Whitfield, when preaching at Princeton, New Jersey, detecting one of his auditory fast asleep, came to a pause, and deliberately spoke as follows: "If I had come to speak to you in my own name, you might question my right to interrupt your indolent repose; but I have come in the name of the Lord of Hosts" (and accompanying these words with a heavy blow upon the pulpit), he roared out, "and I must and will be heard." This had the effect of awakening the sleeper; and on his perceiving it, his reverence eyed him significantly, saying, "Aye, Aye, I have waked you up, have I? I meant to do it." This suggests another similar incident; we forget the name of the party or the place; however, the circumstances were as follows. A clergyman was once preaching, in the sultry summer-time, when many of his hearers yielded to the soporific influence of the weather (or the sermon-perhaps both). The domine, seeing this drowsy condition of his audience, paused for some time, when the sleepers returning to consciousness, he thus addressed them, "My good friends, this sermon cost me a good deal of labour, and I do not think you have paid to it the attention it deserves, I shall, therefore, go over it again:" and he was as good as his word. An equally successful expedient

was adopted by a minister in New York, not long since, while holding forth to his congregation in a style that ought to have kept them awake; suddenly he stopped in his discourse, and said, "Brethren, I have preached about half of my sermon, and I perceive that twenty-five or thirty of my congregation are fast asleep. I shall postpone the delivery of the balance of it until they wake up!" There was a dead pause for about five minutes, during which time the sleepers awoke, when the preacher resumed. Another instance might be cited, which proved no less effective. A worthy divine, in a church at Norwich, Connecticut, observing many sleeping, paused awhile, then said, "I come now to the third head of my discourse, to which I ask the serious and candid attention of all who are not asleep," giving a marked and peculiar emphasis to the last word.

A preacher in the time of James I. being appointed to hold

forth before the Vice-Chancellor and heads of Colleges at Oxford, chose for his text, "What, cannot ye watch for one hour?" which carried a personal allusion, as the ViceChancellor happened to be asleep. The preacher repeated his text in an emphatic manner at the end of every division of his discourse, the unfortunate Vice-Chancellor as often awoke, and this happened so often that at last all present could very well see the joke. The Vice-Chancellor was so nettled at the disturbance he had met with, and the talk it occasioned, that he complained to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who immediately sent for the young clergyman, to reprove him for what he had done. In the course of the conference which ensued between the archbishop and the preacher, the latter gave so many proofs of his wit and good sense, that his grace procured him the honour of preaching before the king. Here also he had his joke. He gave out his text in these words, "James the First and Sixth, 'Waver not; "" which, of course, everybody present saw to be a stroke at the indecisive character of the monarch. James, equally quicksighted, exclaimed, "He is at me already." But he was, upon the whole, so well pleased with this clerical wag as to make him one of his chaplains in ordinary. He afterwards went to Oxford, and preached a farewell sermon on the text, “ 'Sleep on now, take your rest."

and

The sin of sleeping during service time is of no modern date. In Henry Seventh's chapel, Westminster Abbey, there are ingeniously-contrived chairs, for preventing the drowsy monks indulging a nap. These chairs are pleasant enough if you preserve your balance, but if you should become oblivious, you suddenly find yourself on the middle of the floor.

A minister of the " Kirk" of Scotland, once discovered his wife asleep in the midst of his homily on the Sabbath. So, pausing in the steady, and possibly somewhat monotonous flow of his oratory, he broke forth with this personal address, sharp and clear, but very deliberate:

"Susan!"

Susan opened her eyes and ears in a twinkling, as did all other dreamers in the house, whether asleep or awake.

for

Susan, I didna marry ye your wealth, sin' ye hae'd none ! And I didna marry ye for your beauty, that the hail congregation can see. And if ye have no grace, I have made but a sair bargain!"

Susan's slumbers were effectually broken up for that day.

A clergyman of Cambridge, Massachusetts, was once in a singular dilemma, according to his own showing: he told his people that if he spoke softly, those at the end of the church would not be able to hear him, and if loud, those near the pulpit would awake! We have heard of a worse disaster which befell a certain deacon. He fell asleep, and, as is usual in such cases, made repeated inclinations of his head; when suddenly it rebounded back with such force as to throw his wig into the pew behind him. In his consternation, vainly seeking for his vagrant wig, where it could not be found-in his own pewhe covered his bald pate with his red silk handkerchief, to the great scandal of the congregation and his own greater dismay. A celebrated clergyman once told his parishioners he should reserve the best efforts of his mind for rainy days-the worse the weather, the better should be his sermons-and he kept his word. The consequence naturally was, that his church was never so well filled as in wet weather, and the harder the rain poured down, the more the people flocked in, until it finally became his practice to include in his prayers, rainy Sundays!

