other places, and the company were canvassing the comparative claims of the different churches. A feeble-minded young man present, who “thought more highly of himself than he ought to think,” said: – “It is my opinion, Father Evans, that you had better go to Caernarvon. It is not likely your talents would suit either of the other places, but I think you might do very well at Caernarvon.” Mr. Evans opened his large eye upon the speaker, and replied; – “And hast thou peeped? When didst thou creep from the shell?”
Once, two ministers, of different sects, were disputing in his presence on what he deemed an unimportant matter of ecclesiastical discipline. One of them asked: – “What say you, Mr. Evans?” Mr. Evans replied: – “I saw two boys quarrelling over two snails. One of them insisted that his snail was the better, because it had horns; while the other as strenuously argued for the superiority of his, because it had none. The boys were very angry and vociferous, but the two snails were friends.” The disputants burst into a hearty laugh, and the debate ended.
A shallow atheist was ridiculing the idea of a God, because, as he alleged, he had no sensible evidence of his being. Mr. Evans answered: – “My friend, the mole in the meadow has never seen a king; shall he therefore say there is no king? O thou atheistic mole! thou hast never travelled out of thy own narrow field; and if thou hadst, thou hast no eyes to see with; and wilt thou dare to say there is no God? Dost thou think all others as blind as thyself? All that thou canst say is, that thou dost not see God, and dost not wish to see him. How dost thou know that the being of a God is not so manifest on the other side of the river of death, that no doubt is entertained concerning it throughout all the expanse of eternity? Can the earth-mole say there is no grand Lama in Thibet? Poor worm! thou must travel through the gates of death, and fathom the bottomless pit, and measure the land of destruction, and scale the very heaven of heavens, and surround all the borders of time and eternity, before thou canst assure thyself there is no God!”
PULPIT TALENTS AND LABORS
As a preacher, Mr. Evans was very peculiar. No translation of his sermons can give the English reader an adequate idea of their force and beauty in the original.
He was exceedingly methodical and perspicuous. His arrangement was never loose and vague; his thoughts never confused and mingled together. He was a “wise master-builder,” who took care to lay a broad and firm foundation, and then “built thereon gold, silver, and precious stones.” The several parts of his discourse bore a mutual relation of dependence, and each would have been incomplete without the others. His order was so natural, that it was very easy to follow him; and his manner so impressive, that it was nearly impossible to forget him.
He never spoke on a subject that he did not understand. Before entering the pulpit, he invariably measured his text in all its extent, and considered it in every possible aspect. “He had a wonderful method,” says one, “of making the most abstruse passages appear easy and plain. He interpreted scripture by scripture, and exhibited the component parts of his subject in a clear and beautiful manner, and illustrated them by the most appropriate and striking metaphors; and forging link by link, united them together, and bound the whole up in one glorious chain. His talents were such as to enable him to cast a ray of light upon the darkest points of the Christian system.”
Mr. Evans’ descriptive powers were altogether unique. He abounded in allegories of the most forcible character. In this respect, he was equaled by none of his contemporaries; transcended by none of his predecessors. Passages of this kind will be so frequently met with in the following selection from his sermons, that it is not necessary to point them out to the reader.
His happy art of description is attributable chiefly to a very remarkable imagination. This is one of the primary qualities of an orator. When it is lacking, no depth of learning, no graces of delivery, can compensate for its lack. True, argument is important. There is no eloquence without argument. Argument must constitute the bone and the sinew of every good discourse. But the bone and the sinew constitute only the skeleton. Imagination must supply the muscle and the nerve. Imagination must clothe it with beauty, and inspire it with life; give expression to the features, animation to the eye, and to the tongue motion and melody articulate. Argument is the John Baptist of eloquence, after whom there cometh a mightier, baptizing with fire!
“Logic,” says Carlyle, “is good, but not the best. The irrefragable doctor, with his chain of inductions, his corollaries, dilemmas, and other cunning logical diagrams and apparatus, will cast you a beautiful horoscope, and speak you reasonable things; nevertheless, the stolen jewel which you wanted him to find you is not forthcoming. Often, by some winged word, winged as the thunderbolt is, of a Luther, Napoleon, Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its secret laid bare; while the irrefragable, with all his logical roots, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all sides too hard for him.”
Mr. Evans had feeling as well as fancy. This in a preacher is even more important than the other. Here, we conceive, lies the principal distinction between the orator and the poet. Poetry is the language of fancy; eloquence, the language of feeling. The preacher who operates only on the judgment and the fancy may instruct and please, and thus prepare the way for persuasion. Persuasion itself requires a warm and glowing heart. Eloquence has been defined, “the power of imparting one’s feelings to others.” “If you want me to weep,” said Horace, “you must weep yourself.” The preacher who is himself unmoved, will toil in vain to move his hearers. His sermon may be as beautiful as the moon-beams on the snow; but it will be as powerless and as cold. As saith Longinus: – “The orator must have a vehement and enthusiastic passion, a certain madness, or divine phrensy, breathing into his thoughts, and inspiring his speech.” To use the language of another: – “Truth must be planted in the hot-bed of feeling, if we would witness its flowery development, and enjoy its fruit. The orator must be roused and inflamed by the majesty of his theme; not wrought up into an unmeaning fury, like a tempest in a tea-pot; but influenced and agitated by solemn considerations of truth, duty, interest, and moral grandeur.”
If this description of eloquence was ever realized in the pulpit, it was in the preaching of Christmas Evans. He spoke what he felt, and because he felt. The fountain was in his own soul, and it flowed out upon his audience in streams of living water. He was always full of his subject, and his ordinary manner was exceedingly ardent and pathetic. Sometimes he seemed quite overwhelmed with the magnitude and grandeur of his theme, and then he spoke with such impassioned earnestness as to storm the hearts of his hearers. Thus inspired, it was scarcely possible that any man of ordinary sensibilities should be otherwise than eloquent. But Mr. Evans’ talents were of a superior order; and when kindling with the enthusiasm of his message, he became peculiarly energetic and impressive. “His words came out,” as Longinus says, “as if discharged from an engine,” and their influence rested like a spell upon the ear and the heart. He transported his hearers beyond the region of argument, and leaving all their cavils and prejudices immeasurably behind, rapt them away to the third heaven of ecstasy!
The secret of all this power is found in the preacher’s piety. He was a man of eminent faith and holiness. The “things new and old” for the edification of his hearers, he “brought forth out of the treasure of his own heart.” The love of God within him imparted to his preaching a wonderful unction. His splendid mental creations were instinct with the inspiration of sanctified feeling. This divine anointing often rendered him superior to himself, clothed him with a superhuman energy, till he seemed a messenger from the other world. The man was lost in his theme. Art was swallowed up in the whirlpool of excited feeling. The audience were swept irresistibly along by the current of the discourse; acknowledging, by tears and groans, the preacher’s hold upon their hearts; and sometimes losing all self-control, and bursting into the most extravagant expressions of wonder and delight. On this subject take the language of one, who, from personal acquaintance with Mr. Evans, was qualified to form a correct estimate of his character as a Christian minister: —
“He was also an experimental preacher. That a preacher feel his subject, constitutes one of his excellencies;
