Here, then, is an essential part of the preacher's training--the training of his own heart to tenderness. If he fail in giving attention to this, all other education will be worse than fruitless. The age needs the pitiful Church. The age and the Church need the pitiful ministry. This is not to say that men look to the pulpit for nothing but softly spoken indulgences. Conscience has taught them that the message should hurt where hurt is salutary. They will not recognise as kindness the withholding, or the dilution of any truth. On the other hand they give to the motive of the preacher who does these things a less flattering name. They will say--have we not heard the criticism?--that the preacher is afraid to be faithful, afraid to offend for reasons that are selfish and cowardly. The offence of unwelcome truth is covered when that truth is watered by a preacher's tears. So let us preach--declaring "the _whole counsel_" concerning sin for pity's sake, preaching the whole truth concerning salvation too. Something is in our mind to ask concerning our presentation of this last-named portion of our message:--Are we always quite faithful as to what we call the conditions of salvation? In the presentation of these conditions great skill and great care are required. It is so easy to under--or over--emphasise, so easy, out of jealousy for God, to make the way too hard or, out of a desire to win men, to make it too easy. Perhaps in the latter possibility lies, in our time, the greater danger. Do we always ask for _penitence_ as unmistakably as we ought? There should be repentance "_toward_ God" as well as "faith in our Lord Jesus Christ." We may at least suggest the question:--Whether we do not sometimes call for the latter, saying too little of the former. Again, in calling for faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, is it not easy to appear to demand a mere belief in historic facts when what is required is the trustful surrender of the soul to the Redeemer? We have seen fifty people hold up their hands, at the request of a preacher, to signify their turning to God, and we have noted that no outward sign of deep emotion accompanied the act. We have watched a multitude pass through an inquiry room where, though inquirers were many, tears were few. That "there are diversities of operations" we know. "Old times are changed, old manners gone." All this we admit, and, perhaps, we should not demand to see again such things as Time has cast behind him. But, oh! those were great days when the returning rebel smote upon his breast and would not so much as lift up his eyes unto heaven, as with sobs and groans, he cried, "God be merciful to me, a sinner." Those were glorious scenes when, in one and the same hour, he broke for ever with old habits, old companionships, old loves and, with eyes still streaming went forth exclaiming, "'Tis done, the great transaction's done!" CHAPTER III. The Note of Idealism.