outline, and called forth the all but animated creature of his imagination and art, into a prominence and a beauteousness which entrance the beholder at once, and leave him unmindful of the lack of the finer touches of the chisel that would have made it all perfection. In the delivery of his discourse he rises with speed from the dryness of common place assertion of acknowledged principles to the enforcement of conclusions drawn from them with much of depth of argument and acuteness of reasoning, but with more of impassioned declamation, pouring into the fixed ear a stream of powerful but not elegant phraseology, and a torrent of figurative but rugged eloquence, advancing with winged swiftness until the burning words and the scaring imagery come forth with an energy of gesticulation and a violence of volubility which appal the hearer if they do not convince him, and which, were it not that intelligi. bility is sometimes destroyed in the whirlwind of declamatory might, would be always overwhelming. But this is the way in which he storms the mind and batters down the outworks of self-complacency or cool indifference; and anon he returns to the attack with fresh weapons, and so by a reiteration of arguments and appeals, he makes a breach and there plants the standard of truth, thrusting the shaft into the very heart of the stricken listener. There are many faults in his diction; his voice is neither commanding nor harmonious, nor is his action agreeable. To an English ear his pronunciation is harsh, and such as to render him at times difficult to understand. Hence the difficulty of reporting him experienced by even the best English short-hand writers at the bar and in the senate. Yet withal he is popular and attractive, and deservedly So. There is an earnestness about him which cannot fail to engage the hearer, and a spirit of affection which, though it be mingled with occasional streaks of severity, converting it, as it were, into an oxymel, that assures one that the object, the sole object, at which the preacher aims, is the promotion of the soul's eternal happiness. Dr. Chalmers has been eminently useful as a minister of the Gospel, and is just the man to disturb those who sit at ease in Zion, and to awake the worldlyminded to a thoughtfulness about the things that appertain to their eternal destiny.

The chapel in which Dr. Chalmers preached was too small. Before the commencement of the service, admission was obtainable only by tickets which had been previously issued. At eleven o'clock the doors were thrown open to the public, and the place became crowded to excess. There were several of the nobility and some preachers of different denominations present. It is a pity that the Doctor did not preach in some more commodious building. We understand that he will set off on his return to Scotland this week.

63

DR. CHALMERS.

[The following is from a paper in an American periodical for April, 1826, entitled, Transatlantic Recollections."]

Dr. Chalmers is, in truth, in every respect an extraordinary man. With neither appearance, nor manner, nor voice to recommend him, yet, by the sheer weight and vigour of his talents, he impresses even his defects into his service, and compels them to minister to the effect of his oratory, Who that ever beheld this mighty man of God enter the pulpit of St. John's, with his wan features,

"Sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,"

and his large light-blue eyes half closed, as if looking in upon the busy world of his creative mind, and heard the first weak and grating sounds of his broad provincial dialect, and witnessed the rude awkward gestures with which he commences his holy orations, would expect the subsequent thundering and lightening of his irresistible genius, which, flash after flash, and peal after peal, burst forth upon his rapt and astonished audience? His looks, his tones, his gesture, warmed and illuminated by an imagination which roams unconstrained through heaven, earth, and hell, all speak to the heart a language which cannot be mistaken. In fact, his rudest peculiarity, in those moments of lofty enthusiasm, and, shall I call it, holy frenzy? seems but to increase the effect.

In the height of his animation he strikes the pulpit, without even the semblance of a grace; but he does it with such a nerved and bracing sincerity, that it drives, as it were, the accompanying expression right home to the heart; and his eyes, beaming and brightening with the fire of inspiration, seem to throw a light around his words which flashes conviction upon the soul; and his voice, mellowed by the depth and intensity of his feelings, falls this moment upon the wounded spirit as softly and sweetly as distant music; and then, anon, it rushes upon the hard and unyielding heart with all the force and velocity of the roaring

cataract.

