Earnestness, as Manifested in the Delivery of Sermons

By the delivery of sermons is meant voice and gesture, or what Demosthenes called action; who, on being asked what was the first excellence of an orator, replied, “action:” what the second, “action:” what the third, “action.” An impressive admonition this, from such an authority, to all preachers, on the importance of that part of our subject which we are now considering.

After the death of that flaming seraph, Mr. McCheyxe, there was found upon his desk an unopened note from one who had heard his last sermon, to this effect: “Pardon a stranger for addressing to you a few lines. I heard you preach last Sabbath evening, and it pleased God to bless that sermon to my soul. It was not so much what you said, as your manner of speaking it, that struck me. I saw in you a beauty of holiness, I never saw before.”

This is only one instance out of ten thousand, in which the earnestness of a preacher’s manner has secured that attention to his matter, which wrould not otherwise have been paid to it. The power of oratory has its foundations in the principles of our nature. It is not merely that ideas are conveyed by articulate language through the ear to the mind, but that also impression is produced on the affections by agreeable tones and pleasant modulations of the voice. Hence the power of music: and what is human speech but music? No instrument has ever yet been constructed which can emit sounds so exquisitely moving as the human voice. Art is in this respect still below nature. True it is, that we must go to the best of voices for this superiority; but even in voices far below the best, there is an expression of the various passions which no instruments can equal. All nations, therefore, savage as well as civilized, have confessed the powers of oratory, not only as a vehicle of instruction, but as a means of impression. It is vain to pretend that matter is, or ought to be, everything, and manner nothing. Truth, it may be said, ought to make its own way, independently of the accompaniments of good elocution and graceful action. So it should, but then these things are necessary, in many cases, to gain for it attention, and to secure that due consideration without which it can make no impression. Manner is, so to speak, the harbinger and herald of matter, summoning the faculties of the soul to give audience to the truth to be communicated, and holding the mind in a state of abstraction from all other subjects that would divert the thoughts and prevent impression. It is not only the more illiterate and feeble-minded, not only the multitude, who are led by feeling more than by reason, that are influenced by good oratory, but men of the sturdiest intellect, and the most philosophic cast of mind. The soul of the sage as well as of the savage is formed with a susceptibility to the power and influence of music, and therefore also to the power and influence of elocution. The importance of manner is consequently great, yea, far greater than either tutors or preach* ers have been disposed to admit. I am aware that a good

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voice is necessary to good speaking, but not always to earnest speaking. Nature must do much to make a graceful and finished orator; but still in the absence of this, an ardent mind, burning for the salvation of immortal souls, can by an impressive earnestness of manner, be a more intense and effective speaker, notwithstanding naturally weak and unimpressive organs of speech, than the possessor of the finest voice who is destitute of a vivacious and ardent enunciation; just as an exquisite performer can bring better music out of a bad instrument, than a bad musician can out of a good one. What may be done, where the mind is resolutely bent on accomplishing it, for supplying deficiencies and correcting faults in elocution, Demosthenes has taught us; and were half or a tenth part of the pains taken by us to obtain a powerful and effective method of pulpit address, which were submitted to by this prince of orators to become an effective speaker; were we as much set upon it as he was, and were we to give ourselves to the same means, by declaiming to the waves of the sea, or to the winds of heaven, determining to overcome every obstacle, we too should be orators, and that in a still better cause than his. And surely if ambition, or patriotism, prompted the Athenian and the Roman orator to such studies and such efforts for self-improvement, ought not the love of souls, zeal for God, and the interests of eternity, to prompt us to similar endeavors? Did they cultivate elocution with such unwearied perseverance to counteract the designs of Philip, or to defeat the conspiracies of Cataline, and shall we not do it, to destroy the works of the devil, and to advance the kingdom of the Redeemer?

It is impossible not to know how much the popularity of some preachers depends upon their manner: they do not say better., or more striking things, than other men; but they say them in a better and more striking manner. There is a pathos in their tones, a power in their looks, a gracefulness in their gestures, which other men have never studied, and therefore have never acquired. This was eminently the case with Whitfield, the greatest of preachers. Much of the wondrous power of that extraordinary man lay in his voice and action. I have already given an extract from his sermons to illustrate his manner as regards style of composition, but who that never heard him, or indeed who that had, could illustrate his manner as regards delivery? Think of such paragraphs as those I have just quoted, delivered in a manner appropriate to their nature; with an eye melting into tears; a voice tremulous with emotion, shrill, yet full, now swelling into thunder, and then dying away again into soft whispers; one moment apostrophizing to God, and the next piercing the sinner’s conscience with an appeal that was as sharp arrows of the Almighty; at one time pouring out a stream of impassioned pity for the sinner, and the next moment a torrent of burning indignation against his sin; his very hands all the while, and every gesture, seeming to help his laboring soul and his matchless elocution: and all this, to the conviction of his hearers, not the trickery of an artificial rhetoric, nor the effort of a man striving after popularity, but the spontaneous gushing forth of a heart agonizing for the salvation of their immortal souls! What oratory must that have been which extorted from the skeptical and fastidious Hume the confession that it was worth goingtwenty miles to hear it — which interested the infidel Bolingbroke, and once warmed even the cold and cautious Franklin into enthusiasm? In those discourses which roused a slumbering nation from the torpor of lukewarmness, awl breathed new life into its dying piety, von will find no profound speculation, no subtle reasoning, no metaphysical disquisition; for these never formed, and never can form, the staple of pulpit eloquence: but you will find “thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,” and which when enunciated with the magic of his wondrous voice, spoke, by the blessing of God, life into thousands dead in trespasses and sins. As a proof of the all- subduing power of his oratory, take the following scene, extracted from his Life and Times, by the Rev. Robert Philip: —

