that we should have had a right to complain. But now the fields, the woods, the gardens, have each their concert, and the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures who seem only to please themselves.

3. IN AT THE DEATH.

(FROM "LETTERS," DATED 1788.)

ONE day last week, Mrs. Unwin and I, having taken our morning walk and returning homeward through the wilderness, met the Throckmortons. A minute after we had met them, we heard the cry of hounds at no great distance, and mounting the broad stump of an elm which had been felled, and by the aid of which we were enabled to look over the wall, we saw them. They were all at that time in our orchard; presently we heard a terrier, belonging to Mrs. Throckmorton, which you may remember by the name of Fury, yelping with much vehemence, and saw her running through the thickets within a few yards of us at her utmost speed, as if in pursuit of something which we doubted not was the fox. Before we could reach the other end of the wilderness, the hounds entered also; and when we arrived at the gate which opens into the grove, there we found the whole weary cavalcade assembled. The huntsman dis

mounting, begged leave to follow his hounds on foot, for he was sure, he said, that they had killed him; a conclusion which, I suppose, he drew from their profound silence. He was accordingly admitted, and, with a sagacity that would not have dishonoured the best hound in the world, pursuing precisely the same track which the fox and the dogs had taken, though he had never had a glimpse of either after their first entrance through the rails, arrived where he found the slaughtered prey. He soon produced dead reynard, and rejoined us in the grove with all his dogs about him. Having an opportunity to see a ceremony which I was pretty sure would never fall in my way again, 1 determined to stay and to notice all that passed with the most minute attention. The huntsman having, by the aid of a pitchfork, lodged reynard on the arm of an elm at the height of about nine feet from the ground, there left him for a considerable time. The gentlemen sat on their horses contemplating the fox, for which they had toiled so hard; and the hounds assembled at the foot of the tree, with faces not less expressive of the most rational delight, contemplated the same

object. The huntsman remounted, cut off a foot and threw it to the hounds; one of them swallowed it whole like a bolus. He then once more alighted, and drawing down the fox by the hinder legs, desired the people, who were by this time rather numerous, to open a lane for him to the right and left. He was instantly obeyed, then throwing the fox to the distance of some yards, and screaming like a fiend, “tear him to pieces," at least six times repeatedly, he consigned him over absolutely to the pack, who in a few minutes devoured him completely. Thus, my dear, as Virgil says, what none of the gods could have ventured to promise me, time itself, pursuing its accustomed course, has of its own accord presented me with. I have been in at the death of a fox, and you now know as much of the matter as I, who am as well informed as any sportsman in England.

ROBERT HALL.1

1. THE CONCEPTION OF GOD.2

(FROM "MODERN INFIDELITY CONSIDERED," PUBLISHED IN 1800.)

WHEN we reflect on the manner in which the idea of Deity is formed, we must be convinced that such an idea, intimately present to the mind, must have a powerful effect in refining

(1) "Hall is more massive than Addison, more easy and unconstrained than Johnson, more sober than Burke."-Quarterly Review.

"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, "Spital Sermon."

"Whoever wishes to see the English language in its perfection, must read the writings of that great divine Robert Hall. He combines the beauties of Johnson, Addison, and Burke, without their imperfections."-Dugald Stewart.

"He uses the finest classical allusions, the noblest images, and the most exquisite words, as though they were those which came first into 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."-Talfourd.

(2) This passage well illustrates the perfection of Hall's style, of which generally that may be said, which is said by Coleridge of first-rate poetry, that it would be "scarcely more difficult to push a stone out from the pyramids with the bare hand,

the moral taste. Composed of the richest elements, it embraces in the character of a beneficent Parent and Almighty Ruler, whatever is venerable in wisdom, whatever is awful in authority, whatever is touching in goodness.

Human excellence is blended with many imperfections, and seen under many limitations. It is beheld only in detached and separate portions, nor ever appears in any one character whole and entire. So that when, in imitation of the Stoics, we wish to form out of these fragments the notion of a perfectly wise and good man, we know it is a mere fiction of the mind, without any real being in whom it is embodied and realised. In the belief of a Deity these conceptions are reduced to reality: the scattered rays of an ideal excellence are concentrated, and become the real attributes of that Being with whom we stand in the nearest relation, who sits supreme at the head of the universe, is armed with infinite power, and pervades all nature with his presence.

The idea of the Supreme Being has this peculiar property, that as it admits of no substitute, so from the first moment it is formed, it is capable of continual growth and enlargement. God himself is immutable; but our conception of his character is continually receiving fresh accessions, is continually growing more extended and refulgent, by having transferred to it new elements of beauty and goodness; by attracting to itself as a centre whatever bears the impress of dignity, order, or happiness. It borrows splendour from all that is fair, subordinates 1 to itself all that is great, and sits enthroned on the riches of the universe.

than to alter a word, or the position of a word," in the finest passages, "without making the writer say something else, or something worse than he does say." Let the experiment be tried on the sentence, "Composed of," &c., and in that lower down beginning "God himself is immutable," which, with consummate art, contrasting the immutability of God with our changing but augmenting conception of him, prepares the way for the grand and almost unequalled climax which follows: "It borrows splendour," &c.

