were, he says, "a single-hearted, affectionate, praying people;"-of a character, probably, more in unison with the higher moral and religious sympathies of his nature than the polite auditory who had tasked his literary and oratorical powers to the utmost. Soon after settling in Liecester, he married; and in this obscure station he spent twenty years of his valuable life. He died Minister of the Baptist Church of Bristol, in which he had first officiated. The death of Mr. Hall took place early in 1831, after a series of physical sufferings, extending over nearly a whole life, which it is painful, nay almost frightful for shrinking humanity to contemplate; though he bore this protracted fiery trial of his faith and patience with fortitude and equanimity which excites our wonder, as highly as admiration. For twenty years he was not able to pass an entire night in bed, so incessant were the attacks of what his physicians named " an inward apparatus of torture." The only relief he received was from the use of anodynes and soporifics, and he at last took laudanum in great quantities. But these things have perished, while his memory, and the noble service he rendered to genuine and universal Christianity, will remain for ever, waxing brighter and brighter. The most celebrated of Mr. Hall's discourses, that Sermon we have formerly noticed, his eloquent Funeral Oration on the Death of the Princess Charlotte, and his Public Thanksgiving Day Discourses, are, in our apprehension, not at all compa.. rable in religious and moral utility with some of his less ambitious and less distinguished efforts. But to these more obscure productions, we hope, in an analysis of his published works, seon to return.

The high reputation of Mr. Hall as a preacher, at a time when pulpit eloquence was at a rather low ebb, and the part he had taken in pub.. lic affairs, continued to draw upon him the attention of the political and literary, as well as the religious world; and many of his surviving friends and brethren have laboured to convey an adequate idea of his achievements, and of the peculiar characteristics of his genius and manners as a man and a minister. The fragments of his conversation, and the anecdotes preserved by Dr. Gregory, give us, however, a more precise, definite, and favourable idea of Mr. Hall, than all those sketches and eulogiums put together; with the striking exception of Mr. Foster's" Observations on Hall's Character as a Preacher," which, besides being a guide to a proper estimate of Hall, should be a study to all young clergymen. With a selection of these characteristic sayings and anecdotes, we shall conclude this paper, and our notice of Robert Hall, the man; what may follow being intended to be more strictly confined to Hall, the writer and preacher.

And, first, we notice the acute estimate of literary and philosophical character displayed in many of Hall's observations on the more remarkable of his contemporaries. When Dr. Gregory carried him Dr. Parr's renowned "Spital Sermon," he hastily turned over the leaves, greatly amused by the cursory examination. "What a profusion of Greek, Sir! Why, if I were to write so, they would call me a pedant; but it is all natural in Parr. What a strange medley, Sir! The gownsmen will call him Farrago Parr." When his eye fell at last upon the notes which refer to his own Sermon on Modern Infidelity, his countenance underwent the most rapid changes. "Poor man! poor man!" he exclaimed, throwing down the book in pity, "I am sorry for him. He is certainly insane, Sir! Where were his friends, Sir? Was there nobody to sift the folly out of his notes, and prevent its publication? Poor man!” We must set the learned Doctor right with such of the public as may

not see these notes. They are generally highly complimentary; but even the Whig Dr. Parr saw and hinted at inconsistency between the opinions of the " Apology for the Freedom of the Press," and those of the Sermon on Modern Infidelity; and hence, probably, the extreme sensitiveness of Hall. Of Dugald Stewart he had a slighter opinion than that commonly adopted in Scotland. "He is," said Hall, a feeble writer. I would never compare him with any of our great metaphysicians-with Malebranche, or Locke, or Berkley, or even with Tucker. Reid had a more original and vigorous mind than Stewart; and Campbell, I suspect, was superior to both. There is also too much egotism and pride about Stewart. He is always polishing away at the corner of a subject; but he could not rear a system of his own." He, however, admired Stewart's style. Of a celebrated modern preacher, whose general character he greatly admired, Mr. Hall said, "Why, Sir, did you ever know any man who had that singular faculty of repetition possessed by Dr.

? Why, Sir, he often reiterates the same thing ten or twelve times in the course of a few pages. Even Burke himself had not so much of that peculiarity. His mind resembles that optical instrument lately invented; what do you call it?"—" You mean, I suppose, the kaleido scope."-" Yes, Sir; it is just as if thrown into a kaleidoscope. Every turn presents the object in a new and beautiful form; but the object presented is still the same. Have you not been struck, Sir, with the degree in which Dr. possesses this faculty? His mind seems to move on hinges, not on wheels. There is incessant motion, but no progress. When he was at Leicester, he preached a most admirable sermon on the necessity of immediate repentance; but there were only two ideas in it, and on these his mind revolved as on a pivot."

Though Hall was himself a man of high and warm imagination, and brilliant fancy, his truly noble mind sympathized far more strongly with moral than with intellectual greatness. Hence his low opinion of Lord Byron, the idol of the day. "I tried to read Childe Harold," he said to a friend; "but could not get on, and gave it up." "But, Sir," replied the friend, "independently of the mere 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."

