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"You are famous," he said; "when I have made a name I will come to
you. Will you wait, Kitty?"

"For ever, Hugh," she answered, understanding him so well that that
was all she said.

He bent and kissed her hands.

* * * * *

She knelt at the side of his bed, heedless of the presence of the
nurse at the other end of the room, and her tears wetted his hand.
The right hand and arm were swathed in bandages.

He smiled sadly as he looked at her.

"I am a failure," he said.

"Ah, no, no! All England is ringing with your name. Hugh" - she
raised a face all alight with a proud joy - "you are famous now!"

A little flush rose to his white face.

"Pshaw!" he said, "rescuing a woman and a few children from being
burnt to death. Anyone would have done it."

"Ah, no, Hugh! Brave men shrank from that awful sea and burning

He was silent, looking at his bandaged hand.

"I must learn to write with my left hand," he said.

She bent nearer.

"Let me write for you," she whispered; "let me finish your book,
Hugh, while you dictate it to me. I do not sing now in public, you

"Yes, I know."

He drew her closer to him and rested his cheek against her soft hair.

"I said I would not come to you till I had made a name," he said. "I
am a wreck now! I shall be a wreck for a long while - - "

"Ah, dear, but you are famous!" she interposed lovingly.

He sighed.

"I cannot do without you any longer, Kitty. I am beaten at last.
Will you take a wreck?"

"I will take _you_, Hugh, a famous - - "

"A famous wreck," he finished with a smile.

[Illustration: "Let me write for you," she whispered.]

[Illustration: THE PULPIT MANNER]



=By F. M. Holmes.=

First let us look at Dr. Joseph Parker. His sermons are constantly
attended by ministers of all denominations, including clergymen of
the Church of England; and no stronger testimony, we take it, could
be given to a man's extraordinary preaching power than that year
after year he continually attracts other preachers.

Dr. Parker, it is almost needless to explain, is the eminent
Congregational minister of the City Temple in London, and he
occupies the unique position of having maintained for thirty years
a noonday service every Thursday in addition to his usual Sunday
services. To this Thursday service come persons from the ends of the
earth, and ministers and laymen of various religious persuasions. On
one occasion the sittings of a conference belonging to one of the
minor Methodist bodies seemed seriously imperilled because so many
of the delegates desired to go and hear Dr. Parker.

What is the secret of his widely attractive power? The answer comes
in a word - he is intensely dramatic. We do not mean theatrical.
He chooses a clear message to deliver, and that message - that
paramount thought - is driven home to his hearers in a manner that
forces itself upon every mind, no matter how reluctant. He uses
short, pithy sentences, and heightens and emphasises their effect by
suitable modulations of voice, by deliberate or rapid utterance as
the words may require, and by vigorous and appropriate gesture. He
speaks only the very pith and point of what he has to say, and then
says it in the clearest and most suitably effective manner that he
can possibly command. It is the thing itself we hear, rather than
talk or argument all round and about it.

[Illustration: DR. PARKER.]

Thus, on one occasion, his theme was found in the text, "Jesus in
the midst." "Where is the midst?" he asked in a clear and striking,
sonorous voice that commanded attention at once. These were his
opening words, and after a pause he proceeded in the same manner and
in similar short, striking sentences to point to different ideas of
"the midst," and to declare that Christ was, or should be, in the
midst of the literature, science, philosophy, and business of the
day. Unless ministers preached Christ, said he, they had better be


There is nothing new in this, you will say. No doubt Dr. Parker
would tell you that he does not wish to preach anything new; but no
one can watch him critically without concluding that he constantly
studies not only what he shall say, but how he shall say it in the
most striking and effective manner.

As a dramatic preacher, we might also instance the Rev. J. H.
Jowett, who has succeeded the late Dr. Dale at Carr's Lane
Congregational Church, Birmingham. To his Oxford scholarship Mr.
Jowett has united an assiduous cultivation of a fine voice and
vigorous yet graceful and suitable gesture, which render him a most
striking and fascinating preacher.

