do, and then, with God's help, make them feel and persuade them to practice what the Scriptures teach."

After much more similar conversation, in which Dr. Candlish participated, the doctor said: "Come, brethren, I can talk better on my feet. Let us go into the fields;" and away we went into the fields. We started now the subject most interesting to all, at that time; the disruption, as its enemies called it, and the Free Church. On this theme, Dr. Candlish was all energy and fire. Dr. Chalmers was far less enthusiastic than we had expected to find him. He said, it was a great experiment. He had faith in it, and was willing with all his heart to give it a fair trial. He was believing more and more that God would own the movement.

It became necessary for Dr. Candlish to leave us, to meet a pastoral engagement in the city. As he went away, and as soon as he was fairly out of hearing, Dr. Chalmers said, pointing his finger after him-" There goes a very remarkable man; a very great and good man; Scotland could not do without him."

When at length it became necessary for us to go, he said, "But you shall not go alone; you have taken a long walk this morning to visit me, and now, I'll go with you a bit, at least."

As we were walking toward the city a little incident occurred showing the gentleness and kindness of his nature. We met a little girl, daughter to one of his neighbors, who as soon as she saw him, came running up with great glee, to claim a recognition. "Eh, Moggy," said he, "is it you? and how are ye, this braw day?" and stooping down, he clasped little Moggy in his arms, and kissed her with a will. It was quite evident from the child's manner, that she felt herself peculiarly favored.

We

The doctor accompanied us to the outskirts of the town, where he took his leave with a hearty good bye, and a blessing. His "God be with you" is sounding in our ears yet. shall not soon forget that day. We hoped then, at some future time to renew the pleasure of it. But O, inexorable death! We can not think that Dr. Chalmers is dead and not feel desolate. He has left a void indeed. In that range of elevation, at which the eye was accustomed to behold him it sees nothing now. He stood alone there and has died, leaving no fellows.

Whatever may have been the elements of Dr. Chalmers' greatness, no man will question the fact that he was really one of the very greatest men of his age. He had cotemporaries,

there is no doubt, who in any one quality of his greatness, were greater than he; but we will not affect a modesty in our laudations of him which we do not feel, but will frankly say, that we know of not one, who taken for all in all, was his equal, or even approximated to equality with him. He towered aloft among great men, like Mount Blanc among its neighbor mountains, and literally overshadowed them all, appearing himself greater perhaps than he really was, and making them appear smaller by the contrast. That there is no exaggeration in this, we appeal to the universal sense of that impression of himself which he has left behind him on all minds. Other magnates, like John Foster and Robert Hall, the former of the two, more profoundly philosophical than Chalmers, and the latter, incomparably more polished and acute, have left their marks distinct and deep upon our consciousness. They have a local habitation in our thought-world, and names that can never perish. But it is not his mark that Chalmers has made.' He has rested down upon us like a great wide seal, stamping us all over with a clear impression of his vastness. He has created for himself a sort of universal presence. Foster and Hall stand out manifest and well-defined, but they stand off yonder in their own places. Chalmers is here, there, everywhere; his own place is the illimitable. We are endeavoring to express, not a thought, but a feeling that we have, and in which we believe most others sympathize with us; a feeling, we apprehend, produced by a certain quality in Chalmers, which more than any other, lay at the foundation of his greatness, and sublimed it. We refer to what shall we call it? We have no words, but we may describe what we mean-his living fellowship with all humanity, his lack, while no man had a more decided individuality, of any thing like a conscious individualism; his profound and earnest sympathy with men as men, with his species, whereby he wonderfully drew all those who were susceptible of such an influence into a like sympathy with himself. He was a world-man, with a whole world-heart in him; one toward whom, just in proportion as we come to understand and know him, we felt our hearts going out, whether we would or no, in a love similar to that which inspired his own. He had that in him, for which we English have no name, but which the Germans beautifully express by mennschlichkeit, wherewith, as Moses with his rod smote the rock in Horeb, and the water gushed out, he smote what to any thing besides is no less a rock, and drew forth rich returns of answering affection. He

was in this respect what Shakspeare was, as much as any unsanctified man could be; what Shakspeare would most remarkably have been if he had had Chalmers' piety; or if we may be allowed to say so, expressing our own opinion, what Henry Clay would have been, had he devoted his life as Chalmers did, to preaching the gospel and not to politics. Who will do justice to the life and character of Henry Clay? Who can, of all those life-writers, who see nothing in life higher and better than statesmanship, and the sagacity of politicians ? Great as he appeared among Senators, he appeared a thousandfold greater among men, as one of them. A notable example of what we mean was Martin Luther. A more notable example was Paul. Its perfection was never seen in the world but once, and then, in Him in whom was concentrated all possible greatness and glory of man, who with a divine aptitude of self-adjustment, when he came on his great errand of love, to draw all men unto himself, took on him our nature, and assumed in even a higher sense than that, fellowship with the universal race.

