THE PLAN—THOUGHT-GATHERING—ARRANGING—COMMITTING.
The logical order of sermon preparation is, first, to gather the
materials of which it is composed; second, to select what is most
fitting, and arrange the whole into perfect order; third, to fix this in
the mind, thus making it available at the moment of use. These processes
are not necessarily separated in practice, but may be best considered in
the order indicated.
When we choose a subject for a sermon, and allow the mind to dwell upon
it, it becomes a centre of attraction, and naturally draws all kindred
ideas toward it. Old memories that have become dim in the lapse of time,
are slowly hunted out and grouped around the parent thought, and each
hour of study adds to the richness and variety of our stores. The
relations between different and apparently widely-separated things
become visible, just as new stars are seen when we gaze intently toward
them. Everything that the mind possesses is subjected to a rigid
scrutiny, and all that appears to bear any relation to the subject is
brought into view. A considerable period of time is usually required for
the completion of all this, and the longer it is continued the better,
provided the interest felt is not abated.
Such continuous reaches of thought form a principal element in the
superiority of one mind over another. Even the mightiest genius cannot,
at a single impulse, exhaust the ocean of truth that opens around every
object of man’s contemplation. And it is only by viewing a subject in
every aspect, that we can guard against superficial and one-sided
impressions. But the continued exertion and toil which this implies are
nearly always distasteful, and the majority of men can accomplish it
only by a stern resolve. This ability, whether acquired or natural, is
one of prime necessity, and the young minister, at the very first,
should learn to thoroughly investigate and finish every subject he
undertakes, and continue the habit during life. This will generally
determine the question of his success or failure, at least from an
intellectual point of view. Thought is a mighty architect, and if you
keep him fully employed, he will build up, with slow and measured
strokes, a gorgeous and enduring edifice on any subject within your
mental range. You may weary of his labor, and think the wall rises very
slowly, and will never be completed, but wait. The work will be finished
at last, and will be no ephemeral structure to be swept away by the
first storm, but will stand unshaken on the basis of eternal truth.
M. Bautain compares the accumulation of thought around a subject, to the
almost imperceptible development of organic life. Striking as is the
illustration, there is one marked point of dissimilarity. The growth of
thought is voluntary, and may be arrested at any stage. Even a cessation
of conscious effort is fatal. To prevent this, and keep the mind
employed until all its work is done, requires, with most persons, a
regular and formal system. Profound thinkers, who take up a subject, and
cannot leave it until it is traced into all its relations, and mastered
in every part, and who have at the same time the power of long
remembering the trains of thought that pass through their minds, may not
need an artificial method. But these are exceptions to the general rule.
We will give a method we have found useful for securing sermon
materials, and allow others to adopt it so far as it may prove
advantageous to them.
Ideas are not always kept equally in view. Sometimes we may see one with
great clearness, and after a little time lose it again, while another,
at first invisible, comes into sight. Each one should be secured when it
occurs. After the subject has been pondered for a sufficient length of
time, write all the thoughts that are suggested on it, taking no care
for the arrangement, but only putting down a word or brief sentence that
will recall the idea intended. After everything that presents itself has
thus been rendered permanent, the paper containing these items may be
put away, and the subject recommitted to the mind. As other ideas arise,
let them be recorded in the same way, and the process extended over days
together. Sometimes new images and conceptions will continue to float
into the mental horizon even for weeks. Most persons who have not tried
this simple process, will be surprised to find how many thoughts they
have on the commonest topic. If some of this gathered matter remains
vague and indefinite, it will only be necessary to give it more time,
more earnest thought, and all obscurity will vanish.
At last, there comes a consciousness that the mind’s power on that theme
is exhausted. If we also feel that we possess all the requisite
material, this part of our work is ended. But more frequently there will
be a sense of incompleteness, and we are driven to seek what we need
elsewhere.
The next step is the obtaining of new facts. We have thus far dealt with
what the mind itself possesses, and have only sought to make that
previously-accumulated knowledge fully available. But when this stage is
reached, we hunger for more extended information. We read the works of
those who have treated on the themes we are discussing, converse with
well-informed persons, observe the world closely, and at last find the
very idea we want. We receive it with joy, and from thenceforth it
becomes a part of our being. We place the treasure on paper with other
items, and continue to search until we have all we desire. It often
happens that we do not find exactly the object of our search, but strike
on some chain that guides us to it through the subtile principles of
association. It is only the more welcome because we have thus traced it
out.
We have on paper, at last, and often after much toil, a number of
confused, unarranged notes. The whole mass relates to the subject, but
much is unfitting, and all requires, by another process, to be cast into
order and harmony. The first step in this direction is to omit
everything not necessary to the purpose of the sermon. This is a matter
of great importance. It has been said that the principal difference
between a wise man and a fool is, that the one utters all his thoughts,
while the other gives only his best to the world. Nearly every man has,
at times, thoughts that would profit mankind, and if these are carefully
selected from the puerilities by which they may be surrounded, the
result cannot but be valuable. And if this cautious selection be needed
on general topics, it is still more imperative in the ministry of the
Word. The preacher must beware of giving anything repugnant to the
spirit of his mission. And the necessity of a purpose running through
his whole discourse, which we have before enlarged on, compels him to
strike out each item at variance with it. It is well to carefully read
over our scattered notes after the fervor of composition has subsided,
and erase all that are unfitting. Sometimes this will leave very few
ideas remaining, and we are obliged to search for others to complete the
sermon. This can be continued until we have gathered a sufficient mass
of clearly connected thoughts to accomplish the object in view.
Next follows the task of constructing the plan for the intended sermon.
Unless this is well done, success is impossible. The mightiest results
are obtained in oratory by the slow process of words, one following
another. Each one should bear forward the current of thought in the
right direction, and be a help to all that follow. And as, in extempore
speech, these words are given forth on the spur of the moment, it
becomes necessary to so arrange that the proper thought to be dissolved
into words, may always be presented to the mind at the right time.
In some cases this disposition of parts is quite easy. A course
indicated by the very nature of the subject will spring into view, and
relieve us of further embarrassment. But often this portion of our task
will require severe thought.
Many different kinds of plans have been specified by writers on
Homiletics. We will be contented with four divisions, based on the mode
of construction.
The first, we may call the narrative method. It is principally used when
some scripture history forms the basis of the sermon. In it the
different parts of the plan are arranged according to the order of time,
except when some particular reason, borrowed from the other methods,
intervenes. When there are few or none of these portions which give it a
composite character, the development proceeds with all the simplicity of
a story. Many beautiful sermons have been thus constructed.
A second method is the textual. Each part of the sermon rests on some of
the words or clauses of the text, and these suggest the order of its
unfolding, although they may be changed to make it correspond more
nearly to the narrative, or the logical methods. This kind of plan has
an obvious advantage in assisting the memory by suggesting each part at
the proper time.
The logical method is the third we will describe. A topic is taken, and
without reference to the order of time or the words of the text, is
unfolded as a proposition in Geometry—each thought being preliminary to
that which follows, and the whole ending in the demonstration of some
great truth, and the deduction of its legitimate corollaries. This
method is exceedingly valuable in many cases, if not pressed too far.
The last method, and the one employed more frequently than all the
others, is the divisional. It is the military arrangement, for in it the
whole sermon is organized like an army. All the detached items are
brought into related groups, each governed by a principal thought, and
these again are held in strict subordination to the supreme idea; or, to
change the figure, the entire mass resembles a tree, with its single
trunk, its branches subdivided into smaller ones, and all covered with a
beautiful robe of leaves, that rounds its form into graceful outlines,
even as the flow of words harmonizes our prepared thoughts, into the
unity of a living discourse.
A subject will many times arrange itself almost spontaneously into
several different parts, which thus form the proper divisions, and these
again may be easily analyzed into their subdivisions. Even when this is
not the case, we will see, as we examine our jottings, that a few of the
ideas stand out in especial prominence, and with a little close study of
relations and affinities, all the others may be made to group themselves
around these. The individual ideas which we put down on the first study
of the subject, usually form the subdivisions, and some generalization
of them the divisions.
It is well not to make the branches of a subject too numerous, or they
will introduce confusion, and fail to be remembered. From two to four
divisions, with two or three subdivisions under each, are in a majority
of cases better than a larger number. The tendency to multiply them
almost infinitely, which was formerly very prevalent, and is still too
common, receives a merciless, but well-deserved rebuke from Stephens, in
his “Preaching Required by the Times.” He is criticising a popular
“Preacher’s Manual”:
“These more than six hundred pages are devoted exclusively to the
technicalities of sermonizing. We almost perspire as we trace down the
tables of contents. Our eye is arrested by the ‘divisions’ of a
subject—and here we have no less than ‘nine kinds of divisions:’ the
‘Exegetical Division,’ the ‘Accommodational Division,’ the ‘Regular
Division,’ the ‘Interrogative Division,’ the ‘Observational Division,’
the ‘Propositional Division,’ etc.; and then come the ‘Rise from Species
to Genus,’ the ‘Descent from Genus to Species.’ And then again we have
exordiums: ‘Narrative Exordiums,’ ‘Expository Exordiums,’ ‘Argumentative
Exordiums,’ ‘Observational Exordiums,’ ‘Applicatory Exordiums,’ ‘Topical
Exordiums,’ and, alas for us! even ‘Extra-Topical Exordiums.’ One’s
thoughts turn away from a scene like this spontaneously to the Litany,
and query if there should not be a new prayer there.
“But this is not all. Here are about thirty stubborn pages to tell you
how to make a _comment_ on your text, and we have the ‘Eulogistic
Comment’ and the ‘Dislogistic Comment,’ (turn to your dictionary,
reader; we cannot stop in the race to define), ‘Argumentative Comment’
and the ‘Contemplative Comment,’ the ‘Hyperbolical Comment,’ the
‘Interrogative Comment,’ and the list tapers off at last with what it
ought to have begun and ended with, the ‘Expository Comment.’
“And even this is not all. Here is a section on the ‘Different kinds of
Address,’ and behold the astute analysis: ‘The Appellatory, the
Entreating, the Expostulatory, the Remedial, the Directive, the
Encouraging, the Consoling, the Elevating, the Alarming, the Tender, the
Indignant, the Abrupt.’
“This is the way that the art ‘Homiletic’ would teach us when and how to
be ‘Tender,’ ‘Indignant,’ ‘Consoling,’ and even ‘Abrupt!’ ‘Nonsense!’
“Yes, ‘nonsense!’ says any man of good sense in looking at this folly: a
folly which would be less lamentable if it could only be kept to the
homiletic professor’s chair, but which has still an almost
characteristic effect on pulpit eloquence—not only on the _form_ of the
sermon, but as a natural consequence on its very _animus_. This tireless
author gives all these outlines as _practical_ prescriptions. He even
presents them in a precise formula. We must yield to the temptation to
quote it. ‘There are,’ he says, ‘certain technical signs employed to
distinguish the several parts of a discourse. The first class consists
of the _principal divisions_, marked in Roman letters, thus: I., II.,
III., IV., etc. Next, the _subdivisions of the first class_, in figures,
1, 2, 3, etc. Under these, _subdivisions of the second class_, marked
with a curve on the right, as 1), 2), 3), etc. Then, _subdivisions of
the third class_, marked with two curves, as (1), (2), (3), etc.; and
under these, _subdivisions of the fourth class_, in crotchets, thus:
[1], [2], [3]. As—
“I. Principal division.
1. Subdivision of first class.
1). Subdivision of second class.
(1). Subdivision of third class.
[1]. Subdivision of fourth class.
“Mathematical this, certainly; some of Euclid’s problems are plainer. As
a ‘demonstration’ is obviously necessary, the author proceeds to give
the outline of a sermon on ‘_The Diversity of Ministerial Gifts_,’ from
the text ‘_Now there are Diversities of Gifts_,’ etc. He has but two
‘General Divisions,’ but makes up for their paucity by a generous
allowance of ‘Subdivisions.’ His ‘General Divisions’ are, I. _Exemplify
the Truth of the Text_. II. _Derive some Lessons of Instruction_,
etc.,—an arrangement simple and suitable enough for any popular
audience, if he were content with it, but under the first head he has
two ‘subdivisions,’ the first of which is reduced to _thirteen_
sub-subdivisions, and one of these thirteen again to _seven_
sub-sub-subdivisions! The second of his subdivisions again divided into
_eight_ sub-subdivisions, while the ‘homily’ (alas for the name!) is
completed by a merciless slashing of the second ‘general division’ into
no less than _eight_ subdivisions. The honest author, when he takes
breath at the end, seems to have some compunctious misgivings about this
infinitesimal mincing of a noble theme, and reminds the amazed student
that though the plan should be followed ‘in the composition of a
sermon,’ the ‘minor divisions’ can be concealed from view in preaching;
and he concludes the medley of nonsense with one sensible and very
timely admonition: ‘If a discourse contain a considerable number of
divisions and subdivisions,’ care should be taken to fill up the
respective parts with suitable matter, or it will be, indeed, a mere
_skeleton_—bones strung together—‘very many and very dry!’”
When we have accumulated our materials, stricken out all not needed, and
determined what shall be the character of our plan, the remainder of the
work must be left to individual taste and judgment. No rules can be
given that will meet every case. We might direct to put first what is
most easily comprehended, what is necessary for understanding other
portions, and also what is least likely to be disputed. But beyond these
obvious directions little aid can be given. The preacher must form his
own ideal, and work up to it. He may profitably examine sermon
skeletons, to learn what such forms should be. And when he hears good
discourses he may look beneath the burning words, and see what are the
merits of the frame-work on which they rest. This may render him
dissatisfied with his own achievements, but such dissatisfaction is the
best pledge of earnest effort for higher results.
A certain means of improvement is to bestow a great deal of time and
thought on the formation of plans, and make no disposition of any part
without a satisfactory reason. If this course is faithfully continued,
the power to arrange properly will be acquired, and firm, coherent, and
logical sermons be constructed.
There are certain characteristics that each sermon skeleton should
possess. It must indicate the nature of the discourse, and mark out each
of its steps with accuracy. Any want of definiteness is a fatal defect.
The orator must feel that he can rely absolutely on it for guidance to
the end of his discourse, or be in perpetual danger of embarrassment and
confusion. Each clause should express a distinct idea, and but one. If
it contain anything that is included under another head, we fall into
wearisome repetition, the great danger of extempore preachers. But if
discordant and disconnected thoughts are grouped together, we are liable
to forget some of them, and in returning, destroy the order of the
sermon.
A brief plan is better than a long one. Often a single word will recall
an idea as perfectly as many sentences would do, and will burden the
memory less. We do not expect the draft of a house to equal the building
in size, but only to indicate the position and proportion of its
apartments. The plan cannot supply the thought, but, indicating what
exists in the mind, it shows how to bring it forth in regular order. It
is a pathway leading to a definite end, and like all roads, its crowning
merits are directness and smoothness. Without these, it will perplex and
hinder rather than aid. Every word in the plan should express, or assist
in expressing an idea, and be so firmly bound to it that the two cannot
be separated by any exigency of speech. It is perplexing in the heat of
discourse to have a prepared note lose the idea attached to it, and
become merely an empty word. But if the conception is clear, and the
most fitting term has been chosen to embody it, this cannot easily
happen. A familiar idea may be noted very briefly, while one that is new
requires to be more fully expressed. Most sermon skeletons may be
brought within the compass of a hundred words, and every part be clear
to the mind that conceived it, though, perhaps not comprehensible by any
other.
It is not always best to present the divisions and subdivisions in
preaching. The congregation do not care how a sermon has been
constructed, provided it comes to them warm and pulsating with life. To
give the plan of a sermon before the sermon itself, is contrary to the
analogy of nature. She does not require us to look upon a grisly
skeleton before we can see a living body. It is no less objectionable to
name the parts and numbers of the sketch during the discourse, for bones
that project through the skin are very uncomely. The people will not
suffer, if we keep all the divisions to ourselves, for they are only
professional devices to render our share of the work easier. Much of the
proverbial “dryness” of sermons arises from displaying all the processes
we employ. A hotel that would have its beef killed and dressed before
its guests at dinner, would not be likely to retain its patronage.
Whenever we hear a minister state his plan in full, and take up
“firstly” and announce the subdivisions under it, we prepare our
patience for a severe test.
What the people need, are deep, strong appeals to their hearts, through
which shines the lightning of great truths, and the sword of God’s
spirit smites—not dry, dull divisions through which “it is easy to
follow the preacher”—a compliment often given, but always equivocal. A
tree is far more beautiful when covered with waving foliage, even if
some of the branches are hidden. Let the stream of eloquence sweep on in
an unbroken flow, bearing with it all hearts, but giving no indication
of the manner in which it is guided; or, better still, let it move with
the impetus of the cannon ball, overthrowing everything in its path, but
not proclaiming in advance the mark toward which it is flying!
We should go as far in the plan as we intend to do in the sermon, and
know just where to stop. Then we arise with confidence, for we are sure
that we have something to say; we know what it is; and most important of
all, we will know when it is finished. Most objections against extempore
preaching apply only to discourses that have no governing plan. When
this is firm and clear, there is no more danger of saying what we do not
intend, or of running into endless digressions, than if we wrote every
word. Indeed there is no better way to compose a written sermon, than by
first arranging a plan.
But it may be urged that this laborious preparation—this careful placing
of every thought—will require as much time as to write in full. It may
at first. The mind needs to be trained in the work, and it will be of
great advantage even as a mental discipline. But it grows easier with
practice, until the preparation of two sermons a week will not be felt
as a burden—will only afford grateful topics of thought while busied at
other labor. The direct toil of a mature preacher may not exceed an hour
per week.
The sermon is now clearly indicated. A plan has been prepared that fixes
each thought to be expressed in its proper place. There is no further
danger of the looseness and desultoriness that are not unfrequently
supposed to be peculiar to extemporaneous speech. It is possible, in the
moment of utterance, to leave the beaten track, and give expression to
any new ideas that may be suggested. But there is a sure foundation
laid—a course marked out that has been deeply premeditated, and which
gives certainty to all we say.
But it is not enough to have the plan on paper. As it came from the mind
at first in detached items, it must, in its completed state, be restored
to it again. Some ministers are not willing to take the trouble of
committing their skeletons to memory, but lay the paper before them, and
speak on one point until that is exhausted, and then look up the next,
which is treated in the same manner. This tends powerfully to impair the
unity of the discourse, which should he unbroken, and to make each note
the theme of a short, independent dissertation, rather than an integral
part of the whole. The minister reaches a point where he does not know
what is to come next, and on the brink of that gulf looks down at his
notes, and after a search, perhaps finds what he wants. Had this latter
thought existed in his mind, it would have been taken notice of in time,
and the close of the preceding one bent into harmony with it. The direct
address of the preacher to the people, which they value so much, is
interfered with in the same way, for his eye must rest, part of the
time, on his notes. The divisions also of the sermon are apt to be
mentioned, for it is hard for the tongue to refrain from pronouncing the
words that the eye is glancing over.
For all these reasons we believe that notes should seldom, if ever, be
used in the pulpit. They remedy none of the acknowledged defects of
extempore speaking, but add to them the coldness and formality of
reading. Those who cannot trust the mind alone had better go further,
and read their sermons with what earnestness they can command, and thus
secure the elegant finish supposed to be attainable only in written
compositions.
But not all who use notes thus abuse them. Many employ them merely to
prevent possible forgetfulness, and perhaps do not look at them once
during the sermon. Yet it is still better to carry them in the pocket,
and thus avoid the appearance of servile dependence, while they would
still guard against such a misfortune as befel the Abbe Bautain, who, on
ascending the pulpit to preach before the French king and court, found
that he had forgotten the subject, plan and text!
By committing the plan to memory the mind takes possession of the whole
subject. It is brought into one view, and if any part is inconsistent
with the main discussion, the defect will be seen at once. If the plan
is properly constructed, the mind is then in the best possible condition
for speech. The object is fixed in the heart, and will fire it to
earnestness and zeal, and the subject is spread out before the mind’s
eye, while the two meet and mingle in such a way as to give life and
vitality to every part. This is just what is needed in true preaching.
The speaker’s soul, heated by the contemplation of his object,
penetrates every part of his theme, investing it with an interest that
compels attention. All the power he possesses is brought to bear
directly on the people. We can scarcely imagine a great reformer—one who
has shaken the nations—to have adopted any other method of address.
Think of Xavier or Luther with their notes spread out before them, while
addressing the multitudes who hung on their lips! The Presbyterian elder
who once prayed in the presence of his note-using pastor: “O Lord! teach
thy servants to speak from the heart to the heart, and not from a little
piece of paper, as the manner of some is!” was not far wrong.
It is well to commit the plan to memory a considerable time before
entering the pulpit. There is then less liability of forgetting some
portion of it, and it takes more complete possession of the mind. This
is less important when we preach on subjects with which we are perfectly
familiar, for then “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh.” But we are not always so favored. Even if the salient
features are well known, some of the minor parts may require close
consideration. This cannot be so well bestowed until after the plan is
completely prepared, for before that time there is danger that much of
our attention may be given to some idea which may be ultimately
rejected, or changed with the plan. But when the plan is finished, each
idea has settled into its place. If obscurity still rests anywhere, it
will be seen at once, and the strength of the mind brought to bear on
that particular point. The impressions then made are easily retained,
because associated with a part of the prepared outline. Such deep
meditation on each division of the sermon can scarcely fail to make it
original in the truest sense of the term, and weave it together with
strong and massive thought.
After the plan is committed to memory, we can meditate on its different
portions, not only at the desk, but everywhere. As we walk from place to
place, or lie on our beds, or at any time find our minds free from other
engagements, we can ponder the ideas that cluster around our subject
until they grow perfectly familiar. Even when we are reading, brilliant
thoughts may spring up, or those we possessed before take stronger and
more definite shape.
This course we would strongly urge on the young speaker. If diligently
followed, it will be invaluable. Arrange the plan from which to speak as
clearly as may be, and memorize it; turn it over and over again; ponder
each idea and the manner of bringing it out; study the connection
between all the parts, until the whole, from beginning to end, appears
perfectly plain and simple. This method of preparation has been so fully
tested by experience, that its effectiveness is no longer questionable.
It is important to grasp the whole subject, as nearly as possible, in a
single idea—in the same way that the future tree is compressed in the
germ from which it springs. Then this one thought will suggest the
entire discourse to the speaker, and at its conclusion will be left
clear and positive on the hearer’s mind. It is true that some acute
auditors may outrun a loose speaker, arrange his scattered fragments,
supply his omissions, and arrive at the idea which has not yet formed
itself in his own mind. Such persons often commend preachers who are
incomprehensible to the majority of their audience. But it is not safe
to trust their applause for they are exceedingly apt to be in the
minority.
After the plan is memorized, it is often of advantage to sketch the
discourse in full; if this is done in long hand, there is danger that
its slowness will make it more of a word-study than what it is intended
to be—a test of ideas. Here short hand is valuable; and its use in this
manner will at once detect anything that may be wrong in the plan, for
if all is well arranged there need be no pause in the most rapid
composition. If we are able at one effort to throw the whole into a
dress of words, we can be confident that with the additional stimulus
supplied by the presence of a congregation, it will be easy to do the
same again. There should be no attempt, at the time of speaking, to
recall the terms used in writing, but our command of language is usually
improved by having so lately used many of the terms we will need again.
Frequently there are fine passages in the sermons thus struck off at
white heat which we would not willingly forget, yet it is better to make
no effort to remember them, for we are almost certain to rise even
higher in the excitement of speech.
Those who cannot write at a speed approaching that of the tongue, and
who wish a little more assistance than is furnished by the plan, can
make a brief sketch of it—a compact and intelligible model of the whole
subject. A discourse that requires an hour in delivery may be compressed
into a wonderfully small compass, without a material thought being
omitted or obscurely indicated. Such a sketch differs from the plan in
clearly expressing all the ideas that underlie the discourse, while the
latter would be unintelligible to any but the writer. The one is only a
few marks thrown out into the field of thought, by which an intended
pathway is indicated; the other is an exceedingly brief view of the
thoughts themselves, without adornment or verbiage. Some speakers who
might feel insecure in trusting the notes and hints of the plan, would
feel free to enlarge on a statement of their thoughts, so brief as to
require only two or three minutes for reading. But this is only an
expedient, and need not be adopted by those who have confidence in their
trained and cultivated powers.
The method of committing to memory a skeleton for the purpose of
securing our accumulations, is widely different from the systems of
Mnemonics that were once so current. Ideas are linked together by
natural, not artificial associations. It is the grasping of one thought
that points to another, or dissolves, as we gaze upon it, into minuter
ones, and is, in most instances, based upon that rigid analysis which
cannot be dispensed with even by those who would think exactly. All who
write their sermons would do well to adopt it. Strict analysis and broad
generalization are the foundation of all science, and if the preacher
builds upon them the world of spiritual truth will yield him its
treasures.
After a plan has been fully prepared it may easily be preserved for
future use, by being copied into a book kept for the purpose, or, what
is more convenient in practice, folded into an envelope, with the
subject written on the back. By the latter means a large number may be
preserved in such form as to be readily consulted. These can be improved
as our knowledge increases, so as to be, at any time, the complete
expression of our ability on the theme treated of.