the heart. We see it in his discourse with the disciples as they walked together toward Emmaus, when their hearts burned within them; in his Sermon from the Mount, in his parable of the Good Samaritan, and in that of the Prodigal Son-in every act and word of his life, a grace, a mildness, a dignity and love, a patience and wisdom worthy of the Son of God. His whole life and being were imbued, steeped, in this word, charity: it was the spring, the wellhead, from which every thought and feeling gushed into act; and it was this that breathed a mild glory from his face in that last agony upon the cross, "when the meek Saviour bowed his head and died," praying for his enemies. He was the first true teacher

of morality; for he alone conceived the idea of a pure humanity. He redeemed man from the worship of that idol, self, and instructed him by precept and example to love his neighbor as himself, to forgive our enemies, to do good to those that curse us and despitefully use us. He taught the love of good for the sake of good, without regard to personal or sinister views, and made the affections of the heart the sole seat of morality, instead of the pride of the understanding or the sternness of the will. In answering the question, "Who is our neighbor?" as one who stands in need of our assistance, and whose wounds we can bind up, he has done more to humanize the thoughts, and tame the unruly passions, than all who have tried to reform and benefit mankind.

The very idea of abstract benevolence, of the desire to do good because another wants our services, and of regarding the human race as one family, the offspring of one common parent, is hardly to be found in any other code or system. It was "to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness." The Greeks and Romans never thought of considering others, but as they were Greeks or Romans, as they were bound to them by certain positive ties, or, on the other hand, as separated from them by fiercer antipathies. Their virtues were the virtues of political machines, their vices were the vices of demons, ready to inflict or to endure pain with obdurate and remorseless inflexibility of purpose. But in the Christian religion "we perceive a softness coming over the heart of a nation, and the iron scales that fence and harden it melt and drop off." It becomes malleable, capable of pity, of forgiveness, of relaxing in its claims, and remitting its power. We strike it, and it does not hurt us: it is not steel or marble, but flesh and blood, clay tempered with tears, and "soft as sinews of the new-born babe." The gospel was first preached to the poor, for it consulted their wants and interests, not its own pride and arrogance. It first promulgated the equality of mankind in the community of duties and benefits. It denounced the iniquities of the chief-priests and Pharisees, and declared itself at variance with principalities and powers, for it sympathizes not with the oppressor, but the oppressed. It

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HAZLITT.

Its law is first abolished slavery, for it did not consider the power of the will to inflict injury, as clothing it with a right to do so. It at the same time tended to wean the mind good, not power. from the grossness of sense, and a particle of its divine flame was lent to brighten and purify the lamp of love!

MACBETH AND RICHARD THE THIRD COMPARED.

The leading features in the character of Macbeth are striking enough, and they form what may be thought at first only a bold, rude, Gothic outline. By comparing it with other characters of the same author, we shall perceive the absolute truth and identity which is observed in the midst of the giddy whirl and rapid career of events. With powerful and masterly strokes, for instance, he has marked the different effects of ambition and cruelty, operating on different dispositions and in different circumstances, in his MacBoth are tyrants, usurpers, murderers, both beth and Richard III. violent and ambitious, both courageous, cruel, treacherous. But Richard is cruel from nature and constitution. Macbeth becomes Richard is from his birth deso from accidental circumstances. formed in body and mind, and naturally incapable of good. Macbeth is full of "the milk of human kindness," is frank, sociable, generous. He is urged to the commission of guilt by golden opportunity, by the instigations of his wife, and by prophetic warnings. "Fate and metaphysical aid" conspire against his virtue and his loyalty. Richard, on the contrary, needs no prompter, but wades through a series of crimes to the height of his ambition, from the ungovernable violence of his passions and a restless love of mischief. He is never gay but in the prospect or in the success of his villanies; Macbeth is full of horror at the thoughts of the murder of Duncan, which he is with difficulty prevailed on to commit, and of remorse after its perpetration. Richard has no mixture of common humanity in his composition, no regard to kindred or posterity; he owns no fellowship with others, but is "himself alone." Macbeth endeavors to escape from reflection on his crimes by repelling their consequences, and banishes remorse for the past This is not the principle of by the meditation of future mischief. Richard's cruelty, which resembles the cold malignity, the wanton malice of a fiend, rather than the frailty of human nature. Macbeth is goaded on to acts of violence and retaliation by necessity; to Richard, blood is a pastime. There are other essential differRichard is a man of the world; a vulgar, plotting, hardened villain, wholly regardless of every thing but his own ends, and the means to accomplish them. Not so Macbeth. The superstitions of the age, the rude state of society, the local scenery and customs, all give a wildness and imaginary grandeur to his character.

ences.

