"No; they are hired servants-faithful servants, and the firm knows their value. They will be kept on at an increased salary. One of your aunts will come or send for you when it is necessary that you should go to Castle Coleshill. Jacob will write to Mrs. Wray-he has her addressalone."

as soon as you are left

After that time I had many little talks with my mother, but not any lengthened conversation. Every day she grew weaker, and her voice was fainter, till at last she could scarcely speak above a whisper, and that only at intervals. She seemed very calm and peaceful; there was always a sweet smile on her pale, worn face. Gradually I got to know that I was the only thing on earth that she cared to leave; that she was so tired, she longed for rest; that she went to her grave as willingly as ever a weary person went to bed; that in perfect trust, and full dependence on her Saviour, she waited for the signal which should set her free from all the frailties and sorrow of the flesh.

Once I told her I wanted to go with her. I said I would pray to God to let me die when she died-to let us both go together. But she said, "No, no, my boy; my Olly must stay and overcome the world, and grow up to be a good, true, brave man, a joy and blessing to his generation. You must grow up to work for God, my darling. Working for Him will make you happy, and when the right time comes He will bid you rest."

One night when I kissed her before going to bed-my crib had been carried into Eliza Ann's room some weeks before-she seemed very drowsy, and I thought her hands were rather cold, though it was a warm April evening, and there was a good fire in the chamber. She did not speak-at least, I do not remember any word she said; but she smiled, and looked unutterable love at me. I wanted to say something to her, but I would not disturb her. She would not be so sleepy in the morning, I thought; so with another kiss, and another " Good-night, mamma!" I went away, for I was tired myself. They had let me sit up long after my usual bedtime.

Next morning when I awoke, it was still quite early. Deborah stood by my crib. She looked at me, and I did not speak, and I knew it was all over. I burst into passionate tears, and cried, “Oh, let me go to mamma!" and her answer was, as I knew it would be, "Your mamma is in heaven, my dear."

(To be continued.)

661

GREAT LIVING PREACHERS.

THE REV. WILLIAM MORLEY PUNSHON, M.A., D.D.

THE Wesleyan Methodist Church has not of late years maintained her former eminence in respect of pulpit excellence of a high order. Not that she has lacked ministers of undoubted ability; but she bas had few men of such mark and influence as to have secured considerable mention beyond her own immediate sphere of work and fame. John Wesley did not achieve the success which led to the formation of the body which bears his name by means of what would be called extraordinary eloquence. His preaching was simple, practical, and plain. It had none of the qualities which attracted thousands to listen to his co-worker, Whitfield. The great religious Reformer possessed the might of calm energy, which, more than anything, contributes to lay the foundation of abiding usefulness. Like his Master, he did "not strive nor cry.” Methodist preachers have generally been supposed to be marked by extraordinary fervour of feeling and excitement of manner; and many of the famous preachers of the early history of Methodism were distinguished for their zeal and passion. We have heard many who came after those times, but lived near enough to them to have inherited their spirit and style, who were very quiet, calm, impressive preachers-far removed from the ideal which has been shaped to the popular imagination. It is an unkind libel upon the Methodist ministry to affirm that its leading features have been noise and declamation. The "arts of oratory" have been studied with perhaps more care amongst other Nonconformist bodies than by Methodists. But they have had many men whose gift of speech-effective, thrilling, and eloquent speech-rendered them conspicuous among the preachers of the time. Considering the high respectability and wide extension of her Church, Wesleyan Methodism furnishes, in our own period, but few men of remarkable distinction. There are some manifest causes which have done much, perhaps, to bring about this result. While the Methodist preachers exercise their gift as frequently as their brethren in other churches, they preach fewer sermons. It might seem to some people that the opportunity for using one sermon on some six or ten occasions in a year, and then probably [retaining it for as frequent repetition in succeeding years, would help towards perfecting these productions far beyond the standard attained by those who have infrequent opportunities for repeating their dis

courses. There are, however, two evils which are perilous to such a ministry as this. Where few sermons are wanted, all, save the most thoughtful and energetic men, will be content with the preparation of a few; and, by constant repetition, all but the most earnest natures will lose their interest in the sermons which have so much duty allotted to them. It must be remembered that there is always a great distinction to be made between a sermon and a lecture; but even with the lecture, its too frequent repetition must chill the fire of its earlier delivery.

And then, we cannot forbear expressing our opinion that the rigid doctrinal and theological system which obtains in Wesleyan Methodism checks the free and powerful exercise of those qualities of the mind and heart which furnish the true elements of really effective speech. We are sorry to believe that, in this respect, the Methodistic system is far less elastic and expansive than the Roman Catholic. With the acknowled ged policy which has ever guided the actions, and the vast store of theological learning which is the rightful boast of the latter Church, her sons have often attained the vivid freshness and glowing splendour which generally accompany originality and independence of mind. It is nearly impos sible for a Church whose preachers are required to attach supreme importance to the theological teachings of one man to furnish that type of intellect which must form the basis of real eloquence.

