town, he is in a remarkably good position for studying them. Does he want advice? There are plenty of clerical friends to volunteer it. Does he prefer looking into the question for himself? There must be a good variety of preachers within walking distance; let him hear, and compare their efforts; and if he cannot find any model amongst them, he may at least take warning from their deficiencies. It will be hard, indeed, if from a comparison of so many he cannot find some excellences worthy to be copied.

Clearly, however, such a plan of observation and selection will leave the student for some time in great perplexity. He will be apt at first to be as much bewildered by the variety of practice as by the contradictory advice of the newspapers. Sketching the character of no particular district, I may give a few examples of this variety. The first man to be observed is a venerable country vicar. He gained some reputation as a preacher in days gone by, and now the natural dignity of a hoary head adds to his repute. His church is only a mile and a half across the fields— let us go and hear him, on a bright Sunday afternoon in June. However drearily the service may be performed, with pleasant country scenes set in the frames of the old windows, and sweet country scents and sounds coming to us through the open door, a village church in the summer is always delightful. We need such antidotes from outside to-day, or the

clerk would disturb us with his nasal twang, and the
choir with the scraping of their fiddles, and the tuning
of their trombones. But our venerable friend ascends
the pulpit. The text is read naturally enough; with
that, however, nature is banished, and elocution takes
its place. The man belongs to the old school; he has
taken lessons from some noted actor in his early days;
he still excites the wonder of gaping rustics with the
mannerisms of fifty years ago.
The voice swells, and
thunders; it droops, whispers, and dies away.
It
rallies again from its depth; it slowly becomes audible,
then it increases in force and power, like the rising
tide, till again it dashes against our ears like thunder.
You may try hard to catch some sense under all this
sound, but you will find it very difficult to make out
anything coherent. If there were any argument, or
even any sequence in such a discourse, which generally
there is not, the speaker and his striking delivery so
monopolise your attention that you cannot pass beyond
them, and grasp the meaning of what he delivers.
Surely we can get here nothing but a warning, and
yet, strange to say, such a man is the pet of the
uneducated. We may not be able to account for it,
but the poor as a rule do care for noise more than for
reason. I have called at a cottage a few days after its
inmates have shared with me the pleasure of such a
discourse. From all sides arose praises of the beauty
and feeling of the sermon, and it required tact to

speak the truth without getting the reputation of a heathen. This habit of mouthing has nearly died out with the greater formality of a past generation. It may be heard sometimes when elderly members of Parliament have to make speeches about nothing at political dinners. A certain number of barristers use it on circuit, knowing well its effect on the jury. According to our example, it still lingers in some pulpits; but it cannot survive much longer, for educated sense and taste are against it. Still the class that admire it so much must not be allowed to wander uncared for. What can we do to keep them ? If we hold in contempt and cannot honestly assume the style they prefer, how can we retain our influence over them?

Another Sunday comes round: let us take a walk in an opposite direction. There, just three miles off, we shall find a church worth visiting. It is one of the most perfect specimens of Gilbert Scott's revivals of Early English. We enter, and enjoy a musical service really well done. Moreover, the people are thoroughly interested, and heartily take their share in the worship. But the prayers and singing are over. Hard custom sends the unwilling priest into the pulpit. There follows a good, plain address; but so utterly wanting in feeling, so entirely read and not preached and read, too, with so much of the monotone still clinging to the voice-that it simply has the

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effect of a strong opiate. By degrees, nodding and dozing prevail over the whole church, and only the shortness of this dreary 'function' prevents our all being as fast asleep as the inmates of the Enchanted Castle. This is an extreme case, but it is scarcely as rare as might be wished. A better appreciation of the real importance of preaching, a truer feeling of its influence, especially with the lower classes, is fast spreading, and no party in the Church is willing to throw aside such a powerful weapon. But for all that, there are too many churches where, in proportion as the service is improved, the sermon is neglected, as though there were some antagonism between the two.

Of course cases and illustrations might be brought forward without limit. Let people cast a glance on the parsons living within a circuit of six miles of them, and they will see amidst what differences of teaching and of style a student of sermons has to take his lessons. However, to bring a long string of perplexities to a close, I must tell my readers how my doubts and difficulties on this subject of preaching were at last overcome. As to style and delivery, a kind friend gave me a clue to the true settling of the question, by recommending me to read Whately's Rhetoric. His complaint against any existing method, in fact, against any method whatever, of teaching elocution, just fell in with my own experience, and seemed to explain the various mannerisms to which so

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many of my clerical friends were addicted, and which
were so much more vexatious than the weakest
natural delivery. Whately's book may be in every-
one's hands, and there is no need to say much about
it; but the whole of his argument is a plea for nature
against art. The only truly good style for any man
is that which is natural to him. If a public speaker
is free from vulgarisms and provincialisms, what he
has to do is to forget himself and his mode of speaking
altogether, and to think only of the substance of his
address, and of the people who are listening to him.
Let his mind be dwelling on his manner of delivery,
and he will be sure to be stilted and unnatural.
his mind be wholly concentrated on his subject, and
on the purpose of bringing it clearly before his audience,
and if he be a man of education nature will be his
true and best guide as to intonation and action. This
plan may be so far improved by practice, that when a
man has learnt to forget himself entirely, he will
recite or speak in the most excellent way that he is
capable of; though, of course, another man with
higher powers would surpass him by the same method,
because he also would be turning to the very best
account superior natural abilities. If it is more

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desirable that each man should do his best in his own style, than that he should be the poor mimic of even the best orator, then by all means let us be thankful to Archbishop Whately for his suggestion, and cultivate