Chapter XVIII: Part IV: Eminent Extempore Speakers (3)

He was soon called to take charge of an old, but decayed church in London. Its forlorn condition did not dismay him, and under his vigorous care and mighty preaching the congregation became overflowing. The building was enlarged, but the congregation grew still larger. Immense public halls were taken, and these too were soon overflowed. His congregation built a new church of extraordinary size, which has been packed full on each preaching occasion ever since. Several volumes of his sermons have been published, and have met with a ready sale. He preaches nearly a sermon a day, corresponds with a newspaper, writes books, superintends a ministerial school, speaks for and aids a number of charitable institutions—altogether performing more labor than perhaps any other preacher of our day. Yet these multiform labors are performed with such ease and certainty that he hardly ever appears tired, and gives no indication of breaking down.

What is the secret of the power by which this man has reached the hearts of the poor more fully than any other man for many years? It is admitted on all hands that he is not a man of profound intellect. There is no trace of unusual powers of thought either in his published or spoken sermons. But there is a more than ordinary force of arrangement, illustration and expression. He may not be in the first class of great men, but he is surely foremost in the second class. He also possesses wonderful enthusiasm. His faith is too clear for a doubt, and he is never troubled with any misgivings regarding his own power of presenting the truth. Confidence is a part of his nature, and enables him to bear unmoved any amount of opposition, and, while preaching, to follow out any suggestions of his genius. His power of language is very great. From beginning to end of his discourse he never falters, nor uses the wrong word. His voice is strong, clear, and melodious, making the tritest thought interesting. But above all, he is a good man, and works solely for the good of his hearers. This is the reason why he is not intoxicated by his great success. He feels that the Holy Spirit labors with him, and that the blessing of God rests upon him.

Spurgeon is an extempore preacher in the best sense of the word. He studies and meditates as fully as his time will permit, and at any period is ready to give what he thus masters to the public. “I can’t make out,” said a minister to him, “when you study, Brother Spurgeon. When _do_ you make your sermons?” “Oh!” he replied, “I am always studying—I am sucking in something from everything. If you were to ask me home to dine with you, I should suck a sermon out of you.” One who had known him, thus writes:

“With respect to his habits of composition, he assured us that not
one word of his sermons is written before delivery, and that the
only use he makes of his pen upon them is to correct the errors of
the stenographer. His happy faculty of mere mental composition, and
of remembering what he thus composes, saves him much time and
drudgery. He can exercise it anywhere; but probably with more
success in the pulpit, while he is giving utterance to what he has
prearranged in his mind. Learning not to read manuscript out of the
pulpit is the best preparation for not reading it in the pulpit, and
he who in his study can think well, independently of it, will, in
the pulpit, think better without it; for the excitement occasioned
by speaking what he has premeditated—if that excitement does not
produce too deep feeling—will summon new thoughts to fill up the old
ranks, and lead whole divisions of fresh recruits into the field.”

The almost irresistible attraction of Spurgeon’s ministrations may be inferred from the following facts:

“It was no unusual sight on a Sunday evening to see placards put up
outside of the building (Exeter Hall) announcing that it was full,
and that no more could be admitted. In his own church it has been
found necessary for the police to be present at every service, and
the pew-holders are admitted by ticket through a side door. This
accomplished, at ten minutes prior to the commencement of the
service, the doors are opened and a rush commences; but it is
speedily over, for the chapel is full—not only the seats but every
inch of standing-room being occupied, and the gates have to be
closed, with an immense crowd of disappointed expectant hearers
outside. The church has, indeed, reason to be deeply grateful that
amid the vice and immorality of London, a voice so clear and loud
has been lifted up for the cause of the Redeemer.”

HENRY WARD BEECHER.

Perhaps no American minister has ever become so well known to the whole body of the people as Henry Ward Beecher. He has been bitterly criticised and opposed even by members of his own denomination, but has triumphed over every attack, and won a proud place among preachers. He has even become a power in the political world, and his devotion to the cause of liberty has endeared him to thousands who might otherwise have never heard his name.

