ous sweeps of passion in him are pervaded and informed and guided by intellect, so the most earnest struggles of intellect. seem to be calmed and made gentle in their vehemence, by a more essential rationality of taste. That imperious mind, which seems fit to defy the universe, is ever subordinate, by a kind of fascination, to the perfect law of grace. In the highest of his intellectual flights-and who can follow the winged rush of that eagle mind?—in the widest of his mental ranges-and who shall measure their extent ?-he is ever moving with the severest tone of beauty. No one would think of saying that Mr Webster's speeches are thrown off with ease and cost him but little effort; they are clearly the result of the intensest stress of mental energy; yet the manner is never discomposed; the decency and propriety of the display never interfered with; he is always greater than his genius; you see "the depth but not the tumult" of the mind. Whether, with extended arm, he strangles the "reluctantes dracones" of his adversary, or with every faculty called home, concentrates the light and heat of his being in developing into principles those great sentiments and great instincts which are his inspiration; in all, the orator stands forth with the majesty and chastened grace of Pericles himself. In the fiercest of encounters with the deadliest of foes, the mind which is enraged is never perturbed; the style which leaps like the fire of heaven is never disordered. As in Guido's picture of St. Michael piercing the dragon, while the gnarled muscles of the arms and hands attest the utmost strain of the strength, the countenance remains placid, serene, and undisturbed. In this great quality of mental dignity, Mr. Webster's speeches have become more and more eminent. The glow and lustre which set his earlier speeches a-blaze with splendor, is in his later discourses rarely set forth; but they have gained more in the increase of dignity than they have parted with in the diminution of brilliancy. We regard his late speech before the shop-keepers, calling themselves merchants, of Philadelphia, as one of the most weighty and admirable of the intellectual efforts of his life. The range of profound and piercing wisdom; the exquisite and faultless taste; but, above all, the august and indefectable dignity, that are illustrated from the

beginning to the end of that great display of matured and finished strength, leave us in mingled wonder and reverence. There is one sentence there which seems to us almost to reach the intellectual sublime; and while it stirs within us the depths of sympathy and admiration, we could heartily wish that the young men of America would inhale the almost supra-mortal spirit which it breathes: "I would not with any idolatrous admiration regard the Constitution of the United States, nor any other work of man; but this side of idolatry, I hold it in profound respect. I believe that no human working on such a subject, no human ability exerted for such an end, has ever produced so much happiness, or holds out now to so many millions of people the prospect, through such a succession of ages and ages, of so much happiness, as the Constitution of the United States. We who are here for one generation, for a single life, and yet in our several stations and relations in society intrusted in some degree with its protection and support, what duty does it devolve, what duty does it not devolve, upon us!" In the name of distant ages, and a remote posterity, we hail the author of this and similar orations, as Webster the Olympian.

But we leave a subject which we have incidentally touched, sincerely disclaiming any attempt to estimate the character or define the greatness of Webster. In reference to him we feel, as Cicero said to Cæsar, "Nil vulgare te dignum videri possit."

First among the great theologians of the country must be ranked Jonathan Edwards, whose sincerity, courage and extraordinary skill in dialectics have commanded the admiration of all parties for nearly a century. Robert Hall, in one of his bursts of enthusiasm, declares him the "greatest of mankind;" and Mackintosh, the range and profoundness of whose studies qualified him to judge of his relation to the other masters of reason, does not scruple to say that "in power of subtle argument he was unsurpassed among men." Dugald Stewart, Hamilton, Chalmers, and indeed nearly all the leading ethical and theological writers of the old world, have endorsed these opinions. The "Treatise on the Will" is regarded as his greatest production, and its amazing power has contributed scarcely more than

its perfect sincerity and conscientiousness to its celebrity. There is no trick of words, no subterfuge, no verbal sophism, no petulance or dogmatism, in his argument. He reasons of "fixed fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute," not as one wishing to secure to himself a triumph, but as if anxious to remove all stumblingblocks from the way of truth. His treatise on original sin was published ninety years ago, in reply to Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, the leader of the Arminians of that day, who had boasted that his own book on this subject was unanswerable, but was compelled to admit that no rejoinder could be made to the American Calvinist. "The grasp of his antagonist was death," literally; for he died of mortification at his defeat. Mr. Griswold says of Edwards:

"Born in a country which was still almost a wilderness; educated in a college which had scarcely a local habitation; settled, a large part of his life, over a church upon the confines of civilization, and the rest of it in the very midst of barbarism, in the humble but honorable occupation of a missionary, he owed nothing to adventitious circumstances. With a fragile body, a fine imagination, and a spirit the most gentle that ever thrilled in the presence of the beautiful, he seemed of all men the least fitted for the great conflict in which he engaged. But He who, giving to Milton the Dorian reed, sent out his seraphim to enrich him with utterance and knowledge, with fire from the same altar purified the lips of Edwards, to teach that 'true religion consists in holy affections,' the spring of all which is 'a love of divine things for their own beauty and sweetness.""

