hits the nail on the head when he says: "Divine truths are like chainshot; they go together, and we must not perplex ourselves which should enter first. If any one enter, it will draw the rest after it." Puritan Manton, warning his flock how sins which now rest lightly on the conscience will hurt in the Day of Judgment, adds: "Things written with the juice of a lemon when they are brought to the fire are plain and legible; so, when wicked men draw near to the fires of hell their secret sins stand out before them, and they cry out on their beds." Rabbi Lasker, preaching to a Hebrew congregation on the Day of Atonement, warns them that their sin is a fact, whether or not it is felt, and that "the difference between sin in the conduct and sin on the conscience is the difference between a pebble on the shoulder and a pebble in the shoe." Dr. Guthrie says: "A selfish man, whose heart is no bigger than his coffin -just room enough for himself." These, for the most part, are examples of pungent and compact illustration. They give the whole point insisted on in a single sentence. And this is important. Moments are precious with the preacher; he must redeem the time and make it tell for his theme. A gleam of metaphor is enough if skilfully employed. Happy is the man who with a wink's worth of light can irradiate a whole field of thought.

Hearing the famous orator, Wendell Phillips, very frequently, we used to search for the secret of his power. He was singularly cool, deliberate, and unimpassioned in his manner of address, and yet would stir an audience to the very depths. Indeed, we never witnessed quite the impression on a public assembly which often followed his speeches. The power of his oratory was largely in its condensation. He would pack a metaphor into a few words, and it would scorch and blister like sunlight focussed by a burning glass. Meantime, he was himself as cool and unaffected as that same burning glass. Condensation which does not obscure is, we are persuaded, a great art in oratory; in illustration it is invulnerable. To epitomize a whole discussion, or, as is possible, an entire sermon in a single clear and pungent illustration which every hearer will remember and carry away, what a triumph of the preacher's skill there is in this! A matterof-fact hearer, after listening to a long and diffuse sermon, exclaimed: "The sincere milk of the word by all means, but in these busy days we must have condensed milk." A snug and small-sized illustration is the best can for putting up this article and rendering it both marketable and palatable.

3. It need hardly be said that illustrations should be suited to the easy comprehension of the hearers.

Preachers are far too apt to presume on the intelligence of their auditors, not remembering that biblical, theological, and literary terms which are as familiar to them as their alphabet may be utterly incomprehensible to the ordinary hearer. Not that such hearer may not be fairly intelligent, only that he moves in a different realm and employs a different vocabulary from the speaker. There are kinds of knowledge as well as degrees. The

farmer who knows the nature of fertilizers and the distinction between grains may be just as intelligent as the preacher who is at home in doctrinal definitions. And what are illustrations for but to translate the preacher's thought into the dialect of his hearers? To interpret from one unknown tongue into another unknown tongue is a gratuitous labor; and this is what he would be likely to do who should try to explain theological doctrines to a congregation of farmers by using illustrations drawn from the realm of physics or mathematics. We may heartily commend the wisdom of an eminent Oxford professor as bearing on this point. He had been invited to preach to an exceedingly rural congregation in a country retreat where he was spending a few weeks. Having selected his text, John iii. 14, "As Moses lifted up the serpent, ' etc., it occurred to him to find out how generally the words would be understood. He discovered to his surprise that very few whom he questioned knew the meaning of the word "serpent," though all were familiar with the word "snake." Therefore he put on a bold face and preached the following Sunday on the text, "As Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness." If such treatment might seem to vulgarize a precious text, this were a slight consideration if only it was thereby popularized. For how humiliating it is, when one has done his best in the pulpit, to discover that he has been misunderstood or not understood by the mass of his hearers; doubly so if in illuminating his subject by some carefully selected metaphor he finds that he has been only darkening counsel thereby. We remember a college friend who, in a literary performance proudly flourished the illustration, borrowed, if we remember rightly, from Campbell's Rhetoric: "A circumlocution, like a torpedo, numbs everything it touches." He afterward had the melancholy satisfaction of being told of the delight of a plain hearer over this apt and vivid illustration, which hearer, supposing that the simile had been borrowed from the realm of pyrotechnics, instead of that of natural history, discoursed with great enthusiasm on its effectiveness, describing the lighting of the fuse, the whizzing through the air, and the certainly benumbing effect upon any human being whom the torpedo should chance to strike. If our thought should ever be above our hearers' heads, by all means let not our parables be so.

