not,
how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly? "
And surely I may remark here, that as an age and nation
of shepherds derived its imagery from pastoral occupations;
an age and nation of merchants, from commerce; the age
of science should derive its images from the world of
science, as in such an illustration from Dr. James Hamilton:
It is of vast moment to be "just right " when starting. At
Preston, at Malines, at many such places, the lines go gently
asunder; so fine is the angle that at first the paths are almost
parallel, and it seems of small moment which you select. But a
little further on one of them turns a corner, or dives into a tunnel, and now that the speed is full the angle opens up, and at the
rate of a mile a minute the divided convoy flies asunder; one
passenger is on the way to Italy, another to the swamps of Holland; one will step out in London, the other in the Irish Channel. It is not enough that you book for the better country; you
must keep the way, and a small deviation may send you entirely
wrong. A slight deflection from honesty, a slight divergence
from perfect truthfulness, from perfect sobriety, may throw you
on a wrong track altogether, and make a failure of that life
which should have proved a comfort to your family, a credit to
your country, a blessing to mankind. Beware of the bad habit,
&c., &c.
It was a good saying of an ancient bishop, " Lord send
me learning enough, that I may preach plain enough." It
is indeed the end of every instruction the preacher can receive, and it has been often remarked that prophets and
preachers in the Old Testament ever accommodated themselves to the capacities of those to whom they spoke. They
talked of fishes to the Egyptians, and droves of cattle to
the Arabians, and trade and traffic to the Syrians; and our
Lord tells His fishermen they shall be fishers of men.
Hence for this very reason not only the Evangelists, but




308   Tlie Use and Abuse of Imagination.
the great preachers like AUGusTnNE and AMBROSE spoke vulgarly, they used a popular idiom and dialect in their determination to be understood; they stood not always upon
pureness of style, being more solicitous about the matter
than the words. Men and children use things in very different ways, a child uses money, but with different ideas to
a man; and bees and butterflies extract different things
from the same flowers. Thus, while some ministers only
desire to tip their tongues or to store their heads, the true
minister's idea is to save himself and those who hear him.
He must therefore stoop to their apprehensions, condescend
to their capacities, that he may save some, becoming all
things to all men; Paul said he would even become " a fool
for Christ's sake."  There can be no doubt that for the
purpose of teaching, one illustration is worth a thousand
abstractions;* they are the windows of. speech, through
them truth shines, and ordinary minds fail to perceive truth
clearly unless it is presented to them through their medium.
One of the most loved methods of illustration ever has
been the parable, but this is a high, rare, and very difficult
power; children love tales, fairy tales, parables. The better sort of grown-up children, we fancy, like them too; for,
indeed, they are constantly doing that for us, which we are
all trying to do for ourselves, in one way or other, namely,
to realize. This is the hidden charm of the story-teller; he
gives a local habitation and a name to thoughts which wander through eternity; he brings the abstract and wandering spirit home; he imprisons the dainty Ariel  No man
will be a favorite talker to children who does not speak in
parables; and the teacher to the mighty multitudes will be
efficient in the proportion to his power of wielding admirably the parable. But it requires some of the most varied
powers of the human mind, and it is difficult to wield it
* How affluently this is illustrated in Spencer's Kalva icat araatla
-Things New and Old, 1658, p. 281.




" Without a Parable spake He not."    309
well. Eloquence and rhetoric may furnish a " linked sweetness long drawn out;" but parable opens, unfolds, expounds, and illustrates. The greatest of all teachers
adopted this expedient-" Without a parable spake He not
unto them."  It may be, and is, and has been much abused;
but no power is so likely to awaken in an auditor the listening ear, and to furnish the understanding heart. This
is that power which JOHN BUNYAN has glorified by his pen,
and which made CHRISTAS EVANS the most popular preacher
of his country. GOETHE delighted to use it. In no other
way can the subtleties and sophisms of the intellect be so
completely elucidated. Thus the phantasmagoria of the
mind are thrown upon the printer's sheet; thus is fulfilled
the great injunction of the ancients, paint your ideas. Put
them into such a shape that you can look at them, and permit others to look at them. The parable is to the abstractions of the mind what the diagram is to mathematical
science, or natural philosophy, or the experiment to chemistry. Well-told parables are the diagrams of metaphysics
and psychology; and, if the reader will, of theology too.
If the only Master who could teach infinite truth did not
disdain their use, why should his disciples? Well said
LORD BACON, and Mrs. GATT has done well in quoting the
saying-" Parables are more ancient than arguments."
And the author of the proverb, in many of his writings,
shows his faith in, by his practice of, this ancient principle.
JOHN WESLEY required of his young preachers that they
study, among other books, Spenser's "Fairy Queen." It is
well-known that JONATHAN EDWARDs became a better preacher after reading "Clarissa HarloWe;" and, certainly, we
believe that a course of judicious fiction would be as beneficial in training for a teacher as a course of mental or
moral science.
This we believe to be the law of the parable; thought is
unhappy until it finds a body for itself; it wearies of




31      The UTse and Abuse of Imagination.
wandering to and fro among words which, at the best, can
only convey half a meaning; it tires of a vain flitting
through the chambers of ghosts and disembodied thought,
forms which, if they are really there, and perceived, are
only like phantoms dancing on the walL  Hence, the
parabolic form of thought is not peculiar to any people;
all nations have their legends, and, perhaps, the unity of
the popular legend is one of the most interesting illustrations of the unity of the race. Legends are not so much
derived from each other, they are rather the spontaneous
language of the wondering and the realizing soul of man.
This is a topic that merits much more than a passing
remark; but it is beyond the range of these lectures.
Meanwhile, it is not to be supposed that the imagery and
parabolic power of the mind is confined to the Eastern and
Scriptural illustrations. Iceland has its Edda and the
Sagas of Snorro Sturleston.
There is a singular disposition of the mind to regard all
things as human, and even inanimate things as really alive.
From before the days even of ZEsop until now, beasts and
birds, and creeping things, have been made to speak, not
only as in the possession of consciousness, but of reason
and sensibility. Imagination plays with these things and
creatures; and the happy power of the good-humored
caricaturist, who would cure the vices or foibles of mankind without the severity of the satirist, is never more
admirably displayed than when indulging these innocent
licenses of fancy and speech. It is most quaint and ludicrous to notice what human likenesses and resemblances
peep out from the meanest things. The echo of a human
heart seems to sound from  all things above man, and
every little creature, and every thing man has made, fiom
beneath him, seems to look up and to claim a relationship.
Thus, in a little illustration of Anderson's way of using
things:



The Place and Power of Parable.    I I
There was once a Darning-needle so fine that she fancied herself a Sewing-needle.
" Now, take care, and hold me fast! " said the Darning-needle
to the Fingers that took her up. " Don't lose me, pray! If I
were to fall down on the floor, you would never be able to find
me again, I am so fine! "
" That's more than you can tell! " said the Fingers, as they
took hold of her.
" See, I come with a train! " said the Darning-needle, drawing a long thread, without a single knot in it, after her.
The Fingers guided the Needle to the cook-maid's slippers;
the upper leather was torn, and had to be sewn together.
"This is vulgar work! " said the Darning-needle; "I shall
never get through; I break, I am breaking!" And break she
did. "Did I not say so? continued she; "I am too fine!"
"Now she is good for nothing," thought the Fingers; however, they must still keep their hold; the cook-maid dropped
sealing-wax upon the Darning-needle and then stuck her into
her neckerchief.
" See, now I am a Breast-pin! " said the Darning-needle; " I
knew well that I should come to honor; when one is something,
one always becomes something."  And at this she laughed,
only inwardly, of course, for nobody has ever seen or heard a
Darning-needle laugh; there sat she now at her ease, as proud
as if she were driving in her carriage, and looking about her
on all sides.
A-parable is a spoken picture,-an expression of spiritual truth through the medium  of natural circumstance;
while fable assigns moral qualities to unreasoning, and
even to inanimate things;. and the savage who called the
chip of wood a talking chip, when the missionary wrote in
pencil upon it, and sent by it a messenger to his wife, and
obtained back the tool he needed, only illustrates that
wide personification so natural to simple minds, and of
which poets and teachers have always been ready to avail
themselves.   "My dear boy," says Douglas Jerrold, in
Punch's Letters to his Son, "be a bright poker; " it is at




312  lThe Use and Abuse of Imagination.
once a very short proverb, and a very expressive parable.
By the fire place there are two pokers, one black, bent;
the other effulgent, speckless steel,-one for use, the other
for ornament.  The poor little black poker cracked the
coals, and cleared the lower bar, and stirred and levelled
the fire, and accommodated the tea-kettle to the coals: and,
in fact, did all the poking and raking, and burning, and
banging, and all the sweating work. The bright poker
was a kind of consecrated thing; and when the owner of
the house went out, it was even sometimes removed from
the grate, and swathed in flannel, oiled, and left to repose
in luxurious idleness, while its poor little friend was worked
to the stump, and then flung aside for vile, old iron. The
bright poker lasted out a dozen, doing nothing, lustrous
and inactive. t And the image may remind my hearers how
this extraordinary power of the fancy invests dead, and
almost worthless things, with even spiritual properties,
setting them all a talking, and giving them from out of
ourselves functions so far beyond themselves, and making
them  to be embodied teachers and representations of
truths. Thus that wise man, Mr. Caxton, teaches how
good wishes do not mend bad actions; but how good
actions mend bad actions. And again, when his little son
came into the room, glowing and panting, health on his
cheek-vigor in his limbs-all childhood at his heart.
" Oh, mamma, I have got up the kite-so high!-come and
see. Do come, papa."
"Certainly," said my father; " only don't cry so loud-kites
make no noise in rising; yet, you see how they soar above the
world. Come, Kate. Where is my hat? Ah-thank you, my
boy."
" Kitty," said my father, looking at the kite, which, attached
by its string to the peg I had stuck into the ground, rested
calmly in the sky, " never fear but what our kite shall fly as
high; only, the human soul has stronger instincts to mount up



Parable in the Pulpit.                3   3
ward than a few sheets of paper on a framework of lath. But,
observe, thatto prevent its being lost in the freedom of space,
we must attach it lightly to earth; and, observe again, my dear,
that the higher it soars, the more string we must give it."
Has the pulpit any connection or interest with this kind
of teaching? I should think so, especially if it is ever to
condescend to teach, or speak to the multitudes of children in Sabbath schools;-of course, to be effective, or
even tolerable, it needs especially the touch and glow of
genius; and the sermnons of Christmas Evans assure us
that it may be useful and admirable.
It was somewhat in this manner Latimer was in the
habit of speaking, as when he says:We read a pretty story of St. Anthony, who, being in the
wilderness, led there a very hard and strict life, insomuch as
none at that time did the like, to whom came a voice saying,
" Anthony, thou art not so perfect as is a cobbler that dwelleth
at Alexandria." Anthony, hearing this, rose up forthwith, and
took his staff and travelled till he came to Alexandria, where he
found the cobbler. The cobbler was astonished to see so reverend a father come to his house. Then Anthony said unto him,'Come and tell me thy whole conversation, and how thou
spendest thy time." Sir," said the cobbler, " as for me, good
works have I none, for my life is but simple and slender; I am
but a poor cobbler; in the morning when I rise, I pray for the
whole city wherein I dwell, especially for all such neighbors
and poor friends as I have; after, I set me at my labor, where I
spend the whole day in getting my living; and I keep me from
all falsehood, for I hate nothing so much as I do deceitfulness;
wherefore, when I make any man a promise I keep it and perform it truly; and thus I spend my time poorly, with my wife
and children whom I teach and instruct, as far as my wit will
serve me, to fear and dread God. And this is the sum of my
simple life." *
* Sermons, vol. ii. p. 737. Ed. 1758.
14




3  4   The Use and Abuse of Imagination,
And Jeremy Taylor's well-known appropriation of a Jewish legend:When Abraham sat at his tent door, according to his custom,
waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old man, stooping
and leaning on his staff, weary with age and travel, coming
towards him, who was a hundred years old. He received him
kindlyt washed his feet, provided supper, caused him to sit
down; but observing that the old man ate, and prayed not, nor
begged for a blessing on his meat, he asked him why he did not
worship the God of heaven. The old man told him that he
worshipped the fire only, and acknowledged no other God. At
which answer Abraham grew so zealously angry, that he thrust
the old man out of his tent, and exposed him to all the evils of
the night and an unguarded condition. When the old man was
gone, God called to Abraham and asked him where the stranger
was? He replied, I thrust him away because he did not worship thee. God answered him, I have suffered him these hundred years, although he dishonored me; and couldst not thou
endure him one night?
One of the sweetest little fancies I know in this way is
in John Pulsford's most beautiful and helpful "Quiet
Hours," a work which will outlive, on the waves of time,
many a more ambitious looking vessel
A LITTLE BIRD'S SERMON TO A SERMON-MAKER.
I was in the act of kneeling down before the Lord, my God,
when a little bird, in the lightest, freest humour, came and
perched near my window, and thus preached to me, all the while
hopping about from spray to spray. " 0 thou grave man look
on me and learn something, if not the deepest lesson, then a
true one. Thy God made me; and, if thou canst conceive it,
loves me and cares for me. Thou studiest Him in great problems, which oppress and confound thee; thou losest sight of
one half of His ways. Learn to see thy God not in great mysteries only, but in me also. His burden on me is light, His
yoke on me is easy; but thou makest burdens and yokes for
thyself which are very grievous to be borne. I advise thee not




A  Little Bird's Sermon.              315
only to see God in little things; but to see little, cheerful, sportive things in God, as well as great, solemn, awful things. Things
deep as hell and high as heaven thou considerest over much;
but thou dost not' consider the lilies' sufficiently. Every priest
should put by his awful robes, &e., &c., sometimes, and go free.
If thou couldst be as a lily before God, for at least one hour in
the twenty-four, it would do thee good; I mean if thou couldst
cease to will and to think, and be only. Consider, the lily is as
really from God as thou art, and is a figure of something in.im, the like of which should also be in thee.
" Thou longest to grow, but the lily grows without longing;
yes, without either thinking or willing, grows, and is beautiful
both to God and man. Think of that.
"In conclusion I remind thee, that' God has many kinds of
voices in the world, and none of them is without signification.'
But I perceive that thine ear is open only to voices of one kind.
Thy danger is, under the conceit of being the more godly, of
becoming monstrous, and not quite Godlike. Excuse a little
bird. I am but one of the'many kinds of voices' which God
has' in the world.' "
But there is a kind of illustration which is no illustration; fancy and imagination run wild; all separated alike
from  good sense and good taste, which are indeed the
same.  Sometimes things have been said merely to produce effect; sometimes from the mere ignorance or execrable taste in the speaker, and this may be without the
preacher being so bad as he who likened "the angel, having the everlasting Gospel to preach, to fi angel running
on a rainbow with a basket of stars in each hand;" or that
American divine who, describing the flight from  time to
eternity, said, "It would be as if astride a flash of lightning-putting spurs into it to dash off to glory."  Worse,
if possible, than this it is, when words are used only because fine and flourishing, while serving no purpose in the
work of the exposition.
In a review of the vocation of the preacher, I have been




3 6   The Use and A buse of Imagination.
impressed by the idea formed of it by the Rev. J. C. M.
Bellew. The evidence is contained in his sermons. I have
one on Paul preaching at Athens; the course of description is, indeed, not new; I remember to have met with
other preachers who have indulged in a similar vein of
fancy. A wise preacher will turn to admirable account his
wanderings through apostolic scenes, but Mr. Bellew shows
us how not to use such travels; page on page is occupied
by needless and impertinent description. As in the following, which may surely be called for a sermon a ridiculous description ofPAUL PREACHING AT ATHENS.
From the port of the Piraeus, at the distance of five miles, the
Acropolis of Athens, crowned with its ruins, rises. It is visible
to the traveller above the surrounding plain. When St. Paul
reached the port, on his voyage from Thessalonica to Beraea,
that rock would meet his eye, crowded with chaste and noble
edifices which the hands of Pericles and others left as the choicest gems of architectural taste to the world. Towering above
them all the Apostle would first behold an evidence of Greek
idolatry, in the gigantic figure of Minerva (cast out of the
brazen trophies of war taken at Marathon), which, grasping its
shield and spear, overlooked the city beneath, as the angel with
outstretched wings at present overlooks Rome from the castle
of St. Angelo. From the spot where the Apostle landed, up to
the city, there had formerly been one continuous street, defended
by the so-called " ong Walls," which memorable fortifications
united Athens with its port of the Piraeus. These had been
destroyed. Crossing the plain amidst their ruins the Apostle
would enter the city where the evidences of idolatry, and yet of
the taste and splendor of the Athenians, lay scattered thickly
around him.
He would at once be surrounded by altars, and temples, and
statues dedicated to Apollo, Jupiter, Mercury, and others, skirting on every side the edges of the street which led directly from
the Piraean gateway to the foot of the Acropolis. Approaching




A Speeimen of Bathos.                   37
this termination. on his left rose the hill called the Pnyx, where
the Athenians held their political meetings. Beyond it again
stood the hill of the Areopagus, crowned with the temple of
Mars. To that hill we must presently proceed. Before him, an
immense quadrangular building intercepted his approach to the
Acropolis. This was the Agora, or market-place of Athens, and
it was entered on every side by porticoes, surmounted by statues, on one of which as Paul passed along he nmay have looked
upon the " God of Day." We read (ver. 17) that Paul was daily
" in the market with them that met with him." This Agora or
market-place was the spot where (ver. 21) the Athenians and
strangers spent their time in nothing else " but either to tell or
to hear some new thing." It was in reality a beautiful square,
whose centre was planted with trees, interspersed with statues.
It was surrounded by cloisters, probably resembling the Campo
Santo at Pisa, and its walls and roofs were covered with paintings representing the most memorable incidents in Athenian
history. There the Grecian artist had depicted the glorious
achievement at Marathon. This colonnade received the name
of the Stoa Pcecile, or Painted Cloister, and it became the favourite resort of Zeno and his disciples; whereby they received the
name of Stoics, or the philosophers who frequented the painted
Stoa. In the gardens within the court were the statues of the
great men of Greece, Demosthenes, Solon, and others. Here,
again, the evidences of idolatry met the Apostle's view! Mercury, and Hercules, and Apollo received the popular reverence
in the midst of this market-place. The spirit of Paul was
stirred within him when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry (v. 16). The porticoes of the Agora within which he stood
were surmounted with idols. Statues of gods were erected in
every direction within its cloisters-even in a favored retreat
both of poets and philosophers; of which Dr. Doddridge has
well remarked, " The prevalence of such a variety of senseless
superstitions in this most learned and polite city, which all its
neighbours beheld with so much veneration, gives a lively and
affecting idea of the' need we have in the most improved state
of human reason, of being taught by a Divine revelation.'"
As Paul looked beyond, where the rock of the Acropolis rose




318   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
above the city, he would behold it crowded with the temples
and idols of a corrupt religion. When the Apostle "saw the
oity," as he passed along, he would no doubt ascend the Acropolis by its sole entrance, the Propylaea, erected by Pericles. There
would stand the temple of Victory, and within, or about its
vestibule, the figures of Mercury, Minerva, and Venus: there he
would see the statues of Pericles, and also of the Roman Agrippa
and Augustus: Upon the levelled platform of the Acropolis he
would behold everywhere the most choice specimens of Grecian
statuary, commemorating the mythological histories of the gods.
But superior to all, he would stand beneath that colossal figure
of Minerva holding her brazen-shield above the head of Athens;
and he would look on that superb triumph of art, that epic of
poetry done in stone, the temple of Minerva, the Parthenon!the glorious effort of the proudest days of Athens; and even to
this hour in its ruins, the lasting monument which tells the
grandeur of that Greece which is no more!
A witty writer, upon all this, has conceived one preaching in Westminster in some coming ages, beginning his
sermon with a brief account of the Reform  Club, then
quitting that building, the Duke of York's Column and
Waterloo Place claim a moment's notice.' Proceeding along
Pall Mall, the eye rests upon the equestrian statue of
George III. The University Club suggests a digression to
the Isis and the Cam. Presently, on the left the Royal
Academy rises above Trafalgar Square, and the pictures
which are now exhibiting there will claim a hasty criticism.
The statue of Lord Nelson, at Charing Cross, is to an
Englishman what the brazen Pallas of the Acropolis was to
an Athenian, and therefore it must not be forgotten; that
statue looks down upon the speaker. Nor must it be forgotten that Sir Charles Napier stood erect and stiff, and Dr.
Jenner reclined meditatively, and the fountains played
feebly, and the little boys vigorously, in the square. The
hoary piles and the ancient memories of the Abbey and the
HallTwill next demand attention, and so on; but what a re



The Use of Allegory.              3 9
markable thing if the preacher should imagine that he is
piercing the conscience or preaching the Gospel all this
time!  Most of Mr. Bellew's sermons display this mere
artistic faculty, this gathering and disposing of mental stuff
and wares which have been in some sense apprehended by
the intellect, but which have never approached, and still less
been absorbed into, the consciousness of spiritual truths
and things.
I think the question in every instance should be,-Does
it help? Does that mode of putting it help? Would it
help me? and a canon of our speech for all times should
be the canon of the old poet-not too much of anything;
to over color is to destroy all effect; not too much detailto know when to stop; not too many words-to overlay the
ornament is to destroy all the beauty, the harmony, the
impressiveness, by destroying proportion. Perhaps in the
preacher's order of teaching, we must often use more than
strict good taste does allow, because we have to stimulate
spiritual and even intellectual appetites; the severe style
tells on educated and refined minds in a state of preparation; but just as pictures are for children, so also pictorial
words and emotions which embody and even startle, must
be used in dealing with the multitudes  Still the mind, as
it prepares itself, should come back to the question,Will that
help? Is that too much? This will compel the speaker to
feel his own images-his own language; that which is real
to him will usually be felt to be real to the audience he addresses; not in mere copiousness, but in selectness is
power; not in the crowd of illustrations, but in the distinctness of one is power. Even as we are lost in a gallery of
paintings, until we take refuge in one, and permit it to exercise its impression.
But you have to manage your text by illustration, and on
this I must dwell a little longer. You need good skill
here: good taste is only the unison of sound knowledge




320   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
and correct feeling; but you will greatly need good taste
here, as a rule. If an illustration adds at all to the light
in your own mind, it will probably add to the light upon
the text in the minds of your audience; and first, let me
caution you against the improper use of allegory. Do you
ever feel any tendencies to the use of it? It needs superlative genius to be tolerable-a bold, strong, Bunyan-like,
Christmas Evans-like mind, may recite an allegory like
some lofty poem; but be you very cautious how you yield
to the seduction.
Nay, I must say, be cautious, not only how you invent
the allegory for the pulpit yourselves, but how you allegorize Divine Truth. No doubt we do find many instances
of such a use in Scripture, but when Origen spiritualizes
the account of Abraham's denying his wife, polygamy, the
patriarchy, and Noah's drunkenness, we must feel how dangerous is the whole ground, and especially as many minds
will not fail to make this their very method of interpretation.
When men use the language of the Bible as the mere instrument of a cultivated fancy, to make their style attractive or impressive, it is needless to say they are guilty of a
great irreverence toward its Divine Author; but there is a
danger, lest we also err in making the story the vehicle for
one's fancy. How eminently this was the case with the
Church of Alexandria.*  Some writers, whom we greatly
respect, have made sad nonsense, even of some portions of
the Book of God. Let us remember, that while we must
not shut our eyes to the indirect and instructive applications of which a text is capable, we must never so reason
as to forget that there is a sense peculiarly its own; it is
this meaning which we are especially to unfold. What do
you think of this method of handling a text?-I am sorry
to say I extract it from the sermon of a French refugee,
* See Dr. J. H. Newman's History of Arians, &c. Chap. i. p. 7.




Improper Use of Allegory.            32I
Father Gousset, from Proverbs xxx. 18, 19.-" There are
three things which are too wonderful for me; yea, four,
which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air; the
way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the
midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid."
Gousset says, "The way of an eagle in the air is the way
of Jesus Christ ascending to heaven. The way of a serpent
upon a rock is the way of Jesus Christ in that rock in a
cavern of which he was buried; there remain no scent
by which the place of his sepulture could be known. The.
way of a ship in the sea denotes the way of Jesus Christ
among his countrymen in the course of his ministry, which
left no more traces among them than a ship leaves in the
ocean. The way of a man with a maid signifies the miraculous birth of Christ of a virgin."  And the reason assigned for this exposition is, "That the wise man speaks of
wonderful things; now, there is nothing wonderful in these
things taken literally, but taken allegorically, they are wonderful events indeed! " This is extorting a sense by bombarding a text. The good man also must have had a vast
conception of his own knowledge not to have perceived that
the wise man did in the text really express some of the
greatest mysteries of things,-in the motion of birds the
sleep of reptiles, the marvels of navigation, and the ways
of human hearts.
All this is nonsense, but, on the contrary, it is impossible
to read the Scriptures much, and to meditate upon their
histories, without frequently feeling a class of emotions
which should naturally lead you to carry them into ihe
pulpit, and usually such meditations, when they come to a
thoughtful, and prayerful, and pious mind, will supply material very fitting for discourse. I consider there is a law
of Scripture-symbolism. There is a great prejudice, I believe, in what is called the educated ministry, against the
method of taking as a text some Scriptural illustration, and
14*




322   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
tracing it through a series of analogies and resemblances.
Surely this is not the only method in the pulpit; but just
as surely it is a method-a method, not necessarily out of
keeping with good taste; a method admirably calculated
for discursive instruction, level to the majority of hearers.
If it was not beneath the dignity of the mind of the Spirit
to suggest to the holy men of God, moved by the Holy
Ghost, such an image, surely it is not beneath the dignity
of the modern ministry to seek out such unstrained modern
significations as may tend to edification.  May I, without
apparent conceit, introduce two sketches of my own, as illustrations of this dealing with sacred images. The first
from the text referred to:
I  THE WAY OF AN EAGLE IN THE AIR.-Prov. xxx. 18, 19.
The wvorks of creation are, when they are considered, ways to
the Creator. Wherever the soul turns itself, it finds God in the
very same objects through which it forsook Him." Thus, in all
ages, if the things and objects of nature have been mysterious,
the mind, fruitful in contemplation, has turned those objects
into reflections of Divine wisdom; and in the Book of God we
find them turned into the deepest and highest wisdom. Thus,
in these words of Agur, many things became to him the inlets
of wise reflection, especially he said, "I see four wonderful
things: 1. An eagle in the air; that sublime thing, overcoming,
walking on the wings of the wind, sailing through the thunderstorm. How wonderful! living where lightnings play, able to
gaze at the sun; this, he said, is wonderful,-'- the way of an
eagle in the air." 2. A serpent, that long, cruel creature, its
coils, its rapid spring, its strange interlocking of rings, its marvellous vertebrae, this is wonderful-" the way of a serpent upon
a rock."  3. Man imitating nature-" the way of a ship in the
sea"-that dead yet living bird of art and science; and still,
after all these years have passed, art has nothing more graceful,
more amazingly buoyant and natural, than "the way of a ship
in the sea." 4. And, more wonderful than all, the relations of
hearts. How two people, who never saw each other, meet, and




T  thWay of an Eagl               e A t  ir.   323
how a life-long relationship rises, so that if one heart is torn
from the other the survivor pines and almost dies.-" The way
of a man with a maid."
I touch one of these wonders-" the way of an eagle in the
air." And yet we say the eagle is one of the highest and most
famous images of the Book of God. When Ezekiel beheld his
first great vision, he saw God's government carried on by four
agencies, of which " the fourth had the face of an eagle" (Ezek.
x. 14), and like this was the vision of John in Revelation iv. 7" the fourth creature was like a flying eagle."  Not very difficult
is the interpretation here; so God carries on His government;
there is that in its mode of procedure which answers to such a
sublime analogy. The eagle is evidently the figure for diviner
things; and through all the Fathers, and in most ages; while
Matthew has been the Gospel to which has been assigned the
lion-the Gospel of the tribe of Judah, the Gospel of the Kingdom of God; and to Mark, the man-the more human aspects;
and to the more sacrificial Gospel of St. Luke; to St. John has
been assigned the eagle. It is the Gospel of the heights of divine contemplation and divine love. He sets forth our Lord's
Godhead in the higher sense. Everything earthly with him
only introduces things heavenly; the divine attributes break always through the veil of words. As St. Augustine says, "How
sublime ought those things to be of which he treats who is colmpared to the eagle." Thus the very ways of God himself, in His
government and administration, are as " the way of an eagle in
the air." But I purpose, this morning, to look for hints of the
divine life in man from following the way of the eagle in the air,
and I shall enlarge a little on four remarks:
I. It is heavy, and yet it flies.
II. The air resists its flight, and yet it flies.
III. The resistance helps it, and therefore it flies.
IV. There are extraordinary and Divine contrivances to aid
it, and therefore it flies.
I. It is heavy, and yet it flies.:-It weighs ten, fourteen, I believe, twenty pounds. How remarkable that it should overcome
its gravitation, that its weight should even be a momentum to
it; not like a balloon, a part of the air, as it were, carried to and




324  The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
fro of the air, borne hither and thither, but always a weight, yet
ever able to fly; is not this wonderful? This is the way of the
eagle in the air. This also should be the way of the human
soul; the soul has its gravitation to overcome-is there not a
weight? What is the first thing in the Christian course? Is it
not the "laying aside of every weight?"  Does not every one
feel this? To be a man, to be a woman, is to have the weight
that fastens to the earth, and would keep us here for ever; it is
in matter, which hangs upon us heavy, like lead; it is in the
blood, it is in the passions, it forms temperament. Christian!
you must fly. The flesh is weak in that it is heavy. Can
weighty things ascend? think of the way of the eagle in the air,
and overcome. Then make the sublime description in Job of
Elihu yours (Job xxxix. 27-29), "Mount up and make thy nest
on high, dwell and abide on the rock, upon the crag of the
rock, and the strong place."
II. Remark, of the way of the eagle in the air, the air resists
it, and yet it flies. The air which around you prevents, by its
weight, your falling, resists the eagle also in advancing. It is
gross and heavy in itself, and there is a pressure upon it from
without, yet wonderful is the way of the eagle in the air. So you
must fly, and let me say, that one thing by which we know we
fly is resistance; a feather does not fly, a balloon does not fly, a
kite does not fly,-these float, there is no resistance. There is
resistance in ourselves; at first we do not desire to rise, we find
the earth tempting and pleasant to our selfishness, and, as
Charles Wesley says:
Angels your march oppose
Who still in strength excel,
Your secret, sworn eternal foes,
Countless, invisible.
With rage that never ends,
Their hellish arts they try;
Legions of dire malicious fiends,
And spirits enthroned on high.
Thus it is a wrestling; "the prince of power in the air works




The Way of an Eagle in the Air.               325
in the children of disobedience."  Thus we have "spiritual
wickedness in high places." Yet you must make your way like
that of the eagle in the air. And how hard-who overcomes?
how hardly shall they, for whom the world has done its best,
" mount up with wings" their way as that of an eagle in the air?
III. This is a negative side; there is a positive-the way of
the eagle in the air-it is when the resistance helps it, and
therefore it flies. There is vital force within, and not only so,
the air is elastic. As it flies it beats on the wing, but, as it
beats, by its own hard blows on the air, every blow lifts the
wing up again, and there is a wonderful arrangement in those
wings to air; and so the air gives way, and the triumphant bird
passes through. This is the action of a wing, one hundred and
fifty strokes in a minute, I understand. So swift, so rapid; slow,
and yet so swift. Hence the Apostle's jubilant shout, "We are
troubled on every side, yet not distressed, cast down, not destroyed."  So we are helped, " When my heart is overwhelmed,
lead me to the rock that is higher than I." "Because thou hast
been my help, etc."  God knows this. Do you remember an
admirable paper by the Country Parson, on " Men who have Carried Weight in Life"? Some men's progress seems so small
compared with others'-slow, ah, but although to you, they seem
to make no progress, to angels, they do. Theirs is the way of
the eagle in the air.
IV. There are extraordinary and divine contrivances to help,
and therefore it flies. It is a wonderful picture of the universality of the arrangement,-the divine pliability and adjustment of
the laws of nature; that upper convex surface of the wing; that
lower concavity of each wing, a kind of umbrella, turned inside
out, to catch the wind, and so becomes a valve, so that the force
may be gained below, and be harmless and helpful above; every
feather is a valve. This is the way of the eagle in the air. And
now, can it be thought that. God has designed such wonderful
contrivances for a poor bird's wing, and none for souls? nay,
what contrivances and helps has God given; they are in our
spirits themselves, in their mould and make. There is concealed strength in souls for dark hours; powers abortive and
unknown, waiting to be employed; these faculties were not