“In February, 1742, Whitfield returned to London, where ’ life and power soon flew all around ’ him again; ’ the Redeemer getting himself victory daily in many hearts.’ The renewed progress of the gospel at this time in London, he calls emphatically, ’ the Redeemer’s stately steps.’ Well he might; for during the Easter holidays, ‘Satan’s booths ’ in Moornelds poured out their thousands to hear him. This determined him to dare all hazards on Whit-Monday, the great gala-day of vanity and vice there. Gillies’ account of this enterprise, although not incorrect nor uninteresting, is very incomplete, considering the fame of the feat at the time. The following account is from the pen of Whitfield himself; and written whilst he was reporting, at home and abroad, his marriage.

“For many years, from one end of Moornelds to the other, booths of all kinds have been erected for mountebanks, players, puppet-shows, and such like. With a heart bleeding with compassion for so many thousands led captive by the devil at his will, on Whit-Monday, at six o’clock in the morning, attended by a large congregation of praying people, I ventured to lift up a standard amongst them in the, name of Jesus of Nazareth. Per. haps there were about ten thousand in waiting, not for me, but for Satan’s instruments to amuse them. Glad was I to find, that I had for once, as it were, got the start of the devil. I mounted my field pulpit; almost all flocked immediately around it. I preached on these wTords, ‘As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so shall the Son of man be lifted,’ etc. They gazed, they listened, they wept; and I believe that many felt themselves stung with deep conviction for their past sins. All was hushed and solemn. Being thus encouraged, I ventured out again at noon; but what a scene! The fields, the whole fields seemed, in a bad sense of the word, all white, ready not for the Redeemer’s, but Beelzebub’s harvest. All his agents were in full motion, drummers, trumpeters, merry-andrews, masters of puppet-shows, exhibiters of wild beasts, players, etc., etc., all busy in entertaining their respective auditories. I suppose there could not be less than twenty or thirty thousand people. My pulpit was fixed on the opposite side, and immediately, to their great mortification, they found the number of their attendants sadly lessened. Judging that like Saint Paul, I should now be called as it were to fight with beasts at Ephesus, I preached from these words: ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians.’ You may easily guess that there was some noise among the craftsmen, and that I was honored with having a few stones, dirt, rotten eggs, and pieces of dead cats thrown at me, whilst engaged in calling them from their favorite, but lying vanities. My soul was indeed among lions: but far the greatest part of my congregation, which was very large, seemed for awhile to be turned into lambs. This encouraged me to give notice that I would preach again at six o’clock in the evening. I came, I saw, but what — thousands and thousands more than before, if possible, still more deeply engaged in their unhappy diversions; but some thousands amongst them waiting as earnestly to hear the gospel.” This Satan could not brook. One of his choicest servants was exhibiting, trumpeting on a large stage; but as soon as the people saw me in my black robes and my pulpit, I think all to a man left him and ran to me. For a while I was enabled to lift up my voice like a trumpet, and many heard the joyful sound. God’s people kept praying, and the-enemy’s agents made a kind of roaring at some distance from our camp. At length they approached nearer, and the merry-andrew (attended by others, who complained that they had taken many pounds less that day on account of my preaching) got up upon a man’s shoulders, and advancing near the pulpit attempted to slash me with a long heavy whip several times, but always with the violence of his motion tumbled down. Soon afterwards they got a recruiting serjeant with his drum, etc., to pass through the congregation. I gave the word of command, and ordered that way might be made for the king’s officer. The ranks opened, while all marched quietly through, and then closed again. Finding those efforts to fail, a large body quite on the opposite side assembled together, and having got a large pole for their standard advanced towards us with steady and formidable steps, till they came very near the skirts of our hearing, praying, and almost undaunted congregation. I saw, gave warning, and prayed to the Captain of

our salvation for present support and deliverance. He heard and answered; for just as they approached us with looks full of resentment, I know not by what accident, they quarrelled among themselves, threw down their staff and wrent their way, leaving, however, many of their company behind, who, before we had done, T trust were brought over to join the besieged party. I think I continued in praying, preaching, and singing (for the noise was too great at times to preach) about three hours.

