The Percy Anecdotes: |
I say the PULPIT, (in the sober use
Of its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs,)
Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand,
The most important and effectual guard,
Support, and ornament of Virtue's cause.' - COWPER.
FATHER FULGENTIO, the friend and biographer of the celebrated Paul Sarpi, both of them secret friends to the progress of religious reformation, was once preaching upon Pilate's question, 'What is truth?' He told the audience that he had at last, after many searches, found it out, and holding forth a New Testament, said, 'Here it is my friends, but added sorrowfully, as he returned it to his pocket, 'It is a sealed book.' It has been since the glory of the reformation to break the seal which priestly craft had imposed upon it, and to lay its blessed treasures open to the universal participation of mankind.
'Behold the picture! Is it like? - Like whom?
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again; pronounce a text;
Cry-Hem! and reading what they never wrote
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.'
COWPER.
The practice of reading sermons from the pulpit is now so common, that were a minister of the Established Church to preach extemporaneously, he would subject himself to the imputation of being a Sectarian, and would be regarded in the diocese with almost as much jealousy as if he had violated the whole of the articles in the rubric. This custom, now so prevalent, was well reproved by Charles II. who issued the following ordinance on the subject, to the University of Cambridge.
'VICE-CHANCELLOR AND GENTLEMEN - Whereas his majesty is informed, that the practice of reading sermons is generally taken up by the preachers before the University, and therefore continues even before himself; his majesty hath commanded me to signify to you his pleasure, that the said practice, which took its beginning from the disorders the late times, be wholly laid aside; and that the said preachers deliver their sermons, both in Latin and English, by memory without book; as being a way of preaching which his majesty judgeth most agreeable to the use of foreign churches, to the custom of the University heretofore, and to the nature of that holy exercise. And that his majesty's command in these premises may be duly regarded and observed, his further pleasure is, that the names of all such ecclesiastical persons as shall continue the present supine and slothful way of preaching, be, from time to time, signified to me by the Vice-chancellor for the time being, on pain of his majesty's displeasure. October 8, 1674. 'MONMOUTH.'
The practice of reading sermons must not, however, be too unreservedly condemned. It is often more a matter of necessity than choice. Dr. Sanderson, so well known for his 'Cases of Conscience,' had an extraordinary memory, but was so bashful and timorous withal, that it was of no use in the delivery of his sermons, which he was in a manner compelled to read. Dr. Hammond being once on a visit to him, laboured to persuade him to trust to his excellent memory, and to give up the habit of reading. Dr. Sanderson promised to make the experiment; and as he went to church on the Sunday following, put into Dr. Hammond's hands the manuscript of the sermon he intended to deliver. The sermon was a very short one; but before the doctor had gone through a third part of it, he became disordered, incoherent, and almost incapable of finishing. On his return, be said, with much earnestness, to Dr. H., 'Good doctor give me my sermon, and know, that neither you, nor any man living shall ever persuade me to preach again without book.' Hammond replied, 'Good doctor, be not angry; for if I ever persuade you to preach again without book, I will give you leave to burn all those that I am master of.'
Aubrey says, that when he was a freshman at college, and heard Dr. S. read his first lecture, he was out in the Lord's Prayer!
It was remarked, when his sermons were printed, in 1632, that 'the best sermons that were ever read, were never preached.'
Even the great Masillon once stopped short in the middle of a sermon from defect of memory; and the same thing happened through excess of apprehension, to two other preachers, whom Masillon went in different parts of the same day to hear.
Prolixity is one of the very common arts for obtaining popularity. The ignorant are too apt to estimate the value of preaching like that of more worldly matter, by the quantity rather than the quality; and by a fondness for large doses, get more often intoxicated than refreshed. 'Immoderate length, in all kinds of religious offices,' says Dr. Campbell, in his 'Lectures on the Pastoral Character,' 'has ever had an influence on weak and superstitious minds; and for this reason, those who have hypocritically affected the religious character, have ever chosen to distinguish themselves by this circumstance. The Pharisees, who made use of religion as a cover to their pride and extortion, "for a pretence," as our Lord tells us, "made long prayers." He who never spoke a word in vain, did not add the epithet, "long," unmeaningly; the length of their devotions, as well as the breadth of their phylacteries, and the largeness of the fringes at the corners of their garments, were all so many engines of their craft.'
Dr. South, speaking of some popular leaders who rivalled one another in respect of their influence on the multitude, takes notice of a new sort of gymnastic exercise in which they engaged, unheard of among the ancients, which he denominates, emphatically enough, 'preaching prizes,' that is, as it would seem, vieing with one another who shall hold forth longest. . 'Can anything,' as Dr. Campbell asks truly, 'of the nature, use, and end of preaching be understood or regarded, where such a pharisaic trick is put in practice?' It may be said, that the appetite of some persons is here insatiable. Depend on it, wherever that is the case, it is a false appetite, and followed by no digestion. The whole significancy of those exercises to such, is the time spent in them, and the transient emotions they feel when thus employed.'
For the purpose of restraining preachers in the length of their sermons, hour-glasses were introduced nearly about the same period as the reformation.
In the frontispiece prefixed to the Holy Bible of the bishop's translation, imprinted by John Day, 1569, 4to. Archbishop Parker is represented with an hour-glass standing on his right hand. Clocks and watches being then but rarely in use, the hour-glass was had recourse to, as the only convenient remembrancer which the state of the arts could supply. The practice of using them became generally prevalent, and continued to the time of the revolution in 1688; the hour-glass was placed either on a side of the pulpit, or on a stand in front of it. 'One whole houre-glasse,' 'One halfe houre-glasse,' occur in an inventory taken about 1632, of the goods and implements belonging to the church of All Saints, Newcastle-upon-Tyne. (Brand's 'History of Newcastle,' vol. 11. P. 370. notes.)
Daniel Burgess, a nonconformist preacher at the beginning of the last century, alike famous for the length of his pulpit harangues and for the quaintness of his illustrations, was once declaiming with great vehemence against the sin of drunkenness. Having exhausted the usual time, he turned the hour-glass, and said, 'Brethren, I have somewhat more to say on the nature and consequences of drunkenness, so let's have the other glass, and then.'
The witticism seems to have been borrowed from the frontispiece of a small book, entitled 'England's Shame, or a Relation of the Life and Death of Hugh Peters, by Dr. William Young, 1663.' Hugh Peters is here represented preaching, and holding an hour-glass in his left hand, in the act of saying, 'I know you are good fellows, so let's have another glass.'
Preaching, before Cranmer's Time.
In the reign of Henry the Eighth, pulpit eloquence was little more than a gross attempt to exalt the power of the Church, until Bishop Cranmer saw its abuse, and endeavoured to make it the vehicle of instruction. How much a reformation in preaching was wanting may be judged of from the printed sermons of the times. In one of these discourses, the priest, inveighing against irreverence to the ministers of religion, relates the following story:- 'St. Austin,' says he, 'saw two women prating together in the Pope's chapel, and the fiend sitting on their necks writing a long roll of what the women said. Presently, letting it fall, St. Austin took it up, and asking the women what they had said, they answered only a few paternosters. Then St. Austin read the bill, and there was never a good word in it.' In another sermon we are told - 'That four men had stolen an abbot's ox. The abbot gave sentence and cursed them. Three of them were shriven, and asked mercy. The fourth died without being absolved, so that when he was dead his spirit walked by night, and scared all who stirred from their houses after sunset. It happened that once, as a priest went in the night with God's body to a sick man, the spirit met him, and told him who he was, and why he walked, and prayed the priest to tell his wife to make amends to the abbot, that he might absolve him, for he could have no rest till then. So this was done, and the poor soul at length went to rest.' In a sermon upon the mass, a priest told his hearers, among other benefits arising from it, that 'On the day they hear it all idle oaths and forgotten sins shall be forgiven. On that day they shall not lose their sight, nor die a sudden death, nor wax aged, and every step thitherward and homeward an angel shall reckon.'
Holy Maid of Kent's Conspiracy.
At the time of the noted imposture of the 'Holy Maid of Kent,' who pretended that God had revealed that in case Henry VIII. should divorce Queen Catherine of Arragon, and take another wife during her life, his royalty would not be of a month's duration, but he should die the death of a villain; one Peto, who appears to have been an accomplice in the imposture, was preaching before Henry, at Greenwich, and in the same strain with the nun, did not scruple to tell his Majesty to his face that he had been deceived by many lying prophets, while himself, as, a true Micaiah, warned him that the dogs should lick his blood as they had licked the blood of Ahab. Henry bore this outrageous insult with a moderation not very usual to him; but to undeceive the people he appointed Dr. Curwin to preach before him on the Sunday following, who justified the king's proceedings, and branded Peto with the epithets of 'rebel, slanderer, dog, and traitor.' Curwin, however, was interrupted by a friar, who called him 'a lying prophet, who sought to alter the succession of the crown,' and proceeded so virulently to abuse him that the king was obliged to interpose, and command him to be silent. Peto and the friar were afterwards summoned before the king and council, but were only reprimanded for their insolence.
The appointment of bishops and other ecclesiastics to lay offices, and more especially to places in the mint, during the reign of Edward VI., was severely censured by the intrepid and venerable Bishop Latimer, who denounced it boldly from the pulpit. In one of his sermons on the number of unpreaching prelates, he said, 'But they are otherwise occupied, some in king's matters, some are ambassadors, some of the privy council, some to furnish the court, some are lords of parliament, some are presidents, and some comptrollers of mints. Well, well! Is this their duty? Is this their office? Is this their calling? Should we have ministers of the church to be comptrollers of mints? Is this a meet office for a priest that hath the cure of souls? Is this his charge? I would here ask one question: I would fain know who comptrolleth the devil at home in his parish while he comptrolleth the mint? If the apostles might not leave the office of preaching to be deacons, shall one leave it for minting? I cannot tell you; but the saying is that since priests have been minters, money hath been worse than it was before.'
In another part of his discourse, the good bishop proceeds to ask, 'Is there never a nobleman to be Lord President, but it must be a prelate? Is there never a wise man in the realm to be a comptroller of the mint? I speak it to your shame, I speak it to your shame. If there be never a wise man, make a water-bearer, a tinker, a cobbler, a slave, a page, the comptrollers of the mint. Make a mean gentleman, a groom, a yeoman, make a poor beggar, Lord President. Thus I speak, not that I would have it so, but to your shame, if there be never a gentleman meet nor able to be Lord President. For why are not the noblemen and young gentlemen of England so brought up in knowledge of God and in learning, that they might be able to execute offices in the commonweal? Yea, and there be already noblemen enough, though not so many as I could wish, to be Lord Presidents, and wise men enough for the mint. And as unmeet a thing it is for bishops to be Lord Presidents, or priests to be minters, as it was for the Corinthians to plead matters of variance before judges.'
