affluent friends.

"Poor- is in great distress: some of his

Lend me

family are ill, and he cannot supply proper necessaries. five shillings for the poor fellow: I will pay you again in a fortnight, unless in the mean time you find that the case deserves your help, and then the donation shall become yours."

His disapprobation of avarice bore a natural relation to his own benevolence. Being informed that a rich man in the neighbourhood, who was by no means celebrated for his liberality, had attended to a tale of distress without relieving it, he said—"Yes, yes: he would listen, but without inclining his head. He may lend a distant ear to the murmurings from the vale beneath, but he remains like a mountain covered with perpetual snow."

On another occasion, a person talking to him of one whom they both knew, and who was very penurious, said-" Poor wretch! you might put his soul into a nut-shell." "Yes, Sir, (Mr. Hall replied) and even then it would creep out at a maggot hole."

His love of sincerity in words and actions was constantly apparent. Once, while he was spending an evening at the house of a friend, a lady who was there on a visit, retired, that her little girl, of four years old, might go to bed. She returned in about half an hour, and said to a lady near her- She is gone to sleep. I put on my night-cap, and lay down by her, and she soon dropped off.' Mr. Hall, who overheard this, said " Excuse me, Madam: do you wish your child to grow up a liar?" 'Oh dear no, Sir; I should be shocked at such a thing.' "Then bear with me while I say, you must never act a lie before her: children are very quick observers, and soon learn that that which assumes to be what it is not, is a lie, whether acted or spoken." This was uttered with a kindness which precluded offence, yet with a seriousness that could not be forgotten.

His dislike to compliments was thus expressed :-"In compliments two and two do not make four; and twenty and twenty fall very far short of forty. Deal not, then, in that deceitful arithmetic."

It was said in Mr. Hall's hearing that "compliments were pleasing truths, and flatteries pleasing untruths." He remarked-" Neither of them 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."

"You remember Mr. Sir.* Yes, very well.' "Were you aware of his fondness for brandy-and-water?" "No." "It was

VOL. VI.

• This was the individual referred to, Vol. V. p. 421.

e

a sad habit; but it grew out of his love of story-telling; and that, also, is a bad habit, a very bad habit, for a minister of the gospel. As he grew old, his animal spirits flagged, and his stories became defective in vivacity: he, therefore, took to brandy-and-water; weak enough, it is true, at first, but soon nearly half-and-half.' Ere long he indulged the habit in a morning; and when he came to Cambridge he would call upon me, and, before he had been with me five minutes, ask for a little brandy-and-water, which was, of course, to give him artificial spirits to render him agreeable in his visits to others. I felt great difficulty; for he, you know, Sir, was much older than I was; yet, being persuaded that the ruin of his character, if not of his peace, was inevitable, unless something was done, I resolved upon one strong effort for his rescue. So the next time that he called, and, as usual, said-' Friend Hall, I will thank you for a glass of brandy-and-water,' I replied " Call things by their right names, and you shall have as much as you please." "Why, don't I employ the right name? I ask for a glass of brandy-andwater.' "That is the current, but not the appropriate name; ask for a glass of liquid fire and distilled damnation, and you shall have a gallon." Poor man! he turned pale, and for a moment seemed struggling with anger. But, knowing that I did not mean to insult him, he stretched out his hand, and said-Brother Hall, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.' From that time he ceased to take brandy-and-water."

In one of my early interviews with Mr. Hall, I used the word felicity three or four times in rather quick succession. He asked— "Why do you say felicity, Sir? 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: My heart is smitten, and withered like grass;'-there's plaintive music. Listen again, 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 delivered. I could think of the word tear, Sir, till I wept. Then again, for another noble specimen, and almost all good old Saxon-English: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.'"

Shortly after this I was reading the original edition of Doddridge's Pneumatology, and asked Mr. Hall to lend me Kippis's edition, in which the references to other authorities, on the various topics

discussed, are greatly increased. He told me that he did not possess Kippis's edition, in a tone which then surprised me a little, as it shewed that he did not highly estimate Kippis's authority. I therefore asked, 'Was not Dr. Kippis a clever man?'"He might be a very clever man, by nature, for aught I know, but he laid so many books upon his head that his brains could not move." This was, to me, who, at that period, devoted much more time to reading than to thinking, an admirable lesson.

On being asked whether he was an Arminian or a Calvinist, he said "Neither, Sir, but I believe I recede farther from Arminianism than from Calvinism. If a man profess himself a decided Arminian, I infer from it that he is not a good logician; but, Sir, it does not interfere with his personal piety: look at good Mr. Benson, for example. I regard the question more as metaphysical than religious."

A lady who had been speaking of the Supreme Being with great familiarity, but in religious phraseology, having retired, he said"I wish I knew how to cure that good lady of her bad habit. I have tried, but as yet, in vain. It is a great mistake to affect this kind of familiarity with the King of kings, and speak of him as though he were a next-door neighbour, from the pretence of love. Mr. Boyle's well-known habit was infinitely to be commended. And one of our old divines, I forget which, well remarks that'Nothing but ignorance can be guilty of this boldness; that there is no divinity but in a humble fear, no philosophy but shews itself in silent admiration.""