(1) Subordinate, to reduce authoritatively to a lower rank or position, is a word of remarkable force here, especially inasmuch as the subordination is not of some casual insurgent, or some confessedly feeble antagonist, but "of all that is great."

2. EXPEDIENCY NOT THE TEST OF VIRTUE.1

(FROM "SENTIMENTS PROPER TO THE PRESENT CRISIS,"2 PUBLISHED

IN 1803.)

IN former times it was supposed that one of the most effectual means of improvement in virtue was the moral culture of the heart; and "to keep it with all diligence, because out of it are the issues of life," was thought an advice deserving the most serious attention. To examine frequently the state of the conscience, and to check the first risings of disorder there, was judged to be of the last importance.

3

It is easy to see how this moral discipline must fare under the doctrine of expediency, a doctrine which teaches man to be looking continually abroad; a doctrine which not only justifies, but enjoins, a distrust of the suggestions of the inward monitor; which will not permit the best feelings of the heart, its clearest dictates, its finest emotions, to have the smallest influence over the conduct; and instead of yielding anything to their direction, cites them at its bar.

As this fashion of reducing every moral question to a calculation of expedience is a most important innovation, it would be strange if it had not produced a change in the manners of society. In fact it has produced an entirely new cast of character, equally remote from the licentious gaiety of high life, and the low profligacy which falls under the lash of the law: a race of men distinguished by a calm and terrible ferocity, resembling Cæsar in this only, that as it was said of him, they have come with sobriety to the ruin of their country. The greatest crimes

(1) The general argument pursued in this passage is the same as that of Burke in parts of the extract given p. 325, though the one is fraught with political, and the other with strictly religious, considerations.

(2) This sermon and that on the death of the Princess Charlotte present the noblest specimens of Hall's powers. Talfourd says of the former, that the writer "blends the finest remembrance of the antique world, the dearest associations of British patriotism, and the pure spirit of the Gospel, in a strain as noble as could have been poured out by Tyrtæus." And Lord Brougham, who frequently heard him, says, "In the eloquence of the pulpit, Robert Hall comes nearer Massillon than either Cicero or Eschines or Demosthenes." The occasion of this discourse was a general fast day which was appointed shortly after the recommencement of the war with Napoleon, in consequence of the rupture of the peace of Amiens.

(3) Expedience, expediency, in Shakespere's time, was used for expedition ("This deare expedience," i.e., this costly expedition), but was then almost unknown as an ethical term, though Bishop Hall speaks of holy affairs "being ruled according to reason and expediency."

no longer issue from the strongest passions, but from the coolest head. Vice and impiety have made a new conquest, and have added the regions of speculation to their dominion. The patrons of impurity and licentiousness have put on the cloak of the philosopher: maxims the most licentious have found their way into books of pretended morality, and have been inculcated with the airs of a moral sage. The new doctrine having withdrawn the attention from all internal sentiments, as well as destroyed their authority, the distinction between right and wrong was easily lost sight of, the boundaries of vice and virtue confounded, and the whole substance of morals fell a prey to contending disputants. Nor is this the only or the worst consequence which has followed. A callous indifference to all moral distinctions is an almost inseparable effect of the familiar application of this theory. Virtue is no longer contemplated as the object of any particular sentiment or feeling, but solely with regard to its effects on society: it is what it produces, not what it is, that is alone considered, just as an accountant is indifferent to the shape and appearance of the figures, and attends simply to their amount. Crimes and virtues are equally candidates for approbation, nor must the heart betray the least preference, which would be to prejudge the cause; but must maintain a sacred neutrality, till expedience, whose hand never trembles in the midst of the greatest horrors, has weighed in her impartial balance their consequences and effects. In the meantime, they are equally candidates, we repeat it again, for our approbation, and equally entitled to it, provided the passions can be deceived into an opinion, and this is not difficult, that they will come to the same thing at the foot of the account. Hence that intrepidity in guilt, which has cased the hearts of the greatest adepts in this system, as with triple brass. Its seeds were sown by some of these with an unsparing hand in France, a congenial soil, where they produced a thick vegetation. The consequences were soon felt. The fabric of society tottered to its base, the earth shook under their feet: the heavens were involved in darkness, and a voice more audible than thunder called upon them to desist. But, unmoved amidst the uproar of elements, undismayed by that voice which astonishes nature

(1) This is the famous doctrine of utilitarianism, founded on the definition that virtue is "the accomplishment of the greatest happiness of the greatest number." Whatever may be the truth of this doctrine, it must be confessed, that it is not quite fairly dealt with by the writer. No utilitarian could possibly allow, that, on his system, " crimes and virtues are equally candidates for approbation."