326   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
made for night and for sin, they were for the soul. Thus come
the special provisions of grace, grace is spiritual contrivance,
and in every experience " He giveth more grace." And so the
way of the eagle in the air.
What an eagle was Paul, who saw afar off, entered, and saw
unspeakable things. Behold him there gazing on the sun from
his rock,-" None of these things move me,"" I am persuaded,"
etc. What an eagle was John, who saw a door opened in
heaven, the Lord in the midst of the golden candlesticks, and
left his testimony, "That which we have seen and heard, etc.,
declare we." What an eagle was Isaiah, the old man who said
"They that wait on the Lord," etc.
Now apply. Are you conscious of the weight? Do you resist? Do you feel obstacles falling, giving way? Do you feel
and find divine help? Have you glimpses? and do you find affections rising?
Hereafter, you shall have exceeding great and eternal weight
of glory. Look on the low scenes of the earth, on the sun, moon,
and battle-plains beneath, you shall enter into the secret place
of the Most High, the chambers of everlasting rest.
My second illustration is:
II. —GOD'S RIGHTEOUSNESS LIKE THE GREAT MOUNTAINS.
-Ps. xxx. 6.
Great mountains; few of us have seen them, but there are
those who, having seen them, find their hearts almost aching to
behold them again. How is it they are so awfully, yet so venerably and beautifully dear to us? They are only dead masses of
unfeeling rock, yet they possess the power to awaken in us all
feelings; they are always differing, and changing, and yet they
are always the same; nights and storms roll down upon them,
and clothe and conceal them; and then mornings come; and
sunsets and sunrisings behold those mists wrought into rosehues by rays that sleep there lovingly. They hold the thunders
-often when it is clear below, storms seem to live and contend
like spirits there, and long, low, protracted thunders mutter, as
if spirits talked in their recesses, from peak to peak, from crag
to crag. Snows and ice clothe their summits perpetually. The




God's Righteousness like the Mountains.  327
traveller, among their lower passes, hears the boom and toll,
and says that is an avalanche falling. Out of their heart, as he
passes along, the wanderer beholds the vast glacier-the stiffened ice torrents that " stopped amidst their maddest plunge;"
ice falls now, that down enormous ravines sweep amain, but
there they stand, pillars of creation, monumental piles of past
existences, tombs of old creations, mausoleums, cenotaphs of
ancient worlds, wonders and mysteries. All things are mysteries; but mountains-so human, yet so cold; so mighty and
massive, and yet so silent and so unmoving-the heart must be
cold indeed, that does not feel the power of the great mountains.
David looked up at them, and he said, They are like the rectitude-the holiness, the righteousness of God. He had not seen
the greatest, Mont Blanc, the Himalayas, the Andes; but he saw
Horeb, and Sinai, and Lebanon; and there is that, I suppose,
about all these which make them  seem more than they are.
Even as the small hills of Cumberland and Scotland do for us
almost as much as Switzerland, the Alps and Apennines. You
and I also can step out this evening, and talk with God among
the mountains.  Let us talk of God-how high, how vast!
That word God!-what mysteries does it hold-does it represent! " The thought," said Job, " of God was a terror to me,
and by reason of his highness I could not endure." We saw
how Job found all the suggestions of the great mountains bringing the mind to reflect upon the inscrutableness of God, but all
as hints and suggestions. What a slight thing is man traversing the shoulder of some steep and awful mountain! What an
insect! Yet he lives and it is dead and cold. To him it may,
with its labyrinths of peaks, and passes, and glaciers, be called
incomprehensible; its cold; its glaring heat; its regions, and
platforms of storm; aspects which make it like an abstraction;
again, which make it like some dread personification and embodiment of power. David looked at it, and thought: " Hoar
and solemn peak, thou art like the righteousness of God, manifold in aspect, but always one, and in thyself always still."
I. I suppose, what David first meant to imply by this righteousness of God like the great mountains was,-that it was




328  The U[se and Abuse of Imagination.
everywhere to be seen. A mountain is lofty, prominent, can be
seen at a great distance-why the Himalayas can be seen nearly
two hundred and fifty miles away. Grandly it rises out of the
vale beneath, like a monarch over the scene. Scripture, you
note-you ought to notice it-involves itself in the righteousness of God, not even His goodness so much as His righteousness, not His love so much as His holiness. I do not wonder
at this, the most anxious question a man can put is this, " Will
the judge of all the earth do right? " No question is so immense, so vital; that question settled well, all must be well. It
therefore opens grand views of the righteousness of God, involves itself in this, stakes itself on this. This is what shortsighted and selfish man thinks he cannot always see.  But
mountains are distinctly seen, so the righteousness of God is
distinctly seen. His rectitude, infinitely right; the Bible is the
revelation of righteousness; and the long ages as they roll, to
those able to read, tell the tale of righteousness. Read it in
law, that groove and line of rail laid down by God; read it in
nations, their rise, decline, and fall; read it in conscience, that
pulse of a moral nature throbbing after right in man; immortal
and immovable principles in nature, in the history of men, in
the human soul. But what is it in God! What know we of
righteousness? Oh, we must not look in ourselves to see it, we
must look out and look up. It is there-vast, immutable, eternal, it is like the great mountains. Elevate the tone of your
thought; do not indulge in the cynic's sneers, those "arrows
which fly by day." Believe-and see it in God right, our sense
of self belies us. Suppose we died now, and had no immortality, still could we not look up, with tearful eyes and bless Him
for all, incomparably beyond ourselves and our desert. Where
is this righteousness-where is it? All this agony, misery, ruin
-well, it is working through all that. " I will," said David,
" remember the years of the right hand of the Most High."  I
will remember His eternity, and my brief time.
II. But although so prominent, its foundations are out of
sight.-"Who sunk thy sunless pillars deep in earth."  The
highest mountain's peak, it is said, is not more than five miles,
the depth of the sea has been, I believe, ascertained to be




God's Righteousness like the Mountains.   329
eleven, and here are the roots, nay, rather the body, and the
portions of the everlasting hills, like the great mountains. And
all these weighed! " The mountains in scales, the hills in a
balance!"  Exact their proportion literally, to their dynamic
intensity or force, regulated for many purposes. So live, yet out
of sight. And yet how often the roots of God's righteousness
though concealed, are revealed to great experiences, as when
Jonah says in his grief, "he went down to the bottom of the
the mountains;" or David sings that (2 Sam. xxii. 16) "the
foundations of the world were discovered."
III. Like the great mountains the righteousness may be
ascertained, although not comprehended.-Mountains the highest may be measured; men have measured mountains. Very
wonderful are the achievements of trigonometry; and many
have no hesitation in pronouncing all about God, His righteousness, and the Trinity, who would be quite at a loss here. You
see the men with their posts, and chains, carefully taking the
base line for their calculations, then they will reduce that base
line by multiples and fractions, and then by their theodolites
they will carry on the process of what they call triangulation,
and so measure without foot, or rule, or step, heights of buildings, mountains, and distances of worlds. Now, God's righteousness is like the great mountains, God Himself gives to us
a base of calculation, and it is " the righteousness of God which
is in Christ Jesus our Lord;" and then as the surveyor goes on
from point to point, calculation to calculation, so " the righteousness.of God is revealed," as Paul declares " from faith to faith."
Christ make Himself finite that I may ascend to infinite conclusions, but there must be the base-line for commencement, then
all follows. How wonderfully Paul went on from this. How
divine and how sublime. " Oh the depths-oh the heights."
Hence, IV. Like the great mountains God's righteousness is
rich and precious. Mountains are rich:1. In minerals, their caves, their recesses, gold, coal, silver;
there the gem, the ruby lurks; there the opal, with its soft
edges; there the basilisk glare of the emerald; the sheen of the
ruby. What streams in God's righteousness, unknown, unseen,




33o   The Use and A buse of Imagination.
unresolved, infinite, plan, power- all righteous and infinite purpose and in promise.
2. In pastures.-Mountains furnish the way for the nations;
there they spread along the hill sides. Nations have sought
them. And nomadic and agricultural people have followed
their chain along the hill side.
3. In refreshments.-Illustration-Rivers gushing from mountains, as in Plinlimmon.
4. Infortifications.-What, then, is His glorious position of
whom it is said, " His foundation is in the holy mountains."
I spoke of the evil method of allegory, or the continued
figure. I could give you many illustrations of this from
the old writers; they are often like the old pageantry which
met Elizabeth in her royal progress. They attempt to embody abstract qualities, and they often fail in their attempt.
I remember one in which we are told how Truth lived in
great honor; but through the envy of her enemies, she was
disgraced, banished out of the city; sitting on a dunghill,
sad and discontented, a chariot comes by attended with a
great troop towards her. Soon Truth perceived who it
was-her greatest enemy, the Lady Lie, clad in a changeable colored taffety, her coach covered with clouds of all
the colors of the rainbow.  Impudence and Hypocrisy,
attending on one side, and Slander and Detraction on the
other, and Perjury ushering along many more-more than
a good many in the train.
When the Lady Lie came up to Truth, she commanded
her to be carried captive for the greater triumph; at night
she fared well, and would want for nothing; only when
morning came the Lady Lie said she had to pay; and
Truth had to pay for all, and the next night was like the
last. But when the Lady Lie was brought before the
judge, Impudence and Hypocrisy justified their lady. Perjury cleared her, and Slander and Detraction laid all the
blame with Truth; she was called upon to plead, and when




Illustrations of Ancient Allegory.         33 
she could only say, "Not guilty," and was about to be condemned, Time, an eloquent, grave, experienced counsellor,
stepped up, and begged to unravel the matter, lest the innocent should suffer for the guilty. Then Time began to
dispel the clouds from the Lady Lie's chariot, unmasked
her ugliness, and unveiled her followers, and Truth by Time
was cleared and set at large.
And all this is to illustrate the Scripture doctrine of truth!
Another like allegory, often used in the pulpit, you will
know; of the master of an orchard who committed it to
the keeping of two servants, and went on his journey; but
one was blind, and one was lame; the lame one saw the
beauty of the fruit and told it to the blind fellow, and he
said:  "Had I the use of my limbs I would soon be master of those apples;" and the blind man said, "Had I but
my eyes my will is good if the fruit is good," so they united
their strength, and joined their forces together. The whole
blind man took the well-sighted lame man, and so they
reached their master's apples, and took them away. When,
therefore, the master returned, they each framed his own
excuse; the blind man said he could not so much as see the
tree whereon they grew; and the lame man said he ought
not to be suspected, for he had no limbs to climb. But the
wise master perceived the ignoble craft of his two servants,
he put them, as they were, the one upon the other's shoulders, and punished them both together. And all this is to
show that sin is neither of the body-nor the soul, but it is
the common act of the body and of soul. They are Simeon
and Levi, brothers and partners in mischief, and therefore
God, in His just judgment, will punish both body and soul
together, if not repaired and redeemed by Christ. And
this allegory, first derived from the Rabbins, has been used
through long generations of writers.*
* These, and many more such, will be found in Spencer's " Storehouse of Similes " (1658), already referred to. The last in Hyman




332   The Use and A buse of Imagination.
Imagination, I have said, seizes the innermost. And this
is the definition which has been given of it by Ruskin; because it does this, it realizes vividly, and hence, again, it
represents distinctly. This is not the time or place to stay
to analyze the faculty; but these are its functions and its
manifestation. In its exercise, genius is in its highest fulness. It is the sum of all highest powers in man. It is in
its highest exercise the focus and complement of all human
power.  "The men of imagination," said Napoleon, "rule
the world."  It is in highest men "the retina of the universe."* It is the power of heart and mind made intense
by their marriage. It is the faculty of attention or intensity; it is not the less the faculty of strong affections. It
may be possible to have the imagination of fire and the
heart of ice, but not upon the objects interesting to it; towards these, it is at once affectionate as clear; truths,
either of Scripture or of life, read without it are like truths
read by the light of funeral torches; but, read by it, they
are read by daylight and the sun.  Thus, in descriptive
preaching, while tame, feeble, and learned critical correctness paints with painful weariness-a something which is all
prepared, as carefully as colors are ground down for the
canvas, and foolishly imagines that color and form alone
are necessary, imagination, with one or two crayon strokes,
realizes the whole picture to the eye. Word-painting is
often the subject of a sneer, yet it is the power of the poet,
that truthful rendering of scenery and character, which,
from  Homer to  Shakespeare, and  from   Shakespeare
to  Wordsworth  or  Tennyson, brings the object described  vividly  before the eye, and  affects the  sense
vividly to realize. If this is the poet's purpose it is also
Hurwitz's charming and delightful book of "Hebrew Tales," an
invaluable little compendium of the ancient and uninspired literature of the Hebrews, and also in Coleridge's " Friend."
* Richter. Titan.




Preaching of Chalmers.                  333
the preacher's Descriptive sermons, indeed, seldom read
well; audiences are usually coarse and sensational; the
colors, therefore, are too often glaring and sensational, too.
Most of this descriptive work is like the stained glass in
cathedrals and churches, very rich and showy and perhaps
glorious, but not perspicuous. Such sermons, like such
windows, need the stately roof and embowering arch;
they do not read well in the study or the household room.
The prismatic splendors of the great Chalmers* or Henry
Melville, will not bear the quiet of the student's lonely
house. This order of imagination charms and delights, but
it belongs especially to the speech of the pleasant concertlike sound; it flows over the soul a wilderness of delicious
melody in which no idea is received, usually no permanent
impression made.
The imagination lets in the light, it is a window through
whose glasses the visions stream; sometimes, as little pictures, and how impressive they are! The essays of John
Foster and Coleridge abound with them; as when the last
speaks of terrible lessons of experience from history;
truths learned too late as: "Alas I like lights in the stern
of a vessel, they illumined only the path that had been
* Yet what an effect must Chalmers have produced by his preaching! What a description is that in " Hore Subsecivae," by John
Brown, of the preaching on some simple village occasion, in a moor.
land district in Tweedale. "The Drover," a notorious and brutal
character, who had sat down in the table seat opposite, was gazing
up in a state of stupid excitement; he seemed restless, but never
kept his eye from the speaker. " We all had insensibly been drawn
out of our seats, and were converging towards the wonderful
speaker." " How beautiful to our eyes did the thunderer look, exhausted, but sweet and pure." " We went home quieter than when
we came; we thought of other things,-that voice, that face;
those great, simple, living thoughts; those floods of resistless eloquence; that piercing, shattering voice." —Hora  Subsecivoe, Second
Series, pp. 90-93.




334     The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
passed over;" or when he speaks of neglected truths:
" Truths, of all others the most awful and mysterious, and,
at the same time, of universal interest, are considered so
true as to lose all the power of truth, and lie bed-ridden in
the dormitory of the soul, side by side with the most despised and exploded errors." An image is sometimes very
illustrative.  What is its use unless it illustrates?  I remember to have heard the Bishop of Oxford thus illustrate
the text-" How wilt thou manifest thyself to us and not
unto the world. Jesus said, If a man love me he will keep
my words, &c., and we will come to him  and make our
abode with him." "Just as a dark lantern is of no use to
any but to him  who carries it-dark everywhere, behind,
and on either side-but held by its possessor, it casts before
him a stream of informing light;" and upon another text
the same preacher says, "Many characters seem to float
before our eyes in Scripture as having been visited by convictions and opportunities of grace, but only like ships,
which, when night is spread over the sea, emerge for a
moment from the darkness, as they cross the pathway of
the moonbeams, and then are lost again in utter gloom."
The writings of Dr. Guthrie are fertile as fields in these
suggestive images-images which, on right lips, instantly
flash out meanings. This is Dr. Guthrie's characteristic,
as thus:
WHO HATH DELIVERED US FROM THE POWER OF DARKNESS.
Sailing once along a coast where a friend had suffered shipwreck, the scene which recalled his danger filled us with no fear.
Because, while his ship on the night she ran ashore, was cutting
her way through the densest fog, we were ploughing the waters
of a silver sea, where noble headlands, and pillared cliffs, and
scattered islands, and surf-beaten reefs, stood bathed in the
brightest moonshine. There was no danger, just because there
was no darkness. The thick and heavy haze is, of all hazards,
that which the wary seaman holds in greatest dread.




On the Use of Illustrations.              335
UPON HIS HEAD WERE MANY CROWNS.
Inside those iron gratings that protect the ancient regalia of
our kingdom, vulgar curiosity sees nothing but a display of
jewels. Its stupid eyes are dazzled by the gems that stud the
crown  and sceptre.  Thd unreflecting  multitude fix their
thoughts and waste their admiration on these. They go away
to talk of their beauty, perhaps to covet their possession; nor
do they estimate the value of the crown, but by the price
which its pearls, and rubies, and diamonds, might fetch in the
market.
The eye of a patriot, gazing thoughtfully in on these relics of
former days, is all but blind to what attracts the gaping group.
The admiration is reserved for other and nobler objects. He
looks with deep and meditative interest on that rim of gold, not
for its intrinsic value, but because it once encircled the brow of
Scotland's greatest king, the hero of her independence-Robert
Bruce. Regarded in some such light, estimated by the sufferings endured for it, how great the value of that crown which
Jesus wears! What a kingdom that which cost God His Son,
and cost that Son his life I
But these things are not to be stuck into sermons meretriciously, like wax or paper flowers.*
"Give us lessons, not laces," says old Thomas Adams.
"A garment," he continues, "to have here and there a
fringe, or button, or jewel is comely; to be nothing but
buttons is ridiculous. We will make three borders of gold
with studs of silver. Divinity is that border of gold; human learning the studs of silver." Once again I say the
question should be asked, whether fable, allegory, analogy
or illustration is used, Does that help?  The use of the
* There are indeed collections of them, such as Spencer's already
referred to, and the similar bulky but less valuable predecessor. A
Treasury or Storehouse of Similes, both Pleasant, Delightful and
Profitable for all Estates of Men in General. Newly Collected into
Ileads and Commonplaces. By Robert Cawdray. Printed in Old
Change, Sign of Eagle and Child, 1600.




3 36   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
imagination in the speaker embodies; in the hearer it unbosoms; like Byron in the tempest on Lake Leman, who
felt that the vehement energy of the storm translated and
expounded to him  his own nature, was the adequatescarcely, but still representatively, adequate -illustration
of the slumbering passions in his soul; so that, as he
looked upon it, he was able to say, " There, there, it isthat is what I have known, what I have felt." As he says:
Sky, mountain, river, winds like lightnings! Ye
With night, and clouds, and thunders, and a soul
To make these felt, and feeling well may be
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll
Of your departing voices is the knoll
Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest.
And again:
Could I embody and embosom now
That which is most within me, could I wreck
My thoughts upon expressions, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,
All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe, into one wordAnd that one word were lightning, I would speak.
But as it is I live and die unheard,
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
So every noble image enables the hearer to exclaim, " There,
there, it is; that is my embodied feeling, now I see it;
now I understand it, as far as I can be made to understand;
it is there, that expresses it." This is the real work of the
imagination; hence it is such an art and such an influence
and power. How sublime when this is brought to bear on
the embodying the great truths-the noble characteristics
of the Christian life; when meanings stand revealed by
the mingled lights of divine teaching and human experience, in the elevated and thoughtful soul; floating feelings




Emotion Translated by Scenery.             337
transformed into convictions, and definite and determinate
perceptions, powers in the character and the life, as well as
tremendous attestations of th'e speaker's genius. Many
readers will think that Frederick Robinson did not express
the whole truth of the Christian life and faith in the following passages; but in all his own subtlety of eloquence and
insight, he expresses that faculty of the imagination to
which I have alluded:
Or, again, we must all have felt, when certain effects in nature,
combinations of form and color, have been presented to us, our
own idea speaking in intelligent and yet celestial language;
when, for instance, the long bars of purple, "edged with intolerable radiance," seemed to float in a sea of pale, pure green,
when the whole sky seemed to reel with thunder, when the
night-wind moaned. It is wonderful how the most commonplace men and women, beings who, as you would have thought,
had no conception that rose beyond a commercial speculation, or
a fashionable entertainment, are elevated by such scenes; how
the slumbering grandeur of their nature wakes and acknowledges kindred with the sky and storm. " I cannot speak," they
would say, " the feelings which are in me; I have had emotions,
aspirations, thoughts; I cannot put them into words. Look
there! listen now to the storm! That is what I meant, only I
never could say it out till now." Thus do art and nature speak
for us, and thus do we adopt them as our own. This is the way
in which His righteousness becomes righteousness for us. This
is the way in which the heart presents to God the sacrifice of
Christ; gazing on that perfect Life we, as it were, say, " There,
that is my religion-that is my righteousness-what I want to
be, which I am not-that is my offering, my life as I would
wish to give it, freely and not checked, entire and perfect." So
the old prophets, their hearts big with unutterable thoughts,
searched "what or what manner of time the spirit of Christ
which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand of
the sufferings of Christ, and of the glory which should follow;"
and so with us, until it passes into prayer; " My Saviour, fill up
15




338   The Use and Abuse of Imagination.
the blurred and blotted sketch which my clumsy hand has
drawn of a divine life, with the fulness of thy perfect picture.
I feel the beauty which I cannot realize:-robe me in thine unutterable purity:
"Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."




PULPIT MONOGRAPHS.
V. Christmas Evans.
sEOPLE in England know little of Welsh preachJing.  Nor is it possible they should know
1    much; and it is probable- that in most of our
congregations a larger acquaintance with it and
the manner of it would not have the effect of making it
more favorably regarded. Preaching is in Wales the great
national characteristic-the Derby Day is not more truly a
characteristic of England than the great gatherings and
meetings of the Associations all grouped around some
popular favorites. The dwellers among those mountains
and upon those hill sides have no concerts, no theatres, no
means of stimulating or satisfying their curiosity. For we,
who care little for preaching, to whom the whole sermon
system is perhaps becoming more tedious, we can form but
little idea, and have but little sympathy with that form of
religious society where the pulpit is the orchestra, and the
stage, and the platform, and where the charms of music
and painting and acting are all looked for and found in the
preacher. We very likely should be disposed even to look
with complacent pity upon such a state of society; it has
not yet expired where the Bulwers, and Dickens, and Thack(339)




340  Pulpit lMonographs: Christmas Evans.
erays, and Scotts are altogether unknown: there the peculiar forms of their genius-certainly without their peculiar
education-display themselves in the pulpit. If you like to
suppose, therefore, a large amount of ignorance, well, upon
such a subject certainly it is possible to enter easily upon
the illimitable, yet it is such an ignorance as that which developed itself in Job and in his companions and in his age
-an ignorance like that which we may conceive in 2Eschylus. In fact, in Wales the gates of every man's being have
been opened. It is possible to know much of the grammar,
and the history, and the lexicography of things, and yet to
be utterly ignorant, so utterly ignorant of things as never
to have felt the sentiment of strangeness or of terror; and
without having ever been informed about the names of
things, it is possible to have been brought into the presence
and the power of things themselves. Thus the ignorance
of one man may be higher than the intelligence of another.
There may be a large memory and a very narrow consciousness. On the contrary, there may be a large consciousness,
while the forms it embraces may be uncertain and undefined in the misty twilight of the soul. This is much the
state of many minds in Wales. It is the state of feeling
and of poetry, of subtle questionings, and high religious
musings and raptures. This state has been aided by the
secludedness of the country, and the exclusiveness of the
language, not less than by the rugged force and masculine
majesty and strength of the language, a language full of
angles and sharp goads, admirably fitted for the masters of
assemblies, admirably fitted to move too, like a wind over
the soul, rousing and soothing, stirring into storm and lulling into rest. Something in it makes an orator almost ludicrous when he attempts to convey himself in another language, but very powerful and impressive in that. It is a
speaking and living language, a language without any shallows, a language which seems to compel the necessity of




His Very Humble Origin.               34
thought or feeling before using it. Our language is fast
becoming serviceable for all that large part of the human
family who speak without thinking. To this state the Welsh
can never come. That unaccommodating tongue only moves
with a soul behind it.
CHRISTMAS EVANS was the child of very poor parentsSamuel and Joanna Evans. At the age of seventeen, Christmas could not read a word. He was born at Esgaiswen, in
the parish of Llandysul, Cardiganshire, on Christmas-day,
1766, says his friend and biographer, Rhys Stephen-1776,
says his later biographer, Mr. Cross. Probably Mr. Stephen is correct. His father was a shoemaker, but he died
when the lad was only nine years of age, and his wife and
children became even, in some measure, dependent on the
parish for support. He was taken by an uncle, a Mr. James
Lewis, to his farm, and for six years he was abandoned to
utter neglect. His years were passed in complete poverty,
in most servile employments; he had neither friend nor
home. An imagination, however, so vivid and vigorous,
must have frequently been awakened amidst the sublime
scenery of the glorious hills and valleys by. which he was
surrounded. The influences which encompassed him were
entirely depraving; yet, in his seventeenth year, he became
the subject of deep religious impressions, although they
were kindled in a church whose pastor was strongly influenced by Arian views, as were many ministers in Wales in
that day-Mr. Daniel Davies. Mr. Stephen has, in a few
lines, given a most lovable portrait of him.* He was the
Patriarch and Pastor of Castell Hywel. He says:Mr. D. Davies was the very soul of kindness and fine feeling;
and wherever you meet one of his old pupils, be he clergyman or
dissenting minister, there is a kind and admiring word for the
Patriarch of Castell Hywel. Nothing could be more unsophisticated than his mode of living amongst his native mountains;
* Memoirs of Christmas Evans. By David Rhys Stephen.




342   Pulpit Monographs. Christmas EvJans.
and while, in mind, he lived with the old Greeks and the mighty
Romans, revelling in the treasury of ancient lore, he ate, and
drank, and lodged, as did the small farmer of his district. With
few wants, and less discontent-teaching all that were sent to
his school; paid most moderately, indeed, by the richest of his
neighbours, not at all by the poorer among them; breaking in
upon the " noiseless tenour of his way" only by the sermons on
the Lord's-day, and occasionally at some house on week-day
evening, when, especially if he referred to the Prodigal Son,
which he was much addicted to, he would weep profusely, affected by his own teaching; at once the cause of his own felicity, and the source of whatever power he exerted upon others.
Mr. Davies, overtaken by a heavy shower, called at a farmhouse, and begged a sheaf of straw, which, opening it in the
middle, he put on his head as a temporary umbrella. A poor
woman who met him on the road, said, "Mr. Davies, bach? you
have very poor shelter."  " Oh!" replied the good man, "a roof
of straw well becomes a wall of clay."
There came a great awakening at Castell Hywel, a great
desire for religious knowledge. In those days scarce one
person in ten could read at all, even in the language of the
country; so says Christmas Evans.  "We "-that is the
young converts-" bought Bibles and candles, and were accustomed to meet together in a barn in the evening, at
Penypralltfaus, and thus in about a month I was able to
read the Bible in my mother tongue. I was vastly delighted with so much learning. This, however, did not
satisfy me, but I borrowed books and learnt a little English. Mr. Davies, my pastor, understood that I thirsted
for knowledge, and took me to his school, where I stayed
for six months. Here I went through the Latin grammar,
but so low were my circumstances that I could stay there
no longer."  He soon became the subject of persecution
among his companions, and it was about this time that he
lost his eye. Six young men fell upon him unawares, and
beat him very unmercifully; one of them, using a stick,




First Efforts in the Ministry.         343
struck him above the eye, which occasioned the loss of its
sight. A very great mistake went abroad that Christmas
Evans, before his conversion, was a great boxer. So far
otherwise, he says he "never fought a battle in his life."
The night after this sad disaster, he dreamt that the day of
judgment was come. He says, "I saw Jesus in the'clouds,
and all the world on fire. I was in great fear, yet crying
earnestly, and with some confidence, for His peace. He
answered and said,'Thou thoughtest to be a preacher, but
but what wilt thou do now? The world is on fire and it is
too late.' On this I awoke." This dream produced a deep
impression on his mind: it recovered him, too, from some
spiritual declension. He was called upon often to the exercises of prayer and exhortation, and he testifies that to this
he felt "a strong inclination, though," he says, "I knew
myself a mass of spiritual ignorance." His memory was
very tenacious; he translated, among his first performances,
a sermon of Bishop Beveridge, and preached it. He also
committed to memory one of Mr. Rowland's sermons, and
preached it in the very neighborhood of the church to
which he belonged. A gentleman heard him, and naturally enough expressed amazement at such a sermon from
an unlettered boy. The mystery was solved next day-he
found the sermon in a book. "However," said he, "I have
not done thinking there is something great in the son of
Samuel, the shoemaker, for his prayer was as good as the
sermon." His opinion of the young preacher would have
suffered some farther abatement if he had known, what was
the fact, that the prayer itself was memorized. This seems
to have taken place before he lost his eye, before the dream;
and for the youth, who could do such things, we are not
surprised that there was a sad backsliding and repentance
before the period of his real promise and usefulness. Yet we
learn that his Christian experiences were of a painful nature. He who was wont, before the period of true relig



344  Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
ious feeling and honest and individual application, to attempt to shine in the robes of the departed masters, now
that he was thrown upon himself felt all the depression and
debasement of a humble heart, and sometimes of a disappointed ministry. He was wont, when he preached, to
enter thfe pulpit with dread; he conceived the very sight of
him was enough to becloud the hearts of his hearers, and
intercept the light of heaven in its efforts to shine upon
their souls. He could not ascertain that he had been the
means of salvation to a single hearer during five years of
his ministry, and he kept the state of his soul in darkness
and in reserve; he drank the wormwood of thought and of
bitter feeling alone. We like to read these passages of soul
history; to him they were dark moments, but the light
came by-and-by, and we shall see that his wonderful power
over other men was the result of his own deep and solemn
acquaintance with the most painful and harrassing questions of the human heart. His faith was no "cunningly
devised fable."
He married in 1790-the year in which he was ordained
at Lleyn, in Caernarvonshire-Catharine Jones.  She
greatly aided him in his ministerial work, by her spirit and
her character. She did not bring him property; but she
brought what was of far more importance than property;
she was a member of his church. She had a strong mind,
and she had, it seems, great aptitude for theological studies.
She must have been, when married, very young; for thirtythree years she walked with her husband a companion and
helpmeet, and as a manager she seems to have been even a
miracle of a woman. Her husband'sincome, for the greater
part of their married life, never exceeded thirty pounds;
yet she gave away food to poor children and needy folks,
and procured and made garments for the poor members of
the church, and money and bread for Irish laborers who
passed her door on their way to and from the harvests.




Home Life-Poverty-Trials.              345
Her house was always open to itinerant ministers, and she
readily administered to them with her own hands; and although her health was never robust she had so much courage that she was able to accompany her husband on five of
his journeys through the greatest portion of Wales, sometimes in the depth of the winter, often through storms of
rain, and snow, and hail, over dangerous ferries, and
through wild and desolate places. She loved the Saviour,
and she made all the interests of His Church hers. They
travelled in true apostolic style. Thus we read, when
Christmas Evans was forty-six years of age, he removed
from Lleyn to the Isle of Anglesea. Lleyn had been his
first church and charge, there he had been ordained, there
he met and married his wife; now upon his birth-day
(Christmas-day) they went out to their new country, almost,
it might be said, not knowing whither they went. "It
was," he says, "a rough day of frost and snow."  Of this
world's goods they had none. He commenced thus his
journey on horseback, with his wife behind him, and arrived
in the evening of the same day at Llangewin. Whatever
was the motive for his departure, it was not money; his
salary in Anglesea was only ~17 pounds per annum, and
for twenty years he asked no more. He who said to Abraham "Fear not: I am thy shield and exceeding great reward," called Christmas Evans forth; and the reason of
the call was soon perceived in the large additions made to
Abraham's seed, and the divine influence felt by innumerable souls. In all this his wife was no obstruction. If it be
true that a man must ask his wife's leave to be rich, he must
also ask her to permit him to be useful; she is the minister's minister, and his power is greatly owing to her. What
can we, or men such as we are, know of such men, of their
lives, or of their motives? We call them poor, we should
look upon them almost with contempt; their world was
different to ours, their life a hidden life. Had they not
15*




346   Pulpit Mfonographs.  Christmas Evans.
pleasures?  Had not our preacher pleasures?  The noise
of the great world scarcely ever broke on his ear. Every
way the furniture of life was simple; luxuries of the most
frivolous description have become necessities to us; but as
we read the life of this man and his companions in the
ministry, all look very different. The things of eternity,
and the solemn thoughts of time awakening to it, seem
nearer to such men than to us. Mr. Stephen, in his Life,
has given the passing sketch and memorial of several of
these men, of whom our world indeed is not worthy.
Their virtues walked their narrow round,
Nor made a pause nor left a void;
And sure the eternal Master found
Their single talent well employed.
It was in the second year of his ministry at Lleyn that a
change came over the ministry of the man. He was in
feeble health, and he set off to South Wales to visit his
friends. He was unable to procure a horse for the journey,
and the small societies to which he preached were too poor
to provide him one. So he set forth on foot, preaching in
every town and village through which he passed. He gives
the account of many battles in spirit among the mountains.
He says, "The roads were lonely, and I was wholly alone.
I suffered no interruptions in my wrestlings with God."
He says this, indeed, of a later period of his spiritual difculties, but he knew these moments constantly, and a
change came over his ministrations. He says:
I now felt a power in the word, like a hammer breaking the
rock, and not like a rush, I had a very powerful time at Kilvowyr, and also pleasant meetings in the neighborhood of Cardigan. The work of conversion was progressing so rapidly and
with so much energy in those parts, that the ordinance of baptism was administered every month for a year or more, at Kilvowyr, Cardigan, Blacnywaun, Blaeuffos and Ebenezer, to from




Weary of a Cold Heart.               347
ten to twenty persons each month. The chapels and adjoining
burying-grounds were crowded with hearers of a week-day,
even in the middle of harvest. I frequently preached in the
op!enair in the evenings, and the rejoicing, singing, and praising would continue until broad light the next morning. The
hearers appeared melted down in tenderness at the different
meetings, so that they wept streams of tears, and cried out, in
such a manner that one might suppose the whole congregation,
male and female, was thoroughly dissolved by the Gospel. " The
word of God " was now become as " a sharp two-edged sword,
dividing asunder the joints and marrow," and revealing unto
the people the secret corruptions of their hearts. Preaching was
now unto me a pleasure, and the success of the ministry in all
places was very great. The same people attended fifteen or
twenty different meetings, many miles apart iU the counties of
Cardigan, Pembroke, Caermarthen, Glamorgan, Monmouth and
Brecknock. This revival, especially in the vicinity of Cardigan, and in Pembrokeshire, subdued the whole country, and induced people everywhere to think wel! of religion. The same
heavenly gale followed down to Fishguard, Llangloffan, Little
New-Castle, and Rhydwylim, where Mr. Gabriel Rees was then a
zealous and a powerful preacher. There was such a tender spirit
resting on the hearers at this season, from Tabor to Middlemill,
that one would imagine, by their weeping and trembling in their
places of worship, and all this mingled with so much heavenly
cheerfulness, that they would wish to abide for ever in this state
of mind.
It is very interesting to notice how real and deep was the
spiritual life of Christmas Evans. He says:
I was weary of a cold heart towards Christ, and His sacrifice,
and the work of His Spirit-of a cold heart in the pulpit, in
secret prayer, and in study. For fifteen years previously I had
felt my heart burning within, as if going to Emmaus with Jesus.
On a day ever to be remembered by me, as I was going from
Dolgelly to Machynlleth, and climbing up towards Cadair Idris
I considered it to be incumbent upon me to pray, however hard
I felt my heart, and however worldly the frame of my spirit was.




