Independent" said, "when he stepped upon the platform there was a tremendous outburst of cheering, which speedily sank into a more subdued manifestation of welcome. What a change had come upon him! He was but the shadow of himself; his manly bearing, and his free action were gone, and in their place were come the stooping gait and the feeble walk. But oh! what a tale of suffering was told when he opened his mouth and spoke. His voice, which had been sweet as the lute, and loud as the trumpet, had become weak, cracked, and discordant. And there was the dreadful cough, that appeared to be everlastingly tearing at his heart-strings! Well, but he did speak; and wonderful to behold, as he gradually advanced he got the mastery of his infirmities. The subject of the evening's lecture was Brutus, in Julius Cæsar. He brought out, one by one, the beauties of his character; and when he made it appear, as it really is, a glorious specimen of the best qualities of human nature, he held it up for admiration and instruction. Pemberton was no longer the man he had been some short time before; he had left all his own weaknesses, and entered fully into the loveliness and truth of Brutus. The illustrated passages were given with the delicacy and power of former times. It was life in death, and showed how the vigorous soul can impart energy to the wasted body." Before his lectures on Shakespere's characters, he delivered a course to the Sheffield Mechanics' Institution, descriptive of his travels on the coast of the Mediterranean. On many evenings his bodily weakness was so great that he could not ascend the steps of the lecture platform without crawling up on his hands and knees; and yet his unequalled mental energy and unflinching self-reliance always enabled him to speak with fluency and power. He now frequently spoke of himself as being under the actual stroke of death, and yet his gentleness and cheerfulness never, except in some agonizing moments, forsook him. His Sheffield friends gave him a public dinner, which was very numerously attended; T. A. Ward, Esq., the Town Regent, presided as chairman, and he was supported by Ebenezer Elliott. Pemberton subsequently lectured in Manchester and Liverpool, on Shake spere, to crowded audiences. His Sheffield friends, however, were exceedingly anxious about his health, and set afoot a private subscription to enable him to leave England for Egypt. He went, and remained in Egypt several months, with little or no benefit to his health, and left behind him, in various letters which are appended to his "Remains," the impression which the solemn monuments of that old land made upon his mind. He returned to England to die, spending his last days with his brother, Mr. W. D. Pemberton, of Ludgate Hill, Birmingham. "On the 3rd of March," says Mr. Fowler,-"a bright, sunny spring day-with a full knowledge that his time was come-for he occasionally said to his niece: 'This is death,'-he died like a child going to sleep, serenely and happily. He was borne to the grave by a few members of the Birmingham Mechanics' Institution, and lies buried in the Key Hill Cemetery." Mr. W. J. Fox delivered an oration on Pemberton's death, in his chapel, South Place, Finsbury, London, when the following lines by Ebenezer Elliott were read, amidst the tears of the congregation: POOR CHARLES. "Shunn'd by the rich, the vain, the dull, His painful course hath run; "A god-like child hath left the earth; And well he earned thy scorn; For he believed that all may be, What martyrs are in spite of thee, Nor wear thy crown of thorn. "Smiling, he wreathed it round his brain, And dared what martyrs dare, For God, who wastes nor joy nor pain, Had armed his soul to bear; But vain his hope to find below That peace which Heaven alone can know; He died-to seek it there." A stone slab, subscribed for by those who loved and honoured him, with an inscription written by W. J. Fox, covers his remains in that Birmingham cemetry; and so, if I were a Catholic, I would say, with all my heart: "God rest his soul !" JOHANN AUGUST WILHELM NEANDER. THE year 1789 was a memorable one, not merely from the stirring events which it produced, but also for the contrary characteristics developed in it. In this year the feelings of the French people, stung by an accumulated mass of suffering and injustice, heaped on them by their quasi religious rulers, broke out in a wild, blatant shout of infidelity, at which the walls of the Bastile fell with a terrible crash: and a series of startling exploits followed, of frightful import to kings and priests. This whirlwind of insulted feeling was maddened into a hate against all rule and religious restraint; and the godly looked on it with sad apprehension, expecting that with its overthrow of an imbecile political dynasty, it would cause an irreparable desolation in the sanctuary, would ostracise religion and inaugurate a thoughtless atheism. Nor was such an apprehension altogether ungrounded. It was a year of great promise for the spread of infidelity, not only in France, but throughout the continent of Europe; and the condition of the British dominions, especially of Ireland, contributed largely to the same prospect. But we, regarding that year historically, can moderate such feelings. We can see in it the contemporaneous growth of a power, which, ranging itself side by side with the spreading infidelity, was ever and anon administering