Mr. Punshon may lay claim to unquestionable popular eloquence. He made his first considerable impression upon a London audience by the delivery of a lecture before the Young Men's Christian Association in its famous Tuesday evening course at Exeter Hall some twenty or more years ago, upon the " Prophet of Horeb." A writer, who vividly describes its effect, said that the evening was cold and wet, and altogether of such a nature as would induce most men to remain at home. But all of a sudden he remembered that the lecturer for the evening was a Methodist, and reflected that at any rate he would be warm in listening to him. The lecturer moved Exeter Hall to repeated bursts of enthusiastic applause. Men held their breath in astonishment; ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and reporters, in their admiration, forget to take notes. From that time to this Mr. Punshon has not been altogether lost from the public attention. His absence in Canada, where he filled the office of President of the Conference, has not cooled the enthusiasm of his admirers, for immediately after his return to his own land a service was held at City-road Chapel, to which tickets, obtained with great difficulty, alone gave admission; and after an eloquent sermon, more than two thousand pounds were collected. It is fair to affirm that this was, in some sense, a tribute to his acknowledged eloquence.

He lacks utterly those graces of manner which of themselves serve to gain for any speaker a ready attention and interest. Save an eye which has a fiery flash in it that betokens the skill for waking up the enthusiasm of large assemblies, one would not suspect him of being an orator. His voice is often husky and harsh, and possesses none of that mellifluous charm which constitutes so large a power with a great public speaker. It has little music in it, and is an unwilling servant to its master's wishes. There is none of the liquid sweetness and volume of voice which are apparent to all who hear Canon Liddon, nor the resonant fulness and clearness so strikingly characteristic of Mr. Spurgeon.

You are never impressed by the originality of his conceptions of truth, nor charmed with the freshness of his mode of presenting the old ideas and precious beliefs of men. You are not startled by utterances which like apophthegms cling to the memory, or like the outbursts of intense passion exert their influence upon the heart for years afterwards. There is not even the charm of novelty in the forms which his subjects take; and you are never beguiled with the impression that much learning or inquiry have contributed to impart any advantage to his preaching. You are not lulled to calmness by the quiet force of great power, nor soothed and sweetened by the exquisite tenderness of melodious and pathetic words He cannot win your affections, nor excite your sentiments, by those irresistible means which many other preachers possess. Nor does he teach you much if you seek in your preacher light and inspiration in regard to the higher aspects of thought, or the deeper forms of life. Nevertheless Mr. Punshon is a great popular preacher.

He has the gift for putting his conceptions of truth and religious history in the poetic form. He has the poet's eye for life and nature, although he has not given evidence of possessing that intense idealism which is a necessary qualification for every poet. So many preachers seem cursed with the unfortunate habit of reducing the living, breathing, beautiful facts and truths of human existence into dull and cheerless prose. They descant on matters of the most sacred and precious kind with far less enthusiasm than a civil engineer would feel in speaking of the iron, wood, or stone which he was skilfully employed in turning to some use. Such men, if they ever idealise anything, leave whatever faculty they possess of this kind behind them when they enter the pulpit. When they speak to their fellow men on themes of everlasting interest they apparently deem it necessary to lay aside whatever of real nature God has bestowed upon them, and to assume an ecclesiastical attitude and style. We have found many who could be vivid and interesting in conversation, and not a few who exhibited traces of positive genius;

but who could stand up on Sunday before hundreds of people and utter stale and lifeless platitudes cast in the ecclesiastical form. Men will listen with eager interest to one who addresses them as though he has looked upon the highest matters with the feeling of one to whom they are really important. Such a preacher will show that he has been interested himself in what he now presents to the attention of his hearers. There is the same difference between him and another man which is often to be observed between one who looks on nature with the insight of feeling, and another who gazes as a sheep might upon a flower.

Mr. Punshon looks at pictures while he preaches, and feels their influence on his heart. Whether it be a Bible scene which rises to the mind, or some apt illustration from the life around us to-day, it is a picture upon which his eye is fixed, and which he aims at enabling his hearers to see as well as himself. He may do it with the rapidity of a sketch, or bestow all the pains which a finished painting requires. The painting may at times be a little overdone; and the whole work may hardly seem in keeping with the physique of that burly man who is preaching or lecturing; but you must listen to him; and generally, though you may be fastidious, you will be pleased.

The following opening passage, from a sermon on "The Ascension of Our Saviour," illustrates our meaning:

"Another mountain here invites our climbing-one on whose slopes we have very often lingered, but never before to witness a scene like this. There are some of the consecrated heights which are connected in our memories with only one scene or incident which has had interest about it sufficient to immortalise it. Thus the death of Moses has made Pisgah always sacred, and the successes of Elijah have crowned with a verdurous diadem the brow of Carmel. But there are many passages in the history of the Lord Jesus which consecrate this hill, in itself of no great relative magnitude-only little among the thousands of Judah-into a holy spot for loving eyes and pilgrim feet, and which has made the followers of the Lord in all ages of the world's history dwell with fond and pensive memory upon this Mount-this solemn, strange, Sabbatic Mount of Olives. So many of the events of the Redeemer's incarnate life took place on its slopes, or around its base, that it might almost be called the Mountain of the Lord Jesus. It was His closet, from its clefts He prayed; it was His pulpit, for on its gently-sloping ridge He delivered the Sermon on the Mount; it was the place of His intercourse with His disciples. "And when they had sung a hymn they went on the Mount of Olives." Bethany, at its base, was often their common home, where His presence brought its sunshine, and where, in a brief exemption from His own description of His ordinary lot, He found where occasionally to lay His head. Tradition yet shows the spot where the eye of His body beheld the city, and where the eye of His mind, keen in