associated evermore with shame. It is a disgraceful poverty. That such shameful poverty springs from such conduct, is manifest in the ordinary life of men. We see it First: In secular matters. The farmer, the tradesman, the professional, who doggedly adhere to their own notions, and will not receive the instruction which modern science affords, are often so unable to compete with those who are open to every new and improved theory of action, that they come to a dead failure in their undertakings, and meet with poverty and shame. We see it Secondly: In intellectual matters. Those who neglect the culture of their minds from youth up, and will not receive instruction, have a poverty of mind that is associated with shame. We see it Thirdly: In moral matters. He who neglects the spiritual culture of his nature, has a poverty of soul that is distressing to contemplate. He is poor and wretched. He feeds on husks. What worse doom can there be than shameful destitution in secular, mental, and moral things? Shame is the worst of the furies: "Shame urges on behind; unpitying shame, That worst of furies, whose fell aspect frights Each tender feeling from the human breast.' THOMSON. II. THE DESTINY OF THE TEACHABLE. "He that regardeth reproof shall be honoured." Honour is a popular word, but has many and often diverse meanings: "Ask the proud peer what's honour? he displays A purchased patent or the herald's blaze; Or if the royal smile his hopes have blest, Points to the glittering glory on his breast. VOL. XX. Yet if beneath no real virtue reign, Worth only beams true radiance on the star." WHITEHEAD. The truly docile man whose faculties are ever in search of truth, and who makes Christ his great Rabbi, will assuredly be honoured. First: His own soul will honour him. He will have the approbation of his own conscience. Secondly: Society will honour him. So long as mind is mind, society must ever honour men who are the recipients of the true and the divine. Thirdly: God will honour him. God smiles on the genuine inquirer, the real truth-seeker. He takes such under his guardianship, and leads them on into higher and still higher fields of thought. There is no honour but in goodness :— "Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood." TENNYSON. (No. CV.) SOUL PLEASURE AND SOUL PAIN. "The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul: but it is abomination to fools to depart from evil.-Prov. xiii. 19. I. SOUL PLEASURE. What is it? An accomplished desire. Desire is the spring power of our activities. Locke defines it " as the uneasiness which a man feels within him on the absence of anything whose present enjoyment carries the delight with it." The desires of the soul, which are very varied, are very significant of our destiny. "Our desires,' says Goethe, are the presenti 66 ments of the faculties which lie within us, the precursors of those things which we are capable of performing. That which we would be and that which we desire present themselves to our BB imagination, about us and in the future. We prove our aspiration after an object which we already secretly possess. It is thus that an intense anticipation transforms a real possibility into an imaginary reality. When such a tendency is decided in us, at each stage of our development a portion of our primitive desire accomplishes itself under favourable circumstances by direct means, and in unfavourable circumstances by some more circuitous route, from which, however, we never fail to reach the straight road again." Indeed, pleasure consists in the gratification of desires. The quality and permanency of the pleasure must ever depend on the object of the desire. If the thing desired is immoral, its attainment will be "sweet to the soul" for a little while, but afterwards it will become bitter as wormwood and gall. The triumph of truth, the progress of virtue, the diffusion of happiness, the honour of God, these are objects of desire that should give a holy and everlasting sweetness to the soul. God Himself should be the grand object of desire. As for me, I will behold Thy face in righteousness. "I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness.' II. SOUL PAIN. "It is an abomination to fools to depart from evil." First: There is soul pain in being connected with evil. Conscience is always tormenting the sinner; from its nature it can never be reconciled to an alliance with evil. Secondly: There is soul pain in the dissolution of that connection. There is a fierce conflict, a tremendous battle in the effort. The Pulpit and its Handmaids. PULPIT ELOQUENCE.