lofty strain of sentiment. But surely, it will be conceded to us, on the other hand, that in the wide range of topics that offer themselves to the preacher, there is a place for lofty and intellectual discussion. That Paul thought so, is quite evident; whether we look at the testimony of his writings, or at the testimony of his express declaractions upon this point. He had instructions for the strong and the weak, for the wise and the ignorant.

Surely, if there is any subject, or sphere in the world that admits or demands the highest efforts of the intellect, that subject is religion, that sphere is the pulpit. If a man is to speak on a great question in one of our legislative assemblies, or, in an important case, at the bar, he prepares himself to deliver an able argument. He does not think it enough to exhort his hearers to do right. He does not think it enough to make a pathetic and moving appeal to their feelings. He wishes to address their judgment also. He is not satisfied without an attempt to convince them. There are great questions before them; there are great interests at stake; and he would address their whole mind, he would awaken all their powers, he would call up every consideration, from the humblest to the highest, to enlighten and to move them. He lays out his whole soul upon the effort. Shall a man do less in preaching? There never were interests involved in legislation, or in a process of law, more comprehensive and vast, or deserving to be more deeply weighed, than those which are involved in the solemn moral questioning of the soul with itself. There never were interests, encompassed with greater difficulties, or exposed to greater peril. That world within, with all its unfathomed depths, and with all its specious disguises, with all its conflicting interests and passions, with its struggling elements of good and evil, and its minglings of light and darkness, what subject ever called for profounder discussion, or sublimer eloquence? And yet, in intellectual power and dignity, the pulpit appears to be regarded by many as occupying a place, quite inferior to the forum and the senate-chamber! They seem to think, when they come down from the high debates of senates and conventions, and cross the threshold of our churches, that they have left the field of lofty, intense, and powerful thinking, for the sphere of mere feeling. They regard religion itself, as a matter, not of deep thought, though it goes to the

depths of eternity, and of eternal truth, but as a matter of mere feeling. They say, "Give us the preacher that will move us! we want no intellectual discussions!" as if intellect were not the very thing to move rational beings, as if true feeling could be supported in any mind, but upon the basis of truth, and of truth well reasoned and discriminated too, as if the structure of eternal happiness needed no foundation, but might be put upon the unstable waves.

It is an idea, bearing the same unfriendly aspect to the dignity of the pulpit, that this favorite practical preaching is a very easy kind of preaching. "All that is necessary, we are told, "is just to feel and just to say what you feel; we do not want any great discussion; just give a simple exhortation that will move the hearts of the people; that is better than all reasoning." Now there is something in all this, that is true, and yet against its general tendency we protest. It is true, indeed, that the feelings are to be awakened, and that is the best intellectual preaching which does awaken feeling. But it is equally true, that the thoughts are to be aroused, and that is the best practical preaching which arouses the thoughts, which, in other words, is intellectual. So much we concede, so much we ask. We ask especially that intellect in religion may not be divorced from feeling, no, not by any innuendo, nor by any careless phrase, nor by any tendency of public opinion; for the disunion would be fatal to the depth and permanence of all religious sentiment! It is true, indeed, that an intellectual discussion is sometimes beard in the pulpit, which is subtile, attenuated, and chilling, like the thin, cold atmosphere, far up above the regions of vital existence; and it is true that such preaching ought to be reprobated. But all deep preaching, nevertheless, must come from deep thinking. It requires keen discrimination, a well-considered order of thought, and a fertile imagination, as well as deep feeling. It is no vague exhortation; it is no rambling, pointless, impromptu address. The prevailing and specific idea, however, of practical preaching, we suppose is, that it is taken up with obvious and specific duties and sins. Its business is, directly and definitely, to discuss duties, the duties of religious veneration, fear, trust, love, and hope, of prayer, and submission, and gratitude, of repentance, humility, temperance, selfgovernment, and self-examination, of benevolence, truth,

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honesty, charity, and forgiveness of injuries; and to discuss also the vices and sins opposite to these virtues. It is to go into the scenes of business, and to teach plainly what is to be done and what is to be avoided, into the scenes of social life, and to show what affections are to be cherished and what to be guarded against, into the scenes of recreation, and to draw the line between what is healthful and what is noxious and dangerous. It is to go round and round in this track, from month to month and from year to year. This, we say, with many is the only idea they have of practical preaching. If any one leaves this beaten track, if he goes beyond the range of simple and received ideas,-- though he strikes perhaps to the deepest foundations of the soul, though he flashes the light of some awful and unsuspected truth into its darkest recesses, though he kindles up to the brightest splendor, the whole horizon around them, they say, perhaps, that it is very fine, and very delightful, but they are afraid it is not practical enough. In short, their idea of practical preaching is, that it is something that can be immediately reduced to practice, to definite, visible, tangible practice.

