the presence of Jesus Christ. Who, then, are here? Many sinners who will not be converted; a still larger number who would, but delay their conversion; some who repent but to relapse again into sin; and many who think they have no need of conversion. These are the classes of the reprobate. Retrench these four sorts of sinners from this assembly-they will be retrenched at the great day of accounts. Stand forth now, ye righteous! Where are ye? Remnant of Israel, pass to the right! Wheat of the Lord, separate from this chaff, destined to unquenchable fire! O my God! where are thine elect, and what remains for thy portion!

LESSON CXXXII.

THE BLIND PREACHER.

WILLIAM WIRT.

1. Ir was one Sunday, as I was traveling through the county of Orange, in Virginia, that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous old wooden house, in the forest, not far from the road-side. Having frequently seen such objects before in traveling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship.

2. Devotion alone should have stopped me to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man; his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.

3. The first emotions which touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon were all my feelings changed! It was a day of the administration of the săcrament; and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Savior. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times. I had thought it exhausted long ago.

?

4. Little did I suppose that in the wild woods of America I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed. As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver.

5. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior -his trial before Pilate-his ascent up Calvary—his crucifixion-and his death. I knew the whole history; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life.

6. His enunciation was so deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet: my soul kindled with a flame of indignation; and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clenched.

7. But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Savior; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do"-the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until, his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect was inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

8. It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher; for I could not conceive how he would be able to let his audience down

from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But the descent was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

9. The first sentence with which he broke the awful silence was a quotation from Rousseau :-"Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God." I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery.

10. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preacher; you are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody; you are to call to mind the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and then, the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence which reigned throughout the house; the preacher removing his white handkerchief from his aged face (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears), and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, as he begins the sentence, "Socrates died like a philosopher," then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice as he continues, "but Jesus Christ like a God!" If he had been in deed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

11. Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this simple sentence. The blood, which just before had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in suspense, now ran back into my heart with a sensation which I can not describe a kind of shuddering, delicious horror! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I had been

transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humility, and adoration. I had just been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy for our Savior as a fellow-creature; but now, with fear and trembling, I adored him as— -"a God!"

12. This blind preacher has been before my imagination almost ever since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation from Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and power arose from an energy of soul which nature could give, but which no human being could justly copy.

LESSON CXXXIII.

THE PULPIT ORATOR.

MRS. WELBY.

1. IN stature majestic, apart from the throng
He stood in his beauty, the theme of my song!
His cheek pale with fervor-the blue orbs above
Lit up with the splendors of youth and of love;
Yet the heart-glowing rapture that beamed from those
eyes

Seemed saddened by sorrow, and chastened by sighs,
As if the young heart in its bloom had grown cold,
With its loves unrequited, its sorrows untold.

2. Such language as his I may never recall;
But his theme was salvation-salvation to all!
And the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung

On the manna-like sweetness that dropped from his
Not alone on the ear his wild eloquence stole; [tongue.
Enforced by each gesture, it sunk to the soul,

Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod,
And brought to each bosom a message from God.

3. O God! what emotions the speaker awoke! A mortal he seemed—yet a deity spoke;

A man-yet so far from humanity riven;
On earth-yet so closely connected with heaven;
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him there,

As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer, With his eyes closed in rapture—their transient eclipse Made bright by the smiles that illumined his lips.

4. There's a charm in delivery, a magical art,

That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart;
'Tis the glance, the expression, the well-chosen word,
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred;
The smile, the mute gesture, the soul-startling pause,
The eye's sweet expression, that melts while it awes-
The lip's soft persuasion, its musical tone,-

Oh, such was the charm of that eloquent one!

LESSON CXXXIV.

SPIRITUAL FREEDOM.

By WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, D.D.-born at Newport, R. I., in 1780; died in 1842. [The following is a fine example of the Rhetorical Figure called Repetition. See p. 245. No better illustrations could be found of the 8th Elocutionary Rule. See p.

xxi.

1. I call that mind free, which masters the senses'; which protects itself against animal appetites'; which penetrates beneath the body, and recognizes its own reality and greatness; which passes life, not in asking what it shall eat or drink', but in hungering, thirsting, and seeking after right

eousness.

2. I call that mind free, which escapes the bondage of matter'; which, instead of stopping at the material universe and making it a prison-wall, passes beyond it to its Author, and finds, in the radiant signatures which it every where bears of the Infinite Spirit', helps to its own spiritual enlargement'. 3. I call that mind free, which jealously guards its intellectual rights and powers'; which calls no man master'; which does not content itself with a passive or hereditary faith'; which opens itself to light whencesoever it may come'; which receives new truth as an angel from heaven;