This great orator was born in 1813 in the State of Connecticut. His father, Lyman Beecher, was a clergyman of great force and celebrity. Young Beecher graduated at Amherst College at twenty-one, and studied theology with his father at Lane Seminary, Cincinnati. When this was concluded, he was first settled over a small Presbyterian church at Lawrenceburg, Ind., where he remained two years, and then removed to Indianapolis, and preached eight years with great acceptance. His first sermon was so earnest and powerful that it led to the conversion of twelve persons. A course of lectures, which he gave during this period to young men, attracted great attention, and he was soon after called to take charge of Plymouth Church in Brooklyn. It was then a feeble organization; but under his care has increased to vast proportions. It has now a membership of 1,700, and the largest regular congregation by far of any church in the land. The income of the church from the rent of pews is nearly $41,000!

As a lecturer, Beecher stands among the very first. He speaks every year, in nearly every prominent city of the Union, and thus contributes powerfully to the success of the various reforms he advocates. He early gave the anti-slavery movement the support of his powerful eloquence, and preached and lectured against the great evil so effectually that no man was more denounced and hated at the South than he.

In the heat of our civil contest he passed some months in England, and there spoke for the cause of liberty and Union. He met with the most embittered opposition; the rabble, who had been incited by handbills to come out and put him down, often roaring until his voice could no longer be heard. He would calmly watch them until the noise for a moment subsided, and then speak again with such effect that the victory was soon declared in his favor. No man contributed more powerfully to allay the prejudice of England against our nation during her sore contest.

We do not wonder at the great popularity of Beecher. He possesses much greater intellectual acuteness than Spurgeon, and is inferior in this particular to no one of the orators of the present day. The variety of topics he discusses is immense, and he brings such good sense and sound logic to bear on them, that the people feel him to be a teacher indeed. They go to hear him, expecting that he will apply high spiritual truth to every day life, and are not disappointed.

Beecher is a giant in reasoning power, and gives no light, superficial views of anything. His feelings are very acute, and by the mere force of sympathy he has the smiles and tears of his audience at command. His power of illustration is wonderful; the most abstruse subject grows plain under the light of his luminous comparisons. While his command of language is very great, and he never hesitates for a word, his taste is so pure that he never uses an unnecessary or objectionable term. In fact, he speaks for the press as much as for the congregation before him. For years his sermons have been taken down by short-hand writers, and read all over the world. Sometimes they do not even receive a final correction from him. This is a convincing evidence of his marvelous popularity. His sermons are first preached to a vast assembly, and then spread before hundreds of thousands of readers. Not only newspapers of his own denomination, but of others, count it a great attraction to be able to announce a weekly or semi-monthly sermon from this gifted man.

On several occasions we were privileged to hear him, and will give some account of the first time we listened to his eloquence. A large number of people gathered long before the hour for service, and waited impatiently for the opening of the door. Ten minutes before the hour the crowd was admitted, and every vacant pew almost instantly filled. Then seats were folded out from the ends of the pews into the aisles, and these filled until the whole vast space was one dense mass of living humanity; on the ground floor or in the second or third galleries there was no unoccupied space. Many even then were forced to turn away from the door. The preaching was plain, logical, deep, and clear rather than brilliant. There was no florid imagery, but the light of imagination gleamed through the whole discourse. The subject was naturally analyzed, every part powerfully illustrated, and the application pungent enough to reach every heart not entirely impervious. Several times a smile rippled over the faces of the congregation, but lasted only for a moment, and was generally the prelude for some deep and solemn impression.

Beecher prepares his discourses with care, but neither memorizes nor reads them. On one occasion we noticed him lay his manuscript on the desk before him and begin to read. The description was beautiful, but the congregation seemed indifferent, and gave no evidence of close attention. Soon he pushed the paper away. Then every eye was bent upon him with intensest interest.

