tomed than we are, to niceties of language, cannot enjoy even this useless pleasure. Do you recollect, for instance, gentlemen, his beautiful sermon on final impenitence?"

“I noted down the plan of it," said Fénélon.

"And did you not remark-"

“M. l'Abbé,” said the marquis, quickly, “my nephew made only too many remarks. Do not encourage him in it, I beg." "Let him speak. If he goes too far we will stop him."

"I shall not go too far; I shall say nothing. But listen to the plan; and I do not promise even to get through with that.* The first, die in a state of actual impenitence; the second, without any feeling of penitence; the last, in the delusion of a false penitence. The first are the most criminal, the second the most unhappy; the third are neither so criminal as the first, nor so unhappy as the second; they are, however, unhappy because they are blinded, and criminal because they are sinners. I shall accordingly, call the impenitence of the first, a criminal impenitence, that of the second, an unhappy impenitence,—that of the third, a disguised impenitence. And after having delineated these three characters, I shall add three reflections. An impenitent life conducts to criminal impenitence at death, by the way of inclination; this is my first part. An impenitent life conducts to unhappy impenitence at death, by the way of punishment;

* Literally true.

"Preachers always have, from an indispensable and geometrical necessity, three subjects worthy of your attention. You will, in the first place, be convinced of a certain truth, and this is their first division,-of another truth, and this is their second division,-then of a third truth, and this is their third division; so that the first reflection will instruct you in one of the most fundamental duties of your religion,-the second in a principle not less important, and the third and last, in a third and last principle, the most important of all, which is, however, postponed for want of time, to a fut ure occasion."-LA BRUYERE.

this is my secord division. An impenitent life conducts to disguised impenitence at death, by the way of deception; this is my third division."

"What a memory!" they exclaimed.

"Take care, gentlemen," remarked Fénélon, “you cannot compliment me on my memory, without yourselves criticizing him who has furnished me with such an opportunity for exercising it." Smilingly they exchanged significant glances.

66

"He is right," said the Abbé Renaudot, " and it would not be so bad, if this were a rare instance; but passages of this sort are not uncommon in the sermons of Father Bourdaloue;—it may even be asserted that this is generally his style.* It is accordingly not astonishing, that he has such difficulty in learning his sermons, such fear of losing a single word. Pages written in this way must be memorized like the Lord's Prayer. Let a single idea escape you,-all is lost; drop a single link and you are at a loss where to take it up again. From this course proceeds the inexpressible anguish, which our illustrious friend never fails to experience until he reaches the last word of his sermon. His eyes almost always closed, his motions uneasy, his sentences too fast or too slow,-his gestures often unsuited to his subject,everything betrays the prodigious effort of memory which is an actual torture to himself, and to those who are so unfortunate as to perceive it. Moreover, he does not attempt to conceal it from himself; he submits to it, as the sailor to his oar, and the peasant to his plough. It is not until after he has preached the same discourse several times, that he begins to be confident, and

* See, as a curiosity in this style, the plan of Bourdaloue's Panegyric of John the Baptist. "I do not know," says Maury, "either among the ancients or moderns, any plan of an eulogy, which can be compared with the arrangement of this discourse. Religion alone can furnish such a road to eloquence."

Yes, the religion of the scholastics, but surely not Christianity.

himself to join a little in the pleasure which his words confer upon us."

"In truth," remarked one of the party, "it is a pity to think, that a man who enables you to pass an hour so replete with instruction and interest, should pass it himself in anguish,—in a feverish state of torture. With a better memory-"

"He does not complain of his memory," said the Abbé de la Broue. "He would be unjust if he did; I do not believe that there are many who would succeed as well as he does in getting through such long discourses so prodigiously filled with ideas. But it seems to me, that if he had no other motive, this very fatigue would have induced him to change his style of composition. For my own part,-if I may venture to adduce my own case after that of such a man,—I have always noticed, that those sermons into which I had put more feeling than thought,—at which I had labored rather with my heart than my head, gave me scarcely any trouble to learn, and, that on the contrary, those in which, either from the subject, or from my own fault, the mind had predominated over the heart, were memorized slowly, and with labor.* Again, and most important in this connection, I have also remarked, that the first,-those which I had memorized without trouble, produced the most impression, and gained me the most commendation; not perhaps, from those frivolous hearers whose approbation is worth very little, but from pious and serious people. Furthermore, I have several times happened to discover, that even those who only came to hear a rhetorical discourse, went away again, confessing that a christian discourse was of far more value. Finally, I have had

"When the orator studies his sermon, he is the first judge of it. Experience shows him, that those passages which he has the most trouble in learning, are those which least deserve to be learnt."-MAURY. Pulpit Eloquence.

occasion to make the same observation in respect to the memory of all classes, ignorant or learned, pious or not,-that I have in regard to my own, viz. that it is incomparably quicker and more retentive, when anything comes into it through the heart than when it comes through the head. The preacher, however, is always inclined to fancy the contrary when he is composing his sermon. It seems to him, that the more his subject is divided and subdivided, the clearer it will be; that the more minute the morsels into which the nourishment is separated, the more will be gained from it. Error! error!* When I see him thus exercising his ingenuity in parcelling out some grand and beautiful idea, I fancy I see a man to whom a huge stone has been given in order to break down a door, and who, instead of throwing it with all his might against the obstacle to be vanquished, exhausts himself in breaking up the missile, and in throwing it piece by piece. There is the same difference between a methodical sermon and an eloquent one, as between a chessboard and a picture. In vain might the frame of the chess-board be perfectly beautiful,—in vain, by a refinement of luxury, might each square be ornamented with a different little picture; you would praise the skill and industry of the workman, but if any one told you that he relied upon your memory to retain the arrangement and the subjects of all these little designs,—would you not be considerably astonished? Would you not say, that the very regularity of the plan, by preventing your fixing your eye upon any one square rather than another, rendered it impossible for you to carry away a distinct and settled idea of it? The workman himself, would probably not without difficulty accomplish that which was required of you."

* "What preparations for a sermon of three quarters of an hour! The more they strive to digest and explain it, the more I am perplexed."-LA BRUYERE.

"I like your comparison," said the Marquis. "Allow me, however, to add one limitation. Does not the difficulty of learning by heart proceed sometimes from quite an opposite reason? You speak only of those sermons which are too full, too compact; those which are not enough so would have the same disadvantage, it seems to me."

"Doubtless,” replied the Abbé. "Accordingly, I do not mean to say, that the less a discourse have, of logical regularity, the more easily it will impress itself upon the memory of author and hearer. Est modus in rebus. A body ought not to be all bones, --but neither should it be all flesh. Let us imitate nature; let us conceal the skeleton, but not banish it entirely; and in the same manner as the human body allows the bony frame which supports it to be perceived beneath the noblest and most graceful outlines, so, in a discourse apparently the most inartificial, a practised eye must always be able, if it will, to follow and discover the frame and connection. Keep within these limits, and instead of burdening the memory, this order and these divisions are its most powerful aids. Yet even if this be the case, it is useless to have it forced upon our attention."

"It is worse than useless," said Fénélon, "for it can but serve to cool our enthusiasm, and deprive eloquence of the illusions with which it must of necessity surround itself."

"That it cools us," said the Abbé Fleury, "is quite certain. This is my first division, this my second, are forms which I detest; they not only cool, but freeze me. But I do not quite comprehend what you mean by the illusions of eloquence. Illusion has a bad sound, in connection with the christian pulpit.".

"Let us change the word if you will; you are quite ready to grant me the thing itself, I am sure. When a preacher affects you, carries you away with him,-what would be the most likely to cut short your emotion ?"