348   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
Having begun in the name of Jesus, I soon felt as it were the
fetters loosening, and the old hardness of heart softening, and,
as I thought, mountains of frost and snow dissolving and melting within me. This engendered confidence in my soul in the
promise of the Holy Ghost. I felt my whole mind relieved from
some great bondage: tears flowed copiously, and I was constrained to cry out for the gracious visits of God, by restoring
to my soul the joy of His salvation; and that He would visit the
churches in Anglesea that were under my care. I embraced in
my supplications all the churches of the saints, and nearly all
the ministers in the principality by their names. This struggle
lasted for three hours: it rose again and again, like one wave
after another, or a high flowing tide, driven by a strong wind,
until my nature became faint by weeping and crying. Thus I
resigned myself to Christ, body and soul, gifts and labors —all
my life-every day and every hour that remained for me; and
all my cares I committed-to Christ. The road was mountainous
and lonely, and I was wholly alone, and suffered no interruptions
in my wrestlings with God.
From this time, I was made to expect the goodness of God to
churches and to myself. Thus the Lord delivered me and the
people of Anglesea from being carried away by the flood of
Sandemanianism. In the first religious meeting after this I felt
as if I had been removed from the cold and sterile regions of
spiritual frost, into the verdant fields of the divine promises.
The former strivings with God in prayer, and the longing
anxiety for the conversion of sinners, which I had experienced
at Lleyn, were now restored. I had a hold of the promises of
God. The result was, when I returned home, the first thing
that arrested my attention was, that the Spirit was working
also in the brethren in Anglesea, inducing in them a spirit of
prayer, especially in two of the deacons, who were particularly
importunate that God would visit us in mercy, and render the
Word of His grace effectual amongst us for the conversion of
sinners.
Readers will be interested in reading the solemn covenants entered into with God from  time to time.  Our
preacher represented a time and a state of things when




A Singular and Solemn Covenant with God. 349
such affairs of the heart took place. We will also beg them
to notice those passages we have printed in italics, as showing the especial care and anxiety of his heart:
"I. I give my soul and body unto thee, Jesus, the true God,
and everlasting life-deliver me from sin, and from eternal death,
and bring me into life everlasting. Amen. —C. E.
". I call the day, the sun, the earth, the trees, the stones, the
bed, the table, and the books, to witness that I come unto thee,
Redeemer of sinners, that I may obtain rest for my soul from the
thunders of guilt and the dread of eternity. Amen.-C. E.
"III. I do, through confidence in thy power, earnestly entreat
thee to take the work into thine own hand, and give me a circumcised heart, that I may love thee, and create in me a right
spirit, that I may seek thy glory. Grant me that principle which
thou wilt own in the day of judgment, that I may not then assume palefacedness, and find myself a hypocrite. Grant me this,
for the sake of thy most precious blood. Amen.-C. E.
"IV. I entreat thee, Jesus, the Son of God, in power, grant
me, for the sake of thy agonizing death, a covenant interest in
thy blood, which cleanseth; in thy righteousness, which justifieth; and in thy redemption, which delivereth. I entreat an
interest in thy blood, for thy blood's sake, and a part in thee, for
thy name's sake, which thou hast given among men. Amen.C. E.
" V. 0 Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, take, for the sake
of thy cruel death, my time, and strength, and the gifts and talents I possess; which, with a full purpose of heart, I consecrate
to thy glory in the building up of thy Church in the world, for
thou art worthy of the hearts and talents of all men. Amen.C. E.
"VI. I desire thee, my great High Priest, to confirm, by thy
power, from thy High Court, my usefulness as a preacher, and
my piety as a Christian, as two gardens nigh to each other; that
sin may not have place in my heart, to becloud my confidence in
thy righteousness, and that I may not be left to any foolish act
that may occasion my gifts to wither, and be rendered useless
before my life ends. Keep thy gracious eye upon me, and watch
over me, 0 my Lord and my God, for ever! Amen.-C. E.




35o   Pulpit MIonographs: Christmas Evans.
"VII. I give myself in a particular manner to thee, O Jesus
Christ, the Saviour, to be preserved from the falls into which
many stumble, that thy name (in thy cause) may not be blasphemed or wounded, that my peace may not be injured, that thy
people may not be grieved, and that thine enemies may not be
hardened. Amen.-C. E.
"VIII. I come unto thee, beseeching thee to be in covenant
with me in my ministry. As thou didst prosper Bunyan, Vavasor Powell, Howell Harris, Rowlands, and Whitefield, O do thou
prosper me. Whatsoever things are opposed to my prosperity,
remove them out of the way. Work in me everything approved
of God, for the attainment of this. Give me a heart " sick of
love" to thyself, and to the souls of men. Grant that I may experience the power of thy Word before I deliver it, as Moses felt
the power of his own rod, before he saw it on the land and waters of Egypt. Grant this, for the sake of thine infinitely precious blood, O Jesus, my hope, and my all in all! Amen.-C. E.
" IX. Search me now, and lead me in plain paths of judgment.
Let me discover in this life what I am before thee, that I may
not find myself of another character, when I am shown in the
light of the immortal world, and open my eyes in all the brightness of eternity. Wash me in thy redeeming blood. Amen.C. E.
"Grant me strength to depend upon thee for food and raiment, and to make known my requests, 0 let thy care be over
me as a covenant-privilege betwixt thee and myself, and not like a
general care to feed the ravens that perish, and clothe the lily that
is cast into the oven; but let thy care be over me as one of thy fam.
ily, as one of thine unworthy brethren. Amen.-C. E.
" XI. Grant, O Jesus! and take upon thyself the preparing of
me for death, for thou art God; there is no need, but for thee to
speak the word. If possible,-thy will be done,-leave me not
long in affliction, ncr to die suddenly, without bidding adieu to
my brethren, and let me die in their sight, after a short illness.
Let all things be ordered against the day of removing from one
world to another, that there be no confusion nor disorder, but a
quiet discharge in peace. O grant me this, for the sake of thine
agony in the garden! Amen.-C. E.




Hi.s Power of Personification.             351
"XII. Grant, 0 blessed Lord! that nothing may grow and be
matured in me, to occasion thee to cast me off from the service
of the sanctuary, like the sons of Eli; and for the sake of thine
unbounded merit, let not my days be longer than my usefulness.
O let me not be like lumber in a house in the end of my days, —
in the way of others to work. Amen.-C. E.
" XIII. I beseech thee, 0 Redeemer! to present these my supplications before the Father: and oh! inscribe them in thy book
with thine own immortal pen, while I am writing them with my
mortal hand, in my book on earth. According to the depths of
thy merit, thine undiminished grace, and thy compassion, and
thy manner unto thy people, oh! attach thy name, in thine upper court, to these unworthy petitions; and set thine amen to
them, as I do on my part of the covenant. Amen.-CHmISTMAS
EVANS, Llangevni, Anglesea, April 10, 18-."
No wonder, after so solemn and affecting a transaction
as this, Mr. Evans says, "I felt a sweet peace and tranquillity of soul." Nor do we wonder that beneath the power
of such a life he increased churches by scores and members
by many hundreds.
The sermons of Christmas Evans can only be known
through the medium of translation.  They perhaps do not
suffer as most translations suffer; but the rendering in
English is feeble in comparison with the nervous, bony, and
muscular Welsh language. The sermons, however, clearly
reveal the man; they reveal the fulness and strength of his
mind; they abound in instructive thoughts; their building
and structure is always good; and many of the passages,
and even several of the sermons, might be taken as models
for strong and effective pulpit oratory.  Like all the preachers of his day, and order of mind and peculiarity of theological sentiment and training, his use of the imagery of
Scripture was remarkably free; his use also of texts often
was as significant and suggestive as it was certainly original. No doubt, for the appreciation of his purpose and his




352  Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
power in its larger degree, he needed an audience well acquainted with Scripture, and sympathetic in an eminent
manner with the mind of the preacher. There seem to
have been periods and moments when his mind soared
aloft into some of the highest fields of truth and emotion.
Yet his wing never seemed little or pretty in its flight.
There was the firmness and strength of the beat of a noble
eagle. Some eloquence sings, some sounds; in one we
hear the voice of a bird hovering in the air, in the other
we listen to the thunder of the plume; the eloquence of
Christmas Evans was of the latter order.
But our preacher has often been called the Bunyan of
Wales-the Bunyan of the pulpit. In some measure the
epithet does designate him; he was a great master of parabolic similitude and comparison. This is a kind of preaching ever eminently popular with the multitude; it requires
rather a redundancy of fancy than imagination-perhaps a
mind considerably disciplined and educated would be unable to indulge in such exercises-a self-possession balanced
by ignorance of many of the canons of -taste, or utterly oblivious and careless of them; for this is a kind of teaching
of which we hear very little. Now we have not one preacher
in England who would perhaps dare to use or who could
use well the parabolic style. This was the especial power
of Christmas Evans. He excelled in personification; he
would seem to have been frequently mastered by this faculty. The abstractions of thought, the disembodied phantoms of another world came clothed in form, and feature,
and color,-at his bidding they came.
Ghostly shapes
Met him at noontide; Fear, and trembling Hope,
Silence, and Foresight; Death the skeleton,
And Time the shadow.
Thus he frequently astounded his congregations not merely




Tl1e Gospel Mould.                  353
by pouring round his subject the varied hues of light or
space, but by giving to the eye defined shapes and realizations. We do not wonder to hear him say, "If I only entered the pulpit I.felt raised as it were to Paradise-above
my afflictions, until I forgot my adversity; yea, I felt my
mountain strong.  I said to a brother once,'Brother, the
doctrine, the confidence, and strength I feel will make persons dance with joy in some parts of Wales.''Yea, brother,' said he, with tears flowing down his eyes." He was
visited by remarkable dreams. Once, previous to a time
of great refreshing, he dreamt:
He thought he was in the church at Caerphilly, and found
many harps hanging about the pulpit, wrapped in coverings of
green. " Then," said he, " I will take down the harps of heaven
in this place." In removing the covering, he found the ark of
the covenant, inscribed with the name of Jehovah.  Then
he cried, " Brethren, the Lord has come to us, according to his
promise, and in answer to our prayers." In that very place, he
shortly afterward had the satisfaction of receiving one hundred
and forty converts into the church, as the fruit of his ministry.
As we have said, nothing can well illustrate on paper the
power of the orator's speech, but the following may serve
as in some measure illustrating his method:THE GOSPEL MOULD.
I compare such preachers to a miner, who should go to the
quarry where he raised the ore, and taking his sledge in his
hand, should endeavor to form bars of iron of the ore in its
rough state, without a furnace to melt it, or a rolling-mill to
roll it out, or moulds to cast the metal, and conform the casts to
their patterns. The gospel is like a form or mould, and sinners
are to be melted, as it were, and cast into it. "But ye have
obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you," or into which you were delivered, as is the marginal
reading, so that your hearts ran into the mould. Evangelical
preachers have, in the name of Christ, a mould or form to cast




354   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
the minds of men into; as Solomon, the vessels of the temple.
The Sadducees and Pharisees had their forms, and legal preachers have their forms; but evangelical preachers should bring
with them the " form of sound words," so that, if the hearers
believe, or are melted into it, Christ may be formed in their
hearts,-then they will be as born of the truth, and the image
of the truth will appear in their sentiments and experience, and
in their conduct in the Church, in the family, and in the neighbourhood. Preachers without the mould, are all those who do
not preach all the points of the Gospel of the grace of God.
THE MAN IN THE STEEL HOUSE.
A man in a trance saw himself locked up in a house of steel,
through the walls of which, as through walls of glass, he could
see his enemies assailing him with swords, spears, and bayonets;
but his life was safe, for his fortress was locked within. So is
the Christian secure amid the assaults of the world. His "life
is hid with Christ in God."
The Psalmist prayed-" When my heart is overwhelmed within me, lead me to the rock that is higher than I." Imagine a
man seated on a lofty rock in the midst of the sea, where he has
everything necessary for his support, shelter, safety, and comfort. The billows heave and break beneath him, and the hungry monsters of the deep wait to devour him; but he is on
high, above the rage cf the former, and the reach of the latter.
Such is the security of faith.
But why need I mention the rock and the steel house? for
the peace that is in Christ is a tower ten thousand times
stronger, and a refuge ten thousand times safer. Behold the
disciples of Jesus exposed to famine, nakedness, peril, and
sword —incarcerated in dungeons; thrown to wild beasts;
consumed in the fire; sawn asunder; cruelly mocked and
scourged; driven from friends and home, to wander among
the mountains, and lodge in dens and caves of the earth;
being destitute, afflicted, tormented; sorrowful, but always
rejoicing; cast down, but not destroyed; an ocean of peace
within, which swallows up all their sufferings.
" Neither death," with all its terrors; "nor life," with all its
allurements; "nor things present," with all their pleasure;




The Man in the Steel House.              355
" nor things to come," with all their promise; " nor height " of
prosperity; "nor depth" of adversity; "nor angels" of evil;
"nor principalities" of darkness; " shall be able to separate us
from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus."  " God is our
refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble. Therefore
will not we fear, though the earth be moved, and though the
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea-though the
waters thereof roar and be troubled-though the mountains
shake with the swelling thereof." This is the language of
strong faith in the peace of Christ. How is it with you amid
such turmoil and commotion? Is all peaceful within? Do you
feel secure in the name of the Lord, as in a strong fortress-as
in a city well supplied and defended?
"There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the
city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most high.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved. God shall
help her, and that right early."  "Unto the upright, there
ariseth light in the darkness." The bright and morning star,
shining upon their pathway, cheers them in their journey home
to their Father's house. And when they come to pass over
Jordan, the Sun of Righteousness shall have risen upon them,
with healing in his wings. Already they see the tops of the
mountains of immortality, gilded with his beams, beyond the
valley of the shadow of death. Behold, yonder, old Simeon
hoisting his sails, and saying-" Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for mine eyes
have seen thy salvation." Such is the peace of Jesus, sealed to
all them that believe, by the blood of His cross.
When we walk through the field of battle, slippery with
blood, and strewn with the bodies of the slain-when we hear
the shrieks and the groans of the wounded and the dyingwhen we see the country wasted, cities burned, houses pillaged,
widows and orphans wailing in the track of the victorious
army, we cannot help exclaiming-O, what a blessing is peace!
When we are obliged to witness family turmoils. and strifeswhen we see parents and children, brothers and sisters, masters
and servants, husbands and wives, contending with each other
like tigers-we retire as from a smoky house, and exclaim as




356  Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
we go-O, what a blessing is peace! When duty calls us into
that Church, where envy and malice prevail, and the spirit of
harmony is supplanted by discord and contention-when we see
brethren, who ought to be bound together in love, full of pride,
hatred, confusion, and every evil work-we quit the unhallowed
scene with painful feelings of repulsion, repeating the exclamation-O, what a blessing is peace I
But how much more precious in the case of the awakened
sinner! See him standing, terror-stricken, before Mount Sinai.
Thunders roll above him-lightnings flash around him-the
earth trembles beneath him, as if ready to open her mouth and
swallow him up. The sound of the trumpet rings through his
soul-" Guilty! guilty! guilty! "  Pale and trembling, he looks
eagerly around him, and sees nothing but revelations of wrath.
Overwhelmed with fear and dismay, he cries out-" 0 wretched
man that I am! Who shall deliver me? What shall I do?"
A voice reaches his ear-penetrates his heart-" Behold the
Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world! "  He
turns his eye to Calvary. Wondrous vision! Emmanuel expiring upon the cross! the sinner's Substitute satisfying the
demand of the law against. the sinner! Now all his fears are
hushed, and rivers of peace flow into his soul. This is the
peace of Christ.
How precious is this peace, amid all the dark vicissitudes of
life! How invaluable this jewel, through all the dangers of the
wilderness! How cheering to know that Jesus, who hath loved
us even unto death, is the pilot of our perilous voyage; that he
rules the winds and the waves, and can hush them to silence at
his will, and bring the frailest bark of faith to the desired
haven! Trusting where he cannot trace his Master's footsteps,
the disciple is joyful amid the darkest dispensations of Divine
Providence; turning all his sorrows into songs, and all his tribulations into triumphs. " Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace,
whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee."
THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET.
In this world, every man receives according to his faith; in
the world to come, every man shall receive according to his
works. " Blessed are the dead who died in the Lord, for they




The Mysterious Packet.                357
rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." Their
works do not go before them to divide the river Jordan, and
open the gates of heaven. This is done by their faith. But
their works are left behind, as if done up in a packet, on this
side of the river. John saw the great white throne descending
for judgment, the Son of Man sitting thereon, and all nations
gathered before him. -He is dividing the righteous from the
wicked, as'the shepherd divideth the sheep from the goats.
The wicked are set on the left hand, and the awful sentence is
pronounced-" Depart from me, ye accursed, into everlasting
fire, prepared for the devil and his angels I " But the righteous
are placed on the right-hand, to hear the joyful welcome" Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared
for you from the foundation of the world!"  The books are
opened, and Mercy presents the packets that were left on the
other side of Jordan. They are all opened, and the books are
read wherein all their acts of benevolence and virtue are recorded. Justice examines the several packets, and answers" All right. Here they are. Thus it is written-' I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink;
I was a stranger, and ye took me in; I was naked, and ye clothed
me; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye
came unto me:'"  The righteous look upon each other with
wonder, and answer-" Those packets must belong to others.
We knew nothing of all that. We recollect the wormwood and
the gall. We recollect the straight gate, the narrow way, and
the slough of despond. We recollect the heavy burden that
pressed so hard upon us, and how it fell from our shoulders at
the sight of the cross. We recollect the time when the eyes of
our minds were opened, to behold the evil of sin, the depravity
of our hearts, and the excellency of our Redeemer. We recollect
the time when our stubborn wills were subdued in the day of
His power, so that we were enabled both to will and to do of
His good pleasure. We recollect the time when we obtained
hope in the merit of Christ, and felt the efficacy of his blood
applied to our hearts by the Holy Spirit. And we shall never
forget the time when we first experienced the love of God shed
abroad in our hearts. 0, how sweetly and powerfully it constrained us to love Him, His cause, and His ordinances! How




358   Pulpit Monog7raphs: Christmas Evans.
we panted after communion and fellowship with Him, as the
hart panteth after the water-brooks! All this, and a thousand
other things, are as fresh in our memory as ever. But we recollect nothing of those bundles of good works. Where was it?
Lord, when saw we thee hungry, and fed thee; or thirsty, and
gave thee drink; or a stranger, and took thee in; or naked, and
clothed thee? We have no more recollection than the dead, of
ever having visited thee in prison, or ministered to'thee in sickness. Surely, those bundles cannot belong to us." Mercy replies-" Yes, verily, they belong to you; for your names are
upon them; and besides, they have not been out of my hands
since you left them on the stormy banks of Jordan." And the
King answers-" Verily, I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done
it unto me."
If the righteous do not know their own good works, if they
do not recognize in the sheaves which they reap at the resurrection, the seed which they have sown with tears on earth, they
certainly cannot make these things the foundation of their hopes
of heaven. Christ crucified is their sole dependence for acceptance with God, in time and in eternity. Christ crucified is the
great object of their faith, and the centre of their affections;
and while their love to him prompts them to live soberly, and
righteously, and godly, in this present evil world, they cordially
exclaim —" Not unto us, not unto us, but to thy name, 0 Lord,
give glory! "
CHRIST THE CEDAR OF THE FOREST.
This cedar not only beautifies the forest, but also affords shade
and shelter for the fowls of the air. We have the same idea in
the parable of the mustard-seed:-" the birds of the air came
and lodged in the branches thereof." This is the fulfilment of
the promise concerning the Shiloh:-" to him shall the gathering of the people be." It is the drawing of sinners to Christ;
and the union of believers with God.
"All fowl of every wing." Sinners of every age and every
degree-sinners of all languages, colors and climes-sinners of
all principles, customs, and habits-sinners whose crimes are of
the blackest hue-sinners carrying about them the savor of the




The Hind of the Morning.              359
brimstone of hell-sinners deserving eternal damnation-sinners
perishing.for lack of knowledge-sinners pierced by the arrows
of conviction-sinners ready to sink under the burdens of sinsinners overwhelmed with terror and despair-are seen flying to
Christ as a cloud, and as doves to their windows-moving to
the ark of mercy before the door is shut-seeking rest in the
shadow of this goodly cedar.
Mr. Evans was very fond of the use of the Old Testament Scriptures in their more spiritual relations. The following extract will not perhaps be acceptable to the tastes
of all readers, but it is an illustration of Mr. Evans's very
natural style:
THE HIND OF THE MORNING ON THE MOUNTAINS.
It is generally admitted that the twenty-second psalm has particular reference to Christ. This is evident from his own appropriation of the first verse upon the cross-" My God! my
God I why hast thou forsaken me? " The title of the psalm is
-Aijeleth Shahar; which signifies-A hart, or-the hind of the
morning. The striking metaphors which it contains are descriptive of Messiah's peculiar sufferings. He is the hart or hind
of the morning, hunted by the black prince with his hell-hounds
-by Satan and all his allies. The "dogs," the " lions," the
"unicorns," and the "strong bulls of Bashan," with their devouring teeth, and their terrible horns, pursued Him  from
Bethlehem to Calvary. They beset him in the manger, gnashed
upon Him in the garden, and well-nigh tore Him to pieces upon
the cross. And still they persecute Him in His cause and in the
persons and interests of his people.
The faith of the church anticipated the coming of Christ,
"like a roe or a young heart," with the dawn of the day promised
in Eden; and we hear her exclaiming in the Canticles-" The
voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, leaping upon the
mountains, and skipping upon the hills!" She heard him announce His advent in the promise-" Lo, I come to do thy will,
O God!" and with prophetic eye, saw him leaping from the
mountains of eternity to the mountains of time, and skipping




360   Pulpit Monographls: Christmas Evans.
from hill to hill throughout the land of Palestine, going about
doing good. In the various types and shadows of the law, she
beheld Him " standing by the wall, looking forth at the windows,
showing Himself through the lattice;" and then she sang"Until the daybreak, and the shadows flee away, turn my beloved, and be thou like the roe or the young hart upon the
mountains of Bether! Bloody sacrifices revealed Him to her'
view going down to the " vineyards of red wine;" whence she
traced Him to the meadows of Gospel ordinances, where "he
feedeth among the lilies "-to "the gardens of cucumbers," and
the beds of spices;" and then she sang to Him again-" Make
haste "-or, flee away-" my beloved! be thou like the roe or
the young hart upon the mountains of spices!"
Thus she longed to see Him, first "on the mountain of
Bether," and then on the " mountain of spices." On both mountains she saw Him eighteen hundred years ago, and on both she
may still trace the footsteps of His majesty and His mercy. The
former He hath tracked with His own blood, and His path upon
the latter is redolent of frankincense and myrrh.
Bether signifies division. This is the craggy mountain of
calvary; whither the " Hind of the morning " fled followed by
all the wild beasts of the forest, and the hunting-dogs of hell,
summoned to the pursuit, and urged on by the prince of perdition; till the victim, in His agony, sweat great drops of blood
-where He was terribly crushed between the cliffs, and dreadfully mangled by sharp and ragged rocks-where He was
seized by Death, the great greyhound of the bottomless pitwhence He leaped the precipice without breaking a bone; and
sank in the dead sea, sank to its utmost depth, and saw no corruption.
Behold the " Hind of the morning" on that dreadful mountain! It is the place of skulls, where death hold his carnival in
companionship with worms, and hell laughs in the face of
heaven. Dark storms are gathering there-convolving clouds,
charged with no common wrath. Terrors set themselves in battle array before the Son of God; and tempests burst upon Him,
which might sweep all mankind in a moment to eternal ruin.
Hark! hear ye not the subterranean thunder? Feel ye not the




The Hlnd of the MIforning.              361
tremour of the mountain? It is the shock of Satan's artillery,
playing upon the Captain of our salvation. It is the explosion
of the magazine of vengeance. Lo, the earth is quaking, the
rocks are rending, the graves are opening, the dead are rising.
and all nature stands aghast at the conflict of Divine mercy with
the powers of darkness. One dread convulsion more, one cry
of desperate agony, and Jesus dies-an arrow has entered into
His heart. Now leap the lions, roaring upon their prey; and
the bulls of Bashan are bellowing; and the dogs of perdition
are barking; and the unicorns toss their horns on high; and the
devil, dancing with exultant joy, clanks his iron chains, and
thrusts up his fettered hands in defiance towards the face of
Jehovah!
Go a little further upon the mountain, and you come to a new
tomb hewn out of the rock." There lies a dead body. It is the
body of Jesus. His disciples have laid it down in sorrow, and
returned weeping to the city. Mary's heart is broken, Peter's
zeal is quenched in tears, and John would fain lie down and die
in his Master's grave. The sepulchre is closed up and sealed,
and a Roman sentry placed at its entrance. On the morning of
the third day, while it is yet dark, two or three women come to
anoint the body. They are debating about the great stone at
the mouth of the cave, " Who shall roll it away? " says one of
them. " Pity we did not bring Peter or John with us." But arriving, they find the stone already rolled away, and one sitting
upon it whose countenance is like lightning, and whose garments are white as the light. The steel-clad, iron-hearted soldiers lie around him like men slain in battle, having swooned
in terror. He speaks:-" Why seek ye the living among the
dead! He is not here; He is risen; He is gone forth from this
cave victoriously."
It is even so! for there are the shroud, and the napkin, and
the heavenly watchers; and when He awoke and cast off His
grave-clothes, the earthquake was felt in the city and jarred the
gates of hell. " The Hind of the morning" is up earlier than
any of his pursuers, " leaping upon the mountains, and skipping
upon the hills." He is seen first with Mary at the tomb; then
with the disciples in Jerusalem; then withhtuof them on the
16




362   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
way to Emmaus; then going before his brethren into Galilee;
and finally leaping from the top of Olivet to the hills of Paradise; fleeing away to "the mountain of spices," where he shall
never more be hunted by the black prince and his hounds.
Christ is perfect master of gravitation, and all the laws of nature are obedient to His will. Once He walked upon the water,
as if it were marble beneath His feet; and now as He stands blessing His people, the glorious form so recently nailed to the cross,
and still more recently cold in the grave, begins to ascend like
"the living creature " in Ezekiel's vision, "lifted up from the
earth," till nearly out of sight; when " the chariots of God, even
thousands of angels," receive Him, and haste to the celestial city,
waking the thrones of eternity with this jubilant chorus-" Lift
up your heads, 0, ye gates! and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting
doors! and the King of Glory shall come in!"
One of the most effective of Mr. Evan's parables, even
in spite of the anachronism at the close, for so it must be
regarded wasTHE JOURNEY FOR THE YOUNG CHILD.
Herod said to the wise men, "Go and search diligently for the
young child." The magi immediately commenced their inquiries, according to the instructions they received. I see them approaching some village, and when they come to the gate they
inquire, " Do you know anything of the young child?" The
gateman comes to the door; and, supposing them to have asked
the amount of the toll, says, "0, three halfpence an ass is to
pay." "We do not ask what is to pay," reply they, "but do
you know anything of the young child? " " No; I know nothing in the world," answers he; " but there is a blacksmith's shop
a little farther on; inquire there, and you will be very likely to
obtain some intelligence concerning him."
The wise men proceed, and when they come to the blacksmith's shop, they ask, "Do you know anything of the young
child? " A harsh voice answers, "There is no such thing possible for you, as having the asses shod now; you shall in two
hours hence."  " We do not ask you to shoe the asses," say they;
"but inquire fo — ahe young child, if you know  anything ot




Four Varieties of Preaching.             363
him?" "Nothing in the world," says the blacksmith; "but
inquire at the tavern that is on your road, and probably you may
hear something of him there."
On they go, and stand opposite the door of the tavern, and
cry, " Do you know anything of the young child? " The landlord, thinking they call for porter, bids the servant attend, saying,
" Go, girl; go with a quart of porter to the strangers." " We
do not ask for either porter or ale," say the wise men; "but
something about the young child that is born." "I know nothing in the world of him," says the landlord; but turn to the
shop on the left hand; the shopkeeper reads all the papers, and
you will be likely to hear something respecting him there."
They proceed accordingly towards the shop, and repeat their
inquiry, "Do you know anything of the young child, here?"
The shopkeeper says to his apprentice, " Reach half a quarter of
tobacco to the strangers." " We do not ask for tobacco," say
the wise men; "but for some intelligence of the young child."
"I do not know anything of him," replies the shopkeeper; " but
there is an old Rabbi living in the upper end of the village;
call on him, and very probably he will give you all the information you desire respecting the object of your search."
They immediately directed their. course towards the house of
the Rabbi; and having reached it, they knock at the door: and
being admitted into his presence, they ask him if he knows
anything of the young child. "Come in," says he; and when
they have entered and are seated, the Rabbi refers to his books
and chronicles, and says he to the wise men, " There is something wonderful about to take place; some remarkable person
has been or is to be born; but the best thing is for you to go
down yonder street: there is living there, by the river side, the
son of an old priest; you will be sure to know all of him."
Having bid the old Rabbi a respectful farewell, on they go:
and reaching the river side,.they inquire of the bystanders for
the son of the old priest. Immediately he is pointed out to
them. There is a " raiment of camel's hair about him, and a
leathern girdle about his loins." They ask him if he knows
anything of the young child. "Yes," says h'e, "there he is:
behold the Lamb of God, that takcth away the sin of the world!