A history of theological opinions in America would have no completeness unless it included the names of the younger Edwards, Chauncey, Mayhew, Hopkins, Bellamy, Seabury, Dwight, and that independent and shrewd dogmatist, Emmons, "the last of the cocked hats," who died recently, after a conflict of nearly three-quarters of a century with all the forms of opposition to the most ultra doctrines of Geneva. These giants of the last age have been succeeded, in many places, by a race of preachers who present to us, under the name of sermons, discourses on moral subjects which have been handed down by Cicero, Seneca, and "The Spectator;" with "little more of the Gospel in them than is to be found in the heathen philosophers." Except Edwards, Dwight is the only New England divine of the Puritan stock to

whom Mr. Griswold has devoted an essay. He came upon the stage while the smoke of the great battles of the last century was clearing away; and though a Calvinist, the "five points" of his doctrine were so rounded off that he suited perfectly his place and time. His writings have been extremely popular, and he was an orator of no mean reputation; but his style nevertheless was decidedly bad. He never learned the saying, "Apud oratorem vero nisi aliquid efficitur, redundat ;" and his diffuseness and bad taste will prevent the continuance of his name in the select list in which it has been written. Very different from the celebrated president of Yale was his contemporary Buckminster, who, with fit opportunity and long life, would have carved his name in enduring letters upon his age. Of the character and eloquence of this youthful divine Mr. Griswold says:

"With a face remarkable for its pure intellectual expression, and a silvery voice, the tones of which won the devout attention and haunted the memories of all who listened, it is not surprising that in a community where mental power is so highly appreciated as in Boston, the weekly addresses of the youthful divine attracted large and enthusiastic audiences. His manner was artless and impressive, and there was something about the whole man that irresistibly fascinated the taste at the same time that it inspired respect and love. In social life he was remarkable for his urbane spirit, quick intelligence, and refined wit. He was the centre of a rare circle of the good and cultivated, and his death fell upon the hearts of his numerous friends with the solemn pathos of a deep calamity. To the readers of his discourses in whose minds they lack the charm of personal associations, there is perhaps a coldness. in their very beauty. Yet few sermons equal them for a happy blending of good sense and graceful imagery. Truth is enforced with a simple earnestness, and pious thoughts are clothed in language strikingly correct and impressive. One of the most characteristic of these essays is the one on "The Advantages of Sickness." It was composed after a dangerous illness of several weeks. On the Sabbath morning when Buckminster was to reäppear before the anxious congregation, at an early hour, before rising, he called for the necessary materials, and wrote the entire sermon in bed, after having meditated the subject during the night. The bell had ceased tolling when his diminutive figure was seen gliding up the aisle of the church, thronged with expectant faces. He ascended the pulpit stairs with feebie steps, and went through the preparatory exercises in a suppressed voice. Still weak from long confinement, as he leaned upon the desk and gave out his theme, every ear hung upon the cherished accents. The effect of his address is said to have been affecting in the highest degree. As it proceeded, he kindled into that calm and earnest ardor for which he was remarkable, and vindicated the benignity and the

wisdom of the heavenly Father who had so recently afflicted him, in a strain so exalted and sincere that to this day all who heard him dwell with enthusiasm upon the scene."

Of the living lights of Andover, New Haven, Hartford, and Cambridge; of the learned and accurate Stuart; of Bacon and Bushnell, with their light but shining armor, Jarvis with his vast erudition, and Norton, whose exact and comprehensive scholarship, clear, compact and beautiful style, and masterly discussions of the evidences and genius of Christianity are fitly applauded by Mr. Griswold, our limits forbid a particular characterization. Coming from New England into New York, we find in the last generation the wise and pious Hobart, and his Presbyterian contemporary, Dr. Mason, who deserves to be classed among the most eloquent preachers since Bourdaloue and Massillon entranced the gay world of Paris, or Barrow and Taylor warmed and invigorated the colder hearts and minds of London. It is related that the celebrated Robert Hall, after listening to a sermon by Mason, while the American orator was in England, declared that his "occupation was gone;" he could never hope to approach so great a master; and was so impressed by his superiority that he could not be prevailed upon for nearly two months to erënter a pulpit. Mason has left us no compositions to sustain his great reputation; but we know that his mind was thoroughly furnished with the best learning; that the fulness of his mind gave him his powerful and fit command of language; justifying the words of Horace :

"cui lecta potenter erit res,

Nec facundia deseret hunc, nec lucidus ordo."

Passing from the theologians, eminent as such, to those who have been more especially distinguished as religious moralists, we meet first the venerated name of Dr. Channing, whom we have always regarded as one of the most interesting and remarkable characters that this nation has produced. He was not distinguished for those qualities that usually confer celebrity in this country; for his nature was in fact a complete antagonism to all the characteristics of our people and our day. In all