-THE POWER AND ACCENT OF CONVICTION. HITHERTO, We may be said to have treated human instrumentality; we must now consider our subject in a higher point of view. Reason, imagination, and sentiment are necessary qualifications to success in our vocation; but we require besides these the power of God, because our aim is to lay hold of and to direct the souls of men. Now, as that mighty genius Bossuet has remarked, "There is nothing so indomitable as the heart of man. When I see it subdued, I adore." And why? Because he recognised in such submission a superhuman agency. This power we possess in the Word, which is the power of God; before which every head must bow, and every knee bend, whether on earth, in heaven, or in hell. Armed with the Divine word, our power is immense; only in order to wield it, we must ourselves be thoroughly penetrated thereby, and above all, be able to convince others that we are so. It must be felt, seen, and acknowledged that God is with us. The Divine word is the foremost power in the world. It has withstood and overcome every other power It has uttered its voice everywhere in the catacombs, at the foot of the scaffold, under the axe of the During the middle ages, mighty barons, sheltered behind impregnable strongholds, had cast the net-work of their sway over the whole of France, and silence was imposed on all lips. Nevertheless, on more than one occasion did the Divine word, in the guise of a priest or monk, venture to ascend the steps of those redoubtable fortresses ; and its voice alone sufficed to inspire fear in the breasts of men clad in armour of steel. There was a king in whom power seemed incarnate. That king was Louis XIV. He dared to say:-" -"L'état, la France, c'est moi." Under his inspiring look, military genius triumphed in war; poetry begat the sublimest conceptions; canvas spoke; marble was animated; and the arts replenished even the gardens of his royal abode with masterpieces .of skill. One Sunday, Louis XIV., surrounded by his court, took his seat in the chapel at Versailles, when the preacher boldly uttered from the pulpit those terrible words: "Woe to the rich! Woe to the great!" whereat the monarch lowered his eyes, and the courtiers murmured. After the sermon, there was some talk of reprimanding the priest for his temerity; but the King remarked, with a justice which does him honour :-"Gentlemen, the preacher has done his duty; it behoves us now to do ours." We may recognise herein the power of the Divine word; and it is that same word which is on our lips. What, indeed, is the word of man even in the mouth of the boldest orator, even when set forth in all the brilliancy of its power, when compared with the Divine word? . Much has been said of the force of Mirabeau's famous apostrophe:-"The communes of France have decided on deliberating. We have heard of the designs which have been suggested to the King; and you, who are not allowed to be his organ with the National Assembly -you who possess neither the standing nor the option, nor the right of speaking-go and tell your master that we are here by the power of the people, and that it shall not be wrested from us except at the point of the bayonet."* This speech has been eulogized as grand, bold, and even audacious; but, good God! what does it amount to? Any priest might do as much, and say something far better, with greater truth and less arrogance; for there is no priest, however poor and humble he may be, who might not say :— "We are here in God's name, and here we intend to remain, and we will speak in spite of guns and bayonets.' But the fact is, we are not adequately convinced of our own power, and of the superiority which we possess over everything around us; for, with nothing else in our hands but that little book which is called the Gospel, we may bring the world to our feet; inasmuch as the Gospel is, and will continue to be, as regards mankind generally, the first of books. There are not wanting those who taunt us in this style:-" Ye men of a past age, ye retrogrades, follow in the wake of your own age; strive to progress. We, on our part, have been constantly advancing, especially within the last two centuries we have gained ground." To this The authenticity of this statement has been questioned. we are justified in replying:"Very true; the human mind has developed, you have worked hard; you have stirred up thought; you have filled our libraries with first-rate books; there have been some profound thinkers and sublime geniuses among you; and you have given birth to many admirable ideas. All this we admit; nevertheless, show us a book superior to our Gospel, or one which will even bear comparison with it. Tell us where it is to be found. You talk of progress, and bid us follow you; but it is we who are in advance, and you who are behind. Begin your studies afresh; do something better, and then come to us again, and we will see. In the meantime, we occupy the foremost place, and are determined to hold it." Our power, we maintain, is far above that of any earthly weapons; for the Christian preacher is backed by eighteen centuries of learning and virtue, which believed what he declares-by more than ten millions of martyrs, who died to attest the truth of what he proclaims; and, behind all that, he is supported by the mighty voice of God, which says to him:"Speak, and be not afraid, for I am with thee." It behoves us, therefore, to be thoroughly persuaded of the power which the Divine word confers upon us. But, besides this, we must make our hearers feel that we are so endowed. They must be impressed, whilst listening to us, that we verily and indeed speak in God's name-that we are not men who have merely cogitated or mused in their