powerful appeals or most lucid explanations; nay, even amongst the more educated classes let anyone try the experiment of asking his friends-say at no later a period than the Sunday evening-what has been the subject of the morning sermon, what truth was explained or what lesson enforced, and the answer, in the vast majority of instances, will clearly prove that they have not only been unimpressed with the subject, but utterly ignorant of the general purport of that which they have heard. That this need not, and should not be the case, may be proved by the fact that a sermon powerfully setting forth some one great lesson of Christian truth will often be remembered for months or even years; most of us probably remember some particular sermon of which we could give a general outline, even after the lapse of many years. Surely, then, if the same truth is enforced with only moderate power, it should be retained in the memory for some few days at least.

Now one remedy for the evil to which I have alluded is to be found in the choice and the manner of applying the text. We often hear a text chosen, the different parts of which, taken separately, lead the preacher to dwell upon two or even three entirely different subjects in one discourse, thus confusing the minds of his hearers by the variety of ideas suggested to them. Though the mere words of the text, if remembered, may enable them to trace back each argument, and they may even have admired the closeness with which the preacher ap

parently adhered to the subject-matter selected, yet in a few hours there will be no definite impression of what they have heard left upon their minds. Their senses may have been regaled, but their consciences will not have been touched; they will not go away musing within themselves upon any one great truth of Revelation, or aroused to the importance of any one duty of practical holiness. They have had nothing definite given them to believe, nothing to do.*

The man who shall strive after the simplex et unum in his style of preaching will have both to curb his fancy in writing and also to bestow infinitely more labour upon it. He must often be content to lose in apparent brilliancy that which he gains in solid strength-he must often sacrifice the variety of colour and charm of contrast for the soberness of the single hue. He will be seeking to work conviction in the few rather than admiration in the many. To some he will often appear tedious. The lovers of mere mental excitement, expecting to have a panorama of new and striking ideas passed in rapid review before them, will not willingly be made to dwell upon the details and less easily appreciated beauties of some one truth, even though it had better claims to be considered a master-piece both in subject and in treatment.

Again, more labour will have to be bestowed upon the composition, because to deal fully with

*The above refers, of course, to preaching as distinct from expounding scripture.

one subject requires much more thought than to treat three or four cursorily; every man knows intuitively that he is likely to fall short of matter; and, that he may convey the idea to his hearers, that he is simply trying to say all that can be said upon the subject; there can be no surer way of tiring an audience than this.

To obviate these difficulties, a preacher would probably arrange the materials of his sermons sometime beforehand, continually reading anything which may bear upon them, and writing down under their several heads any ideas which may occur to him.* Should he then interfere with his previous arrangement, it will only be when some fresh subject has struck him very forcibly, and he is anxious not to let the first vivid impression of it pass from his mind. In this way many of the crude ideas which first suggest themselves in connection with a subject will be seen to be such. A man viewing them more ab extrâ will often be saved from expressing that which he would afterwards be glad to recal. Add to this, that, as I have before shown, after he has once written, however concisely, upon a subject, it will from that very fact have assumed a more definite shape in his mind. His previous conceptions will amplify themselves, and fresh

* We are told of some celebrated writer who would rise and strike a light and note down any thought which had struck him, even in the middle of the night, rather than run the risk of its escaping from his memory before the morning.

thoughts be continually occurring; he will be less likely to weary his hearers by a perpetual recurrence of the same cycle of ideas. This, then, seems the first thing for the preacher to aim at—to select a text which shall be easily remembered, and shall embody the leading ideas of the lesson to be enforced; however varied the arguments, illustrations, and examples, they will all, like the spokes of a wheel, come to one centre, and be within one circumference.

Passing over many other points connected with the choice of subject-matter, as having no peculiar bearing upon the preparation for extempore speaking, a remark may be made upon a point which, however obvious, is too often neglected-the absolute necessity of rejecting everything which may tend to make an address exceed the proper limits, and which may not be absolutely necessary to the argument. As long as a man is keeping close to his point, and manifestly leading his hearers on by as rapid steps as possible, he will be listened to with patience and generally with interest; but, if during any part of his harangue he has indulged in tropes and figures, similes or anecdotes which have occupied the time without materially hastening the dénouement, the pleasure with which they may have been at first received will be more than counterbalanced by annoyance at the loss of time they have occasioned;-an annoyance akin to that felt by a traveller, who, having been seduced from his

direct route by the beauties of the surrounding scenery, arrives at his destination an hour too late for dinner.

As to the time for which a speaker may generally calculate upon retaining the attention of his hearers, if it is allowable to hazard a rule which might, I believe, be of universal application, and tend to preserve that amity of feeling which ought ever to exist between a speaker and his audience, we should say, as Aristotle said of the length of a sentence, that a speech should neither be too long nor too short; that it will be too short, if it be shorter; too long, if it be longer than the hearers anticipated.