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yet the copy must be essentially defective. There are trees wrought in iron or silver—they yield no fruit. Flowers there are in silk and other tissues—they breathe no odour. There are fruits of varied hues in wax—they have no taste. There are birds, and men, rivers and landscapes, exquisitely painted, or done in cunning carved-work—they have no motion, no life. So are these appearances of holiness,—shapes of godliness without the power. Now it is the reality, not the show—the substance, not the figure, which we regard as holiness; and this can be ensured to the preacher in no other way than by devout vigils. The common creed of Christendom acknowledges that God is evert/where. To feel that this is true, not in sudden starts, but as the habitual consciousness, is, before all things, what the preacher should be sure of: for in that Presence he dare not sin—cannot doubt—will not fear; every spot is within the precincts of the temple, every moment a golden grain of sabbath; every pulse, homage; every thought, incense; every word, worship; every deed, sacrifice. Such a life is on the verge of heaven. There is in it a simplicity which cannot be put into words; a transparency through which the heart is seen as in a crystal vase,—a magnetism that touches the springs of action, at one moment, in a thousand souls, — a power, compared with which, all other human energies are weakness. The preacher who thus walks humbly with his God is ever clothed in the majesty of a silent Gospel; and when he speaks, it is as natural as the law that shapes the dew and forks the lightning, that his word should be with power.
The preacher's faith should be nourished by self-discipline, the true ao-xwrir. It may be that his belief as a Christian is hereditary—an inheritance which it were monstrously prodigal to throw away, fearfully profane to despise. Yet his personal holding of these truths has become the act of reason—it is his own proper faith. If it now appeared to him, in his maturity, that there is higher reason for repudiating these traditionary holdings than for cleaving to them, he would make up his mind, it is to be hoped, to tear them up by the roots if he could. But he has become a witness for the Gospel, and its champion. His call to propagate it is imperative. It is the seat of his strength—the glory of his life. He does not undertake, as a hireling for a morsel of bread, to uphold the creed of others ; he does engage to make known what he believes to be taught by the Spirit of God. He rejoices that other men have been anointed with the same 'anointing which teacheth us all things,' and that they, like him, have the witness in themselves. He would sound out the truth with the clearness of a bell.
There is a general law of persistence on which men rely for expecting to find a preacher going on in the same direction to the end of life; but we have witnessed changes in this class of men, and we trace some tendencies in several quarters, which forbid our leaning blindly on this law of human persistency. We perceive, also, that there are other laws of human action by which this law is sometimes countervailed. We are not now complaining of either the general law—though it stereotypes much untruth—nor of the exceptional laws—though they may generate grave errors; but, looking at the preaching of the Gospel as a great practical work for man's highest weal, we are concerned to see men engaged in it who are neither bigots nor changelings ; who have fixity of rudimental belief with freedom of expansive thought; who can utter the ancient 'saying' of the Gospel in the speech of our day, rather than in that of half a century ago, acting in this respect like Jesus and the apostles, and the old prophets before them; speaking not the words consecrated by churches, but in those of shops and markets, of men around them in the halls of popular science, in the jury-box, on the hustings, at the gatherings of free citizens, and in the debates of Parliament. The power of a believing mind, to which we have referred, requires the preacher's acquaintance with the truths of the Gospel to be intimate, as they are found, not in human ' composures,' but in' the divine instrument,' so that men feel that he is speaking to them fairly in a way to be understood, and that, though he may not always be arguing as against opponents, he makes it clear to them that he could, and does, on fit occasions. The strongest malte least show of strength. Faith is a tranquil power. What we venture to recommend is that spiritual askesis—self-discipline of all the faculties—which imparts to the preacher's faith the property of being imperturbable, not because he dares not think, but because he has thought -—not because he takes for granted that other men are to be trusted who tell him that the foundation is all right, but because he knows this for himself, whether men tell him so or not, and that he is sure what he preaches is true, even though the whole world were laughing him to scorn for saying so. So Luther preached that a man who has sinned can be set right with the righteous God by trusting in Christ. Thus Baxter warned. Thus Whitfield pleaded. Thus Chalmers reasoned. Thus thundered Mason in New York. Thus Hall poured out the affluence of his learning, and the creations of his genius, in a kindling stream of golden sentences. These were men of power. In their faith there was no staggering; in their words no faltering; in their ministry no weakness. Luther was a tower of strength, because his whole 'trust' was in the Lord. Baxter was a burning flame, because
he lived hard by the mercy-seat, whereon the glory dwelt between the cherubim. Whitfield was 'the voice of one crying in the wilderness,' because, like John, his cry was,—' Behold the Lamb of God!' Chalmers foamed like a cataract, because the deep rapids came rushing down upon him from the everlasting mountains. Hall's words were molten in the furnace where his faith was tried with fire. These were great preachers because they were strong believers; and they were strong believers because they loved the truth, kept their hearts with all diligence, and walked in the light of heaven. There is no age in which such preachers would not have power. Men gaze on their effigies as though they were of an order different to themselves. Noble, truly, was the mould in which their Maker cast them; but the mould is not broken. Rare, indeed, were the stores that filled these golden vessels; but the mines whence they were digged are not worked out. Let the preacher press into that mould. Let him delve in those rocks. Let him be no man's copy. Let him be himself original—not in oddity or extravagance—the least original of all absurd impertinences —but in simplicity, and independence, and naturalness.