“We then retired to the Tabernacle. wTith my pockets full of notes from persons brought under concern, and read them amidst the praises and spiritual acclamations of thousands, who joined with the holy angels in rejoicing that so many sinners were snatched, in such an unexpected, unlikely place and manner, out of the very jaws of the devil. This was the beginning of the Tabernacle society. — Three hundred and fifty awakened souls were received in one day, and I believe the number of notes exceeded a thousand; but I must have done, believing you want to retire to join in mutual praise and thanksgiving to God and the Lamb,”

I shall perhaps hazard my reputation as a judge of oratorical power, when I venture to pronounce this the greatest achievement of elocution which the history of the world presents, next to the splendid triumphs of the apostle Peter’s sermon, over the murderers of Christ on the day of Pentecost. Who that considers the spot on which

Whitfield then stood; the scenes by which he was then surrounded; the discordant noises of the motley crew, which then rung in his ears, and in the ears of his audience; who, in short, that recollects what is the wild uproar and the hurly-burly of a London popular fair, must not stand astonished first at the courage of the man who could erect his pulpit, and preach a sermon in such a scene; and then wonder still more at the marvellous success of his effort in the conversion of hundreds of souls by that one discourse? What, I ask, was the effect of the orations of Demosthenes on the Athenians, in rousing them against Philip of Macedon, compared with this? The illustrious Grecian had everything which the scenery, and the historic associations that connected themselves with it, everything which the prepared mind of his audience could give, in the way of advantage, to his splendid declamation and its success; but the Christian orator had to combat with, and to triumph over, everything that seemed inharmonious with his theme, and opposed to the accomplishment of his object: and what must have been the magic power of that elocution which could blind the eyes and deafen the ears of an audience to the sights and sounds so near them, and produce such fixedness of attention, and power of abstraction, even there, as to leave them at liberty for those processes of thought, which resulted in the conversion of hundreds to God!

And to what, in the way of instrumentality, shall we attribute this astonishing effect? I answer, to the power of his wonderful oratory. This fact has stood for a century upon record, and yet we have been slow to learn from it the lessons it is adapted to teach; and among these lessons the chief is the effect produced by a commanding method of address, in circumstances apparently the most unlikely for such a result. I am not calling upon my brethren to imitate this daring attack upon the very citadel of Satan: even Whitfield never, I believe, repeated it, and perhaps ought never to have attempted it: but my object is to show the power of voice and action, and the nature of ministerial earnestness.

I now bring forward another proof of this, which, if it be less grand and commanding in itself, is perhaps as likely to be useful to the readers of this little work, because it is an instance brought nearer to their own times, and to the level of their own circumstances: I mean the truly interesting and much lamented Mr. Spenceb, of Liverpool. In reference to this transcendent young preacher, Mr. Hall remarks, “The writer of this deeply regrets his never having had an opportunity of witnessing his extraordinary powers; but from all he has heard from the best judges, he can entertain no doubt that his talents in the pulpit were unrivalled, and that had his life been spared, he would, in all probability, have carried the art of preaching to a greater perfection than it ever attained, at least in this kingdom. His eloquence appears to have been of the purest stamp, effective not ostentatious; consisting less in the preponderance of any one quality requisite to form a public speaker, than in an exquisite combination of them all; whence resulted an extraordinary power of impression, which was greatly aided by a natural and majestic elocution.” In this last expression Mr. Hall has disclosed much of the secret of Mr. Spencer’s popularity and usefulness: “a natural and majestic elocution,” accompanied with a most engaging countenance and form, setting forth with simple and unaffected earnestness of manner, the grand doctrines of evangelical truth, constituted the charm, and led to the success, of this most captivating preacher of modern times.

Let the young ministers of this age read his Life and Remains, as published by his gifted successor, Dr. Raffles, and also his posthumous sermons which have been since given to the world, and they will find nothing whatever of extraordinary genius; no lofty eloquence, in the usual acceptation of that term; no profound speculation; no splendid imagery or diction — but at every step they will meet with the doctrine of Christ crucified set forth with manly vigor, in plain, perspicuous language; the utterances of a mind well instructed in the way of salvation, and of a heart overflowing for the good of his fellow-creatures. To what then shall we attribute, under God, his success, not only in filling the large town in which he lived, and the nation at large, with his fame, but what was infinitely more important in itself, and far more eagerly coveted by him, in bringing so many souls to Christ? There is but one answer to be given to this, and that is, it was the fascination of his manner. He was in earnest. The stream of his simple, elegant, but by no means profound thought, flowed forth with a resistless impetuosity that carried away his hearers before it. I know no more important lesson to be learnt, no inference more valuable to be drawn from the short life of this most interesting young man, so mysteriously cut off at the very commencement of his career, than the vast importance of an animated manner of preaching the gospel.