In the year 1555, a Mr. Tavernier, of Bresley, in Norfolk, had a special license signed by King Edward the Sixth, authorising him to preach in any place of his Majesty's dominions, though he was a layman, and he is said to have preached before the king at court, wearing a velvet bonnet or round cap, a damask gown, and a gold chain about his neck. In the reign of Mary, he appeared in the pulpit at St. Mary's, Oxford, with a sword by his side, and a gold chain about his neck, and preached to the scholars, beginning his sermon in these words: 'Arriving at the mount of St. Mary's, in the Stony Stage where I now Stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven of Charity, Carefully Conserved for the Chickens of the Church.' This sort of style, especially the alliterative part of it, was much admired in those days, even by the most accomplished of scholars, and was long after in great favour both with speakers and hearers.
At the time that Mr. Tavernier first received commission as a preacher, good preaching was so very scarce that not only the king's chaplains were obliged to make circuits round the country to instruct the people, and to fortify them against popery, but even laymen, who were scholars, were employed for that purpose.
On the accession of Queen Mary to the throne, all the Protestant pulpits were shut up; the most eminent preachers in London were put in confinement, and all the married clergy throughout the kingdom were deprived of their benefices. Dr. Parker calculates, that out of sixteen thousand clergymen, not less than twelve thousand were turned out. A few days after the queen had been proclaimed, there was a tumult at St. Paul's, in consequence of Dr. Bourne, one of the canons of that church, preaching against the reformation. He spoke in praise of Bishop Bonner, and was making some severe reflections on the late King Edward, when the whole audience rose in confusion. Some called out, 'Pull down the preacher;' others threw stones; and one person aimed a dagger at the doctor, which stuck in the pulpit. Had it not been for the exertions of Mr. Bradford and Mr. Rogers, two popular preachers for the reformation, he had certainly been sacrificed. These men, at the hazard of their lives, rescued him, and conveyed him in safety to a neighbouring house. This act of kindness was afterwards repaid by their imprisonment and death at the stake.
La Bruyere is strong in his commendation of Father Seraphin, an apostolical preacher. The first time (he says) that he preached before Louis XIV., he said to this monarch, 'Sire, I am not ignorant of the custom according to the prescription of which I should pay you a compliment. This I hope your majesty will dispense with; for I have been searching for a compliment in the Scriptures, and unhappily, I have not found one.'
Carracciolo, a celebrated Italian preacher, once exercised his talents before the Pope, on the luxury and licentiousness which then revailed at court. 'Fie on St. Peter! fie on St. Paul!' exclaimed he, 'who having it in their power to live as voluptuously as the Pope and the cardinals, chose rather to mortify their lives with fasts, with watchings, and labours.'
When M. le Tourneau preached the Lent sermons at St. Benoit, in Paris, in the room of Father Quesnel, who had been obliged to abscond, Louis XIV. enquired of Boileau if he knew anything of a preacher called Le Tourneau, whom everybody was running after? 'Sire,' replied the poet, 'your majesty knows that people always run after novelties; this man preaches the gospel.' The king then pressing him to give his opinion seriously, Boileau added, 'When M. le Tourneau first ascends the pulpit, his ugliness so disgusts the congregation, that they wish he would go down again; but when he begins to speak, they dread the time of his descending.'
It is a singular fact, that this very successful preacher, after he had entered into orders, thought himself so ill-qualified for the pulpit, that he actually went and renounced all the duties of the priesthood; but was afterwards, by the earnest persuasions of M. de Sacy, influeed to resume them.
Boileau's remark, as to the novelty of preaching the gospel' at that period, brings to remembrance the candid confession of a preacher at Mols, near Antwerp, who in a sermon delivered to an audience wholly of his own order, observed, 'We are worse than Judas; he sold and delivered his master; we sell him to you, but deliver him not.'
With all the strength of mind which Queen Elizabeth possessed, she had the weakness of her sex as far as related to her age and her personal attractions, 'The majesty and gravity of a sceptre,' says a contemporary of this great princess, 'could not alter that nature of a woman in her. When Bishop Rudd was appointed to preach before her, he wishing in a godly zeal, as well became him, that she should think some time of mortality, being then sixty-three years of age, he took his text fit for that purpose out of the Psalms, 90, V. 12.- "0 teach us to NUMBER our days, that we may incline our hearts unto wisdom;" which text he handled most learnedly. But when he spoke of some sacred mystical numbers, as three for the Trinity, three times three for the heavenly hierarchy, seven for the sabbath, and seven times seven for a jubilee; and, lastly, nine limes seven for the grand climacterical year (her age), she perceiving whereto it tended, began to be troubled with it. The bishop discovering all was not well, for the pulpit stood opposite her majesty, he fell to treat of some plausible numbers, as of the number 666, making Latinus, with which, he said, he could prove Pope to be Antichrist, &c. He still, however, interlarded his sermon with Scripture passages, touching the infirmities of age, as that in Ecclesiasticus, "When the grinders shall be few in number, and they wax dark that look out of the windows, &c. and the daughters of singing shall be abased;" and more to that purpose. The queen, as the manner was, opened the window: but she was so far from giving him thanks or good countenance, that she said plainly, "He might have kept his arithmetic for himself; but I see the greatest clerks are not the wisest men;" and so she went away discontented.'
Fuller has enrolled among his Worthies; Dr. Field, Dean of Gloucester, a learned divine, 'whose memory,' he says, 'dwelleth like a field which the Lord hath blessed.' He was an excellent preacher, and used often to preach before James I., especially in his progress through Hampshire in 1609. The first time his majesty heard him, he observed, in the same punning spirit with Fuller, and which was indeed characteristic of the age, 'This is a field for the Lord to dwell in.' His majesty gave him a promise of a bishopric, but never fulfilled it. When he heard of the doctor's death, his conscience appears to have smote him. He expressed his regret, and said, 'I should have done more for that man.'
Another divine, whom his majesty used to style 'the King of preachers,' was John King, who became Bishop of London in 1611; and was so great a preacher, that even after his elevation to the mitre, he never missed delivering a sermon on Sunday when his health permitted. Lord Chief justice Coke used to say of Bishop King, that 'he was the best preacher in the Star Chamber in his time.'
The great northern apostle, Bernard Gilpin, who refused a bishopric, did not confine his Christian labours to the church of Houghton, of which he was minister, but at his own expense visited the then desolate churches of Northumberland, once every year, to preach the gospel. Once when he was setting out on his annual visitation, Barnes, Bishop of Durham, summoned him to preach before him; but he excused himself, and went on his mission. On his return, he found himself suspended from all ecclesiastical employments for contempt. The bishop afterwards sent for him suddenly, and commanded him to preach; but he pleaded his suspension, which however the bishop immediately took off. Gilpin then went into the pulpit, and selected for his subject the important charge of a Christian bishop. Having exposed the corruption of the clergy, he boldly addressed himself to his lordship, who was present. 'Let not your lordship,' said he, 'say these crimes have been committed without your knowledge; for whatsoever you yourself do in person, or suffer through your connivance to be done by others, is wholly your own; therefore in the presence of God, angels, and men, I pronounce your fatherhood to be the author of all these evils; and I, and this whole congregation, will be a witness in the day of judgment, that these things have come to your cars.' It was expected that the bishop would have resented this boldness; but on the contrary, he thanked Mr. Gilpin for his faithful reproof, and suffered him to go his annual visitations in future without molestation.
About this period, the Northumbrians retained so much of the custom of our Saxon ancestors, as to decide every dispute by the sword: they even went beyond them; and not content with a duel, each contending party used to muster what adherents he could, and commenced a kind of petty war, so that a private grudge would often occasion much bloodshed.
In one of Mr. Gilpin's annual visitations, there was a quarrel of this kind at Rothbury. During the first two or three days of his preaching, the contending parties observed some decorum, and never appeared at church together. At length, however, they met. One party had been early to church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon, the other entered. They did not stand long quiet, but mutually inflamed at the sight of each other, began to clash their weapons. Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult in some degree ceased, and Mr. Gilpin proceeded with his sermon. In a short time, the combatants again brandished their weapons, and approached each other. Mr. Gilpin then descended from the pulpit, went between the combatants, and addressing their leaders, put an end to their quarrels for the time, although he could not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised, however, that until the sermon was over, they would not disturb the congregation. He then returned to the pulpit, and devoted the rest of his time in endeavouring to make the combatants ashamed of their conduct. His behaviour and discourse affected them so much, that at his further entreaty, they agreed to abstain from all acts of hostility, while he continued in the country.
On another occasion, Mr. Gilpin going into the church, observed a glove hanging up, which he was told was a challenge to anyone that should take it down. He ordered the sexton to give it to him, but he refused. Mr. Gilpin then reached it himself, and put it in his breast. When the congregation was assembled, he went into the pulpit, and in the course of his sermon severely censured these inhuman challenges. 'I hear,' said he, 'that one among you has hung up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight anyone who should take it down. See, I have done this,' holding up the glove to the congregation, and again inveighing in strong terms against such unchristian practices.
About the year 1644, a party of the Parliament horse came to the village of Laugharn, and enquired whether its popish vicar, Mr. Thomas, was still there, and whether he continued reading the liturgy and praying for the queen? One of them added, that he would go to church next Sunday, and if Mr. Thomas dared to pray for that, he would certainly pistol him. Information of the threat having been conveyed to Mr. Thomas, his friends earnestly pressed him to absent himself; but thinking this would be a cowardly departure from his duty, he resolutely refused. He had no sooner began the service, than the soldiers came, and placed themselves in the pew next to him; and when he prayed for the queen, one of them snatched the book out of his hand, and threw it at his head, saying, 'What do you mean by praying for her?' The preacher bore the insult with so much Christian meekness and composure, that the soldier who had been guilty of it immediately slunk away ashamed and confused. Mr. Thomas continued the service, and delivered an admirable sermon with great spirit and animation. On his return home, he found the soldiers waiting to beg his pardon, and desire his prayers to God in their behalf. The parliamentary committee soon after deprived this resolute pastor of his living: but on the restoration of Charles II. he was rewarded for his loyalty by the bishopric of Worcester, which he enjoyed till the revolution; when refusing to take the oath of allegiance to King William, he would have been turned out of his see, had not death intervened to spare him this indignity. His objections to the oath were conscientious, and not to be overcome. In a letter to a friend, he says, 'If my heart do not deceive me, and God's grace do not fall me, I think I could suffer at a stake, rather than take this oath.'
A letter from Archbishop Sancroft to this prelate, written in 1683, complains of a custom which was at that time, and for many years after, continued, of preaching the serilion in the body of the cathedral, while the prayers were read in the choir. The origin of the custom was, that as there used to be no sermon in the parish churches, the several parishioners might, after their own prayers, attend the sermon of some eminent preacher in the cathedral.
The celebrated Dr. Barrow was not only remarkable for the excellence, but for the extraordinary length of his sermons. In preaching the Spital sermon before the Lord Mayor and the corporation, he spent three hours and a half. Being asked, after he came down from the pulpit, if he was not tired, he replied, 'Yes, indeed, I begin to be weary in standing so long.'
He was once requested by the Bishop of Rochester, then Dean of Westminster, to preach at the abbey, and requested not to make a long sermon, for that the auditory loved short ones, and were accustomed to them. He replied, 'My lord, I will show you my sermon,' and immediately gave it to the bishop. The text was, 'He that uttereth a slander is a liar;' and the sermon was divided into two parts, one treating on slander and the other on lies. The dean desired him to preach the first part of it only; and to this he consented, though not without some reluctance. This half sermon took him an hour and a half in the delivery.
