Of things abstruse they reason'd high,Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fateFix'd fate; free will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. Mr. Fletcher's warm and benevolent spirit rejected a system which exalts the terrible majesty of the Deity, at the expense of all that is consolatory to humanity. He could not reconcile the hard doctrine of predestination, which takes from man his moral power, ,-with the parting command of Christ to his disciples, that "they should go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."

The whole tenor of Christianity is of a practical description, comprehending love and obedience; but if man is not a free agent, the very motives by which he is actuated are not his own, so that he cannot be said either to love or obey; but is as much an instrument as the tool in the hands of the mechanic. At the time of which we are speaking, a controversy arose wherein some of Mr. Fletcher's principal friends took a decided part, on the Calvinistic side, against Mr. Wesley, who had long before espoused the moderate Arminian system. Theological disputes have seldom been conducted in a religious spirit; and the present contest might truly be called polemical, for never was a warfare distinguished by more disgusting violence. Mr. Wesley was assailed by a phalanx of zealots, most, if not all, of whom were comparatively children in point of age, and far from his equals in regard to knowledge. What, however, they wanted in experience and wisdom, was more than made up in confidence and intemperance. Grieved at this usage of one whom he loved, and still more concerned for the cause which suffered through this unnatural hostility, Mr. Fletcher generously, and against his own private interest, came forward to the assistance of his venerable friend. The enmity of the whole Calvinistic host was now turned, with tenfold fury, from the principal to the auxiliary. Mr. Fletcher being no longer regarded as angel of God;" or, worthy of christian intercourse, was considered an improper person to be entrusted with the important charge of instructing persons who were destined to the ministry. He, in consequence quitted the connexion, went to reside at his living in Shropshire, and John Henderson returned home to assist his father in the school at Hanham. It may be thought, perhaps, that a youth, of his standing, could have nothing to do with the perplexities of the Quinquarticular controversy; and that, therefore, he might have continued in his useful employment

an

as a classical teacher, with advantage both to himself and others. In answer to this, it is sufficient to observe, that the institution at Trevecca was founded in intolerance, and that, like the synod of Dordt, it made no distinction between old and young, but exacted implicit subscription to the whole of its articles, without the least exception. John Henderson, though green in years, was not so in judgment. He read much, thought deeply, and at that this very time was far better acquainted with the agitated questions, than many of those persons who took the lead in this controversy. As, therefore, he had no respect for the opinions professed in the society with which he was connected, separation became unavoidable. It was, in fact, a great misfortune to him, that he should have been thrown into this situation; and that, too, at an age when he required the association of equals, and the guidance of superiors. Left now, through parental indulgence, to pursue his own course without any director, he wandered from one branch of science to another, as chance occurred or fancy indicated, always busy, but never truly employed; accumulating knowledge in abundance, but making no application of what he acquired, either for present benefit or future enjoyment. His greatest delight was in reading, for study it could not be called, such books as were little known, or which the voice of the learned had agreed in consigning to oblivion. obsolete productions were the recondite disquisitions of Picus Mirandula, Robert Fludd, and Jacob Behmen. His favourite divine was Dr. Henry More, upon whose catechetical expositions of the Scriptures he set a very high value, as he also did upon the writers of the Hutchinsonian school, particularly Bate and Catcott.

Among these

But amidst all this lumber of rusty and abstruse reading, the stores of real and elegant learning were not altogether neglected. Henderson had a correct taste for the Greek and Latin poets; and though he wasted too much precious time on what has been called occult philosophy, he could converse well upon subjects of polite literature, the useful arts of life, and the discoveries of modern science. His familiar acquaintance with the mystical writers did not make him an enthusiast; nor was he in the least affected by the consciousness of superiority over others, in this variety of extraneous learning. The prominent feature of his character was humility, or, more properly speaking, a child-like simplicity. This endeared him to his friends, and excited their anxious desire to have him

settled in a line where his talents might appear to public advantage, and turned to his own personal benefit. Among those who esteemed him for his virtues, and admired him for his rare attainments, there was not one who felt a greater desire to do him service than Hannah More. This regard she carried beyond the mere expression of good-will and kind wishes. She introduced Henderson to Dr. Tucker, dean of Gloucester, and she also recommended her young friend to Dr. Adams, master of Pembroke College, Oxford. Upon this, and with other help procured by the same excellent woman, John Henderson was enabled to enter his name, at the age of twenty-three, as a scholar, on the books of Pembroke College. At his first admission into the University, the singularity of his garb, and the formal gravity of his manner, made him an object of curiosity bordering upon ridicule. At length, however, the placidity of his temper, and his uncommon stores of knowledge, removed whatever prejudices had been conceived against him; and many courted his acquaintance, who had before looked upon him with contempt.

Of his academical pursuits little can be said; for much of what others go to college to learn, he carried with him. He might, indeed, and beyond all question did make additions there, to what he had previously acquired, but the fundamental principles of learning were already laid, and that at a time of life when the generality are studying the elements for future application.

