religion is some mysterious thing that he cannot understand, than this mouthing, formal, lofty style of speaking, so generally employed in the pulpit. The minister ought to do as the lawyer does when he wants to make a jury understand him perfectly. He uses a style perfectly colloquial. This lofty, swelling style will do no good. The gospel will never produce any great effects until ministers talk to their hearers in the pulpit, as they talk in private conversation.

2. It must be the language of common life. Not only should it be colloquial in its style, but the words should be such as are in common use, otherwise they will not be understood. In the New Testament you will observe that Jesus Christ invariably uses words of the most common kind. You scarcely find a word of his instructions, that any child cannot understand. The language of the Gospels is the plainest, simplest, and most easily understood of any language in the world. The apostle says the man is a barbarian, who uses language that the people do not understand. And "if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself for the battle?"

3. Gestures are of more importance than is generally supposed. Mere words will never express the full meaning of the gospel. The manner of saying it is almost every thing. Suppose one of you, that is a mother, goes home tonight, and as soon as you get into the door, the nurse comes rushing up to you, with her whole soul in her countenance, and tells you that your child is burnt to death. You would believe it, and you would feel it too, at once. But suppose she comes and tells it in a cold and careless manner. Would that arouse you? No. It is the earnestness of her manner, and the distress of her looks, that tells the story. You know something is the matter before she speaks a word.

4. It is objected that the colloquial, lawyer-like style of preaching, which I have recommended, is letting down the dignity of the pulpit. What is the dignity of the pulpit? To see a minister go into the pulpit to sustain its dignity! Alas! alas! During my foreign tour, I heard an English missionary preach exactly in that way. I believe he was a good man, and out of the pulpit he would talk like a man that meant what he said. But no sooner was he in the pulpit, than he appeared like a perfect automaton-swelling, mouthing and singing, enough to put all the people to sleep. And the diffi

culty seemed to be, that he wanted to maintain the dignity of the pulpit!

5. It is also objected that this preaching is theatrical. Now what is the design of the actor in a theatrical representation? It is so to throw himself into the spirit and meaning of the writer, as to adopt his sentiments, make them his own, feel them, embody them, throw them out upon the audience as living reality. And now what is the objection to all this in preaching? The actor "suits the action to the word, and the word to the action." His looks, his hands, his attitudes, and every thing are designed to express the full meaning of the writer. Now this should be the aim of the preacher. And if by "theatrical," be meant the strongest possible representation of the sentiments expressed, then the more theatrical a sermon is, the better.

The foregoing observations on "How to preach the Gospel," are from a revival lecture delivered at New-York, in 1835, by the Rev. Charles G. Finney, professor of theology, president of the Oberlin Institute, and author of some popular works on that subject. The professor's ideas are generally correct. He adopts in his own mode of speaking the natural and powerful style which he recommends. A speaker should avoid assuming any airs of false dignity. Garrick addressed the following most excellent letter to a young clergyman to whom he gave lessons in clocution:

"My Dear Pupil-You know how you would feel and speak in the parlor concerning a friend, who is in imminent danger of his life; and with what energetic pathos of diction and countenance you would enforce the observance of that which you really thought would be for his preservation. You could not think of playing the orator; of studying your emphasis, cadences and gestures; you would be yourself; and the interesting nature of the subject impressing your heart, would furnish you with the most natural tone of voice, the most proper language, the most energetic features, and the most suitable and graceful gestures. What you would thus be in the parlor, be in the pulpit; and you will not fail to please, to affect and to profit."

150. WHO LOVES ME BEST ?—Mary Ann Brown.

1. Who loves me best? My mother sweet,
Whose every look with love is replete,
Who held me an infant on her knee,

-Who hath ever watched me tenderly;
And yet I have heard my mother say
That she some time must pass away;
Who then shall shield me from earthly ill?
Some one must love me better still.

