MODERN PREACHERS.

Ir is allowed, on all hands, that our English divines receive a more liberal education, and improve that education by frequent study, more than any others of this reverend profession in Europe. In general also, it may be observed, that a greater degree of gentility is affixed to the character of a student in England than elsewhere, by which means our clergy have an opportunity of seeing better company while young, and of sooner wearing off those prejudices which they are apt to imbibe even in the best-regulated universities, and which may be justly termed the vulgar errors of the literary republic.

Yet with all these advantages it is very obvious, that the clergy are no where so little thought of, by the populace, as here; and though our divines are foremost, with respect to abilities, yet they are found last in the effects of their ministry; the vulgar, in general, appearing no way impressed with a sense of religious duty. I am not for complaining of the depravity of the times, or for endeavouring to paint a prospect more gloomy than in nature; but certain it is, no person who has travelled will contradict me when I aver, that the lower orders of mankind in other countries testify on every occasion the profoundest awe of religion, while in England they are scarcely awakened into sense of its duties, even in circumstances of the greatest distress.

This dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are apt to attribute to climate and constitution; may not the vulgar, being pretty much neglected in our exhortations from the pulpit, be a conspiring cause? Our divines seldom stoop to their mean capacities; and they, who want instruction most, find least in our religious assemblies.

Whatever may become of the higher orders of mankind, who are generally possessed of collateral motives to virtue, the vulgar should be particularly regarded, whose behaviour in civil life is totally hinged upon their hopes and fears. Those who constitute the basis of the great fabric of society, should be particularly regarded; for in policy, as in architecture, ruin is most fatal when it begins from the bottom.

Men of real sense and understanding prefer a prudent mediocrity to a precarious popularity; and, fearing to overdo their duty, leave it half undone. Their discourses from the pulpit are generally dry, methodical, and unaf

fecting; delivered with the most insipid calmness, insomuch, that should the peaceful preacher lift his head over the cushion, which alone he seems to address, he might discover his audience, instead of being awakened into remorse, actually sleeping over his methodical and laboured composition.

This method of preaching is, however, by some called an address to reason, and not to the passions; this is styled the making of converts from conviction; but such are indifferently acquainted with human nature, who are not sensible that men seldom reason about their debaucheries till they are committed; reason is but a weak antagonist when headlong passion dictates; in all such cases we should arm one passion against another; it is with the human mind as in nature, from the mixture of two opposites the result is most frequent neutral tranquillity. Those who attempt to reason us out of our follies begin at the wrong end, since the attempt naturally presupposes us capable of reason: but to be made capable of this is one great point of the cure.

There are but few talents requisite to become a popular preacher, for the people are easily pleased if they perceive any endeavours in the orator to please them; the meanest qualifications will work this effect, if the preacher sincerely sets about it. Perhaps little, very little more is required, than sincerity and assurance; and a becoming sincerity is always certain of producing a becoming assurance. Si vis me flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi, is so trite a quotation, that it almost demands an apology to repeat it; yet, though all allow the justice of the remark, how few do we find put it in practice; our orators, with the most faulty bashfulnes, seem impressed rather with an awe of their audience than with a just respect for the truths they are about to deliver; they of all professions seem the most bashful, who have the greatest right to glory in their eommission.

The French preachers generally assume all that dignity which becomes men who are ambassadors from Christ; the English divines, like erroneous envoys, seem more solicitous not to offend the court to which they are sent, than to drive home the interests of their employer. The Bishop of Massillon, in the first sermon he ever preached, found the whole audience, upon his getting into the pulpit, in a disposition no way favourable to his intentions; their nods, whispers, or drowsy behaviour, shewed him that there was no great profit to be expected from his sowing in a

