A TALK BY THE FIRE


The Reverend Stephen Lorimer was writing his sermon for the last Sunday
in Advent. His theme was eternal punishment and one which he considered
worthy of his utmost eloquence. There was nothing mythical or allegorical
in that subject in the opinion of the Reverend Stephen. He believed in it
most firmly, and the belief afforded him the keenest satisfaction. It was
a nerve-shaking sermon. Had it been of a secular nature, it might almost
have been described as inhuman, so obviously was it designed to render
his hearers afraid to go home in the dark. But since it was not secular,
it took the form of a fine piece of inspiration which, from Mr. Lorimer's
point of view at least, could scarcely fail to make the most stubborn
heart in his congregation tremble. He pictured himself delivering his
splendid rhetoric with a grand and noble severity as impressive as the
words he had to utter, reading appreciation--possibly unwilling
appreciation--and dawning uneasiness on the upturned faces of his
listeners.

Mr. Lorimer did not love his flock; his religion did not take that
form. And the flock very naturally as a whole had scant affection for
Mr. Lorimer. The flock knew, or shrewdly suspected, that his eloquence
was mere sound--not always even musical--and as a consequence its
power was somewhat thrown away. His command of words was practically
limitless, but words could not carry him to the hearts of his
congregation, and he had no other means at his disposal. For this of
course he blamed the congregation, which certainly had no right to wink
and snigger when he passed.