Finally, let him who would have power in preaching turn all his reading and observation to account in the study of men. His reading is of small use if it help him not here. By a sort of intellectual chemistry he can analyze and apply the properties of any writer on any subject in history, biography, in controversies of every kind, in voyages, travels, science; in poetry, like that of Shakespcre, Byron, and Goethe; in romances, such as those of Scott, Bulwer, Dickens, and Harriet Beecher Stowe: in them all he sees, as in a phantasmagoria, the movements of life opening to the glance of genius; while in the Bible—his book of books—man is revealed in his secret thoughts by the unfailing light of God.
His observation needs not travel over a wide surface. In the quietudes of rural life, and in the busy hives of industry, the human heart has only coverings of gauze to him whose eyes are opened. The preacher is to look at the population, not as skilled in many crafts, or as frequenting this church, and that chapel, or aliens from both,—but as men, women, and children, making one another what they are, and what they will be. Let him strike into the pith of that humanity which is essentially alike in all, and catch the 'pressure' which the way in which they live has stamped on each. The preacher's mission is to the many, to 'the common people.' He must know how to preach to the common people. They do not want him to be disrespectful to himself, or rude to them. They look in him for the polish of education. In the depth of their hearts they look up to lrim; because they know that, in religious things, at least, he is wiser than themselves, and without any airs of condescension, is working for their good, both in this world and in the next.
It is not easy to judge how much our preachers have of this element of Pulpit Power; but we would respectfully advise each of them to 'covet' it 'earnestly' as one of the 'best gifts.' Among the working people of England, the modern preacher will find some stern principles, stout prejudices, pithy sayings, large capacities of action, some fine specimens of muscular Christianity, and, now and then, a bold bad man, who will put his knowledge, ingenuity, and self-control to beneficial tests. Therefore, he must be A Man Himself, in his thoughts, in his life, in his mode of thinking, and in his way of saying what he thinks.
He who has might of the genuine sort, and who preaches 'with his might,' will be a living illustration of 'the Theory of an Evangelical Ministry,' and his pulpit will be—a Throne Of Power. Happy he who fills that throne, and happy they by whom he is surrounded!
We Have At Length Arrived At 'the beginning of the end,' and a more singular or instructive spectacle than is now exhibited was never seen in any political arena. When the present government took office, in the spring of last year, a shout of trinmph was heard from the protectionist ranks. There was the utmost exultation throughout the subordinates of the party, nor were the leaders without hope that their time was at length coma They had waited long, and had labored diligently, and a combination of favorable circumstances now placed in their hands the influence and emoluments of office. The opponents of the commercial pohcy of 1846 sprung instantly into life with renewed hope and energy. The weakness and divisions of the whigs gave them another opportunity of rallying for the restoration of protection.
Lord John miserably failed in the advice tendered to her Majesty, in February last. Acting on the old rule of party tactics, he sacrificed national interests to the stereotyped ideas of his class. Lord Derby was in consequence installed in power, and speedily surrounded himself with associates whose only claim to distinction, with very few exceptions, was the stolid opposition they had maintained to the liberal tendencies of the age. There was one trifling difficulty, however; but this was adroitly mastered. A large majority of the existing parliament was adverse to any change in the commercial policy inaugurated by Sir Robert Peel. To this policy the new premier and his associates were known to be hostile, and a vote of 'no confidence' was, therefore, apprehended. To guard against such a vote, Lord Derby early announced that he would take the sense of the country on the subject of free trade, and that by the verdict which might be given he was prepared to abide. Free traders were wise in accepting this pledge. They could afford to be generous, and they were so. We need not now say that indications of insincerity were speedily visible in the parliamentary tactics of the government. They did their utmost to defer the dissolution, and spared no professions to insure the electoral support of the various interests that were threatened by the liberal spirit of the day. The landlords and the clergy were their special hope, and to the expectations and fears of these classes they alternately appealed. The dissolution, however, at length came. A general election followed, and on the 4th the new House met for the dispatch of business.
Prior to this, the Anti-Corn-Law League summoned its friends to a meeting in Manchester. This meeting was held on the 2nd, and constitutes, in truth, the opening of the campaign. A more splendid gathering was never witnessed. Two thousand seven hundred tickets were taken up within four days, and more than three thousand persons were ultimately present. The object of the meeting was correctly stated by the chairman, amid much cheering, to be 'the immediate settlement, one way or other,' of the great question of free trade. 'We want,' said Mr. Cobden, 'to make a government declare its opinions.' One would have imagined, prior to Lord Derby's government, that there could be little trouble in doing this. It has been the reputed characteristic of John Bull to speak his mind plainly, -whatever it might be. He has had many prejudices, has frequently been obstinate and self-willed, but his intentions have been commonly avowed. Men have calculated on his sincerity, whatever they might think of his wisdom. This can be so no longer. The policy of the Derby-Disraeli cabinet has done more to injure the repute of statesmen, and to lower the standard of public morality, than any other event in our times.
The tactics of the ministry must be borne in mind, in estimating the course taken by the opposition. They render necessary what might otherwise be inexpedient, and give a character of true wisdom to the measures advocated at Manchester by Mr. Cobden. 'The House of Commons,' said the honorable member for the West Riding, 'should call upon the government to avow its opinions, because I draw a very great distinction between a declaration of the government or the intimation—the mystical intimation—from the government that they don't intend at present to interfere with free trade, and an avowal of the government that they have changed their opinions, and they are honestly in favour of free trade. I say that, having nineteen-twentieths of the population of this country, and a large majority of the House of