studies, and then come forth to propound their own ideas; but that we are commissioned from on high to proclaim to mankind the laws and promises of God, before whom we ourselves profoundly bow. They must read all this in our whole deportment, in our voice, our gestures, and, above all, in our charity. In a word, we must possess the accent of conviction, that accent which believes, speaks, arrests, and alarms. "I The accent of conviction is made up of a mixture of faith, power and love combined; the combination forming a characteristic which is at once simple, pious, and grand, redolent of inspiration and sanctity. It is the power, the life of speech; the sacred fire, or what Mirabeau styles divinity in eloquence. have never heard any one speak," said he, referring to Barnave, "so long, so rapidly, and so well; but there is no divinity in him." The accent of conviction is the magic of speech that which puts argument to silence, withdraws all attention from the preacher, and fixes it solely on what he says; or, rather, on what God says through him. Unhappily, we are very backward in this respect. There is faith undoubtedly in our souls; but it is not always manifest in our speech. How, then, can we expect to make others believe what we do not seem to them to believe ourselves? ... We have to deal with a light, reasoning, and somewhat sceptical world, accustomed to regard every one as merely acting a part and if you do not possess the accent of conviction, it will either suspect you of hypocrisy, or will brand you by admiring how well you ply the trade, and how cleverly you play your game. There is a remark very common now-a-days, which is much to be regretted. If one speaks of a preacher, he is immediately asked: "Has he faith?" which means, Does he appear to believe what he says? Should the reply be, "No; but he is a fine speaker;" the rejoinder generally is: "Then I shall not go to listen to him; for I want to hear somebody who has faith." This observation is not intended to imply any doubt of the inward faith of the preacher, but that he preaches as if he did not believe what he utters. Let us, however, do the world this justice, that when it meets with the accent of convictionthe bold accent of faith, as St. Chrysostom calls it-it is deeply impressed thereby. The preacher who believes, and speaks out of that belief, astounds, staggers, and overcomes the gainsayers. A few words uttered with the accent of conviction go much further than many long sermons. How, indeed, can any prevail against one in whom God is felt to dwell? ... Fine language, talent, imagination, brilliant argumentative powers-all these are common enough amongst us, and we are quite accustomed to them; but what is rare, what is unlookedfor, what carries everything before it, is the language of a faith and of a heart which seems to echo the voice of God Himself. Two years ago, the late pious and gallant Captain Marceau was present at a meeting of operatives in Paris, many of whom were unbelievers and wrong-headed men. He felt moved to address them, and the impression which he produced was almost magical. He had never before spoken in public; nevertheless, he did so on the occasion referred to with that accent of conviction and candour which finds its way at once to the heart, overcoming all resistance, and sometimes seeming to take away one's breath. "My friends," said he, "there are doubtless scme among you who are not yet Christians, and who have no love for religion. I was once as ungodly as you areperhaps more so; for no one has hated Christianity more cordially than I have done. I am bound, however, to do it this justice, that while I was not a Christian, that is, till I was twenty-three years old, I was unhappy, profoundly unhappy. Up to that period, my friends, I had not lived. No, it was not living. I worried myself, or, rather, my passions drew or drove me hither and thither, and carried me away; but I did not live I was a machine man. • .... but I was not a Strange to say, scarcely any attention is paid to this accent of conviction, which is the soul of all eloquence; more especially, of sacred eloquence. Those destined to proclaim the Divine word, are instructed in everything else but this.... Hence the language from the pulpit is often cold, monotonous, turgid, stiff, cramped, conventional, perfunctory; savouring of a formal compliment, but of nothing to indicate the effusion of a genial soul, and without any of those felicitous sallies of the heart, those insinuating and familiar tones, as Fénélon calls them, which produce in you almost a Divine impression. And yet there are many pious priests amongst us, many who are truly men of God. Still, such is the deplorable power of routine, that their piety seems to abandon them when in the pulpit-the very place where it should be most conspicuous. Like myself, you have, doubtless, in the course of your life, often met with one of those estimable priests, full of faith and charity. His countenance alone did you good, and his words cheered you alike in familiar conversation and in the confessional. The same individual occupies the pulpit you are delighted to see |