364   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas 3Evans.
There he is; he will bruise the dragon's head, and bring in
everlasting righteousness to every one that believeth in his
name."
He was wont thus to describe theFOUR VARIETIES OF PREACHING.
I perceive four strong men on their journey towards Lazarus's
grave, for the purpose of raising him to life. -One of them, wio
is eminent for his piety, says, "I will descend into the grave,
and will take with me a bowl of the salt of duties, and will rub
him well with the sponge of natural ability." He enters the
grave, and commences his rubbing process. I watch his operations at a distance, and after a while inquire, "Well, are there
any symptoms of life there? Does he arise, does he breathe,
my brother? "   No such thing," replies he, " he is still quiet,
and I cannot salt him  to will-and besides this, his smell is
rather heavy."
" Well," says the second, "come you out; I was afraid that
your means would not answer the purpose; let me enter the
grave." The second enters, carrying in his hand a whip of the
scorpions of threatening; and, says he, "I will make him feel."
He directs his scorpion and fiery ministry at the dead corpse;
but in vain, and I hear him crying out, " All is unsuccessful;
dead he is after all."
Says the third, " Make room for me to enter, and I will see if
I cannot bring him to life." He enters the grave and takes with
him a musical pipe; it is melodious as the song of love; but
there is no dancing in the grave.
The fourth says, "Means of themselves can effect nothing, but
I will go for Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life." Immediately he leaves to seek for Christ, and speedily returns, accompanied by the Saviour. And when the Lord came He stands
in the door of the sepulchre, and cries out, "Lazarus, come
forth I " and the dead body is instantaneously instinct with life.
Let our confidence be in the voice of the Son of God. And
let us turn our faces towards the wind, and say, "0 breath,
come from the four winds, and breathe upon these slain, that
they may live  "




The Abundant Entrance.                  365
And the following must have been effective:
ENTERING THE PORT.
"For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly
into the everlasting kingdom  of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ." 2 Pet. i. 11. This language seems to be borrowed
from the case of a ship bringing her passengers to port on a
pleasant afternoon, her sails all white and whole, and her flags
majestically waving in the breeze; while the relatives of those
on board ascend the high places, to see their brothers and their
sisters returning home in safety from the stormy main. How
pleasant to a man who is about to emigrate to the new world,
America, when he meets with some one that has been there, and
who is well acquainted with the coast, knows the best landingplace, and will accompany him  on his passage. " Though I
walk through the valley and the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me." He who passed through death himself, and is Lord of the
sea, is our High-priest; and, with his priestly vestments on, he
will stand in Jordan's current till the feeblest in all the tribes
shall be safely landed on Canaan's shore. How delightful must
be the feelings of the dying Christian, the testimony of whose
conscience unites with the witness of the Spirit, to assure him
that Jesus has paid his fare: and who knows he carries in his
hand the white stone with the new name, to be exhibited on the
pier-head, the other side, hard by his Father's house. This is
an abundant entrance, on a fair day, over a fine sea, with a pleasant breeze swelling every sail. " Now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."
0 how different the entrance ministered to the careless professor-the fruitless and idle-who keeps his hand in his bosom,
or leaning upon his implements! Though he may reach the
shore with his life, it will be at midnight, surrounded by roaring
tempests, full of bitter remembrances and most tormenting fears.
Yet, with tattered sails and broken ropes, peradventure he may
gain the port; " for the Lord is good, and His mercy endureth
for ever." But who shall describe the condition of the ungodly.
driven out to sea in all their wickedness; not even allowed a
quarantine within sight of the heavenly Jerusalem, but obliged




366   Pulpit Monographs: C'hristmcas Evans.
to drift about, dismantled and disabled, amid the darkness of
eternal storms! Oh! to be forced from their moorings at midnight, when they cannot see a handbreath before them; the
thunders rolling; the lightnings flashing; strange voices of
wrath mingling with every blast; and the great bell of eternity
tolling a funeral knell for the lost soul, through all its dismal,
and solitary, and everlasting voyage! Let us flee for refuge, to
lay hold on the hope set before us, which hope is as an anchor
of the soul, sure and steadfast, grasping the Rock of Ages within the vail!
TIE BEAI.
Then I saw the beam of a great scale; one end descending to
the abyss, borne down by the power of the atonement; the other
ascending to the heaven of heavens, and lifting up the prisoners
of the tomb. Wonderful scheme! Christ condemned for our
justification; forsaken of His Father, that we might enjoy His
fellowship; passing under the curse of the law, to bear it away
from the believer for ever! This is the great scale of redemption. As one end of the beam falls under the load of our sins,
which were laid on Christ; the other rises, bearing the basket
of mercy, full of pardons, and blessings, and hopes. "He who
knew no sinwas made sin for us "-that is His end of the beam;
"that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him"this is ours. " Though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became
poor "-there goes his end down; " that we, through his poverty, might be rich "-here comes ours up.
From these extracts it will be seen that Christmas Evans
excelled in the use of parable in the pulpit. Sometimes he
wrought this mine like a very Bunyan, and we believe no
published accounts of these sermons in Welsh, and certainly none that we have found translated into English, give any
idea of his power. With what amazing effect some of his
sermons would tell on the vast audiences which in these
days gather together in London, and in our great towns!
This method of instruction is now usually regarded as in
bad taste; it does not seem to be sanctioned by the great




His Preaching.                367
rules and masters of oratorical art. If a man could create
a Pilgrim's Progress and recite it, it would be found to be a
very doubtful article by the rhetorical sanhedrim. Yet our
Lord used this very method, and without using some such
method-anecdote or illustration-it is doubtful whether
any strong hold can be had of the lower orders of mind.
Our preacher entered into the spirit of Scripture parable
and narrative. One of the most famous of his discourses
is that on the Demoniac of Gadara; some of our readers
will be shocked to know that in the course of some of his
descriptions in it he convulsed his audience with laughter
in the commencement. Well, he need not be imitated
there; but he held it sufficiently subdued before the close,
and an alternation of tears and raptures not only testified to
his powers but to his skill in giving a reading of the narrative. For the purpose of producing effect,-and we mean
by effect, visible results in crushed and humble hearts, and
transformed lives,-it would be a curious thing to try in
England the preaching of some of the great Welshman's
sermons. What would be the effect upon any audience of
that great picture of the Churchyard-World, and the mighty
controvery between Justice and Mercy? Let it be admitted
that there are some things in it, perhaps many, that it
would not demand a severe taste to expel from the picture,
but take it as the broad, bold painting of a man not highly
educated,-indeed, highly educated men, as we have said,
could not perform such things, a highly educated man could
never have written the Pilgrim's Progress-let it be remembered that it was delivered to men, perhaps we should say
rather educated than instructed; men illiterate in all things
except the Bible. We ourselves have in some very large
congregations tried the preaching of one of the most famous
of Evan's sermons, " The Spirit walking in dry places, seeking rest and finding none "-we find it in Mr. Cross's volume; but our version of it was received from the lips of




368  Pulpit Monograms: Christmas Evans.
those who listened to it among the mountains of Wales.
The version in the volame referred to seems to be but a
poor caricature of the reality. Christmas Evan's preaching was by no means defective in the bone and muscle of
thought and pulpit arrangement; but no doubt herein lay
his great forte and power,-he could paint soul-subduing
pictures. They were not pieces of mere word-painting,
they were bathed in emotion, they were penetrated by deep
knowledge of the human heart. He went into the pulpit
mighty, from lonely wrestlings with God in mountain travellings; be went among his fellow men, his audiences,
strong in his faith in the reality of those covenants with
God, whose history and character we have already presented to our readers. There was much in his preaching of that
order which is so mighty in speech, but which loses so much,
or which seems to acquire such additional coarseness, when
it is presented to the eye. Preachers now live too much
in the presence of published sermons, to be in the highest degree effective. He who thinks of the printing press
cannot abandon himself. He who uses his notes slavishly
cannot abandon himself; and without abandonment, that
is forgetfulness, what is oratory? what is action? what is
passion?  If we were asked what are the two greatest
human aids to pulpit power, we should say Self-Possession
and Self-Abandonment; and the two are perfectly compatible; and in the pulpit the one is never powerful without
the other. Knowledge, Belief, Preparation, these give selfpossession; and Earnestness and Unconsciousness, these
give self-abandonment. The first without the last may make
a preacher like a stony pillar, covered with runes and hieroglyphics; and the last without the first may make a mere
fanatic, with a torrent of speech, plunged lawlessly and
disgracefully abroad. The two in combination in a noble
man and teacher become sublime. Perhaps they reached
their highest realization among us in Robertson of Brighton.




His Preaching.                 369
In another, and in a different department, not inferior
order, of mind, they were nobly realized in the subject of
this sketch.
It must have been, one thinks, a grand thing to have
heard Christmas Evans; the extracts from his journal-the
story they tell of his devout and rapt communions of soul
with God among the mountains, the bare and solitary hills
-reveal sufficiently how in himself the preacher was made.
When he came into the pulpit his soul kindled and inflamed
by the live coals from the altar. Some men of his own
country imitated him, of course-imitations are always lu-.
dicrous, some of these were especially so. There was, says
one of his biographers, the shrug, the shake of the head,
the hurried undertoned exclamation " Bendigedig," etc. etc.,
always reminding us, by verifying it, of Dr. Parr's description of the imitators of Johnson, " They had the nodosities
of the oak without its vigor, and the contortions of the sibyl
without her inspiration."  It was not so with him, he had
rare, highly spiritual, and gifted sympathies, but even in
his very colloquies in the pulpit there was a wing and sweep
of ample majesty. He preached often amidst scenes of
wildness and beauty, in romantic dells, or on mountain
sides and slopes amidst the summer hush of crags and
brooks, all ministering, it may be thought, to the impression of the whole scene, or it was in rude and unadorned
mountain chapels altogether alien from the aesthetics so
charming to modern religious sensibilities, but he never
lowered his tone, his language was always intelligible, but
both it and the imagery he employed, even when some" circumstances gave to it a homely light and play, always
ascended; he knew the workings of the heart and knew
how to lay his finger impressively upon all its movements,
and every kind of sympathy attested his power. It is a
great thing to bear men's spirits along through the sublime
reaches and avenues of thought and emotion, and majesty




370   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
and sublimity seem to have been the common moods of his
mind; never was his speech or his pulpit like a Gilboa on
which there was no dew. He gave it as his advice to a
young preacher, "Never raise the voice while the heart is
dry, let the heart and affections shout first, let it commence
within."  A man who could say "hundreds of prayers bubble from the fountain of my mind," what sort of preacher
was he likely to make? he "mused and the fire burned,"
like the smith who blows upon the furnace until the iron is
red hot, and then strikes on the anvil till the sparks fly all
around him, so he preached. His words and thoughts became radiant with fire and metaphor, they flew forth rich,
bright, glowing, like some rich metal in ethereal flame; as
we have said, it was the nature and habit of his mind to
embody and impersonate, attributes and qualities took the
shape and form  of persons, he seemed to enter mystic
abodes and not to talk of things as a metaphysician or a
theologian, but as a spectator or actor. The magnificencies
of nature crowded round him, bowing in homage as he selected from them to adorn or illustrate his theme; all
things beautiful and splendid, all things fresh and young,
all things old and venerable; reading his discourses, for instance the Hind of the Morning, we are astounded at the
prodigality and the unity of the imagination, the coherency
with which the fancies range themselves as gems round
some central truth, drinking and reflecting its coruscations. Astounded were the people who heard; it was minstrelsy even more than oratory, the truths were old and
common, there was no fine discrimination, and subtle touch
of expression, as in Williams, and there was no personal
majesty and dignity or sonorous swel of the pomp of
words, as in John Elias, but it was more, it was the wing
of prophecy and poetry, it was the rapture of the seer or
the bard, he called up image after image, grouped them,
made them speak and testify; laden by grand and over



Another Covenant with God.               37I
whelming feelings, he bore the people with him through
the valley of the shadow of death, or across the delectable
mountains; there is a spell in thought, there is a spell in
felicitous language, but when to these are added the vision
which calls up sleeping terror, the imagination which makes
living nature yet more alive, and brings the solemn or the
dreadful people of the Book of God, to our home and life
of to-day, how terribly majestic the preacher becomes.
Late in life Mr. Evans found himself much troubled, and,
in consequence of some affairs in connection with his chapel,
even in danger of legal prosecution; but his case in this
matter he very simply carried to the Lord in words of great
simplicity and faith, which, however, we cannot quote. And
he made another covenant with God in some other circumstances of sadness. On his return from the village of Tongwynlais, in the vale of the Taff, coming over the mountain
late in the evening, he says:
" On the Caerphilly Mountain, the spirit of prayer fell upon
me as it had once (when about to leave) in Anglesea. I wept
and supplicated, and gave myself to Christ. I wept long, and
besought Jesus Christ, and my heart poured forth the following
requests before Him on the mountain. I had the experience of
great nearness to Him, as though he had been by my side, and
my mind was filled with great confidence that He heard me, for
the sake of all the merits that are in His name."
This is the covenant on the Caerphilly Mountain; it was like
Moriah to Abraham:
1. " Give me the favor of being led according to thy will, by
the intimations of thy providence and word, and the inclination
of my mind by the Spirit, for the sake of thine infinitely precious blood. Amen. C. E.
2. "Grant that, if I am to leave Caerphilly, the gale of religious revival vouchsafed to me there, may follow me to Cardiff,
for thy great name's sake. Amen. C. E.
3. " Bless bitter things to brighten (burnish) me, and to re



372   Pupit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
vive me more and more; not to depress and deaden me. Amen.
C. E.
4. " Permit me not to be trampled under foot by proud men,
for thy goodness' sake. Amen. C. E.
5. "Grant unto me the incalculable favor of being, in thy
hand, the means of calling sinners unto thee, and of edifying
saints, whithersoever thou sendest me, for thy name's sake.
Amen. C. E.
6. "If I am to stay at Caerphilly, give me a token as thou
didst to Gideon of old, by removing the things that discourage
me, and that hinder the continuance of prosperity there. Amen.
C. E.
7. " May it please the Son of Glory and Head of the Church
to preserve the ark of thy cause, which is thy own, in Anglesea
and at Caerphilly, from falling into the hands of the Philistines;
reject it not, but speedily deliver it, and cause thy face to shine
upon it; and by thy Spirit, and word, and providence, bring
about in those neighborhoods and churches, such changes in the
officers (of the churches), and such measures as will go to remedy the sources of evil to the great cause which thou diedst to
establish in our world; and by dispersing those who delight in
war; and by closing the mouths of those that subvert. Amen.
C. E.
8. " May it please thee to giVe me tokens of the way before I
go to Liverpool, and thence to Anglesea, if it be thy will that I
should go thither this year. Amen. C. E.
9. " Grant me protection under the shade of the fellow-feeling
which thou dost cherish towards those that are tempted, and
the boundless power thou possessest for that purpose. Amen.
C. E.
10. "Accept my thanksgiving a hundred millions of times,
for that thou hast not hitherto thrown me out of thy hand, as a
dark star, or a vessel in which thou hadst no delight; and permit not my life to survive my usefulness. Amen. C. E.-I
thank thee for not abandoning me as a prey to any foe. Blessed
be thy name.
11. " For the sake of thine infinite merits, subject not thy servant under the tramplings of pride and injustice, riches, and




The Last Sermon.                     373
(worldly) greatness; or the selfish oppression of any man; but
conceal me in the secret place of thy countenance from the strife
of tongues. Amen. C. E.
12. "Help me to wait patiently for the fulfilment of these
things, that I may not lose self-possession, yield to anger, and
speak unadvisedly with my lips, as Moses. Preserve my heart
from  sinking, that I may look for new strength from  Zion.
Amen. C. E.
13. "Assist me to look unto thee for the necessaries of life;
let thy goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life.
And as it hath pleased thee to put great honor upon me, in the
great success with which my ministry was blessed at Caerphilly,
after the pelting of the storm upon me in Anglesea, grant that
this honor may continue to follow me to the end of my days,
even as thou didst to thy servant Job.
14. "Let this covenant continue as a covenant of salt, until I
come unto thee to eternity. I beseech thy help to resign myself
entirely unto thee and thy will. I beseech thee to take my heart,
and write upon it a reverence to thee with thine own hand,
whose inscription neither time nor eternity can obliterate. Oh,
that the remainder of my sermons may be taken by thyself out of
my lips! and those that I am  engaged in writing (out), may
they bring glory to thee, and not to me. To thee I dedicate
them. If anything be to thy glory, and the service of thy kingdom, take charge of it and make it known to men, otherwise
let it perish even as the "drop of a bucket " in the heat of
Africa. O grant that a drop of that water, which thou alone
canst impart, and " which springeth up into everlasting life,"
may run through all my sermons. In this my last covenant with
thee upon earth, I put myself, my wife and the churches to
which I have been administering. I commit all to the protection of thy grace.
15. " Let this covenant continue when I am ill, as well as when
I am in health, and in all (possible) circumstances; for thou hast
conquered the world; and fulfilled the law; hast brought in the
justifying righteousness; hast swallowed up death in victory;
and hast now in thy hands all authority in heaven and on the
earth. For the sake of thy most precious blood, and perfect




374   Pulpit Monographs: Christmas Evans.
righteousness, register this covenant in the court of the remembrance of thy pardoning mercy; put to it thy name in which I
believe, and I put my unworthy name to it to-day, with my
mortal hand. Amen.                 CHRISTMAS EVANS.1'
"April, 1829.
We must draw our sketch to a close. Mr Evans almost
died in the pulpit, coming down the pulpit stairs in Swansea,
on Monday, July 14th, 1838; he said in English loud
enough to be heard by some present, "This is my last sermon," and it was so. He died in the triumphant manner
which some are so glad to regard as the highest evidence
of the divine life in the soul. " Preach Christ to the people,
brethren," he said to the ministers standing round his bed;
"look at me in myself, I am nothing but ruin, but look at
me in Christ, I am heaven and salvation." He added in a
joyous strain four lines of a Welsh hymn, then waving his
hand, he said in English, "Good-by, drive on!" Was it
another instance of the labor of life pervading by its masteridea the hour of death? For upwards of twenty years the
one-eyed man "of Anglesea " (" an eye, sir," said Robert
Hall of that one eye, "that might light an army through a
wilderness ")-for upwards of twenty years, as he had gone
to and fro, his friends had given him a gig that he might go
at his ease in his own way, with a horse which became very
old in his master's service called Jack. He knew from a
distance the very tones of his voice; with him Christmas
Evans in long solitary journeys held many a long conversation; the horse opened his ears the moment his master began to speak, made a kind of neighing reply; then the
rider said, as he often did, "Jack bach, we have only to
cross one low mountain again, and there will be capital
oats, excellent water, and a warm stable." Thus, while he
was dying, old mountain days came over his memory.
"Good-bye," said he, "drive on!"-they were his last
words, he sank into a calm sleep and woke no more.




IX.
On the Formation of Style for
Pulpit Composition.
HAVE hitherto kept your attention with remarks upon the pulpit in general, and its various forms, with some illustrations of its powerall tending to show that the pulpit has been a
force in most ages. I would now remark upon the style
best adapted for usefulness in the pulpit. If it is a power;
how shall we use the power?
And first, we must remember that the efficacy of all
education and hint must depend on the man within.
I have already said something on words; no doubt a
soul on fire is likely to command the words as most likely
to be the fuel to its intensity. But, first of all, accustom your mind to the mental association of words most
suited to express your meaning, furnish your memory with
words-forcible words, sonorous words, and magnetic
words-words which shall be a key to the mind and to the
heart, to throw open the flood gates and let the tides roll in
on the thought-gates, and to obtain entrance for ideas.
Accustom yourselves to the study of words, take them to
pieces and hold them up to the light. The preacher must
do more thaii use words; as a painter he must do far more




376        On the Formation of Style, etc.
than paint. I have already said he deals with words;
painting may be the language fitting to employ when we
only seek to convey images-conceptions; but this would
very feebly represent the work of the minister; it is to
touch souls-it is to awaken souls, that they may be consoled, that they may be enlightened; and oratory is the
power of words. If you believe in the power of words,
"they are the great and wide sea in which are things innumerable, both small and great beasts, on which also go
the ships "-great ideas, but especially grand emotionswhich enter and bear their freightage into human souls. I
have always believed in the might of words; by them, in
all ages, God has effected His most wonderful things;
through them prophets and apostles, through them poets
and seers, have spoken, and through them God speaks now.
They have wonderful power; through them the thunders of
judgment have rolled; through them conviction has darted
its lightnings; through them the genial rays of consolation have fallen. The minister is a man who holds up a
form of sound words as a glass in which the multitude
may see; who uses cunning, studied, and interpretating
words that the people may feel. He holds and chains his
passing emotions, and binds them in chains of speech to
effect power over souls. For this I am a minister; for
this you are to be ministers. We must have a sovereign
belief in our work, and in the power of using words, so
that they become realities. If it is not this, what is the
ministry?  "Of the man," says Dr. Guthrie, "who has
adopted the Church as a profession, as other men adopt
the law, the army, or the navy, and goes through the
routine of its duties with the coldness of a mere official;
filled by him, the pulpit seems filled with the ghastly form
of a skeleton, that in its cold and bony fingers holds a burning lamp."
And here let me condemn a maxim which underlies the




Look High that you may Aim  High.   377
whole Pagan philosophy, ancient and modern-" Nil adnmirari "-" Admire nothing!"  Here is the spirit of the
sneerer, as Horace says again-" Cum risu miror"-"I
never admire, but I sneer."  Wonder at nothing! Never
be excited to tones or thoughts of rapture, or of reverence;
it is worthy of a Pagan that sentiment. He who never admires, can never adore. That expression is like that of a
stern distracted worldling, to whom life and time brought
no relief, and no rest. I should say exactly the reverse.
I should say keep the pores of your spirit perpetually open
to receive the health, the strength, and the excitement of
all things; they are all shadows cast by invisible presences.
Therefore, go forth; and as you receive and retain, rise
rather to the divine heights of that amazement which compelled bards and philosophers to kindle with amazement,
as they were able to say-" Great and marvellous are thy
works, Lord God Almighty."
First then, look above, have high models of mediocrity.
" Neither men, nor gods, nor columns have allowed indifferent poets to exist." Surely, this must especially be said of
the preacher. Is not this in the spirit of Him who cast
himself into His work, exclaiming "One thing I do'? It
is assuredly true that in the great divine work of preaching,
not less than in any more human work, art must combine
with nature.  "It has been," says Horace, "a question
whether the noble work was produced by nature, or by
art."  And he says, "I neither see what study without a
rich natural voice, nor what an uncultivated genius can
avail; so much does one thing require the aid of the other,
and so mutually do they conspire together."  You know
when a brisk student said to Mr. Opie, the painter, " May
I ask you what you mix your colors with? " "With brains,
sir," was the gruff reply of the painter; and we are to expect that the soul, without enthusiasm, will, in the sacred
walk of the ministry, as in all else, be but a sorry and a




378        On the Formation of Style, etc.
poor thing. I must not be indifferent. Here is the foundation of success-the spring and fount of all enthusiasm."
There was a character Horace ridiculed almost in the
same sentence-in the well-known paragraph-" Qui nescit,
versus tamen audetfingere "-"He knows nothing, and yet
he dares to make verses."  How much more may it excite
one's contempt when he who knows nothing dares to
preach. He who knows not the use of arms, does not
enter the field. He who does not know chess never challenges the players; the unskilful does not offer himself for
a combat or a game, lest he raise a laugh; yet many offer
themselves to the pulpit who know nothing-ignorant of
everything, they yet dare to preach. As the bishop, already quoted, said to the young ecclesiastic who sought
ordination, "I do not forbid you to preach, but Nature
does."
We will conceive the young man then settled.* Yes, he
has now to begin to preach indeed; he has delivered the
two or three successful discourses, and he looks with a
somewhat awe-stricken eye at the diminishing number of
notes of old discourses. He has to begin to preach -in
earnest; the pulse of excitement is subdued; his people
are now preparing to listen more quietly, some critically,
many hungrily, some requiring the strong hand that in
ministering to thought shall brush away their doubts, and
many yearning for the bread of life, longing for refreshment, and for food. It is a state demanding all our sympathy. How will our young friend fulfil their demands?
Farmers will tell you there are three methods of sowing:
there is the drilling, dibbling, and broadcast; so there are
three kinds of preaching; there is drilling, that is the sure
method, that is the finished, and even the ornate style,
* Not an uninstructive book for a young minister is the Manse
of Maskland, it has received the warm commendation of Dr. Thirlwall, Bishop of St. David's.




Watts's Pulpit Portraits of Tyro, etc.   379
which regulates the quantity of seed  sown, and sows
equally over the whole field; there is dibbling, in this you
get very close to your soil, and if your soil is heavy, it is
advisedly applied to their wants; but, then, there is the
broadcast, it is quick, it is not so dependent on the
weather, it does not want either a very pure or clear
land.
Dr. Watts sketches the likeness of Tyro, who flourishes
his introduction, after announcing his text, tells you how
many senses the chief word in the text has, first among the
Greek heathen writers, and then in the New Testament,
citing chapters and texts exactly, and making you understand them all before he says a word about his own; he
consults all the critics, and goes through grammatical exercises; he spends so much time in this exercise, that he has
to finish his work, and to do nothing; like a general who
draws his lines of circumvallation in such form, and so
nicely, according to the rules of art, that the season was
spent, and he is obliged to retire without any execution
done on the town.*
Polyramus, is another kind of preacher, one of those
who mince their subject too small; he is, no doubt, one of
a race of men almost gone; their firstlies, and secondlies,
and thirdlies, trod on one another's heels. Such sermons
are like a hedge of thorns-all stick, no bud, no leaf, no
foliage; you can scarcely call it a branching sermon, there
is not vitality enough to branch. Divisions, -by all means;
it is almost a moral duty for a minister to have divisions,
but divisions making the order of the  subject in the
preacher's mind, not exhibiting its dryness and its confusion.
There is another style into which many fall, which is
* See the admirable chapters on " Instruction by Preaching," in
that forgotten and neglected but invaluable book, The Improvement
of the Mind.




380         On the Formation of Style, etc.
even a very popular, and by many regarded as quite a
desirable style.  It is that of the Harangue-the long
declamation. Fluvio was said, by Dr. Watts, to preach
thus: His language flows smoothly in a long connection of
periods, and glides over the ear like a rivulet of oil over
polished marble, leaving no trace behind it. The hearer
has a faint idea of the sweetness of what it has heard; but
he has quite forgotten the sense. A gentle flowing stream
of words will not call up souls from their dangerous and
fatal lethargy, as if a purling stream could arouse a sleeping conscience.
These are considerations which will compel you to
inquire what style should be adopted, to seize, to inform,
and to impress the mind; the loose harangue must especially injure the pulpit. There is a method which carries
darkness with it rather than light, which is more an opiate
than food. ft is well said that you must break the bread
of life into pieces to feed children. Very wisely Dr. Watts
says:Ask old Wheatfield the rich farmer, ask Plowdown your
neighbour, or any of his family, who have sat all their lives
under your ministry, what they know of the common truths of
religion, or of the special articles of Christianity? Desire them
to tell you what the Gospel is, or what is salvation; what are
their duties towards God, or what they mean by religion; who
is Jesus Christ, or what is the meaning of His atonement or
redemption by His blood. Perhaps you will tell me yourself,
that you.have very seldom entertained them with these subjects.
Well, inquire of them then, what is heaven; which is the way
to obtain it; or what hope they have of dwelling there. Intreat
them to tell you wherein they have profited as to holiness of
heart and life, or fitness for death. They will soon make it appear, by their awkward answers, that they understood very little
of all your fine discourses, and those of your predecessor; and
have made but wretched improvement of forty years' attendance
at church. They have now and then been pleased perhaps with




Dr. iM'All and the Primitive Methodist.  381
the music of your voice, as with the sound of a sweet instrument,
and they mistook that for devotion; but their heads are dark
still, and their hearts earthly; they are mere heathens with a
Christian name, and know little more of God than their yokes
of oxen. In short, Polyramus's auditors have some confusion
in their knowledge; but Fluvio's hearers have scarce any knowledge at all.
It is of this pompous verbosity that Archbishop Whately
remarks of some whom he has known, and of whom he
has heard it said they had a fine command of language,
that "it might, with more correctness, be said, language
had command of them, they only have the same command
of language that a man has of a horse that runs away with
him."
There is the oil-upon-marble style of preaching, and that
which may be called the sling-and-the-stone style. Hence
comes all the misplaced feeling often seen. " But what is
he crying for?" asked an intelligent hearer, once, of one of
these preachers. "And you'd cry, too, if you were up there
before all those people and nothing to say." A fastidious
precision often emasculates sentences the most vigorous and
searching as they fall from the tongue. Dr. M'All frequently
heard, and always delighted to hear, so we have been told,
a well-known Primitive-Methodist preacher. The PrimitiveMethodist, was to be sure, not only a mighty Boanerges, but
one of the most accomplished masters of the English lan
guage on its Saxon side. "Mr.," said the Doctor, in
one of his frequent gracious fits of amiable and beautiful humility, "I wish I could preach like you, sir; but I can't; God
does not honor my preaching; somehow, I preach, and
preach, and the people admire, sir; they are all very good,
and patient, and affected, and attentive; but I don't hear
of souls saved; don't hear of souls converted, sir; it is
hard, but God does not honor my ministry. Now you have
your crowns of rejoicings everywhere. God honors you,




382        On the Formation of Style, etc.
sir, I wish I could preach like you."  "I'll tell you what
it is, Doctor," said the Primitive, "you see it is just like
this, you and I are determined to hit somebody, so we
must get our stones; you look about, and you find the
most carefully-smoothed and most perfectly polished stone,
even then, perhaps, not smooth enough, and, being a very
considerable lapidary yourself, you polish it and polish it,
and put a most exquisite and beautiful finish upon it; well,
you see, when you throw your stone, at most, it will only
hit one person, and the probability is, that it may fly off
and hit nobody, from the very fineness of the polishing.
Now I have no eye for that kind of thing, and I can do
nothing of that sort; I can only go down to the seaside
and catch up a good handful of stones, and throw them,
with what force I can, right amongst the crowd, quite
sure, that by God's help, every stone has its mark and hits
somebody." The Primitive-Methodist very aptly discriminated two extreme styles of pulpit speech; but we should
place many and valuable styles between the two. There is
nothing rushing, reckless, or careless-nothing wild, impassioned or overflowing-on the contrary there is nothing
of the force of the rapid rolling torrent of smooth and
finished elegant eloquence. We have invented a term and
spoken of it as the sling-and-stone-style: "Moreover, the
preacher sought out acceptable words."  The stone is
selected, and carefully and thoughtfully fitted to the sling.
"That stone," says the slinger, "is intended for that body,"
and the stone hits. The elder John Clayton used to say,
illustrating the necessity of personal appeal to the conscience, " A letter put into the post office without a direction is sure to reach nobody."
The following, from Mr. Maclaren's sermons, are some of
these sharper words and sentences-very admirable-but
they are precious stones which might be still more sharply
cut:




Discrirnination of Diction and Style   3 8 3
THE MODERN PHARISEE.
There is no more contemptible and impotent thing on the face
of the earth than morality divorced from love, and religious
thoughts divorced from a heart full of the love of God. Quick
corruption or long decay, and in either case death and putrefaction are the end of it I You and I need that lesson, my friends;
it-is of no use for us to condemn Pharisees that have been dead
and in their graves for eighteen hundred years; the same thing
besets us all; we all of us try to get away from the centre, and
dwell contentedly on the surface. We are satisfied to take the
flowers and stick them into our little gardens, without the roots
to them; when of course they all die out!
THE WITNESS OF THE SPIRIT.
Do not think that it cannot be genuine because it is changeful. There is a sun in the heavens, but there are heavenlylights
too that wax and wane; they are lights, they are in the heavens,
though they change. You have no reason, Christian man, to be
discouraged, cast down, still less despondent, because you find
that the witness of the Spirit changes and varies in your heart.
Do not despond because it does. Watch it and guard it lest it
do. Live in the contemplation of the Person and the fact that
calls it forth, that it may not. You never will " brighten your evidences" by polishing at them. To polish the mirror ever so assiduously does not secure the image of the sun on its surface.
The only way to do that is to carry the poor bit of glass out
into the sunshine. It will shine then, never fear. It is weary
work to labor at self-improvement with the hope of drawing
from our own characters evidences that we are the sons of God.
To have-the heart filled with the light of Christ's love to us is
the only way to have the whole being full of light.
And this may remind us that a distinction has been drawn
between Diction and Style; diction respects the grammatical
qualities of the discourse; style is the soul, that which marks
and distinguishes the genius and the talent of the preacher;
and here the first thing universally commendedis clearness,




384        On the Formation of Style, etc.
perspicuity. Quintilian has said, "Care is to be taken, not
that the hearer may understand it if he will, but that he
must understand whether he will or no."  "I had rather,"
says Dr. Edwards, "be fully understood by ten, than admired by ten thousand."  Without a doubt, clearness and
precision are not altogether an affair of grammar and diction, a clear mind will express itself clearly, the faith within,
the wish without will shine through the words and make
them a living spirit. I believe there is no other so sure a
cause of a most dark diction, or a pointless, powerless style,
as the having nothing to say upon a subject, and no subject to say anything upon; and yet being obliged to begin,
and go on, and talk for an hour-hunting after a text;
when found, seeing it, not bright and clear, but like the
hull of a vessel faintly discerned through a fog. What can
be expected from this, when a poor unfortunate minister
can only say, " Oh me, oh me, what is it-where is it?" when
he puffs and puffs, and tries, in his way, to inflate a text,
and makes a figure of himself; all this, instead of the real
feeling that the text has got him, and gives wings and respiration to him, and is really handling him in a very divine
manner. In the first instance, you will have a graceless
and misty fog-bank of a performance, and in the last the
chain of the delectable mountains, sharp and clear against
the morning light of the New Jerusalem-mother of us all.
It has also been truly remarked, that "Style may be
too good as well as too bad, too refined and polished as
well as too rough and homely," too Latinized, too Germanized, too highly elaborated; and that diction, it has
been truly said, " Is the best when transparent as water or
as glass."  You do not think of the medium  through
which you perceive, but only of that which you perceive.
And therefore the masters of the laws of rhetoric have
insisted on precision in style, as the grand element of transparency. And do you know what precision is? It is the