Beecher’s ordinary lectures give but little indication of his real power. They are written and read in the same form to numerous audiences. But his genius finds free play only when the manuscript is abandoned. Then, when he speaks for a cause in which his heart is enlisted, we have an example of what mortal eloquence can be. We once heard him at a large meeting which he had visited as a listener. A long and rather dull speech had been made by the orator of the evening. But Beecher was seen, recognized, and called out. Every murmur was stilled. Laughter and tears succeeded each other with marvelous rapidity; but he closed by a daring apostrophe, spoken in a low tone, that thrilled to every heart, and held all spell-hound for some moments after he had ceased to speak! It seemed the full realization of every dream of the might and power of eloquence.

ANNA E. DICKINSON.

This lady was born in 1842, and while quite young became celebrated as a public speaker. She has not won her present position by a single brilliant effort, but by long continued exertions and the display of solid talent. She is a member of the Society of Friends, and early imbibed the hatred of oppression and slavery for which that denomination is distinguished. Her principal public speeches have been given in the service of freedom, and to secure a higher position and a wider range of employments for women. Her own example, as well as her teachings, has been one of great value to her sex.

When Miss Dickinson began to speak she had no powerful friends to aid, and for a time her audiences were quite small. But she was too firm and devoted to the cause she advocated to grow discouraged. And there was something so attractive in her manner, that opposition was soon overcome, and her audiences grew continually. She was so truthful, earnest, elegant, and strong, that before she was twenty-one years of age she was recognized as a power in the political world, and few voices more eloquent than hers were lifted up on behalf of liberty and justice during our civil war. She has also taken part in political canvassing with great success. Her reputation as a lyceum lecturer is fully established. In all the cities of the United States where she has spoken large and enthusiastic audiences have greeted her.

In speaking, she is modest, graceful, and unconstrained, with an air and manner of perfect naturalness. There is no elaborate ornament in her words, but they are always well chosen, and flow with the utmost ease. Her discourses are logical, and usually bear upon a single point with overwhelming force. Without the slightest attempt at stage effect, she frequently displays deep emotion, and becomes totally absorbed in her subject. Her voice is full, clear, melodious, and perfectly distinct; it is persuasive, well modulated, and equally capable of expressing pathos, and scorn, and command.

With such abilities she cannot fail to be popular, and her influence, which is always for good, is steadily widening. Yet in order to display her full power, she requires a subject that enlists her sympathies, and in a mere literary lecture, although always instructive, she does not produce the same vivid impression as when roused by some injustice, or pleading the cause of the oppressed and feeble.

The manner of preparation by which this lady, who takes rank with the best of American orators, has acquired such power over words and hearts, merits attention; in response to our inquiry, she says:

“For the first three years of my public life, speaking, with me,
was absolutely extempore; that is, I gave a general look over the
field before I rose to my feet, then talked. Since then, I
consider my subject—let it lie in my mind, and gather fresh
thoughts—statistics—what not—almost unconsciously—as a stone
gathers moss.

“When I wish to make the speech, I arrange this mass in order and
form—make a skeleton of it on paper, and leave the filling in till I
reach the platform—then some things I have thought of are omitted,
and others thought of at the time, are substituted. The speech
changes here and there for some time, and then gradually
crystalizes—that is all. I mean, of course, what is called a regular
lyceum speech. The political speeches are made very much on my old
plan.”

JOHN A. BINGHAM.

We selected one American political orator of the generation that has just gone by as a specimen of the capabilities of extempore speech, and will now give an instance of the present. The speaker we have chosen is widely known. Many have listened to his eloquent words, and in the stormy events of the last few years, his name has become a household word. We make this choice the more readily because the character of eloquence for which Bingham is noted, is that which many persons suppose to be most incompatible with a spontaneous selection of words—beauteous, elegant, melodious, and highly adorned.

