Dean Swift, having been solicited to preach a charity sermon, mounted the pulpit, and after announcing his text, “He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord,” simply said, “Now, my brethren, if you are satisfied with the security, down with the dust.” He then took his seat, and there was an unusually large collection. * * * * * The following abridgment contains the pith and marrow, sum and substance, of a sermon which occupied an hour in delivery:— “Man is born to trouble.” This subject, my hearers, is naturally divisible into four heads:— 1. Man’s entrance into the world; 2. His progress through the world; 3. His exit from the world; and 4. Practical reflections from what may be said. First, then:— 1. Man’s ingress in life is naked and bare, 2. His progress through life is trouble and care, 3. His egress from it, none can tell where, 4. But doing well here, he will be well there. Now, on this subject, my brethren dear, I could not tell more by preaching a year. A SERMON ON MALT. The Rev. Dr. Dodd lived within a few miles of Cambridge, (England,) and had offended several students by preaching a sermon on temperance. One day some of them met him. They said one to another,— “Here’s Father Dodd: he shall preach us a sermon.” Accosting him with,— “Your servants.” “Sirs! yours, gentlemen!” replied the Doctor. They said, “We have a favor to ask of you, which _must_ be granted.” The divine asked what it was. “To preach a sermon,” was the reply. “Well,” said he, “appoint the time and place, and I will.” “The time, the present; the place, that hollow tree,” (pointing to it,) said the students. “’Tis an imposition!” said the Doctor: “there ought to be consideration before preaching.” “If you refuse,” responded they, “we will put you into the tree!” Whereupon the Doctor acquiesced, and asked them for a text. “Malt!” said they. The reverend gentleman commenced:— “Let me crave your attention, my beloved! “I am a little man, come at a short warning, to preach a short sermon, upon a short subject, to a thin congregation, in an unworthy pulpit. Beloved! my text is ‘§Malt§.’ I cannot divide it into syllables, it being but a monosyllable: therefore I must divide it into letters, which I find in my text to be four:—§M-a-l-t.§ M, my beloved, is _moral_—A, is _allegorical_—L, is _literal_—T, is _theological_. “1st. The moral teaches such as you drunkards good manners; therefore M, my masters—A, all of you—L, leave off—T, tippling. “2d. The allegorical is, when one thing is spoken and another meant; the thing here spoken is Malt, the thing meant the oil of malt, which _you_ rustics make M, your masters—A, your apparel—L, your liberty—T, your trusts.