Ed. Irving-" He Kens about Leather."   385
power of the scissors, it is the art of cutting down and cutting round. I do not say concision-that is, perhaps, the
definition of the mere lawyer's style, the matter-of-fact
tyle-but precision.  Sometimes you can be concise, you
should always be precise; and this concerns not the barely
making yourself understood, but the using of words, the best
words-this will be felicity and strength. Make yourself
respected, attended to.  "True success," says M. Guizot,
"is only gained by sympathy, or by its counterfeit."
But educate sympathy.  You will have, some of you, opportunities of visiting the farm-house when the little one is
dead; or when several little ones are ill, and is preparing to go to the Father's house; or the old woman in the
lane, removed from the village street, whose children are in
the village churchyard, whose husband has just gone there
too, her only surviving son in Australia, &c., &c.; in short,
anything that adds to the knowledge of life and of the
homes of those whom the minister has to touch and lead
along in the pathway of life must be good. In the life of
Edward Irving there is to be found a well-known illustrative
incident, which tends to show the value the poor set upon
the man who has a knowledge of their homes and their
ways:
A certain shoemaker, radical and infidel, was among the number of those under Irving's special care; a home workman of
course, always present, silent, with his back turned upon the
visitors, and refusing any communication except a sullen humph
of implied criticism, while his trembling wife made her deprecating curtesy in the foreground. The way in which this intractable individual was finally won over is attributed, by some
tellers of the story, to a sudden happy inspiration on Irving's
part; but, by others, to plot and intention. Approaching the
bench one day, the visitor took up a piece of patent leather, then
a recent invention, and remarked upon it in somewhat skilled
terms. The shoemaker went on with redoubled industry at his
work, but at last, roused and exasperated by the speech and
17




386         On the Formation of ktyle, etc.
pretence of knowledge, demanded, in great contempt, but without raising his eyes, " What do ye ken about leather? "  This
was just the opportunity his assailant wanted; for Irving, though
a minister and a scholar, was a tanner's son, and could discourse
learnedly upon that material. Gradually interested and mollified, the cobbler slackened work, and listened while his visitor
described some process of making shoes by machinery, which
he had carefully got up for the purpose. At last, the shoemaker
so far forgot his caution as to suspend his work altogether, and
lift his eyes to the great figure stooping over his bench. The
conversation went on with increased vigor after this, till finally
the recusant threw down his arms: " Od, you're a decent kind
o' fellow! do you preach? " said the vanquished, curious to
know more of his victor. The advantage was discreetly, but not
too hotly pursued; and on the following Sunday the rebel made
a defiant, shy appearance at church. Next day Irving encountered him in the savory Gallowgate, and hailed him as a friend.
Walking beside him in natural talk, the tall probationer laid his
hand upon the shirt-sleeve of the shrunken sedentary workman,
and marched by his side along the well-frequented street. By
the time they had reached the end of their mutual way not a
spark of resistance was left in the shoemaker. His children
henceforward went to school; his deprecating wife went to the
kirk in peace. He himself acquired that suit of Sunday
" blacks" so dear to the heart of the poor Scotchman, and became a churchgoer and respectable member of society; while
his acknowledgment of his conqueror was conveyed with characteristic reticence, and concealment of all deeper feeling, in the
self-excusing pretence-" He's a sensible man, yon; he kens
about leather! "
These remarks will then, perhaps, sufficiently declare my
conviction that the most useful style for the pulpit-if there
be any debate between the colloquial and the rhetorical-is
the colloquial; not that I do not think even in this all the
graces, and the forces, and the arts of rhetoric, may be employed; they assuredly may, but the colloquial style is suitable and more happy in its higher moods for the very large




Back Luther against Bossuet.          387
congregation, while it is eminently natural and suitable for
the small congregation. In large assemblies, no doubt, it
may be, and is, natural to pitch the voice high, and to give
a loftier stretch to language and ideas; but even then, it
seems to me, the colloquial is the natural style; and force
perhaps, is really at home in either. Demosthenes is regarded as the greatest orator-he was a master of force;
some have said, Give your days and nights to studying
him. Well, remember what you are to expect; he was a
highly accomplished Athenian blackguard, it is not to be
wondered at that some have admired him so much; the
admiration of Brougham for him has always been extreme.
Or, suppose I were to say, Study Bolingbroke, study Chatham, would you not remind me that we have a spirit to
cultivate as well as a style, and that the spirit will be the
very essential part of the style? Study force, but always
remember that you must not aim to talk like a Grecian, or
like a lawyer, or even like a French preacher of the reign
of Louis XIV. Genius is, indeed, the true divining rod,
and it knows the depths of human souls. Sanctified genius
will find the way.
In the contrasted value of styles, I am amazed that so
calm and sound a judge as Henry Hallam should give the
preference to Bossuet over Luther. Bossuet was false, artificial-the eagle of Meaux had the wing, and the cold
crest, eye, and beak, and talon, of the eagle; his pulpit
style is my abomination, as the man is. How different the
warm, noble, rugged heart, and, I will say, the encompassing and majestic homeliness of Luther; there is not a passage like the following so noble and so sustaining in all the
showy verbiage of Bossuet. You will remember the passage, although not from a sermon, it is Luther's style.
Why, there is not such a glorious and glowing passage in
all the pages of Bossuet:
I saw lately two miracles. First, as I looked out at the win



388         On the Formation of Style, etc.
dow, I saw the stars in the heavens and the whole fair dome of
God; yet did I see no pillars on which the Master had placed
this dome. Nevertheless, the heavens fell not, and the dome
stands yet fast. Now there are some that seek for such pillars.
They would fain lay hold of and feel them. And because they
cannot do this, they struggle and tremble as though the heaven
must certainly fall, for no other reason than because they cannot
seize or see the pillars. Could they but lay hold of these, the
heavens would stand firm.
Next, I saw also great thick clouds hover over us with such
weight that they might be likened to a great sea. Yet saw I no
floor upon which they rested or found footing, nor any vessels in
which they were contained. Still they fell not down upon us,
but greeted us with a sour face and flew away. When they were
gone, then shone forth both the floor and our roof which had
held them,-the rainbow. That was a weak, thin, small floor
and roof; and it vanished in the clouds; and, in appearance,
was more like an image such as is seen through a painted glass,
than a strong floor. So that one might despair on account of
the floor as well as on account of the great weight of water.
Nevertheless, it was found in truth, that this almighty image
(such it seemed) bore the burden of the waters and protected
us. Yet there be some who consider, regard and fear the water
and the thickness of the clouds and the heavy burden of them,
more than this thin, narrow, and light image. For they would
fain feel the strength of the image, and because they cannot do
this, they fear that the clouds will occasion an everlasting flood.
He often seems to have an offensive way of speech, a pugilistic attitude of expression, as when he says:
How many devils were there, thinkest thou, last year, at the
Diet at Augsburg? Every bishop brought as many devils there
as a dog hath fleas at St. John's time. But God sent thither
also more numerous and more powerful angels, so that their evil
purpose was defeated. And howbeit the devils stood in our
way, and we were forced to separate ere peace were made, yet
were our enemies unable to accomplish aught that they meditated and desired.




The Style of Luther.                389
Or, as when we find him saying:
We tell our Lord God plainly: If He will have His church,
then He must look how to maintain anTd defend it; for we can
neither uphold or protect, and well for us that it is so! For in
case we could, or were able to defend it, we should be the proudest asses under heaven. Who is the church's protector, that hath
promised to be with her to the end, and the gates of hell shall
not prevail against her? Kings, Diets, Parliament, Lawyers?
Marry! no such cattle.
I often think that I should like to preach as Luther wrote
to little Johnny Luther:
Grace and peace in Christ, my dear little son. I see with
pleasure that thou learnest well and prayest diligently. Do so,
my son, and continue. When I come home I will bring thee a
pretty fairing.
I know a pretty, merry garden wherein there are many children. They have little golden coats, and they gather beautiful
apples under the trees, and pears, cherries, plums and wheatplums; they sing, and jump, and are merry. They have beautiful little horses, too, with gold bits and silver saddles. And I
asked the man to whom the garden belongs, whose children
they were? And he said, They are the children that love to
pray, and to learn, and are good. Then I said, Dear man, I
have a son too, his name is Johnny Luther. May he not also
come into this garden and eat these beautiful apples and pears,
and ride these fine horses? Then the man said, If he loves to
pray, and to learn, and is good, he shall come into this garden,
and Lippus and Jost too, and when they all come together they
shall have fifes and trumpets, lutes, and all sorts of music, and
they shall dance, and shoot with little cross-bows.
And he showed me a fine meadow there in the garden, made
for dancing. There hung nothing but golden fifes, trumpets,
and fine silver cross-bows. But it was early, and the children
had not yet eaten; therefore I could not wait the dance, and I
said to the man: Ah! dear sir! I will immediately go and write
all this to my little son Johnny, and tell him to pray diligently,
and to learn well, and to be good, so that he may also come to




390         On the Formation of Style, etc.
this garden. But he has an aunt Lelne, he must bring her with
him. Then the man said, It shall be so; go and write him so.
Therefore, my dear little son Johnny, learn and pray away!
and tell Lippus and Jost too, that they must learn and pray.
And then you shall come to the garden together. Herewith I
commend thee to Almighty God. And greet aunt Lehne, and
give her a a kiss for my sake.  Thy dear Father,
Anno, 1530.                        MARTINUS LUTHER.
So I would rather speak thus, than with the most sonorous dithyrambic swell, for we should desire a deep and
tender, rather than a tempestous expression of feeling.
Discussions upon pulpit eloquence have recently been,
we believe, more than ever numerous. This is, perhaps, no
proof that our eloquence is either of a higher order than
in other times, or that it really commands more attention.
The facilities for publication of all kinds are greater, and
the number of those who devote themselves to the tasks of
the pulpit are constantly increasing. Of several works
which have recently passed before our eyes, that of the
Abbe Mullois is certainly one of the very begt.* It says
something for the Emperor Napoleon that his chaplain is a
man of such fresh, large, and wide sympathies; it is the
work of a Catholic, but ministers of any denomination will
find little upon the score of faith to condemn, and much to
suggest and instruct. If we took exception to it, it would
be rather that it contains many features of what we understand by the French style-much that is sentimental and
exaggerated; but it abounds in real practical wisdom, and
* 1. " The Clergy and the Pulpit in their Relations to the People."
By M. L'Abb6 Isidore Mullois, Chaplain to the Emperor Napoleon
III., and Missionary Apostolic. Translated by George Percy Badger.
Smith, Elder, and Co.
2. " Sacred Eloquence, or the Theory and Practice of Preaching."
By the Rev. Thomas J. Potter, Professor of Sacred Eloquence in
the Foreign Military College of All Hallows. James Duffy.




A  Motto for a Sneerer " Cum?Risu iiror."  39I
that which represents a nationality can only be relatively a
fault. The chapters of M. Mullois are brief, and in their
very titles they have a pith and a meaning very likely to
move a student of pulpit eloquence to hear or read what
further the writer has to say, who has summed up his impressions in such a title.  He discusses, in a very sympathetic manner, in a more lengthy chapter, the relation the
people should bear to the pulpit of our age: it is a very
difficult and vexed question. A very large number of people in our country seem pretty much determined that it is
desirable the pulpit should come to an end. I have been
interested, within these few weeks past, in some papers, in
that most racy and admirably conducted of weekly newspapers, The Spectator, referring to church and chapel-going;
one entitled, "Why I go to church," another, " Why I
don't," &c., &c. One of these amiable writers, to quote
some of his aphorisms, says, "I dislike good sermons just
as much as bad." Concerning the preacher, he says, "I do
not want his theology-in nine cases out of ten, I know
three times, or thirty times as much theology as he does"
Another writer says, " I admit for myself, that the one great
take-off in going to church, is the sermon."  He continues,
"the parson so enrages my wife, that she says that she is
always wrestling all sermon-time with a morbid desire to
throw a prayer-book at his head."* Now these things and
many others like them, said in such a paper as the Spectator
and from many other similar homiletical chairs-The Times,
Daily Telegraph, Saturday Review, &c., show that the pulpit
has really come to a very bad pass amongst us. We believe that while ministers of all denominations receive as
large or larger an amount of really honest respect than
* This is pretty strong in the " Cam risu miror " vein, but Dean
Alford speaks of " the pitiful'Oh dear, dear,' kind of look of almost
every congregation listening to an ordinary sermon in the Church
of England."-Contemporary Review.




392        On the Formation of Style, etc.
they ever received, respect for the preacher-the mere man
of the pulpit-was scarcely ever so low as in this day, with
some notable and admirable exceptions, serving to show
how the pulpit can maintain its mastery and power-when
the right man is in it. It is astonishing to think of the
unaccountable thousands of sermons preached every week
to very little purpose, regarded merely as sermons. There
is a sense of the value of divine service, and attendance
upon it; but the part of the divine service, which I am
afraid is often the most wearisome, is the sermon. I think
this is easy to be accounted for. I have often expressed
my sense of bitter amusement that in almost all our colleges, the preparation for the pulpit is overlooked. Young
men go through their studies, and become fitted for classical tutors, schoolmasters, or professors, but not to deal
with human hearts, or to attain ease, self-possession, and
tact in the managing of audiences. Necessary, as it undoubtedly is, that the minister should be fully acquainted
with theology, as a science, and able to deal with the texts
by the lights of criticism and exegesis, this is not enough
for the teacher who is to hold an influence over hundreds of
minds at the same moment. It is astonishing what a number of well-furnished minds we are acquainted with, unable
to turn their mental furniture to good account in public. I
suppose that in this neglect all departments of the Church
are equally blame-worthy, and, according to M. Mullois,
although there are some recent instances to the contrary,
especially in the order of the Jesuits, the Church of Rome
is not much more exemplary in the training she furnishes
for her preachers.
I have often been struek with the fact. I do not remember that in any system of pulpit rhetoric it has been distinctly noticed, that many of the maxims, they may be
called proverbs, in Horace's Art of Poetry,'would form a
valuable code of laws for the pulpit on the secular side.




Lamartine, on the Man in the Pulpit.                 393
Of course it is to be taken for granted that the divine side
anticipates, precedes, and derives its power from altogether
another source. I say a valuable code of laws might be
constructed on the art of preaching. At present ministers
seem to need lessons to save themselves from being despised. As we have intimated, it seems to be felt that the
service of worship is desirable, and may be delightful.
The work of the pulpit is, in most of the criticism which
meets our eye, simply spoken of as despicable. And even
a good man, whose life is most admirable and veritable,
moves, in most instances, the lips of his audience to a
curve of contempt when he assumes the office of the
preacher.  Few preachers are Bossuets; of course there
perhaps would be more Bossuets were the number of
preachers diminished; we have far too many, or, what
amounts to the same thing, far too few of the right
calibre. Churches and colleges are too reckless in showering young curates over the country.  But the words of
Lamartine, in part referring to him who has been called
the "Eagle of Eloquence," may suggest some hints of that
to which all preachers should desire to attain.
Of all the eminences which a mortal may reach on earth, the
highest to a man of talent is incontestably the sacred pulpit.
If this individual happens to be Bossuet; that is to say, if he
unites in his person, conviction to inspire the commanding attitude, purity pf life to enhance the power of truth, untiring zeal,
an air of imposing authority, celebrity which commands respectful attention, episcopal rank which consecrates, age which gives
holiness of appearance, genius which constitutes the divinity
of speech, reflective power which marks the mastery of intelligence, sudden bursts of eloquence which carry the minds of
listeners by assault, poetic imagery which adds lustre to truth,a deep, sonorous voice, which reflects the tone of the thoughts,
-silvery locks, the paleness of strong emotion, the penetrating
glance and expressive mouth;-in a word, all the animated and
17*




u394     On the Formation of Style, etc.
well-varied gestures which indicate the emotions of the soul;if such a man issues slowly from his self-concentrated reflection,
as from some inward sanctuary; if he suffers himself to be raised
gradually by excitement, like the eagle, the first heavy flapping
of whose wings can scarcely produce air enough to carry him
aloft; if he at length respires freely, and takes flight; if he
no longer feels the pulpit beneath his feet; if he draws in a full
breath of the Divine Spirit, and pours forth unceasingly from
this lofty height, to his hearers, the inspiration which comes to
them as the word of God,-this being is no longer individual
man, he becomes an organ of the Divine will, a prophetic voice.
And what a voice! A voice which is never hoarse, broken,
soured, irritated, or troubled by the worldly and passionate struggles of interest peculiar to the time; a voice which, like that of
the thunder in the clouds, or the organ in the cathedral, has
never been anything but the medium of power and divine persuasion to the soul; a voice which only speaks to kneeling
auditors; a voice which is listened to in profound silence, to
which none reply save by an inclination of the head or by falling tears-those mute applauses of the soul!-a voice which is
never refuted or contradicted, even when it astonishes or
wounds; a voice, in fine, which does not speak in the name of
opinion, which is variable; nor in the name of philosophy,
which is open to discussion; nor in the name of country, which
is local; nor in the name of regal supremacy, which is temporal, nor in the name of the speaker himself, who is an agent
transformed for the occasion; but which speaks in the name of
God, an authority of language unequalled upon earth, and
against which the lowest murmur is impious and the smallest
opposition a blasphemy.
All this, it may be said, is genius; but it is art too —it is
study-it is knowledge.  Also, it may be said, that a
Bossueblike style of eloquence is not very desirable; but
those principles, which in the age of efflorescence and
foliage formed him, would, in our age, if studied and applied, form and fit the modern preacher to enter into and
carry along with him the minds of his audiences.  There is




"Every Hearer is by Nature Suspicious."  395
a great principle involved in the title of the first lecture of
M. Mullois, " That to address men well, they must be loved
much."  We believe there is no principle so certain; and
the difficulty of its application is dreadfully, painfully obvious.  That is what audiences want in the minister,that, where it is a motive-power in speech, burns all before
it, with its tenderness and strength; but what a thing this
is to say! It underlies the theory of Theremin.* Theremin says, the "orator is an upright man who understands
speaking; oratory is intellectual virtue."   What he intended is, that the result of a conscious, enlightened will,
is moral, is the great motive-power of man. An eloquent
mind is a mind under motion; it is the secret of all influence. Where it is, it makes no mistakes, in accent, feature,
or expression?  As M. Mullois says: "We are always eloquent when we wish to save one whom we love.  We are
always listened to when we are loved."
This seems really to be the beginning of pulpit success
and power.  Where it really exists, disappointment and
neglect will not daunt; it will lay its account for a large
amount of misconception and self-sacrifice; it will know
that the last thing man believes in anywhere is disinter.
estedness, and the last person whom he believes possible
to be disinterested is a priest or preacher.  The earnest and real minister going into the pulpit, and looking
round upon a thousand or more of people, may say to
himself, "Nearly all these are inveterate believers in my
selfishness, and prejudiced against those truths and principles which I am  to bear to them."  That mistfust he
must overcome. A preacher must, first of all, win the
confidence of his hearers.  No art can in the long run
effect this, but an affectionate nature will also, at length,
* Eloquence a Virtue: or, Outlines of a Systematic Rhetoric.
Translated from the German of Dr. Francis Theremin. By W. G.
T. Shedd. Andover: WV. F. Draper.




396        On the Formation of Style, etc.
conquer exactly in proportion to *the deep goodness, the
reality and unselfishness of those affections. Indeed, this
principle seems most essentially to precede and underlie
all mental preparation. Here a student might be met by
the words of Horace, "Non est satis poemata esse pulchra
sunto dulcia et agunto animum auditoris."-" It is not enough
that poems be beautiful, they must be affecting, and carry
the soul of the hearer"-therefore, a speaker should not
address himself to the intellect of his audience without a
regard to the necessities of their moral nature. What is
that moral nature?  What does it demand?  Then we
recur to what I implied above. We cannot too often remember it; as Professor Shedd says, "Every hearer is by
nature suspicious, especially when he perceives that the
right to influence his nature is claimed."  "All the more
necessity, therefore, why at all points the speaker should
be thoroughly furnished and equipped, and, especially at
rest in his own region of knowledge and affection; in which
case the indifference, and even the very insolence of hearers-not an uncommon thing to see from the pulpit-will
but increase the energy of the motive power within; the
truth, but especially truth of the holiest and profoundest
order, really and tenaciously held and felt, will almost
invariably make a man eloquent. While, if a man be false
in himself-I do not mean really immorally so-but if he
be speaking, it may be against time, with no very clear
perception of the matter in hand, especially with no profound convictions about the truth, and above all, with no
strong controlling love, and direct interest in men, their
interests, their souls, their affections; in this state of falseness, he will almost invariably become verbose, or, worse,
over-ornamented-his words will have a steely glitter; he
will refine and become critical, and degenerate into inflation and bombast. The reader or hearer may have seen
among mountainous and Alpine heights those slight falls




" Eloquence is Mind in Motion."             397
of water, not worthy the name of cataracts, which, having
no body to reach the vales beneath, in their fall dissolve in
spray, foam, and thin vapor,-very pretty as the rays of
light tint them, but having no impetus nor power; and not
spreading by the farms and homesteads-no fertilizing
fruitfulness.  There is a speech exactly of this order; it is
the eloquence of prettiness. We have sometimes called it
the eloquence of the finger-nails. Horace speaks of those
who, in some great and ambitious monument in brass, express the nails, and imitate the soft hairs, while the principal of all, the figure itself, is unstudied, unsatisfactory,
perhaps disgusting; there are those who are content to be
artists in the small-in the little and insignificant; their
great aim is to be neat, to carve giants' heads in cherrystones. You wonder and admire, but are quite unedified.
Such preachers peril all their usefulness in the production
of "innocent little sermons;" utterly powerless for any
moral effect. It is the movement of the soul which will
enable a man to speak; as the poet has expressed it, giving
verse to the image before our eyes in the above sentence:
With an eloquence, not like those rills from a height,
Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapor are o'er;
But a current that works out its way into light;
Through the filtering recesses of thought and of lore.
Eloquence has been well defined as truth clearly perceived, deeply felt, and distinctly expressed. Then follows
that state which D'Alembert defines as eloquence.  " It is,"
says he, " the transfer of the orator's consciousness into the
auditor's consciousness."  In a word, Shedd says again,
"Eloquence is a mind in motion."
There is another subject which has often, in connection
with thoughts upon pulpit work, held our almost detached
attention; it is on the power and accent of conviction. This
grows, of course, out of the ardor of the feelings. This has




398        On the Formation of Style, etc.
been wondrously forgotten; the vulgar impression has been,
that passion, or, more correctly, the rage and tempest of
manner, are convincing and affecting; they may be, but not
when they merely beat the air. Even in those cases, the
accent does the real work, and the accent is the soul, and
the conviction. Jonathan Edwards, as you well know, was
short-sighted, and preached from notes often held close up
to his face, and in the pulpit stood perfectly motionless and
still. What then could have produced those wondrous ecstacies and terrors in his audience of which we read? It
must have been the accent of conviction. Have we not
known men, who, with a graceless manner, a voice of no
melody, no glow or glory of speech, no vividness of conception, have yet first commanded our respect, then compelled
our attention, then taken us captive? Here is hope for men
not possessed of that variable gift called genius-surely
every preacher might hope to attain to this. Attain to it?
every man will have it, ifhe have it. What sort of a creature is the preacher without convictions? and if all convictions are sharp, clear-say incisive and tender-then they
will give tone to his words. This is the art beyond the
reach of art, though art may assuredly help it; rhetoricians
and readers never attain to this as mere rhetoricians and
readers; it is soul, feeling-that is, the accent of conviction,
which moves, enlightens, and sways; it does so because it
"believes, speaks, arrests, and alarms."
And this seems to give concisely the one idea of the
Christian ministry-to prepare quiet resting-places for
weary people. I shall not, I hope, be misunderstood, when
I say that a very affectionate tongue may be moved by a
very careful pulpit-artist: the discourses are labored and
thought over with the same care a painter bestows on his
composition, and his colors, his forms, and lights and
shades. Dr. Raleigh is a master of that which preachers
have so much neglected, but without which the sermon is




Nervousness may be Pulpit Power.                  399
usually nothing,-accent; for accent is the soul of eloquence, the soul of tenderness; emphasis is the art of affectionateness.* Dr. Raleigh shows himself to be one of
the masters of pathos; this is a power very little exercised
among us, and it cannot be cultivated unless there be the
deep inner-spring of emotion. Readers will remember some
words of St. Augustine, already quoted by us, in which he
exalts so much the acclamation of tears as incomparably
above the acclamation of applause, and counts persuasion
and change of life as only likely to result from the starting
of the tear.
ALEXANDER RALEIGH would furnish an admirable illustration to the remarks made by Lord Lytton, in Caxtoniana,
on the power of shyness and nervousness as an element of
the most successful oratory. No doubt, shyness-nervous
susceptibility-is common  enough, especially in  young
speakers; but that throbbing, thrilling nervousness of emotion united to perfect command over the subject, and interest in it, with personal self-possession, is, in the degree in
which it rules in the mind of an orator, a sceptre of success
and power. I quote these words:
Now, I apprehend that the ideal excellence thus admirably
described is always present to the contemplation of the highest
order of genius, and tends to quicken and perpetuate the nervous susceptibility, which gives courage while it seems like fear.
Nervousness, to give the susceptibility I speak of its familiar
name, is perhaps the quality which great orators have the most
in common. I doubt whether there has been any public speaker
of the highest order of eloquence who has not felt an anxiety or
apprehension, more or less actually painful, before rising to address an audience upon any very important subject on which he
has meditated beforehand. This nervousness will, indeed, probably be proportioned to the amount of previous preparation, ever' Quiet Resting-Places, and other Sermons. By Alexander Rar
leigh, Canonbury.




400         On the Formation of Style, etc.
though the necessities of reply or the changeful temperament
which characterizes public assemblies may compel the orator to
modify, alter, perhaps wholly reject, what, in previous preparation, he had designed to say. The fact of preparation itself had
impressed him with the dignity of the subject-with the responsibilities that devolve on an advocate from whom much is expected, on whose individual utterance results affecting the interests of many may depend. His imagination had been roused
and warmed, and there is no imagination where there is no sensibility. Thus the orator had mentally surveyed, as it were, at
a distance, the loftiest height of his argument; and now, when
he is about to ascend to it, the awe of the altitude is felt.
In speeches thoroughly impromptu, in which the mind of the
speaker has not had leisure to brood over what he is called upon
suddenly to say, the nervousness either does not exist or is much
less painfully felt; because then the speaker has not set before
his imagination some ideal perfection to which he desires to
attain, and of which he fears to fall short. And this I take to
be the main reason why speakers who so value themselves on
readiness that they never revolve beforehand what they can
glibly utter, do not rise above mediocrity. To no such speaker
has posterity accorded the name of orator. The extempore
speaker is not an orator, though the orator must of necessity be,
whenever occasion calls for it, an extempore speaker. Extemporaneous speaking is, indeed, the groundwork of the orator's
art; preparation is the last finish, and the most difficult of all
his accomplishments. To learn by heart as a schoolboy, or to
prepare as an orator, are two things not only essentially different
but essentially antagonistic to each other; for the work most
opposed to an effective oration is an elegant essay.*
Surprise has often been expressed that the timid, apparently shrinking, and nervous speaker, seems to be the very
man who most subdues in the pulpit, where especially the
emotions have to be aroused-he is the man who uses
words as if brandishing a torch of flame; or rolls his words
like retiring and scarcely audible thunders, but even there* Caxtoniana. By Lord Lytton.




Preaching to the Conscience.          40I
fore more impressive; and it is remarkable that the excitement seems to increase in proportion to the preparation bestowed. Many of the most eminent of modern preachers
have met their audiences with most fear. A man may expound, or talk untremulously, with a certain felicity of words
and thoughts, but inspiration gives palpitation and trepidation, and fear, and awe. Those who have heard the frequent half-broken hesitancy, which seems sometimes to
fracture a sentence,-a sort of half-forgetfulness, or waiting
lest the right word should slip away, (usually a specially
happy and adjusting one,) will understand the relation of
these remarks to the orator. It is often so with descriptive preachers; the mind of the preacher is waiting-he
sees his picture; he is adding touch to touch; he is completing the picture. He is intense, and how many men
have earnest natures who have not intense natures. The
one says and does forcible things; the other says and does
piercing, searching things; the first is most in the blood,
the last is most in the conscience. This is the faculty of
Peter, to whom it was given "to prick men to the heart,"
when he spoke.
" True success is only gained," we have heard Guizot say,
"by sympathy, or by its counterfeit;" but by this the
preacher rises to more than information, statement, or even
persuasion. By the education of sympathy, or experience,
the preacher learns the power of particular truths as
adaptations to particular wants. This is what should be
called practical preaching. A preacher may appeal in any
measure to the judgnent, the pure reason, the recognized
principles of truth; men hear, but this does not affect; and
the statement of a fact, unless it be made personally
interesting, is not effective on the life. And then the imagination, but this also may be very cold; this charms,
however, and interests, still not so large a class as the
judgment, the reason; but if the preacher speaks by




402        On the Formation of Style, etc.
analogy he cannot speak too often, and analogy stands midway between the pure reason and imagination, and some,
have thought it one with the argument. But the affections
these are a fountain of more tender interest, and it may
be thought there should be some appeal to the affections in
every sermon, but far more sparingly than the appeal to
the imagination; and the preacher who speaks to the affections should be himself affected. But that which is
most sacred is the region of the moral affections-the conscience. Conscience, that is the skin of the whole man; this
should be touched rarely-touched delicately, cunningly, yet
firmly, unhesitatingly, and touched only with the fingers of
the preacher's own conscience. The preacher must take
care lest he harden conscience by touching it, and musttake
care lest he harden his own by touching it; it is a delicate
thing, the preacher should reverence it, rouse. it, leave it,
then return to it again. This is effective preaching. For
effective preaching, there are, no doubt, some great helps
and aids, but there are some departments of power for
which there is little help-only reflection, the knowledge of
our own nature, the consciousness, nay the active consciousness which winds its way into the secret cell of our own
being-this amplifies the preacher's power in dealing with
others. For instance, every nature is accessible to remorse,
and the preacher is to hold it as a canon, that every nature
with which he comes in contact, needs the grace of repentance; but in most instance, this can only result from a
very active state of keenly awakened and intense internal
sorrow; in any audience there must be many in whom it is
desirable to produce this emotion. Remorse is the trumpet
calling to repentance. What a different affair this is to the
mere preparation of sermons-a mere arrangement of divisions a mere utterance of statements-to be so benevolently moved by the Holy Spirit, that the preacher makes
it a matter of profound and affectionate study, how to




The Preacher a Sacred Pathologist.   403
awaken, or how to be certain that in a great maniy of those
so apparently still and calm, who occupy a relation to the
universe apparently so peaceful, there is that which proclaims all not right within-the heart maybe in uproar and
anguish-the mind may be preying on itself. This is one
of the businesses of the human soul in which the preacher
has a very immediate and most intimate concern.
What is the true preacher? A sacred pathologist!-he
lances the soul, "pricking the heart," he deals with the insanity and the lunacy and the disease of the soul How the
physician studies-how closely the surgeon attends to the
duties of his profession! How he studies the Materia
Medica, the Parmacopoeia! How he practises the use of
the knife, not the same medicine for every disease, not the
same Irife for every operation! May we not suspect that
congregations and churches would be in a different state,
had ministers as closely watched and studied the means of
dealing with souls? I do not plead for the unhallowed
lore of the confessional; but are souls therefore to be
thrown from all but the most general statement, the mere
textuary of truth? Why preach, if the Word is not to be
medicated, appropriated and applied? If therefore remorse is awakened, it is that it may lead to repentance.
These are the precursors of conversion; only it is also disastrous when the minister has, as is often the case, a number of cases on his hands he knows not what to do with. He
has roused what he cannot quell; and then what can he do
but hand again over to indifference or to despair those
within whom he has stirred the slumbering conscience. It
is quite possible, even from the pulpit, to startle devils
which the preacher is quite incompetent to allay or to control. How often, amazed, the modern preacher exclaims,
"Why could not we cast him out?"
These remarks suggest, at once, how the pulpit provides
for the soul a quiet resting-place, and how it is that fre



404         On the Formation of Style, etc.
quently the soul is disappointed of the rest it might expect
to find there. And these remarks also grow out of the impression that the preacher seeks to bring a lenitive to the
conscience.  He  searches it, but he soothes it.  Dr.
Raleigh well and most happily says:-" He knows how
much there is in a sermon which cannot be published. If
it is true it is a' building of God' for the time not' made
with hands,' and neither hands nor pens can preserve it.' The grace of the fashion of it perisheth,' or survives only
in the memory and the life of the hearer.  The elastic
obedient words seem  cool and hardened on the printed
page."  Sometimes the accent of the preacher is indeed
very distinct. Take the following extract as an illustration:
"MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT FOR THEE, ETC., ETC.
Let us make just one more application of this text, and see
how the softening shadow of it will come over the soul that is in
trouble.
But what picture shall we take from among the children and
the scenes of sorrow? In a suffering world like this where the
sufferers are so many and the sorrows are so various, it may seem
almost a species of favoritism to select one, or even one of a class,
for special human sympathy, or as the object of any peculiar
grace of God.
Shall we take the man with the sunny face, the voluble
tongue, the ready, helpful hand, who yet at times has a sorrow
like death weighing on his heart? Or shall we take the physical sufferer, who in sheer pain, that has continued for long, and
is not likely to depart until the spirit does, will have suffered a
thousand deaths, as to pain, before death comes? I remember
travelling once in a railway carriage opposite to a gentleman
who, at the first glance, seemed well, but who, in a deeper view,
showed suffering on every feature of his face; and sometimes as
the carriage rounded the curves of the line and became unsteady, a low moan of anguish would escape involuntarily from
his lips. Yet the man was going about his business. It is some