Bingham graduated, was admitted to the bar, and speedily became a successful lawyer. He also turned his attention to political affairs, and became known as a most efficient public canvasser for the doctrines of the party with which he acted. This is one of the best schools in the world for ready and vigorous speech, but has a tendency to produce carelessness of expression, and to substitute smartness for logic and principle. This tendency he successfully resisted, and became distinguished for the deep moral tone, as well as for the beauty of the language of his addresses. He was elected to Congress from an Ohio district, and become known as one of the most eloquent members of that body. He took a prominent part in the opposition to the Kansas and Nebraska bill, and met the entire approval of the people. When the Southern States commenced to secede in the winter of 1860–61 he brought forward a force bill to compel them to submit to national authority. This was defeated by those who thought that other means would avail. Time proved the wisdom of his views.

All through the contest that followed, his voice was heard on the side of liberty and Union. He soon became known as one of the leaders of the Republican party, and has nobly held that position to the date of writing.

Mr. Bingham, in speaking, is calm, clear and pointed. His manner indicates confidence, and his words flow freely. Imagination is allowed full play, and the spirit of poetry breathes everywhere. He abounds in lofty and beautiful imagery, that places the truth in the clearest light. While the subject is never lost sight of, a thousand graces and beauties cluster around it from every hand. From the elevation and certainty of his language, many casual hearers have been led to imagine that his speeches were written and committed. But the reverse is the case. Some of his highest efforts have been made with no time even for the prearrangement of thought. This is one secret of his great success as a debater. He is always ready, with or without warning, to speak the thoughts that are in his mind. But he prefers, of course, to have time to arrange his matter in advance.

The following passage will illustrate the force of Mr. Bingham’s thought and expression. It is from a speech in reply to Wadsworth, and was entirely unstudied:

“As the gentleman then and now has chosen to assail me for this, I
may be pardoned for calling his attention to the inquiry, what
further did I say in that connection, on that day, and in the
hearing of the gentleman? I said that every loyal citizen in this
land held his life, his property, his home, and the children of his
house, a sacred trust for the common defence. Did that remark excite
any horror in the gentleman’s mind. Not at all I undertook, in my
humble way, to demonstrate that, by the very letter and spirit of
the Constitution, you had a right to lay the lives and the property
and the homes, the very hearth-stones of the honest and the just and
the good, under contribution by law, that the Republic might live.
Did that remark excite any abhorrence in the gentleman, or any
threat that fifteen slave States would be combined against us? Not
at all. I stated in my place just as plainly, that by your law you
might for the common defence not only take the father of the house,
but the eldest born of his house, to the tented field by force of
your conscription, if need be, and subject him to the necessary
despotism of military rule, to the pestilence of the camp, and the
destruction of the battle-field. And yet the gentleman was not
startled with the horrid vision of a violated Constitution, and
there burst from his indignant lips no threat that if we did this
there would be a union of fifteen slave States against the Federal
despotism. I asserted in my place, further, that after you had taken
the father and his eldest born away, and given them both to death a
sacrifice for their country, you could, by the very terms of the
Constitution, take away the shelter of the roof-tree which his own
hands had reared for the protection of the wife and the children
that were left behind, and quarter your soldiers beneath it, that
the Republic might live. And yet the gentleman saw no infraction of
the Constitution, and made no threat of becoming the armed ally of
the rebellion. But the moment that I declared my conviction that the
public exigencies and the public necessities required, that the
Constitution and the oaths of the people’s Representatives required,
that by your law—the imperial mandate of the people—the proclamation
of liberty should go forth over all that rebel region, declaring
that every slave in the service of these infernal conspirators
against your children and mine, against your homes and mine, against
your Constitution and mine, against the sacred graves of your
kindred and mine, shall be free, the gentleman rises startled with
the horrid vision of broken fetters and liberated bondmen, treason
overthrown, and a country redeemed, regenerated, and forever
reunited, and cries, No; this shall not be; fifteen States will
combine against you. Slavery is the civilizer; you shall neither
denounce it as an ‘infernal atrocity,’ nor overthrow it to save the
Union. I repeat the word which so moved the gentleman from his
propriety, that chattel slavery is an ‘infernal atrocity.’ I thank
God that I learned to lisp it at my mother’s knee. It is a logical
sequence, sir, disguise it as you may, from that golden rule which
was among the first utterances of all of us, ‘whatsoever ye would
that men should do unto you, do ye so even unto them.’”