We may here advert to another individual, who was considered to be one of the most impressive preachers,, in a particular way, of his times, the late Mr. Toller, of Kettering, and who also, no doubt, owed much to his mode of address, for the effect which his sermons produced: and the effect in this instance proves that vehemence, boisterousness, and vociferation arc not essential lo earnestness and deep impression, for nothing could be more calm and more subdued, though nothing more solemnly commanding, than his whole demeanor in the pulpit. His printed sermons are characterized by manly strength of thought, uttered in language of great perspicuity, though not irradiated by the coruscations of what might be termed a brilliant genius. “A noble simplicity and careless grandeur,” says Mr. Hall, with whom he lived on terms of most intimate friendship, “were the distinguishing features of his eloquence.” There was an irresistible charm in his manner which threw a spell over all his hearers, and which fascinated alike the learned and illiterate; he made the latter to understand, and the former to feel. I never heard him but once, but it was a memorable occasion, on the ordination of Mr. Robertson, of Stretton, when Mr. Hall delivered the admirable charge which was afterwards published under the title of “The Difficulties and Encouragements of the Christian Minister.” It is impossible ever to forget, and equally so to describe, the effect produced by two such preachers on such an occasion: it was the first time I had ever heard either of them, and the last that I ever heard Mr. Toller, and it almost seemed as if I had never heard preaching before: both were excited no doubt, and stimulated to do their best, not only by the occasion, but by the presence of each other. The terms employed by Mr. Toller’s biographer were the most appropriate that could be selected to describe his style and manner, “simplicity and careless grandeur.” It was impossible not to listen, neither eye nor ear played truant for a moment, while he was preaching: his delivery was not the rushing torrent of impassioned eloquence which gushed afterwards from the lips of his wonderful fellow-laborer, but the majestic, silent flow of a noble river. “In the power of awakening pathetic emotions,” says Mr. Hall, in his Memoir, “he has excelled any preacher it has been my lot to hear. Often have I seen a whole congregation melted under him like wax before the sun: my own feelings on more than one occasion, have approached to an overpowering agitation. The effect was produced apparently with perfect ease No elaborate preparation, no peculiar vehemence or intensity of tones, no artful accumulation of pathetic images, led the way: the mind was captivated and subdued, it hardly knew how. Though it will not be imagined that this triumph of popular eloquence could be habitual, much less constant, it may be safely affirmed that a large proportion of Mr. Toller’s discourses afforded some indications of these powers.” The following is Mr. Hall’s description of the effect of two sermons preached in his hearing by this distinguished man: —

“It was about this period (1796) that my acquaintance with him commenced. I had known him previously, and occasionally heard him; but it was at a season when I was not qualified to form a correct estimate of his talents. At the time referred to, we were engaged to preach a double lecture at Thrapstone, nine miles from Kettering; and never shall I forget the surprise and pleasure with which I listened to an expository discourse, from 1 Peter, ii. 1, 3. The richness, the unction, the simple majesty which pervaded his address, produced a sensation which I never felt before: it gave me a new view of the Christian ministry. But the effect, powerful as it was, was not to be compared with that which I experienced on hearing him preach at the half-yearly meeting of the Association, at Bedford. The text which he selected was peculiarly solemn and impressive: his discourse was founded on 2 Peter i. 12, 15, ‘Yea, I think it meet as long as T am in this tabernacle, to stir you up by putting you in remembrance: knowing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle.’ etc. The effect of this discourse on the audience was such as I have never witnessed before or since. It was undoubtedly very much aided by the peculiar circumstances of the speaker, who was judged to be far advanced in a decline, and who seemed to speak under the impression of its being the last time he should address his brethren on such an occasion. The aspect of the preacher, pale, emaciated, standing apparently on the verge of eternity, the simplicity and majesty of his sentiments, the sepulchral solemnity of a voice which seemed to issue from the shades, combined with the intrinsic dignity of the subject, perfectly quelled the audience with tenderness and terror, and produced such a scene of audible weeping as was perhaps never surpassed. All other emotions were absorbed in devotional feeling: it seemed to us as though we were permitted for a short space to look into eternity, and every sublunary object vanished before t the powers of the world to come.5 Yet there was no considerable exertion, no vehemence, no splendid imagery, no magnificent description: it was the simple declaration of truth, of truth indeed of infinite moment, borne in upon the heart by a mind intensely alive to its ideality and grandeur. Criticism was disarmed; the hearer felt himself elevated to a region which it could not penetrate; all was powerless submission to the master spirit of the scene. It will be always considered by those who witnessed it, as affording as high a specimen as can be easily conceived of the power of a preacher over his audience, the habitual or even frequent recurrence of which, would create an epoch in the religious history of the world.”*

This description, even though some allowance should be made for the eloquence of friendship, which was poured forth by the pen of Mr. Toller’s admiring friend, is replete with instruction to our rising ministry. They may learn the vast importance of the manner in which a sermon is delivered, as well as the matter of which it is composed;

* Memoirs of Mr. Toller, by Mr. Hall, prefixed to a volume of Mr. Toller’s sermons.

