ness is in the organ only; when the voice wants merely to be exerted, and to have a more ample range. But if this defect, as it often happens, arises from the Jungs, it cannot be overcome, except at the risque of one's health, or, it may be, of life.

The chief means of remedying the weakness of the organs, is to articulate very distinctly. Clearness of pronunciation will contribute to make you heard more than the greatest exertion of voice; the syllables should, in succession, strike the ear, and this should be the object of unceasing attention. You will form a very erroneous judgment, if you take the tone of familiar conversation as a rule for a public discourse. In the one case, you speak, if I may be allowed the expression, to the ear of your hearer, and nothing escapes him: in the other, the word has to find his ear-to reach him at the extremities of a large building; feeble sounds never arrive there; and if even the pronunciation is not unusually distinct, nothing is heard in the remote parts of the Church, but sounds which are altogether inarticulate.

Clearness of pronunciation is, to the ear, what, clearness of perception is to the mind; we must express ourselves without embarrassment, to be heard; and we may apply to the delivery of a discourse, what Quintilian said of the discourse itself: Prima virtus orationis perspicuitas.

I suppose, then, you possess those elemental qualities, I have briefly mentioned, and which constitute the very first principles of elocution; you are now about to commence your vocation.

Do you know, my friend, how to read? This question may astonish you; but you may have read a great deal, without knowing how to read. -There are some Preachers, who, arrived at old age, have read all their life, and who are, themselves, the evidences, that good reading is very rare.

To read, is not to collect letters, and syllables; it is not to pronounce words and sentences: it is to express the sense of these sentences; it is to represent the thoughts of a discourse, in their appropriate colours. It is to blend the different passages, in such a manner as not to injure each other; but, on the contrary, to give to each mutual strength and assistance. It is to distinguish, by the accent, what is only argumentative, from what is pathetic and oratorical; it is to discern any important end in a sentence, in order to detach it from the rest, and express it without affectation, and without the appearance of design; it is to convey the idea, rather than the expressions, the sentiments, rather than the words; it is to follow the impulse of the discourse, in such a manner, that the delivery may be quick or slow, mild or impetuous, according to the emotions it should excite.

To read, is to express, by variations of voice, the comforts arising from the consciousness of innocence, and the horrors, from the instigations of vice; the warmth of zeal, and coolness of indifference; indignation, fear, pity, and benevolence; the blessings and chastisements of God; the pride and misery of man; the supplications to the Supreme Being, and the pathetic exhortations to sinful men. In short, to read, is to distinguish our several thoughts and sentiments, by inflections of voice, which should, at once, describe their meaning, and impress their power.

When you have got the better, if it be possible, of all provincial accent, and your pronunciation is pure and correct; when you have accustomed yourself to read aloud, with feeling, and varying your tones, in such a way, that what you read, may be well understood; then, progressively, raise your voice, three or four notes higher than the common tone and do not appear in the pulpit, until you have many times repeated this useful experiment.

Timidity, when its influence is greatly predominant, disconcerts; it prevents the exertion of talent. On the other hand, presumptuous confidences prejudices an auditory against the speaker, who should, by all means, preposses their goodwill. Keep then, a wise mean. Appear, at least, to entertain a very modest opinion of yourself, which has always the effect of disarming criticism,

and conciliating the esteem of a congregation. I have seen Preachers, who, to practice a little deceit on themselves, and thereby shun the distractions which their timidity might occasion, fix their eyes on a pillar of the church*, and address their discourse, exclusively, to it. This mode of speaking is not judicious. The Preacher loses by it all the warmth of his zeal, and destroys the effect of the expression of countenance. It is the assembly he ought to look in the face. To them he proposes his questions; to them he addresses the reasoning of his propositions, the gentleness of his reproofs, and the earnestness of his exhortations. It is the assembly which animates the orator, which inspires him with suitable tones, and with a pleasing cadence. How, without looking continually around him, can he perceive, whether the attention of his congregation is supported, or relaxed? And how can he again attract it, when it has been suffered to escape, but by redoubled zeal, and a more impassioned address?

Scarcely has the Preacher opened his mouth than a religious fascination inspires the audience. He is no longer an ordinary person. He is an heavenly ambassador, invested with divine autho

* When a Clergyman preaches in a Church, with which he is not at all acquainted, to direct his voice, at the beginning of his sermon, to a distant object, is not injudicious. Dr. Hinchliffe, the late bishop of Peterborough, always did so, and he was, during his life, considered one of the best preachers in the Church of England.

rity: his language, his accents, assume a more grave and solemn character than those of a mere man. Happy, if nothing throughout the discourse happen to dissipate the illusion, and divert the attention of the auditory!

You comprehend, that it is not necessary, in the exordium of your discourse, to give yourself up to declamation. If you except these cases when the Preacher seems overcome with a thought which prepossesses him; when he communicates to his auditory, a powerful impulse, the effect of his preceding meditations; except, I say, these cases, which are rare, you should enter on your discourse with composure, elegance, and simplicity.

We see Preachers who seem to be exhausted with their exordium. They elevate their voice to the highest pitch at the very commencement. Did that exordium constitute the whole of the Sermon, they would not be reprehensible; but it is only an introduction; and when they come to the main point of the subject, they are not able to support the power with which they set out; and their discourse appears like a monster, with a large head and a meagre body.

Let the mildness of your exordium prescribe to you the proper tone in which it requires to be delivered. Your guarded gesture should correpond with it, and all action should be restrained. An ex