At another time, Dr. Barrow preached in the abbey on a holiday. It was then customary for the servants of the church, upon all holidays, except Sundays, betwixt the sermon and evening prayer, to show the tombs and monuments in the abbey to such strangers or other persons as would purchase the privilege for twopence. Perceiving Dr. Barrow in the pulpit after the hour was past, and fearing to lose time in hearing, which they thought they could more profitably employ in receiving, the servants of the church became impatient, and most indecently caused the organ to be struck up against him, nor would they cease playing until the doctor was silenced, which was not until he despaired of being heard, or of exhausting the organ blower.
It is, scarcely necessary to observe that the length of Dr. Barrow's sermons was their only fault. 'In him,' says that excellent critic, Dr. Blair, 'one admires more the prodigious fecundity of his invention, and the uncommon strength of his conceptions, than the felicity of his execution, or his talent in composition. We see a genius far surpassing the common, peculiar indeed almost to himself; but that genius often shooting wild, and unchastised by any discipline or study of eloquence. On every subject he multiplies words with an overflowing copiousness, but it is always a torrent of strong ideas and significant expressions which he pours forth.' Of the truth of the last remark, the following definition of wit in a sermon against foolish talking and jesting, will furnish a pleasing specimen. 'Wit,' says he, 'is a thing so versatile and multiform appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion thereof, than to make a portrait of Proteus, or to define the figure of the fleeting air. Sometimes it lieth in pat allusions to a known story, or in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in forging an opposite tale; sometimes it playeth on words and phrases, taking advantage from the ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound; sometimes it is wrapped up in a dress of humorous expression; sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude; sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting, or smartly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, or in a lusty hyperbole; in a startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradiction, or in acute nonsense; sometimes a scenical representation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a inimical look or gesture, passeth for it; sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a presumptuous bluntness, gives it being; sometimes it riseth only from a lucky hitting upon what is strange; sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose. Often it consisteth in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable and inexplicable, being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy and windings of language.
It raiseth admiration, as signifying a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felicity of invention, a vivacity of Spirit, and reach of wit more than vulgar; it seemeth to argue a rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in remote conceits applicable; a notable skill that can dexterously accommodate them to the purpose before him, together with a lively briskness of humour not apt to damp those sportful flashes of imagination. It also procureth delight by gratifying curiosity with its rareness, or semblance of difficulty; by diverting the mind from its 'road of serious thoughts;' by instilling gaiety and airiness of spirits; by provoking to such dispositions of gaiety in way of emulation or complaisance; and by seasoning matters otherwise distasteful or insipid with an unusual and thence grateful savour.
The noted Daniel Burgess, the Nonconformist minister, was by no means of Puritan strictness, for he was the most facetious person of his day, and carried his wit so far as to retail it from the pulpit with more levity than decency. Speaking of Job's 'robe of righteousness,' he once said, 'If any of you would have a suit for a twelvemonth, let him repair to Monmouth-street; if for his lifetime, let him apply to the Court of Chancery; but if for all eternity, let him put on the robe of righteousness.' The sermons of Burgess were artfully adapted to the prejudices as well as the opinions of his hearers: wit and Whigism went hand in hand with Scripture. He was strongly attached to the House of Brunswick, and would not uphold the Pretender's cause from the pulpit. He once preached a sermon, about that time, on the reason why the Jews were called Jacobites, in which he said, 'God ever hated Jacobites, and therefore Jacob's sons were not so called, but Israelites.' The preacher's love of a joke here triumphed over the truth and his knowledge of chronology.
Dr. Balguy, a preacher of great celebrity, after having delivered an excellent sermon at Winchester Cathedral, the text of which was, 'All wisdom is sorrow,' received the following extempore, but elegant compliment from Dr. Watson, then at Winchester School:
If what you advance, dear doctor, be true,
That wisdom is SORROW, how WRETCHED are you.
The Rev. Mr. Kelly, curate of the English chapel in the town of Ayr, once preached an excellent sermon from the beautiful parable of the man who fell among thieves. He was particularly severe upon the conduct of the priest who saw him, and ministered not unto him, but passed on the opposite side, and in an animated and pathetic flow of eloquence he exclaimed, 'What! not even the servant of the Almighty! he whose tongue was engaged in the word of charity, whose bosom was appointed the seat of brotherly love, whose heart the emblem of pity, whose soul the frozen serpent of disease! did he refuse to stretch forth his hand, and to take the mantle from his shoulders to cover the nakedness of woe? if he refused, if the shepherd himself went astray, was it to be wondered that the flock followed?' Such were the precepts of the preacher, and he 'practised what he preached.' The next day, when the river was much increased, a boy in a small boat was swept overboard by the force of the current. A great concourse of people were assembled, but none of them attempted to save the boy; when Mr. Kelly, who was dressed in his canonicals, threw himself from his chamber window into the current, and at the hazard of his own life saved that of the boy.
Mr. Kelly became afterwards tutor to the present Marquess of Huntley, by whose interest he was made Vicar of Ardleigh, near Colchester, and then Rector of Copford, in the same neighbourhood) where he died in 1809.
Dr. Harris, the minister of Hanwell, during the civil wars, frequently had military officers quartered at his house. A party of them being unmindful of the respect due to the minister of religion, indulged themselves swearing. The doctor noticed this, and on the following Sunday preached from these words: 'Above all things, my brethren, swear not.' This so enraged the soldiers, who judged the sermon was intended for them, that they swore they would shoot him if he preached on the subject again. He was not however to be intimidated; and on the following Sunday he not only preached from the same text, but inveighed in still stronger terms against the vice of swearing. As he was preaching, a soldier levelled his carbine at him, but he went on to the conclusion of his sermon without the slightest fear or hesitation.
Doctor, afterwards Bishop Kennet, preached the funeral sermon of the first Duke of Devonshire, September 5, 1707. The sentiments of this sermon gave great offence, and made some persons say that 'the preacher had built a bridge for heaven for men of wit and parts, but excluded the duller part of mankind from any chance of passing it.' This charge was grounded on the following passage. Speaking of a late repentance, he says: 'This rarely happens but in men of distinguished sense and judgment. Ordinary abilities may be altogether sunk by a long vicious course of life; the duller flame is easily extinguished. The meaner sinful wretches are commonly given up to a reprobate mind, and die as stupidly as they lived, while the nobler and brighter parts have an advantage of understanding the worth of their souls before they resign them. If they are allowed the benefit of sickness, they commonly awake out of their dream of sin, and reflect, and look upward. They acknowledge an infinite being; they feel their own immortal part; they recollect and relish the holy Scriptures; they call for the elders of the church; they think what to answer at a judgment seat. Not that God is a respecter of persons; but the difference is in men; and the more intelligent nature is the more susceptible of the Divine grace.' Whatever offence this sermon might give to others, it did not displease the succeeding Duke of Devonshire, who recommended the doctor to the Deanery of Peterborough, which he obtained in 1707.
Dr. Lyons, who was preferred to the Bishopric of Cork, Cloyne, and Ross, during the latter part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, held the benefice for twenty years, but never preached but once, which was on the death of the queen. On that melancholy occasion he thought it his duty to pay the last honours to his royal mistress, and accordingly ascended the pulpit in Christ Church, Cork, where he delivered a good discourse on the uncertainty of life, and the great and amiable qualities of her majesty. He concluded in the following warm but whimsical manner:-Let those who feel this loss deplore with me on this melancholy occasion: but if there be any that hear me who have secretly wished for this event (as perhaps there may be) they have now got their wish, and may it do them all the good they deserve.'
The bishop's aversion to preaching is supposed to have arisen from his not having been intended for the church. His promotion is very singular; he was captain of a ship, and distinguished himself so gallantly in several actions with the Spaniards, that, on being introduced to the queen, she told him that he should have the first vacancy that offered. The honest captain, who understood the queen literally, soon after hearing of a vacancy in the See of Cork, immediately set out for court, and claimed the royal promise. The queen, astonished at the request, for a time remonstrated against the impropriety of it, and said that she could never think it a suitable office for him. It was, however, in vain; he pleaded the royal promise, and relied on it. The queen then said she would take a few days to consider of the matter, when, examining into his character, and finding that he was a sober, moral man, as well as an intrepid commander, she sent for him, and gave him the bishopric, saying she 'hoped he would take as good care of the church as he had done of the state.'
The charitable society for the relief of the widows and children of clergymen, since known by the name of the 'Corporation for the Sons of the Clergy,' was first commenced in the year 1555. The first sermon was reached at St. Paul's on the 5th of November that year by the Rev. George Hall, afterwards Bishop of Chester, from the following text, 'The rod of Aaron budded, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds.' The preacher enforced the necessity and usefulness of a settled ministry, but his sermon breathed great moderation, considering the rancorous feuds then existing in the church, These he noticed. 'Let these ill-invented terms,' said he, 'whereby we have been distinguished from each other, be swallowed up in that name, which will lead us hand in hand to heaven - the name of Christians. If my stomach, or any of yours, rise against the name of brotherly communion, which may consist with our several principles retained, not differing in substantials, God take down that stomach, and make us see how much we are concerned to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace. Why should some, in the height of their zeal for the liturgy, suppose there can be no service of God but where that is used? Why should others, again think their piety concerned and trespassed upon, if I prefer, and think fit to use a set form? There must be abatements and allowances of each other; a coming down of our punctilios, or we shall never give up a good account to God.'
The celebrated Dr. South, one of the chaplains of Charles the Second, preaching on a certain day before court, which was composed of the most profligate and dissipated men in the nation, perceived in the middle of his discourse that sleep had gradually taken possession of his hearers. The doctor immediately stopped short, and changing his tone of voice, called out to Lord Lauderdale three times. His lordship standing up, 'My lord,' said South, with great composure, 'I am sorry to interrupt your repose, but I must beg of you that you will not snore quite so loud lest you awaken his majesty.'
On another occasion, when preaching before the king, he chose for his text these words: 'The lot is cast into the lap, but the disposing of it is of the Lord.' In this sermon he introduced three remarkable instances of unexpected advancement, those of Agathocles, Massaniello, and Oliver Cromwell. Of the latter he said, 'And who, that beheld such a bankrupt, beggarly fellow as Cromwell, first entering the parliament house with a threadbare torn cloak, greasy hat (perhaps neither of them paid for), could have suspected that, in the space of so few years, he should, by the murder of one king, and the banishment of another, ascend the throne!' At this the king is said to have fallen into a violent fit of laughter; and turning to Dr. South's patron, Mr. Lawrence Hyde, now created Lord Rochester, said, 'Odds fish Lory, your chaplain must be a bishop; therefore put me in mind of him at the next death.'
Bishop Kennet says of South, that 'he laboured very much to compose his sermons; and in the pulpit worked up his body when he came to a piece of wit, or any notable saying.'
His wit was certainly the least of his recommendations; he indulged in it to an excess which often violated the sanctity of the pulpit. When Sherlock accused him of employing wit in a controversy on the Trinity, South made but a sorry reply: 'Had it pleased God to have made you a wit, what would you have done?'