The second instance is taken from a speech on the proposal to furnish relief to the Southerners who were in a destitute and starving condition after the close of the war.

“No war rocks the continent, no armed rebellion threatens with
overthrow the institutions of the country. The pillars of the holy
temple of our liberties do not tremble in the storm of battle; the
whole heavens are no longer covered with blackness, and the
habitations of the people are no longer filled with lamentation and
sorrow for their beautiful slain upon the high places of the land!
Thanks be to God! the harvest of death is ended and the sickle has
dropped from the hands of the ‘pale reapers’ on the field of mortal
combat.

“Sir, you may apply in the day of war the iron rule of war, and say
that the innocent and unoffending in the beleagured city shall
perish with the guilty; but when war’s dread alarm has ended, as
happily it has with us, when the broken battalions of rebellion have
surrendered to the victorious legions of the Republic, let no man
stand within the forum of the people and utter the horrid blasphemy
that you shall not have regard for the famishing poor, that you
shall not give a cup of water to him that is ready to perish in the
name of our Master, that you shall not even relieve the wants of
those who have never offended against the laws. The unoffending
little children are not enemies of your country or of mine; the
crime of treason is not upon their souls. Surely, surely they are
not to be denied your care. The great French patriot, banished from
the empire for his love of liberty, gathered little children around
him in his exile at Guernsey, and fed them from his own table,
uttering the judgment of our common humanity in its best estate;
‘Little children at least are innocent, for God wills it so.’”

WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE.

This great statesman and orator is an extempore speaker, and one of the best in the world. He has not, perhaps, the fiery force of John Bright, who, like himself, speaks without previous preparation of words, but far surpasses him in variety and elegance. His speech, like a prism, reflects a thousand shades of color, and the dullest subject under his treatment blooms into life and light. His style is more like that of Cicero than of Demosthenes, being diffuse, sparkling, graceful—flowing like a river, that is always full to the brim. He is prepared at any hour of day or night to take part in any discussion of interest to him. Even when he is explaining details of finance, usually the driest of subjects, he is listened to with delighted interest. By the mere force of his talents he has raised himself to a commanding position in England, and as a writer has also attracted much attention.

Gladstone is of a light and nervous build, has a very sweet and attractive countenance, and a rich and fascinating voice. As a debater he is almost faultless, unless his want of harshness and maliciousness be called a fault. Sometimes, too, he shows a disposition to yield rather than contend, but never when principle is at stake. To him, perhaps more than any other, belongs the credit of the great reform bill which has almost changed the government of Great Britain.

The following extract from a communication on the subject of extempore speaking will be read with deep interest:

“HAWANDEN, NORTH WALES, Oct. 12, 1867.

... “I venture to remark, first, that your countrymen, so far as a
very limited intercourse and experience can enable me to judge,
stand very little in need of instruction or advice as to public
speaking from this side of the water. And further, again speaking of
my own experience, I think that the public men of England are,
beyond all others, engrossed by the multitude of cares and subjects
of thought belonging to the government of a highly diversified
empire, and therefore are probably less than others qualified either
to impart to others the best methods of preparing public discourses,
or to consider and adopt them for themselves.

“Suppose, however, I were to make the attempt, I should certainly
found myself on a double basis, compounded as follows: First, of a
wide and thorough general education, which, I think, gives a
suppleness and readiness, as well as a firmness of tissue to the
mind, not easily obtained without this form of discipline. Secondly,
of the habit of constant and searching reflection on the _subject_
of any proposed discourse. Such reflection will naturally clothe
itself in words, and of the phrases it supplies, many will
spontaneously rise to the lips. I will not say that no other forms
of preparation can be useful, but I know little of them, and it is
on these, beyond all doubt, that I would advise the young
principally to rely.

