loud speaking without a vestige of feeling, and much roaring when there is nothing whatever in what is said to demand it.  Noise is mistaken for animation.  We have been startled on going into a little country kirk, in which any speaking above a whisper would have been audible, to find the minister from the very beginning of the service, roaring as if speaking to people a quarter of a mile off.  Yet the rustics were still, and appeared attentive.  They regarded their clergyman as ‘a powerfu’ preacher;’ while the most nervous thought, uttered in more civilized tones, would have been esteemed ‘unco weak.’  We are speaking, of course, of very plain congregations; but among such ‘a powerful preacher’ means a preacher with a powerful voice and great physical energy.

Let not English readers imagine, when we speak of the vehemence of the Scotch pulpit, that we mean only a gentlemanly degree of warmth and energy.  It often amounts to the most violent melo-dramatic acting.  Sheil’s Irish speeches would have been immensely popular Scotch sermons, so far as their style and delivery are concerned.  The physical energy is tremendous.  It is said that when Chalmers preached in St. George’s, Edinburgh, the massive chandeliers, many feet off, were all vibrating.  He had often to stop, exhausted, in the midst of his sermon, and have a psalm sung till he recovered breath.  Caird begins quietly, but frequently works himself up to a frantic excitement, in which his gestulation is of the wildest, and his voice an absolute howl.  One feels afraid that he may burst a bloodvessel.  Were his hearers cool enough to criticise him, the impression would be at an end; but he has wound them up to such a pitch that criticism is impossible.  They must sit absolutely passive, with nerves tingling and blood pausing:  frequently many of the congregation have started to their feet.  It may be imagined how heavily the physical energies of the preacher are drawn upon by this mode of speaking.  Dr. Bennie, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, and one of the most eloquent and effective of Scotch pulpit orators, is said to have died at an age much short of fifty, worn out by the enthusiastic animation of his style.  There are some little accessories of the Scotch pulpit, which in England are unknown:  such as thrashing the large Bible which lies before the minister—­long pauses to recover breath—­much wiping of the face—­sodorific results to an unpleasant degree, necessitating an entire change of apparel after preaching.

The secret of the superior power over a mixed congregation of the best Scotch, as compared with most English preachers, is that the former are not deterred by any considerations of the dignity of the pulpit, from any oratorical art which is likely to produce an effect.  Some times indeed, where better things might be expected, the most reprehensible clap-trap is resorted to.  An English preacher is fettered and trammelled by fear of being thought fanatical and methodistical,—­and