On the other hand, let us be careful that, through some unperceived defect in our illustration, a thoughtful listener may not turn it against us. We have been greatly impressed with the tactics of dissenting hearers in this particular. Just because our simile is forcible and telling, look out that some one does not find a vulnerable point in it through which he can bring confusion to our arguments. Dr. Holmes's illustration is a brilliant "The mind of the bigot is like the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour upon it the more it contracts." Capital; but what if some shrewd hearer were to answer: "Yes, and what is the harın if it does contract? This is its way of adjusting itself to its work of clear seeing, even as a blacksmith's arm contracts its muscles to deal a heavier blow,"

one.

Look out for a relaxed liberalism which dilates its pupils at every new and wonderful discovery of the higher criticism, and meantime is able to direct only a vacant and dubious stare at those sublime wonders of redemption, the resurrection, the reign, and the kingly glory of our Emmanuel. What

if we were boldly to avow that the pressing demand of our times is for bigots? For if Mr. Emerson, in his last days, had to confess that "our generation appears to a thoughtful mind ungirt and frivolous compared with the last, or Calvinistic age," what can those who agree with him recommend but that the girdle of our spiritual loins be taken in by two or three tugs at the buckle. It is not popular, indeed, to urge theological stringency, either external or internal, of creed or of conscience; but it may be needful. Rigid convictions make robust workers. On the contrary, a lax creed, like an uncoiled watch spring, never makes the hands go. As for this contraction of the iris under increased light, a scientific authority says that it effects " sharpness of definition of the retinal image." Is not that just what is needed-sharpness of definition? Have not we heard sermons scores of times in which an evangelical doctrine was presented only to be hopelessly obscured in brilliant generalizations, leaving no well-defined image of truth upon the spiritual retina? Invite us to listen to a great musician play "Home, Sweet Home," and then hear our favorite melody drowned in a flood of variations, sinking down under the rising storm from keys and pedals and stops with fainter and fainter cries for help till finally silenced, and the sense of artistic violence is slight compared with that of the theological violence of preaching on regeneration, and yet covering up this solemn doctrine with such glittering generalities about the fatherhood of God and the universal sonship of men, that absolutely no distinct impression is made that, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

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Illustrations, then, rich and abundant if only they are kept in such subjection that they shall pay homage to the truth, saying evermore : "I am not that light, but I am sent to bear witness of that light." The Word of God is the true light. It has within it the vital principle of regeneration. It not only was inspired, but is inspired; something of the Divine Spirit is in its very letters and sentences. "The words that I speak unto you," says Jesus, they are spirit and they are life." If a happy simile or a fitting metaphor may open the door of the heart to some text of Scripture and fix it in the memory, it has served a noble and worthy use. At the same time, this admonition is needful, that illustrations are not the Gospel, and the hiding of the preacher's power is not in these. "With the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven," was the one great characteristic of apostolic preaching. This Divine Spirit, who mysteriously moves the preacher's utterance and opens the hearer's heart, may use our illustrations or disuse them, according to his sovereign will. Let it not for a moment be imagined that because we are skilful in framing parables, therefore we have found the secret of power. That secret lies deeper than rhetoric, or logic, or

doctrine. It is in the inward equipment of the Paraclete, the enduement of the Holy Ghost. "The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Eph. vi. 17). It has been ordained that the human arm shall wield this sword; but if human art shall so adorn it that men shall admire its hilt because of its exquisite carving, instead of feeling the sharpness of its point in their consciences, the soldier of Christ has been practically disarmed. Richard Cecil found an illustration from his own experience which he never tired of using in addressing candidates for the ministry. Being recommended to a certain skilful doctor in a time of illness, he called upon him for advice. On returning home after the interview, he was telling his wife with the most glowing enthusiasm of the extraordinary accomplishments of this physician, the extent and variety of his information, the fascination of his manners, and the richness of his conversation, declaring that rarely in his life had he been so entertained as during his hour's visit at the doctor's office. "And what remedy did he prescribe for your disease?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Cecil. "I declare, I entirely forget what he did recommend," replied the good minister, after a moment's pause. But the incident furnished him with a spiritual prescription which he never failed to apply in pastoral charges and addresses to students of theology: "I charge you that whatever of argument, or rhetoric, or illustration you may employ in your preaching, fail not to make your hearers remember the remedy for sin, the only remedy-Christ and His righteousness, Christ and His atonement, Christ and His advocacy.”