The Preacher a Sacred Pathologist.   405
years since I saw him, but he may be living and suffering still.
If so, I hope he knows and draws from the grace of Christ,
which is sufficient for him. Or shall we take the widow in her
weeds of woe, with a heart in tears all day long, hardly ceasing
from its grieving even in sleep? Or the children at their evening prayer, saddened and thrown into a child's perplexity, by
the thought of two fathers in heaven? Or the widow who never
wore the weeds of woe, but who has gone through the bitterness
of death as the victim of an unfaithful love? Or the bankrupt
who retains his integrity, but endures a thousand slights and
disadvantages because he has lost his money and his place? Or
shall we take any of those sensitive, shrinking souls, which
seem to have been made for suffering-who, at any rate, have a
special faculty of making or extracting it from the whole of this
human life? Or shall we enter, with silent footsteps and hushed
breath, one of those rooms (and there are a thousand such around
us in this great city, which shows us nothing but its splendours,
and lets us hear nothing but the roar of its life), where suffering is deepening and dropping into the arms of death 
We had better not select. Let every sufferer, whether by the
body or by the mind, or by the circumstances, hear for himself,
and gauge all his trouble while he hears; then let him apply the
sure word of promise to its lengths and breadths, and depths
and heights; then let him carry it home to the aged, the sick,
the feeble, and to all whom it may concern, as the words of a
God who cannot lie, as the assurance of a Saviour who cannot
but pity and help, as a title to a legacy of which they are all'
made heirs if they will only claim and inherit, as a shelter for
every path, an assuagement for every sorrow, a canopy for every
sufferer's bed, a sweet soul secret for life and for death to every
trusting soul however troubled-" My grace is sufficient for
thee."
" For thee."  If you lose the personal application, you lose all.
It is for thee.  I would that you would now enter into your
closet-you may do so even here in an act of faith —and that you
would shut to the door enclosing only the text and " thee."
This text is not for a world, but for a man. There are some
texts which are first for a world and then for a man. This is




406         On the Formation of Style, etc.
first for a man and then for a world. " Sufficient for thee." For
thee, young pilgrim, in the first pauses of thy celestial way 
For thee, strong runner, wearied now, and fainting on the midway plain I For thee, tempted spirit, struggling in the network
of circumstance, and watching for the saving providence, and
the delivering hour! For thee, sufferer in any way, by pain, or
loss, or change, or death! And for thee, whom our voice can
not reach-may God, the revealer of secrets, tell it to thee, thou
dying one-already half away, and may thy soul, composed in
its deep consolations, and borne up by its immortal strength,
have safe passage thus, as in the very arms of the grace, into His
presence whose grace it is!
"For thee." I say again for thee. Whoever thou art, "for
thee." It is for thee now to change the pronoun and say, with a
wonderful grateful heart-" For me. To-day, and every day,
from this time forth, and even for evermore, for me; His grace
is sufficient for me."
Thus when we frequently speak of a sermon as artless,
we do so as knowing that the preacher was all the time
feeling the pulse of his congregation-in his study has his
eye on many a pew, and watches in spirit the effect of
every word. There must have been a long habituation of
watchfulness and skill in the moral value or sentences before that ease which perhaps is possessed now could be the
gift of the preacher.  There are sudden touches of feeling
-there are words starting round the corners of the sermon
unawares that compel the tears involuntarily to the eyes.
The fancy is more free in the following quotation than in
most of Dr. Raleigh's discourses.  But some of those
tones of feeling I have mentioned are heard all along, and
deepen towards the close. It is from the sermonLIFE A STRUCTUIE.
There is a time given to finish the work —And when the limit of
that time shall come, not one stone more can be laid by the
builder, not one touch more given to the edifice in any of its




Alexander BRaleigh.                 407
parts before the trial. " I must work the work of him that sent
me while it is day: the night cometh when no man can work."
And no man can tell when the night shall come in any particular
instance. Of course we have the general laws and probabilities
of life. God means us to know these laws and probabilities, and
He means us to guide ourselves by them as far as we can. But
clear above them all He holds His own sovereignty, and tell us as
we work to look at that. His are " the times and seasons," the
fountains of life, and the issues from death. He alone commands
and ordains the "time to be born," and the "time to die."
Those times are not alike in any two instances. In this, as in
so many other points of his moral administration in this world,
there is the greatest possible diversity; and mystery as well, so
profound that our intelligence is utterly incompetent to solve it.
There is not a man out of heaven who could tell us with any
certainty all the reasons of an infant's death, all the reasons of
an old man's life on into second infancy. Philosophers, and
new-school Christians will make a little prattle about the natural
laws. But all that we can be told about the natural laws hardly
touches the moral mysteries; and with all these mysteries hanging over human life, and darkening into impenetrable gloom, if
we try to discover the exact period of its close, it is a wonderful
relief that every one who is working rightly can look up to the
great ruler and arbiter of life, and say in humble trust, " My
times are in thy hands."
Look at the tombstones in a grave-yard. You will see every
age recorded there, from the infant of days to the sinner or the
saint an hundred years old. Remember, as you read, that every
name recorded (and what myriads are mouldering in the dust
with no record above ground) is the name of a builder who in
the day given to him, began and finished a building that will be
tried by fire; and then look up and be thankful for that unerring providence which settled birth and death for each so wisely
and so justly that, if they were all to live again, the birth-day
and burial-day for each would be exactly the same.
Here is a stone that tells that an infant was born, and, after
wrestling with mortality for but a few days, died and was
buried. And it may seem as though the soul of that infant had




408         On the Formation of Style, etc.
but fluttered across the atmosphere of this world without alighting here, as, looking from your window, you sometimes see a
dove flash across the sky. Depend upon it, that little history
was the building of a temple, and when it was finished the
angels carried it away.
Here is a stone that marks the resting-place of one who was a
little worker. He had just begun to work. He had thought of God
as the great Father of the world. He had looked to Jesus the
good Shepherd. He had begun to feel a strange power in the
cross, which was drawing him away from sin and from little
selfish ways, and filling his heart with the purpose to live to
Christ all his days. These mere shapings and scantlings of work
there were-a little serious thought, a little faith, a fluttering of
love in the breast, some tiny steps of following after the great
master: nothing, as some would say, to make a finished lifemere shapings and young endeavors after higher things-somewhat like the houses you see children building on the sand.
You are far mistaken. That little workman will never need to
be ashamed. In his simple faith he found the Rock of Ages.
In his wondering love he soared upwards to the fatherhood of
God, and, when the home-call reached him, he was ready, he had
finished a temple life.
This is a maiden's name. She was young, she was fair, she
was looking to the altar and the bridal-day, and lo, death came
unbidden, but not to her unwelcome, for he led her up to the
higher espousals of heaven. Father and mother and sorrowing
lover think of the nipping of the flower, and they have written
on the stone that "her sun went down while it was yet day."
But there are other writings which they see not. The angels
have written " eventide;" the Saviour has written "finished."
Here lies a merchant who was in the high noon of life and in
the full stretch of his powers. He was not only gaining wealth,
but spreading it among others. His name was a synonyme for
truth and justice and honor-and all around these are the beginnings he had made. Nothing was finished. Yes, all is finished,
and he lies here.
And now we come to the grave of the old pilgrim who remained lingering here long after those who loved him dearly,




Alexander Raleigh.                  409
and venerated every hair of his grey head, would have been glad
for his own sake to see him  go home.  The shock of corn
seemed more than ripe-the grain was dropping on the ground.
He was blind, he was deaf, he was in pain, he was as helpless as
a child. Would it not have been better that he had gone some
years sooner? No, no. It was the right time. It was his eventide. He needed all his days to finish the temple, and all his ex
periences-the blindness, and the deafness, and the pain, and
the sweet simplicities of the second childhood-he needed all.
And even the infirmities of temper, it may be, as well as of body,
which mingled with his last experiences, were in some way
used by Him who is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working, for the completing of His own gracious work. I say, we
cannot be too thankful that amid all the diversities and uncertainties and mysteries of this life, affecting its beginning, its
progress, and its close, we can look up while we build to that
wise and loving Providence which presides over all. And we
cannot too often or too seriously remember that the great Master
of that providence holds our life fully, constantly in His hands,
and will never give it into ours. He will never tell us when our
work is to end; and its recompense is to come. But he tells us
this, that we are building day by day. He tells us that, while
recognizing the uncertainty which to us hangs around the times
and the seasons, we ought even more earnestly to recognize the
great certainty of a continuous and accumulating moral life.
Day by day, hour by hour the work goes on-well or ill-to His
praise or to His shame. We must build. We are building.
We are very apt sometimes to think that we have done nothing,
and that is the worst of it. That is not the worst of it. The
worst of it is that we have done something very poor or very
ill  I come home at night, and say, with sad relenting, as the
shadows of reflection deepen around me, " I have done nothing
at the great building to-day!" O yes, but I have. I have been
putting in "the wood, the hay, the stubble," where " the silver
and the gold, and the precious stones " should have been. I
have been piling up fuel for the last fires in my own life. I cannot be a cipher even for one day. I must be a man. Nay, I
must be a Christian man, faithful or unfaithful. I must grow,
18




410  On the Formation of Style, etc.
and build, and work, and live in some way. Oh, then, let me
see that I live for Christ, that I grow into His image, and that I
work a work in the moral construction of my own life which
angels will crown and God will bless.
One of the first things essential to sermons is natural
symmetry.  The architecture of the Congregational sermon has undergone, during the last half century, as much
change as have the buildings in which they were delivered.
The sermons of the Church of England, for the most part,
hold on the same routine, but the sermons of the Congregational pulpit have undergone a change, and the change
has been improvement; the method of these sermons is not
textual; the symmetry is not always of the order of the
scaffold, we do not see it; it is like the symmetry of a
tree, it is hidden by the foliage, but then we know that the
symmetry is there by the foliage. We always desire, in
criticism, to admire the excellence of the method present,
rather than to utter depreciations because of the method
absent. The able preacher is not always merely logical in
his method; he does not throw out from his text the coil
of thought; his purpose maybe emotional, and thought is
calm and quiet with him. The great and good preacher
labors at no prolonged illustrations, never overwhelms his
hearers with the dazzling brilliancy of rhetorical color; by
touch on touch he achieves his end; by sustained and
coherent, but yet rapid movements, and throws open the
doors of many hearts and accomplishes all. Dr. Raleigh's
genius is reflective and meditative, and the symmetry
therefore in harmony with this; it suggests a recurrence of
A. K. H. B's well-known paper "Concerning the art of
putting things; " certainly an art much needing study in the
study of sermon-making. We have met with no sermons
lately in our own language, so reminding us of those touching and beautiful ones of Herman Hooker, of Boston, in
the United States. A very happy illustration of this sym,




Alexander Raleigh.-Natural Stymmetry. 4i 
metry of which I have spoken, organic symmetry, we have
in the sermon on the Kingdom and the Keys, "Fear not; I
am he that liveth and was dead; " &c., &c. The quotation
is lengthly, but it shall be given:-' FEAR NOT " for thyself. I will wash thee thoroughly from
thine iniquities, and cleanse thee from thy sins, create in thee a
clean heart, and renew a right spirit within thee, give thee the
joys of my salvation, and uphold thee with my free spirit. I
will console thee in trouble, strengthen thee for duty, open a
way for thee amid life's perplexities, pitch thy tent in safe
places, and be around thy tabernacle with my sheltering presence until it is taken down, and thou art called to the house not
made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Thy path may seem
rugged and cheerless; but it is open and onward; and I will
pass with thee Myself alodg all its length, nor leave thee in the
shades which hang over its close. I will be with thee in the
dark valley to support thy trembling steps with My rod and
staff; I will softly unlock the awful door, and usher thee into
Hades, where a thousand sights of beauty will fill thy delighted
eyes, and a thousand voices of welcome will hail thy coming.
"Fear not" for any among thy kindred and acquaintance of
the same family of God. There is a shield over the head of
each, a providence as watchful of every one as if that one alone
were a dweller on the earth.  When they pass through the
waters they shall not overflow them, through the flame it shall
not kindle upon them. While they live they are Mine; "they
live unto the Lord." When they die they are Mine; "they die
unto the Lord "-living and dying, they are the Lord's. Fear
not with a slavish unfilial fear, for any whom thou lovest. They
are dear to you, are they less dear to Me? Thy brother is dead,
but he will be alive again. Thy sister is lost, but she shall be
found.
"Fear not," amid changes however startling, circumstances
however unexpected; for I am not a mere watcher over a broken
and lawless world, mending, and checking, and trying to save
something from the wreck! I am the perfect ruler of a perfect
providence, setting kings on their thrones, and watching spar,




412         On the Formation of Style, etc.
rows in their fall; preserving your mightiest interests, and numbering the hairs of your head!
Brethren, it is this " fear not," which often we most need to
hear; we do not exercise ourselves in great matters-we can
trust these to Him, for we feel they are too high for us; but we
do painfully exercise ourselves in lesser things as if we had the
sole charge of them. We should not for a moment presume to
grasp the keys; but we do presume, in our thoughts, to dictate
when and where, and how they shall be used. We strive, oftentimes almost unconsciously perhaps, to re-arrange and re-ordain
particular circumstances, and even whole scenes in our life and
in the lives of others. And with a still more importunate and
sorrowful eagerness do we seek to have some power in arranging for life's close. We would not dare to take the key of death
into our own hand, but we would touch it while it lies in His.
Not now, or Not there, or Not thus, we are always saying.
NOT NOW, we say, when the father is called to leave the family
of which he is the whole stay. " Let him live, let a few weeks
elapse, let his family be provided for, let his work be done! "
It is done, is the answer. His fatherless children are provided
for; I have taught him to leave them with Me. " The Father
of the fatherless, the Husband of the widow, is God in His holy
habitation."
SNot now, we say, when the mother has heard the home-call,
and with a calmness and courage greater than those of the soldier in battle, is rising above all her cares, and becoming a child
again, at the threshold of the heavenly home. Oh, not now!
Who will check the waywardness, encourage the virtues, receive
the confidences, soothe the little sorrows, and train the loves of
those infant hearts? Who will teach the evening prayer, and
listen to the Sabbath hymn?  Who can give a mother's care
and feel a mother's love? I, said the Shepherd, I will gather
the lambs with Mine arm, and carry them in My bosom. I will
forget no prayer of the dying mother's heart. I will treasure in
My heart the yearnings of her life over her children, and the unutterable compassions of her dying hour; and when many years
have sped, and she has been long in heaven, these children will
remember her in their holiest and happiest moments, and by




Natural Symmetry in Sermons.                  413
their walk and their work will be proving that she did not live
in vain, that she "finished the work that was given her to do."
Or, we say, " Not there," oh, not there! Away on the sea-a
thousand miles from land-let him not die there, and be dropped into the unfathomed grave, where the unstable waves must
be his only monument, and the winds the sole mourners of the
place! Or not in some distant city or far-off land-strangers
around his bed, strangers closing his eyes, and then carrying
him to a stranger's grave. Let him come home and die amid
the whisperings and breathings of the old unquenchable love.
"He is going home,' is the answer, and going by the best and
only way. " I can open the gate beautiful in any part of the
earth or sea. I can set up the mystic ladder, the top of which
reaches to heaven, in the loneliest island, at the furthest ends
of the earth, and your friends will flee to the shelter of iMy
presence all the more fully because yours is far away."
Or, we say. " Not thus," not through such agonies of body,
or faintings of spirit, or tremblings of faith-not in unconsciousness-not without dying testimonies. Let there be outward as
well as inward peace. Let mention be made of Thy goodness.
Let there be foretellings and foreshewings of the glory to which,
as we trust, they are going. Oh, shed down the light, the fragrancy of heaven, upon their dying bed! The answer is, " They
are there, and you are so dull of sense that you perceive them
not. Your friend is filled with the'peace that passeth understanding,' and safe in the everlasting arms."
Thus, brethren, the time, and the place, and the circumstances,
are all arranged by the wisdom and the will of him who holds
the keys, and we could not, even if we had our own will and
way, make any thing better than it is in the perfect plan. Better! everything would be worse-inconceivably worse if we had
the keys. Let us trust them, with a loyal loving trust, with Him
who graciously says to us "Fear not;" one who, in this a~ in
all other things, will treat us and give to us according to our
faith.
"Fear not."  "The sinners in Zion are afraid; fearfulness
surprises the hypocrites." It is in vain to say " Fear not" to
one who has in his nature all the elements on which fear feeds




4i4 IOn the Formation of Style, etc.
and lives, a sinful conscience, an unloving heart.  And the
Saviour does not say " fear not " to any such. He says, " Enter
into the rock, and hide thee in the dust,forfear of the Lord,
and for the glory of his majesty."  "Tremble, ye that are at
ease; be troubled, ye careless ones." He says in effect, "Let
your heart be troubled, also let it be afraid; ye do not believe
in God, ye do not believe in me! "
I may refer to another master of this art of natural
symmetry-master at the same time of this accent of conviction, to which I have already referred, in JAMES PARSONS; we have indeed but few of his sermons which have
the stamp of his own finished approval. Many of those,
however, which have been published, without his approbation, from the reports of short-hand writers, are among
the best, and hearers can attest their faithfulness; perhaps
they give evidence too clearly of the labor of the artist,
and seem to testify to the possession of a nature never
likely to be betrayed, by passion or impulse, but they also,
without any efforts at recondite thought or brilliancy of
imagination, group effectively together images, sometimes
in crowds, hurrying rapidly upon each other, yet each
preserved clear, incisive, and distinct; and no preacher better illustrates the art and order of a sermon, and few have
made simplicity of statement more effective and sometimes
overwhelming.  But no sermons remind us more distinctly
that the sermon printed can never be the sermon we
heard preached. And this is as it should be.  The sermon must have a style of its own, it is not intended for
reading; it is not for a book; in the printed page its diffuseness, even its commonplace is as intolerable as in the pulpit it was even delightful while the man was speaking; it
was his business to be in possession of his hearers, to hold
their attention entirely possessed.  The argument in a
sermon should not be a mere topical statement, but a series
of obvious inferences; how many preachers err in prepar




JTames Parsons Illustrated.             415
ing as they would prepare a thesis for a college, or a paper
for a philosophical society, forgetting that* a congregation is no more a literary society, than the Bible is a
" Kritic of Kant; " our sermons partake too much the air
of a special pleading; it is a fine saying of Claude that the
pulpit is the seat of good natural sense, of the good sense
of good men.  Every sermon, indeed, should contain an
argument, for all persuasion is an argument, but the ultimate purpose will be best served if you do not allow this
design too obviously to appear. But I refer especially to
all this as illustrated in some forms of the accent of conviction, and statement, enunciated thus clearly, scripturally, simply, perhaps too affluently in fancy, in readingbut you may believe how effective in the delivery-the following passage from JAMES PARSONS on
SIN AS THE CAUSE OF THE DIFFUSION AND UNIVERSALITY OF
DEATH.
"Death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned."
And so it follows in a subsequent verse, " Nevertheless, death
reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not
sinned after the similitude of Adam's transgression, who is the
figure of him that was to come. By the offence of one, judgment
came upon all men to condemnation." In Adam all die; all men
are sinners, and therefore against all men the penalty is still
standing. Corporeal death, that event which separates the soul
from the body, and which then dismisses the body as the victim
of putrefaction, to moulder back to primeval dust, is a penalty
which has been exacted and must be exacted from all the sons
and daughters of Adam. What man is he that liveth and that
shall not see death? " We must all die, and be like water spilt
on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again."  Rich and
poor shall go down to the grave, and worms alike shall cover
them." It is appointed unto all men once to die. The ages at
which the allotment is suffered vary. There is the child at the
mother's breast, or in the nurse's arms; there is the youth in the
* Maanse of Mastland.




416       On the Formation of Style, etc.
spring-tide of gaiety and buoyant spirits; there is thefull-grown
man in the maturity of wisdom and of power; there are the aged
bending under the decrepitude and infirmity of long protracted
years. The method in which the allotment is suffered varies.
The convulsions of nature; war; famine; accident; disease,
slow and sudden. And yet, my brethren, amid the variety of
modes, and the variety of seasons, the path is but one and the
same. All these things are but so many avenues leading down
to the one narrow house, which has been appointed for all living; and never should the subject of death be reviewed by ourselves, and never should the subject of death be pondered by
ourselves, without viewing it and pondering it in connexion
with sin. Sin, the invariable antecedent; death, the invariable
consequence! Sin the cause; death the effect! The demerit of
the one producing the desolation of the other! Ye children of
mortality, forget it not-approve it and apply it. Sin formed
the volcano, the earthquake, the hurricane, the pestilence which
mows down the population of cities and empires! Sin inflicts
every pang! Sin nerves every death-throe! Sin stains and
blanches every corpse! Sin weaves every shroud! Sin shapes
every coffin! Sin digs every grave! Sin writes every epitaph!
Sin paints every hatchment! Sin sculptures every monument I
Sin feeds every worm! The waste and the havoc of centuries
that are gone, and the waste and the havoc of centuries yet to
come, all reverberate in one awful voice, " Death has passed upon
all men, for that all have sinned! "
Spiritual death, my brethren, which consists, as we have observed, in the alienation of the human heart from God, and
which the apostle has emphatically described in the second chapter of the epistle to the Ephesians, as being " dead in trespasses
and sins," constitutes the state of every man by nature. Every
man in consequence of that state of spiritual death, is also in
peril of proceeding to receive the recompense of it in the agonies
of death eternal. It will be observed upon this important subject that there cannot be the least question or doubt; " For
(says the apostle) as many as have sinned without law,"-that
is to say, without being placed within the external domination
of the written law of the Almighty-" as many as have sinned




The Style of James Parsons.             417
without law shall also perish without law: and as many as have
sinned in the law"-that is, with the knowledge of the written
revelation of God-" shall be judged by the law. For not the
hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law
shall be justified. For when the Gentiles, which have not the
law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having
not the law, are a law unto themselves: which show the works
of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing
witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing, or else
excusing one another; in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men, by Jesus Christ, according to my gospel." My
hearers attend: " By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be
justified;" then they must be condemned. "All have sinned,
and come short of the glory of God." If then you have come
short of the glory of God, you must be lost; it cannot be denied,
nor be disputed. I tell to every man now present, that he is guilty
of sinning against the Almighty-that if there be no intervention
of mercy so mighty and so majestic as to satisfy the demands of
justice, to quench her fire, and sheathe her sword-if there be
not mercy, free, boundless, omnipotent, and eternal, every human
being will stand before the judgment-bar of God to receive the
sentence of his condemnatioh. He must be banished for ever
from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power;
and he must go down to those abodes of torment where there
are agonies unspeakable and inconceivable; where the smoke
of torment ascendeth up for ever and for ever. Go, my hearers,
to the brink of eternity, contemplate in imagination the scenes,
of that horrible pit which the word of revelation has presented
to your view-contemplate the worm that dieth not-contemplate the fire that has been prepared for the devil and his angels- contemplate the blackness of darkness - contemplate
the smoke of torment that ascendeth up for ever and ever!
What was it that gave to that worm  its fang but sin?
What was it that gave to that fire its intensity but sin? What
was it that gave to that blackness its shadows but sin?  What
was it that gave to that torment its woe but sin? The voice is
from the abyss uttering one wild cry, "It was sin; it was sin;
IT WAS IN I Man would sin, and therefore man must suffer V"
There is a rigid equity between the one and the other,
18*




418      On the Formation of Style, etc.
" Nn faunumn, sed lucem" —" Not smoke but light."  This
is a motto to take into the pulpit. If I cannot give light
there, I had far better keep away; or, if there, I had far
better read a chapter or a text and then be silent; there
may be a hope that this will make its way. When we go
into a Papist place of worship we are often steeped in a
stench of musk and aloes; "Oh!" we say, "would that
there were only real human words here, real human feelings
here; these stenches are not the prayers of the saints."
We sit still, and presently rises the long, almost inarticulate, and inaudible mumbling and muttering of the Latin.
" Oh!" we say, "this is but an unknown tongue," and what
is that better which is but a smoke of speech? It is so of
many preachers, that all they have contrived to do by their
words is to reverse the canon of Horace, and to obtain "fumo
est lucem"-"smoke from light."  They have turned the
very New Testament itself into darkness. Thus, often either
with wild, fanciful, mystical interpretations, or with misty
metaphysics, with long and complicated words, with a vehement and noisy manner-the subject was plain enough
when the preacher began, but dark enough at the close,
because he did not remember the maxim: "Nonfumum sed
lucem." A rare volume might be filled, and the materials
are close at our hand, with illustrations of nonsense sermons.
M. Mullois quotes the well-known anecdote of Louis XIV.
in the chapel at Versailles, when some preacher took the
occasion boldly to inveigh against the vices and the peculiar dangers of the great, and at length exclaimed, "VWoe
to the rich! Woe to the great!" The courtiers murmured,
although the king had lowered his eyes; after the sermon,
they gathered round the monarch, and talked of the impertinence of the preacher, and of reprimanding him for his
temerity. The king quietly said, " Gentlemen, the preacher
has done his duty, now let us do ours." It is one of the




Disappointment in Printed Sermons.  4 19
most natural and simple sayings recorded of Louis XIV.
Not to shine on pages should be the ambition of the
preacher, he lives in a voice, and the voice expires. The
mighty masters and mistresses of song know this, and are
content to act upon it. Malibrans, Brahams, JennyLinds,
and Sims Reeves can have no posthumous fame, The music they hold in their hands is just the same as we have in
our drawing-rooms. They live in the moment, but then in
their world it is a very great moment. The soul interprets,
and fills out, and gives the rest and the movement to each
bar, this is their business. We have no doubt that the pulpit has suffered greatly by short-hand writers; the taking
down of sermons; the incessant publication of sermons;
the fastidiousness that waits on nicely-balanced images and
harmoniously-constructed sentences. All this interferes
with, and robs the address of its accent of conviction; the
orator can no more survive than the singer. Our bookshelves groan beneath the weight of voluminous tomes,
which originally found their expression in sermons; and
during the last few years the publication of sermons has
broken out with astonishing vigor. There is a simple reason for this. If an edition of sermons be, on the average,
of all books least likely to be read, it is also, on the average, of all books most certain to be sold. Any preacher in
tolerable favor can command an audience not only for his
tongue but for his pen. It must be admitted, and most
readers very well know it, that there is an tamazing difference between the successful and impressive word in the
pulpit, and success and impression in the arm-chair by the
fireside. It is quite amusing to hear how stoutly people
will insist upon it that a sermon is not all printed, and give
vent to their disappointment in reading that to which they
had listened with so much pleasure. Of course, as I have
said before, all is not printed; manner cannot be printed,
nor accent, nor a thousand little particulars which go to




420       On the Formation of Style, etc.
make up the undefinable charm. Words in their delivery
seem so much more full, so much m6re copious and comprehensive; and audiences yearn to receive a sermon, under the impression that it will be as much to them in coldly
reading as when it leaped red-hot from the sympathetic furnace of the speaker's soul They yearn to read it and yawn
over it. Printed sermons in general can be little better
than decanted soda-water a day old.
Great sermons which have moved us to all the deeps, we
have desired to see them in print; perhaps they were very
well, probably very poor indeed; in any case, how different
to that ineffable flight of soul, the searching, penetrating
words we heard. This is exactly as it ought to be, no
stronger proof to those who did not hear, that the man was
really at home in his work. Whitefield's sermons are very
poor things to read compared with their overwhelming
power. Oratory is neither in writing, acting, nor even
speaking. Where is the fragrance of a flower? Where are
the tones of a harp?  They were there, here, they are
gone, you cannot catch them-it is so with the accent of
conviction. This is the fragrance and the music of a sermon
good for anything; and although Io have taken high illustrations, I again say that this sacred fire may burn on the
altar of any soul, itself persuaded and impressed. Of
course, when it is really a great soul as well as a sanctified
one-a David, a St. Bernard, or an Edward Irving-the
conviction accumulated, and on fire through all the faculties of a great nature, proportionately compels the audience to tremble and thrill.
And it comes out of this that the sermon will be plain.
M. Mullois has several chapters with such headings as the
following: " The Sermon should be popular;" "The Sermon should be plain;" "The Sermon should be short."
Another chapter follows on "Fact and kindliness," and on
"Interest, emotion, and animation." Now, in reality, while




"Fill up the Cask."              42I
all these topics are worthy of separate thought and enforcement, they all are related to those two canons on which we
have dwelt already; that to address men well, they must
be loved much; and that to persuade them, there must be
on the speaker's tongue the accent of conviction. All this
results, in fact, we believe, from the over-full soul-all superfluity flows from a full heart. There is a twofold sense
in which it is true that " out of the abundance of the heart
the mouth speaketh."  The heart not only constrains, it
restrains; artificial speech always lacks the real flavor and
force which the heart gives to words-and certainly it is not
to be supposed that words-words-mere words alone,
either indicate the full heart, or the ability to reach the
heart. This fulness, of divine pleroma, is not indicated by
the organ of language. The late Dr. James Alexander
says: "I listened yesterday to a sermon, and I am glad I
do not know the preacher's name-it was twenty-five minutes long-all the matter might have been uttered in five;
it was like what the ladies call' trifle'-all sweetness and
froth, except a modicum  of cake at the bottom-it was,
doubtless, written extempore." When a young clergyman
once inquired of Dr. Bellamy " what he should do to have
matter for his discourses," the shrewd old gentleman replied, " Fill up the cask-fill up the cask —rLL up THE CASE;
then, if you tap it anywhere, you get up a good stream; if
you put in but little, it will dribble, dribble, dribble, and
you must tap, tap, tap, and then get but little after all."
But this does not represent all-this will not give that
piquancy and plainness, that instantaneous power of touch
which is, in fact, the full mind flavored and spiced by an
intense soul  We think it very likely that the influence and
power of sermons have been impaired and impeded by their
length. All'men, whatever their attainment, or capacity,
or experience, in Protestant churches, have been expected
to fill out their sermons to a certain length-and that




422         On the Formation of Style, etc.
length, perhaps, quite sufficient for human patience, even
if the preacher be a man of eloquence and conviction.
How, then, when he is neither one nor the other, or, at
best, a Lilliputian in either? It is true, " Omne supervacuum manat de pleno pectore."  All overflowing flows from
a full heart. Sometimes the danger lies on the other side;
Horace, indeed, says: " Esto brevis "-" Be short."  He
also says: Brewis esse laboro, obscurus fio " —"I strive to be
short, I become obscure; " and preachers should use and
give to their hearers whatever adds really to the apprehension of the subject in their own mind; there is an unwise
conciseness, as there is a tedious diffuseness; all that brings
nearer is useful; all that tends more to unveil the subject
to the mind helps; there are among our modern preachers
many whose words suffer thus, and their people suffer in
them, while it is quite possible to drown the sense in a bewildering world of sounds; it is also possible to fail through
want of application; few audiences will beat a nugget of
gold into gold leaf for themselves-very few are disposed
to be at any trouble. We heard a criticism upon a minister only a day or two since: "It is so nice to hear our minister; you hear the same thing from month to month over
again-dear man-it's always the same-Ah! you always
know where to find him." Therefore, we say, encourage a
flow-not a flood. Rarely can it be wise to imitate the cataract in force or speed, but the river you may imitate. Dr.
Johnson says, "It is so much easier to acquire correctness
than flow that I would say to every young preacher,' Write
as fast as you can.' " Whitefield's rule was "never to take
back anything unless it were wicked."  "This," says Dr.
Alexander, "is very different from rapid utterance or precipitancy. Deliberate speech is, on the whole, most favorable."  Pastor Harms was wont to comprehend his idea of
delivery to students in three L's-" Langsam-Laut-Lieblich," poorly rendered by lengthened-that is, deliberate



MA. Mullois plead.s for Brevity.          423
-loud and lovely; and Luther's maxim is still more untranslatable " Tritt frisch auf —thu's maul auf-hoor bald
aif" —"Stand up cheerily-speak up manfully-leave off
speedily."
M. Mullois insists, with great earnestness, on the necessity of brevity.  He quotes St. Francois de Sales:
The good Saint Francois, in his rules to the preachers of his
Order, directs that their sermons should be short.
" Believe me, and I speak from experience, the more you say,
the less will the hearers retain; the less you say, the more they
will profit. By dint of burdening their memory, you will overwhelm it; just as a lamp is extinguished by feeding it with too
much oil, and plants are choked by immoderate irrigation.
" When a sermon is too long, the end erases the middle from
the memory, and the middle the beginning.
"Even mediocre preachers are acceptable, provided their discourses are short; whereas even the best preachers are a burden
when they speak too long."
Is not long preaching very mueh like an attempt to surpass
these men, who were so highly imbued with the spirit of Christianity?
He continues:
But it will be objected; What can be said in ten or-seven
minutes? Much, much more than is generally thought, when due
preparation is made, when we have a good knowledge of mankind, and are well versed in religious matters.... Have
not a few words often sufficed to revolutionize multitudes, and
to produce an immense impression?
The harangues of Napoleon only lasted a few minutes, yet
they electrified whole armies. The speech at Bordeaux did not
exceed a quarter of an hour, and yet it resounded throughout
the world. Had it been longer, it would have been less effective.
In fifteen weeks, with a sermon of seven minutes every Sunday,
one might give a complete course of religious instruction, if the
sermons were well digested beforehand.