From

the strangeness of the events that surround him, he is full of amaze-
ment and fear; and stands in doubt between the world of reality
and the world of fancy. He sees sights not shown to mortal eye,
and hears unearthly music. All is tumult and disorder within and
without his mind; his purposes recoil upon himself, are broken and
disjointed; he is the double thrall of his passions and his evil des-
tiny. He treads upon the brink of fate, and grows dizzy with his
situation. Richard is not a character either of imagination or
pathos, but of pure will. There is no conflict of opposite feelings
in his breast. The apparitions which he sees only haunt him in
his sleep; nor does he live like Macbeth in a waking dream. There
is nothing tight or compact in Macbeth, no tenseness of fibre, nor
pointed decision of manner. He has indeed considerable energy
and manliness of soul; but then he is "subject to all the skyey
influences." He is sure of nothing. All is left at issue. He
runs a tilt with fortune, and is baffled with preternatural riddles.
The agitation of his mind resembles the rolling of the sea in a
storm, or he is like a lion in the toils-fierce, impetuous, and un-
governable. Richard, in the busy turbulence of his projects, never
loses his self-possession, and makes use of every circumstance that
occurs as an instrument of his long-reaching designs. In his last
extremity we can only regard him as a captured wild beast; but
we never entirely lose our concern for Macbeth, and he calls back
all our sympathy by that fine close of thoughtful melancholy—
"My May of life

Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,

As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but, in their stead,

Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,

Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not."

LADY MACBETH.

The

Macbeth's indecision of character is admirably set off by being brought in connection with that of Lady Macbeth, whose obdurate strength of will and masculine firmness give her the ascendency over her husband's faltering virtue. She at once seizes on the opportunity that offers for the accomplishment of their wished-for greatness, and never flinches from her object till all is over. magnitude of her resolution almost covers the magnitude of her guilt. She is a great bad woman, whom we hate, but whom we fear more than we hate. She does not excite our loathing and abhorrence like Regan and Goneril. She is only wicked to gain a great end; and is perhaps more distinguished by her commanding presence of mind and inexorable self-will, which do not suffer her to be diverted from a bad purpose, when once formed, by weak and and womanly regrets, than by the hardness of her heart or want

66 screw his of natural affections. Nor do the pains she is at to courage to the sticking-place," the reproach to him not to be "lost so poorly in himself," the assurance that "a little water clears them of this deed," show any thing but her greater consistency in wickedHer strong-nerved ambition furnishes ribs of steel to "the sides of his intent;" and she is herself wound up to the execution of her baneful project with the same unshrinking fortitude in crime that in other circumstances she would probably have shown patience in suffering.

ness.

nence.

ROBERT HALL, 1764-1831.

THIS eminent writer and preacher, the son of a Baptist clergyman in Arnsby, in Leicestershire, was born at that place on the 2d of May, 1764. At a very early age he showed not only a remarkable fondness for books, but for such books as children never read; for it is said that, before he was nine years old, he had read more than once "Edwards on the Affections, and on the Will," and "Butler's Analogy," and had written several essays on religious subjects. Such indications as these are not to be mistaken, for they indubitably presage future emiHe received the early part of his education in Northampton School, where he made great progress in Latin and Greek, and, in his fifteenth year, he was removed to Bristol Theological Seminary, under the direction of the Baptists. In 1780, he was solemnly "set apart" as a preacher of the gospel, in connection with the Baptists; and, about a year after, he was sent to King's College, Aberdeen, where, among other friendships, he formed that of Mr. (afterward Sir) James Mackintosh, which continued through life. In 1783, he was associated with Dr. Evans, as assistant pastor in the church at Bristol, and became also classical tutor at the academy in that city. From the very commencement of his ministrations, Mr. Hall's preaching attracted an unusual degree of attention. His eloquence, remarkable alike for its brilliancy and its force, was a theme of general praise; and, by his instructive and fascinating conversation in private, he called forth equal admiration.

