The Withered Flower [pp. 229]

LAST WORDS OF JULIA. 229
is a good apology for him, not mentioned by Mr.
Foster. In his day, and even afterward, in England,
the common people were not readers. This business was reserved exclusively for those of leisure,
and the learned. Speaking and writing, therefore,
were, as Mr. Hall undoubtedly perceived, very different things. When he spoke, he was addressing himself to the many-when he wrote, to the few. But,
with all this abatement, he has been pronounced,
by Sir James M'Intosh, his friend, and by Lord
Brougham-an aspirant for the same kind of famethe best writer in our language of his class. His
writing is chaste, pure, elegant, and dignified. His
periods flow along like a grand and overflowing
stream. There is nothing sparkling, and leaping, and
prattling, like the course of a streamlet, in his style.
His sentences, as English, are more like those of Livy
in Latin, than any writer's I have read. There is
not the life, and vivacity, and sweetness, and versatility of matter and manner in his works, which so
charm the classical reader in the best productions of
the Athenian muse. Nor has he the turgid Latinity
of Johnson, to give his periods a great sound and
swell. Every thing is purely Saxon. Nor have I
ever been able to see why an American professor,
the author of a popular book of rhetoric, should
have classed him with Dr. Channing. They have
certainly no feature in common, but a certain dignity
of thought, which is evident in nothing so little as
in any supposed similarity of style. One carries the
length, the other the brevity of sentences, to the last
verge of safety, of naturalness, and of ease.
But from the history of this great man there is an
important moral to be drawn. Properly reflected
upon, it may be of more use to the reader than any
thing I have said. It cannot, it need not be denied,
that, in early life, Mr. Hall was far from being dis tinguished for those amiable qualities, which after ward spread such a charm round his name. From
his childhood, he was passionately headstrong, impa tient of control. Even after he had finished his col lege studies, and entered upon the great duties of
his profession, there was a tartness, sometimes a
satirical bitterness in his retorts, and even in his
ordinary conversation, which must have rendered
him a very disagreeable companion at that time.
His enemies have also charged him with manifesting
contempt for his Bristol colleague, Dr. Evans, whose
talents bore no comparison to the genius of young
Hall. Not only the preachers, but their Church
members. were divided, in consequence of the mis understanding thus begun. Frequent collisions of
a similar character continued, for several years, to
embitter his feelings, and impede his success. But
the good Dr. Ryland, under God, had the happiness
of completely eradicating this root of bitterness
from the heart of his young friend. He sent him
several faithful letters. He told him plainly of his
faults, and warned him of his danger. Did the
young preacher resent this reproof? If any youth
should happen to read this question, let him answer
to himself what he would have done. What Mr.
Hall did is fortunately on record. It is a model for
all. He read Dr. Ryland's letters with great care.
He reflected seriously onl his temper. When he saw
his errors, he allowed the shaft of conviction to
sink to its own depth into his soul. He resolved to
amend his life. He sent his resolution to his kind
reprover. With his characteristic ardor, he undertook this moral reformation, as if it had been the
only business on his hands. The result is well
known. From that period he was one of the most
amiable of men. His humility almost took possession of the opposite extreme. His life teaches us,
not to suffer ourselves to visit the errors of a young
man upon his riper years, unless we have the clearest evidence that he yet cherishes them in his heart.
He may have become as much alive to his failings as
yourself. Forgive his faults, as you wish to be forgiven for your own; and, whenever a parent gets
discouraged over the profligacy, or other ill promise
of a favorite son, whatever else of our theme may
be forgotten, let him or her remember the enlcouraging and illustrious example of the Rev. Robert
Hall.
LAST WORDS OF JULIA.
ERE summer's early blossoms fade,
I shall from hence be gone;
The scenes where I have sportive played,
The walks where I have pensive strayed,
Will breathe the sigh-" Alone!"
Think not of me when I'm away,
As one to distance gone I'll hover near my loves by day,
And when you kneel at eve to pray,
You'll not be all alone.
When through the dark and dreary vale,
I would from earth be gone,
I will not, in its shadow, pale:
His rod and staff shall never fail I walk not there alone.
'Tis Jesus calls-I cannot stay I must from hence be gone:
From these fond ties to brighter day,
Loved ones are beckoning away Shall I be there alone?
W.
THE WITHERED FLOWER.
ALAS, how frail! in a few short, fleeting hours,
Thy life, thy fragrance-both have fled.
Emblem thou art of beauty's transient bloom,
That lives and charms us but a day,
Then withering sinks into an early tomb,
And from the memory fades away.