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any look of recognition to a friend. He lay on the floor, a mass of flesh, without even ability to turn himself over. Such was the student brought to this school. The teacher made effort after effort to get the slightest recognition from his eye, or to produce the slightest voluntary movement; but in vain. Unwilling, however, to yield, he had the boy brought to his room, and he laid down beside him every day for half-an-hour, hoping that some favourable indication might occur. To improve the time, he read aloud from some author. One day, at the end of six months of unavailing effort, he was unusually weary and did not read. He soon discovered that the child was uneasy, and was trying to move itself a little. The thought flashed across his mind: "It misses the sound of my voice." He brought his mouth near the child's hands, and, after repeated efforts, the little one succeeded in placing his fingers on the teacher's lips, as if to say: "Make that sound again." The teacher felt that from that moment his success was assured, and, by careful manipulation of his muscles, he soon taught the child to walk; and when I saw him, at the end of five years, he stood on the platform, recited the names of the Presidents of the United States, and answered a number of questions correctly. I looked on with astonishment, and said to myself : Was there ever such patience and such devotion? How strong should be the love of that little boy for his teacher! Was there ever an instance of one stooping so low, and waiting so long?" Then I said: "Yes; there was one instance. The Son of God came down from Heaven; laid Himself down beside me, His great heart by my heart; watched me with perpetual care; infused into me His own life; and waited for nearly twenty years before I reached my finger to His lips, and said: "Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth." What condescension! What love to fallen man ! Christ stooping so low, authorizes us to stoop and wait on and wait ever. Some of these wretched ones around us have been suffering for more than eight and thirty years; have been lying at the edge of the pool, waiting for us to come and help them into the troubled waters.

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Ministers vary greatly as to the time of commencing their

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preparation for the ensuing Sabbath. I presume the majority commence early in the week-say on Tuesday; though I have heard of some who wrote their sermons from three to six months in advance. Such men are much more skilful than ever I was to hit the mark at so long a range. Others, while their minds are full of the subject, do not begin their immediate preparation until the day before, or sometimes only an hour or two before the time of service. It is reported of St. Augustine and Chrysostom that they sometimes selected their subjects on their way to church. I have known some ministers who spent Saturday night walking their rooms, preparing their sermons. Such ministers generally are the loudest in their complaints of "blue Mondays." As a problem of mental philosophy, I do not pretend to solve it; but my own experience was that, when hurried in preparation, if I could fix my text firmly in my mind before Saturday night, the plan of the sermon would come to me readily on Saturday night or Sunday morning.

The mode of preparation varies. Some write out in full every word that is spoken; others the headings of the divisions; others prepare very brief notes. Robertson's sermons, it is said, were sketched on a visiting card. Spurgeon uses simple notes. Dr. Chalmers wrote his sermons in full.

It is very seldom that a sermon can be very ably written out, as I think, of the first effort of either speaker or writer, though in a few cases it has been done. Even then previous materials have been freely used. The life may be in it; but it is frequently like the tender blade as compared with the ripe ear. It needs oftentimes recasting, always pruning, amending, or enlarging. Fenelon advises to keep the pruning-knife always in hand. I| think an excellent plan of preparing sermons is to first make a simple outline. After preaching, look over and retouch that outline. Then, some weeks after, having kept the subject in mind, other ideas and illustrations having occurred, recast or amend the outline as judgment may dictate, and deliver the sermon. Again retouch, and again let it rest. And if the same process be pursued half-a-dozen times during the interval of a year or so, the sermon will have that unity and force that will

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make it worthy of being written out in full and laid aside as a finished product.

A foolish prejudice exists in many minds against the repetition of a sermon. The lecturer on the platform delivers the same lecture for years. I have already referred to Wendell Phillips and his lecture on the "Lost Arts," which he has delivered for thirty years. Gough has been mimicking "Peculiar People," and Colfax has been " Across the Continent," in almost every lecture hall; yet the people admire and applaud and go and hear again. The politician goes through an entire canvass. not unfrequently repeating the same subject every day. The songs of our sanctuaries are none the less sweet because they have been sung again and again. The ritualist offers the same prayers year in and year out; and even some non-ritualists observe almost the same repetition in their devotional services. I remember to have listened to a prayer in a church in New York which I greatly admired. I walked home with a friend, after service, and I spoke of the remarkable beauty and grandeur of that prayer. "Yes," my friend replied, "it is very beautiful. I have, myself, admired it for twenty years." If repetition is permitted to the medical lecturer, to the professor of law, to the platform lecturer, and to the politician, why may not the minister with great propriety repeat a discussion which has commanded his best efforts, and is on a subject of essential importance to his congregation? Dr. Chalmers, when large audiences attended his services, sometimes announced in the morning that he would repeat the same sermon in the afternoon. On one occasion when he had made that announcement Dr. Wardlaw was present, and gives us an account of the scene. It was on one Sabbath evening. The seats were occupied an hour before the time, and the doors were closed and bolted. An immense crowd was without, and as soon as Chalmers opened the vestry door, in spite of the keepers, the front door was forced open and the crowd rushed in, completely filling all the vacant space. Chalmers was grieved, and administered a sharp rebuke to the audience. Walking home with him, Chalmers said to Wardlaw: "I preached the same sermon in the