for with all his vigorous and manly thought, Mr. Toller owed much as a preacher to his method of address. $or is this the only lesson, nor perhaps the most important one, to be learnt from this short but precious piece of ministerial biography; for we gather what it is, that with minds of the highest order, such as Mr. Hall’s, constitutes the nearest approach to perfect pulpit eloquence, and to which even these commanding intellects yield themselves up with the most willing submission — not the artificial elaboration of men intent upon producing a great sermon; not the magniloquent diction and splendid imagery, which have been sought with ambitious eagerness by those who aim to shine; nor the cold, abstract, philosophical reasoning of a metaphysical dialectician; but the simplicity and earnestness of a preacher, who aims to instruct the judgment, awaken the conscience, and affect the heart. All great minds love simplicity, and detest affectation. This was especially the case with Mr. Hall. His censure of the opposite quality to unaffected earnestness, amounted sometimes to eloquent extravagance and burlesque, and his sarcasms not unfrequently were tinged with uncharitable bitterness; while his admiration of simplicity was occasionally expressed in somewhat exaggerated panegyric. The ambition of a preacher whose aim is usefulness might well be gratified in a remark which he once made after hearing a sermon: “I should not wonder if a hundred souls were converted to-night!”

These are only a few out of innumerable instances which could be adduced, to prove the vast importance, which belongs to an effective enunciation. Far greater numbers of our preachers fail for want of this, than from any other cause; a fact so notorious as to need no- proof beyond common observation, and so impressive as to deraand the attention not only of the professors but the committees of all our colleges. It is too generally the case that no culture sufficient is bestowed upon the speakingpowers of our students, from the beginning to the end of their course of study. There is great assiduity manifested in giving them a fullness of matter, but far too little in producing an impressiveness of manner. Every assistance is granted to them to make them scholars, philosophers, and divines; but as to good speaking, for the acquisition of this, they are left pretty much to themselves. Nay, it is not even inculcated upon them with the emphasis it should be, to try to make good speakers of themselves. A complete system of ministerial education must of necessity include some attention to elocution, and which should commence as soon as a student enters college: so that by the time he is put upon the preaching list he may have some aptitude for the management of his voice, and not have his thoughts diverted then from his matter and his object, to his manner. He should by that time have acquired a habit of good speaking, so as to be able to practice it with facility, and without study. The great objection to lectures on elocution is, that they are apt to produce a pompous, stiff, and affected manner; but this is an abuse of the art, the object of which should be to cure the vices of a bad, and to supply the wants of a defective enunciation, and to form an easy, natural, and impressive delivery.

I entirely concur, therefore, with Dr. Vaughan, in his important and impressive remark, “that let our students fail in the matter of a good elocution, and so far as regards their ministry among Protestant dissenters, it will matter little in what else they may succeed.” This is sustained by a reference to the great number we observe, who* though soundly orthodox in sentiment, possessed of large acquirements in scholarship and philosophy, partakers of undoubted piety, and even desirous of doing good — yet make no way, can with difficulty procure a situation, and are filled, perhaps, with wonder, that men very much their inferiors in natural talent and literary acquirement, are everywhere followed, while they are everywhere neglected. The problem is easily solved, the mystery soon explained: these inferior men, by their earnest, animated manner, make their slenderer abilities tell more upon the popular mind, and heart, and conscience, than the dull scholars and cold philosophers do their accumulated but useless stores of knowledge.

It should, however, be remarked, that there is nothing more likely to be mistaken than animation in the pulpit. There are some young ministers, who, aware of the importance of a graceful and effective elocution, take no small pains to acquire it, by studying and practicing the most approved rules of the art. It is not, however, this alone for which I contend: for as the lessons of the dancing master form only a stiff and formal action, where there is no natural ease and elegance, so also the teacher of elocution can do little to form an earnest and energetic speaker, where there is no living source of animation in the soul. It is not a pompous, swelling, ore rotundo style of speaking that constitutes the excellence of an orator; not “the start and stare theatric;” not modulations of the voice that sound as if the speaker were regulating tones and cadences by the fugle motions of a teacher standing before him: but the impassioned vivacity of one who feels intensely his subject, and who speaks under the influence of strong emotion. The secret of animation, the nature of earnestness, lie, as we have said, in an intense feeling of the subject o( discourse; in a mind deeply impressed, and a heart warmed, with the theme discussed. All men are in earnest when they feel. Hence the anecdote of the pleader, who, on being applied to by a client to undertake her cause, upon perceiving the coldness of her manner in stating her case, told the applicant he did not credit her story. Stung by this reflection upon her veracity, and this disbelief of her grievance, she rose into strong emotion, and affirmed, with expressive vehemence, the truth of the story. “Now,” said he, “I believe you.”