424         On the Formation of Style, etc.
If, then, you wish to be successful, in the first place fix the
length of your sermon, and never go beyond the time I be inflexible on that score. Should you exceed it, apologize to your
audience for so doing, and prove in the pulpit of truth that you
can be faithful to your word.
"But do speak more at length.... you are wrong in
being so brief... you only tantalize your audience
you deprive them of a real pleasure." Expostulations like these
will pour in upon you; but don't listen to them: be inflexible,
for those who urge them are enemies without knowing it. Be
more rigid than ever in observing the rule which you have prescribed for yourself. Then your sermon will be talked of-it
will be a phenomenon-everybody will come to see a sermon of
seven minutes' duration. The people will come; the rich will
follow. Faith will bring the one, and curiosity will attract the
other, and thus the Divine word will have freer course and be
glorified..
This is certainly, to speak in paradox, carrying brevity to
its utmost extent. Preachers of the Church of Rome have
usually designed brevity. We believe they have no instances, like those tremendous trials of patience in the great
Puritan and Church of England preachers, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, who did hold their audiences for hours. It is noteworthy, although we do not
speak of exceptional occasions, nor do we forget instances
to the contrary, that some of the greatest and most useful
preachers of our day never pass beyond half an hour,
while others are scarcely ever so long. Perhaps if preachers remembered more frequently that words will not come
back, " Nescit vx missa reverti "-" A word sent abroad can
never return," it would check in all a too impulsive flow;
surely it might make us all tremble to think of the immortality of our words, and especially if they are uttered, who
can limit their destination?  Who can tell the soil into
which they may fall, and in what manner they shall bring




The Sermon should be Plain.            425
forth fruit? Certain it is, they shall never return, therefore
should the conscience dictate the word, should rule the influence, shape the sentence, and give accent to the tone.
This would be the true study of the passions; of that difficult and yet so desirable part of pulpit power, the pathetic.
It is to be supposed we have, in our turn, all been compelled
to laugh where the orator intended we should cry; he had
learned his lesson so badly. He knew nothing of what he
was speaking, simulating a tone; as when an auditor spoke
of a rather celebrated French preacher, and said, "In your
preaching just now, you pronounced,'Depart ye cursed,'
exactly as if you had been saying,'Come, ye blessed of My
Father."' We do not imply from  this that, beside the
preparation of the heart, there is not necessary a human
artist-side to preparation for the pulpit, in the first place,
as the whole result will depend on the true humanity, and
fine texture of the human instrument itself. This is a
human side, and then, beyond this, what right has any man
to suppose himself exempted from the old law of labor?
"By the file, and by the whetstone," to quote again from
Horace, the work proceeds " Si labor et mora limc,"-" By
the labor and by the tediousness of the file."  To all success goes patience, plodding, and perseverance, and the
great masters of speech, however free, full, and flashing
their words might be, were no real exceptions to this great
law; on the contrary, they illustrated it. "Fungar vice
cotis."  " I will do the office of a whetstone," and this refers
to external helps and aids. The whetstone cannot cut itself, but it can sharpen the steel and enable it to cut; and
so with all studies. All the stores and accumulations of
mental wealth and discipline, every study is a whetstone to
sharpen the wits. Moreover, if the iron be blunt, then to
the file or the whetstone must be put more strength. What
can any science, language, or book, do for a teacher?
Mathematics, criticism, they are valuable, but they are only




426        On the Formation of Style, etc.
valuable as they are proved by the labor of the file, not in
themselves; they are a kind of whetstone on which to
sharpen the intelligence. They are like a hone, dead and
lifeless in itself, yet calling forth the edge and sharpness
in the-steel. All people must in their time have been
amazed at the little that study and reading in many departments seem to have effected for many men.
And if we seem to step from these considerations to some
apparently not so closely, at first sight, connected with
them, it is for the purpose of asking what, in the whole
range of culture, can go beyond the enabling a man to speak
plainly upon the matters he takes in hand?  From some
cause or other, we believe, if auditors were polled, their verdict would be that in general preaching is obscure. M.
Mullois well, and not needlessly says, "the sermon should
be plain." A spirit thoroughly in earnest, when it attempts
to enter regions where perhaps the multitude may be unable to follow, will usually convey a feeling, an impression
of an elevated and healthful character; but no sermon,
even if it have passages of this character should be wanting
in strokes and general delineations and impressions which
should entitle it to the character of a plain sermon; great
statements, great enforcements, and great influences distinctly felt. This has been the mark of all great oratory.
Demosthenes has ever been held as a mark and a model in
this particular. What we know of the neglected, and almost forgotten, but splendid orations of Bolingbroke, one of
the greatest of English masters, was of this type; and the
invectives and orations of Chatham, Brougham, and Fox.
When we look at the great masters of pulpit eloquence,
Massillon, Bourdaloue, Saurin, Hall and even Irving, it is
the same,-plainness, so far from being an impediment, is
an element of it. Surely the question is natural enoughhow can that be really eloquent which is not obvious?
Neither a flow of speech, nor fertility of illustration can




A  Preacher's Object Creates Earnestness. 427
constitute it, but the fitness of both to impress, and carry
along the feelings of an audience; and the end of all
homiletics should be twofold, namely, to furnish the mind
with method, and to give it freedom, freshness, and clearness in the use of it. Dr. Newman, in his lecture on University preaching says:
But, not to go to the consideration of divine influences, which
is beyond my subject, the very presence of simple earnestness is
even in itself a powerful natural instrument to effect that toward
which it is directed. Earnestness creates earnestness in others
by sympathy; and the more a preacher loses and is lost to himself, the more does he gain his brethren. Nor is it without some
logical force also; for what is powerful enough to absorb and
possess a preacher, has at least a primd facie claim of attention
on the part of his hearer. On the other hand, anything which
interferes with this earnestness, or which argues its absence, is
still more certain to blunt the force of the most cogent argument conveyed in the most eloquent language. Hence it is that
the great philosopher of antiquity, in speaking in his "Treatise
on Rhetoric," of the various kinds of persuasives, which are
available in the Art, considers the most authoritative of these to
be that which is drawn from personal traits of a moral nature
evident in the orator; for such matters are cognizable by all
men, and the common sense of the world decides that it is safer,
where it is possible, to commit oneself to the judgment of men
of character, than to any considerations addressed merely to the
feelings or the reason.
On these grounds I would go on to lay down a precept, which
I trust is not extravagant, when allowance is made for the preciseness and the point which are unavoidable in all categorical
statements upon matters of conduct. It is, that preachers should
neglect everything whatever besides devotion to their one object,
and earnestness in enforcing it, till they in some good measure
attain to these requisites. Talent, logic, learning, words, manner, voice, action, all are required for the perfection of a
preacher; but " one thing is necessary," —an intense perception
and appreciation of the end for which he preaches, and that is,




428         On the Formation of Style, etc.
to be the ministering of some definite spiritual good to those
who hear him. Who could wish to be more eloquent, more powerful, more successful than the Teacher of the Nations? yet who
more earnest, who more natural, who more unstudied, who more
self-forgetting than He?
And here, in order to prevent misconception, two remarks
must be made, which will lead us further into the subject we are
engaged upon. The first is, that, in what I have been saying, I
do not mean that a preacher must aim at earnestness, but that
he must aim at his object, which is to do some spiritual good to
his hearers, and which will at once make him earnest. It is said
that, when a man has to cross an abyss by a narrow plank
thrown over it, it is his wisdom not to look at the plank along
which lies his path, but to fix his eyes steadily on the point in
the opposite precipice, at which the plank ends. It is by gazing
at the object which he must reach, and ruling himself by it, that
he secures to himself the power of walking to it straight and
steadily. The case is the same in moral matters; no one will
become really earnest by aiming directly at earnestness; any one
may become earnest by meditating on the motives, and by
drinking at the sources of earnestness. We may of course work
ourselves up into a pretence, nay into a paroxysm of earnestness;
as we may chafe our cold hands until they are warm. But when
we cease chafing we lose the warmth again; on the contrary,
let the sun come out and strike us with his beams, and we need
no artificial chafing to be warm. The hot words, then, and
energetic gestures of a preacher, taken by themselves, are just as
much signs of earnestness, as rubbing the hands, or flapping the
arms together are signs of warmth; though they are natural
where earnestness already exists, and pleasing as being its spontaneous concomitants. To sit down to compose for the pulpit,
with a resolution to be eloquent, is one impediment to persuasion; but to be determined to be earnest is absolutely fatal to it.
He who had before his mental eye the Four Last Things, will
have the true earnestness, the horror or the rapture, of one who
witnessed a great conflagration, or discerned some rich or sublime prospect of natural scenery. His countenance,his manner,
his voice, speak for him, in proportion as his view has been




" Veritas Pateat, Placeat, Moveat."   429
vivid or minute. The great English poet has described this sort
of eloquence, when a calamity has befallen:
Yea, this man's brow, like to a title page,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.
Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
It is this earnestness, in the supernatural order, which is the
eloquence of saints; and not of saints only, but of all Christian
preachers, according to the measure of their faith and love. As
the case would be with one who has actually seen what he relates, the herald of tidings of the invisible world also will be,
from the nature of the case, whether vehement or calm, sad or
exulting, always simple, grave, emphatic, and peremptory; and
all this, not because he has proposed to himself to be so, but because certain intellectual convictions involve certain external
manifestations.
Three things have been mentioned as constituting the
virtue of the orator, " Veritas pateat, Veritas placeat, Veritas
moveat" —  "To instruct, to please, and to move."   But
neither one or the other can be reached, nor can any be effective unless the meaning of the speaker be distinctly seen.
Therefore, all teachers of rhetoric have insisted upon perspicuity, while we have already said that obscurity characterizes, to a considerable degree we fear, most of the exercises
of the pulpit; lacking that earnestness which Dr. Newman
demands as the chief qualification for perspicuity.  Nor
must it be forgotten that weakness and obscurity are companions.  We may speak of this as arising from  a bad
grammatical construction of sentences; a faulty collocation
of adverbs and pronouns; affected phrases, and unmeaning
phrases; harsh and turgid words, resulting in long-winded
sentences; or the Sesquipedalia verba, which St. Francois de
Sales denounced as the pest of preaching; but beneath all,
the true reason is to be found in the absence of a soul
thoroughly informed and inflamed.  Mr. Potter, in his
" Sacred Eloquence," says:




430          On the Formation of Style, etc.
In conclusion, we will only remark that, whilst the preacher,
in his instructions to his flock, will aim at correctness and purity
of language, he will also remember that for him, as a preacher
of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and in view of the special end
which he must necessarily propose to himself, there is something infinitely more important than any mere correctness or
elegance of language.  Hence, whenever it may be necessary
in order to render himself better understood, he will not hesitate to sacrifice the graces, and, in one sense, even the purity
of language. Following the council of St. Augustine, he will
study the most intelligible, rather than the most elegant, manner of expressing what he has to say.  Evidentice, appetitus
aliquando negligit verba cultiora, nec curat quid bene sonet, sed
quid bene indicet quod ostendere intendit. For, as asks this holy
doctor, what is the use of expressing our ideas in the most
polished manner, of what use is the purity and elegance of our
style, if our hearers do not comprehend our meaning?  Quid
prodest locutionis integritas quam non sequitur intellectus audi.
entis? And he further illustrates his meaning by a very ingenious comparison. Quid prodest he inquires, clavis aurea si aperire
quod volumus non proest, aut quid obest lignea si hoc protest?
But let the preacher bear in mind, whilst he strives to follow
these wise precepts in his practice, that this style of speaking
requires both intellect and skill. Let him not delude himself
by supposing that in order to speak with this perfect simplicity
of language and of style, he must therefore descend to what is
low or undignified.  Hcec sic ornatum detrahit ut sordes non contrahat. Let him rather remember that in this, as in many other
cases, the perfection of art consists in concealing art. Ars artis
celare artem. It is of such simple instruction as this that Cicero
is speaking when he says, Negligentia est diligens; and he says
what is most true, since this simple, and, at first sight, apparently negligent manner of preaching, indicates the man who is
more solicitous about the solid instruction which he is to impart
to his flock than about the mere words in which he is to express
it; the man who is much more anxious about the interests of
his Master, and the welfare of his people, than his own gratification as a scholar, or his reputation as a preacher.




"Si cepit Amphora cut exit Urceus."   43 I
Why, in that art of poetry to which we have referred at
the commencement of this paper, Horace bids us beware
of vance species, confused ideas. We have seen, and who
has not heard, sentences which seem, like the pig-faced
lady, or the talking-fish, incongruous. The preacher should
paint his ideas; should see what he means.  It is the
absence of this which attempts the sublime, but swells only
into bombast, " Hence it is," says Horace, " as if you find
introduced a dolphin in a forest, or a wild boar in a flood."
Correct thinking will not always, while attempting to right
itself, be clear thinking; but thought ought not to dare
to become public speech until it is cleared from all sediment and darkness and confusion. Rowland Hill spoke
of a preacher of this kind.
The attempt to drift too many matters into a discourse,
leading to the confusion of all the subjects belonging to it,
is a fruitful source of obscurity.
Hence, " Si cepit Amphora cur exit Urceus," and what is
it? Is it a frying-pan, or a tea-kettle? do you mean it for
a finger-glass, or a saucepan? a flower-pot, or a buttertub? or, to adhere more closely to Horace; "If he began
a vase why turns it out to be a pitcher?" the pitcher
should understand what he can do-what his powers are
equal to; the coarsest pitcher that holds water is a good
vessel, but it is not good for the table of a prince. What
do you design? In a great house there are many vessels,
and some to honor and some (in comparison) to dishonor,
iron may be the key which locks the house-gold may be
the vessel on the table, the ewer on the toilet; all will be
well if iron does not claim to be gold, or common earthenware to be porcelain.
END.








INDEX.
Page                            Page
Abelard's influence on his       Adams when alive      -    230
age                    - 193  -     books when publish-    and St. Bernard      - 193    ed    -      -      -     230
Abraham, the Palace of   - 132  -    a popular preacher- 230
-    and the stranger    - 314  style rugged  -            - 230
Abundant heart, the       - 421       sermon on mannersAcids, crystallization of   - 24    unstable man, the      - - 231
Accommodating hearers ca-         -  characteristics of style 232
pacities        -    -  307    - aphorisms           -   - 233
Afflictions    -    -    - 239         such a voice    -    - 234
-    of the righteous    - 56          changes on a word   - 235
Age of miracles, an       - 173  -    division of a sermon- 236
Aim at spiritual culture   - 71  -   tongue, on the  -   - 237
A  Kempis, Thomas, sur-                compared with Hername of        -          152    bert    -        -      -237
Allegory, an improper use        - be thankful   -         - 238
of   -      -      - - 321         on mountains          - 238
On truth, an        -  -330  -   literary characteristics
Illustration of ancient  - 331    of age... 240
Sin of          -       - 332         quaint preaching,Does, help         -    - 336    "Take thy son ". 241
Almost a Christian       - -58  -    a transition ago.  241
Amazing power of sound  - 10  --   birth of Christ-gloriAmerican Backwood preach-          ous song...242
ers-         -      -    -29         compared with  AnMethodism    -           30. drewes and Donne.. 245
Analogies, unite Nature          -    " clouds," —God in a
and Scripture    -      - 302    circle.          245
Analogy, elucidates Divine        -   and Henry Smith, untruths    -     -       - 296    known... 247
Adams, Puritan-. friendship with Donne 247
-    ignorance of life, etc. - 229    ~ glorious age of, the. 247
(433)




434    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
Page                             Page
Adams  lost in oblivion;         Anecdotes continued.
character of works. 248    Crow's nest, a.. 278
Analogy:-'                       Franklin and the Quaker 293
An instinct of thought. 301    Fate of a sermon.. 213
An inestimable weapon. 303    " Fill up the cask ". 421
Argument from the. 298    Good swimmer wanted, a  28
-    how it suffers.      299    " He kens about leather " 385
what mind is needed               Hill, Rowland, preaching 281
for.... 300    Horrors of war.. 290
A  method of argument            How preachers are made. 31
against Pantheism. 303    James I., of.   264
A most hopeful torch. 303    Jesuit's horse, the. 30
Employed by Scripture. 302    Jacobites...210
Experience  a name for           Jay, William, of.. 72
moral... 301    Juxtaposition of ideas. 287
From science..307    Kneeling order, the. 31
God proved by.. 02    Lighthouse-keeper, the. 72
Great discoveries, reason-       Louis XIV, of.    418
ings from. 300    Methodist horse, the. 31
Prompter and guide oflife,       Nelson, John, of.. 27
a.... 300    No Doctors of divinity. 80
Poet and metaphysician           Of a most amiable charmeet in.. 301     acter...288
What, may do. 305    Old Jenimy..253
Whately (Archbishop), on 300    Ostentatious..34
Used by Christian teach-         Philosophic warmer, the. 289
ers...301    Polite preacher the. 34
Andersen, Hans C., in the          Power of the crucifix. 143
pulpit.        147    Preaching to the elect. 282
Andrewes, Launcelot:-              Preacher's wardrobe, a. 29
- a pitcher. 13    Religion an umbrella. 282
- characteristics of,  14-243    Running from preachers. 29
illustrations  of his        Sammy Breeze..255
style... 14    Son of Amram.    145
Anecdote-                          8tepping in the way. 31
" And Bartholomew ". 209    Strange prayers.. 30
An ill-mannered parson. 60    Test of penitence. 153
Applicant for ordination,        Throwing stones.. 381
an...32    Well is deep, the.. 71
Aquinas and Bonaventura 143  Ancient Mariner, quotation
A set-off to conversation. 283    from... 33
Bernard, St., and the Vir-     Anthony, St., and the cobgin.        212    bler...313
Billy Hibbard.. 31          of Vieyra's preaching. 143
Bishop's reproof, a. 73         quoted ~.. 144
Bishop and his Chaplain,         -   " Pulpit satirist, a. 268
the.        299       " Characteristics and
Bold French preacher, a   21    wit..268
" But"... 209  -- Sermon to fishes. 268
Commending to the con-         Apes in the temple.. 250
science... 42  Aphorisms... 233




Index.                         435
Page                              Page
Apt to teach.. 47  Bernard St., spiritual vivaArminianism  and rational-          city of.        163
ism.., 112  — birth and parentage. 163
Aretinus and St. Jerome. 153  -    character of parents. 163
Artist faculty in preaching.  9  —'s stirring times of boy- 164
Art and Carlyle..176    hood...164
-    and Ruskin.    176  -- two instincts of age. 165
-- needed for the pulpit. 424         conversion of.         166
-    of public speaking. 140  -- power over others. 166
-   of feebleness..318  --  enters Citeaux-mon-  perfectness.         430    astic reformer; severe auAthanasius and Calvin. 107    sterities..        167
-- of Judea. the.. 76          love  of nature-beAudiences, two.. 47    comes abbot. 168
Augustine, St.                       -  in  the  Valley  of
style characterized      109    Wormwood —  builds the
-   the  life  made  the            Abbey of Clairvaux; despreacher..      110    cription of.    169
-   passionate  love  of        -    and William of Chambeauty.               110    peaux..        170
-  confessions quoted.110          literary labors.. 172
-   source of wealth to                an age of miracles. 173
the Puritans.. 110  -     travels; visits Paris, 
the Mote in the sun-           impeaches  the  monks;
beam...    111     splendor of the church. 174
-    Moule's estimate, of. 111        exhortation  to  the
— depth and clearness of            Knight Templars. 177
vision..        112        arbiter between popes 179
-- St Paul, and compared  94  Songs of Solomon, illustraAuthor's method of using            tions of... 182
sacred images, the. 322         death of brother, sorAwfulness of preaching, the 290    row for Gerard.. 190
funeral sermon  for
Backwood preachers. 30     Gerard. 191
- bishops..  3   -     Abelard, and.. 193
Basil, first orator of the        -- preaches a crusade. 194
Church... 108        death                   195
-     St., legend of.. 128   Berridge, John: —
Bartholomew, and.. 208  -    characteristics.. 275
Bathos reproved.        145  — epitaph.. 276
Beauty of morning, the. 64  — Sergeant If.. 76
Beautiful garden, the. 389  Be thankful.. 238
Believe in Christ..73  Boiling water.         43
Begetting, a new.  244  Book of Leviticus, the. 291
Beginning of a sermon, the 152  Books, use of. 294
Beelzebub and his Hogs. 257  Bold French preacher, a. 21
Bernard,   St.,  mediaeval        Boundless loving kindness 119
preacher.      162-195  Bossuet, preaching of. 208
-  Foremost man of his            -     Luther contrasted, and 387
age..        162  Bow in the clouds, the. 258
--  Elijah of Europe, the 162  Burden of Babylon, the. 83




436    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
Page                             Page
Burden of Egypt, the. 84  Christianity and Paganism. 223
--  Tyre... 85  -- success of. 104
Burial rites...131  Church and State..113
Bathos, specimens of. 315  -- a power in dark ages. 114
-  of Bellew, J. C.. 316    ~ Legends
Bradbury (Bold Tom). 283    Council of Nice.. 72
wit and humor of. 283    St. Basil..       12~
- sins; sermon on Queen           Devil and Saint.. 74
Anne; dislike of Watt's        -    Frater Diabolus. 149
hymns...284  -- Holy Child Jesus. 147
Bright poker, the.  311              Spiridion, the shepButler's Analogy.                  herd...73
-    does it satisfy?. 297  Chrysostom. St.
-    Martineau, James, on. 297  -- birth and parentage. 115
--   Macintosh, Sir J., on. 298  -   Mother's character. 115
-- Pitt, William.. 298  -    studies rhetoric. 115
Schedel on..298  -- Master's regret. 115
-    Hennell, Miss.. 298  -- Augustine's conversion 116
starting point.. 300   -  determines to abandon
character of.         299    the world.116
Byron, and Lake Leman. 336          Mother's entreaties, her
death... 116
Calais Lighthouse.. 72  -- becomes a monk, a herCalvin and Athanasius. 107    mit... 117
Carlyle and the fine arts. 176  -- ordination, an orator. 117
Cartwright, Peter, charac-      -   revolt of Antioch, desteristics of. 263    ecration of the statues,
compared with South 263    fear in the city.118
Caturce, Master, Story of. 22  --  an appeal to the Em-   and the Dominican. 22    peror... 118
-    conduct before judges;      -    orations on the statues 119
death.        23   -  quotations from. 119
Caxtoniana, quotation from 399         Bishop of ConstantinoCharacteristics, Andrewe's,       ple...120
and style..   243  --'s secret departure, a
-    Donne's, Dr., and style 245    social reformer.   121
-    Herbert, George, of. 14    -'s enemies; Synod of
- Keble, William. 14    the oak; 46 charges. 122
-  Puritan, Adams. 230  -- heroism, "What can I
-        "  works. 248    fear"... 123
Some old sermons. 252  --  banishment; tumult
-    Hebrew poetry. 51    of the people.    124
Chapel and theatre. 208  --  return, Gibbon's desChrist, birth of.. 242    cription... 124
— conqueror, the.         243    - offends the Empress. 125
-- His own evidence. 92            second  banishment;
- how will come. 92    destruction of the Cathe-    in the lonely cell. 143    dral...126
Christians, cold.. 322  -- a wanderer, etc..127
-  must fly.. 323    -  Legend of St. Basil;
Rufus, a.        163    death... 128




Index.                        437
Page                             Page
Chrysostom's St., body tak-      De la Croix condemned to
ento Constantinople, char-       death, preaching.  18
acter of his works. 129  passion of the cross.18
illustrations of    129-135  -- at Lyons.. 18
his eloquence..131        taken to Paris, torture  19
power of his genius. 134  -    preaching at the stake  20
faithfulness in preach-          martyrdom.. 20
ing... 135  Delights of life..106
personal appearance. 136  Design, no proof of God's
compared  with  St.          wisdom.302
Paul... 137  Desecration of the Statues 118
Cinque ports of Mansoul. 40  Demosthenes..387
Clement's style, illustration    Despise not youth.. 71
of.... 105  Devils at Augsburg      - -388
Clouds...245  Development of Isaiahan
Cluster of worthies, a. 220    ideas      -     -. 87
Commentator Trapp. 220  Diction and style   -. 383
Course sermons.. 259  Disappointment in printed
Complex ideas.     61    sermons    -       -. 419
Consciousness.        42  Division of a sermon. 236
Conscience, peace with. 205  Dust       -       -. 235
Copiousness of fancy. 203  Earnestness, power of. 73
Conviction, power of. 397   -  how to gain.. 427
Council of Troyes..177  Earthen vessel, the..   16
Crisis of life..50  Eagle, image of the.. 321
Critical audience, the. 47  Education dependent on the
Crosses, crosses.      194    man.        375
Crusades, enthusiasm for. 164   -  Backwood preachers, of 32
Strange army for. 178  Educate sympathy. 385
Culture, culture..45  Effects of a verse.. 292
Edwards, Jonathan..35
Dante of Judeea, the        77  — s' theology and preaching 36
David's service.. 267  — wonderful sermon. 377
Dawson, William-                 Eloquence—'s method and power 12    Dawson's, William. 12
-- Punch in the pulpit. 283    Chrysostom, St... 129
-  power over vast audi-           Defined... 397
ences.        284    Is mind in motion. 397
Darning-needle, the. 311    Not without culture. 46
Dark-lantern, the..334    Of Prettiness.   396
Death consequent on sin.413    Shopkeeping, style of. 209
-- cruelty of.   190    Test of tears, proof of. 45
-- spiritual.. 416  Emotion translated by sceuniversal.    417    nery... 336
Deborah, song of.    76  Entering the port.. 365
Decoration of the pitcher     33  Eudoxia, Empress.. 125
Definition of a man.71  Evangelical prophet, the. 77
of a sermon.   227  Evans, ChristmasDe la Croix, Alexander.18  -    birth and parentage;
-   a Friar, leaves Roman-         early years; poverty and
ism.... 18    toil; surrounded by de



438    "Lamps, Pitchers, and'Trmpets.
Page                               Page
praving influences; sub-         Foundation of success, the. 378
ject to religions impres-         -   varieties of preaching. 364
sions.. 341   Fox, George... 10
Evans, Christmas, learns to        Frater Diabolus.. 149
read; goes to school; cru-       Francois de Sales, quotation
elty of his companions. 342    from... 423
— remarkable dream; tena-          Free Speech in the Church. 197
cious memory; first efforts     French Refugee, the. 320
at preaching.     343   Friar preachers, great. 151
— painful Christian expe-          -    results of their preachrience; marriage; charac-          ing... 20
ter of Mrs. Evans.. 344  Functions of humour. 251
--  removal to Anglesea;           Fueral sermon, a.. 191
salary... 345  Gideon, history of.. 7
— journey to South Wales           Glorious song, a.. 242
change in preaching; won-        Goads and nails.. 45
derful results..346  God, all in all. 123
— deep spiritual life. 347  -- arranger of all things. 407
- solemn covenant with                  boundless loving-kindGod..       349      ness of.. 119
— character of his ser-            --  Divine power of. 105
mons... 351    -   dethroned by modern
Bunyan  of  Wales;               Pantheists.  303
master of personification. 352  in a circle.. 246
-- remarkable dreams. 353  — judgments of.. 266
--  illustration   of  me-              paints in oil.    293
thod.. 348-366  providence in history. 86
-- characteristics of preach-           our protector.        411
ing... 367   -   righteousness of. 326
-- another covenant with           Good swimmer needed, a. 28
God.    371  Gospel mould, the.. 353
— last sermon-drive on. 373    Milch cow, a.    280
Excellences of the Puritans. 227  Gousset's method with texts 320
Exile, return from.. 134  Graduates of Brush College  30
Great Friar Preachers. 151
Fable of the cukoo and                  their aim.        152
nightingale.    260  Gratitude among friends. 264
Faults and beauties of Mul-        Guizot quoted.. 301
lois...390  Hanging the devil.. 289
Fancy, copiousness of. 203  Harangues of Napoleon. 423
Fashionable preacher, the. 279  Harms' three L's.. 422
Fathers of the Early Church 113  Hearer and reader..293
Fear not.        411  Hearers' suspicions.. 395
Fellows of Swamp University 30    Must understand.. 384
Feet of God, the..184  Heaven, written in.. 241
Fiction beneficial for teach       Hebrews, a nation of proers... 309    phets, the... 75
Fill up the cask.. 421  -     Isaiah sublimest of. 77
Filthy sermons.. 259       prophet's mission, the   76
Five gates of Mansoul. 40  -     poetry...51
Fluvio... 380  "He kens about leather". 385




Index.                         439
Page                             Page
Hell, pictures of.149, 156  Ignorance and preaching. 378
Henry I. and St. Bernard. 180  IllustrationsHerder's  definition  of a          Guthrie, Dr. use of. 334
sermon... 227    On the use of..335
Hibbard, Billy.. 31    How to use them.. 336
Hind let loose, the.. 204    Worth of...308
History, study of God, the. 86    Of the dark lantern, an. 334
of the Church.. 104    Fog and the Silver Sea. 334
- free speech, of.. 196    Regalia, the.. 334
High models, have..377  Illustrations of styleHill, Rowland..280    Afflictions..   239
Hall's estimate of. 281       Of the righteous. 55
Illustration of humour 282    Almost a Christian. 75
How to free the spirit. 45    Beam, the.,. 366
Puritans treated  the           Be thankful.   238
Bible... 213    Boundless loving-kindness 119
-     we know men exist. 302    Burial rites.. 131
Horace, aphorisms from 378,         Christ, birth of.. 242
378, 418,423, 428         Conqueror.. 243
House, an allegory, the. 296    -   the cedar of Lebanon 358
Humour-                            Clouds.. 245
Functions of.. 251    Delights of life..106
Antony's of Vieyra. 268    Devils at Augsburg. 388
Berridge, John.. 275    David's service.. 268
Bradbury's.. 283    Duty of praise.    108
Hill's, Rowland.. 280    Dust.... 235
Dawson's W...274    Entering the port. 365
Kruber, Jacob.. 277    Exile's return, the. 192
Sancta Clara.. 273    Fashionable preacher, the 279
Illustrations of                  " Fear not".. 411
Beelzebub and his Hogs 257    Feet of God, the.. 184
Carnifex and Robinson. 288    Funeral Sermon, a. 190
God and His only Son. 283     God in a circle.. 246
Gospel, a milch cow, the 280    -   " All ii! all".. 183
Devil's devices.. 282         judgments of. 263
Fashionable preacher. 277      -   without..207
Fine Preaching.. 282    - of peace.. 206
Old Jemmy's discourse. 253's work and means. 105
Prodigal son..273    Glorious song, a.. 242
Professor and sow. 281    Gospel mould, the. 353
Sermon to fishes. 268    Heaven written in. 23 
Before a king. 264    Hind let loose.. 204
Way to serve misers. 281      -    of the morning. 359
"We shall be like him" 287    Jericho, fall of..158
Welsh preachers. 255    Journey  of the young
Coarse.. 252    Child.        362
Profane..   262    Kirjath Sepher.    223
Jacob began to wrestle 262    Life a structure.. 406
"Me and my house". 263    " Many called'.. 140
Romanist's discourse. 258    Man in the steel house. 3*4
Simple, John..261    My grace sufficient. 404




