sion of them much harm. What a difference there is in the way in which people shake hands, and what a different effect they produce on us! Some do it in a way which says plainly enough, 'What a bore it is to have to go through this silly ceremony!" And others do it as if they enjoyed it, as if they meant it, as if they were really glad to see us. In the one case we feel chilled and uncomfortable. In the other we go away feeling on good terms with ourselves and everybody else; life suddenly appears to us richer and brighter than it did a moment before.

Let me entreat you then, in conclusion, to ponder seriously over the value the infinite value of little kindnesses. Life is made up of little events. Happiness is made up of little pleasures. We are all able to confer innumerable little kindnesses on our family, on our servants, on our acquaintances. Each of us may do thousands, millions, billions of them. You have only to add them together, in order to see that they form by far the most important part of human conduct.

"O the little more, and how much it is!

O the little less, and what worlds away!"

208

Laughter.

"When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion mouth was filled with laughter."-Ps. cxxvi. 1, 2.

L

our

AUGHTER represented as the gift of God to His chosen people! Yet the English puritan shrinks from it as if it were unholy and profane. I recently received the following letter:

"COMMON ROOM,

LINCOLN'S INN, January 22.

"DEAR SIR,-Last Sunday morning I went to the Foundling and heard you preach. In the midst of your sermon there was a positive outbreak of laughter, stifled, I admit, but nevertheless distinctly audible all over the Church. This unseemly exhibition you permitted to pass unnoticed. I make no comment, but leave you

to consider in what way this reflects upon the clergy of our Church.-I am, Sir, yours faithfully, HENRY ST JOHN DAWSON."

Mr Dawson is a type of many religious or professedly religious persons. He shudders if a laugh occurs during the sermon, as a Jew might have shuddered had he seen the devil sitting in the holy of holies. I do not suppose Mr Dawson would object to the congregation crying. Tears he would consider pious; laughter, at any rate in connection with serious subjects, he considers impious. I have written to tell him that I shall read his letter to you this morning, as it will serve to illustrate a doctrine which I consider false and pernicious.

I do not propose to-day to discuss the subject of preaching.1 I am not going to inquire how far the sense of humour should be appealed to from the pulpit. But let me make one remark in passing. If the sermon is worthy of the name -I need hardly say most sermons are not—but if it is, it is a work of art. There is an art of

1 On that see my 'Preaching and Hearing.'

words, no less than an art of colours.

if he can.

Now humour and pathos are in speech what lights and shades are in painting, and the highest artist is he who succeeds in combining them most skilfully. The preacher who is in earnest, who is determined to secure the attention and the interest of his hearers, who is eager to convince and to persuade them, will appeal to all their faculties, the sense of humour among the number, If he can! For some people do not possess this most valuable gift. And I was shocked to read the other day in the 'Irish Ecclesiastical Gazette' that I was to be reckoned amongst that most unhappy number. In a kindly and complimentary review of my last book, the critic said that my sermons reminded him of those of a celebrated church dignitary, minus the sense of humour. "For Professor Momerie has no humour. He is awfully in earnest. His style is dry, we would almost say acrid." If that reviewer is right, I am sorry-sorry for myself, and still sorrier for you. Humour is the most persuasive of all the expedients which an orator can command. And if preaching is anything

but a farce, if it means anything, if it is ever to accomplish anything, the preacher's sense of humour must be considered as pre-eminently a gift of God. Pre-eminently.

However, I do not want to speak to-day particularly of sermons. I rather want to draw your attention to the general doctrine which is so common amongst us, that merriment is incompatible with seriousness, that dulness and melancholy are the peculiar signs of religion.

I admit of course, it is scarcely necessary to say, that there are occasions in life when laughter would be out of place, and therefore unseemly. But the same is true of tears. Tears may sometimes be an insult. Tears are occasionally the signs of madness. I admit of course, it is

scarcely necessary to say, that laughter may sometimes be silly, that merriment may sometimes be profane. There is a laughter, there is a merriment, unworthy of the name, just as there is poisonous food and adulterated wine. The true merriment may be distinguished from the false by the fact that it bears reflection; we can think of it with pleasure next day and next