prepared for the benevolent purpose of furthering the business of a brother. But, though not designedly an author, his literary reputation, especially in England, is scarcely paralleled by that of any other American author. He possessed the best elements of a successful writer-a poetic temperament combined with the philosophic genius, and a style of remarkable transparency and power. His critique on Milton is a splendid estimate of the great Puritan bard, and has been placed by a late English critic above that of Macaulay himself; his article on Napoleon is one of the most sternly just dissections of the moral man ever made; the terrible iniquity of the heroic despot is brought out in such contrast with his vast powers, as to appal the reader. The false glare of martial and imperial splendour is extinguished, and the Great Captain stands forth before the world solely in his moral responsibility. The paper on Fenelon is full of superb traits, and in it Channing unconsciously painted his own exalted character.

His style has rare excellencies, but has faults also. He repeats and expands too much, and an attenuation of his thoughts is often the result. Still he seldom becomes tame; his sentences always retain their silvery brightness, even when drawn out to great tenuity. His style may be compared to a tissue of silver wire, woven most uniformly, but ever and anon incrusted with gold or studded with gems. The pure moral element of his character, of which we have so repeatedly spoken, is, above all, the luminous trait of his writings -large moral views, renovating thoughts, meet you at almost every page; they penetrate and palpitate in the soul of the reader. This was Channing's power, and this is the highest power; this, when accompanied, as it was in him, with poetic beauty and rare felicity of diction, forms the highest style of genius.

We have thus far contemplated Channing chiefly in his relations to public life-as Theologian, Preacher, Philanthropist, and Author-his more private or personal character was one of exceeding beauty. His childhood was blooming and buoyant, and marked by many generous traits. The following quotation speaks significantly for his boyhood:-"Thanks to my stars, I can say I never killed a bird. I would not crush the meanest insect that crawls upon the ground. They have the same right to life that I have-they received it from the same Father, and I will not mar the works of God by wanton cruelty." While at College, the moral strength of his character was shown in his entire preservation from the immoralities then prevalent around him. His college associate, Judge White, says: "His wisdom, goodness, and sanctity, as well as his genius and intellectual powers, were strongly developed; and I

began to feel in his company, what only increased upon me afterward, a mingled affection and respect, approaching to awe, which the presence of no other man ever inspired in the same degree." This feeling of "awe" was not uncommon among his acquaintance, notwithstanding his childlike simplicity and Christian meekness. Dewey compares it to the respect entertained for Washington, which kept his most intimate camp-associates from laying their hand upon his shoulder, or using with him any similar familiarity. It was in Channing's case the result of a certain moral dignity, nay, sanctity, that attracted while it awed; you felt, notwithstanding his kindly ease, that you were in the presence of a rare man, whose mental and moral superiority humbled you, yet with a humility most salutary and cordial. When settled as pastor in Boston, he was still unmarried; he moved into the parsonage, and by the pretence of needing his mother's care, contrived to bring her and most of her family under his protection. During her long life, his relations to her formed one of the finest pictures of filial affection on record. He married his cousin, a lady of wealth, in his 34th year, and thenceforward enjoyed life with a constantly increasing delight. His mother-in-law's country residence, on Rhode Island, became his home during most of each summer-a home supplied with everything that could contribute to the gratification of cultivated taste, and surrounded by some of the finest scenery and the blandest summer atmosphere of New-England. It was here that he composed his most important works, meditating them under the tranquillizing influence of woodland walks and serene landscapes. It was his delight to gather around him in the rural homestead happy groups of children; he loved their confiding innocence and joy, and they never felt in his presence that "awe" with which his greatness inspired older persons:

"A little child during one of these visits threw herself into the arms of an elder friend, and, smiling through her tears, exclaimed, 'O! this is heaven! so subdued did she feel by the atmosphere of love which he diffused. And a young girl wrote, 'He welcomed me with a kindness that took away all feara kindness that I felt I might trust forever; for it was like that which must belong to spirits in eternity. His daily life is illuminated by a holiness which makes his actions as impulsive and peaceful as a child's: it is a happiness to be in his presence.”

He entertained a most delicate and refined appreciation of woman; her influence he considered the chief conservative element of modern civilization. Several ladies distinguished in our literature were among his correspondents, and his letters to Lydia Maria Child, Felicia Hemans, Joanna Baillie, Harriet Martineau, &c., are among the best indications of his noble character. He believed that society should secure more fully the rights of the sex, and he practically FOURTH SERIES, VOL. I-5

acted on the opinion that married women should have absolute control of the property they had previous to marriage.

With his fine sensibility was contrasted a dauntless moral courage. We can hardly conceive of him as capable of being intimidated from the performance of any known duty. He appeared in the anti-slavery conflict when he was at the height of his reputation, when the intelligence and fashion of Boston united in paying him homage, and when his fellow-citizens, especially among the higher classes, were prepared only to see in this step an astounding absurdity, a public self-degradation. Many old friends stood aloof from him after that sublimest appeal to their respect which he could make. But he murmured not, he held on his course, growing more serene and strong in spirit as his years advanced, till at last the re-action of public opinion on the subject of slavery began to turn all generous hearts admiringly toward him. Good men, under their new and indignant convictions of this heinous national wrong, would weep in the public assembly at an allusion to his sublime self-sacrifice. The ingenuous youth of Boston, including many of her old historic names, her Phillipses, Sumners, Adamses, Bowditches, Sewels, &c., caught the inspiration of his courage and followed in his footsteps. He saw the glory of a better day dawning around him, but he was to be taken away from it to a higher reward; yet one more effort must be made for liberty. On the first of August, 1842, he delivered at Lennox his last public address-it was in commemoration of West Indian emancipation; he was too feeble to utter the whole of it, but threw his last strength into its splendid peroration. Mrs. Sedgwick, who heard him, says that "his countenance was full of spiritual beauty; and when he uttered that beautiful invocation toward the close of his address-which would not have been more characteristic or fitting had he known that he should never again speak in public-he looked like one inspired." The effort exhausted him; it was his final and fitting service to his country and his age; and thus descended this great light:

