ARTICLE V.-FLIES IN THE OINTMENT.

In the history of Bunyan's religious experience he tells us that on one occasion he dreamed that he was near a high mountain occupied by good people, on whose sheltered sides the pleasant beams of the sun was shining, while he was shivering with the cold. Between him and the mountain a wall intervened, which he was quite unable to get over. This experience of the great dreamer has often been paralleled, we imagine, by those whose office it is to ascertain and fittingly set forth to their fellow men the truths contained in the Word. They stand at an enforced distance from the chosen text, dimly perceiving the thoughts profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, which a correct unfolding would reveal; and if, perchance, on some clear morning like that on which Christian saw the towers of the celestial city, the preacher is favored with a sight of the truth in its fair proportions, he is in great danger of marring or breaking the image in his endeavor to hold it up to the view of others. It is affecting to think of the extent to which sermons, good in their arrangement and in the truths they contain, are bereft of their power in the process of delivery. A faulty utterance eclipses enough of truth every year to save half a world. What crowds of beautiful thoughts every Sabbath are smothered in the mephitic air of an unappeas able whine. How often a discourse that belongs to the very nobility of thought is unrecognized in the unsightly garb in which it is presented. The river Danube, we are told, flows for hundreds of miles through a fertile country, with a depth of water sufficient to float large ships; but not a little of the wealth gathered from its banks and borne on its bosom is wrecked upon the sandbars that stretch across its mouths. No man can number the argosies of thought that yearly are stranded in the attempt to get them over the obstructions in our mouths.

The style of address adopted by many as the result of their studies leads to forms of expression not fitted to arrest attention.

Many discourses of great power, so far as the thought is concerned, are encased in such faultless, smooth-flowing periods as to glide over the minds of the hearers without leaving a trace. Along the thoroughfares of thought they pass as harmlessly as a load of fixed ammunition. This often arises from adopting the style of thought and method of address employed by others at the expense of their own individuality. The first preachers of the gospel felt that they could fulfill the last command of their Lord by imparting to others what he had made known to them. Their message was made up of the things they had seen, of the words they had heard, of the fulness of the grace received from loving companionship with their Lord; but while seeing in substance all things alike, their utterances vary with their dif fering temperaments and their individual peculiarities. Every truly effective preacher since their day has become so by essentially the same process. The truths he preaches are to him living verities. He has seen and handled of the word of life and imparts what has been communicated to him. But in doing this he retains his personality. The Divine Spirit employed the differing tastes and temperaments of the Evangelists for the harmonious yet differing records they have left. What one omitted secured the notice of another, and the work was well done by men who used the powers that were given them under the unconscious guidance of the Spirit. And so, when the true preacher reads Calvin or Wesley, he will assimilate, not aggregate, their thoughts. His true personality will grow by all that he feeds on, and his utterances will be his own, and in their shape and order will reflect his own individuality. He who adopts the words and manner of another will to that extent change from the living preacher to a machine. David in the armor of Saul has no power. There is an apparatus by which common air passed through certain substances becomes inflammable, and is used to light dwellings. But it is quite essential to the successful working of the process that the air be pure, i. e., that it retain all its constituent qualities unmixed with any others. In like manner he who would make full proof of the ministry must secure it in the faithful employment of his own powers, impressed by the truth and impelled by the love of souls. To stretch beyond our measure is virtually to fall short of it. We not unfrequently see 44

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those who have become bow-legged in running the way of God's commandments, from the vain endeavor to tread in the steps of some one who has gone that way before them.

We are confident that the power of the pulpit has been weakened by the low place we assign to extempore speaking. Pastors avail themselves of this mode of address on a rainy day, when none but the faithful are present, to save the sermon that was prepared for all the people. It is the unwilling resort when called upon suddenly, a temporary breast-work of brush and stones thrown up against the enemy. It is employed on occasions when things crude and weak may be said, and small talk allowed. Relatively to the written sermon, it occupies the place of the contribution box to the subscription paper, the receptacle for ready and small change. In the Midsummer Night's Dream, when the players are preparing for a rehearsal, one of them who was to act the lion's part requests that it may be handed to him, as he is slow of learning. The reply is, "You may speak your part extempore, for it is nothing but roaring." This opinion is still extensively cherished. Speaking without notes in the esti mation of many is little else than roaring. But we are certain that the power of the pulpit would be greatly increased by this mode of address, and that even as practiced among us it is not seldom more effective than the more formal and studied utterances of the pulpit. The speaker freed from the constraint oc casioned by his notes, "with heart and eyes and lifted hands" brings himself into sympathy with those whom he desires to benefit. If his words are less studied, they possess a warmth and power not found in the more formal utterance. Most men prefer warm meals, even when imperfectly cooked, to cold food, though spiced according to the latest French recipes.