When Fenelon was almoner to the king, and attending Louis XIV. to a sermon preached by a Capuchin, he fell asleep. The Capuchin perceived it, and breaking off his discourse, said, 'Awake that sleeping Abbe, who comes here only to pay his court to the king;' a reproof which Fenelon often related with pleasure after he became Archbishop of Cambray.
At another time the king was astonished to find only Fenelon and the priest at the chapel, instead of a numerous congregation as usual. 'What is the reason of all this?' said the king. 'Why,' replied Fenelon, 'I caused it to be given out, sire, that your majesty did not attend chapel to-day, that you might know who came to worship God, and who to flatter the king.'
When Louis appointed Fenelon chief of the missionaries, to convert the Protestants of Sausonge, his majesty insisted that a regiment of guards should accompany him. 'The ministers of religion,' said Fenelon, 'are the evangelists of peace; and the military might frighten all, but would not persuade a single individual. It was by the force of their morals that the apostles converted mankind; permit us, then, sire, to follow their example.' 'But, alas!' said the king, 'have you nothing to fear from the fanaticism of those heretics?' 'I am no stranger to it, sire, but a priest must not let fears like these enter into his calculation; and I take the liberty of mentioning again to you, sire, that if we would draw to us our diffident brethren, we must go to them like true apostles. For my own part, I had rather become their victim, than see one of their ministers exposed to the vexations, the insult, and the almost necessary violence of our military men.'
Not long before he died, Fenelon ascended the pulpit of his cathedral, and excommunicated in person such of his own works as the Pope had interdicted. He placed on the altar a piece of sacred plate, on which were embossed some books, with the titles of the alleged heretical ones struck with the fire of heaven.
Mr. Whately, who was Vicar of Banbury, in Oxfordshire, and died in 1639, had such great reputation as a preacher, that persons of different persuasions went from Oxford and other distant places to hear him. As he always appeared to speak from his heart, his sermons were felt as well as heard, and were often attended with suitable effects. A neighbouring clergyman was once so deeply affected with a sermon preached by Mr. Whately, on bounty to the poor, that he went to him as he came out of the pulpit, and asked what proportion of his income he ought in conscience to give. Whately advised him not to be sparing, and intimated that when he was far from being in easy circumstances, he resolved himself to set aside a larger sum than ever for charitable uses; the consequence of which was, that God blessed and increased the slender heap from which it was taken, so that he was then able to lend ten times as much as he had formerly been forced to borrow, This good man's death was much lamented by his parishioners, and the following lines are part of his epitaph:
It's William Whately that here lies,
Who swam to's tomb in's people's eyes.'
When Dr. Nicholls waited upon Lord Chancellor Hardwicke with the first volume of Sherlock, the late Bishop of London's sermons, in November, 1753, his lordship asked him whether there was not a sermon on John xx. 30, 31. Dr. N- having replied in the affirmative, the Lord Chancellor desired him to turn to the conclusion, and repeated. 'Verbatim, the animated contrast between the Christian and Mahomedan religion, beginning, 'Go to your natural religion,' &c., to the end.
The same sermon had indeed been published singly, but not less than thirty years before and the chief circumstance which serves to account for Lord Hardwicke's vivid recollection of it (notwithstanding its great excellence), was the situation which Sherlock held as Master of the Temple from 1704 until 1753. In Sherlock's farewell letter to the treasurer and masters of the Bench, he declares that he esteemed 'his relation to the two societies of the Temple to have been the greatest happiness of his life, as it introduced him to some of the greatest men of the age, and afforded him the opportunities of living and conversing with gentlemen of a liberal education, and of great learning and experience.' It seems extremely probable that the sermon of which Lord Hardwicke took such notice had been heard by him when first delivered by Sherlock.
Dr. Blair, in his 'Lectures on Rhetoric,' points out the very passage which Lord Hardwicke so much admired, as an instance of personification carried as far as prose, even in its highest elevation, will admit. After transcribing it, this elegant critic remarks, 'this is more than elegant, it is truly sublime.'
When Sherlock was promoted to the mastership of the Temple, he was only In the twenty-sixth year of his age. So early an elevation gave some offence; yet it took place at a time when preferments were not lightly bestowed; and Mr. Sherlock in a short time exhibited such talents as removed all prejudices against him. He exerted the utmost diligence in the cultivation of his talents, and the display of his learning and eloquence: and in the course of a few years became one of the most celebrated preachers of his time. Notwithstanding some degree of natural impediment (what is called a thickness of speech), he delivered his sermons with such propriety and energy as to rivet the attention of his hearers and command their admiration.
Sterne being in company with three or four clergymen, was relating a circumstance which happened to him at York. After preaching at the cathedral, an old woman, whom he observed sitting on the pulpit stairs, stopped him as he came down, and begged to know where she should have the honour of hearing him preach the next Sunday. Sterne having mentioned the place where he was to exhibit, found her situated in the same manner on that day, when she put the same question to him as before. The following Sunday he was to preach four miles out of York, which he told her; and, to his great surprise, he found her there too, and that the same question was put to him as he descended from the pulpit. 'On which,' added he, 'I took for my text these words, expecting to find my old woman as before, "I will grant the request of this poor widow, lest by her often coming she weary me." One of the company immediately replied, "Why, Sterne, you omitted the most applicable part of the passage, which is, "Though I neither fear God nor regard man."'
When Mrs. F. was in England, she attended York races, where she met with Sterne. He rode up to the side of the coach, and accosted her with 'Well, madam, on which horse do you bet?' 'Sir,' she replied, 'if you can tell me which is the worst horse, I will bet upon that.' 'But why, madam,' asked Sterne, 'do you make so strange a choice?' 'Because,' said the lady, 'you know the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' Sterne was so much pleased with this reply, that he went home and wrote from that text his much-admired sermon, entitled, 'Time and Chance.'
Few preachers possessed eloquence so well adapted to all auditory, as the Rev. George Whitfield, the able coadjutor of Mr. Wesley in the foundation of Methodism. His metaphors were drawn from sources easily understood by his hearers, and frequently from the circumstances of the moment. The application was generally happy, and sometimes rose to the true sublime; for he was a man of a warm imagination, and by no means devoid of taste.
When Mr. Whitfield first went to Scotland, he was received in Edinburgh with a kind of frantic joy by a large body of the citizens. It so happened, that the day after his arrival, an unhappy man who had forfeited his life to the offended laws of his country, was to be executed. Mr. Whitfield mingled in the crowd that was collected on the occasion, and seemed highly pleased with the solemnity and decorum with which so awful a scene was conducted. His appearance however drew the eyes of all around him, and raised a variety of opinions as to the motives which led him to join in the crowd. The next day being Sunday, he preached to a very large congregation in a field near the city. In the course of his sermon, he adverted to the execution which had taken place on the preceding day. 'I know,' said he, 'that many of you will find it difficult to reconcile my appearance yesterday with my character. Many of you, I know, will say, that my moments would have been better employed in praying for the unhappy man, than in attending him to the fatal tree; and that, perhaps, curiosity was the only cause that converted me into a spectator on that occasion; but those who ascribe that uncharitable motive to me, are under a mistake. I went as an observer of human nature, and to see the effect that such all example would have on those who witnessed it. I watched the conduct of almost every one present on that awful occasion, and I was highly pleased with their demeanour, which has given me a very favourable opinion of the Scottish nation. Your sympathy was visible on your countenances, and reflected the goodness of your hearts, particularly when the moment arrived that your unhappy fellow creature was to close his eyes on this world for ever; then you all, as if moved by one impulse, turned your heads aside, and wept. Those tears were precious, and will be held in remembrance. How different was it when the Saviour of mankind was extended on the cross! The Jews, instead of sympathizing in his sorrows, triumphed in them. They reviled him with bitter expressions, with words even more bitter than the gall and vinegar which they handed him to drink. Not one of all that witnessed his pains turned his head aside, even in the last pang. Yes, my friends, there was one: that glorious luminary (pointing to the sun) veiled his brightness, and travelled on his course in tenfold night.'
A reverend doctor in the metropolis was what is usually denominated a popular preacher. His reputation, however, had not been acquired by his drawing largely on his own stores of knowledge and eloquence, but by the skill with which he appropriated the thoughts and language of the great divines who had gone before him. Those who compose a fashionable audience, are not deeply read in pulpit lore, and, accordingly, with such hearers, he passed for a wonder of erudition and pathos. It did nevertheless happen, that the doctor was once detected in his larcenies. One Sunday, as he was beginning to delight the belles of his quarter of the metropolis, a grave old gentleman seated himself close to the pulpit, and listened with profound attention. The doctor had scarcely finished his third sentence, before the old gentleman muttered loud enough to be heard by those near, 'That's Sherlock!' The doctor frowned, but went on. He had not proceeded much, farther, when his tormenting interrupter broke out with, 'That's Tillotson!' The doctor bit his lips and paused, but again thought it better to pursue the thread of his discourse. A third exclamation of 'That's Blair!' was, however, too much, and completely deprived him of his patience. Leaning over the pulpit, 'Fellow,' he cried, 'if you do not hold your tongue, you shall be turned out.' Without altering a muscle of his countenance, the grave old gentleman lifted up his head, and looking the doctor in the face, retorted, 'That's his own!'
It is related of John Lassenius, the chaplain to the Danish Court, who died at Copenhagen in 1692, that having for a long time perceived to his vexation, that during his sermon, the greatest part of his congregation fell asleep, he suddenly stopped, pulled a shuttlecock from his pocket, and began to play with it in the pulpit. A circumstance so extraordinary, naturally attracted the attention of that part of the congregation who were still awake. They jogged those who were sleeping, and in a short time everybody was lively, and looking to the pulpit with the greatest astonishment. This was just what Lassenius wished; for he immediately began a most severe castigatory discourse, saying, 'When I announce to you sacred and important truths, you are not ashamed to go to sleep: but when I play the fool, you are all eye and all ear.'
Another curious circumstance is recorded of the pulpit displays of Lassenius. He used always to stop in the middle of his sermon, to take a glass of wine, or some other cordial, in the presence of the congregation! An inviting example to preachers of long sermons.
The late Sir Hugh Dalrymple, a worthy Scotch baronet, on once paying a visit to the Orkneys, was much struck with the eloquence of a poor assistant preacher, whom he had accidentally the pleasure of hearing; and wrote to the late Sir Lawrence Dundas (father of the first Lord Dundas), in whose gift was the church where the curate officiated, requesting the reversion of it for the assistant. The letter, which blends humour and benevolence together in a very pleasing manner, was in the following terms:
'DEAR SIR,
'Having spent a long time in pursuit of pleasure and health, I am now retired with the gout; so joining with Solomon, that "all is vanity and vexation of spirit," I go to church, and say my prayers, assure you, that most of us religious people reap some little satisfaction in hoping that you wealthy voluptuaries have a fair chance of being lost to all eternity, and that Dives shall call on Lazarus for a drop of water; which he seldom tasted, when he had the Twelve Apostles, in his cellar.