2. Who loves me best? My father dear,
Who loveth to have me always near;
He whom I fly each eve to meet,
When passed away is the noontide heat;
Who from the bank where the sunbeam lies,
Brings me the wildwood strawberries.
O! he is dear as my mother to me,
But he will perish even as she.

3. Who loves me best? The gentle dove,
That I have tamed with my childish love,
That every one save myself doth fear,
Whose soft coo soundeth when I come near;
Yet perhaps it but loves me because I bring
To its cage the drops from the clearest spring,
And hang green branches around the door;
Something surely must love me more.

4. Who loves me best? My sister fair,
With her laughing eyes and clustering hair,
Who flowers around my head doth twine,
Who presseth her rosy lips to mine,
Who singeth me songs in her artless glee;
Can any love me better than she?
Yet when I asked, that sister confessed,
Of all, she did not love me best.

5. Who loves me best? My brother young,
With his healthy cheek and his lisping tongue,
Who delighted to lead me, in merry play,
Far down the green wood's bushy way;
Who showeth me where the hazel nuts grow,
And where the fairest field-flowers blow;
Yet perhaps he loves me no more than the rest.
How shall I find who loves me best?

6. My mother loves me, but she may die;
My white dove loves me, but that may fly;
My father loves me-he may be changed;
I have heard of brothers and sisters estranged.
If they should forsake me, what should I do?
Where should I bear my sad heart to?
Some one, surely, would be my stay;
Some one must love me better than they.
7. Yes, fair child, there is One above,
Who loves thee with an unchangeable love;
He who formed those frail dear things
To which thy young heart fondly clings,
Even though all should forsake thee, still
He would protect thee through every ill.

Oh! is not such love worth all the rest?
Child! it is God who loves thee best.

Children should have faith in God as their father and friend. They are as dear to him as the statesman or the philosopher. Youth is the age of hope and joy, and is especially fitted for disinterested love and religion. True religion is not arrayed in gloom. The Rev. Dr. Hopkins, president of Williams College, says, in one of his published discourses: "Nothing can be more utterly false or more disastrous, than the separation of cheerfulness and rational enjoyment from the remembrance and presence of God. Nothing can more dishonor Him whose smile brightens creation, and whose presence makes heaven." The religion of which God is the author and Christ the testator, is a fountain of happiness. It enables us to view with Moses "from the storm defying steep of Pisgah the land of promise, imaging forth the green fields of heaven's eternal spring."

The Rev. Dr. Bascom says, in one of his sermons "The society and scenery, the converse and melody, the sympathy and rapture of heaven, will regale the eye and ear; while its grandeur and magnificence will hold all the powers of thought and emotion in perpetual fascination, amid scenes and visions unknown to the hopes and dreams of earth!"

"On the tree of life eternal

Man, let all thy hopes be staid,

Which alone forever vernal

Bears a leaf that shall not fade."

151. ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE.-Lewis.

1. A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright,

Conversed as they sat on the green;

They gazed on each other with tender delight,
Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,
The maid's was the fair Imogene.

2. "And oh," said the youth, "since tomorrow I go
To fight in a far distant land,

Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow,
Some other will court you, and you will bestow
On a wealthier suitor your hand.”

3. "Oh! hush these suspicions," fair Imogene said,
"Offensive to love and to me;

For if you be living or if you be dead,
I swear by the virgin that none in your stead
Shall husband of Imogene be.

4. If e'er I, by lust or by wealth led aside,
Forget my Alonzo the brave,

God grant! that to punish my falsehood and pride,
Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side,
May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,
And bear me away to the grave."

5. To Palestine hastened the hero so bold;
His love she lamented him sore,

But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed when behold,
A Baron all covered with jewels and gold,
Arrived at fair Imogene's door.

6. His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain,
Soon made her untrue to her vows,

He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain,
He caught her affections so light and so vain,
And carried her home as his spouse.

7. And now had the marriage been blest by the priest, The revelry now was begun;

The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast,
Nor had the laughter and merriment ceased
When the bell at the castle tolled one

8. Then first, with amazement, fair Imogene found That a stranger was placed by her side;