Channing, Dr. Putnam, as he walked in the street, seemed rather an ordinary man. But when either of them rose in the pulpit, his presence filled the church. There was something greater than the man speaking in him and through him, giving to the words he spoke a weight of meaning, a sublimity and authority, not their own. Sermons thus spoken are apt to disappoint us when we read them. It will sometimes happen that the extraordinary power of the most effective and impressive discourse is gradually accumulating till it culminates in some single passage in which it bursts upon us with overwhelming force. Almost always, in such cases, when we come to read the sermon and seek out the passage which so moved and excited us, we fail to find what we had expected. There is nothing in the language to account for the effect. It is so in all the highest works of genius. In "King Lear" or "Othello" or the "Divine Comedy" of Dante, as we read them, carried along by the natural progress and development of thought, we across single passages which seem to blaze out with all the fires which have been accumulating, or melt us down with the pathos which has been gathering for utterance, through all that has gone before. After our excitement is over, we turn again to the passage, or read it to a friend, and wonder what has become of the life that was once in it. But we have severed it from its living connections and associations. We have separated the wire from its battery. Except as connected with the whole, no part can have its legitimate power. Even the poem which is written for the eye suffers when read in this way. How much more the sermon which is written only to be spoken!

Some orators have maintained that the speech which most entirely accomplishes its purpose in the utterance is necessarily good for nothing afterward. The most eloquent sermons and speeches make dull reading. Charles James Fox and William Pitt very far surpassed Edmund Burke as parliamentary debaters, but among the thousand who read his speeches with admiration, who cares to study their works? The most effective speeches often seem to have spent all

their force in the utterance, like the water in a turbine wheel, which, having imparted all its strength to the machinery of a vast factory, falls helpless and exhausted below. Who reads a speech of Henry Clay's or a sermon of Whitefield's or even of Chalmers'? A few men only among the great orators have that in their style and thought which lives on in power and beauty after the occasion has passed by. Daniel Webster is the only one among our great public speakers whose works bear this test, and already nearly nine-tenths of his speeches, which were caught up and read with such enthusiasm at the time, have lost almost entirely their power to interest us. Channing and Robertson are the only eloquent preachers of the present century whose printed sermons have had an influence at all commensurate with their pulpit effectiveness.

We do not wonder, therefore, that Dr. Putnam, with the discretion and the modest estimate of himself which marked his conduct, should have been unwilling to publish any of his sermons. But we think, as we have already said, that he underestimated his powers as a writer, and that his reputation, instead of being compromised, would have been ex. tended and increased by the seasonable publication of some of his best sermons, and by such contributions as he might have made to the public through our religious periodicals. The few discourses that he did publish always made their mark; and if they were sometimes criticised, the very criticisms made upon them were a testimony to their ability and to the impression which they were making.

We have often vainly endeavored to get for our Review a sermon or some sort of an article from Dr. Putnam, believing that his clear, direct, decisive style of writing was quite as well adapted to the press as to the pulpit; and the volume now published confirms us in this belief. The printed words do indeed lack the preacher's voice and presence. There was a world of sweetness and power in the man. Absentminded, distant, cold, almost repellent, he might seem at times. But we do not remember ever to have visited him without feeling what a charm, as well as force, there was in

now.

him. He was the most unpretending and truthful of men. But there was the sunniness of a June day in his smile, and he sometimes seemed to fold one in an atmosphere of genial warmth and confidence as he spoke in short, idiomatic sentences on the subjects uppermost in his mind. Of late, after the great change which cut him off from all hope of renewing his work in the pulpit, there was in his voice a pathos all the more touching because not expressed in words. He felt that his work was done. But he was none the less cheerful and hopeful on that account. His "chambers were open" in many directions. "Preaching," he said, "is the only thing that I know how to do." And now, with his physical incapacity for that, his occupation was gone. But we saw in him no mark of despondency or distrust. Life had been full of blessings to him. He did not forget them His home had always been the centre towards which his strongest affections turned, and where his dearest enjoyments were sought and found. He had been singularly happy in the closest of human relations, giving and receiving happiness. And now, with no showy professions, but in perfect simplicity as a child, he thankfully accepted these gifts of God, and without anxiety or fear, in cheerful confidence, calmly awaited each day what the day might bring. The living, trusting, loving presence of the man, the strong. conviction which hardened his features, and gave such an emphasis to his words, the pathos which, struggling for utterance within him, often suffused itself through his voice and countenance, and moved "the great congregation" to tears, are no longer here. But the clear, strong thought, clearly and strongly expressed in terse Anglo-Saxon words, remains. Wise counsels, high aims, clear expositions of duty, solemn lessons and exhortations, a faith which extracts something divine from the common experiences of life, and transforms earthly hardships and sorrows into heavenly teachers, meet us as we read the printed page, and lift us up into a higher realm. We have had five remarkable volumes of sermons published within three years. James Walker, Orville Dewey, James. Martineau, Edmund H. Sears, and Starr King are names