440    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
Page                             Page
Illustrations of Style, cont'd   Jericho, fall of..158
Mysterious packet. 356  Jonah in the whale.. 14
Modern Pharisee.. 383  Joseph yet alive..143
New begetting..244
Palace of Abraham. 132  Kedar, tents of..188
Pictures of Hell.. 156  King and Harpist..40
Peace with conscience. 205  Kirjath-Sepher.   223
Prodigal Son, the. 273  Kite and Mr. Caxton, the. 321
Psalmody... 108  Knight Templars, exhortaSermon to fishes, a. 268    tion to.        177
Salvation of the thief. 129  Knowledge of medieval serSay well, do well.. 198    mons...138
Sin the cause of death. 415  Kruber, Jacob, anecdotes of. 30
Skin for a skin.. 63
Such a voice..234  Lamartine on the pulpit. 393
Soul's flight.   161  Language, nature of.  8
" Take thou thy son". 241  Lamps, &c., of the early
Tents of Kedar.. 188    Church.        103
Wise men of the East. 15          Jewish Church. 75
Imagination-                     Last of the Fathers.. 195
Use and abuse of., 334  Law of parables.   308
Real use of.. 335  Learned sermons, folly of. 285
What is..       332  Legends of the Church 72, 73, 74,
Window, a.  333                       128, 147, 149.
Seizes the innermost. 296  Letter without direction, the 382
When most powerful. 251  Let us be thankful.. 238
Improvement in Sermons 410  Limitations  of  trumpet
Instincts, the two.. 165    power... 10
— for souls, the.. 26  Little bird's sermon, a. 314
Intellect and will..43  Live for Christ.   408
Invincible Armada, the. 52  Logic, the, harness of. 36
Inutility of sermons, the. 392  Logical impossibility, DiIsaiah-                            vine possibility.. 37
-   sublimest prophet, the  77  Look high and aim high. 377
-    Dante of Judaea, the. 77  Luther's Letter to Johnny. 389
- model preacher, a.77
evangelical  prophet,       Macaulay's Spanish Armada  52
the.... 77  Madness of preaching friars 142
centre of philosophy,  78  Magnetic power of great lives 91
what the future reveal-     Man and God's work. 105
ed to..79  -   seeketh wisdom. 43's vision in the temple. 80    -  unstable, an.   231
-'s burden typical. 83  -'s nature  determines's ideas developing. 87    moral analogies,. 304
-    pathos of..88          soul a captive king. 42
-    comprehensiveness of. 89  Manshire, subjects of       ~ 215
Mansoul, town of.         39
Jacob wrestling..262  --    waking people in the. 41
Jesus flavouring mediaeval       " Many called, few chosen". 140
sermons... 143  Martineau on Butler's AnaJeremiadizing.. 35    logy.. 297




Index.                        441
Pa                               Page
Martyrdom of De la Croix.  0  Old Jemmy, preaching of. 252
--   Caturce, Master. 23  Old Jemmy's discourse. 253
Maxey, Antony.  204  Orator, virtue of the. 429
Meanness and grossness. 274  Ostentatious man, the. 34
Mediate for souls.. 74
Mediaeval preachers.. 138  Paint your ideas   ~. 309
-   records, unattainable of 138  Painter and preacher. 23
-    works on.. 139  Painter's materials, the. 293
bathos... 145  Parable the:Men and their age.. 139    Pagan maxim, a.. 377
Metaphysical sermons. 285    Beauty and power of. 308
Methodism... 24    And personification. 310
- romance of.. 24    A spoken picture.. 311
-  heroism. 25    Goethe delighted to use. 309
American.. 27   -Great teachers use. 308
Microcosm sermons.. 219    Law of.        309
Mind, what may awaken the  42    Power of Bunyan, the. 309
Minister as a professor, the. 376    Popularity of Evans, the. 309
criticism on a.. 423    In the pulpit..314
a light-house keeper,           Place and power of. 312
the.... 72    Used by all nations. 310
Modern Pharisee..383    Cuckoo and nightingale. 260
Monastic reformer.. 137    Darning-needle, of the. 311
Moral analogies.. 304    Kite, the... 313
Motto for the pulpit.421    Abraham and the stranger,
for a sneerer..391         of...314
Moses a prophet.. 76    Bird's sermon, the. 315
Mullois, Abb6, pleas for           Journey of the young child 362
brevity... 426  Parables, diagrams of theology...309
Names, unknown.           197  - for the pulpit.  146, 313
Napoleon's intended inva-        Parsons, James, charactersion.        54    istics of..        413
Nationality of Hebrew poet-      -   art of natural symmetry 418
ry..               51  -    style..        418
Natural symmetry in ser          Passion of the Cross. 12
mons..        410  Pastor, a shepherd, the. 144
Nature, symbolic.        314  -     provided for.. 260
-    how our Lordregarded 304  Paul, St.:Neander quoted.. 104  -   epic hero of the Church  91
— ~'s works.. 189     - manifold powers of. 91
Nelson's, John, sublime affec-     -character of.           92
tion..        27   -  power of reasoning. 93
Nervousness, pulpit power. 399  -- unaccountableness of. 93
Nil Admirari.. 377        Augustine and. 94
Neibuhr, quoted.. 104   — intense ardour.. 95
Nothing to say, and no sub-     -- epistles, character of. 95
ject... 384  - a man for sceptics. 96
an  evidence  of the
Object of Lecture I...  9    Christian system.. 96
Obtaining smoke from light 418    -  St. Bernard and. 97




442    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
Page                             Page
Christian System, contin'd     Preacher, the, must be an
-  the aged. 98    artist...  9
-    comprehensiveness of         -  metaphysical.. 32
character... 98    -  quotation from.. 36
--  touched three civiliza-           preliminaries  in the
zations... 99    vocation of.. 43
-    courage and tact. 100       respect for.    392
shipwreck.   100        sacred pathologist, a. 403
— defence before Felix. 100         should be national. 53
--  craving  for personal             true work of.. 208
sympathy... 100       souls, for..44
-    various estimates of. 101     - Wormwood Valley, in  183
Jowett's, Stanley's and       Preacher's vocation.. 39
Newman's.. 102  - queer day's work, a. 66
Personal Application. 253   -model in the prophets. 49
Perspiration for inspiration   47  Preachers, great Friar, 196
Pitcher, embellishments of             mediaeval.. 138
the.                     33         -- little known. 138
Philosophic carpenter, the. 286      versus singers.. 418
Physical suffering. 404  Preaching, Artist faculty in   9
Playfere, Thomas, character-     -   Aretinus's..153
istics of... 198  - Art of...45
Poetry, two stages of. 48  -    Berthold of Ratisbon. 151
- of passion, the. 49        Bernardine of Sienna. 151
of culture, the.. 49  -    Bossuet's.. 208
Polyramus... 379  -    Caturce's master.22
Potter's Sacred Eloquence   430  — conscience to the 8, 46, 401
Power of Great Mountains            -Corvino's, John. 151
the.        326      Chalmers', Dr... 333
Prayer of an ancient bishop 307  -- effects of unwise. 380
Praying and working in-          -- Evans, Christmas.366
stinct...165  -    experience to..  8
Preacher, the, an awakener       — faithfulness in.. 135
of conscience.    11, 75  — four varieties of. 364
an instructor. 47  -- foolish, of great men. 262
-    a builder of life. 150       Francis, St...153
-    a pitcher.         8         Friars' madness in. 142
-  a lamp... 13  — great social influence, a. 113
-  a trumpet.. 10  — harangue, method of. 380
- bold French, a.. 21  — intellect, to the..  8
-     Backwood.        30  — James I. day, in.241
dangers of.       25, 28  — Jerome's.. 153
every, a Blondel. 41  — Luther's maxims in. 423
-  feeling the pulse of his          Neri, Philip.. 152
hearers...405  -    no art necessary in. 44
- for the poor.. 35  -painful...215
no posthumousfame for 418  - Paul at Athens, of.316
model, the.. 77  — Padua's, Anthony, of. 152
must say well and do          — Robinson's, Robert. 64
well...198  — Roco's, Fra.. 153
making a cold.. 323  — Smith's Henry.. 25




Index.                         443
Page                              Page
Preaching, Scriptural. 140  Pulpit, the- continued
-- surprise power in. 11    Wit, humor, and coarse-- tendency to blaspheme              ness in... 249
in... 260
— true methods of. 379    Worthlessnesss of. 25
-- to people..46    Diffuseness of the.. 215
-   various styles of. 379    Modern Divines, and. 214
--  verbose...381    Method with the Bible   213
-— Whitefield's..37    Mystics.. 222
-    "  rule in..422    Queer oddities of the. 217
Precision... 88    Sermons microcosms. 219
Priest and layman..70    Treasures of mystical Di
Principles versus prejudices  70      vinity...223
Prodigal Son, the.. 273    Well-bottomed men. 218
Prophet, a Divine institution,      Works, were preached. 222
the...76  Puritan worthies, defects and
Prophets, Hebrew..75    excellencies of.    227
Protestantism, ages of the        Puritanical sermon, fate of a 213
press... 196
-    birth of Puritanism. 197  Queer day's-work..66
— history of Free Speech 196  Quiet resting-places quoted  404
Psalmody... 108  Quirks  and  quiddities  of
Pugilism versus Christianity 264    speech... 217
Publican and Pharisee. 289
Pulpit, the-                      Radiation and vibration. 12
Andersen, Hans C., in. 120  Raleigh, Dr. Alexander        398
Code of law for.. 392  Rationalism... 112
Droll of... 273  Reason and speech.,  8
Freaks of speech in. 290  Reader and hearer.. 293
Freedom needed in. 292  Rhetoric, flower of.. 107
Humanity needed in. 293  Richard I. and Blondel. 40
Light in dark ages, a. 139  Right spirit, the..50
Literature of.. 292  Ringing changes on a word 235
— humorous.. 292  Robinson, Robert:Means of education, a. 293  — early life. 59
Monographs 91, 113, 162, 229  — style, 53-satire. 60
339  --  obscurity 55, conversion  62
Mottoes for..418-422  — teaches; studies. 62
Men of St. Paul's Cross. 283  -- compared with Beveridge 62
Parables in.. 146  -- thorough Dissenter. 62
Protestant.. 196  — ridicules Church forms. 63
- twofold energies of. 197  -- Expositions of ScripPunch of... 285    ture... 63
Reformer.. 156   -  skin for a skin..63
Repertory of anecdote, a   290  --  Praising  God in  the
Romance of.     17, 23    morning... 64
— Methodism. 24  -    singular day's work. 66
American.. 24   -- traits of character. 69
" preachers. 25  — death 63-style. 69
Versus Art.. 26  Romance of the pulpit. 17
Times newspaper, a. 285  -- Methodism.. 28




444    Lamps, Pitchers, and Trumpets.
Page                             Page
Romance, Methodism, Ame-         Song, glorious, a..242
rican.               30  Soul's flight..    161
Rude Clergyman, The. 60  — how to reach.  70
Ruskin and Art..176  South, Robert.. 264
characteristics.. 266
Sad reflection, a.     413  -     estimate of the PuriSay well and do well. 198    tans.. 268
Scriptures one great argu-       Source of obscurity, a. 431
ment.        323  Spanish Armada, the. 52
Schleirmacher quoted.67  Speech, element of successful 426
Secular and spiritual knight-     -  power of.         23
hood... 23  - teaches us what  44
Self-denial necessary.291  Spectator, quotation from. 391
Sergeant If...276  Speculative and practical life 186
Sermons:                         Spirit, a captive, being, the  37
Anthony Maxey, of. 205  Spirit, the essential part of. 386
Age for printing.        415  Spirit, how to fire the. 55
Bede, of..       139  - of the world..50
Before a king.    264       of the prophets. 51
Brevity in.    423  Spiritual Joe Miller, a. 153
Coarse..       259  Stanley's  Jewish  Church,
Definition of.       227    quotations from.. 50
Delivered, more powerful. 26  Strange causading army. 178
Filthy.        259  Strength of stateliness. 226
Francois, St., pleas for. 423  Style:Improvement in.   410    Adams', Puritan.          231
Natural symmetry of. 410    Andrewes', Bishop       14, 237
Old John Stoughton's. 205    Antony of Vieyra.. 268
Parsons' James.        414    Athanasius's.   106
Printed...419    Augustine's, St... 111
Some old...246    Bernard's St..   183
Should be plain.    425    Basil's, St..    108
Should be, what. 422    Bernard's, Richard. 215
Trifle..         49    Cause of, powerless. 383
Three truths for.. 422    Clemen's..        105
What the music is of. 424    Chrysostom's St..         119
Sin, punishment of.    417    Colloquial, the.   383
Segneri, Father                    Dawson's, William.14
- inflamed with mission-           Diction and..382
ary ardor..    155    Everard's, John.   223
-  a recluse.    155    Evans', Christmas.       351
home missionary. 156    Every man makes his. 226
pulpit reformer. 156    Formation of. 375
earnestness.. 156    Kruber's, Jacob. 277
- -hell a reality to. 156    Luther's.. 387
an Italian Whitefield. 161    Maclaren's... 382
Shakespeare of the Puritans,       May be too good.. 384
the..                   229    Origen's.         105
Skin for a skin..63    Oil upon marble. 381
Smith and Robinson corn-           Playfere's, Thomas. 199
pared... 58    Precision in..  383




Index.                        445
Page                             Page
Parish pump.. 288  Truths neglected.        334
Parsons, James.        417  Trumpets of the Church.10
Robinson's, Robert. 63  -- purposes of                11
South's, Robert..265  Two audiences, the.. 47
Sancta's, Clara..273
Shopkeeping.. 210  Universality  of  arrangeSegneri's, Father.       155    ment... 325
Stoughton's, John. 205  Unity of God-Isaiah's phi" Sling-and stone". 380   losophy... 78
Smith's, Henry.. 55  Unpolished audience, the. 48
Sterry's, Peter..226  Use of books and speech. 294
Tertullian's..106  — trumpets.. 11
Trapp's, Commentator, 221  Unstable man, the.. 292
Studying the Fathers, motives for... 106  Valley of Wormwood, the. 169
Sublime affection.     26  Various agencies of death.416
Subjective and objective. 44  Vase and the pitcher. 17
Such a voice..       234  Vibration and Radiation. 11
Success is gained, how. 385  Vocation of the preacher. 39
Suffering, varieties of. 405  — to  arrest souls.. 73
Surprise power, the.       11  -    with souls..44
Sursum Corda.. 21  Voice; such a..234
Sympathy essential to success... 401  What modern divines are
lacking... 214
" Take now thy son ". 241  Where to get a suit.. 210
Taste, improved, in sermons 250  Way of an eagle in the air. 321
Tears, test of.. 45  What colleges fit students
Tedious preaching.        215    for..         392
Test of penitence.    153  What makes mind?.. 42
Theatre and chapel.. 208  Well-bottomed men.. 218
Thief, salvation of the. 130  Welsh preacher, story of a. 255
Theremin, on the orator. 395  Wife like a ship, a.. 210
Thought, modern..300  Wit, humor, and coarseness 248
Times of James I., preaching     Wisdom sought through dein the..        241    sir... 43
Three methods of sowing. 378  Words, absurd use of. 33
Tongue, the... 237  - awakened Protestanism
Trapp, John                        of....208
-  characteristics of style. 220  Words, furnish yourmemory
compared  with  Mat-          with..      3.75
thew Henry.   220  - power of.    8, 376
-- how he treated, Scrip-        -   prophets, of the. 75
ture.. 220  — proper use of.. 376
- and modern Bible critics 221       what are..'76
-- languageof..221         study... 376
Orma's criticism on. 222       take care of.. 44
Truth makes eloquence, the 395  Word painting. 333
Truths learned too late. 334  Worth of illustration. 308




INDEX OF TEXTS REFERRED TO.
Page                                 Page
Genesis, iii., 19.. 285  Isaiah lv.,..         74
- ix., 13...258  Jeremiah, x., 24..157
xxii., 2... 240  Ezekiel, x., 14..323
xlv., 26..143        xxxii., 32.        197
xlix., 21... 55  Matthew, iii., 3..10
-     xlix., 21..  204           xi., 15...    103
Exodus, iv., 11.. 76       xiii., 34... 309
Joshua, vi., 16. 160        xii., 43..      367
Judges, v., 30..  52        xiii., 45.. 212
v., 31.. 55        xx.,16... 140
vii., 17,22,.   7       xxv., 46..357
2 Samuel, xxii., 16.. 329  Mark, xvi., 16.. 256
2 Kings, xviii., 36.. 289  Luke, xxiii., 43.. 129
Esther, vii., 9..288  John, St., iii., 12.     305
Job, ii., 4.. 63         iv., 11...
xxxix., 27-29.. 324       viii., 31... 283
Psalms, v., 3... 65        vii., 24... 61
xvi., 7... 131      xiv., 15... 334
xix., 1... 64        xiv., 22... 334
xix., 5... 185  Acts, i,7..         158
xxii., 1... 359       viii., 30... 211
xxx., 6... 326       xxvi., 8... 56
xxxiv., 15.. 46  Romans, v., 12.. 415
xxxvi., 7.. 131       vi., 24... 189
xlv., 1... 37        viii., 35... 161
xlv., 13... 206       viii., 39... 354
lviii., 11... 178  1 Corinthians, iii., 10. 295
lxxvii., 10.. 328  2      ii., 11... 282
lxxvii., 13.. 267  2     ii., 13... 101
lxxxiii., 4..54  2        iv., 8... 325
lxxxiii,7.. 53  2       iv., 7...   8
lxxxvii., 1.. 330  2      xii., 9... 404
lxxxvii., 3.. 161  Ephesians, ii., 20.. 295
xciv., 2..     151       iv., 21...196
ciii., 4..      17  Philippians, i., 21.. 123
cxviii., 6.. 130       iii., 8... 95
Proverbs xxxi. 14..20  1 Thessalonians vi., 3. 160
viii., 1..      43  1 Timothy, iv., 1.. 22
ii.,8...359  1       iv., 12... 71
iv.,2...223  2        ii., 15..       97
Ecclesiastes, xii., 2..45  Hebrews, iii., 14.. 277
Songs of Solomon, i., 5. 188  James, i., 21.. 277
Isaiah, i., 18.. 50  1 Peter, iv., 7.. 68
ii.,5...79  2       iii.,8.. 78
xiii., 12... 85  2       i.,11.365
xxx., 13... 160  1 John, ii., 24. 277
xl., 2... 14  Revelation, i., 18. 411
xl., 8...88         iv.,   7;.        323
i., 14,... 41
446




INDEX OF NAMES REFERRED TO.
Antonio (of Vieyra), 142, 144, Berkeley, Bishop, 296
267, 272                      Berridge, John, 274. 275
Aquinas, Thomas, 232            Berthold, 151
Arcadius, Emperor, 128          Blake, Robert, 24
Arkwright, Sir R., 59           Blondel, 40
Arius, 72                       Bolingbroke, Lord, 387
Arnold, Dr., 15                 Bogue, Dr., 280
Ashbury, Bishop, 28, 29, 31     Bonaventura, 143
Athanasius, 106, 107            Bossuet, 208, 387
Augustine, St., 45, 90, 109, 136, Bostwick, Dr., 31
232, 308                      Boyd, A. K. H., 410
Austin, William, 208            Boyle, Robert, 301
Adelbart, St., 151              Bradbury, Thomas, 283, 284
Abelard, Peter, 166, 193        Bridges, Rev. Charles, 46
Adams, Thomas, 228, 229, 237, Brooks, Thomas, 227
245, 246, 248                 Brooks, Mr., 133
Alderson, Baron, 305            Brown, Bishop, 297
Alfred, King, 97                Brown, Dr. John, 333
Alexander, Dr. James, 421       Browne, Sir T., 236
Alexander, King, 98             Brougham, Lord, 387, 426
Andersen, Hans C., 146          Browning, Robert, 16
Andrewes, Bishop, 13, 238, 246    Brummel, Beau, 248
Anacletus II, Pope, 179         Buchanan, Dr., 301
Angus, Dr., 229. 230            Burleigh, Lord, 55
Anthony St., 143, 151           Bunyan, John, 350, 366
Burgess, J., 257
Bacon, Lord, 247, 309           Burgundy, Duke of, 164
Barrow, Isaac, 226, 228         Butler, Bishop, 297, 298, 299
Basil, St., 108, 107, 106, 128  Byron, Lord, 336
Barton, Dr. 297
Baxter, Richard, 91             Calvin, 69, 106
Bede, 136                       Carlyle, Thomas, 176
Beecher, Henry Ward, 294        Cartwright, Peter, 263
Bellew, Rev. J. C. M., 316, 319    Caturce, Master, 22
Bellamy, Dr., 421               Cervantes, 268
Bernardine, St., 152, 153       Chalmers, Dr., 333
Bernard, R., 215                Charles I, 204
Bernard, St., 145, 162,164, 165, Chatham, Earl, 387,426
166, 167,168,169, 170-195, 418  Charlemagne, 98
(447)




448          Index of NVames deferred to.
Chrysostom, St., 104, 105, 106, Foster, John, 333
109, 110, 114 116, 117, 118, Fox, C. J., 70
120, 121, 126, 129, 131, 136,       G., 10
155                            Francis of Assisse, 142
Cicero, 75                       Franklin, Dr. B., 292
Clayton, John, 382               Fuller, Thomas, 55
Clemens, 105
Cobbett, W., 59                  Gall, St., 151
Coleridge, S. T., 33, 333        Gattv, Mrs., 146, 309
Colet, Dean, 285                 Gerund, Friar, 290
Columbus, 300                    Gibbon, W., 109, 121
Compte, 304                      Gill, Dr., 62
Constantine, Emperor, 113, 120   Goethe, 309
Corvino, John, 151               Goodman, Godfrey, 227
Coster, Francis, 146             Gouge, Thomas, 220
Cowper, W., 220                  Gould, Baring, 138, 139, 140,
Cromwell, 0., 264                  146
Cross, Mr., 341, 367             Gousset, Father, 321
Gregory, Nazianzen, 104,108,154
D'Aubigne, 22                    Grosart, 218
D'Alembert, 397                  Grote, 86
Dawson, W., 12, 283, 284         Guthrie, Dr., 334
Davies, Daniel, 341              Guarric of Igniac, 143
Deborah, 52, 76                  Guizot, M., 385, 401
De Janson (Cardinal) 258
De la Croix, (Alex.) 18          Hall, Robert, 59, 61, 374, 426
Delitzsch, 213                   Hallam, H, 387
Demosthenes, 13, 75, 98, 426     Hamilton, Dr. James, 307
Dionysius, 93                    Harding, Stephen, 167
De Sales, St. Francis. 423, 429    Harvey, 300
Dickens, (Charles), 338          Haydon, 24
Digby, Kenelm, 139               Hegel, 35, 299, 303
Donne, Dr., 209, 241, 245, 247   Heloise, 193
Hengstenberg, 213
Earle, Bishop, 231               Hennel, Miss, 298, 299
Ebrard, 213                      Henry I., 180
Echard, 209                           M., 110, 220,
Edwards, Dr., 384                Herbert, G., 14, 91, 229, 237
Jonathan, 35, 93, 309,398    Hibbard, W., 31
Elton, Edward, 220               Hill, Rowland, 278, 280, 281, 431
Eudoxia, Empress, 125,           Hitchcock, Pro., 302
Evans, Christmas, 309, 313, 338, Homer, 332
339-374                        Honrious, II, (Pope) 178
Everard, Dr., 93, 223            Hooker, Richard, 91, 196, 226
Ewald, 213                            Herman, 410
Ezekiel, 196                     Hooper, H., 196
Horace, 48, 377,378 391,418, 425,
Flavianus, 118                     430
Flavella, Empress, 118           Howson, Dr.. 96,101
Frederick II, 152                Hume, David, 192, 298, 299
Forster, Dr., 299                Huntingdon, Lady, 27




Index of Names Referred to.    449
Innocent, II, (Pope), 179, 181  Milman, Dean, 121,122, 142
Irving, Edward, 106, 385, 420    Milton, John, 226
Monica, 109, 115
Jacobi, 71                      Morison, J. C., 186
James, I, 209                   Moule, Horace, 103, 111
James John, Angell, 72          Montague, Sir H., 230
Jay, William, 283               Mullois, Abbe, 390, 392, 395,
Jermin, Michael, 220              418
Jerrold, Douglas, 311
Jerome, St., 153                Napoleon, 54, 332
Johnson, Dr., 369, 422          Neale, Dr., 138, 140
Jones, Theophilus, 282          Neander, Dr., 104, 139
Jowett, Pro.,0ll, 102           Nelson, Admiral, 54
Julian, Emperor, 108            Nelson, John, 27
Neri, Philip 152
Keble, John, 14                 Ness, Christopher, 220
Keene, Henry, 66                Newman, Dr., 102, 107
Kempis, Thomas a., 152          Nicolay, Bishop, 72
Knox, John, 91                  Newton, John, 37
Keil, 213                       Newton, Sir Isaac., 300
Kruber, Jacob, 30, 31           Niebuhr, 86
Notley, Richard, 34
Lamartine, A., 393
Lange, 213                      Olshausen, 215
Latimer, Bishop, 91, 197, 313   Opie, Mr., 377
Laud, Archbishop, 247           Orme W., 222
La Touche, Treville, Admiral, 54 Origen, 105
Lenz, Dr., 151                 Overbury, 231
Lewis, 341
Leopold, I, 273                          
Libanius, 115                  Pr  D   369
Libaniughtfoot, 214            Parr, Elnathan, 220
Louis, VII, 194                Parsons, James, 415
Louis, XIlI, 208               Paley, W., 96, 302
Louis, XIV, 387, 418           Paul, St., 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97
Luther, 91, 387,423              98. 101
Lytton, Lord, 399              Pepys, 248
Pericles, 75
Mackintosh, Sir, J., 298       Pitt, W., 298
Macaulay, Lord, 52             Pilo,, M., 297
Maclaren, 381                  Playfere, Thomas, 197, 198
Mansell, Professor, 303        Pluch6, 286
Maitland, Dr., 140             Plutarch, 208
Martineau, J., 297             Pocock, 214
Massillon, 426                 Priestly, Dr., 69
Maxey, (Anthony), 204          Pulsford, John, 314
Maurus, Rabinius, 140
Maximian, Emperor, 128         Queen Anne, 284
Mentz, Archbishop, 140         Queen Elizabeth, 208, 30
Melville, Henry, 323           Quevedo, 268
Milburn, H., 252               Quintilian, 384




45o         Index of Names Referred to.
Raleigh, Sir W., 247            Strickland, W. P., 249
Raleigh, Dr., 398, 404          Sterling, 23
Ramsay, Dean, 283               Stevens, Dr. Abel, 24, 25
Rawlin, J., 146                 Stephen, Dr. Rhys, 341
Rees, Gabriel, 347              Stephenson, G., 199, 300, 305
Reeves, 133                     Stoughton, John, 292
Reinhardt, 47                   Strachey, Sir E., 78, 86
Ribera, 24                      Swift, 266
Richard I., 40-41               Sydney Edwin, 281
Ridley, Bishop, 197,
Robertson, F. W., 337           Taylor, Isaac, 78
Robarts, G., 29                 Taylor, Jeremy, 59, 236, 314
Robinson, Robert, 58, 59, 61, 67, Taylor, Mr., Rev., 11
70, 71, 258                   Tavernier, 127
Rocco, Fra., 153                Tennyson, 10, 301
Rogers, Nehemiah, 227           Tertullian, 105, 106
Rogers, Daniel, 220             Tenterden, 59
Romain, 62                      Theremin, Dr., 395
Ruskin, 176, 332                Thomson, Archbishop, 300
Rutherford, (S.) 91             Toplady, 292
Theodosius, Emperor, 128
Sancta, Clara, Abraham, 273     Torshell, S., 217
Saurin, 62, 426                 Trapp, John, 219, 220, 221
Savonarola, 152
Schedel, (Dr.), 298             Uzziah, King, 80
Sedgwick, Obadiah, 227
Secunda, 115, 117               Vasari, 23
Segneri, Father, 155            Vane, Sir H., 223
Selle, Father, 258              Vincent, St. Paul, 91
Shakespeare, 229, 332
Shedd, Pro., 395, 396           Ward, Artemus, 277
Sikes, George, 223              Watts, Dr., 284, 379, 380
Smith, Henry, 55, 198           Watson, Thomas, 227
Smith, Sidney, Rev., 265        Watson, Richard, 13
Solomon, 43                     Wesley, John, 27, 91, 309
South, R., 59, 227,264          Whately, Archbishop, 300, 402
Spiridion, 72                   Whitefield, 9, 10, 37, 38, 420, 422
Spencer, Edward, 309            Wilberforce, (W.), 298
Sprague, Edward, 24, 25         Williams, (Edward), 259
Stanley, Dean, 49, 99           Wordsworth, 332
Strafford, Sir W., 247
Sterry, Peter, 223              Xavier, Francis, 155




INDEX OF BOOKS REFERRED TO.
An Apology for the Pulpits, 1688, 261
Athanasius' Historical Treatises, 107
Augustine's Art of Preaching, 45
— Confessions, 110
- on the Psalms, 219
Burton's Analogy of Divine Wisdom, 297
Berkeley's (Bishop) Minute Philosopher, 297
Bernard's (R.), Ruth, 214
Bridge's Ecclesiastes, 45
-- (Charles, Rev.), Christian Ministry, 46
Brown's (Bishop) Divine Analogy, 297
-- (Dr. John), Horae Subsecivae, 333
Browning's (Robert), Christmas Eve, and Easter Day, 16
Bucchius' Golden Conformity, 151
Butler's Analogy, 297
Byron's Childe Harold, 336
Boyd's (P. K. H.) Recreations of a Country Parson, 410
Browne's (Sir T.), Urn Burial. 239
Cater's (Philip), Punch in the Pulpit, 283
Cawdray's (R.), Treasury of Similes, 1600, 335
Century of Eminent Presbyterian Ministers, 1723, 261
-- Ancient Mariner, 33
-    Friend, 332
Contemporary Review, 391
Everard's (John) Some Gospel Treasuries opened, 223
D'Aubigne's Reformation in Europe, 18
Dyer's (George) Memoir of Robert Robinson, 68
Faussett's Translation of Vinet's Homiletics, 47
Ford's Translation from (Segneri) Quaresimale, 155
Gibbon's Decline and Fall, 124
Goodman's (Godf.) Fall of Man, 227
Gould's (Baring) Post Medieval Preachers, 138
Grant's (James) Metropolitan Pulpit, 249
Gregory on Job, 219
Haweis' (J.W.) Sketches of the Reformation, 201
Hitchcock (Pro.), On the Law of Nature, Bibliotheca Sacra, 302
History of the Famous Preacher, Friar Gerund, 290
Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, 230
Horace's Art of Poetry, 391
Huntingdon, (Lady), Life of, 27
Hurwitz Hyman's Hebrew Tales, 331
Jerrold's (Douglas) Punch's Letters to his Son, 311
(451)




452           Index of Books Referred to.
Lenz's (von G. H.) Geshichte der Christlichen Homiletick, 151
Latimer's Sermons, 313
Life of Antony of Padua, 143
Lytton's (Lord) Caxtoniana, 400
Manse of Mastland, 378, 415
Maclarens's Sermons, 382
Maurice's Rabanus, De Institutione Clericorum, 140
Max Muller, Lectures on Language, 8
Milburn's (Henry) Rifle, Axe, and Saddle-bags, 249
Milburn's (Henry) Ten Years of a Preacher's Life, 249
Morrison's Life of St. Bernard, 165
More's Catholici, Kenelm Digby's Compitum, 139, 154
Moule's (Horace) Christian Oratory, 103, 105, 106, 109
Murray (Rev. J.) Sermons to Asses, 289
Neale's Mediaeval Preachers, 138
Neander's Memorials of Christian Life, 139
-  Light Shining in Dark Places, 139
Ness (Ch.), History and Mystery of Old and New Testament, 220
North American Review, No. 194, 28
Newman's (Dr.) Lectures, 427
Sermons, 102
History of the Arians, 320
Nichol's Library of Standard Puritan Divines, 55
Orme's Bibliotheca Biblia, 222
Owen on the Hebrews, 214
Paley's Horse Paulinae, 92
Pluch6's History of the Heavens, 286
Potter's Sacred Eloquence, 429
Presbyterian Eloquence Displayed, 260
Pulpit Sayings, 1688, 261
Pulsford's Quiet Hours, 314
Raleigh (Dr.) Quiet Resting-Places, 399
Richter's (J. P.) Titan, 332
Robinson's (R.) Miscellaneous Works, 59
Select Works, 59
— History of Baptism, 62
Ecclesiastical Researches, 62
Memoirs of, 68
Village Sermons, 64
— Claude, 210, 248. 258
Rogers' (Neh.) Fast Friend, 227
-    Figless Figtree
Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence, 249
Sedgwick's (Obad.)Shepherd of Israel, 227
Seventeen Arguments Proving the Danger of Private Persons Publicly Preaching, 1651, 261
Sike's (George) Evangelical Essays, 223
-       Ecclesiastes, 222
Spenser's Storehouse of Similes, 331, 331
-     Things New and Old, 308
Sprague's Annals of the American Methodist Pulpit, 24, 28




Index of Books Referred to.                  453
Stanley's Eastern Church, 107
Jewish Church, 50
Strachey's (Sir E.) Hebrew Politics, 79, 83, 86
Stephen's (Dr. Rhys) Memoirs of Christmas Evans, 341
Sterry's (Peter) Appearance of God to Man, 223
Kingdom of Heaven in the Soul, 223
- Freedom of the Will, 223
Stevens' History of Methodism, 24
Strickland's Life of Kruber, 31
-    Peter Cartwright, 249
Taylor's (Rev. W.) Preaching in California, 11
-    Model Preacher, 
The Preacher, A Poem, 1700, 261
Theremin's (Dr.) Eloquence, 395
Trapp's (John) Commentary on the Whole Bible, 220
Watts (Dr.) Improvement on the Mind, 379
West's Sketches of Wesleyan Preachers, 13
Whittiers Poem's, 36