mosphere, is just equal to the amount of heat that it annually receives from the sun?

The mind is carried forward still in this line of thought, when it looks upward to the celestial bodies, and considers their structure and movements. A day doubtless seems a long period to the animalculæ, which exists only for a few hours. A year is long to a child, while to the mind of man the twenty-five thousand years, in which the equinoxes, in their precession make one revolution, seems an immense period. But why, science asks, should not these revolutions be continued until their numbers are equal to all the past revolutions of our earth about the sun? The sun itself is moving with all its planets through space, possibly around some remote centre. In what immense period will it make one of its circuits, and is it thus to move on until its cycles shall have been as numerous as up to the present time have been all the earth's diurnal revolutions upon its own axis?

Some of the distant nebulæ are regarded by astronomers as masses of cosmical vapor, or star dust, out of which new suns are to be formed. How long will it be before these suns are completed with their attendant planets, and what period must elapse before those planets, at first incandescent masses, are sufficiently cooled to become, like our earth, habitable worlds? And are these new suns, with those already created, to move on in their great cycles forever and forever? Philosophic science indicates no termination to the material universe. And if it is to exist forever, why should not its great Creator be eternal? Is He less than the work of His hands? Have we any reason to suppose that His power to-day is not as great as it was in the dawn of creation? Vast and incomprehensible as is the idea of eternity, science can point us to no other conclusion.

Are not then these eight attributes and principles fairly and necessarily deduced from a thoroughly scientific examination of the material world? Can sound philosophy hesitate to accept them as true? How then do the doctrines of Christianity harmonize with these deductions? From the announcement in the beginning of Genesis, that "God said let there be light and there was light," to the closing passages of Revelation, the Bible everywhere portrays in the most striking and splendid language, the omnipotent power and infinite wisdom of the Creator. In comparison, how puerile are the gods of Homer, magnified as they were by the greatest imagination of all antiquity? Two or three chapters in the book of Job convey to the mind higher ideas of omnipotent power and infinite wisdom, than all ever uttered by profane writers. Nor is the unity of the Creator less strikingly manifested throughout the Bible. He ever there stands alone, tolerating no rival. His benevolence, or merciful goodness, is proclaimed on every page. So too is man's fleeting existence declared, and he is likened to the grass that is green to-day, to be consumed to-morrow, to the shadow that passes over the earth, and leaves no trace of its existence. In the sixth place, we are told that man was especially created to till the ground, and after his transgression he was condemned to live by the sweat of his brow. This beautiful analogy presents itself too. As the good things of this world are not thrust upon man, but he is com

pelled to labor in order that he may possess and enjoy them, so, will not spiritual good be forced upon him. He is told that he must strive to enter in at the straight gate; that the violent take the Kingdom of Heaven by force; that he must fight against the great adversary, the Prince of this world; and, as men contend for the fading laurels of earth, so must he struggle to win a crown undimmed by time or even eternity itself.

But if there be one feature of the Bible which may be considered as paramount to all others, it is the manner in which the moral law is proclaimed. God's perfect justice, His absolute holiness, and man's accountability for his conduct to Him through time and eternity, are set forth in a manner so pre-eminently striking as to indicate this as the chief purpose of biblical revelation.

A most remarkable feature of the Bible is the truthfulness of its presentation of human nature. Man in his books ever flatters himself, but strip him of the paraphernalia with which his pride and vanity invest him, as in times of great trial in sieges and shipwrecks, when his inmost nature is made manifest, and the multitude stand out before us in the character in which the Old Testament depicts humanity. So unlike, too, to all previously written are the gospels, that they extorted from Napoleon on the island of St. Helena, the exclamation that their divinity was so palpable that it overwhelmed him.

To the awe and terror of previous systems the New Testament adds the great elements of benevolence, love, humanity, charity. It announces a Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of life, which communes directly with the human heart. Though for the first time proclaimed, it is in harmony with the deep mysterious feeling of man's nature, as shadowed forth possibly in such declarations as that of Socrates, the noblest of heathen philosophers, who declared that a good spirit directed him through life. Though this Spirit will not always strive with man, yet it returns to him with renewed appeals.

But the Positive Philosopher asks if it is not unjust that men should be punished eternally for such offenses as they commit in this life. His philosophy answers this question. Let him look to the material world around him, the physical and organic laws of which he prides himself on knowing. His arm is crushed off and his eyes are put out. Will these injuries be permanent? In his anguish he asks, am I thus forever to be punished for one thoughtless act,the work of but a single moment? "Yes, yes, your arm is gone forever; never, never more will your eyes behold the beautiful light." If then the moral law should, in like manner, inflict eternal punishment for crimes against it, is it not in exact harmony with the physical law, the uniformity which the philosopher boasts that he has discovered? If, however, it could be said to him, "Here is a remedy, which will give you back your right hand, and restore your sight," with what a bound would he not spring forward to secure that remedy! No human skill, no law of nature will ever restore to him these members. But the Christian system, higher than the earthly law, holds out this remedy, through its plan of atonement, and by contrast with former suffering, man's enjoyment will be increased a thousand fold.

It does seem to me that if all the men of science, in grand convention assembled, were to proclaim the great principles fairly established by the contemplation of the material universe, they could not do it more accurately and strikingly than they are presented by Christianity. Persons sometimes ask why is it, if the Bible be the Word of God, that certain things are left unexplained and obscure. For every mystery in the Bible an hundred can be found in nature. Science cannot explain electricity or magnetism, or light or heat, or attraction and repulsion, or vegetable, or animal life. Man is, perhaps, the greatest mystery of all to himself, for he cannot understand how he perceives, or feels, or thinks. And yet he will trust his science with its countless mysteries, while he proposes to doubt the Bible with its few.