'Now, sir, that this doctrine is laid down, I wish to give you a loop-hole to escape through. Going to church last Sunday, I saw an unknown man in the pulpit; and rising up to prayers, I began, as others do on the like occasion, to look round the church to see if there were any pretty girls in it, when my attention was roused by the foreign accent of the parson. I gave him my ear, and had my devotion awakened by the most pathetic prayer I ever heard. This made me more and more attentive to the sermon. A finer discourse never came from the lips of man. I returned in the afternoon, and heard the same preacher exceed his morning work, by the finest chain of reasoning, conveyed by the most elegant expressions. I immediately thought on what Felix said to Paul, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." I sent to ask the Man of God to honour my roof, and dine with me. I inquired of him his country, and what not. I even asked him if his sermons were of his own composition, which he affirmed they were. I assure you, I believed they were; never man had spoken or written better.
'"My name is Dishington," said he, 'I am assistant to a mad minister in the Orkneys, who enjoys a rich benefice of fifty pounds a year, of which I have twenty-eight pounds yearly, for preaching to and instructing twelve hundred people, who live in separate islands, of which I pay one pound five shillings to the boatmen who transport me from the one island to the other, by turns. I should be happy if I could continue in this terrestrial Paradise, but we have a great lord, who has a great many little people about him, soliciting a great many little things, that he can do, and that he cannot do; and if my minister was to die, his succession is too great a prize, not to raise up too many rivals to baulk the hopes of my preferment."
'I asked him if he possessed any other wealth? "Yes," said be, "I married the prettiest girl in the island, and she has blessed me with three children; and as we are both young, we may expect more. Besides," said he, "I am so beloved in the parish, that I have all my peats led carriage free." This is my story; now to the prayer of the petition.
'I never before envied you your possession of the Orkneys, which I now do, to provide for this innocent, eloquent apostle. The sun has refused your barren isles his kindly influence, do not deprive them of so pleasant a preacher; let not so great a treasure be lost to that inhospitable country; for I assure you, were the Archbishop of Canterbury to hear him preach, he could do no less than make him all archdeacon. The man has but one weakness, that of preferring the Orkney's to all the earth. This way, and no other, you have a chance for salvation; do this man good, and he will pray for you. This will be a better purchase than your Irish estate, or the Orkneys, and I think will help me forward too, since I am the man who told you of the man so worthy, so eloquent, so deserving, and so pious, and whose prayers may do so much good. Till I hear from you on this head, I am yours in all meekness, love, and benevolence,
H. D.
Dr. Horneck, who was preacher at the Savoy from 1671 to 1696, enjoyed so much popularity for the eloquent and pathetic style of his sermons, that the church used to be crowded by auditors from the most remote parts, which occasioned Dean Freeman to say, that Dr. H.'s parish was much the largest in town, for it reached from Whitehall to Whitechapel. It is singular notwithstanding, that when he was recommended to the living of Covent Garden, the inhabitants of that parish were so averse to him, that Tillotson says, 'that if the Earl of Bedford had liked him (which it would seem he did not) he could not have thought it fit to bestow the living on him, knowing how necessary it is to the good effect of a man's ministry, that he do not lie under any great prejudice with the people.' Dr. Birch remarks, that the grounds of the great aversion in the parish of Covent Garden to Dr. H. are not easy to be assigned at this distance of time. Bishop Kidder, his biographer, sets him forth as one of the brightest examples that ever adorned the pastoral office. 'He had,' he says, 'the zeal, the spirit, the courage of John the Baptist, and durst reprove a great man; perhaps that man lived not, that was more conscientious in this matter.'
A clergyman preaching in the neighbourhood of Wapping, observing that most part of his audience were in the sea-faring way, very naturally embellished his discourse with several nautical tropes and figures. Amongst other things, he advised them to be ever on the watch, so that, on whatsoever tack the evil one should bear down upon them, he might be crippled in action. 'Aye, master,' muttered a jolly son of Neptune, 'but let me tell you, that will depend upon your having the weather gauge of him.' A just, though whimsical remark.
The French doctor of divinity, Oliver Maillard, who died in the year 1502, was one of the best scholars and ablest preachers of his day. He reproved the vices of the times with uncommon boldness, without any respect of persons; and depicted the sinners he had in view with such a masterly hand, that the likeness was immediately known. As his portraits were drawn from real life, his sermons may be compared to a picture gallery, in which the reigning vices of that age are exhibited in the most faithful colours. There never was a preacher, perhaps, that waged a more successful war with hypocrites and profligates, with which all the departments of the church and state were at that time filled. He spoke with the same felicity that he wrote, and was never known to sully his tongue or his pen with flattery, or to disguise the truth, so that he was called 'the scourge of sinners.'
This zealous divine one day preaching before the parliament at Thoulouse, drew so finished a portrait of a corrupt judge, and his application to many of the members of that body was so pointed, that they deliberated for sometime whether it would not be proper to arrest him. The result of their deliberations was transmitted to the archbishop; who, in order to soothe the resentment of those who felt themselves hurt, commanded Maillard that he should not preach for two years. The good man received this mandate in all the spirit of humility. He waited on the offended magistrates, and stated his duty as a preacher of the divine word, in such impressive language, that they threw themselves alternately on his bosom, confessed their crimes, and became true penitents.
Maillard even took liberties with the king himself, when he happened to preach before his majesty. When one of the courtiers told him, that the king had threatened to throw him into the river, 'the king,' replied he, 'is my master; but you may tell him, that I shall get sooner to heaven by water, than he will with his post-horses.' The king (Louis XI). happened to be the first who established posting on the roads of France. When this bon-mot was repeated to him, he wisely resolved to allow Maillard to preach what he would. The saying by the way, appears to have been a current jest among the wits of the time; for it is to be found in Badius's 'Navis Stultifera.'
In the Latin edition of 'Maillard's Sermons,' published at Paris, the words, 'hem, hem,' are written in the margin, to mark the places where, according to the custom of those days, the preacher was at liberty to stop to cough.
The Rev. Mr. Wright, a curate in the West of England, refused to read the Athanasian Creed, though repeatedly desired to do so by his parishioners. They complained to the Bishop of the diocese, who ordered it to be read. The Creed is appointed to be said or sung; and the curate accordingly on the following Sunday thus addressed his congregation. "Next follows St. Athanasius's Creed, either to be said or sung, and with God's leave I'll sing it. Now, clerk, mind what you are about." They immediately commenced singing it in a fox-hunting tune, which having previously practised, was correctly performed.
The parishioners again met, and informed their curate that they would dispense with the Creed in future.
Dr. Williamson, vicar of Moulton in Lincolnshire, had a violent quarrel with one of his parishioners of the name of Hardy, who showed considerable resentment. On the succeeding Sunday the doctor preached from the following text, which he pronounced with much. emphasis, and with a significant look at Mr. Hardy, who was present: "There is no fool like the fool HARDY."
Mr. Mossman, a Scotch minister, preaching on the sin of taking God's name in vain, made this singular. distinction: "0! sirs, this is a very great sin; for my own part, I would rather steal all the horned cattle in the parish, than once take God's name in vain."
When the well-known Dr. Barth preached for the first time in his native city of Leipsic, he disdained the usual precaution of having his sermon placed in the Bible before him, to refer to in case of need. A violent thunderstorm suddenly arising, just as he was in the middle of his discourse, and a tremendous peal of thunder causing him to lose the thread of his argument, with great composure and dignity he shut the Bible, saying, with great emphasis, 'When God speaks, man must hold his peace.' He then descended from the pulpit, while the whole congregation looked on him with admiration and wonder.
Aubrey says, that Dr. Babington, who was chaplain to the celebrated Robert, Earl of Leicester, being employed by that nobleman to preach the sermon at the funeral of his first wife, whose death it is now almost historically certain was foully accomplished by the earl's desire, in order to promote his ambitious hopes of an alliance with Queen Elizabeth, the honest parson, tripped once or twice in his speech, by recommending to their memories that virtuous lady so pitifully-murdered, instead of saying so pitifully slain.'
Sermon by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
A clergyman, a friend of Mr. Opie's, declared to him, that he once delivered one of Sir Joshua's discourses from the pulpit, as a sermon, with no other alteration, but in such words as made it applicable to morals, instead of the fine arts. 'Which,' says the relater, 'is a proof of the depth of his reasoning, and of its foundation being formed on the principles of general nature.'
The celebrated Dean of Killala, at the commencement of his ministry became so popular, that on every Sunday that he preached at St. Peter's Church, the collection for the poor rose to four or five times its usual amount. Before the expiration of his first year, he was wholly reserved for the distinguished and difficult task of preaching charity sermons; and in November, 1788, the governors of the general daily schools of several parishes entered into a resolution, 'That, from the effects which the discourses of the Rev. Walter Blake Kirwan from the pulpit have had, his officiating in the metropolis was considered a peculiar national advantage; and that vestries should be called to consider the most effectual method to secure to the city an instrument under Providence, of so much public benefit.'
Of the extraordinary effects of his eloquence, some interesting particulars will be found in 'Anecdotes of Eloquence.'
Mr. Grattan pronounced a beautiful panegyric on this great preacher in the Irish parliament, in 1792. Speaking of the neglect of Dr. Kirwan, he said, 'This man preferred our country, and our religion, and brought to both genius superior to what he found in either. He called forth the latent virtues of the human heart, and taught men to discover in themselves a mine of charity, of which the proprietors had been unconscious. In feeding the lamp of charity, he has almost exhausted the lamp of life. He came to interrupt the repose of the pulpit, and shakes one world with the thunder of the other. The preacher's desk becomes the throne of light. Round him a train, not such as crouch and swagger at the levees of princes; not such as attend the procession of the viceroy, horse and foot, and dragoons; but that wherewith a great genius peoples his own state-charity in ecstasy, and vice in humiliation;- vanity, arrogance, and saucy empty pride, appalled by the rebuke of the preacher, and cheated for a moment of their native improbity and insolence.'
The ardour of Dean Kirwan was not abated by promotion, nor his meekness corrupted by admiration. In one of his sermons for the schools of St. Peter's, he complains of his insufficiency. 'I tell you,' says he, 'that the utmost effort of the ministry can do comparatively nothing. To be roused to the height of mercy, you should have personal experience of what passes around you; you will then carry the impression to your graves. Sermons and preachers are rapidly forgotten. One single morning devoted to explore the recesses of misery in this metropolis, would preach to you through life; would stamp you merciful for ever. While I press you to an increase of your institution, full well do you know the necessity for it. But, alas! I want the power of determining you, of melting you down to the extent of my wishes. God has not given it to me; if he had be assured I would use it; I would encircle you with my little clients, hang them on your garments, teach their fatherless arms to entwine about your knees, their innocent eyes to fasten upon yours, their untainted lips to cry, "Mercy, for we perish!" Do you think you could resist?'
In the same sermon, congratulating his auditory on their benevolence to the poor during the rigours of the preceding winter, when upwards of seven hundred pounds were collected from door to door, he has the following beautiful passages:
'No pressing entreaty was used with you; no obstinate, or as I fear you now find it, presuming length of solicitation. The claims of your petitioners were written on the face of nature, on the hoary mantle of the earth, and conveyed in the bitterness of the breeze In looking through your casements, you naturally reflected on the special comforts and blessing you enjoyed, and raised your eyes to heaven in fervent thanksgiving, while your imaginations tenderly depicted the horrible reverse of cold, nakedness, and famine. The case was clear, and you were men. The delegates of misery had but to come, and see, and conquer. You gave cheerfully, and gave greatly. And is it from such hearts I can dread a repulse on this occasion? Is it only in the temple of the eternal God, where he himself conjures you through the lips of his minister, that I can suppose you to exist with impoverished feelings and inferior souls? But I know your hearts are with me, and though the wretched prudence of the world whispers you to beware of entailing on yourselves an additional burden, spurn the inglorious thought, and let the godlike cause of humanity triumph.'