to it the sternest of rebukes, and staying in its rampant course, with heaviest bit and bridle. We see in this year an illustration of that law of compensation, which works so constantly and perceptibly in all things human. When the storms of the French Revolution were gathering, when the moral atmosphere was infected with deadly poisons, and black thickening clouds were spread over the political and religious horizons, at this point of time, on the 16th of January, 1789, Johann August Wilhelm Neander was born-a man in whom, more than in any other, was that power which Providence was ordaining should brush away those fuliginous clouds, purge the atmosphere, and throw upon it the reviving rays of the great sun of Christian truth. The place of his birth was Göttingen, His name in the kingdom of Hanover. parents were Jews of the of Mendel, by which name, also, the subject of this sketch was known in the earlier years of his life. His father was an opulent merchant in Göttingen, but a series of losses and misfortunes reduced him to very great straits, and while Augustus was but a child he had to remove with his father and his family to Hamburg. The children were five in number-one son studied medicine, but died young; another went to reside in Russia as a merchant; there were two daughters, one of whom became insane, and died before Augustus; the other, Johanna who was his beloved and affectionate attendant all through his life, and his mourning survivor. From the earliest blossomings of childhood Augustus was distinguished by a thirst for study. We are told that when he was eight years old, he could learn no more from his private teacher. Just about this time, the story goes, that a kind bookseller in Hamburg "was struck with the frequent visits to his shop of a bashful, ungainly boy, who used to steal in and seize upon some erudite volume that no one else would touch, and utterly lose himself for hours together in study." Now he entered the Johanneum of Hamburg, at which he won the high esteem of the celebrated Gurlitt, the president. The good-will of Gurlitt towards him subsequently proved highly serviceable; and never was it interrupted in its flow. Whilst pursuing his preparatory studies at the Johanneum, he was diligent, thoughtful, and somewhat reserved; timidity may account for the last-named characteristic, or perhaps the prejudices against his race and religion may have kept him aloof from his companions. Thus, while there was no one of whom he could make a confidant, there was all the stronger inducement for constant contemplation and self-association. About the year 1806, however, an incident occurred which served to draw him somewhat away from his retirement, and which yielded to him that sympathy of kindred love, which he had hitherto been unable to discover. We must tell the story, as it had a momentous influence over his future life. There was, in Berlin, a club of literary young men which comprised Neander's studies, however, at Halle were rudely disturbed by the then raging war. On the 14th October, 1806, Napoleon annihilated the Prussian army at Jena. On the 17th, Marshal Bernadotte took Halle. Shortly afterwards, Napoleon himself entered it, but the haughty and independent bearing of the students led him to shut up the university, and to disperse the students at a short warning. Varnhagen was bold enough to remain in Halle; Neumann and Neander fled to Göttingen; but the flight was nearly fatal to poor Neander. Dr. Gesenius, then a young professor in Göttingen, was returning from Nordhausen, his native place, which the French army had set on fire, to Göttingen, while the soldiers of the shattered Prussian army were returning to their homes in the general confusion, Gesenius observed two youths on their way from Halle to Göttingen; one of them was ill and destitute, and unable to walk another step: he got a carriage for the unknown young student, and had him conveyed to Göttingen. It was Neander, and this circumstance led to a friendship which lasted for life. Poor Neander! How deeply he felt the change from the mild influences and genial associations of Halle, to the freezing rationalism which had stiffened Göttingen to its very soul! Nevertheless, he continued there for three years a most diligent student, and did himself confess, that those years of comparative isolation from Christian society were a healthy discipline to his mind, and contributed much to the consolidation of his religious belief and character. One thing connected with Neander's student-life at Göttingen is very certain, viz., the impulse his thoughts and taste received towards the investigation of church history from Planck, who was professor of that subject in the university, and Neander's teacher. When the student-life of Neander terminated, we find him returning to Hamburg, where he intended to reside as a Christian pastor, for which he was qualified. This purpose, however, he never carried into effect, inasmuch as a favourable opening presented itself to him of becoming Lecturer in the University of Heidelberg. Thither, in 1811, he went and commenced his public life by a course of lectures on his favourite subject, church history. In the following year he published his monograph on the Emperor Julian, and, as a reward for the scholarly and acute excellency of which, he was made Professor Extraordinarius of theology. A year later he received a higher