learned man, accustomed to follow the thread of an argument, and to retain it the better, the closer it is drawn, you lose nothing of his sermons, and you are inclined to judge them only the more favorably, the more they offer to your memory for retention. If I could take upon myself to listen to them in this spirit, I should partake of your admiration. But a sermon is for everybody. If you would judge of it properly, put yourself in the position of the mass of hearers. And, in order to do this, it is not enough for you to suppose yourself much less learned than you really are. The true characteristic of the mass is, that they judge by impression; now, judge by mere impression, and you will have put yourself in their situation, and your judgment will start from the only point of view which is proper or true in this case. Has not Cicero himself said, that, a discourse which does not obtain the approbation of the people, is unworthy of that of the learned? With much more reason then, must we say this of a sermon. Once more, put yourself in the place of the mass." "It is easy to say."

"And still easier to do, be assured. You never hear a sermon that you do not do this without suspecting it. Seated in the preacher's presence, there are two men in you; the well-informed man, who is about to decide the discourse to be either well or badly written, well or badly delivered, and the natural man, who will either open or shut his heart to the impressions of the word of God. Well, what I ask of you is, to consult rather the second than the first. Ah, we only consult it too much, when it is a question of escaping from the consequences of the best established truths; let us then consult it a little, when the matter is, to know what the sermon ought to be. Let us consult it in regard to Father Bourdaloue's sermons. All these arguments which you

remember so well, what remains if they are forgotten? Very little, you must confess. And how many sermons there are, of

which still less would remain, since those who preach them have often the same fault, and yet are far from possessing the same talent."

"But then," said M. de Fénélon, with a little embarrassment, "how is his success to be explained? For really it is not at court only that he is loved and admired. Last year, at Paris, when he was to preach in the evening, Nôtre Dame was crowded from early in the morning; when he was to preach in the morning, people passed the night in the church. An hour be fore the sermon you would meet thousands going away without having been able to enter. I do not see how that agrees exactly with your criticism, that he does not preach for the people."

-we are

"I said that he failed in the true end; I have never denied that he displays in his means, an extraordinary copiousness, art and genius. The enthusiasm of the crowd only proves one thing to me; that the crowd like himself, is deceived and takes the means for the end. If they knew better what a sermon should be, and what effect it should leave behind, they would be of my opinion. Believe me, in this respect, we are neither so enlightened, nor above all, so christianized as we imagine. Because we no longer hear quotations from Horace and Virgil,— nor the mingling of gods and saints in the sermon,— ready to felicitate our orators, as if they had entirely succeeded in throwing off their profane yoke; because it is no longer permitted to make points, and because antithesis is more sparingly used, it is believed that there is no more idle exercise of the wits, and the good people fancy that they hear everything in the world which is most grave and christian. Father Bourdaloue gives them indeed, better than any other, the kind of nourishment which they come for; but is what they come for, good? And if it be not, do you think it becomes so from the fact that it is seized with avidity? I know very well, that the appearance of

a great crowd reacts favorably upon each one of the persons composing it; many a sermon which would appear cold and lifeless if preached before a hundred persons, may seem eloquent before six thousand; but this is the very thing which would not happen if this discourse were the right sort of sermon. It would have its life within itself; it would dispense with the aid of external emotions. Add to all this infatuation, fashion—” "Fashion!" cried M. de Fénélon.

"Does it not always count for something in all the successes of this world, even the most legitimate ?"

"But infatuation! infatuation! do you really know of whom you are speaking?”

"Of a man whom I admire almost as much as you do. But I call all admiration infatuation, when it goes beyond its just limits. One may be infatuated with a great man as well as with a fool. Add this, I say, and you will no longer ask why Nôtre Dame was so full."

"There is a reputation admirably demolished !"

"Oh no,-I demolish nothing. I do not pretend to deprive him of his; I only point out the reputation at which I think he would have done better to aim, and your very annoyance proves to me that I am not entirely wrong; you have too much judgment and too much piety not to enter in some degree into my idea. Then I have still one justice to render him; it is, that he is quite sincere. If he has adopted this path, it is because his peculiar quality of mind has led him into it; and if he remains in it, it is not to cultivate the popularity there acquired, but only because he cannot do otherwise."

"I shall not go back to your criticisms, they contain both truth and error. But you will grant, that Father Bourdaloue

* "We praise the man who is praised, far more than his praiseworthy qualities"-LA Bruyere.

would not have much to do to make them fall to the ground. With a little more warmth, some modifications of style—”

"Style! style! why all writers will tell you, that it is the very thing which can least of all be changed. A man's style is nearly as much a part of him as his physiognomy, his figure, the throbbings of his pulse,-in short, as any part of his being which is the least subjected to the action of the will. A man cannot change his style, the most he can succeed in doing is to travesty it. Thus, the expression change of style, signifies nothing more than change of subject;—it has been felt that it would be false, if the first meaning were left to it. With a mind naturally argumentative, the style must be argumentative. It cannot be otherwise; the warmth which may be forced into it, will be a warmth of words, of exclamation points,-not a real and living warmth. If the writer respect himself, he will not even attempt this, he will prefer remaining cold, to growing thus mechanically ardent."*

"Upon the whole, then, you do not even grant that Father Bourdaloue can acquire what he fails in now. Whether you are right or wrong, you must confess that this is somewhat bold, and he would be surprised enough, I think, if he should ever know-"

“But uncle,” said the Abbé, smiling, "who says that he does not know ?"

"Let us now change our style, O Muse, and leave satire."

BOILEAU, Sat. vii.

There is often much philosophy in the modifications which usage gives to the meaning of words, and this at the very epoch when the best writers do not seem to imagine that there exists a philosophy of language. When Buffon said "the style is the man," he only put into words the truth which had unconsciously been the starting-point more than a century before for an alteration in the sense of the expression, “change of style."

"You have dared-you-"

He was stupefied. However, beneath this air of rebuke, there might have been perceived at these last words, the dawn of a sentiment of joy, perhaps of pride. M. de Fénélon was much more sensible than he wished to appear, to the growing reputation of his nephew. In giving him grave lessons on pride, he was in the meantime enchanted to be able to say to himself, that the young man had good reason to think somewhat of himself; and particularly at this moment, however vexed to find his opinions dissented from, he was really proud to have as nephew a man who had not recoiled before a Bourdaloue. In learning how far he had dared, the old soldier almost pardoned his having dared at all.

"What!" he exclaimed. "You have said to him all that you have just been saying to me? You said it to him?"

"Not all, perhaps, but I said a great many other things to him."

"And it was his good pleasure to listen to you?" "Why not?"

"And he took the trouble to answer you ?"

"If he had been able-❞

"If he had been able! Would you have me believe perchance, that you had the advantage

"The advantage,-no,-I should take care not to use that word. But I can assure you, that I found him-on many points-"

"Well ?"

"More tractable than you."

"He admits that ne reasons too much?"

"He does."

"He confesses that he lacks warmth that his sermons do not leave the impression on the mind which they ought?"