But turning now to other styles, if Dr. Parker is one of the most
dramatic, Dr. Boyd Carpenter, the learned Bishop of Ripon, is one of
the most eloquent of preachers. He is also one of the most rapid.
He seems so fully charged with his subject that the words pour from
his lips like a torrent; his body turns first to one side and then
to the other, and anon leans forward in front, as though propelled
by the energy of the thought within. His hand is often held up
before him with the index finger pointing, as though to lead his
audience on to the next thought, and to prevent their interest or
attention from flagging. But, rapid and fluent as he is, it must
not be thought that he is superficial; on the contrary, there is
every evidence that the discourse is well thought out, and based
on a solid framework of reason, while the language is eloquent and
rhetorical. And it is, as it were, to mark the network of logical
deduction within the words that the index finger is brought so fully
into play. We judge that his voice is naturally somewhat thin and
poor, but by careful use and perhaps assiduous cultivation, and by
the most beautifully clear articulation, Dr. Boyd Carpenter can make
himself heard in St. Paul's with what appears to be perfect ease.
There is no straining of the voice and no shouting; but in a quiet
though forcible manner he sends his voice round the huge building.
Further, it has been pointed out to me that he will not commence his
discourse until the congregation have settled themselves down into
absolute quietness, and all the rustling of dresses, and coughing,
and fidgeting are stilled. Under these circumstances his voice
would, of course, carry far better in a large church.

Somewhat similar in manner is Canon Barker, of Marylebone,
who, in the energetic expression of the thought with which he
seems surcharged, bends forward sometimes so deeply towards the
congregation as to give, the impression that he is about to dive out
of the pulpit. But his style is that of the special pleader, the
advocate and the debater; it is as though he desires to argue out
everything to its logical conclusion, rather than to sway or move
his audience by eloquence and emotional appeals.


Dean Lefroy of Norwich is also a debater; perhaps, a more keen
debater than Canon Barker, and he is also a rhetorician. He delights
to preach a strongly evangelical "Gospel" sermon, and to embellish
it with rhetoric and declaim it with passionate earnestness. It is
evident he thoroughly believes in his theme, he seeks to impress it
on his audience by vigorous, earnest, passionate utterance, in which
his energetic gestures are often of the most decided character.
A curious characteristic of his preaching has been related to me
by a friend. "You cannot listen to Lefroy for five minutes," said
he, "without violently taking sides either for or against him. You
are either intensely in favour of him or find yourself becoming
almost vehemently opposed" - a testimony, we take it that the Dean
is a decided, downright, assertive and aggressive preacher rather
than persuasive and emotional. He has instituted a Nave service at
Norwich Cathedral, at which he often preaches himself, and attracts
enormous congregations.

[Illustration: JOHN MCNEIL.]

Still continuing to glance at those whom we may call rapid and
fluent preachers, Prebendary Webb-Peploe comes to mind. He is not
so energetic as some others, but the rapidity of his utterance, the
fluency of his expression, and his great command of language, would
rival that of almost any speaker. He and many others would probably
utter three times as many words in a given time as Dr. Parker or
Archdeacon Sinclair.

[Illustration: IAN MACLAREN

(_Dr. John Watson._)]

The latter is slow, deliberate, and dignified in his utterances,
rarely using gesture and affecting a grave and somewhat sonorous
voice; but the Archdeacon's sermons are always most carefully
prepared, and indicate considerable study and research.

Among the grave and sedate preachers we might also place Dr. John
Watson ("Ian Maclaren"), of Sefton Park Presbyterian Church,
Liverpool; his sermons are full of thought, and, as might be
expected, exhibit an excellent literary finish.

Now, if we take Archdeacon Sinclair and Dr. John Watson as examples
of more deliberate and sedate preachers, we may regard the Rev. John
McNeil, the well-known Presbyterian minister, as an instance of the
colloquial preacher.

Not that his voice is low-pitched, as used in conversation. Mr.
McNeil has done what few preachers could physically undertake: he
has preached twice a day for a fortnight in the Albert Hall at
Kensington, the largest hall in London, and capable of holding
about ten thousand persons; and he has repeatedly filled the huge
Agricultural Hall at Islington, numbers being turned away from
lack of room. His voice, indeed, seems capable of filling the
largest hall without effort. But his style is easy, unaffected,
conversational, though sometimes, with both arms outstretched, he
bursts forth into loud and impassioned appeals. There is no doubt a
large section of the public who like this easy and colloquial style,
especially if it come quite naturally to the speaker.