The hackneyed, but valuable rule of the ancient teacher of eloquence remains, and ever will remain, as true as when it was first uttered, “Weep yourself, if you expect me to weep.” Sympathy is the speaker’s most powerful auxiliary: there is nothing so contagious as strong emotion. We have most of us, perhaps, seen a large portion of a congregation brought to tears by the pathetic and faltering tones, the tremulous lips and suffused eyes of the preacher. But then it must be on a subject which is worthy of it — must be sincere, and not simulated emotion, and must come only when the people’s minds are prepared to sympathize; for as there is only a step between the sublime and the ridiculous, the same remark may be made concerning the pathetic. Genuine emotion is the charm of all speaking upon moral and religious subjects, in the absence of which the most measured and stately elocution, whatever pleasure it may impart to the ear, will have little power to affect the heart. We have sometimes listened to lofty and well composed music, to an overture for instance, which we could not but admire; but it was still cold admiration, for the whole piece had not a note of passion from beginning to end: but some simple melody followed it, which, by the pathos of its notes, or the power of its associations, touched every chord in our hearts, and raised n us a tumult of emotion. Thus it is with different preachers: we listen to one, whose excellent composition, and sonorous, perhaps even musical, voice, command our admiration; but not a passion stirs, all within is cold, quiet, and without emotion; the speaking is good, but it does not move us: but there is another, with perhaps less talent, yea, less oratory in one sense, but his tones, his looks, his manner throughout, are full of earnest feeling; it is a strain, every word of which comes from the heart, and every word of which awakens by sympathy a correspondent state of feeling in our hearts.

Who is likely to be moved by hearing a man discuss the most awful realities of eternal truth, such as the danger and the doom of immortal souls, the glories of heaven, and the torments of hell, with as much coolness, and with as little emotion as a lecturer on science would exhibit when dwelling on the facts of natural history? Is it probable there can be any earnestness in the hearer, when there is none in the preacher? “How is it,” said a minister to an actor, “that your performances, which are but pictures of the imagination, produce so much more effect than our sermons, which are all realities?” “Because,” said the actor, “we represent our fictions as though they were realities, and you preach your realities as though they were fictions.” It is difficult to believe that a dull, cold, statue-like preacher, whose passionless monotony is a mental opiate for his hearers, can himself credit the message he is delivering. What, that man who never elevates or depresses his voice from one given pitch of soporific dullness; whose tone never falters, whose eye never glistens, whose hand never moves, who speaks as it’ he were afraid of awakening the slumberers, whom his “drowsy tinklings” had lulled to sleep, — he feel the weight of souls; he in earnest for their salvation; he endeavoring to pluck them as brands from the burning? Who will credit it? It is true he may have no great power of voice, and a naturally phlegmatic mind, with a great deficiency in the natural powers of oratory; but, place him by the side of a river where he has seen a fellow- creature fall into the water, and has thrown a plank or a rope to aid the drowning man to escape, will he not have power of voice, and of animated tones, and of persuasive earnestness there, as he directs the object of his solicitude to the means of deliverance? Will he not rise out of his monotone there? Will he not make himself heard and felt there?

By an earnest manner, then, is meant, the enunciation that is dictated by a deep and feeling sense of the importance of our message. We are to persuade, to entreat, to beseech, and these modes of speech have an utterance of their own. What Paul’s manner must have been, how impassioned and impressive, when he made Felix tremble and Festus exclaim, “Thou art beside thyself; much learning hath made thee mad.” But even the sublime and awful truths of revelation, if they do not press upon the heart, and lay hold of, and possess it, will be but coldly handled and feebly discussed. It is only when the love of Christ constraineth us, and beareth us away as with the force of a torrent, that we shall speak with a manner befitting our great theme. If we are not intensely real, we shall be but indifferent preachers.

This shows us the vast moment of our living under the powerful impression of the truths we preach. We cannot, like the actor, have a stage dress and character to put on for the occasion, and put off when the curtain drops. There may indeed be a factitious earnestness excited by the sounds of our own voice, and by the solemnities of public worship; but this will usually be fitful, feeble, oratorical, and very different from that burning ardor which is the result of eminent piety, and which imparts its own intensity of emotion to the words and tones of the speaker. It was the patriotism of Demosthenes that constituted the fire of his eloquence: he loved his country, and trembling for the ruin that Philip was bringing upon the liberties of Greece, he poured forth his lightning words, in tones of thunder. His philippics were a torrent of the strongest emotion, bursting from his heart, though guided in its course by the established rules of eloquence. He could never have spoken as he did, had not the wrongs of Philip, and the dangers of Greece, entered into his soul. So must it be with us: our animation must be the earnestness, not of rhetoric, but of religion; not of art, but of renewed nature; and not designed to astound, but to move; not the manner studied and intended merely to attract a crowd, and to excite applause, but to save the souls of men from death. For this purpose, whatever means we employ and whatever rules we lay down, to cure the vices of a bad elocution, and to acquire the advantages of a graceful one — and such an aim is quite lawful — we must ever remember that the basis of a powerful and effective pulpit oratory, will consist of a deep and fervent piety; in the absence of which the most commanding gift of public speaking will be but as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.

