NO. CLXII.

CURSORY REMARKS ON THE ELOQUENCE

OF THE PULPIT.

IN A LETTER.

ELOQUENCE is numbered among those arts which, instead of making a progressive improvement in the course of revolving ages, have greatly receded from their original excellence.

The funeral crations and panegyrics of a few Frenchmen, are the only pieces among the moderns which make pretensions to rhetorical composition in the highest style. These, however, appear very elaborate and unnatural; whether from the barrenness of the subjects, or from the weakness of the orators, is foreign to our purpose to determine. From whatever cause it proceeds, it appears, that ancient eloquence is not restored by those efforts which are allowed to have been most successful.

In England, so generally is a taste for solid argument and subtle reasoning diffused, that mere flights of imagination, when unsupported by truth and argument, are little attended to. Thus it has been said, we have no truly classical history of our own country. Elaborate collections of facts, proceedings of parliament, and accurate descriptions of our navies and armaments, fill up, with a jejune detail, some of our most celebrated histories. A great deal of sagacity has, indeed, been exerted in the adjustment of contested æras, unwearied labour in illustrating obscure passages in our annals, and much patience in the examination of our records. But where, after all, is the painting of a Livy, and the concise elegance of a Sallust?

It is not therefore surprising, that a people who admit not unnecessary embellishments in matters of taste, and who can fall in love with naked truth even when she is at liberty to dress herself in the garb of fancy, should reject mere ornamental flourishes in the important transactions of political debate, and the serious proceedings of a court of judicature.

Thus the eloquence of the ancients is not, perhaps, to be found either in the senate or the forum of Britain. There is, indeed, a very great degree of merit in many of the harangues spoken in those places, but they come not up to the idea of Grecian or Roman eloquence. The defect, however, is probably not so much owing to a want of ability, as to a volun. tary compliance with the taste and genius of the

nation.

In the pulpit, indeed, we may find some vestiges of ancient oratory: but waving at present the inquiry, whether or not we resemble the ancients in this point, I shall proceed to transcribe a few observations on pulpit eloquence in general, which I collected not long ago by accident.

One evening last autumn, as I was walking in the fields near the city, to enjoy a little fresh air, I observed a man, somewhat advanced in years, and of a composed aspect, sauntering in the same path with myself, seemingly in profound meditation. For a considerable time neither of us chose to commence a conversation; till at length, when a tacit familiarity between us had removed the reserve of strangeness, the old man opened with an usual introductory topic, the serenity of the evening. For my own

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part, I never refuse to join in one of the most reasonable, as well as, most agreeable pleasures of human life. By degrees, the severity of my companion's countenance brightened up as the conver sation grew warm, and he told me he had just been hearing an excellent sermon at an evening lecture, and, as was his usual way, had taken this little turn in the fields to meditate on serious subjects without interruption. I must own I was rather startled at hearing this, apprehending I had fallen into the company of some methodistical enthusiast, who would endeavour to make a proselyte; but, upon farther conversation, I found myself agreeably mistaken. The old man made some reflections, which, as they struck me at the time, I entered among my minutes as soon as I returned home.

"You must know, Sir," said he, "that I am an "old-fashioned man. I go to church on Wednesdays "and Fridays, according to my good old grand. "mother's directions, who (well I remember it) "used always to appoint me the bearer of her large "print prayer-book bound in purple morocco. To "these early impressions, perhaps, I owe all my "oddities; and you will easily imagine what a queer "fellow I am, when I inform you, that I put my "family to the inconvenience of dining, on Sundays,

a full hour sooner than common, for no other "reason in the world but that I may do my duty "towards my Maker, by going to church in the "afternoon. While my neighbours are at the play. "house, or the tavern, I can make shift to kill time "at an evening lecture; and I often follow a fa"mous preacher of a charity sermon with all the

"ardour with which a favourite player inspires the "frequenters of theatrical entertainments. These "are my usual diversions, and really, Sir, they have "some advantages attending them. In the first "place, they are not expensive; for what is a shil"ling thrown away now and then upon a trifling "whim, since every man has his hobby-horse; such "as relieving a suffering fellow-creature, or contri"buting to the education and support of a poor "orphan? Secondly, I can go into any church, "within the Bills of Mortality, without danger of "being pushed, and squeezed, and trodden upon, ❝ and stifled to death, as sometimes happens to those "who follow more fashionable diversions; nay, and "I can sit the whole time without being in the least "overheated.

"Now, Sir, as I have constantly attended to va"rious sorts of pulpit eloquence, I suppose I may "pretend, without vanity, to be some judge of it. "Do not, however, expect that I shall bring proofs "of the justness of my remarks from your Aris"totles, your Tullies, or your Quintilians; for I

am a plain common man, and if I have any sense, "God knows it is only plain common sense.

"Let me premise, that I shall now and then make use of the usual terms of division and subdivision. "Such, for instance, as those edifying little words,. "First, secondly, thirdly, to conclude, to come to

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my next head, and the like. Consider, Sir, I have "been long used to this style, and naturally run "into it.

"Of preachers, I shall reckon four kinds; the

"Fine Man, the Pretty Preacher, the Good Text"man, and the Humdrum.

"First then of the first (forgive my sermonical "style), namely of the FINE MAN:

"A stentorophonic voice is the fundamental ex"cellence of your Fine Man, and a powerful ex"cellence it is. No sooner has the Fine Man uttered

"the pathetic and significant phrase, to conclude,' "than I have seen the whole row of matrons, in the "aisle, wiping their eyes. The next qualification "is flexibility of joint muscles. From this excellence "arise those violent contortions of the body, that "wringing of the hands, beating of the breast, roll"ing of the eyes, foaming of the mouth, and other 66 symptoms of madness, which never fail to gain the "applause of the weeping congregation. The next "but what am I about, Sir? In truth I cannot

recollect any real excellencies; as for sense, learn"ing, argument, these are not to be expected in your Fine Man: but then the want of these is abun"dantly supplied by noise, nonsense, and grimace.

"To come to my second head. Secondly then, "as was before laid down, we treat of the PRETTY "PREACHER.

"The Pretty Preacher is an imitator of the Fine "Man. As a copy, he is somewhat fainter than the "original. He whines, he sobs, he roars, but roars "like any nightingale, as Shakespeare has it. A soft “effeminate voice, a pretty face (for look ye, Sir, a "6 pretty face is a more powerful persuasive than the "arguments of a Chillingworth), and a white hand«kerchief, are the constituent parts of a Pretty "Preacher.