Now we shall not be suspected, surely, of any intention to discredit this kind of public instruction. It is the very staple of preaching. But is this the only kind of practical preaching?

the

What, let us ask, is, from the very nature of the case, preaching that is practical? And having admitted that the public judgment gives one good answer, let us be permitted to give another of our own. It is that preaching, we answer then, which goes to the deep thoughts, to thoughts that lie deeper than any common-places, or truisms, or ordinary arguments for virtue, are likely to reach. Men want basis thoughts, we must not always be talking about the superstructure, and basis thoughts lie deep in every soul. Men want broad, large, comprehensive thoughts, thoughts that, by their generalization, go through and through with the whole subject of religion and virtue. A mind earnest about religion has profound, unuttered, and anxious inquiries, about the principles of piety and duty, about the laws of Providence, about, not the endurance only, but, so to speak, the very theory of temptations and trials. Why does it suffer? Why is it tempted? Why was it made such as it

is? What is its end? These grand inquiries about which the human soul is for ever lingering, must be met. Men want thoughts which are the ultimate reasons of things; they want not only rules to go by, but the principles on which those rules are founded. You may preach about business, for instance, and all the details and discriminations of honesty; and it is very well. But you must sometimes send a thought deeper, that will rise up to the mind amidst the busy cares of life, like an awful admonition, like a solemn memento. like a penetrating tone, from some other world, than the world of merchandise. You may preach about truth, and equity, and justice, and all the dangers to which the soul is exposed in the affairs of trade, and it is very well and very practical. But suppose you should go farther, and advance and unfold the proposition, that the very end, the ultimate end for which God ordained the business of life,-is, not acquisition, not supply, but the cultivation of a high moral uprightness: would not that be practical too? And would it not penetrate, too, with awful meaning and with prolific inference, the whole sphere of active life?

What then, we still ask, is practical preaching? And still we answer, it is that preaching which arrests the mind and arouses it to moral action, whether by the discussion of duties or of doctrines. It is that preaching which recalls the mind to the deep, long-buried, and almost forgotten knowledge of itself; which penetrates it with the soul-amazing consciousness of its profound, unutterable want, of its transcendent power, of its awful destiny to good or evil; which breathes upon the faded images of moral grandeur and beauty in the soul, and spreads life and freshness through all its dull and desponding affections. It is that preaching which not merely descants upon the wants and vicissitudes of life, but which unfolds the sublime, the Christian philosophy of life, and creates, to the eye of reason and of faith, a new world, and makes it the habitation, not of fear, sorrow, and discontent, but of filial confidence, of pious joy, of cheerful patience, of victorious virtue, of all-conquering love, and immortal hope. It is that preaching which not only sets the feet in the path in which they should go, but which fills that path with winning examples of virtue, with bright and beckoning images of godlike beauty, with good angels, cheering and encouraging,

and bearing on the soul to heaven. It is that preaching which calls to repentance and humility, not with a mournful tone, but with a voice like that of Jesus, full of rebuke and love,--full, not of a solitary and reproachful indignation, but of that indignation in which the erring and sinful are invited nobly to take part against themselves; that "preaching of repentance" which is like "the voice of one in the wilderness," saying, "Go forth go, unhappy ones, to the bright and blessed country; travel in the path of humiliation to the seats of glory!" In fine, it is that preaching which speaks of God-how shall we say that it speaks of Him? how shall we "express it unblamed!"-which speaks of God, not familiarly, not presumptuously, not as if that awful name were an expletive to fill up the discourse, or an instrument to enforce terror, not professionally, not in the mere technical phrase of the pulpit, not with the tone of cold decorum or of dread superstition, but which speaks of God, with ever fresh and renewed wonder, with holy and all-subduing awe and tenderness in the mind, with the deep intuition of an inexpressible love to him, with filial, but not familiar freedom, with mingled adoration and confidence, with delight, with joy "unspeakable and full of glory."

Such to our apprehension is the preaching of which we have an example and a model in the volumes before us. And, to our minds, this preaching is emphatically true, and eminently useful and practical. We cannot take our leave of these volumes, without expressing our hope that they are the first fruits, we will not be so unreasonable as to say concerning such volumes, of many more yet to come, but of as many as it may be given to renewed strength and a long life to produce.

ART. VI. - Remarks on the Unitarian Belief: with a Letter to a Unitarian Friend on the Lord's Supper. By NEHEMIAH ADAMS, Pastor of the First Church of Christ in Cambridge. Boston. Peirce & Parker. 1832. 18mo. Pp. 175.

THIS book consists of three parts. The first is a review. of a Treatise "On the Formation of the Christian Charac