Dr. Cotton Mather, in his beautiful and invaluable work, now nearly forgotten, entitled “The Student and Preacher,” in speaking on this subject, remarks: —

“It is a pity but a well prepared sermon should be a well pronounced one. Wherefore avoid forever all inanes sine mente sonos, and all indecencies; everything that is ridiculous. Be sure to speak deliberately. Strike the accent always upon the word in the sentence it properly belongs unto. A tone that shall have no regard to this is very injudicious, and will make you talk too much in the clouds. Do not begin too high. Ever conclude with vigor. If you must have your notes before you in your preaching, and it be needful for you de scripto dicere, which even some of the most famous orators, both among the Grecians and the Romans, did, yet let there be with you a distinction between the neat using of notes, and the dull reading of them. Keep up the air and life of speaking, and put not off your hearers with a heavy reading to them. How can you demand of them to remember much of what you bring to them, when you remember nothing of it yourself? Besides, by reading all you say, you will so cramp and stunt all ability for speaking, that you will be unable to make a handsome speech on any occasion. What I therefore advise you to is, let your notes be little more than a guide, on which you may cast your eye now and then, to see what arrow is to be next fetched from thence; and then with your eye as much as may be on them whom you speak to, Jet it be shot away with a vivacity becoming one in earnest for to have the truths wTell entertained by the auditory. Finally let your perorations be lively expostulations with the conscience of the hearer; appeals made and questions put unto the conscience, and consignments of the work over into the hands of that flaming preacher in the bosom of the hearer. In such flames you may do wondrously.”

Pity that Dr. Mather had not gone a little farther than this, and affectionately advised his younger brethren in the ministry to begin their career without any notes at all in the pulpit; advice still more necessary in this day, as there seems a rising inclination to adopt the practice. Nothing can be conceived of more likely to repress earnestness, and to hinder our usefulness, than this method becoming general. True it is that some preachers may rise up, who, like a few living examples, may in despite of this practice attain to eminence, to honour, and usefulness, such as rarely fall to the lot of ministers in any denomination; but this will not be the case with the greater number, who having no commanding intellect to lift them above the disadvansage of this habit, will find few churches willing to accept their dullness, for the sake of the accuracy with which it is expressed. And who can tell how much greater our greatest men would be, if they delivered their sermons without their notes? Think of Whitfield, Hall, Parsons, reading their sermons! What a restraint upon their inoble intellects, and their gushing hearts! Where is reading tolerated but in the pulpit? Not on the stage, nor at the bar, nor in the senate. It is conceded that we lose something of precision and accuracy by spoken discourses, as compared with those that are read, but is not this more than made up by what we gain in impression? By him who slavishly reads, the aid borrowed by the preacher from the eye and graceful action is lost; the link of sympathy between his soul and that of the audience is weakened; the lightnings of his eloquence flash less vividly, and its thunders roll less grandly, for this obstruction to their efforts. Perhaps even those who do read are aware of the disadvantages of the habit, and would say to their younger brethren, whose habits are not yet formed, avoid, if you can, the practice of reading your discourses. There are however occasions, when from the nature and extent of the subject, this practice is not only allowable, but necessary. Before we pass from the subject of preaching, we may consider with propriety the matter and manner of prayer. Between these two there is a close and obvious connection, for earnest sermons should be ever associated with earnest prayers; and it cannot be doubted that a pious, faithful, and devoted minister, is scarcely less useful, at least in the way of keeping up the spirit of devotion in his congregation, by the latter, than he is by the former. His chastened fervor, like a breeze from heaven, comes over the languid souls of his hearers, and fans the spark of piety in their hearts to a flame: while on the contrary, the dullness and coldness of some public prayers are enough to freeze what little devotion there may be in the assembled people. We have thought too little of this, and have too much neglected to cultivate the gift, and seek the grace, of supplication. If entreating and beseeching importunity be proper in dealing with sinners for God, can it be less so in dealing with God for sinners? Our flocks should be the witnesses of both these, and hear not only how we speak to them, but how we plead with God for them; should be the auditors of our agonizing intercession on their behalf; and be convinced how true is our declaration that we have them in our hearts. How such petitions, so full of intense affection and deep solicitude, would tend to soften their minds, and to prepare them for the sermon which was to follow. Who has not beheld the solemnizing and subduing effect of such holy wrestling with God, upon the congregation? they seemed to feel as if God had indeed come down among them in power and glory during the prayer, and was preparing to do some work of grace in their

