First.—It is impossible to exhibit on paper the peculiarly forcible elocution of the author. Some of the most effective discourses ever delivered seem comparatively powerless when perused afterward in private. This observation is verified in the case of the two most remarkable pulpit orators of modern times, George Whitefield and John Summerfield. Their spoken eloquence was like the breathings of the seraphim, but their printed sermons are of no very extraordinary character. Like them, Mr. Evans was much indebted, for his success, to a very popular and powerful delivery. His appearance in the pulpit was fine and commanding; his voice, one of unrivalled compass and melody; his gesticulation, always easy, appropriate, and forcible; and when he warmed under the inspiration of his theme, his large bright eye shot fire through the assembly. But the sermons are now divested of all these auxiliary accompaniments; and without the prophet before us, we may wonder at the effects attributed to his message. The following selections will give the reader at least a tolerable idea of Mr. Evans’ modes of thought and illustration; but if he would have any adequate conception of the splendid phantasmagora in process of exhibition, he must imagine the burning lamp within the scenes. But the greater difficulty is the impossibility of a perfect translation. Genius is proverbially eccentric. Mr. Evans’ style is altogether unique. The structure of his sentences is very original. None of his countrymen approximated his peculiar mode of expression. It would be exceedingly difficult for any man, however well qualified to translate other Welsh authors, to render him into English, with the preservation, everywhere, of his spirit. The writer at first thought of publishing a selection from his sermons as translated by J. Davis; but upon examination, that translation was found so faulty, that it was deemed expedient, if possible, to produce a new. In pursuance of this purpose he obtained the aid of a friend, whose excellent literary taste, and accurate acquaintance with both languages, constitute a sufficient guarantee for the general correctness of the following translation. It lays no claim to perfection, though it is at least free from the most obvious and glaring faults of Mr. Davis’ version. Some of the nicest shades of thought are inevitably lost, and many of the startling metaphors and splendid allegories have doubtless suffered some diminution of their original force and beauty; but the writer trusts that enough of the author’s spirit is retained to furnish a pretty correct idea of his talents, and render the book acceptable to the reader. With these apologetic remarks, we commit the sermons of Christmas Evans to the press; praying that they may be accompanied with something of the same Divine unction, as when, in their original delivery by the author, they “set the land of Cambria on fire.’”