Another Congregational minister who exhibits much of the Oxford manner is the Rev. Silvester Horne, of Kensington; but, in addition, he seems possessed of a fiery zeal and fervent enthusiasm that will, it is feared, wear him out physically before his day is fully spent, unless he carefully husbands his nervous energy. Already, although a young man, he has had to take rest for a whole year because of ill-health. That inner fire, that mental energy, that disciplined enthusiasm, which light up his face so brilliantly and animate his suitable and graceful gesture, are far too precious a possession to be quenched too quickly; but there are few or none of the younger preachers of the day who have promise of a more brilliant future.
And now a word in conclusion for one who is perhaps the greatest philosophical preacher of the time—Dr. Fairbairn of Mansfield College at Oxford. His memory is marvellous, his power of choice and accurate verbal expression is wonderful; he can speak for hours without a note, and though sometimes a sentence should appear involved and complicated, it will finish admirably, and, if read in a verbatim report afterwards, will have all the finish of a literary production wrought out in the quiet of the study. He uses but little gesture, an occasional opening out of hands and arms, as though to present and lay before the audience the thought which he is uttering, seems nearly all. In fact, it would appear that he is so absorbed in the abstract thought, the argument, the philosophy he is working out before you, that he thinks nothing of the manner in which he utters it.
We do not pretend to have exhausted the list of famous preachers, or even to have glanced at all the different types; but these will be sufficient to indicate the variety that prevails, and to show that there is an art of preaching which, like other arts, needs to be assiduously cultivated, and well repays those who intelligently do so.
A MOTHER'S BIBLE.
A pathetic incident occurred some years ago in connection with one of our
wars abroad. A youth who had been wounded, and who died in the field
hospital, clutched in his last hours an old worn copy of the Bible, on the flyleaf
of which were inscribed these touching lines:—
TO MY BOY.
Remember, love, who gave you this,
When other days shall come,
When she who had thy earliest kiss
Sleeps in her narrow home.
Remember! 'twas a mother gave
The gift to one she'd die to save.
A mother sought a pledge of love,
The holiest, for her son;
And from the gift of God above
She chose a godly one—
She chose for her beloved boy
The source of light and life and joy.
And bade him keep the gift, that when
The parting hour should come
They might have hope, and meet again
In an eternal home:
She said his faith in that should be
Sweet incense to her memory.