midst. The rudest and most turbulent spirits have sometimes been awed, and the most trifling and frivolous minds made serious, by this holy exercise. We who practice extempore prayer have advantages for this, of which we should not be slow to avail ourselves. Not being confined by the forms of a liturgy, but left to our own choice, we can give a harmony to all the various parts of the service, and make the scripture we read, and the hymns we sing, as well as the prayers we present, all bear upon the subject of the sermon, and thus give a unity of design, and a concentration of effect to the solemn engagements of the sanctuary. This should be an object with every minister, in order that the thoughts of the people may, without being divided or diverted, flow pretty much in one channel, and towards one point. Moral, as well as mechanical effect depends upon the combination of many seemingly small causes. But more especially should the prayers be in harmony with the sermon, and every preacher knows what the sermon is to be. If he is about to address himself in a strain of beseeching importunity to the impenitent and unbelieving, how much would it tend to prepare them for his appeal if his heart were previously, and in their hearing, to pour forth a strain of fervent pleading with God on their behalf. They would thus be awed and subdued into a state of mind likely to render the forthcoming sermon effectual, by the blessing of God, for their conversion. Such a prayer would be the most appropriate introduction he could give to his discourse. But then especial care should be taken that the hymn, and even the tune, which interposes between the prayer and the sermon, should not be of a kind which would divert the current of thought, much less efface the solemn impressions already produced, and hinder the effect of the discourse about to be delivered. I remember to have heard a preacher, who was going to preach a very solemn sermon, breathe out one of the most impressive strains of intercession for the impenitent I ever listened to, as if even anxious to begin the work of conversion by his prayer, which he hoped to finish by his sermon. The people sat down in solemn awe, when as if by a prompting of the wicked One, who catches away the seed out of the heart, the clerk gave out a most inappropriate hymn, and the choir, with a band of musical instruments, sung a tune more inappropriate still: as may be easily imagined, the seriousness produced by the prayer was instantly lost, and the preparation for the sermon entirely destroyed. How true is it that the singing seat is often hostile to the usefulness of the pulpit, and the choir in opposition to the effect of the preacher. Finney, in his book on Revivals, descends to so minute a specification of the circumstances to be attended to in preparing for the revival, as to expose him to the ridicule of many of his readers; and no attempt is here made to defend him, or to recommend his volume; but still there is true philosophy in the spirit of his directions, which amounts to this, that the effect of sermons, and indeed of all public speaking, depends often upon very little things. Trifles have great power to divert the current of thought, to break the chain of reflection, and to disturb the process of emotion. Everything connected with public worship should be still, orderly, solemn; as befits a service conducted in the presence of God, and with reference to him.

Returning to the subject of prayer, it becomes every minister to take especial care that this should be conducted with propriety, not only on account of its nature and design, as addressed to God, and as the medium of obtaining blessings at his hand, but because of its moral effect upon the people. We object to pre-composed forms, and we think on sufficient grounds, as wanting in adaptation to the ever-changing circumstances of the congregation, to the events of the times, and to the services of the minister, and as at the same time tending to produce formalism — but then we are bound to take care that our free prayers are such as are eminently adapted to edification. And is there not room for much improvement in our public devotional exercises? In some cases there is too much elaboration and appearance of study; though in far more, a want of richness and fullness of unction and importunity. The prayers are often too excursive and vague, a mere string of petitions, which have no connection with each other, and which leave the whole without unity of design, or definiteness of object. There are some admirable remarks on the subject of public extempore prayer, in Foster’s sketch of Mr. Hall’s character as a preacher, which go to prove that more concentration of thought on particular topics, would produce a greater effect, than that unrestrained discursiveness, which characterizes most of our devotional exercises. We pass too rapidly from one subject to another, and thus as it were surprise our hearers, by their being brought to a new topic before they were aware they had left the preceding one; and it may be safely affirmed that prayers which do not detain the thoughts on any certain things for a few moments, take slight hold on the auditors. “Things noted so transiently, do not admit of deliberate attention, and seem as if they did not claim it.” With the liberty of unrestricted variety which we possess, why should it be thought necessary to go always over the same ground, and bring in the same topics, in the same exact order, in much the same length, and in almost the same words? Why may we not sometimes drop everything else, and break out into a continued strain in reference to one selected object? How deep would be the conviction of the audience of the importance which we, at any rate, felt to belong to it, and how likely would be such a method to engage them in sympathy with us. in reference to it. We should also be careful to avoid all personalities which would excite curiosity or disturb devo« tion, and especially all laudatory epithets on the one hand, and criminatory ones on the other. In using our freedom let us take care not to abuse it, and endeavor that the end and object of our preaching shall be helped, and not hindered, by the method of our praying. If pre-composed forms of prayer have their disadvantages, so also has free prayer, and while we consider the balance of advantage vastly in favor of the latter, let us recollect that our brethren of the Establishment are of the same opinion respecting their liturgy; let us therefore charitably bear with, and not reciprocally reproach, each other.

The manner of prayer, as well as its matter, demands also our serious attention. While the very nature of the exercise forbids everything showy or elaborately ingenious, everything quaint, familiar, and irreverend, and enjoins the utmost simplicity and spirituality, it no less prohibits all flippancy, carelessness, and pompous oratory. The most serious, reverend, and devotional manner is required, not only on our own account, but on account of the audience. There are some men whose very tones are enough to extinguish all devotional feeling at once. It is almost impossible to conceive that it is a sinful mortal we hear addressing himself to the Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God, before whom the seraphim veil their faces: while on the contrary there are others whose deep, devotional tones, whose subdued manner, whose awe-stricken entire demeanor, seem to remind us that we are indeed speaking to the Almighty. It is not necessary to suppose that earnestness requires bolster ousness; a mistake too commonly made by many who work themselves up into vociferation and actual contortion. Such vehemence, like a violent blast of wind, puts out the languid flame of devotion, when a gentler breeze would fan it to greater intensity. It were well also to avoid that sing-song tone which we too often hear in those who lead the public devotions. Still there must be earnestness — the earnestness of deep feeling, of lively devotion, of a heart intent upon its own salvation, and the salvation of those who are then and there waiting to hear the word of life.