As if he intended to surprise his hearers, he commences like the low whispering breezes of a vernal morning; and, before they are aware, bursts out upon them with the suddenness and force of a north-west hurricane. In fact, he always commences in a low, monotonous manner, which seems calculated to exhibit nothing but his defects, but then he advances from sentence to sentence, and from paragraph to paragraph, like a person walking up an ascending platform, and that to with gigantic strides, until his audience are delighted and astonished, and almost persuaded to become Christians. And yet there is about him no trick, nor the least appearance of endeavour; for he throws his whole soul, as it were, without premeditation, into the midst of his subject, and it carries directly to his people's heart.

He never whines; for though his large blue eye rolls in a flood of tenderness, and his voice is softened into the tremulous melody of the deepest feeling, yet he is manly and dignified. In truth, whining is the effect of a determination in the speaker to appear more engaged than he is in reality; but Chalmers is, in reality, too much engaged to think of

such a scheme: cast upon the lashing and foaming surges of his own oratory, he is borne along and aloft, with a velocity too impetuous and irresistible to give him time to turn to the right or to the left.

Another thing remarkable in this great orator is, the manner in which he keeps himself in the back-ground when he is offering Christ to his fellow-men. Like the apostle Peter, he walks upon the swelling waters; but so visible is the presence of the Creator, and so direct does his agency appear in it, that we think of the miracle only to adore the God who works it.

"What do you think of Dr. Chalmers ?" said one of his ardent admirers to a distinguished stranger, who had heard him for the first time. "Think of him?" said the stranger; "why he has made me think so much of Jesus that I had no time to think of him."

Perhaps my description of the wonderful force of this man's oratory will be better understood by the following anecdote, which I had, when in Scotland, from the best authority. Some time after the promulgation of his fame he preached in London, on a public occasion, in Rowland Hill's circular chapel. His audience was numerous, and principally of the higher circles. Upwards of one hundred clergymen were present, to whom the front seats in the gallery were appropriated. In the midst of these sat Mr. Hill himself, in a state of great anxiety, arising from his hopes and fears. He had indulged many hopes upon the accession to the standard of Jesus of an orator so evangelical as Chalmers; and yet his fears lest he should not succeed before an audience so refined and critical were very distressing. In fact, he felt as if the cause of Christ would be materially benefited or injured that day; and as that cause was very near to his heart, it is not strange that his feelings were deeply and tenderly interested.

The doctor, as usual, began in his low, monotonous tone, and his broad provincial dialect was visibly disagreeable to the delicate ears of his metropolitan audience. Poor Mr. Hill was now upon the rack; but the man of God having thrown his chain around the audience, took an unguarded moment to touch it with the electric fluid of his oratory; and, in a moment, every heart began to throb, and every eye to fill. Knowing well how to take advantage of this hold stroke, he continued to ascend; and so majestic and rapid was his flight, that in a few moments he obtained an eminence so high that every imagination was enraptured; while the heart, palpitating betwixt fear and pleasure, endeavoured to suppress its own beating to hear him, though he was speaking in thunder. The rapid change from depression to ecstacy which Mr. Hill experienced was too much for him to bear he felt so bewildered and intoxicated with joy, that unconsciously, he started up from his seat, and, before his brethren could interfere, he struck the front of the gallery with his clenched fist, and roared out with a stentorian voice," Well done, Chalmers!"

LONDON:

PUBLISHED BY W. HARDING, 14 GRAY'S INN TERRACE.

C. Roworth and Sons, Printers, Bell Yard, Temple Bar.

No. V.

THE

Price 2d.

CHURCH OF ENGLAND PREACHER.

Patronized by the Clergy and others.

THE IMPORTANCE OF SALVATION.

A SERMON

Preached at St. Sepulchre's, Skinner-street, on Sunday Evening, August 6th, 1837,

BY THE

REV. T. DALE, M.A.

TEXT." What must I do to be saved?”—Acts xvi. 30.