soil so improper: however, he soon changed the disposi tion of his audience by his manner of beginning: 66 If," says he, "a cause, the most important that could be conceived were to be tried at the bar before qualified judges; if this cause interested ourselves in particular; if the eyes of the whole kingdom were fixed upon the event; if the most eminent counsel were employed on both sides; and if we had heard from our infancy of this yet undetermined trial would you not all sit with due attention; and warm expectation to the pleadings on each side? Would not all your hopes and fears be hinged upon the final decision? And yet, let me tell you, you have this moment a cause of much greater importance before you; a cause where not one nation but all the world are spectators, tried not before a fallible tribunal, but the awful throne of Heaven, where not your temporal and transitory interests are the subject of debate, but your eternal happiness or misery; where the cause is still undetermined: but, perhaps, the very moment I am speaking may fix the irrecoverable decree that shall last for ever; and yet, notwithstanding all this, you can hardly sit with patience to hear the tidings of your own salvation; I plead the cause of Heaven, and yet I am scarcely attended to, &c." The style, the abruptness of a beginning like this, in the closet would appear absurd, but in the pulpit it is attended with the most lasting impressions; that style, which in the closet might justly be called flimsy, seems the true mode of eloquence here. I never read a fine composition, under the title of a sermon, that I do not think the author has miscalled his piece, for the talents to be used in writing well entirely differ from those of speaking well. The qualifications for speaking, as has been already observed, are easily acquired; they are accomplishments which may be taken up by every candidate who will be at the pains of stooping. Impressed with a sense of the truths he is about to deliver, a preacher disregards the applause or the contempt of his audience, and he insensibly assumes a just and manly sincerity. With this talent alone we see what crowds are drawn around enthusiasts, even destitute of common sense; what numbers converted to Christianity. Folly may sometimes set an example for wisdom to practise, and our regular divines may borrow instruction from even Methodists, who go their circuits, and preach prizes among the populace.

It will be perhaps objected, that by confining the ex

eellencies of a preacher to proper assurance, earnestness, and openness of style, I make the qualifications too trifling for estimation: there will be something called oratory brought up on this occasion; action, attitude, grace, elocution, may be repeated as absolutely neces sary to compleat the character; but let us not be deceiv ed, common sense is seldom swayed by fine tones, musical periods, just attitude, or the display of a white handkerchief; oratorial behaviour, except in very able hands indeed, generally sinks into aukward and paltry affectation.

It must be observed, however, that these rules are calculated only for him who would instruct the vulgar, who stand in most need of instruction; to address philosophers, and to obtain the character of a polite preacher among the polite, a much more useless, though more sought-for character, requires a different method of proceeding. All I shall observe on this head is, to entreat the polemic divine, in his controversy with the Deists, to act rather offensively than to defend; to push home the grounds of his belief, and the impracticability of theirs, rather than to spend time in solving the objections of every opponent. It is ten to one, says a writer on the Art of War, but that the assailant who attacks the enemy in his trenches is always victorious.

Yet, upon the whole, our clergy might employ themselves more to the benefit of society, by declining all controversy, than by exhibiting even the profoundest skill in polemic disputes; their contests with each other often turn on speculative trifles, and their disputes with the Deists are almost at an end, since they can have no more than victory, and that they are already possessed of, as their antagonists have been driven into a confession of the necessity of revelation, or an open avowal of atheism, To continue the dispute longer would only endanger it; the sceptic is ever expert at puzzling a debate which he finds himself unable to continue, "and, like an Olympic boxer, generally fights best when undermost."

WEALTH AND RANK.

THERE is no instance in which the words and actions of mankind are more at variance, than in the affected contempt of riches and distinction. We all eagerly

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court wealth and honours, though we generally see the possessors of them differ from the rest of mankind only by the insipidity of their enjoyments. Even those who arrive unexpectedly at them are in the same predicament after the first novelty is past and during the short period it lasts, they commonly shew their sense of it by exercising that insolent and supercilious behaviour to their foriner equals, which is the usual distinguishing character of the NOVUS HOMO.

Riches, and rank, however, are certainly advantages in themselves, when enjoyed with moderation, and not substituted in the place of more solid advantages. The enjoyment of all the conveniences and elegancies of life, in the highest degree, if not abused by folly and intemperance, is a real good, in spite of all the empty declamations of affected stoicism. Surely to be received every where with respect and attention instead of neglect; to have every look courted, and every word listened to; and above all, to be able to relieve poverty and distress by actions of benevolence, instead of empty wishes, must appear solid blessings in the eye of the most rigid philosophy. Yet the man who misapplies these blessings, who over-rates their value, or depends on them in circumstances where they cannot avail him, will often meet disgust and disappointment where he expects pleasure and, esteem. He who is above conciliating the favour of mankind by good humour and affability, because he is a Lord, will find knaves who will flatter him to his face, and abuse him behind his back, and fools who will submit to his insolence, for the degrading honour of being seen in his company; but he will never find a real friend, or even an independent companion. And he who will not put on his own shoes and stockings because he keeps a valet, or is not able to girt his horse because he is always attended by a groom, is a complete slave. Neither is this species of slavery confined to the indolent only; it may be found among persons engaged in the most active pursuits. I have known an officer in camp as unable to get up in the morning without assistance as a sucking babe, or a turtle turned on its back; and I have seen a foxhunter, who, if the girt of his saddle got loose, was completely unhorsed for the day, if he could not find a servant or a countryman to help him.

But the most degrading reliance on wealth and rank is in the service of love. The man who only bribes his mis

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