What matters it, then, if the preacher be skilful in the use of illustration, if he be "unskilful in the word of righteousness?" What matters it though the sword of the spirit which he wields have a burnished blade and a finely carved hilt, if in the arm that bears it there be lacking that "power from on high," which shall enable the preacher so to drive it home that it shall "pierce to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints. and marrow, and become a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart?" Let illustrations be used, but let them be sanctified by prayer and subordinated to the Spirit of Truth.

The secret of pulpit and "lo there," as

Our age is unusually fertile in homiletical devices. power is eagerly sought for, and the cry is "lo here" examples of marked success are pointed out. If one is apt at anecdote, he is supposed to have discovered the secret; if another is skilful in phrasemaking or in the balancing of antitheses, he is believed to have solved the problem. But it is not in rhetorical art or illustrative skill; and when we have become strongly persuaded that it is so, God will perhaps put to shame our fancied discovery by bringing forward some Shamgar, the son of Anath, to slay six hundred with his ox-goad while we are capturing one with our patent homiletical apparatus.

In all this attention to means and methods the preacher needs to be on his guard against sacrificing his moral earnestness on the altar of pulpit success. "Sermonizing" is not the business of an ambassador of Christ, but

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preaching preaching in order to the saving and sanctifying of souls. York has a lay preacher who is well worth hearing. He is successful in the market, and pre-eminently so in the desk. When complained of for his vehemence and rapidity of utterance in preaching, he replied, in the phrase of his business : Yes, but remember I am handling perishable It was but another way of saying: "I preach as a dying man to dying men." Let every minister of Christ realize this, so that while some trust in rhetoric and some in parables, he may trust supremely in the spirit whom God has appointed to clothe His heralds with power.

goods."

III. ELEMENTS OF PULPIT POWER.

BY ROBERT F. SAMPLE, D.D., NEW YORK CITY.

THIS paper has in view the greatest efficiency in preaching. Every minister should make the most of his vocation. Very much will depend on his conception of the work to be done and on his qualifications for it. His standard of excellence should be high, and his endeavor to reach it earnest and persistent. It is not my primary design to set forth the value of a thoroughly disciplined mind, of a chaste rhetoric, of a cultured oratory, of a wide range of general knowledge, of physical health which supports thought and action in the pulpit, and that most indispensable quality, sanctified common-sense, well described to be an intuitive perception of the fitness of things. All of these have their places. But it is my chief purpose to emphasize, if possible, some suggestions which are equally familiar, and which, because of their paramount importance, should be often repeated. This is a subject which any preacher of the Word, conscious of his own failures and limited knowledge, is constrained to speak with great humility; yet the humblest may help each other to discover the secret of ministerial efficiency, which we all desire to attain.

We are commissioned to preach the Word. The great facts concerning sin and salvation and all their correlatives are to be unfolded, illustrated, and enforced. The proportions of truth are to be studiously regarded. Doctrine is to be preached, yet not to the neglect of its application to the daily life. Essential doctrines take the precedence of the non-essential, but the latter are not to be omitted. Soteriology claims more attention than eschatology, the first coming of Christ than the second, revelation than theories of inspiration, saving truth than questions about the inerrancy of the original autographs, sermons on the new birth than attacks on specific sins.

The chief instruction of the pulpit has reference to Christ, in His person, offices, and work, as associated with the other persons of the Godhead, and as related to a fallen race. Christ is the Incarnation of the Invisible. He vocalizes the Divine thought and interprets the Divine will. In Him the