of Abraham, his influence was felt. From the general of the army to the private in the ranks everyone caught the inspiration of his intrepid spirit.

The French girded themselves for what they felt to be the death-wrestle. "We will bury ourselves, if need be," wrote Montcalm, "beneath the ruins of the colony."

George Washington retrieved Braddock's disaster by planting the red-cross flag on the ramparts of Fort Pitt, now Pittsburg. The name of England's great Commoner is thus forever inscribed on the gateway of the Ohio valley. The prodigality and poverty of the French court prevented sending reinforcements for the defense of Canada. "When the house is on fire." said the minister, "one does not mind the stables." On the part of Great Britain tremendous efforts were made for the supreme struggle with French power in America. Pitt infused his own spirit into every branch of the service. The world was ringing with British victories. In India a merchant's clerk, with a handful of men, had conquered an empire where the foot of an Alexander had faltered. Senegal, Goree, Guadaloupe-her fairest tropical possessions-were wrested from France. On the bloody plain of Minden her choicest troops were crushed before the British lines. At Quiberon Bay her fleet, destined for the invasion of England, was shattered by the gallant Hawke. Alike on the banks of the Ganges and on the banks of the Ohio, on the forts of the Gold Coast, on the Morro of Havana, and on the ramparts of Louisburg, the red-cross banner waved triumphant, and it was destined soon to crown the heights of Quebec. In the Indian Ocean, on the Spanish main, on the Atlantic and on the Pacific, British fleets everywhere swept the seas. "We must ask every morning," wrote Horace Walpole, "what new victory there is."

Pitt chose his instruments well. With the instinct of genius he discerned the surpassing merits of the young hero of Louisburg and intrusted to him the conquest of Canada.

Then followed the tightening death-grip on the fortress heights of Quebec, and its heroic defense by its decimated garrison. The beleaguered city was reduced to the severest straits. "We are without hope and without food," said an intercepted letter; "God hath forsaken us!"

On the Plains of Abraham the battle was fought which irre

trievably broke the power of France in the New World. The tidings of victory filled Old and New England with pride and exultation. The colonies, which had borne the brunt of the French and Indian wars for one hundred and fifty years, contributed their full share of valor and blood to the closing acts of this stern drama.

The conquest of Canada by the British was the most fortunate event in its history. It supplanted the institutions of the Middle Ages by those of modern civilization; it gave local self-government in place of abject submission to a foreign power and a corrupt court; it gave the protection of the habeas corpus and trial by jury instead of the oppressive tribunals of feudalism; for ignorance and repression it gave cheap schools and a free press; it removed the arbitrary shackles from trade and abolished its unjust monopolies; it enfranchised the serfs of the soil and restricted the excessive power of the seigneurs; it gave an immeasurably ampler liberty to the people and a loftier impulse to progress than was before known; it banished the greedy cormorants who grew rich by the official plunder of the poor. The waste and ruin of a prolonged and cruel war were succeeded by the reign of peace and prosperity, and the pinchings of famine by the rejoicings of abundance.

The one hundred and fifty-seven years of French occupancy had been one long struggle against fearful odds-first with the ferocious savages, then with the combined power of the British colonies and the mother country. The genius of French Canada was a strange blending of the military and religious spirit. Even commerce wore the sword, and a missionary enthusiasm quickened the zeal of the early explorers. The reign of peaceful industry was now to succeed that of martial prowess, and was to win victories no less renowned than those of

war.

W.H. Withrow

60-FIFTH SERIES, VOL. VIII.

ART. VI. -- THE RELATION OF THE VOICE TO MINIS TERIAL SUCCESS.

THE times demand an attractive pulpit. The preacher must draw an audience or speak to empty benches. The task is becoming increasingly difficult. Some who could have succeeded in the ministry thirty years ago are necessarily failures under present conditions. To succeed now in the proclamation of the Gospel requires the skillful use of every faculty. In the study of this subject many points demand attention. In this paper we examine but one-the relation of the preacher's voice to his success.