In 1790, he succeeded the celebrated Robert Robinson, as minister of the Baptist congregation at Cambridge, where he labored with increasing reputation till 1804, when he was afflicted by a mental aberration, from which, however, he recovered sufficiently to discharge his pastoral duties in 1805; but, toward the close of that year, he unhappily suffered a relapse, and it was deemed essential for his perfect restoration that he should pass a considerable time in tranquil retirement. Accordingly, he resigned his office at Cambridge in 1806, when his congregation testified their deep sense of his merits by purchasing for him an annuity for life. The effect of these attacks upon his health was to make him examine his own religious exercises with more scrutinizing faithfulness, and to "His piety assumed a more exalted consecrate himself more entirely to God.

tone, his habits became more strictly devotional, and his exercises more fervent and elevated than they had ever hitherto been; and he watched with jealous care over the whole tenor of his conduct, as well as every movement of his heart."

His mental faculties being now completely restored, he accepted the invitation from a church in Leicester to become their pastor. Over this congregation he presided twenty years, a period undistinguished by any incident of very particular moment, excepting his marriage, which took place in March, 1808. During his residence here, however, he gave to the world several valuable productions, which greatly extended his fame and his influence, and contributed many valuable articles to the "Eclectic Review." He also engaged in a religious controversy upon what is called the "Terms of Communion," advocating with his usual energy, learning, and eloquence, the principle of "Open Communion.”

In 1826, he removed to Bristol, the place where his ministerial career began, and where it was destined soon to come to a close. Reading and study, which had always been at once his bane and antidote, suffered no abatement on account of his increasing infirmities. His opinion was that every species of knowledge might be rendered subservient to religion, and works of almost every description be laid under contribution. His pastoral duties were discharged with his usual faithfulness, but it soon became apparent that his health was declining. In 1830, he was compelled to try a change of air and scene. No ultimate benefit, however, was derived from this movement, and, after suffering severely from a complication of disorders, he departed this life on the 21st of February, 1831.

Robert Hall was not only the most distinguished ornament of the Christian body to which he belonged, but, as a preacher, his claims to pre-eminence were acknowledged by competent judges of every creed. His mental endowments were of a very high order, and his excellency consisted not in the predominance of one, but in the exquisite proportion and harmony of all his powers. A mind of naturally great capacity had been enriched by a course of reading of unusual extent, and he was thus enabled to draw his illustrations from an almost infinite variety of sources. His oratory was brilliant, but not unnecessarily showy, or encumbered with poetical images. His style is at once clear and simple, and the construction of his sentences is characterized by ease, united with strength and compactness; so that his works display a union of elevation, learning, and elegance, to which it will be difficult to find a parallel among the works of divines.1 As to his personal character, it was every thing becoming a Christian. His

"Mr. Hall, like Bishop Taylor, has the eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profoundness of a philosopher, and the piety of a saint."DR. PARR.

"There is a living writer who combines the beauties of Johnson, Addison, and Burke, without their imperfections. It is a dissenting minister of Cambridge, the Rev. Robert Hall. Whoever wishes to see the English language in its perfection, must read his writings."— DUGALD STEWART.

"The richness, variety, and extent of his knowledge are not so remarkable as his absolute mastery over it. He moves about in the loftiest sphere of contemplation, as though he were 'native and endued to its element.' He uses the finest classical allusions, the noblest images, and the most exquisite words, as though they were those that came first to his mind, and which formed his natural dialect. There is not the least appearance of striving after greatness in his most magnificent excursions; but he rises to the loftiest heights with a child-like ease. His style is one of the clearest and simplest-the least encumbered with its own beauty-of any which has ever been written."-London Magazine, February, 1821.