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morning; and for the very purpose of preventing the annoyance of such a densely-crowded place, I intimated that I should preach it again in the evening. Have you ever tried that plan?” Wardlaw says: "I did not smile. I laughed outright. 'No, no,' I replied, 'my good friend, there are but very few of us that are under the necessity of having recourse to the use of means for getting thin audiences. '"' Like Dr. Wardlaw, I have never tried it; but if ever any of you are in danger of being overwhelmed with auditors, it may be worth while to try the experiment. Never repeat a sermon because you are too indolent to make a new one.

As to sermonizing, I feel my incompetency to advise. I have never been a systematic sermonizer. I have already said to you that in my early ministry I never had any hope of becoming a successful preacher, in the sense of being an orator. In addition to this, my health was very delicate, and I didn't expect to live long. In that time there were no theological schools of the church to which I belong in this country, and no theological school of any character in the West had gained much reputation. Hence I commenced my ministry without any specific theological training. I had read my Bible from earliest childhood—indeed, I do not remember the time when I could not read-and my study of the original languages of the Bible, especially the Greek, had been for years a delightful occupation. But no one had told me how to prepare a sermon. I had listened to good preachers, but the only sermons I had ever read were those of Mr. Wesley. I did not know there was such a thing as a skeleton or a book of skeletons of sermons. In my youthful innocence, I would as soon have stolen money from a bank as to attempt to appropriate anything from a sermon which I had either heard or read. I remember an old minister once put into my hands and offered to loan me a book of sermon sketches; but I happened to have common sense enough to decline the offer.

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So I began to preach. I did not, try to make sermons. felt that I must, at the peril of my soul, persuade men to come to Christ. I must labour to the utmost of my ability to get sinners converted and believers advanced in holiness. For this

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96 The Commencement of a Great Career.

I thought, studied, wept, fasted, and prayed. My selection of texts, my plan of discourse, was only and always with the aim to persuade men to be reconciled to God. I never spoke without the deepest feeling; and unless I saw a strong divine influence on the congregation, or knew of some soul being converted, I felt sad, and sought retirement to humble myself before God in prayer. My sermons were not well arranged. Sometimes I had divisions; for I had heard ministers say firstly, secondly, and thirdly. Sometimes I had a line written out here and there, and sometimes a few catchwords, on a scrap of paper, which, however, I seldom took into the pulpit. My ministry was one of exhortation, rather than of sermonizing, and I looked for immediate results.

So my early ministry was formed. Whatever method I had, it was purely my own, and was adopted to bring men to God. None could have been more surprised than myself when I began to find not only that souls were awakened and converted, but that friends began to speak kindly of my simple talks as sermons. So I finished my first year. My second year I was stationed at Pittsburgh, where I was compelled to preach three times on Sunday, and at least once during the week. I was so driven it seemed as if I could not change my plans. At the end of my first year in that city I expected to be relieved; but I was disappointed, and returned to the same congregation. In addition to my preaching, I led the public prayer-meeting one evening a week, conducted two classes, took a deep interest in the Sunday-school, and formed a class of young men, whom I helped in some degree to prepare for the ministry. And so, not expecting to be a preacher, I preached on; not expecting to live, I lived on. Many a time I resolved I would prepare better; and yet I found myself brought up to Saturday evening with comparatively slight preparation for the Sabbath. But I studied intensely. I rose early and spent my forenoons in mastering theology, philosophy, and natural sciences, in which I was deeply interested. I worked on my feet, and found my sermons among the sick and the poor, in garrets and in cellars. Not expecting ever to do much in the pulpit, I spoke to men everywhere of Jesus and His love, and had

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