LECTURES.

LECTURE I.

INTRODUCTORY.

1. THE preaching of the gospel, however contemned and undervalued by philosophers, falsely so called,' is a work of immense importance. In the magnitude of its objects it surpasses, beyond all comparison, every other employment in which men can engage. This might be illustrated, did my limits allow the detail, by an ample exhibition of facts, showing that the highest degrees of intellectual cultivation, of civil liberty, and of social order, which are found in the most favoured communities, result not so much from all other causes combined, as from the sanctifying influence produced by the faithful preaching of the gospel.

But the consideration which attaches preeminent importance to this work is, that God has appointed it as the grand instrument of salvation to men. The scheme of redemption is an object to which all other objects and events, in our world, are subordinate. This is the radiant point, where all the attributes and works of God converge into a blaze of glory. In contemplating the

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'great mystery of godliness, into which angels desire to look,' we see how infinite wisdom, love, justice, and grace unite in the forgiveness of sin, and in suspending the immortal hopes of sinners on the cross of Christ. Now the principal means which God has instituted to make known this scheme of mercy to a lost world, is the preaching of the gospel. This consideration invests the preacher's work with a character of exalted and awful dignity, which very far transcends the most elevated employments of this world. Well did St. Paul say, and had he been an angel, well might he have said, "Who is sufficient for these things?" Surely then, a pious, uninspired man should aim at the highest attainable degree of perfection, in his preparation for this work.

2. No man who has any just conceptions of this work, and of his own acquisitions, will think himself already so perfect as to be above improvement.

He who has made any real progress in wisdom, will see at every step of his researches, a field opening before him, that is absolutely boundless. His sermons cannot be rich in thought, unless his materials are drawn from inexhaustible resources: and to these he cannot have access, without patient, assiduous, well-directed, and long-continued application. But supposing him to be a "scribe well instructed," and furnished with ample stores of biblical and theological learning, he may be very unskilful in " bringing forth" these treasures, for the instruction of others. His style may be vulgar, or inaccurate, or unintelligible, or dry, or feeble.

In one or more of the qualifications requisite to form an able preacher, very few, at any age, or in any circumstances, are free from considerable imperfection. To any young man, then, it can be no reproach, to acknowledge himself imperfect.

3. To correct our own defects, and to increase our qualifications for usefulness, is a work which requires our own efforts. No process in which a man is merely passive, can transform him into an able preacher, or a useful man in any respect. Important acquisitions, of every kind, must be the result of care and labour. There is no royal road' to knowledge in our profession, more than in others. It would indeed be unwise, at this day, for a Christian student to adopt a course like that of the Athenian orator, who transcribed the history of Thucydides eight times with his own hand, that he might learn to imitate the conciseness, strength, and fire of the historian. But the same industry, though it may be better applied in this age of books, is as necessary as it was in the age of Demosthenes. 1

Men,' says Johnson, have sometimes appeared, of such transcendent abilities, that their slightest and most cursory performances excel all that labour and study can enable meaner intellects to compose; as there are regions of which the spontaneous products cannot be equalled in other soils by care and culture. But it is no less dangerous for any man to place himself in this rank of understanding, and fancy that he is born to be illustrious without labour, than to omit the cares of husbandry, and expect from his ground the blossoms of Arabia.' Johnson was practically acquainted with the principle of Quinctilian, that it is the work of correction to add, to retrench, and to change. That it is comparatively easy to determine what parts require amplification or abridgment; but to repress the tumid, to raise the low, to prune the luxuriant, to restrain the extravagant, to condense the diffuse, is a labour of double difficulty.'

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It deserves to be remembered that Johnson was neither

1 See note (1) by the Editor, at the end of the volume.

too indolent nor too fastidious to become a critic on himself. His Rambler, which, as it was first published, competent judges had classed among the finest specimens of English composition, he almost rewrote for subsequent editions. Chalmers, in his biographical preface to the Rambler, has preserved one of its original papers, as a literary curiosity. Any student who will carefully compare this with the corrected copy, and see with what punctilious inspection, this great man revised his own composition, will find himself amply repaid for his trouble. 1

I am aware that this critical process, when employed in the correction of a sermon, needs to be conducted with more caution and judgment, than in the case of an essay, where the heart may slumber, while the intellect is engaged in adjusting the parts of sentences. But the fervor of feeling which is indispensable in the compositions of the preacher, is injured, not so much by subsequent correction, as by the refrigerant proceeding too often adopted in the original discussion of a subject, in which the writer forgets his main business, in searching for favorite forms of expression. I cannot too often repeat the remark, that the only adequate remedy for this difficulty, is to acquire such habits of correctness, that propriety of language shall be spontaneous, and cost no labor of reflection; while the thoughts to be communicated should thus be allowed to engross the attention.

But to form these habits in a young writer, it is necessary that he should be accustomed carefully to revise, after a proper interval, every production of his own pen. That this labour does not necessarily tend to destroy the spirit of a sermon, is evident from the fact, that to this very process we are indebted for the most animated, 1 Note (2.)

energetic, and eloquent discourses, that have ever issued from the press. And to the want of this, in a great measure, we may ascribe the superabundant supply of those which deserve a different character.

But patience in revising our own compositions, is not all that is requisite on this subject-because,

4. No man, however accurate, or however desirous of improvement, can be so perfect a critic on himself, as not to need at least occasional aid from the judgment of others.

The reasons of this remark, as applicable to the writer of mature and well-disciplined mind, are chiefly two. One is, the imperceptible influence of habit. It is not my purpose here, to analyze those laws of mind on which the power of habit depends. The fact is too obvious to require to be proved, that this power does exist, and exert an important influence upon our whole course of thinking and acting. The constant recurrence of any object or event diminishes the interest which it excites in the mind. On this principle, we gradually become familiar with the attitudes, features, voice, and language of one with whom we daily associate, so as not to observe even those peculiarities which would be instantly noticed by a stranger. For a still stronger reason, we become insensible to whatever is peculiar in ourselves. Faults that are quite obvious to others, in our use of favourite words and phrases, or in the general method of expressing our thoughts, may excite as little notice in our own minds, as the action of our limbs in walking, or of our lungs in respiration.

The other, and the more important reason, why a man cannot be a perfect critic on himself, is, that he is liable to feel a partiality to the faults which need correction, because they are his own. This difficulty exists in all its