versation. Mr. Hall remarked that "there was some most extraordinary circumstantial evidence to prove, that Sir Philip Francis was the author of those letters. It is evident indeed that they passed through his hands; but he could not have written them, sir. It is truly a mysterious affair. How strange, that so distinguished a writer as Junius should not have betrayed himself, in some other of his productions."

Dr. Johnson's remark was mentioned, that he knew no man capable of writing them but Edmund Burke. Mr. Hall said, "he certainly could not have written them. The style of the two authors is too opposite for any one to believe them identical. The talent of Junius is condensation and brevity. Burke's forte is amplification. Junius is cool and deliberate: Burke impassioned and energetic. Junius is remarkable for his caustic satire: Burke for rampant and violent abuse. The diction of Burke is modern and latinized. On the other hand, the writing of Junius affords a singular illustration of the force and excellence of the original English language. He uses no latinized words, and has composed a full and forcible style, of words almost entirely of Saxon derivation. Their works could not have been written by the same hand: the man who could write as Burke did, could not disguise his style to any similarity with Junius. How much more effective is such satire as that of Junius, than that of Burke: and for an obvious reason. The subject of such vitu

peration as that of Burke's has the consolation of supposing, that his expressions of reproach are prompted by the tumultuous feelings of the moment, and not dictated by deliberate reflection. On the contrary, the sarcasms of Junius, from the appearance they exhibit of dispassionate examination, together with the profound acquaintance with human nature they show, carry with them a conviction of their truth. Horne Tooke was a singular example of this species of satire: his very calmness was irresistible."

Barrow's sermons having been noticed with great admiration by some one, Mr. Hall assented very coolly. "He is very imperfect as a preacher, sir. His sermons are fine lectures on moral philosophy; but they might have been heard by any man for years together, without his receiving any just views of his situation as a sinner, or any comprehensive knowledge of the leading doctrines of the gospel. All his appeals were directed to one faculty he only addressed himself to the understanding, he left the affections and emotions untouched. Hence, from one faculty being kept in constant and exclusive exercise, he is read with extreme fatigue. I never could read his productions long together." One in the company said, But you must allow sir, that he exhausts his subject. "Yes, he does that completely sir, and his reader also at the same time."

A little while before this interview, a person lent Mr. Hall the Four Orations of a Scotch

preacher, not long since very popular in London, with a view of eliciting his opinion. Nothing was easier than to persuade him that he was greatly inferior to the popular ministers of the day; and its having been hinted that these orations had been highly commended for their eloquence, he felt some reluctance in stating his opinion, lest it should be attributed to a feeling of jealousy towards such a rival! However, he at length said, "If these orations are really eloquent, we are all wrong; our standard of eloquence is wrong; all the great masters are wrong. Demosthenes, Cicero, Fox, Burke, Sheriden, were all mistaken." In another conversation, when noticing the grotesque style of this miltonic writer, he said the author appeared as ludicrous as a young lad strutting about with his grandfather's breeches on.

Mr. Hall continued his last visit to Cambridge longer than he intended, in consequence of the alarming illness of Mrs. Hall. He was impatiently expected in London on his return, but was obliged to go by short stages across the country to Bristol, where it was soon perceived that the close of his valuable life and labours was fast approaching.

The style and manner of his preaching, his appearance in the pulpit, and the eagerness with which his ministry was attended at Bristol, where he found an enlightened auditory and a wide range for the exercise of his abilities, are all so admirably depicted by an impartial witness, one of another denomination, that the reader will be gratified with

an abstract of this graphical description, interspersed with a few additional remarks.

No sooner, says this writer, did he make his appearance in the crowd usually collected along the aisles and to the pulpit door, than the confusion which the assembling of multitudes generally occasions, immediately subsided. As he moved slowly, solemnly, and modestly along, through the yielding pressure, laden with the treasures of heavenly truth, the contrasted majesty of his aspect, even where talented ranks had marshalled, was so striking and peculiar, that those who saw him only for the first time required no whisperer to say, that one of the greatest of human beings was there; one for whom every individual felt it a personal concern to maintain a silence profound and awful.

His deportment in the pulpit was solemn, like one wholly absorbed in his subject, and duly sensible of its infinite importance. Nothing appeared to disturb his meditation, and every movement indicated his awful sense of the divine presence. His eyes never wandered, and were often shut. Prayer was his element; and when engaged in conducting the great congregation to the mercy seat, his overawed spirit trembled through words to which, especially in this exercise, the feebleness of his voice gave an additional charm. Simplicity and earnestness were the grand characteristics of these public intercessions; and they were eminently adapted to excite a tone of feeling suited to the occasion. Of no man may it more truly be

said, that he wrestled with God in prayer; and seasons have been known in which his whole soul was so absorbed in this holy exercise, that he seemed to be unconscious of any other presence, even when interseding for those around him, than that of God and himself. A stranger, a pious clergyman, once spent a sabbath at Leicester, and afterwards remarked that he had often heard of Mr. Hall's preaching, but he was still more astonished at his praying, and had never witnessed in any other man such an effusion of the spirit of grace and of supplication.

When he rose to speak the assembly was hushed into silence, and became breathless with expectation. The text of his discourse was announced in a feeble tone and in a rapid manner, so as frequently to be inaudible to a great part of the congregation. He then introduced the general topic in a calm perspicuous statement, remarkable chiefly for its simplicity and elegance, and occasionally not calculated to give a stranger any extraordinary promise; it was marked by no effort, and often consisted of an exposition of the context, or a few plain remarks. Sometimes at the commencement he hesitated and seemed perplexed, as if dissatisfied with what he intended to say, and several sentences would be interrupted by a sympathetic cough, rather voluntarily indulged to create a pause, in order to recover his recollection. An inconsiderate writer has mistaken this for an "impediment in his voice;" he had no impediment