It is not by the possession of a great intellect merely, or of vast attainments in knowledge, that a man is to assume the attitude of real greatness in this world of ours. In another sense than that in which it was said by Paul, it is none the less a verity, that, "though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not 'άyány-(universal love, that which makes me a true sympathizer with all mankind,)—I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not 'ayán,' I am nothing." The world will never feel such greatness to any great extent, or acknowledge it, or bow before it. It lacks the vital element to give it diffusion and create for it a real presence to men's senses and affections. It is nothing, away with it. It may loom up and stand giant-like in its own place, but it has its own place, and there it stays, and there it may stay, about as interesting to us as the mountains in the moon, serving possibly like those mountains some useful purpose, but serving it in a way that little affects mankind in general, or engages their care or thoughts. The test of true greatness is, its power to produce sympathy in human minds, to impress itself on human character, and to mould and fashion somewhat after its own image

the humanity on which it acts. To this end there must be that in its composition and very ground-work which we have ascribed to Chalmers, and which, if we are not egregiously mistaken, he possessed in a far higher degree than any of his contemporaries.

Apart from any thing that we have intended to express above, but akin to it, and complicated with it, was the womanly lovingness that characterized Chalmers in all the private, domestic, and social relations of life. He had, in the ordinary sense of the language, a heart, a great loving heart, full of warm and tender and strong affections, ready to pour the treasures of its kindliness on all who might be benefited thereby, but to fasten itself with peculiar and deep intensity on those in whom he found a kindred worthiness. In this also we discover, if not an element of greatness, yet something which we think is always associated with true greatness. Poor John Milton! His name slips from our pen here, because we think he was just another such man, and because we suppose that most people think otherwise of him. We know almost nothing of him in this respect, save what appears in the history of his most unfortunate family connections, but we never shall cease to believe, that had he been blessed of heaven with wives and daughters capable of understanding such a man, we never should have heard the complaints that were unhappily made against him. The wife of the great author of the work on Solitude, as she lay dying, said, "My poor Zimmerman, who now will understand thee!" Milton was not so favored as to have even a wife that could understand him, except, it may be, the second, Catharine Woodcock, who died in less than a year after marriage. That he had great capacity for loving, that he had a warm, ardent, and generous nature, who, that has read him, can doubt? No man can write immortal things that does not write from the depths of his own soul, and we must be converted to some yet undreamed of philosophy, ere we shall be able to convince ourselves that the author of Paradise Lost, of Lycidas, of Il Penseroso, and L'Allegro, had a heart in him that was desert of generous affections. He was undoubtedly in his own household, a bitterly disappointed man, who loved not because he found nothing that would be loved, nothing that could be loved, as only he could love if he loved at all; and may we not believe that the great volume of his majestic and mighty song was fed to its unparalleled fullness by the sur

charge, thus occasioned, of the deep fountains of feeling that were treasured in his bosom ?

At any rate, Chalmers was what we have described him. Never was there a more loving husband and father, never a more devoted son, a more affectionate brother, or a faster and truer friend. Never did a man more freely carry his heart in his hand toward every human being than he. Even toward his enemies, toward those who opposed his schemes of usefulness, who misrepresented and maligned him, the mean and miserable victims of sheer envy, or the little souls that could not comprehend, and hated his better methods of accomplishing what they owned were noble objects, because those methods were new; even toward these, Chalmers was infinitely generous in his forbearance, and as free as a child from any feeling of revenge or unkindness. The demonstrations of hostility which he sometimes encountered, grieved and distressed, but did not anger him, rendered him not vindictive but unhappy. From Dr. Hanna's Memoirs, we might largely illustrate what we say, if the limits of this Article permitted us. We do not mean to intimate that Dr. Chalmers never yielded to a momentary irritation under the ungenerous treatment which he sometimes received. Who that is human could avoid that? We mean that he never allowed such irritations to fester and rankle in his breast, or to maintain an ascendency there. We doubt if the sun went ever down upon his wrath. We are writing now, as in all these pages we have intended to write, not of the youthful pastor at Kilmany, and sometime lecturer on Chemistry at St. Andrews, doing battle for the principle of pluralities, and seeking to gratify a huge unsanctified ambition, but of Chalmers in the maturity of his life and greatness. How he could bear, and did bear those things, which in most other men would have begotten bitter and hostile feelings, let the following entries in his journal, made in 1826, during his perplexities at St. Andrews, bear witness:

"March 7th. A college meeting about accounts, and an extremely unpleasant one, in regard to the cool and contemptuous insolence of one member toward me, whose former injustice ought to have abashed him. Things are fast working toward a crisis in regard to the Candlemas dividend. The other question is still in a state of menace and uncertainty, in regard to the part which my adversaries shall take in it. Meanwhile my whole feeling in regard to the college is of a most unpleasant