[Illustration: DR. MCLAREN.]

And now another celebrated figure rises on the scene, the
eminent Baptist minister, Dr. McLaren of Manchester. Refined,
scholarly, brimming over with knowledge, and a master of beautiful
illustration, there is no doubt that he takes rank as one of the
very greatest preachers of the day. Like other great speakers, he
has evidently studied the art of preaching.


At a meeting at the Holborn Restaurant to celebrate his ministerial
jubilee in April, 1896, he said he had determined, at the outset of
his career, to concentrate his mind on the work of the ministry and
not fritter away his energies over many minor engagements. He had
always endeavoured to make his ministry one of Gospel exposition; he
had preached Christ because he believed that men needed redemption,
and he had preached without doubts and hesitations. It was Thomas
Binney who had taught him how to preach.

Undoubtedly Dr. McLaren has succeeded in his aim as an expositor
of the Scriptures, for that is regarded as one of his chief
characteristics. A favourite gesture of Dr. McLaren's - at all events
in his earlier days - was to squeeze up a handkerchief, no doubt
quite unconsciously, in his right hand by the nervous energy he was
putting forth in his discourse, and then suddenly his hand would
dart out to mark some emphatic passage as though he were about to
throw the handkerchief at the congregation; but needless to add the
handkerchief was never thrown.

Like Dr. McLaren, Dr. Whyte, of Free St. George's, Edinburgh, has
a great command of beautiful and striking illustrations. "He is
the most wonderful preacher in Scotland," declared an enthusiastic
Scot to me on one occasion. "Mr. Gladstone used often to hear him,
and Lord Rosebery does now." Dr. Whyte makes great use of the
imagination in his discourses and employs frequent gestures, but
graceful, emphatic and always to suit the action to the word and
the word to the action. "One illustration," said a gentleman, "I
remember some time ago. Dr. Whyte was preaching about tribulation,
and he showed that the word came from _tribulum_, which is a Latin
name for a roller or sledge for thrashing out corn, and in the same
way tribulation sifted men as wheat." How like a platitude this may
sound when summarised down to a line; but the point is that the idea
of the beneficial purpose of tribulation had been so firmly fixed in
the hearer's mind that he remembered it, and perchance in some dark
hour it had been to him a "cup of strength in some great agony."
Is not that, after all, one of the great aims and one of the great
tests of good speaking - to fix some idea, some truth firmly in the
hearer's mind so that it is never forgotten?

As a robust, manly preacher few, if any, we suspect, can surpass
Dean Hole of Rochester. He has a tall, commanding presence - he is
over six feet high - a bright, animated countenance, and a most
genial manner. When some years ago he held the living of Caunton,
Notts, he used to journey periodically to Liverpool, where his
midday addresses to commercial men were most successful and
exercised great influence. He does not employ much gesture, but his
fine voice, sparkling eye and manly, straightforward utterances,
based on reason and logic, always command deep attention.

[Illustration: DR. WHYTE.]

His appeal is rather to reason than to the emotions, and by way
of contrast we may glance at Canon Wilberforce, who is fluent and
fervent, and affords one of the best examples of the emotional
preacher. It would seem as though he set himself to arouse and stir
up all the feelings of his congregation and lead them into what
he conceives to be the right channel. Often choosing most unusual
texts, he can yet make direct and pointed appeals from the pulpit,
touching the greatest hopes and deepest trusts of human nature,
and yet can employ as illustrations the greatest events and the
newest discoveries of the day. He uses but little gesture, in this
respect being somewhat different from the eminent Wesleyan, the Rev.
Hugh Price Hughes, who might also be classed as an emotional - we
had almost said passionate - preacher. In fluency and fervour he
is probably surpassed by none. Possessed of a remarkably clear,
vibrating, and penetrating voice, which seems as though it could
thrill through any building, however large, there is no chance of
anyone dozing when he is in the pulpit. When pleading some cause or
denouncing some wrong, his feelings seem to get the better of him,
and he slashes away with his voice in a perfect hurricane of verbal

[Illustration: DR. CLIFFORD.]

Quite as emotional and quite as fluent is Dr. Clifford of Westbourne
Park Baptist Church. His command of language is extraordinary,
and with a mind less clear and well-regulated this great fluency
might prove a snare; but his discourses are always remarkably
well-arranged, his "points" are clear, and his meanings driven home
with remarkable emphasis. His congregations are immense, and his
hearers are devoted to him. His gestures often follow his words,
and one - probably quite unconscious - is, it must be confessed, not
graceful, even if forcible: it is a drawing back of his arms, and
then shooting them out both together as if appealing to the people.
His voice is exceptionally clear, penetrating, and resonant; and in
all very popular preachers much is due to the voice.

[Illustration: DEAN HOLE.]

The Bishop of Stepney, who may be described as bearing all the
characteristics of the highly cultured Oxford man, has in addition
a deeply sympathetic musical voice. He does not use much gesture,
but such as he does employ is well suited to the words, while his
illustrations are often drawn from his social and religious work in
the East End. He used frequently to preach in Victoria Park, where
he has readily acknowledged his best supporters were Nonconformists.


Another eminent preacher whom we may also describe as exhibiting all
the characteristics of Oxford culture is Dr. Horton of Lyndhurst
Road Congregational Church, Hampstead. Possessed, like the Bishop
of Stepney, of a remarkably sympathetic voice, he modulates and
varies it to suit the subject and the words, and his gesture,
never redundant, has lately been reduced almost to extinction. At
the sermon which he preached before the Congregational Union at
its autumnal assembly at Birmingham in 1897, his style was almost
severely quiet, but the effect of his thrilling voice and sometimes
awesome whispered tones, his polished literary language, and his
intense earnestness - as he declared that the ideal Christian must be
in constant touch with God, and yet in constant touch with men - was
very great, and appealed both to reason and emotion. Indeed, both
of these find their place in his sermons. Dr. Horton has mastered
the art of always being interesting, no matter what his theme; and
it would seem as though in his discourses he makes an effort to
really interest and to reach all sorts and conditions of men.

Another Congregational minister who exhibits much of the Oxford
manner is the Rev. Silvester Horne, of Kensington; but, in addition,
he seems possessed of a fiery zeal and fervent enthusiasm that will,
it is feared, wear him out physically before his day is fully spent,
unless he carefully husbands his nervous energy. Already, although
a young man, he has had to take rest for a whole year because of
ill-health. That inner fire, that mental energy, that disciplined
enthusiasm, which light up his face so brilliantly and animate his
suitable and graceful gesture, are far too precious a possession to
be quenched too quickly; but there are few or none of the younger
preachers of the day who have promise of a more brilliant future.

And now a word in conclusion for one who is perhaps the greatest
philosophical preacher of the time - Dr. Fairbairn of Mansfield
College at Oxford. His memory is marvellous, his power of choice
and accurate verbal expression is wonderful; he can speak for hours
without a note, and though sometimes a sentence should appear
involved and complicated, it will finish admirably, and, if read
in a verbatim report afterwards, will have all the finish of a
literary production wrought out in the quiet of the study. He uses
but little gesture, an occasional opening out of hands and arms, as
though to present and lay before the audience the thought which he
is uttering, seems nearly all. In fact, it would appear that he is
so absorbed in the abstract thought, the argument, the philosophy he
is working out before you, that he thinks nothing of the manner in
which he utters it.

We do not pretend to have exhausted the list of famous preachers, or
even to have glanced at all the different types; but these will be
sufficient to indicate the variety that prevails, and to show that
there is an art of preaching which, like other arts, needs to be
assiduously cultivated, and well repays those who intelligently do


A pathetic incident occurred some years ago in connection with one
of our wars abroad. A youth who had been wounded, and who died in
the field hospital, clutched in his last hours an old worn copy of
the Bible, on the flyleaf of which were inscribed these touching
lines: -


Remember, love, who gave you this,
When other days shall come,
When she who had thy earliest kiss
Sleeps in her narrow home.
Remember! 'twas a mother gave
The gift to one she'd die to save.