When two or three gentlemen were discussing the question, whether a man of no religion can be a successful minister of the gospel, surprise was expressed that Mr. Hall remained silent— "Sir, (said he, in reply), I would not deny that a sermon from a bad man may sometimes do good; but the general question does not admit of an argument. Is it at all probable, that one who is a willing servant of Satan, (and that, you know, Sir, is the hypothesis you assume,) will fight against him with all his might, and if not, what success can be rationally expected?"

Mr. Hall did not permit his sedulous cultivation of the mind to draw him aside from the cultivation of the heart. The evidences were, indeed, very strong, that his preparation for ministerial duty was devotional as well as intellectual. Thus, his public services, by a striking gradation, for months and years, evinced an obvious growth, in mental power, in literary A few more miscellaneous gleanings from Mr. Hall's remarks in conversation are inserted in Appendix, Note A.

acquisition, and in the seriousness, affection, and ardour of a man of piety. His usefulness and his popularity increased; the church and congregation became considerably augmented; and in 1798, it was found necessary to enlarge the place of worship to accommodate about two hundred more persons.

66

Early in the year 1799, a severe fever, which brought him, in his own apprehension, and that of his friends, to the brink of the grave, gave him an opportunity of experiencing the support yielded by the doctrines of the cross" in the near views of death and judgement." He "never before felt his mind so calm and happy." The impression was not only salutary, but abiding; and it again prompted him to the investigation of one or two points, with regard to which he had long felt himself floating in uncertainty. Although he had for some years steadily and earnestly enforced the necessity of divine influence in the transformation of character, and in perseverance in a course of consistent, holy, obedience, yet he spoke of it as "the influence of the spirit of God," and never in express terms, as "the influence of the Holy Spirit." The reason was, that though he fully believed the necessity of spiritual agency in commencing and continuing the spiritual life, he doubted the doctrine of the distinct personality of the Holy Spirit. But about this time he was struck with the fact that, whenever in private prayer he was in the most deeply devotional frame, "most overwhelmed with the sense that he was nothing, and God was all in all," he always felt himself inclined to adopt a trinitarian doxology. This circumstance, occurring frequently, and more frequently meditated upon in a tone of honest and anxious inquiry, issued at length in a persuasion that the Holy Spirit is really and truly God, and not an emanation. It was not, however, until 1800, that he publicly included the personality of the Holy Spirit, in his statements of the doctrine of spiritual influence.

In attempting to give some idea of the general character and style of Mr. Hall's public services, while I had the privilege of hearing him at Cambridge, I feel that I shall neither adequately describe what his preaching really was, nor even do justice to my own conceptions of it.

His manner of reading the Scriptures at the beginning of the service was not generally interesting; nor did the portion read, always bear an obvious reference to the text or subject afterwards brought forward. But when passages of Scripture were

quoted in the sermon, they were so delivered as to give to their true meaning the most intelligible prominence and force.

His prayers were remarkable for their simplicity and their devotional feeling. No person could listen to them without being persuaded, that he who uttered them was really engaged in prayer, was holding communion with his God and Father in Christ Jesus. His tones and his countenance throughout these exercises were those of one most deeply imbued with a sense of his unworthiness, and throwing himself at the feet of the Great Eternal, conscious that he could present no claim for a single blessing, but the blood of atonement, yet animated by the cheering hope that the voice of that blood would prevail. The structure of these prayers never indicated any preconceived plan. They were the genuine effusions of a truly devotional spirit, animated by a vivid recollection of what in his own state, in that of the congregation, of the town and vicinity, needed most ardently to be laid before the Father of Mercies. Thus they were remarkably comprehensive, and furnished a far greater variety on the successive occasions of public worship, than those of any other minister whom I have ever known. The portions which were devoted to intercession, operated most happily in drawing the affections of his people towards himself; since they shewed how completely his christian sympathy had prepared him to make their respective cases his own.

The commencement of his sermons did not excite much expectation in strangers, except they were such as recollected how the mental agitation, produced by diffidence, characterised the first sentences of some of the orators of antiquity. He began with hesitation, and often in a very low and feeble tone, coughing frequently, as though he were oppressed by asthmatic obstructions. As he proceeded his manner became easy, graceful, and at length highly impassioned; his voice also acquired more flexibility, body, and sweetness, and in all his happier and more successful efforts, swelled into a stream of the most touching and impressive melody. The farther he advanced, the more spontaneous, natural, and free from labour, seemed the progression of thought. He announced the results of the most extensive reading, of the most patient investigation, or of the profoundest thinking, with such unassuming simplicity, yet set them in such a position of obvious and lucid reality, that the auditors wondered how things so simple and