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"On Sunday, October 2d, as he heard the bells ring, he said to us, 'Now go to church. It is a part of our religion, dear sir, to nurse the sick and aid our friends.' True,' he replied, you may stay.' He asked us to read to him from the New Testament. From what part?' "From the Sermon on the Mount.' As we closed the Lord's Prayer, he looked up, with a most expressive smile, and said, That will do now; I find that I am too much fatigued to hear more. I take comfort, O, the greatest comfort, from these words. They are full of the divinest spirit of our religion.' In the afternoon he spoke very earnestly, but in a hollow whisper. I bent forward; but the only words I could distinctly hear were, 'I have received many messages from the Spirit.' As the day declined, his countenance fell, and he grew fainter and fainter. With our aid, he turned himself toward the window, which looked over valleys and wooded summits to the east. We drew back the curtains, and the

light fell upon his face. The sun had just set, and the clouds and sky were bright with gold and crimson. He breathed more and more gently, and, without a struggle or a sigh, the body fell asleep. We knew not when the spirit passed.

"Amidst the glory of autumn, at an hour hallowed by his devout associations, on the day consecrated to the memory of the risen Christ, and looking eastward, as if in the setting sun's reflected light he saw promises of a brighter morning, he was taken home."

His remains were brought to Boston, and committed to the grave amidst the regrets of all classes and parties; and as the procession moved from the church, the bell of the Catholic Cathedral tolled his knell a fact never perhaps paralleled before in the history of Romanism.

And so departed one of the great men of the republic-one who. amidst its servility to mammon and slavery, ceased not to recall it to the sense of its honour and duty-a man whose memory his countrymen will not willingly let die. As the visiter wanders among the shaded aisles of the western part of Mount Auburn, he sees a massive monument of marble designed by Allston, the poet-painter; generous and brave men, from whatever clime, resort to it, and go from it more generous and brave, for there reposes the great and good man whom we have commemorated. The early beams, intercepted by neighbouring heights, fall not upon the spot; but the light of high noon and the later and benigner rays of the day play through the foliage in dazzling gleams upon the marble-a fitting emblem of his fame: for when the later and better light which is yet to bless our desolate race shall come, it will fall with bright illustration on the character of this rare man, and on the great aims of his life.

ART. V.—WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ?

Veteris Testamenti Sententia de Rebus Post Mortem Futuris Illustrata. Auct. GUST. FRED. OEHLER, Phil. et Theol. Doct. hujusque Professor P. O. in Academia Vratislaviensi. 1847.

IN regard to the signification of the Hebrew term bis, there has been much difference of opinion; and it must be confessed, if we go to the ancient or modern versions of the Scriptures, or to the opinions of expositors, we shall reap but little satisfaction. In the

The reader will observe that we have not been uniform in writing the Hebrew word (sheol) with the Vauv. Our excuse is, that the Scriptures are not uniform; we find it both with and without the Vauy.

Septuagint Version, according to Gesenius, it is rendered by the term adne, except in one instance. In 2 Sam. xxii, 6, it is rendered by dávaros. The Vulgate has generally followed the Septuagint, θάνατος. and rendered it by the terms inferus or infernus. Hosea xiii, 14 is an exception, where it is translated by mors. In our common English Version it is rendered, in about thirty instances, by the term grave; and in the remainder by the term hell. In Luther's Version it is usually rendered by the term Hölle, or hell, and in a few instances by Grabe, pit, or grave.

The old Lexicographers, as Castell in Lexicon Heptaglotton, and Buxtorf, give it the significations of sepulchrum, and place of the dead. While modern Lexicographers, especially those of Germany, together with the critics of that country, give it the signification of Orcus, or the Greek "Aions, or place of the dead, including the righteous as well as the wicked. A late writer, in the treatise named at the head of this article, declares that it cannot be proved that this word is ever has the signification of sepulchrum or grave, either in the earlier or later Hebrew writers.

It is of great importance to determine the meaning of this word, because the truth or falsehood of the doctrine of the intermediate place of the dead depends upon it. Christians are generally united in the doctrine that there is an intermediate state, but not an intermediate place, of the dead. They are also united in the doctrine that the consummation of happiness to the saints, and of misery to the wicked, will not be experienced till after the resurrection. This is a doctrine in accordance with the Scriptures. But the doctrine that there is an intermediate place into which the souls of the dead are turned, separate and distinct from the heaven at God's right hand, and the hell where the devils are held under chains of darkness, is, in our opinion, a purely heathen fable, which finds no countenance in the word of God, and which has been the source of much corruption of Christian doctrine, and of many absurd notions and practices in the Christian Church. Such are, the doctrines of purgatory, indulgences, and prayers for the dead.

The doctrine of an intermediate place supposes that the souls of all the dead, both of the righteous and of the wicked, are congregated in dns-a vast receptacle in the heart of the earth; and that there is a better apartment of this receptacle, in which the souls of the righteous dead are separated from the souls of the wicked; and that this is the place called Paradise in Luke xxiii, 43, into which the penitent thief entered, and where Abraham and Lazarus were supposed to be. The other apartment is called Tartarus, and is