THERE is one way, and only one way, in which the enquiry contained in the text can be made, so as to meet with an answer of peace to the heart of the sinner. It is to consider, that we have a personal concern to serve in asking the question, and to apply the answer as personally directed to ourselves. The want of such personal applica tion is the reason why so many hear the Word of God and hear in vain, why they attend Sabbath after Sabbath on the ministry of the Word of Life and yet are not advanced one step in the path of a Christian life. They do not look into their own hearts, they do not form a right estimate of their own spiritual strength; they do not conceive of themselves that they have an immortal soul destined to a judgment seat of God. A man's own soul is a concern of such vast magnitude and such deep moment, as immeasureably to distance every other. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" If, which we cannot contradict, "it is appointed to men once to die, but after this the judgment,"-if the sun that has risen to its meridian height upon every one of us this day, in the full possession of health and strength, may shed its setting beams over a senseless corpse, how needful is it for every one of ourselves to propose to his own heart the searching enquiry of the text-"What must I do to be saved?"

Now there may be those in this congregation who have never asked this question, but are now willing, to ask it and they who have already asked it and received the answer. If the first of these suppositions should be true, if we have never asked the question, if we have never thought of the time which is coming when we shall be called to give an account of ourselves before the judgment seat, we are hazarding the loss of that which if once lost can never be regained. If we have as yet done nothing in order to be saved, if we have as yet neglected to prepare ourselves for death, in a few short hours we may be dying withNo. 5.

F

out any hope of salvation. And this is not, nor should it be, regarded as simply the forfeiture of a benefit. If it be "a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners," then it must follow that all who do not receive this saying put away from themselves the Word of God, and judge themselves unworthy of everlasting life. To reject God's mercy is to provoke God's wrath, and to despise his promises to openly abuse him; and who hath armed himself against the offers of salvation without bitter cause to remember and repent of it at the last. To do nothing, then, for the salvation of our own soul is at once the darkest shade of folly and the deepest tint of sin.

The question of our text becomes the more entitled to immediate consideration because, certainly, all will at some time ask the question, though to some the answer may be anything but an answer of peace

What must I do to be saved?" If, however, there should be any here present who have never put the question of our text to their own hearts, there will be none I apprehend bold enough to attempt to justify, or even excuse or palliate, such guilty neglect. There are none who will persuade themselves that it is safe or prudent to live day after day separated from death only by a step, without giving one thought or making any provision for their soul. There may be men in this world of sin and wickedness, in this age of speculative philosophy, who belie reason-the distinguishing attribute of their specieswhile they can look upward to the broad sun in the heavens and say, There is no God! They may be men who distract themselves and their own hearts, when they look within and conclude of the soul-that soul which determines the course and action of the body-that it shall resolve itself into nothing, even as the tenement of clay which contains it. There are such men in the world, but we do not look for such creatures who are a blot to humanity in the house of God. We all believe there is a God that made us, for we are come to worship him; we all believe there is a Saviour, the Son of God, who died for us, for we are come to seek for salvation through his atonement. If, then, there be those among us who make such a profession, who have not asked themselves the question of the text, we require of them to examine themselves why they have not done it? Are they sure that they shall live? Are they not afraid that they may die? Are they not aware that they must be judged? Can it possibly be a matter of indifference to any of us what shall be the final destiny of that conscious spirit by which alone we are distinguished from the brutes that perish? Are we not reminded of a future state as we enter this very church and tread over the graves containing the dust of those who have gone before us the dust not of the dead but of the living-ever living in an eternal state either of joy or misery? But be assured, brethren, that no such person would attempt any justification for deferring that enquiry which is beyond comparison-all important to every other—or if he did he would be silenced by his own conscience. I shall, therefore, consider all who are here present as at least willing to ask the question, and having presumed this I shall proceed to answer it.

The question of our text-"What must I do to be saved?" is cir