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As honor, 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, and dare not."

LADY MACBETH.

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. The 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 womanly regrets, than by the hardness of her heart or want of natural affections. Nor do the pains she is at to "screw his courage to the stickingplace," the reproach to him not to be "lost so poorly in himself," the assurance that "a little water clears them of this deed," show anything but her greater consistency in wickedness. Her strongnerved 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.

HAMLET.

Hamlet is a name: his speeches and sayings but the idle coinage of the poet's brain. What, then, are they not real? They are as real as our own thoughts. Their reality is in the reader's mind. It is we who are Hamlet. This play has a prophetic truth, which is above that of history. Whoever has become thoughtful and melancholy through his own mishaps or those of others; whoever has borne about with him the clouded brow of reflection, and thought himself "too much i' th' sun;" whoever has seen the golden lamp of day dimmed by envious mists rising in his own breast, and could find in the world before him only a dull blank

with nothing left remarkable in it; whoever has known "the pangs of despised love, the insolence of office, or the spurns which patient merit of the unworthy takes;" he who has felt his mind sink within him, and sadness cling to his heart like a malady; who has had his hopes blighted and his youth staggered by the apparitions of strange things; who cannot be well at ease, while he sees evil hovering near him like a spectre; whose powers of action have been eaten up by thought; he to whom the universe seems infinite, and himself nothing; whose bitterness of soul makes him careless of consequences, and who goes to a play as his best resource to drive off, to a second remove, the evils of life by a mock representation of them-this is the true Hamlet.

It

We have been so used to this tragedy that we hardly know how to criticise it any more than we should know how to describe our own faces. But we must make such observations as we can. is the one of Shakspeare's plays that we think of oftenest, because it abounds most in striking reflections on human life, and because the distresses of Hamlet are transferred, by the turn of his mind, to the general account of humanity. Whatever happens to him, we apply to ourselves, because he applies it so himself as a means of general reasoning. He is a great moralizer; and what makes him worth attending to is that he moralizes on his own feelings and experience. He is not a common-place pedant. If Lear shows the greatest depth of passion, Hamlet is the most remarkable for the ingenuity, originality, and unstudied development of character. Shakspeare had more of the magnanimity of genius than any other poet, and he has shown more of it in this play than in any other. There is no attempt to force an interest; everything is left to time and circumstances. The attention is excited without premeditation or effort, the incidents succeed each other as matters of course, the characters think and speak and act just as they would do if left entirely to themselves. There is no set purpose, no straining at a point. The observations are suggested by the passing scenethe gusts of passion come and go like sounds of music borne on the wind. The whole play is an exact transcript of what might be supposed to have taken place at the court of Denmark, at the remote period of time fixed upon, before the modern refinements in morals and manners were heard of.

SHAKSPEARE'S FEMALE CHARACTERS.

It is the peculiar characteristic of Shakspeare's heroines, that they seem to exist only in their attachment to others. They are

pure abstractions of the affections. We think as little of their persons as they do themselves, because we are let into the secrets of their hearts, which are more important. We are too much interested in their affairs to stop to look at their faces, except by stealth and at intervals. No one ever hit the true perfection of the female character, the sense of weakness leaning on the strength of its affections for support, so well as Shakspeare-no one ever so well painted natural tenderness free from affectation and disguise-no one else ever so well showed how delicacy and timidity, when driven to extremity, grow romantic and extravagant; for the romance of his heroines (in which they abound) is only an excess of the habitual prejudices of their sex, scrupulous of being false to their vows, truant to the affections, and taught by the force of feeling when to forego the forms of propriety for the essence of it. His women are in this respect exquisite logicians; for there is nothing so logical as passion. They know their own minds exactly; and only follow up a favorite idea which they have sworn to with their tongues, and which is engraven on their hearts, into its untoward consequences. They are the prettiest little set of martyrs and confessors on record.

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 eminence. He 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., afterwards 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, towards 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 consecrate himself more entirely to God. "His piety assumed a more exalted 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 the ablest judges of every creed. His mental endowments were of the highest 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 everything becoming a Christian. His piety was pure, sincere, exalted, and untainted by bigotry or intolerance. As a pastor, he was zealous, affectionate, and indefatigable in the discharge of his duties. In him, benevolence and humility were conspicuous, and his affections were as warm as his intellect was strong. In social life he was open, communicative, sincere, and unostentatious. His conversation was on a level with his preaching, and displayed the same varied excellencies."

Indeed, the world has seldom seen a character that united so much both of mind and heart, extensive learning, profoundness of thought, great eloquence, sincere and unaffected piety, and a benevolence that embraced the good of the whole human race.3

DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

Without the slightest warning, without the opportunity of a moment's immediate preparation, in the midst of the deepest

"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 ever has been written."-London Magazine, February, 1821.

The degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred upon him, but, believing it unscriptural, he never assumed the title. Indeed, he was really great, and did not need it.

The collected works of Robert Hall, with various posthumous productions, and a memoir of his life by Dr. Gregory, were published in 1832, in six volumes 8vo. Read an article in the " Edinburgh Review," vol. xlv. p. 147; and another in the "Quarterly," vol. xlviii. p. 100.

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