When some one admired Madame de Staël's "flights of fancy," Hall said, "He could not for his part admire her flights, for to him she was generally invisible; not because she ascended to a great height above the earth, but because she invariably selected a foggy atmosphere." This lady, it may be remembered, was almost worshipped by his friend Sir James Mackintosh. Of the powers of that celebrated person, with an allowance for the natural partiality of early friendship, Mr. Hall appears to have formed a true and penetrating estimate. "I know no man," he said emphatically in conversation, " equal to Sir James in talents. The powers of his mind are admirably balanced; he is defective only in imagination ;" and, by imagination, Hall appears to have understood originality, power, invention. At his statement of the defect of imagi nation, his friend expressed surprise; remarking, "That he never could have suspected that the author of the eloquent oration for Peltier* was

Dr. Gregory notices that Sir James, in this defence, draws liberally upon his friend's Sermon on Modern Infidelity, and the remark is quite just.

deficient in fancy." Hall replied, "Well, Sir, I don't wonder at your remark. The truth is, he has imagination, too; but with him imagination is an acquisition rather than a faculty. He has, however, plenty of embellishment at command; for his memory retains every thing. His mind is a spacious repository, hung round with beautiful images; and, when he wants one, he has nothing to do but reach up his hand to a peg and take it down. But his images are not manufactured in his mind; they are imported." Mr. Hall believed the genius of his friend, Sir James, essentially metaphysical, and Mr. Balmer expressed admiration of some of his philosophical papers in the Edinburgh Review; his article on Madame de Staël's Germany,* and on Dugald Stewart's Preliminary Dissertation, among others; yet said there seemed a heaviness about them, and that Mr. Jeffrey could expound a metaphysical theory with more vivacity and effect. "With more vivacity, perhaps," returned Hall; "but not with equal judgment. He would not go so deep, Sir. I am per. suaded, that if Sir James Mackintosh had enjoyed leisure, and had exerted himself, he could have completely outdone Jeffrey, Stewart, and all the metaphysical writers of our time.

Though Hall was himself fond of metaphysical studies, he felt their barrenness and inutility. A friend observed to him, that, admitting those studies did not terminate in profitable discoveries, still they were advantageous as a field for cultivating and invigorating the mental powers. Mr. Hall's ready reply was characteristic of his acuteness and brilliancy, and also of the soundness of his understanding: "An arena," he said, "not a field. Metaphysics yield no fruit. They are not a field. They are only an arena, to which a man who has got nothing to do may go down sometimes, and try his skill in intellectual gladiatorship. This at present is their chief recommendation." His favourite authors were such as discovered, on abstract subjects," subtilty, depth, or vigour of thought." In this class he placed, we are told, the late Jeremy Bentham; for whom he entertained the highest estimation, as an original, profound, and accurate thinker; observing that in the particular province of his speculations, the science of legislation, he had advanced to the limits of reason; and that if he were compelled to legislate for the world upon uninspired principles, he should take Bentham, and go from state to state with as firm a step as though he walked upon a pavement of adamant. We shall give an example of the soundness of Mr. Hall's literary taste, apart altogether from his religious or political opinions. Dr. Gregory, who was a very young man at the beginning of their acquaintance, one day employed the word felicity very frequently in conversation. " Why do you say felicity, Sir?" he asked; " Happiness is a better word, more musical, and genuine English, coming from the Saxon." "Not more musical, I think, Sir." "Yes, more musical; and so are words derived from the Saxon, generally. Listen, Sir: Under the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.' There's cheerful music." "Yes; but rejoice is French." "True; but all the rest is Saxon--and rejoice is almost out of tune with the other words. Listen again :-Thou hast delivered my eyes from tears, my soul from death, and my feet from falling.' All Saxon, Sir, except deliver. I could think of the word tear, Sir, till I wept. Then, again, for another noble specimen, and almost all good old Saxon-English.

Of this work, so favourably reviewed by Sir James Mackintosh, Hall entertained an almost contemptible opinion; having discovered that the authoress spoke of a well known idealist as an opponent of the ideal theory, and, from thence, inferring her ignorance of German philosophy.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

As a specimen of Mr. Hall's ordinary vivacious conversation, we might refer to his talk on the flat scenery of Cambridgeshire, which seemed to lie like a load on his heart and his eyes. Even on his latest visit to that county, shortly before his death, the impression was not deadened. A friend, in a morning drive, shewed him all the new improvements, &c. "True," he replied; "but there is still an odious flatness, and an insipid sameness of scenery all around;"—and he added more seriously, "I always say of my Cambridge friends, when I witness their contentedness in such a country, Herein is the faith and patience of the saints.' My faith and patience could not sustain me under it, with the unvarying kindness of my friends in addition."

