hat demand for shorter sermons in which some see so ominous a portent.
We demur to the assumption that this demand invariably grows out of
dislike for the subjects upon which the preacher dilates. It is
objected that no one grumbles greatly concerning the length of a
Shakespearian representation, nor when a prominent and eloquent
politician occupies the platform for an hour and a half. A little
while ago, in a crowded hall in London, we heard a well-known statesman
speak for two hours and a quarter on a busy Saturday afternoon, and, at
the conclusion, hundreds were heard to express surprise on learning
that the address had been half so lengthy. "If we preached as long as
this what would happen?" asked a friend as we left the hall. "_What,"
indeed_? But suppose that we preached as _interestingly_ as the
politician spoke? Suppose we had learned something from the great
dramatist of the art of assailing and winning the attention of the men
and women to whom we speak? It must not be forgotten, when we find
fault with the demand for short sermons, that there are some preachers
from whom their hearers demand not short sermons but long! Perhaps
this demand for brevity may not result so much from the depravity of
the pew as from the dulness of the pulpit, by which we mean the sermon
and not its subject. At this very moment, there is no subject--we dare
to say--on which the average man can be so deeply moved as on the
subject of his spiritual needs and questions. It can still be said
that more people attend the churches and chapels of London than are to
be found in all other places of popular resort. The things of the
spirit are still the things most thought of, and should those whose
business it is to speak of them fail to win, at least the ear, if not
the heart, of those they seek to influence, they ought to ask
themselves very faithfully whether it may not be possible that some of
the fault may lie in the form, or wording, or delivery of the message.
They should inquire whether sermon and delivery are such as to make it
easier to listen than to sleep. They should ask, "_Can it be that even
I am guilty of being dull_?"

For the truth must be confessed that some preachers--brethren with
golden truth to publish, and possessed of good natural gifts and a real
and deep desire to bless the people--_are_ dull--drearily, dreadfully,
deadly dull! They are dull with the most interesting, the most
wonderful--may we not say