translation still: the King of Prussia was forming a constellation of German scholars in Berlin to give stability and fame to the new university, of that city, he had already installed Schleiermacher, De Wette, and Marheinecke in professorships, and now he assigned them as colleague, the youthful professor of Heidelberg. This was the last move that Neander made, for from 1813 to 1850, he held his position in Berlin with a reputation ever widening, and gathering a respect with which the whole world of letters is still offering, and ever will be anxious to offer, to his name. Henceforth, what we may popularly call incident begins to diminish in the life of Neander, and deep, earnest, incessant work to commence. His professorship in Berlin was no sinecure. Fifteen lectures a week at least he was in the habit of delivering in the university, embracing all the positions of theology and church history; and never has Berlin had a more exemplary professor, nor were the affections and enthusiasm of its students ever exhibited to a professor more heartily than in the case of Neander. We may gain some insight into his character by hearing what one of his pupils (Herman Rössell, now dead) has said about the Saturday evening entertainments which he used to give to his students. These meetings were called in the university language, “Kränzchen;" from about eight to twelve students used to attend them at Neander's house, each of whom was greeted on arrival with that loving shake of the hand and affectionate inquiry into which the professor seemed desirous of compressing the whole of his sweet benevolence. Neander's study was a regular imbroglio o disorder; chairs, tables, sofa, and even the floor, seemed to be all covered with books and papers: through such confusion the visitors had to make their way as best they could up to the table, and by a little management these incumbrances might be sufficiently pushed on one side to admit the tea tray apon the table: one of the students handed the tea round, and the conversation between Neander and his young friends went on without interruption for the evening. We will just state what Rössell says of these "delightful, ever-memorable hours:" However different might be the company, Neander remained the same,always simple, cordial, mild. He entered into the views of every one; in the presence of minds the most rigid and unbending, his affectionate tolerance, his humility, shone only the more brightly. How he could ask, persuade, nay, even beg, when he suspected there were yet doubts and difficulties remaining; how winning was his bending attitude, his tone and look, when he asked, 'Do you not think so? to me at least it appears so; or, do you think differently?' And yet how entirely free from everything which looked like urging his own opinions upon another! If he saw that the inquirer manifested judgment, and an earnest will, he would kindle into a youthful fervour. I remember that he once was engaged in conversation with a student who sat at some distance from him, and little by little he drew his chair nearer, till he found himself close before the speaker: When the point was settled, and the conversation gradually became less animated, he moved himself backwards in the same manner to his place again. Of that stately bearing and outward dignity, and all the substitutes for true, inward dignity, which little minds, and often, alas, even great ones, think they must assume, of this Neander had just nothing. He sat among us as a father, as an old friend. Rank and circumstance were nothing for him; he spoke with the student as with the professor, and he would not have spoken differently with a prince. He expressed assent and dissent, without respect of person, according to the naked, undisguised truth. For this very reason the youth almost idolized him. Under many a student-coat beat a heart that would have poured out its last drop for Neander. What Neander so finely exhibited in these interviews, the sacred truthfulness of his entire being and life, and the most affectionate regard for the feelings of others,-this was always the soul of his social life. Open-hearted, inoffensive as a child, he stood before the world, separated only from every rude contact by the breath of heavenliness which surrounded him. With noble natures he thus came into close connection. As if by a magnetic influence, one knew without hearing him speak, what he thought and felt, and was himself attracted by him, and drawn into the peaceful motion of his inward life. And what a heavenly composure descended then upon all h's thinking and feeling! Amid the whirling impulses of the times, in the conflict of strangest contradictions, where the noblest feelings of humanity are staggered; where heart and nature are silenced before the brawl and babble of dialectical subtilty, how safe did one feel-how sound in mind and heart-how simple and clear did his soul become in Neander's sacred pre sence. "Never shall I forget the impression which his manner towards a blind young man made upon me. He was a poor youth who, because he had not the means of pursuing a liberal course of study, wished to educate himself for the business of teaching. For this purpose he attended Neander's lectures, although he was but poorly acquainted with the ancient languages. Pale and worn, he sat always in the same seat, attentively listening, and repeating over to himself, with