Emerson is reported to have said to a student, "Expression is the main fight." He referred to the literary dress of thought, and spoke words of deeper meaning than he knew. To give the truth attractive and forceful vocal expression is as necessary as it is difficult. The nearer the speaker approaches to the mastery of the arts of speech the more good will he accomplish, where other things are equal. Imperfection at this point discounts every remaining excellence. He is sent of God to mold the character and determine the destiny of men largely by the vocal expression of thought. His seminary and collegiate training, and even the inducment of power, are preparatory to this work. True, he that has the Spirit has power; but power of all kinds is useless till exercised, and even divine power in the preacher is dependent for its full effects on vocal expression. The marked success of great men in spite of great faults is no argument for the faults. The exception is not the rule, though it prove the rule. Even the oratorical genius is rendered less effective by his vocal defects. Every preacher's voice ought to be magnetic, thrilling, and inspiring. It should ring true to thought and rise and fall in harmony with emotion. By nature it is not equal to this demand, and must be made so by art. Beecher, with all his genius, would never have made his name so famous as it became but for his vocal training. Mr. Spurgeon said to an American tourist whom he met at a watering-place on the lower Clyde: "I will tell you frankly that the cultivation of my voice has been the study of my life." He added: "Many clergymen who have more abil

ity and culture than I speak to small congregations all their life for want of proper cultivation of the voice."

The plea for a "natural elocution," falsely so called, is founded upon error. In the sense of the plea there is no natural voice. The term "voice," as popularly used, has a twofold meaning, each quite distinct from the other. It means the vocal tone and also the method of using the vocal machinery. The tone or timbre of the voice is determined by the conformation of the organ. This distinguishes one voice from another, and in a measure persists under all training. It is, however, susceptible of modification for the better or for the worse. As to the method of using the vocal organs, that is a different thing and is never "natural." In this sense every man's voice is the product of unconscious culture. Every child is a graduate from an elementary school of elocution whose teachers were as influential as incompetent. Bridget or Chloe taught the swift young learners her own vocal methods. The parents impressed their defects on the young imitators. Afterward, and while the child was yet plastic, his teachers and playmates modified his tones. This child, thus molded, passes on his acquired voice to the man, who calls it "natural," and refuses to study vocal culture lest it should be spoiled thereby.

This stereotyped, juvenile culture fails to give to the vocal organs the range of power absolutely necessary to the dramatic expression so requisite in attempts to move men by the presentation of the thoughts of God and the tenderness of Jesus. Every man called of God to speak for him to sinful men, and educated for the work, has an intellectual and literary outfit which, could he skillfully use it, would draw crowds to hear him. He has the "thoughts that breathe" and the "words that burn." But suppose, in addition, his eyes to flash, his face to glow, and his magical voice to rise and swell with the heaven-tide in his soul, like the music of a great organ touched by a master, and all this without a conscious thought about his voice, and as well adapted and automatic as the sweet inflections of the mother-voice soothing the weary child to sleep. That would be to be natural in the true sense. But such naturalness can result only from long-continued training. The orator's nobler self is chained, suppressed, paralyzed by false training, bad habits, and hurtful conventionalities. God gave him a

harp of a thousand strings, the major part of which he has never learned to use, and the remainder of which, by imitating others, he has well-nigh spoiled. To move multitudes with the passionmusic of Bach one needs to have a grand organ, full orchestra, and enthusiastic chorus, all handled by a skillful leader. To sway men with the wonderful message of divine love for sinners one needs skillful use of that most wonderful of instruments, the human vocal organ. Is it morally innocent for a preacher to tell the story of the gentleness of Christ as if in a rage, and with an utterance half screech and half growl?

There are fervid young souls who could tell pulpit experiences that would convince men as to the need of voice-building and training; they could tell how, as they stood face to face with the hungry audience, while the Holy Spirit breathed upon them, and great thoughts swelled within, burning like volcanic fires, they were helpless before the mighty storm. They could tell of such moments when the divine afflatus came upon them, and they seemed to have been changed for the moment into a human cyclone held in with chains. They could tell how futile the effort to meet such a supreme exigency by more violently straining the already weary voice. With what pathos could they speak of their heart-breaking sense of failure and of hours of resultant anguish! How often the glowing climax of the kindled soul has been smothered with a gasp!

For such moments-and they ought to come often, if not every time the man of God stands before a congregation whom God has sent hungering and thirsting to him-the preacher needs the mastery of a mighty voice. Some have fancied that if the Spirit is with them it is sufficient; but the fact is, the more the Spirit comes upon a man in preaching the greater the necessity for a voice of great compass. The possibilities being so much greater, the demand for mighty vocal resources is so much the more imperative. Those grand men who have the sublimest thoughts and emotions to utter need all that art can do to aid in their adequate expression. If anyone is to be careless of voice and manner in the pulpit, let it be the preacher who has nothing of moment to say.

The best voice, like the best mind, is the product of culture. It is both physiological and psychological. Three things are absolutely necessary to its production: