alarmingly increased. It embarrassed gregation at Harvey-lane when he behim in his duties, and preyed alarmingly on his spirits. Unfortunately his medical adviser urged him to reside at some few miles distance from Cambridge, and to have recourse to horse exercise. From this arrangement he derived no material benefit, while he was deprived of the refined and stimulating society he enjoyed in the town, as well as of general intercourse with his flock, both of waich contributed so much to restore his mental elasticity after the dreadful paroxysms of exhaustive sufferings he endured. He sought for a substitute for these in closer application to study. Twelve hours per day he frequently spent in laborious abstraction. The consequence of this might well be anticipated. A disordered body and an over-wrought mind gave way under the pressure, and for two months mental derangement ensued. Careful and skilful treatment in that succeeded in his restoration. But he had only resumed and pursued his labours about one year when similar causes again led to the same distressing catastrophe. He again speedily recovered, but was now advised to relinquish his charge at Cambridge, and for a time as far as possible retire from preaching and all public excitement. It was about this time that he received the letter from Sir James Mackintosh inserted above. came its minister, was small and sinking, and greatly inferior in point of intelligence and respectability, to the people he had left at Cambridge. The splendour of his pulpit performances, however, and his diligence as a pastor, soon produced a change. In the course of his twenty years' ministry at that place, the chapel was twice enlarged, and to the last continued to be well filled. In 1808, he married, a step which contributed materially to his comfort, regularity of habit, and general cheerfulness, and thus to the preventing a recurrence of his mental affliction. His church regularly increased. The whole county of Leicester felt the influence of his presence. He zealously promoted all the great philanthropic and religious institiutons. Bible and Missionary societies, then in their infancy, met with his ready and powerful aid. Christians of all denominations were embraced in the circle of his charity, and he was claimed as the property, not of a sect, but of the church and the public at large. Through the press he still continued, although at rarer intervals, to pour forth the mellowed fruits of his fertile intellect. A sermon on the "Advantages of Knowledge to the Lower Classes," was much admired. But his discourse on the lamented and premature death of the Princess CharNo more returning to Cambridge he lotte, was the most remarkable and now sojourned a while in his native powerful thing he wrote while at neighbourhood, in Leicestershire, re- Leicester. No production of the press visiting many a familiar spot, and re- on the subject, could for a moment be calling to recollection associations of compared to it. A nation was weeping, early life. He saw Arnsby once more, and genius poured out its strains of with its graveyard and tombstones. On panegyric and lamentation in a thouhis father's grave he knelt and sand pulpits; but far in advance of all prayed. The books" were now his, in power, grace, dignified, and Christian and the "cows and pigs" his brother's; patriotism, purity and majesty of style, but of his childhood's companions and eloquence, and wide excursiveness of of those who had gathered around the thought, was the sermon of Robert Hall. same hearthstone as himself, many, In reading it, one marvels at the immany were now reposing under those perial grandeur of the execution, as the clods, and he himself was as one who mighty preacher groups together and had risen from the dead-from the manages with a master-hand, and with shadowy and dismal regions created by the apparent ease of a child at play, the eclipse of the sun of reason. Having the various momentous considerations, employed his mind leisurely for some which the event was fitted to awaken, year or two, partly in preparing critical in a mind capable of comprehensive notes on the New Testament (which survey. It is Christian genius weeping labour he relinquished on discovering that in Macknight's translation he had been anticipated), and partly in preaching in surrounding villages and towns, he at last settled at Leicester. The con and uttering wisdom at the tomb of a virtuous princess. Hall was a dissenter, in many respects a reformer of the most radical sort, a friend of the people, and no worshipper of tinsel: but he at the same time, had a reverence for rank. and quick dispatchfulness, successively His strong love of the real, and his gene- stud his pages, as he, with equal facirous fellow-feeling made him a cherisher lity, disposes of the more weighty or of his kind without exception: his the more absurd and futile of the culture, the loftiness of his ideal, his arguments of his antagonists. Nothing love of art, his historic associations, his is more prominent and beautiful, philosophic insight into the structure however, than the generous charity of society, made him bow to authority-the enlarged catholicity of spirit and greatness. At Westminster Abbey, which he everywhere displays. Bigotry at Handel's Commemoration, he "saw vanishes-the petty sectarianism which the King, George III., stand up in one feeds on ignorance evaporates before part of the performance of the Messiah, the steady light of his large-hearted and shedding tears. Nothing, he said, bold intelligence. With strong convichad ever affected him more strongly. tions without prejudice, and zeal to de'It seemed like a great act of national fend them without intolerance, he ever assent to the fundamental truth of appears the honourable and dignified religion."" Had George III. been a champion, fearless in concession, not peasant, it were well to see him weep less than in advancing to the contest, then, but Hall's affluent imagination candid in judgment, and fair in the use invested him with symbolic, represent- of legitimate weapons. To his powerful ative attributes- he was, to him, weep-defence is due, in an unwonted degree, ing for a nation-he saw in him not the prevalence of more liberal views on only the man, but the King-man doing this subject amongst the more intelligent homage to the truth. The same senti- Baptists of modern times. ment of reverence for greatness, was a main-spring in the production of the sermon on the death of the illustrious Princess Charlotte. She was at once of royal blood, and of gentle humble piety. Her death was the extinction of a nation's hope. Over her grave England was a mourner. The loss, who could idealize?-none but he who could idealize the elevation of her rank, her rare endowments, the influence of her illustrious example, and a nation's fond expectations, now for ever brought to an end! Robert Hall's panegyric and lament were representative; he put in the form of language what a generation felt, but which he only could combine into one, extract the essence of, and put forth in palpable and burning speech. It was during his residence at Leicester that Mr. Hall took part in the controversy with members of his own denomination on the subject of "Terms of Communion." Mr. Kinghorn was his principal opponent. Mr. Hall made a bold stand against the dogmatic exclusiveness which then very generally prevailed amongst the Baptists (now rapidly disappearing), and was known as the principle of "Strict Communion." It was an ill omen for this principle when a mind so capacious and a heart so catholic as Mr. Hall's made their appearance. Strength, critical acumen, historical analysis, power of ridicule, proud scorn of artifice, Mr. Hall's views on the Church of England question were somewhat peculiar for a Baptist. They were frankly and concisely expressed by himself in the following letter (written to a friend who had occasionally communed with Episcopalians), about the mid-part of his residence at Leicester. We insert it merely to show how a well-informed and conscientious Dissenter was capable of extending a brother's hand to a Churchman. "March 6, 1818. "MY DEAR FRIEND· Perhaps I may not be quite prepared to go with you the full extent of your moderation; though on this I have by no means made up my mind. I admire the spirit with which you are actuated, and esteem you more than ever for the part you have acted. I perfectly agree with you that the old grounds of dissent are the true ones, and that our recent apologists have mixed up too much of a political cast in their reasonings on this subject. Though I should deprecate the founding of any established Church, in the popular sense of that term, I think it very injudicious to lay that as the cornerstone of dissent. We have much stronger ground in the specific corruptions of the Church of England, ground which our pious ancestors occupied, and which may safely defy every attempt of the most powerful and acute minds to subvert. With respect to conformity, I by no means think it involves an abandon I ment of dissent; and I am inclined to think that, were I in a private station (not a minister, I mean), Í should, under certain circumstances, and in certain situations, be disposed to practise it; though nothing would induce me to acknowledge myself a permanent member of the Church of England. "In regard to episcopacy, it appears to me entirely a human, though certainly a very early, invention. It was unknown, I believe, in the apostolical times; with the exception, probably, of the latter part of John's time. But as it was practised in the second and third centuries, I should have no conscientious objection to it. As it subsists at present among us, I am sorry to say, I can scarcely conceive of a greater abuse. It subverts equally the rights of pastors and of people, and is nothing less than one of the worst relics of the papal hierarchy. Were everything else what it ought to be in the Established Church, prelacy, as it now subsists, would make me a decided dissenter. "I remain, &c." After a ministry of more than twenty years at Leicester, he was, in 1825, invited to return to Broadmead, Bristol, the scene of his youthful ministry. He was now in his sixty-second year, and though retaining still the leading characteristics of more immature days, in chasteness of style and sobriety of conception, as well as general aptitude for the governance of men, he was a very different man from the Robert Hall who quitted Aberdeen for Bristol in 1785. His vivacity in conversation, and his energy in the pulpit continued unimpaired, notwithstanding the agonies he endured from the unrelenting constitutional complaint already referred to. Still it was noticed that the scope of his conceptions was less expansive, and that his imagination (so Foster says of him, when in his sixty-sixth year) had "considerably abated, as compared with his earlier, and his meridian pitch." The same great man, perhaps the most discriminating of his admirers, then dejectingly adds-"His friends have now surrendered all hope of his doing any thing more in the way of authorship; they have ceased to remonstrate with him on the subject, but most deeply deplore this lack of service to the Christian cause, when they consider that he might have produced half a dozen, or half a score (the more the better), of volumes of sermons, which would have filled a lamentable chasm in that province of our literature, and would have been decidedly considered, in their combination of high qualities, the foremost set of sermons in our language." After a ministry at Bristol of six years, his attacks became more frequent and violent, until at last nature was completely overpowered in a paroxysm of unspeakable agony, and his great and happy spirit departed on February 21, 1831. By post-mortem examination it was discovered that his life-long sufferings were caused by “ a large, rough, pointed calculus, by which the kidney on the right side ‘was entirely filled.”” Such is the very imperfect outline we can give of the public life of the Rev. Robert Hall. To analyse his mental character, and give a vivid picture of his tout ensemble as an author and a preacher is next to impossible. A man so distinguished, so imperial, can have his picture nowhere except in the living heart of the generation he served. Foster tried, and confessed his inadequacy. Even his own published works- a large proportion of which, by the way, is from the too scanty notes of other people, taken while he was preaching — are incapable of conveying a true idea of his performances. For forty years he, perhaps, had no rival in England. We naturally ask, Wherein did his power consist? How enchained he the minds of thousands in rapt attention, as if without an effort? Why did the greatest men of the Senate, and the greatest men of the Church and of the Bar draw nigh to the spot where he stood? Wherein lay his power? Not, certainly, in any of the factitious trappings of the mere rhetorician. It was not in graceful action, nor in majesty of mien, nor in power of voice, nor in mastery of its intonations. In all these respects he was rather defective. His action was often cumbersome; he was at the farthest remove from pomp and flourish; and his voice was weak. The power of this great preacher was most assuredly in the man, somewhere, not in the accidents. And equally clear is it that it was not in the marked predominance of any one special endowment or acquirement separately, for this was a thing you looked for in vain in Robert Hall. Perhaps we shall be safe if we give it as our opinion, that his power may be accounted for by the fact, that in him all regular philosophical culture, Hall had the field almost to himself. Like most men of note in scientific theology, Robert Hall had his theoreti 66 the straight line of prescriptive teaching. When he returned from Aberdeen, and during his first residence at Bristol, his bold freedom of thought and phraseology gave great concern to many honest and grave people. 1784, May 7. Heard Mr. Robert Hall, jun.," says that good divine, Mr. Fuller, "from he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.' Felt very solemn in hearing some parts. The Lord keep that young man!" Dr. Ryland records, June 8, 1785, "Robert Hall, jun., preached wonderfully from Rom. viii. 18. I admire many things in this young man exceedingly, though there are others that make me fear for him." On a visit to Birmingham, Hall had been rather lavish of his charity towards the Socinians of the day—had said something to the effect that, "if he were the judge of all, he could not condemn Dr. Priestley;" which speech gave a "general disgust" to his friends at Birmingham. Excellent Dr. Ryland, faithful and affectionate to admonish, writes to him an exhortation to be on his guard and to examine his charity, premising, "And indeed my fears and grief were never excited to such a degree concerning you as they now are, &c." the powers, intellectual and emotional, were so equally balanced and so proportionably elaborated, as to produce a harmony and a momentum in action very rarely displayed. In natural endow-cal difficulties, and his deviations from ment, in variety of attainment, in power of metaphysical analysis, in vigor and range of imagination, and in minute and laboured culture, he was equally eminent. And where in all these respects do we find his like? But then we have to add to this another prime fact, viz. the absolute power he exercised over all he was and had. The whole machinery and wealth of his magnificent mind seems ever to be obedient at a nod. Move in whatever region of thought he may, he is at ease. Whatever subject he dilates upon, he moulds it at once into appreciable shapes, and makes it stand out clearly and in bold | relief. If it be an abstruse problem in metaphysics, he deals with it as a familiar; if a hackneyed maxim, his mere touch gives it a novel form, and an added beauty. He was doubtless ambitious of high rank as a pulpit orator; but he had no scrambling for the highest seat, nor any strutting when he had reached it. He walked up when invited, and stood at ease as one in his right place, seeming to think that nothing extraordinary had occurred. Preaching was his element. Study, too, was his delight. Although, unfortunately for after ages, he wrote but little and that little with reluctance, he thought incessantly and without effort. He was a great reader, without impairing his power of independent thought, and an enthusiast in speculation while intent as a practical worker. Modern times present no instance where so great a man and so free an enquirer bent more practically to the demands of the world, and made himself more entirely available in the circle of his profession. Foster, his admirer and friend of his latter days, was in many things his equal-in some things his superior; but Foster's mind was barred against himself his thoughts came out of their hidingplaces only after a struggle, while Hall's were spontaneous and gushing as the flowing spring. If Foster was more massive, Hall was more excursive and soaring; and while the former had the advantage in point of terseness and strength of style, the latter was incomparably superior in elegance and grandeur, while in finished scholarship and Hall was an untrammelled thinker, had no notion whatever of prescription in faith, and was ever ready to speak forth his cogitations, suspecting nothing, fearing nothing. Hence his frequent excursions beyond the boundaries, which timid and hereditary believers will scarcely approach. In many things, unquestionably, he was at one time unsound, judged by the standard of currently received doctrines. But Hall, in his unsoundness, was sounder than many who pique themselves upon their orthodoxy. There were two circumstances which ever preserved him from dangerous and excessive aberrations-his genial heart, and his Platonic philosophy. In illustration of the former he tells us that he 66 The buried his materialism in his father's grave "— feeling overcoming there the voice of an unsatisfying logic. spiritualism of Plato, again, whose works he and Mackintosh so diligently pondered, carried him unharmed through the frigid regions of Scotch metaphysics. is not our concernment,' and returns to enter upon something still farther from the point." Still more severe if possible was his onslaught on poor Dr. Gill. "When Mr. Christmas Evans (a celebrated preacher from the Principality) was in Bristol, he was talking to Mr. Hall about the Welsh language, which, he said, was very copious and expressive. 'How I wish, Mr. Hall, that Dr. Gill's works had been written in Welsh.'‘I wish they had, sir, I wish they had, with all my heart, for then I should never have read them. They are a continent of mud, sir.'' Hall, though as capable as any of idealist as being of the contrary school taking an independent course, tried in philosophy. He had no patience more than once his hand at imitation. with prolix and illogical writers. "Do At the age of twenty-three he heard Mr. you think highly of Dr. Owen?" asked Robinson of Cambridge preach. His ad- a friend. No, sir, by no means. Have miration was excited, he thought he you read much of Owen, sir?" "I have would copy style, manner, matter, and read his Preliminary Exercitations, &c. all. He tried, and failed. Some years &c." "You astonish me, sir, by your subsequently, a friend alluding to the patience. You have accomplished a circumstance, he said, “Why, sir, I was Herculean undertaking. To me he too proud to remain an imitator. After is intolerably heavy and prolix. my second trial, as I was walking home, As a reasoner, Dr. Owen is most illogiI heard one of the congregation say to cal, for he almost always takes for granted another, Really, Mr. Hall did remind what he ought to prove, while he is alus of Mr. Robinson.' That was a knock-ways proving what he ought to take for down blow to my vanity, and I at once granted; and, after a long digression, resolved that, if ever I did acquire repu- he concludes very properly with, 'This tation, it should belong to my own character, and not be that of a likeness. Besides, sir, if I had not been a foolish young man, I should have seen how ridiculous it was to imitate such a preacher as Mr. Robinson. He had a musical voice, and was master of all its intonations; he had wonderful self-pos session, and could say what he pleased, when he pleased, and how he pleased; while my voice and manner were naturally bad; and far from having selfcommand, I never entered the pulpit without omitting to say something I wished to say, and saying something that I wished unsaid; and besides all this, I ought to have known that for me to speak slow was ruin. You know, sir, that force or momentum is conjointly as the body and velocity; therefore, as my voice is feeble, what is wanted in body must be made up in velocity, or there will not be, cannot be, any impression." He tried his hand at Johnson also. “Yes, sir,* I aped Johnson and I preached Johnson, and, I am afraid, with little more of evangelical sentiment than is to be fonnd in his essays; but it was youthful folly, and it was very great folly. I might as well have attempted to dance a hornpipe in the cumbrous costume of Gog and Magog. My puny thoughts could not sustain the load of words in which I tried to clothe them." Mr. Hall was a great, but very select, reader. Many valuable books he laid aside after discovering an error. Madame de Stael, on Germany, was thrown | into a corner after a mere glance, because the authoress represented a certain * The rea ler will have by this time observed that Mr. Hall was unusually fond of the word "gir" in conversation. 66 It is a remarkable fact that Mr. Hall had but a languid taste for poetry. Milton's were the only poetical works he thoroughly admired. He could not read Byron. "I tried to read Childe Harold, but could not get on, and gave it up." 'Have you read the Fourth Canto, sir, which is by far the best ?" "Oh no, sir, I shall never think of trying." But, sir, independently of the poetry, it must be interesting to contemplate such a remarkable mind as Byron's.' " It is well enough, sir, to have a general acquaintance with such a character, but I know not why we should take pleasure in minutely investigating deformity." 66 His systematic reading was mainly limited to the great men of antiquity and to the ablest authors of modern times. During the first years of his Cambridge life he somewhat reduced his converse with books, in order more effectively to discharge his public duties. This he afterwards considered an error. He returned to his former habits, and ever after to the very verge of life kept faithful to his resolves. It was his plan at first to carry on five or six courses of study simultaneously; but this, during |