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Somewhere or other, we have seen Mr. Hall's description of this dreary monotony, where, in words more pithy and picturesque than we can re.. member, he speaks of the scanty and stinted vegetation of the flats, as of "Nature putting forth flags ofdistress." One of his first conversations with Dr. Gregory, was upon this subject; and, as it gives a lively idea of his rapid impetuous manner, we copy part of it. "What do you think of Cambridge, Sir?" said Mr. Hall. "It is a very interesting place." "Yes; the place where Pacon, and Barrow, and Newton studied, and where Jeremy Taylor was born, cannot but be interesting. But that is not what I mean; what do you say of the scenery, Sir?-what do you think of the surrounding country? Does it not strike you as very insipid ?" "No; not precisely so." Aye, aye, I had forgotten, you came from a flat country; yet you must love hills; there are no hills here." Young Gregory replied, "there were Madingley Hill, and the Castle Hill, and Gog Magog Hill," which amused Mr. Hall exceedingly. He took these mountains to pieces in a few words, and went on. "Before I came to Cambridge, I had read in the prize poems, and some other works of fancy, of the banks of the Cam,' of the sweetly flowing stream,' and so on: but when I arrived, I was sadly disappointed. When I first saw the river as I passed over the King's College Bridge, I could not help exclaiming, Why the stream is standing still to see the people drown themselves! and that, I am sorry to say, is a permanent feeling with me. Shocking place for the spirits, Sir! I wish you may not find it so. It must be the very focus of suicides. Were you ever at Bristol, Sir ?—— There is scenery-scenery worth looking upon, and worth thinking of; and so there is even at Aberdeen, with all its surrounding barrenness. The trees on the banks of the Don are as fine as those on the Cam, and the river is alive, Sir; it falls over precipices, and foams and dashes, so as to invigorate and inspire those who witness it. The Don is a river, Sir, and the Severn is a river; but not even a poet would so designate the Cam, unless, by very obvious figure, he termed it the sleeping river."

We have already said that the fragments of Mr Hall's conversation, scattered through his works and life, give us a better and higher idea of the man, moral and intellectual, than the accounts of his friends. He was, indeed, a brilliant and powerful talker; combining the strength of Johnson, with a vigour of imagination peculiar to himself. The few scattered sentences we have still to give shew something both of his mind and his manner. Some one remarked, in his hearing, that compliments are pleasing truths, and flatteries pleasing untruths. "Neither," said Hall, " are pleasing to a man of reflection; for the falsehoods in this case so nearly assume the semblance of truth, that one is perplexed to

tell which is actually given; and no man is pleased with perplexity." Of compliments, he also often said, "Two and two do not make four, and twenty and twenty fall far short of forty; deal not, then, in that deceitful arithmetic." Mr. Balmer, a friend of Hall's, to whom we are indebted for the conversational remarks which form so valuable a portion of Dr. Gregory's Memoir, says, "It was interesting and amusing to observe how Mr. Hall's exquisite sensibility to literary beauty, intermingled with, and qualified the operation of his principles and learning, both as a Christian and a Dissenter. Of this I recollect various instances; but shall give only one. While conversing respecting Archbishop Magee, his talents, sentiments, conduct, &c., I quoted, as a proof of his High.. Church principles, a remark from a charge then newly published: it was to this effect: That the Roman Catholics have a church without a religion; the Dissenters have a religion without a church; but the Establishment have both a church and a religion. Mr Hall was struck with the remark." That, Sir,” he exclaimed, “is a beautiful saying. I have not heard so fine an observation for a long time. It is admirable, Sir." "You admire it, I presume, for its point-not its truth?" I admire it, Sir, for its plausibility and cleverness. It is false, and yet it seems to contain a mass of truth. It is an excellent stone for a Churchman to pelt with."

"Poor

On being asked if he had read the Life of Watson, Bishop of Landaff, then recently published; he said he regretted that he had-a -as it had lowered his estimate of the Bishop's character. Being asked why, he expressed his reluctance to enlarge upon the subject, but added, man, I pity him! He married public virtue in his early days, but seemed for ever afterwards to be quarrelling with his wife." Hall, himself, had made a marriage of the same kind; but his conjugal quarrels only produced a slight and temporary misunderstanding, scarcely an estrangement of a vowed affection, strengthened by many pledges.

Of a penurious person, a friend said, "Poor wretch! you might put his soul into a nut-shell." CC Yes, Sir," replied Hall," and even then it

would creep out at a maggot-hole."

On being asked if Dr. Kippis was not a clever man ; Hall said, "He might be a very clever man by nature, for aught I know; but he laid so many books upon his head that his brain could not move." Disgusted, on one occasion, by the egotism and conceit of a preacher, who, with a mixture of self-complacency and impudence, challenged his admiration of a sermon; Mr. Hall, who possesssed strong powers of satire, which he early learned to repress, was provoked to say, "Yes, there was one very fine passage in your discourse, Sir." "I am rejoiced to hear you say so, which was it?" I Why Sir, it was the passage from the pulpit

into the vestry."

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In confessing that he had been led into the folly of imitating Dr. Johnson, he said, "I aped Johnson, and I preached Johnson, and, I am afraid, with little more of evangelical sentiment than is to be found in his essays ; but it was a youthful folly, and it was a 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 the words in which I tried to clothe them." In speaking of Johnson himself, he said, "He shone strongly on the angles of a thought."

But Mr. Hall had a higher style of conversation, in which fancy, play.. fulness, and point were laid aside, or made subservient to the inculcation of some great moral lesson. To a clergyman who, from evil habit, had be