worthily represented by the sermons which have come from them. If we do not add the names of others, it is because they have given us essays and lectures rather than sermons. The volume now before us of Dr. Putnam's sermons will take its place with these, having a character, a purpose, and a mission of its own, and having, among its intelligent readers, some at least who will prefer it to all the rest. Comparisons, however, are unprofitable, and will never satisfy all parties. This book is strong enough to stand on its own merits. Perhaps the most characteristic sermon in the collection is that on "Christian Manliness," which "is of two parts," "the first consisting of moving forces, power in action; the second, of stability and equilibrium of mental position when the time of action is past,— a true standing-still, poised by the laws of spiritual gravitation, strength in its reposing posture."

Many of our readers will be most interested in the four connected sermons, preached on four consecutive Sundays, giving his views of religion. The first is called "True Religion," and takes the ground that "religion and practical goodness are one and the same thing." There is nothing. remarkable in this sermon. It hardly rises above the common level of Unitarian preaching. There is in it no touch. of the author's genius; and standing by itself it would by most Christians be regarded as imperfect and unsatisfactory. It is followed by a sermon on Unitarianism," in which the preacher gives decisive evidence of his power. As showing the denominational position taken by one of our ablest men, it must be of great interest to our readers. and because it reveals Dr. Putnam's mind this respect, we shall quote largely from it.

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For this reason, and character in He says:

My oldest parishioners, those who have listened to me through all these thirty years, will bear me witness that I have done and said almost nothing to identify them or myself with any denomination; that I have hardly ever spoken so much as the word "Unitarian," or expressed, or sought to enlist, anything like sectarian sympathies. If my people had no other means of information, they would hardly have learned from anything I have ever said here, or done anywhere, that there was any particu lar body of Christians, or class of congregations, that we were in any way connected with. Many a friendly rebuke has reached me, objecting to

this stand-aloof policy, as unsocial, as an excess of independence, and a throwing away of influence. I can hardly say that I regret the course that I have pursued,—indeed, it has hardly been in my nature to pursue any other. I do not remember the time when I have not felt an extreme repugnance to being yoked in with anything like a sect. I have loved to regard what is called Unitarianism, not so much as a body of opinions, as the principle of liberty of opinion; not so much a distinct organization of men and of churches, as an assertion of the independence of churches and of individual intellectual freedom, in a word, that perfect liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free - no yoke of bondage, no entangling alliances,-calling none to account, and giving account to none. But not caring now to vindicate myself on this point, I can, at least, claim that I have not wearied my people with sectarian drill, nor fed them on the husks and bitter roots of sectarian strife; and it is not likely that now, so late in life, I shall ever change much in this respect, or ever become an efficient promoter of a distinctive Unitarian doctrine or organization. There is just now, however, something in the circumstances of the time that inclines me to use that word, Unitarianism, more freely, with a view to considering it as a historical fact,— what it has done, and what it has yet to do, and what are its claims to the gratitude and respect of the Christian world. I am the more moved to this, because it seems to be thought by some, outside and inside, that Unitarianism is not just at this moment in its state of highest prosperity, but is rather undergoing a season of adversity.

I suppose all this is a mere state of the tide for the hour, the accident of a day, a transient turn that belongs to the variable fortunes of all earthly things. But if it be a season of apparent adversity with Unitarianism, I, for one, and as one of those who have never blown its trumpet, nor glorified it, nor championed its cause in the days of its prosperity, will, at least, now, when many think that the edge of the cloud is over it, hasten to pay it'a just tribute of honor and grateful love; to do justice to the purity of its purposes, the magnitude of its achievements, and to consider what the world has even yet to hope from the extension of its principles; and to assume my share of whatever odium may be attached to its name and fortunes. If those who have sunned themselves in its light, and have worn its honors in its palmier days, betray and forsake it in the moment when its visible prosperity is diminished, it is time for outside friends of liberty and truth and right to step forward and do justice to what is great and noble in its principles, and indestructible in its influence.

Let the form of inquiry in the present discourse be this: What is there in Unitarianism that claims for it the honor, and love, and steadfast allegiance, and unwavering confidence of its friends? There are several answers to this question, and we will go over as many as we have room for.