“I remain, &c., W. E. GLADSTONE.

“W. PITTENGER.”

MATTHEW SIMPSON.

This distinguished divine was born in Cadiz, O., in 1811, began to preach in 1833, and was elected Bishop of the M. E. Church in 1852. At the very beginning of his ministerial career, his sermons made a deep impression, and his early promise has been abundantly realized.

As a lecturer he has also acquired a deservedly high rank. During the war of the rebellion he delivered a discourse on the “Future of Our Country,” in the principal cities of the United States, which gave him a more than denominational fame. This lecture has probably never been surpassed as a summing up of the resources of the nation, and an application of the data to the prediction of the probable destiny and form of our government. As far as words were concerned, it was an extempore address, and had the peculiarity that might be expected from this fact, of being much better delivered, and therefore, of making a much more profound impression at some points than others.

Simpson travels continually, preaching at conferences, dedicating churches, and delivering lectures, thus being brought into close contact with the people in all parts of the country. He has little resemblance to the popular ideal of an orator. His action is ungraceful, and his voice low and almost monotonous. He is also hard worked, and not having the powers of endurance possessed by some of our incessant preachers, he usually appears tired and exhausted. Yet he has three qualities that go far to make up for these defects. He is intensely earnest and real. Before listening to him five minutes his hearers are convinced that he is speaking the very thoughts of his soul without evasion or pretense. He also has great imagination, and, as a consequence, the statement of facts, in which he abounds, is never dry or tedious. And lastly, he has great command of condensed and expressive language. What he wishes to say is said in a few words, and every sermon is filled with the materials of thought rather than with mere verbiage. These qualities atone for every deficiency of external grace, and place him among the most popular ministers of the Methodist Church.

Simpson preaches entirely extempore, having no time to write, even if he had the disposition. His memory is tenacious, and his power of observation keen, so that he is never at a loss for facts or illustrations. He has a tender heart also, and often appeals to his own vivid experiences, thus drawing the sympathies of the people with him.

WENDELL PHILLIPS.

There can scarcely be a doubt that Wendell Phillips is the greatest professional lecturer of the present day. He is always radical, and on the extremest verge of every question, although in many things the people have followed hard on his footsteps. As a speaker, he has great power, combined with unsurpassed elegance. His manner is calm, his voice of silvery sweetness, yet every rounded sentence is full of living flame, and no man is so unsparing in his denunciations. In a style as lucid, exact, and pure as that of a scholar who has been all his life secluded from the world, and busied with literature alone, he utters words and sentences befitting the stormiest revolution.

The lectures of Phillips, which are repeated again and again, are, of course, well studied and the language followed pretty closely, though not invariably. But like Mirabeau, it is in his unstudied speeches that he rises highest. The first address that gave him public fame was of this character. A meeting had been called in Boston to pass resolutions of indignation on the occasion of the murder of Lovejoy, who was killed in Illinois for his devotion to freedom. The whole business of the meeting was arrested, and the resolutions were on the point of being defeated by the powerful opposition of a leading politician, who feared even to say that murder was wrong. Phillips was present as a listener, but could keep his seat no longer, and, arising, gave vent to his feelings in a speech so full of thrilling and indignant eloquence, that the purpose of the meeting was at once secured, and he himself brought before the public as one of the first orators of the age.

In regard to the manner of his preparation Phillips himself refers to the celebrated letter of Lord Brougham to the father of Macaulay, on the training of his son in eloquence. The substance of Brougham’s advice is, to first acquire the power of speaking freely and easily before an audience, no matter at what sacrifice of accuracy and elegance. This, he says truly, can only be done by much practice. When this is accomplished, he recommends studying and committing to memory the orations of Demosthenes until their spirit is fully imbibed.

JOHN P. DURBIN.

This traveler, scholar, and preacher, adds another one to the long and illustrious list of those who have triumphed over every hindrance and risen to eminence. He was born in 1800. A district school afforded him all the education he obtained before entering the Methodist itineracy, but while enduring the hardships of a pioneer minister he studied diligently, perusing his Bible and commentaries around the log fires of his parishioners whenever even this poor opportunity occurred. When he was appointed to Cincinnati a more promising field opened. He went to college during the week, and still filled his pulpit on the Sabbath. He soon after became a professor in a college, and afterward chaplain to Congress, where he was highly distinguished. Then he served a time as editor of the _New York Advocate_, and became President of Dickenson College. Next he traveled through the old world, as far as Egypt and Syria, and, returning, wrote a very interesting account of his journey. He was, lastly, elected Corresponding Secretary of the M. E. Missionary Society—a position which he has held for years, and which brings him into contact with large masses of people in every part of the country.

The merits of Durbin as an orator are many and high. He possesses deep feeling, and the tears of the people to whom he preaches are at his command. There is a greatness about his character that is always felt, and with it a childlike simplicity that endears him to every heart. There is an utter absence of the pretension we sometimes find about those who are conscious of the possession of great powers. His arrangement of every sermon is plain, simple, and easily remembered. His command of words is complete, and he always finds just the one he wants without hesitation. The tones of his voice are affectionate and pleasing, though when not called into animation by some subject worthy of his powers, a little monotonous, yet so strong that when he seems to be only talking at the pitch of common conversation, every word can be heard to the extremity of the largest church. But his voice can be raised to a thunder peal that is the more impressive because it is seldom employed. The perfect ease with which he preaches, is far different from the manner of those who have memorized every word and are full of anxiety for its effect. Often while he talks away with apparent indifference, every eye is fixed on his, or moistened with tears. When we heard him, some of his images were overwhelmingly sublime, and we held our breath in awe; at other times his explanations seemed to throw new and radiant light on what was before dark and obscure.

The mode by which Durbin attained his great success is worthy of careful attention. In a communication to the compiler of these notices, he says:

... “I never wrote my sermons—not more than two or three in my
life—and these not till after I had preached them. My plan has been
to have a well-defined topic, and only such subdivisions as
naturally arise out of the topic. I generally put them down
separately on a small piece of paper, which I take into the pulpit,
but scarcely ever use. This is commonly called a _skeleton_. I do
not write out anything I propose to say, but carefully think over
the main points; but never commit them to memory. I keep within
living touch of my skeleton, but depend on the natural
consecutiveness of thought to enable me to clothe it with muscle;
and I depend on the inspiration of the occasion to give it life and
color. The inspiration is partly human and partly divine; arising
from the combined action of the divine and the human spirit, which
combined action constitutes the power of a _preached_ gospel.

“So far as human ability is concerned, I believe that this is the
secret of any success I have had in preaching the Gospel.”

NEWMAN HALL.

The _Evangelist_ gives Rev. Newman Hall’s account of how he learned extempore preaching, as follows:

“When I went to college, it seemed to me that I should never be able
to say a word in public without writing. But I soon determined that
if I was going to be a preacher, and particularly if I wanted to be
anything like a successful preacher, I _must_ form the habit of
extemporaneous address. So I went into my room, locked the door,
placed the Bible before me on a mantel, opened it at random, and
then on whatever passage my eye chanced to rest, proceeded to
deliver a discourse of ten minutes. This practice was kept up an
entire twelve months. Every day, for a whole year, ten minutes were
given to that kind of speaking, in my own room by myself. At first I
found it very difficult to speak so long right to the point. But
then if I couldn’t talk _on_ the subject I would talk _about_
it—making good remarks and moral reflections—being careful to keep
up the flow, and say something to the end of the term allotted for
the exercise. At the end of the twelve months, however, I found I
could not only speak with a good degree of fluency, but that I could
hold myself strictly to the subject in hand. You take this course.
Don’t do your practising on an audience. That is outrageous.”