In 1857 Dr. Caird accepted a call to Park Church, Glasgow. During the following year he published a volume of sermons marked by great chasteness and beauty of language, strength and delicacy of thought, and, above all, by spirituality of tone, and breadth of earnest sympathy with men. By this time his fame as a preacher had reached its zenith. The demands made upon his powers of endurance were such as no one could possibly last for any length of time. His sermons were not the mere inspirations of the hour. They were rather like the _chef d'oeuvre_ of a great painter or sculptor--well thought out, carefully and conscientiously reasoned, and polished until their lustre was perfectly dazzling. We have before us an extract from _Fraser's Magazine_, published about this time, which justly estimates Dr. Caird's oratorical gifts and graces. The writer states that Dr. Caird "begins quietly, but in a manner which is full of earnestness and feeling; every word is touched with just the right kind and degree of emphasis; many single words, and many little sentences which, when you read them do not seem very remarkable, are given in tones which make them absolutely thrill through you; you feel that the preacher has in him the elements of a tragic actor who would rival Kean. The attention of the congregation is riveted; the silence is breathless; and as the speaker goes on gathering warmth till he becomes impassioned and impetuous, the tension of the nerves of the hearer becomes almost painful. There is abundant ornament in style--if you were cooler you might probably think some of it carried to the verge of good taste; there is a great amount and variety of the most expressive, apt, and seemingly unstudied gesticulation; it is rather as though you were listening to the impulsive Italian speaking from head to foot, than to the cool and unexcitable Scot. After two or three such climaxes, with pauses between, after the manner of Dr. Chalmers, the preacher gathers himself up for his peroration which, with the tact of the orator, he has made more striking, more touching, more impressive than any preceding portion of his discourse. He is wound up often to an excitement which is painful to see. The full deep voice, so beautifully expressive, already taxed to its utmost extent, breaks into something which is almost a shriek; the gesticulation becomes wild; the preacher, who has hitherto held himself to some degree in check, seems to abandon himself to the full tide of his emotion; you feel that not even his eloquent lips can do justice to the rush of thought and feeling within. Two or three minutes in this impassioned strain and the sermon is done."