round, smooth kind of preaching which
always rolls off; he liked the word to strike, mark, and abide where it
fell. He had no sympathy with high-flown sermons which shut out the
Cross of Jesus and those good old Gospel truths associated with that
dear emblem of God's love to the world. If such a discourse were
delivered in his hearing he was sure to say something about it.
"Praacher brought us a lot of butterflies and fancy birds and let 'em
fly abaat th' chapel, and while we wore starin' abaat after th' birds,
we niver gat a soight o' th' Cross."

A young student from Ranmoor College came to preach at Berry Brow. Abe
was in the vestry waiting to see him before he went into the pulpit.
He shook him warmly by the hand and blessed him, then added in his own
droll but kind way, "Naa, my lad, don't let's hav' ony starry heavens
t' day, tak' us t' th' Cross!" Had Abe known this young man he would
also have known there was no need to exhort him to "tak' them t' th'
Cross." The fact was, Abe didn't want to follow any astronomical
preacher all through the heavens, striding from star to star with
scales in his hand trying their weight, sizes, and distances! "The
Cross" was his watchword and rallying-point; there he loved to begin,
and there he would always end. Christ the Redeemer was his star, and
in the clear unclouded view of that Divine orb he was happy whoever was
the preacher.

"PUCKER IT IN, LADS."

In his pulpit exercises Abe generally enjoyed great self-command, and
things which would have disabled many a man in the same position, had
little or no effect on him. This was not always the case, as we shall
have occasion to show, but usually nothing disturbed the even balance
of his mind. We have already seen how if a text "wouldn't goa," he
could "swap" for another that would "goa." So if he failed to get hold
of a thought which had been in his mind before, he did not trouble
himself about the matter; he would just tell the people "he had
forgotten th' next idea," and then pass on to something else.

His self-possession stood him in good stead one day, and helped to
carry others through a trouble as well. He was in one of the country
pulpits, and had just announced the second hymn, which was a long
metre. The choir commenced to sing a common metre tune to the hymn,
but before they had got through the second line they found out the
mistake, and one after another dropped their voices and ceased to sing.
On