Extempore speaking demands that the theme of discourse be fairly studied, and that the speaker so join himself to the audience as to feel the inspiration of their presence and manifested interest. The notes he consults must be the faces of the assembly. The associations of the place and the presence of those who have come to be benefited will be the willing servitors, to bring forth the treasures prepared for the occasion. If compelled at first to depend upon the thoughts especially prepared, he must at the earliest practicable moment forage for his sup

plies on the lands he has come to conquer. But if he depends upon himself for inspiration, and upon his previous reflections for the words he shall speak, he will fail. The method and order of the written discourse, and the freedom that belongs to extempore speaking, will alike be wanting, and the result will excite the dislike once expressed for things neither cold nor hot.

One secret of their success who are eminent as extempore speakers is their willingness to fail. They never grow excited lest the oil in the cruse should fail ere the half hour is out. We have heard such men when their discourses were far below the average preaching in our pulpits, but they submitted cheerfully to the inevitable, and were content to obtain general success with occasional failure. An extempore performance is so liable to be affected by the moods of the speaker, and by the circumstances of the hearers, that it is impossible to know beforehand what measure of success shall be secured, nor need we inquire if satisfied that the method on the whole is the best.

When he who deceives the nations shall be bound in the bottomless pit, there will go with him, we trust, that hurtful delusion, that the art of speaking is of little consequence comparatively, and that our great effort should be to get thoughts. But thoughts poorly expressed effect but little. We have seen preachers of very ordinary thinking power, eminent for their effectiveness in the pulpit. They so speak the word that multitudes both of the Jews and Greek believe. Their small shot go further into the oaken hearts of their hearers than do the bullets of their stronger brethren. This may be humbling to our pride, but the fact cannot be questioned. Our government is not satisfied with getting the best ammunition and guns of the most approved pattern. Time and money are freely spent in the practice of gunnery, that they may use with the greatest effect their weapons. It was by means of this practice that our sailors were able at the distance of more than a mile to hit the Alabama with every shot, and send her a riddled hulk to the bottom. Should not every minister patiently and persistently study any art by which he may most effectively commend the message he has received to those for whose welfare he watches as one that must give account.

No one rule can be laid down for all. There are, doubtless, those whose delivery is rendered more natural and effective by the use of notes, and whose thoughts lose none of their ease and naturalness by being committed to writing. Members of Yale College forty years ago, have not forgotten the ready and eloquent utterances of Prof. Fitch, when his carefully prepared manuscript was before him, and how, when he ventured away from it, he sunk into utter mental helplessness. Each one must decide to which he is best adapted, but the judg ment can scarcely fail to be affected by the almost universal practice in vogue among us. That preachers fail in both methods, is not questioned, but the failure in one case is not as apparent as the other. If the written sermon is ineffective, the fact is not apparent on the instant. Its delivery fills up the hour, and all goes smoothly on, while the lost train of thought, the hesitating expression, and the possible collapse ere the message is finished, have terrors that few can brave and to the possibility of encountering which few have the courage to expose themselves.

We think that almost every preacher is conscious of a manner in the pulpit that lacks the naturalness and vigor that in other places he exhibits. He knows that the theme chosen is important, that its unfolding is adapted to benefit his hearers. He foresees that friends will sit in ranks before him who have come to be benefited; some, it may be, to be savingly impressed. When he considers what he has to say, and who they are that shall come to hear, the work before him seems most attractive, and with willing feet he hastens to the place of prayer; but somehow, when he enters upon the service, he unwittingly stiffens into a formality that often gives him the appearance of performing a task, and he fails to get near to those whom he most earnestly desires to reach and to benefit.

We have witnessed the transformation wrought upon a horse by a temporary escape from accustomed restraints. His infirmi ties forgotten, with head erect, his neck clothed with thunder, neighing like the war-horse when he snuffs the battle, every movement is full of life and beauty. But when the hour of service arrives, and, secured in the corner of a fence, the halter is replaced, he shambles along the image of propriety and life