A mother sought a pledge of love,
The holiest, for her son;
And from the gift of God above
She chose a godly one -
She chose for her beloved boy
The source of light and life and joy.

And bade him keep the gift, that when
The parting hour should come
They might have hope, and meet again
In an eternal home:
She said his faith in that should be
Sweet incense to her memory.

And should the scoffer in his pride
Laugh his fond faith to scorn,
And bid him cast the pledge aside
Which he from youth had borne -
She bade him pause and ask his breast
If he or she had loved him best.

A mother's blessing on her son
Goes with this holy thing,
The love that would retain the one
Must to the other cling.
Remember! 'tis no idle toy,
Thy mother's gift! Remember, boy!




By H. A. Davies.

Across the fields from the church - through the clover meadow first,
into the broad wheat-field next, and thence over the pasture lands,
all yellow with the glint of buttercups - you will come to the
Pettingdale farm. A thrill and a song and an aching went through
my blood all together when I looked on the block of buildings the
other day. How sweet-and-bitter is remembrance; how musical to the
heart, and yet how sad with yearning! For the sight of that rugged
old chimney standing square and grim and familiar upon the grey
roof of the house; the red-tiled barns clustering behind, plain and
prosperous; the sweep of the waving corn-fields towards the setting
sun; caused my heart to surge with swift memories, long since buried
and forgotten beneath the stress of life. How peaceful were the old
days amidst these very fields! When the heart is young, ah! then's
the time for music; and what echoes of far-off melodies - songs
of old summers past and gone - does the scene awaken! There's the
orchard where I spent such rare hours. Here are the hedges where we
went a-nutting. Yonder is the oak-tree which we used to climb, Frank
Pettingdale and I. It is still the same sturdy tree, keeping gnarled
and knotted guard over the same creaking gateway, just as in the old

Wherever my eyes fell there were thorns and roses for the heart all
in one moment. It was in the old upland field that Clara Pettingdale
and I as children used to wander, hand in hand, amongst the
buttercups. She has long slept, poor Clara, in that corner of the
churchyard where lie generations of Pettingdales past and gone - a
long line of sturdy yeomen.

The full light of the sun falls upon the courtyard of the farmhouse.
It has a broad frontage, long and low and quaint, with irregular
gables and overhanging eaves and deep, mullioned windows. The
house runs queerly on two sides of the courtyard, one wing being
at right angles to the other. It is beautifully clean and prim,
with its whitewashed walls, its freshly painted woodwork, and
its geraniums growing in green boxes on every window-sill. On
the third side of the yard run the granary and the cider-house;
while the fourth, save for an ivy-covered wall, which gives way to
the entrance gates in one corner, is open to the gentle vista of
countryside which stretches away before the house. What a pleasant
old courtyard it is - so cool in the summer that the panting dogs
love to throw themselves upon its stones; so sheltered in winter
that the blustering nor'-easters touch it not; so prosperous-looking
always, with its well-kept flags laid from end to end, as level and
smooth as a billiard-table, and as spotless as the floor of the
farm kitchen. How the polished milk-cans glisten and blink upon
the wall! How the white sills of the old-fashioned windows gleam
in the sunlight! The whole place seems to breathe of scouring and
buckets, and scrubbing brushes and vigorous arms. Every morning the
yard is washed down by the house-boy (it used to be Elijah in my
day, but he is now a bearded man, and labours outside, and a young
Ezra is the present knight of the bucket); every morning the cans
are scoured and the tubs are scrubbed, and the step before the door
is free-stoned, and the flowers are watered, and the house seems to
smile a glistening, watery smile, as though it had just lifted its
head from its morning dip to bid you the time of day. There was ever
a charm to me about Pettingdale and its paved courtyard. I mind me
well what a brave and romantic sound to my young ears was that of
the horse's hoofs ringing and clamping upon the stones as he was
brought up to the door on market days with the high yellow dogcart
behind him; or the clatter of the wheels across the yard as Roger
Pettingdale drove out through the broad gateway, a fine old figure
with his white hair, and his aquiline nose, and his broad, well-set

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