The neglect of Kirwan, of which Mr. Grattan complained, was repaired, not only by his appointment to the deanery of Killala, but by a pension of £300, which the king on his death conferred on his widow, with reversion to two daughters.
When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eltham, in Kent, the text he one day undertook to preach from was, 'Who art thou?' After reading the text, he made (as was his custom) a pause, for the congregation to reflect upon the words when a gentleman, in a military dress, who at the instant was marching very sedately up the middle aisle of the church, supposing it a question addressed to him, to the surprise of all present, replied, 'I am, sir, an officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on a recruiting party here: and having brought my wife and family with me, I wish to be acquainted with the neighbouring clergy and gentry.' This so deranged the divine, and astonished the congregation, that though they attempted to listen with decorum, the discourse was not proceeded in without considerable difficulty.
After Dr. Kennicott had taken orders, he went to officiate in his clerical capacity at Totness, his native town, where his father filled the humble situation of parish clerk. When his father, as clerk, proceeded to place the surplice on his shoulders, a struggle ensued between the modesty of the son, and the honest pride of the parent, who insisted on paying that respect to his son which he had been accustomed to show to other clergymen. Nor was this the only affecting circumstance which occurred on this occasion. His mother had often declared, she should never be able to support the joy of hearing her son preach, and she was now actually so overcome, as to be taken out in a state of temporary insensibility.
The celebrated Dr. Blair had been for twenty-three years a preacher in the Scottish metropolis, before he could be induced to favour the world with a volume of the sermons which had so long furnished instruction and delight to his own congregation. He transmitted the manuscript of his first volume to Mr. Strahan, the king's printer, who, after keeping it for some time, wrote a letter to him, discouraging the publication. Mr. Strahan, however, had sent one of the sermons to Dr. Johnson for his opinion; and after his unfavourable letter to Dr. Blair had been sent off, he received from Johnson, on Christmaseve, 1776, a note, in which was the following paragraph: ' I have read over Dr. Blair's first sermon with more than approbation; to say it is good, is too little.' Mr. Strahan had, very soon after this time, a conversation with Dr. Johnson concerning them; and then he very candidly wrote to Dr. Blair, enclosing Johnsign's note, and agreeing to purchase the volume, for which, in conjuction with Mr. Cadell, he offered £100. The offer being accepted, the volume was published. The sale was so rapid and extensive, that the proprietors spontaneously doubled the sum which they had agreed to give Dr. Blair for the copyright. Encouraged by the public approbation, Dr. Blair produced three additional volumes at different intervals; for the first of which, or second of the series, the same liberal publisher's gave £300, and for the two others, £600 each.
The wholeof these volumes experienced a degree of success which exceeds all that we, read of in the history of pulpit literature. 'They circulated,' says Dr. Finlayson, 'rapidly and widely wherever the English tongue extends; they were soon translated into almost all the language of Europe; and his present majesty (late majesty, George Ill.), with that wise attention to the interests of religion and literature which distinguishes his reign, was graciously pleased to judge them worthy of a public reward. By a royal mandate to the Exchequer in Scotland, dated July 25th, 1780, a pension of £200 was conferred on their author, which continued unaltered till his death.'
Late Attendance at Public Worship.
A want of punctual attention to the hour of commencing divine service, is a fault but too prevalent in worshipping assemblies. A worthy clergyman whose congregation had given him much vexation in this respect, began his discourse one Sunday in these terms: 'When I came here to begin to worship last Sabbath morning, I believe there were not twenty people in the chapel; at the weekly lecture it was the same; and again this morning; my heart is pained. What can you mean by this conduct?
Do you mean to worship God? then I must tell you plainly, and with the authority of a Christian minister, that this is no worship; deceive not yourselves, God will not accept it at your hands.' He proceeded to enforce this point with great earnestness and feeling, and produced such an impression on the minds of his hearers, that next Sabbath, almost every person had assembled by the time he ascended the pulpit.
A very common cause of late attendance, especially with the fair sex, is the time employed in dressing. Herbert has some lines so applicable to this sort of apology, that every lady would do well to have them written in letters of gold, and suspended over her toilet, that they might be ever present to her eyes.
'-- To be dressed!
Stay not for the other pin. Why thou hast lost
A joy for it worth worlds!'
Garrick's Precepts to Preachers.
The celebrated Garrick having been requested by Dr. Stonehouse to favour him with his opinion as to the manner in which a sermon ought to be delivered, the English Roscius sent him, the following judicious answer.
MY DEAR PUPIL,
You know how you would feel and speak in a parlour concerning a friend who was in imminent danger of his life, and with what energetic pathos of diction and countenance you would enforce the observance of that which you really thought would be for his preservation. You could not think of playing the orator, of studying your emphases, cadences, and gestures; you would be yourself; and the interesting nature of your subject impressing your heart, would furnish you with the most natural tone of voice, the most proper language, the most engaging features, and the most suitable and graceful gestures. What you would thus be in the parlour, be in the pulpit; and you will not fail to please, to effect, and to profit. Adieu, my dear friend.
Usher, afterwards Archbishop of Armagh, was very zealous against the Roman Catholics, and averse to their toleration. He once preached before the officers of the Irish government, from the text in Ezekiel, 'And thou shalt bear the iniquity of the house of Judah forty days; I have appointed thee each day for a year.' In the course of his sermon, he made an application of the text which was remarkable. 'From this year (1601),' said he, 'I reckon forty years; and then those whom you now embrace shall be your ruin, and you shall bear their iniquity.' The apparent accomplishment of this prediction in the Irish rebellion of 1641, was a singular concurrence, and in the opinion of many, perhaps in his own, was regarded as an indication of his prophetic spirit.
When this eminent prelate was deprived of his benefices, he sought leave to preach publicly in London. Through the friendship of Mr. Selden, he became preacher to the Society of Lincoln's Inn, which afforded him a maintenance; but being obliged to relinquish it on account of the loss of his sight, his salary was curtailed, and he lived in poverty the remainder of his life.
James II. once asked a preacher, how he could justify the commending of princes when they did not deserve it? He answered, that princes were so high in station, that preachers could not use the same liberty in reproving them as other men, and therefore by praising them for what they were not, taught them what they ought to be. The king was pleased with the ingenuity of the answer, but observed that, for himself, he did not desire to be complimented into his duty; they had his full permission to tell him plainly of his faults; he desired their prayers, and not their praises.
Edward Dering, a puritan divine of the sixteenth century, was much celebrated for his eloquence in the pulpit. He appears to have carried his resistance to the established religion to a greater height than most of his brethren, and did not spare even the queen herself (Elizabeth). On one occasion, when preaching before her majesty, he told her that when she was persecuted by Queen Mary, her motto was tanquam ovis (like a sheep); but now it might be tanquam indomita juvenca (like an untamed heifer). The queen, with a mildness not usual with her, took no other notice of his rudeness than merely to order that he should not preach at court again.
Mr. Doolittle, a nonconformist minister, who lived towards the close of the seventeenth century, once discovered among his congregation a young man, who, being shut out of the pews, discovered much uneasiness, and seemed anxious to quit the chapel. Mr. Doolittle feeling a peculiar desire to detain him, effected it by the following expedient. Turning towards one of the members of his church, who sat in the gallery, he asked him aloud, 'Brother, do you repent of your coming to Christ?' 'No, sir,' he replied, 'I never was happy till then; I only regret that I did not come to him sooner.' Mr. Doolittle then turned towards the opposite gallery, and addressed himself to an aged member in the same manner, 'Brother, do you repent that you came to Christ?' 'No, sir,' said he, 'I have known the Lord from my youth up.' He then looked down upon the young man, whose attention was fully roused, and fixing his eyes upon him, said, 'Young man, are you willing to come to Christ?' This unexpected address from the pulpit exciting the observation of all the people, so affected him, that he sat down and hid his face. Mr. Doolittle repeated his question, 'Young man, are you willing to come to Christ?' Being urged by a person near him to answer, he replied, with a tremulous voice, 'Yes, sir.' 'But when, sir?' added the minister in a solemn and loud tone. He mildly answered, 'Now, sir.' 'Then stay,' said Mr. Doolittle, 'and hear the word of God, which you will find in 2_ Cor. vi. 2. "Behold, now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation."' He then made so impressive a discourse, that the young man dissolved in tears, and from that time became a member of his congregation.
When Oliver Heywood was about to quit the living of Coley Chapel, in the parish of Halifax, Yorkshire, on account of the laws of conformity, one of his hearers was very earnest in expressing his desire that he would still continue their preacher. Mr. Heywood said he would as gladly preach, as they could desire it, if he could conform with a safe conscience. 'Oh! sir,' replied the man, 'many a man now-a-days makes a great gash in his conscience, cannot you make a little nick in yours?'
A Welsh parson preaching from this text, 'Love one another,' told his congregation, that in kind and respectful treatment to our fellow creatures, we were inferior to the brute creation. As an illustration of the truth of this remark, he quoted an instance of two goats in his own parish, that once met upon a bridge so very narrow, that they could not pass by without one thrusting the other off into the river. 'And,' continued he, 'how do you think they acted? Why, I will tell you. One goat laid himself down, and let the other leap over him. Ah! beloved, let us live like goats.'
A party of clergymen were one day in conversation pleasantly talking of their success in preaching. One of them said, 'Gentlemen, I once converted a man with my eyes.' When requested to explain, he added, 'a straggler once entered my church, and casting his looks towards me, he thought I was staring him in the face. To avoid my observation, he removed from door to door, but to no purpose. At last he resolved to stare me out of countenance; his attention was thus fixed upon what was said, and his sentiments and conduct from that day underwent a complete change.'
A very absent divine finding his sight begin to fail, purchased a pair of spectacles, and on the first day of using them, preached for a brother clergyman, but was observed to have them at the top of his forehead during the whole sermon. 'So you have, at last, taken to spectacles, doctor?' said a friend after the service. 'Yes,' returned the unconscious absentee, 'I found I could not do without them, and I wonder now I never used them, till today!'
Whitfield being informed that some lawyers had come to hear him by way of sport, took for his text these words: 'And there came a certain lawyer to our Lord.' Designedly he read, '"And there came certain lawyers to our..." I am wrong; "a certain lawyer." I was almost certain that I was wrong. It is a wonder to see one lawyer; but what a wonder if there had been more than one?' The theme of the sermon corresponded with its commencement, and those who came to laugh, went away edified.
Bishop Burnet and Bishop Sprat were old rivals. On some public occasion, they both preached before the House of Commons.