The Rev. Mr. Adams of Leominster, was an eccentric character. A neighbouring minister-a mild, inoffensive manwith whom he was about to exchange, said to him, knowing the peculiar bluntness of his character-" You will find some panes of glass broken in the pulpit window, and possibly you may suffer from the cold. The cushion, too, is in a bad condition; but I beg of you not to say anything to my people on the subject; they are poor," &c. "Oh no!-oh no!" said Mr. Adams. But ere he left home, he filled a bag with rags, and took it with him. When he had been in the pulpit a short time, feeling somewhat incommoded by the too free

circulation of air, he deliberately took from the bag a handful or two of rags, and stuffed them into the window. Towards the close of his discourse, which was more or less upon the duties of a people toward their clergyman, he became very animated, and purposely brought down both fists with a tremendous force upon the pulpit cushion. The feathers flew in all directions, and the cushion was pretty much used up. He instantly checked the current of his thought, and simply exclaiming, Why, how these feathers fly!" proceeded with his sermon. He had fulfilled his promise of not addressing the society on the subject, but had taught them a lesson not to be misunderstood. On the next Sabbath the window and cushion were found in excellent repair.

Dean Swift has the following pointed remarks about absentees from church. "There is no excuse so trivial that will not pass upon some men's consciences, to excuse their attendance at the public worship of God. Some are so unfortunate as to be always indisposed on the Lord's day, and think nothing so unwholesome as the air of a church. Others have their affairs so oddly contrived as to be always unluckily prevented by business. With some it is a great mark of wit and deep understanding to stay at home on Sabbath. Others again discover strange fits of laziness, which seize them particularly on that day, and confine them to their beds. Others are absent out of mere contempt for religion. And, lastly, there are not a few who look upon it as a day of rest; therefore claim the privilege of their cattle, to keep the Sabbath by eating, drinking, and sleeping, after the toil and labour of the week."

The celebrated Robert Hall once visited London for the purpose of hearing Dr. John W. Mason, of New York, deliver a discourse before the London Missionary Society. The extraordinary effect which the masterly address of Mason had produced, was the theme, for the time, of general observation, and Mr. Hall was among the most enthusiastic of its admirers. Shortly after his return to Leicester, a certain reverend gentleman made him an accidental visit, when Mr. Hall requested him to officiate in his pulpit that evening, assigning, as a reason,

that he had just returned from London, oppressed with a sense of the wonderful eloquence of Dr. Mason, of New York. The visitor affected great desire to be excused preaching before so distinguished a scholar as Mr. Hall. The latter, however, would take no denial, insisting that if he would not preach, his people would have no sermon that evening. Our clerical friend, who is described as 66 a little pompous personage, as round as a sugar-barrel-a man of great verbosity, and paucity of thought," at length overcame his scruples, and ascended the pulpit. At the close of the services, Mr. Hall, with great warmth of feeling, thanked him heartily for his discourse; which, he said, had given him more comfort than any sermon he had ever heard in his life. This assertion inflamed the vanity of the one, and superinduced the sarcasm of the other. The former, with ill-concealed eagerness, urged Mr. Hall to state what there was in the effort that afforded him so much pleasure. He replied, Sir, I have just returned from hearing that great man, Dr. Mason, of New York. Why, sir, he is my very beau ideal of a minister; he reminds me more strongly than any other of our day, of what one might suppose the Apostle Paul to have been. Such profound thought, such majesty of diction, and such brilliancy of illustration, I have never heard equalled; and it left me with such an overpowering conviction of my own insignificancy, that I had resolved never to enter the pulpit again," and rising up, he energetically exclaimed, “But thank God, I have heard you, sir, and I feel myself a man again!"

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A certain noviciate once called upon Mr. Hall, to solicit his advice upon what he considered a very important matter; to wit, his supposed call to the ministry. This gentleman stated that he was impressed with the idea that it was his duty to obey that call, but that as yet he could see "no door open." No matter for that, sir," said Mr. Hall, "if the Lord has called you, he will open a door." But, sir, there is one passage of Scripture which causes me much trouble." "Well, sir, what is it?" was the reply. "It refers to the hiding of a talent in a napkin." "Oh! my good fellow," said Mr. Hall, "don't let that give you any concern, this little handkerchief