silent motion of the lips, those parts which pleased him most. If he found anyone afterwards with whom he could go over again, in his childlike way, what he had heard, he was perfectly happy. He was truly one of those of whom it is written, that they are poor in spirit and of a lowly mind. To see this man sickly and silent, stand before Neander, whom he so heartily revered, but whom he could not see, and to hear the tone in which Neander asked him, 'How do you do?' I was obliged to turn away-the tears started into my eyes. Oh, how many of those forsaken by all the world would be happy, at least for one hour in their solitary life, if they could stand before Neander, and hear him ask them, 'How do you do?' To see and hear him is to believe and know that it will yet be better,-that it will be well. How could one thus blessed by his kind words fail to be reminded of the Heavenly Friend, who says to all that labour and are heavily laden, 'Come unto me, and I will give you rest?'" Leaving the the Saturday evening "Kränzchen," let us look into the public streets of Berlin. There, under the lindens, we see a somewhat oddlyfashioned mortal, with an intense, Hebrew cast of countenance, but lit up with a beautiful Christian expression, clad in a long seedy garb much resembling the long frock worn by the dealers in old clothes in London; this is carelessly buttoned down over a spotted waistcoat, and he wears a pair of outside boots that reach well nigh up to his knees. This ill-conditioned creature seems to be very helpless, for he leans upon the arm of a lady who seems to make it her business to attend to him, which she does most assiduously; as we look on the approaching strollers, the impression is almost ludicrous: the helpless man's gait is much of that kind which we should call waddling, in fact, he seems to be tumbling along rather than walking. In reply to our inquiry as to who this droll looking character is, we are told in a tone that rebukes our levity of thought, that it is no other than Neander, the great university professor, the leader of mind in Germany,-a man whose thoughts are becoming fast interwoven in the minds of the inquiring youth of Germany, and to whose lecture-room multitudes of students flock, not only from all parts of Germany, but from England, France, and all Europe, and even many from America ;-yes, that is Neander, and he is now on his way to the university, and that is Johanna his loving sister on whose arm he is leaning; she is going to see him safe there, and by the time he has finished lecturing, she will be found waiting at the university door, in readiness to see him safe home again. How many have there been who have envied Johanna her office of affection and honour! If we follow him into the University, we are still somewhat struck with a degree of strangeness in the scene presented to us. Here we have a picture of Neander, drawn by an American visitor at one of his New Testament exegetical lectures. "He was a man whose forehead was hard and high, almost covered by his long black hair; its base was bounded by a massive ridge, jutting far outwards, and sur rounded by thick shaggy eyebrows. His eyes so deeply sunken and concealed by his half-closed eyelids, that neither their colour nor their form was discernable. His mouth and nostrils were somewhat rudely shaped, and his complexion was of that dark, dry, and and sallow cast, that mark years of intense study and reflection. His form was thin, bent, and loosely knit, and his carriage and attitude the most careless and graceless possible. He had on a white cravat, and a greyish frockcoat reaching below his knees. Fancy such a man standing on a slightlyelevated platform, and his left arm resting on the corner of a desk four feet high, his left hand shading his eyes from the light, his right hand holding, within three or four inches of his face, a large-typed Greek Testament, from which he never withdraws his intense look: and, further, fancy him with the whole upper half of his person bent over in an angle of nearly 45 degrees, balancing the desk upon its two back legs, and with his left foot kept continually crossed over his right, except when occasionally, either through caprice, or to restore the equilibrium of the desk, he suddenly retracts it, as if about to take a desperate leap, and as suddenly replaces it; and, still further, fancy him perfectly absorbed in his subject, and speaking with a slow, monotonous utterance, interrupted only by a pause, when he has to ask from one of the students a word which he cannot recognise on account of his imperfect sight, and you have a faithful picture of the most philosophical historian, and perhaps the most profound theologian living, in rapportement with his young disciples. When his instruc tions are not exegetical and do not require a book, you will have to vary the picture, by imagining him lecturing extemporarily, and all the while engaged in pulling to pieces a quill, previously given him by one of his attendants for this special purpose. I mention these things to interest, but not to divert you. Notwithstanding all his peculiarities, the students seemed to regard him with a reverence ap proaching to homage, and to catch as a treasure every word that fell from his lips." Another description of Neander in his lecture-room, suggests to us the thought of the Professor spending an hour in abstracted reflection, and of |