There prevailed in those days an indecent custom; when the preacher touched any favourable topic in a manner that delighted his audience, their approbation was expressed by a loud hum, continued in proportion to their zeal or pleasure. When Burnet preached, part of his congregation hummed so loudly and so long, that he sat down to enjoy it, and rubbed his face with his handkerchief. When Sprat preached, he was also honoured with the like animated hum; but he stretched out his hand to the congregation, and cried, 'Peace, peace, I pray you peace.'
Burnet's sermon (says Salmon) was remarkable for sedition; and Sprat's for loyalty. Burnet had the thanks of the House: Sprat had no thanks, but a good living from the king, which he said was of as much value as the thanks of the Commons.
In the year 1666, when the Whiggamores, alias Covenanters of Scotland, were in arms, a Master of Arts of the College of Aberdeen, preached at Aberdeen a sermon from these words in Jeremiah; 'Sion is wounded.' In this sermon, a copy of which is preserved in the British Museum, (Bibl. Birch, 4459) we have an amusing specimen of the style of preaching which prevailed in those days. He sets out with showing, that by the Sion in the text was meant 'the puir Kirk o' Scotland;' and then asks 'Wha has wounded her, trow ye?' 'To this purpose,' he says, 'I'se tell you a tale; but I'll no say 'tis true; but be it true, or be it fause, tak it as I tak it, a God's benison. When I was a young lad, there was a winsome man Student o' Theology at the College Aberdeen; and he was to mak a preachment before the Maisters, Regents o' the College, and out o' a' the Holy Scripture o' God he wailed this text; "What will ye gi me, and I'll betray him ta ye?" (and he could ha' said it in Latin, Quid dabitas!) And there was an honest auld man in a blew cap sitting at the feet o' the powpit, and he says till him' "Sir, gin ye betray him, I'se gie ye a good fat bishopric." Now ye may learn by this, wha' it is that betrays and wounds the peace o' the Kirk o' Scotland.' Having thus fixed the sin of wounding Sion or the Kirk of Scotland on the prelates, he proceeds to show how she was wounded; first, in her head; second, in her hand; third, in her heart; and fourthly, in her feet. Of the first head there are three sub-divisions, showing how the prelates had wounded the Kirk. 1st. 'With the sword o' their pride;' 2nd. 'With the sword o' their gluttony;'and 3rd. 'With the sword o'their covetousness.' In illustrating the fourth head, or wounding the feet, he says, 'I can remember weel since the Kirk o' Scotland might hae been likened to a bonny nag, that could have ambled and paced it fu' sweetly; but the bishops, these gallaping swingers, they gat o' the back o' the nag, an' they quite jaded him up to ruin, for they laid upon his back the Book o' Common Prayer, the Book o' Canons, and since they cam frae Lonon, the Aith o' Supremacy, and the Kirk law books. I wonder what errand they had there; but, beluved, what here and what there, they ha sae used him, that they hae no left him a fast nail in his feet.' Having discussed the four sorts of wounds, the preacher proceeds. 'And now, beluved, we may tell a tale without laughter; we can liken her to nane but Balaam's ass, for in that story there is four things to be heeded: 1st. The ass that we may compare to the Kirk o' Scotland. 2ndly. The riders, that's e'en the proud bishops. 3rdly. The angel that stopt the ass by the way; and wha trow ye that is? I'se sure ye wad fain hear that. It's e'en my gude Lord Eglinton, God's benison light on his bonny face There he sits, the trimmest sight that e'er the puir Kirk o'Scotland saw. 4thly. There was a portmanteau behind that nag, an' what trow ye was in it? E'en the Book of Common Prayer, and the Book of Canons, an' the Aith o' Supremacy, an' the Kirk law books: but I hope the good angel will tak him (episcopacy) out o' the saddle, for he hings by the hough hauf in and hauf out; fain wad he keep in; an' tells ye, let him but stay in, and he'll na' trouble ye wi' a portmanteau any more; but the de'el's a wily pow; let him but get in his little finger, an' he'll soon get in his whole hand; let but the loon get in the saddle, and we may a' pow till we are weary before we get him out again. But a word or two o' use; and first a word o' encouragement to a' the gude people that ha' already set their hearts an' hands to the reading an' avowing the solemn league an' covenant. Well, I say, nae mare but this, as ye hae begun this gude work, e'en sa perfect it, an' ye shall nae want your reward in heaven.'
The first remarkable occasion on which Latimer, one of that glorious army of martyrs who introduced the reformation into England, publicly avowed his opinion respecting the corruptions of the Romish Church, was in a course of sermons, which he delivered during the Christmas holidays before the University of Cambridge, to which he belonged. He insisted particularly on the great abuse of locking up the Scriptures in an unknown tongue; and endeavoured to show, that in comparison with the religion of the heart, external observances were of no manner of value. The orthodox part of the clergy, as they were then called, could not allow such heresies to pass without some attempt at a public confutation of them. The task was undertaken by Dr. Buckingham, Prior of the Black Friars, who appeared in the same pulpit a few Sundays after; and with great pomp and prolixity, declared against the dangerous tendency of Latimer's opinions, particularly the dreadful notion of having the Scriptures in English. 'If that heresy,' said he, 'were to prevail, we should soon see an end of everything useful among us. The ploughman reading, that if he put his hand to the plough, and should happen to look back, he was unfit for the kingdom of heaven, would soon lay aside his labour: the baker likewise reading that a little leaven will corrupt his lump, would give us very insipid bread; the simple man also finding himself commanded to pluck out his eyes, in a few years we should have the nation full of blind beggars.' Latimer could not help listening with secret pleasure to this ingenious reasoning; and longed till an opportunity came round for exposing it. When it came again to his turn to preach, the whole University crowded to hear him. Among the rest, Prior Buckingham himself entered the church with his cowl about his shoulders, and seated himself with an air of importance before the pulpit. Latimer with great gravity recapitulated the learned doctor's arguments, placed them in the strongest light, and then assailed them with so much good humour, that without exciting one unfavourable sentiment against himself, he made his adversary in the highest degree ridiculous. He then with great address appealed to the people; descanted upon the low esteem in which their guides had always held their understandings; expressed his indignation at their being treated with such contempt; and wished that his honest countrymen might only have the use of the Scriptures, till they were guilty of so absurd an interpretation of them, as that apprehended by the learned friar.
Latimer was afterwards interdicted from preaching by his Diocesan, the Bishop of Ely; but there, fortunately, happened at this time to be a Protestant Prior in Cambridge, Dr. Barnes, of the Austin Friars, who having a monastery exempt from episcopal jurisdiction, and being a great admirer of Latimer, boldly licensed him to preach there. The late opposition having greatly excited the curiosity of the people, the friar's chapel was soon incapable of containing the crowds that solicited admission. It is not a little remarkable, that the same Bishop of Ely who had interdicted Latimer, was now often one of his hearers; and had the ingenuousness to declare, that he was among the best preachers he had ever heard.
After Latimer's promotion to the See of Worcester, in the time of Henry VIll., he preached before the court. The sermon which he delivered on the occasion, was at a subsequent convocation of the bishops, at which the king was present, denounced to his majesty as seditious, by the Bishop of Winchester. Latimer being called upon by Henry with some sternness to vindicate himself, was so far from denying or even palliating what he had said, that he boldly justified it; and turning to the king with that noble unconcern which a good conscience inspires, made this answer: 'I never thought myself worthy, and I never sued to be a preacher before your Grace; but I was called to it; and would be willing, if you mislike it, to give place to my betters, for I grant there may be a great many more worthy of the room than I am. And if it be your Grace's pleasure to allow them for preachers, I could be content to bear their books after them. But if your Grace allow me for a preacher, I would desire you to give me leave to discharge my conscience, and to frame my doctrine according to my audience. I had been a very dolt indeed, to have preached so at the borders of your realm, as I preach before your Grace.' This answer baffled the malice of his accuser. The severity of the king's countenance relaxed into a gracious smile; and Latimer was dismissed with that obliging freedom which this monarch never used but to those he esteemed.
During the three first years of the succeeding reign of Edward VI., Latimer preached the Lent sermons before his majesty; and such were the crowds which then resorted to hear him, that Heylin tells us, the pulpit was removed out of the Royal Chapel into the Privy Garden.
His style of preaching is said to have been extremely captivating; simple and familiar, often enlivened with anecdote, irony, and humour; and still oftener swelling into strains of the most impassioned and awakening eloquence. Of the earnestness of his manner, we have the following striking specimen in one of his sermons delivered at court against the corruptions of the age. 'Take heed, and beware of covetousness; take heed, and beware of covetousness; take heed, and beware of covetousness; and what if I should say nothing else these three or four hours but these words? Great complaints there are of it, and much crying out, and much preaching, but little amendment that I can see. Covetousness is the root of all evil. Then have at the root; out with your swords, ye preachers, and strike at the root. Stand not ticking and toying at the branches, for new branches will spring out again; but strike at the root, and fear not these great men, these men of power, these oppressors of the needy; fear them not, but strike at the root.'
The celebrated Dr. Peter Martyr was governor of the monastery of St. Peter ad aram in Naples, when he first became acquainted with the writings of Zuinglius and Bucer, and was led by them to think favourably of the Protestant faith. A conversation which he had subsequently with Valdes, a Spanish lawyer, so confirmed him in his inclination to the new doctrines, that he made no scruple to preach them-privately to many persons of distinction, and sometimes even publicly. Thus, when preaching on I Cor. iii. 13, he boldly affirmed, that it had no reference, as had always before been contended, to the existence of a purgatory. 'Because,' said he, 'the fire there spoken of, is such a fire as both good and bad must pass through; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.' 'And this,' says Fuller in his quaint manner, 'seeming to shake a main pillar of purgatory, the Pope's furnace, the fire whereof, like the philosopher's stone, melteth all his leaden balls into pure gold; some of his under chemists, like Demetrius and the craftsmen, began to bestir themselves, and caused him to be silenced.'
Few sermons ever attracted so much attention at the period, or has been productive of such effects. as that of Bishop jewel, which he preached at Paul's Cross from these words: 'For I have received of the Lord, that which I also delivered unto you, that the Lord Jesus the same night in which he was betrayed took bread,' &c. This sermon is said to have given a fatal blow to the Roman Catholic religion in England; but the challenge which he then made, and afterwards several times, and in several places repeated, was the most stinging part of his discourse. In this sermon he gave a public challenge to all the Roman Catholics in the world, to produce but one clear and evident testimony out of any father or famous writer who flourished within six hundred years after Christ, of the existence of any one of the articles which the Catholics maintain against the Church of England.
'This challenge,' says Dr. Heylin, 'being thus published in so great an auditory, startled the English Papists both at home and abroad;' and a long and able controversy, in which the challenger wag the most powerful combatant, succeeded.
When Bishop Otto introduced Christianity into Pomerania, and among other towns visited Gutzkow, he found there a magnificent heathen temple; he had it pulled down, and a Christian church erected. When the new church was to be consecrated, Count MtizIaff, the lord of the town and district, appeared at the ceremony. The bishop spoke to him, saying, '0, sir! this consecration is nothing, unless thou and thy whole people consecrate yourselves to God.' The Count replied, 'What shall I do more? I have been baptized at Usedom. What do you require further of me?' Otto spoke: 'Thou hast many prisoners taken in war, whom thou detainest for their ransom, and there are Christians among them. Release them, and rejoice them this day in honour of Christ, and the consecration of this church.' MtizIaff hereupon ordered all the Christians among the prisoners to be brought forth, and set at liberty. The bishop then, encouraged by this concession, continued: 'The Heathen, too, are our brethren; release them also at my entreaty; I will baptize them, and lead them to our Saviour.' The Count ordered the Heathens also to be brought; and the bishop baptized them, and every eye was bedewed with tears.