The positive philosopher assumes to decide not only what the Creator has done, but he affirms, with absolute confidence, that he will not act further. His view might be expressed in the proposition that the Creator, after completing the universe, died. At least, he asserts, that He never will, by direct act, interfere again with His creation, and that He could not, by performing a miracle, so do, without deranging the whole system of the universe. Man, a creature so feeble that he is often obliged to lean on a crutch for support, or is compelled to swallow a drug, to relieve him from pain, and enable him to think; and who, in his best condition, is exhausted by a single day's labor; he, with the mechanism of the universe expanded before him, in all its endless action, seeing that the moon does not rest by day or night, that myriads of stars ever dance with exhaustless light, that the sun tires not in his course as he marches unchecked and unceasingly across the whole space of the heavens; he would assume to limit omnipotence, and set bounds to infinity!

So utterly, however, have all the efforts of such philosophers failed to shake the faith of the human mind in the continued superintendence of the Deity over all created things; so absolute is the confidence of men in the ever present guardianship of His hand, that if the sun were but once seen to stagger in his course, all humanity would be prostrated in terror.

There is, however, yet another remarkable analogy between the study of nature and that of the Bible. When man investigates the properties of material things, he easily acquires all the knowledge that it is most useful to him to possess, with much that is merely interesting and curious. But when he attempts to dive into the causes of things, he is powerless. In like manner when he looks to the Bible to learn his duties, they are as manifest to him as is the noonday sun in the heavens. But when he seeks to "find out the Almighty to perfection," all his powers fail him, and he hears the declaration, "Hitherto shall thou come, but no further, and here shall thy proud heart be stayed."

RELIGIOUS AND POPULAR ORATORS.

AN ADDRESS

DELIVERED AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, AUGUST 5, 1875, AT SEWANEE, TENN.

By Hon. T. L. CLING MAN.

In no country in the world does public speaking perform so important a part as in the United States. It is not only true that our political contests, on the result of which depend the action of the government, are in a great degree influenced by public discussions, but almost all

kinds of instruction and information are diffused in this mode. Especially is this true with regard to religious subjects. A majority, probably, of our people are dependent on oral addresses mainly for the knowledge they acquire with regard to religion.

Hence it is of the utmost consequence that the style of public speaking should approach as near perfection as possible. While we have many fine pulpit as well as popular orators, yet a majority of speakers, perhaps, fall below the standard which they ought to attain. Great pains are taken to teach men what they should say, but in what manner they ought to speak, to enable them to make the most decided impression on their hearers, is seldom thought of. In this respect, many of our public speakers are strikingly deficient.

When, however, as on this occasion, I propose to consider the defects of certain pulpit orators, and the characteristics of popular speakers, it may be objected that unless one were free from fault himself, he should not venture to criticise others. A man, however, may be able to judge whether a suit of clothes fits him, though he has never constructed a garment, and persons who cannot sing are often capable of appreciating music. The stone mason and the carpenter observe the effect of their blows on the material on which they are operating, and in like manner public speakers may be benefitted by knowing what impressions they make on their auditors. Hence, though I may be ever so faulty as a speaker, yet the points of objection made may be worthy of consideration.

Again, Burke says our antagonist is our helper. An enemy, if we have one, will be likely to find our weak points, and during my political life I was ever more anxious to read attacks made on me than commendations. As some of my criticisms will perhaps apply as frequently to ministers of the Episcopal Church as others, it may be proper that I should state that I am a member of that church, and naturally should feel a greater interest in its excellence than in that of any of the other religious denominations.

The deficiencies to which I am now about to call your attention occur more frequently in written sermons than in such as are delivered ex tempore. The most striking defect is the want of earnestness in manner and del.very. Many years since, at a Methodist quarterly meeting, I was struck by the force with which this point was presented by one of the preachers. While complaining of the want of earnestness among his brethren, he exclaimed: "Any one of these lawyers," pointing to several present, "will, for ten dollars, exhibit before the jury, ten times as much zeal for his client as you do in your great calling!" No one who compares the earnestness with which juries are addressed, with the delivery of many sermons, can fail to be impressed with such a remark. The animation of political speakers is not less striking. Especiaily is this to be noted in the cases where the candidates for office debate together, and thus struggle for each vote. If a candidate in the Southern, and many of the Western States, were to speak with no more earnestness and effect than do many clergymen, the crowd would abandon the stand in fifteen minutes, and he would be distanced in the race. I have observed, that in several instances, lawyers who became preachers, were very successful pulpit orators. The late Dr. Hawks was a shining example. This is perhaps chiefly due to the fact that they had at the bar acquired an earnest manner of speaking.

As the clergyman has the greatest of all subjects to present, and the most momentous issue to discuss, how can this defect be remedied? In ex tempore speaking, the difficulty is more easily overcome, for one who expresses his thoughts as they come up, naturally speaks with some animation. But in the delivery of written sermons can the evil be corrected?

We know that Demosthenes electrified the Athenians with speeches that had been written and committed to memory. Thousands of other speakers have, in like manner, been successful. Whitfield was one of the most wonderful orators that ever lived. Some of the play-actors who used to listen to him in the streets of London, with a view of improving their own elocution, said that he was never heard to the greatest advantage, except in one of those sermons that he had delivered an hundred times. When Joseph R. Chandler, then a member of Congress from Philadelphia, began to read a speech in the House of Representatives, many of the members started to get out of the hall. The practice, now so common in both Houses, of members reading their speeches, even from printed slips, was unknown, and I doubt if six speeches were read during any one Congress of my service, running through more than a dozen years. But Mr. Chandler read his