When it was now thought that all the prisoners were released, and they were going to proceed with the consecration of the church, the servants were to bring salt, wine, and ashes, which were wanted for the ceremony. But there were no ashes, and the servants ran to fetch some. They went into the first and into the second house in the neighbourhood, and found nothing. While they were seeking in the third house, they heard underground a man lamenting and groaning; and on asking learned that it was a Dane of high rank, who was kept as a hostage for five hundred marks of silver, which his father owed to the Count for injury done him. They informed the bishop, who would willingly have begged for him, but dared not, on account of the magnitude of the injury. How could he still farther trouble the noble Count? But MtizIaff heard the whispering, and enquired: then the servants said softly, 'Sir, the Dane!' At this the Count started, and it cost him a great effort: yet he exclaimed, 'He is my worst enemy, and should make me ample atonement; but to-day I will regard no loss. Be it so: release the Dane also, and may God be gracious to me.' Then they fetched the prisoner, and placed him in his chains by the altar, and Otto pronounced the benediction.
Calamy's Reproof to General Monk.
The Rev. Edmund Calamy was once preaching before General Monk, and having occasion to speak of filthy lucre, he said, 'And why is it called filthy, but because it makes men do base and filthy things?' 'Some men,' added he, 'will betray three kingdoms for filthy lucre's sake.' Saying which, he threw his handkerchief, which he usually waved in his hand, at the pew in which General Monk sat. The allusion was doubtless applicable in the sense in which the reverend preacher spoke; but the three kingdoms appear themselves to have thought differently.
Tobias Matthew, Archbishop of York at the beginning of the seventeenth century, was particularly distinguished for his zeal and industry as a preacher, even after his preferment to a mitre. From September, 1583, when he was Dean of Durham, to the twentythird Sunday after Trinity, in 1622, a few years before his death, he kept an account of all the sermons he preached, the place where, the time when, and the distinguished persons, if any, before whom they were delivered.
It appears from this record, that he preached, while Dean of Durham, seven hundred and twenty-one; while Bishop of Durham, five hundred and fifty; and while Archbishop of York, to the time above mentioned, seven hundred and twenty-one; in all, one thousand nine hundred and ninety-two sermons! At the end of each year, he set down how many sermons he had preached; and usually adds a lamentation that the number is not greater. Thus, at the end of 1619, he writes, 'Sum Ser. 32. eheu!' at the end of 1620, 'Sum. Ser. 35, eheu!' The state of the account for 1621, appears to have grieved him still more. 'An. 1621, sore afflicted with a rheume and coughe diverse months, so that I never could preach until Easter daye. The Lord foregive me!' It is supposed that there was scarcely a pulpit in the wide dioceses of Durham and York, in which he had not appeared.
Herring, Archbishop of Canterbury, while preacher at Lincoln's Inn, took occasion, in one of his sermons, to condemn Gay's celebrated drama. the ' Beggar's Opera,' as of pernicious consequence to morals; and much clamour and ridicule was excited against him on this account. He had the suffrages, however, of nearly all the reflecting part of the public. Swift, in NO. 3 of his Intelligencer, has spoken of Herring's interference in terms which do the writer little credit. 'I should be very sorry,' he says, 'that any of them [the clergy] should be so weak as to imitate a court chaplain in England, who preached against the " Beggar's Opera, " which probably will do more good, than a thousand sermons of so stupid, so injudicious, and so prostitute a divine.' The sermons of Archbishop Herring, a volume of which have been published, contain a sufficient answer to this abusive tirade ; they bear the strongest marks of unaffected piety and benevolence; and cannot be read without profit, by any who are open to the influences of genuine Christianity.
George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Robert, his brother, Bishop of Salisbury, were two of the most distinguished preachers of their day. 'George,' says one of their biographers, 'was the more plausible preacher; Robert, the greater scholar; George, the abler statesman; Robert the deeper divine; gravity did frown in George, and smile in Robert.'
John Stanhope, Esq., happening to hear Robert once preach at St. Paul's Cross, was so pleased with him, that he immediately presented him to the rich living of Bingham, in Nottinghamshire.
It appears that the claims to preferment which Robert had established, by his successful exertions as a preacher, were somewhat impeded by several works which he wrote against Dr. William Bishop, then a secular priest, but afterwards titular Bishop of Chalcedon. In allusion to this circumstance, the king, on his presenting himself at court to do homage for the Bishopric of Salisbury, observed, 'Abbot, I have had very much to do to make thee a bishop, but I know no reason for it, unless it were, because thou hast written against one (Dr. Bishop).'
Both the brothers were noted for their enmity to the celebrated Laud. Robert, in one of his sermons. made a violent attack on him, of which the following account is given by Wood, in his 'Annals.'
'On Shrove Sunday, towards the latter end of this year (1614), It happened that Dr. Laud preached at St. Mary's, and in his sermon insisted on some points which might indifferently be imputed either to Popery or Arminianism (as about this time they began to call it), though, in themselves, they were by some thought to be no other than the true doctrines of the Church of England. And having occasion in that sermon to touch upon the Presbyterians and their proceedings, he used some words to this effect, viz., 'that the Presbyterians were as bad as the Papists.' Which being directly contrary to the judgment and opinion of Dr. Robert Abbot, the King's Professor of Divinity; and knowing how much Dr. Laud had been distasted by his brother when he lived in Oxford, conceived he could not better satisfy himself and oblige his brother, now Archbishop of Canterbury, than by exposing him (on the next occasion), both to shame and censure, which he did accordingly. For preaching at St. Peter's in the East, upon Easter Day (1615), in the afternoon, in the turn of the ViceChancellor he pointed at him so directly, that none of the auditors were so ignorant as not to know at whom he aimed. Dr. Laud being not present at the first preaching of the sermon, was, by his friends, persuaded to show himself at St. Mary's the Sunday after, when it should come to be repeated (according to the ancient custom in this University), to whose persuasions giving an unwilling consent, he heard himself sufficiently abused for almost an hour together, and that so palpably and grossly, that he was pointed to as he sate.' It appears that Laud consulted his patron, Dr. Neal, Bishop of Lincoln, on the subject of his attack; but was probably dissuaded by Neal from taking any notice of it, as we do not find that he wrote any answer or vindication.
This distinguished preacher raised himself by his talents from a state of obscurity, to be the highest ornament of the age in which he lived, both for eloquence and piety. His most celebrated sermon is that on the small number of the elect, which occasioned many of his audience to rise from their seats, struck with the horror of not being of the number. [See Anecdotes of Eloquence.] The following are a few of the most striking passages of this admirable discourse.
'If you know to what obligations the title of Christian, which you bear, binds you; if you understand the holiness of your state; how much it prescribes to you a faithful life, a continual vigilance, precaution against the temptations of sensual gratifications; in a word, conformity to Jesus Christ crucified; if you could comprehend it; if you would consider, that before loving God with all your heart and all your strength, a single desire which does not relate to him would defile you; if you could comprehend this, you would find yourself a monster before his eyes. What would you say of obligations so holy, and manners so profane? a vigilance so continual, and a life so careless and dissipated? a love of God so pure, so full, so universal, and a heart always a prey to a thousand affections, either strange or criminal? If it be thus, 0 my God! who can then be saved? Few people, my dear audience; it will not be you, unless you are changed! it will not be those who resemble you; it will not be the multitude.'
'Who then can be saved? Do you wish to know? It will be those who work out their salvation with fear; who live amidst the world, but who live not as the world.
'Who can be saved? That Christian woman, who, confined to the circle of her domestic affairs, educates her children in faith and piety, leaving to the Almighty the decision of their destiny; who is adorned with chastity and modesty, who does not sit in the assembly of the vain; who does not make for herself a law of the foolish customs of the world, but corrects those customs by the law of God, and gives credit to virtue by her rank and example.
'Who can be saved? That faithful man, who, in these degenerate days, imitates the manners of the primitive Christians, whose hands are innocent and body pure; that vigilant man, who has not received his soul in vain, but who, even amidst the dangers of high life, continually applies himself to purify it: that just man who does not use deception towards his neighbour, and who owes not to doubtful means the innocent increase of his fortune; that generous man who loads with benefits the enemy who wishes to destroy him, and injures not his rivals, except by superior merit; that sincere man who does not sacrifice truth to a contemptible interest, and who knows not how to please in betraying his conscience; that charitable man who makes of his house and credit the asylum of his brethren, and of his person the consolation of the afflicted; that man who uses his wealth for the benefit of the poor; who is submissive in afflictions, a Christian in injuries, penitent even in prosperity.
'Who can be saved? You, my dear hearers, if you will follow these examples. Behold, these are the people who will be saved; but these certainly do not constitute the greatest number.
'There is perhaps no person here, who cannot say to himself, "I live as the majority, as those of my rank, of my age, and of my condition." I am lost if I die in this state. But what is more calculated to frighten a soul, to whom there remains still something to be done for its salvation? Nevertheless, it is the multitude who tremble not. Only a small number of pious persons work out their salvation with fear; all the rest are calm. One knows in general, that the majority of mankind are lost, but he flatters himself that after having lived with the multitude, he will be distinguished from them in death; each one puts himself in the case of chimerical exception, each augurs favourably for himself. And it is on this account that I address myself to you, my brethren, who are here assembled. I speak no more of the rest of men; I regard you as if you alone were upon the earth; and behold the thoughts which occupy and terrify me. I suppose that this is your last moment, and the end of the universe; that the heavens are going to open over your heads, Jesus Christ to appear in his glory in the middle of this temple; and that you are assembled here only to expect him, and as trembling criminals, to whom he is going to pronounce a sentence of pardon, or a decree of eternal death; because it is in vain for you to flatter yourselves, that you shall die better than you are at this time. All those designs of change which amuse you now, will amuse you even to the bed of death; it is the experience of all ages; everything that you will then find new in yourselves, will be perhaps an account, a little greater than that which you would have to render on this day; and from what you would be, if He should come to judge you in the present moment, you can almost with certainty decide what you will be at departing from this life. But I demand of you, and I demand it of you struck with horror, not separating in this point my lot from yours, and putting myself in the same state in which I wish that I should be. I ask you, then, if Jesus Christ should appear in this temple, in the midst of this assembly, the most august in the world, for the purpose of judging us, in order to make the just discrimination between the good and the bad, do you believe that the majority of us, who are here assembled, would be placed on the right? Do you believe that the number would be equal? Do you believe that He would find here even ten pious men, which the Almighty could not formerly find in five populous cities? I demand it of you; you are ignorant of it; and I am ignorant of it myself. Thou alone, 0 my God I knowest those who belong to thee. But if we know not those who belong to him, we know at least that sinners do not belong to Him. But who are the faithful ones here assembled? Titles and