To John Henderson, who had no ambition, and loved learned ease, the University was now a retreat from the world, instead of being, what his friends intended, the preparatory stage for a sphere of useful activity. After taking his first degree with credit, he sat down contented, and, though a resident of the college full seven years, nothing could stimulate him to make any further addition to his academical honours; or to exert his interest for endowments, to which abilities like his might have justly aspired. Thus he led the life of a monk, when he should have been exercising his almost supernatural talents for the good of mankind. But though studious, as it were, of concealment, the light which he endeavoured to hide was seen from afar, and the fame of his genius attracted the notice of the good and great.

Dr. Johnson, a short time before his death, visited Pembroke College, of which he had himself been a member; and here he entered into a familiar conversation with Henderson, of whose extent of reading he 2D. SERIES, No. 43.-VOL. IV.

expressed his admiration. At one period this eccentric scholar devoted himself with so much ardour to medical science, that many of his acquaintance at Bristol thought he would make a distinguished figure in that profession, and wished him to pursue his studies with a view to that practice. But his proficiency either in this or any other line was never made with an idea of personal advantage. His system of physic was wholly empirical; notwithstanding which, it is certain that he performed many surprising cures, both before and after his settlement at Oxford. It was, I believe, this extraordinary skill of his son, which induced old Mr. Henderson to give up the school at Hanham, and open an asylum for lunatic patients at the Fishponds; thinking that with such a coadjutor he should be able to render essential service to that unfortunate class of sufferers. But here also he experienced a sad disappointment; for the habitual indolence of John Henderson proved too obstinate to be overcome, even by the love of his favourite science, and the incitement of benevolence. Among the cases at the Fishponds was that very extraordinary one of "Louisa, the lady at the haystack;" whose history, as far as could ever be ascertained, is narrated in the notices of Mrs. Hannah More. But to return to our immediate subject,—which is hardly less affecting than that of the unhappy maniac.

The patrons of John Henderson, in procuring him the advantages of a residence at Oxford, were led to believe that he would enter into holy orders as soon as he should have taken his degree. But when that time came, he turned a deaf ear to every proposal made by those who were well disposed, and fully able, to provide handsomely for him in the church. That he was thoroughly qualified for the ministry by his abilities, could not be questioned; and the soundness of his faith appears in the following extract from one of his letters to Mr. Wesley

"what is

"I have considered," he says, urged against our Saviour, but I still firmly believe that Jesus is very God of very God, is my God as much as the Father, and I adore him and pray to him as such. I believe that He, as God, in his divine nature, took upon him human nature, that is, the soul and body of man. I believe that the godhead was fully and wholly in his humanity; and that the Father, whom no man hath seen or can see in his own person, became visible in the person of Jesus. And, therefore, whoever beholds Jesus as his Lord and his God, need (in order to 187.-VOL. XVI.

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his peace) look no farther, nor puzzle himself in the disputes of men concerning their Maker. I do not boast that I have escaped the Arian or Socinian pollutions, of myself. I do not pretend that I am a match for the subtlety of these men, unassisted. If I have discerned the truth from falsehood, it was not by my own light: I always beg understanding of the Spirit of the Holy One. I pray that he may lead me into all truth."

This was written when the controversy between Dr. Priestley and his antagonists produced a great sensation in the public mind, and occasioned not a little alarm among the members of the church of England. It seems, from hence, that John Henderson's principles had been

sus

pected; but if so, he fully cleared himself not only in this letter, but in some communications to the Gentleman's Magazine, on the dogmatic presumptions of Priestley and his Socinian colleagues. There was one point, indeed, on which he entertained an opinion varying in appearance from the established faith; and this was, in the extent of redemption. Henderson conceived that a period will arrive when corruption shall be completely destroyed in the objects of the Divine justice, and that they shall then be rendered capable of moral improvement. Many eminent divines have cherished the same sentiment, and Dr. Adams, the venerable head of Pembroke College, once defended the doctrine of universal restitution, in the presence of Henderson, and in opposition to Dr. Johnson.

Among the peculiarities of the singular character we are describing, his study of the human countenance was one of the most remarkable. That he possessed a very happy talent in reading the mind by the index of the face, has been attested by many persons who were far from being superstitious or credulous. One of his Oxonian intimates, in noticing this faculty of John Henderson, says, "Self-knowledge enabled him wonderfully to penetrate into the characters and motives of others. The face, the voice, and the air disclosed the moving principle within. And it is much to be questioned whether he was deceived in the judgment he formed of others." But he was very much against reducing this kind of study to a system, or recommending it to practice.

ever

"Physiognomy," said he to a friend, may increase a man's knowledge, but not his happiness the physiognomist first discovers the evil in another, and afterwards the good; but the man unskilled in the science first discovers the good which

pleases him, but afterwards the evil which disgusts him."

Astrology was not without its charms to allure the attention of Henderson; but where is the wonder, when Dryden calculated the nativities of his children, and Newton and Flamstead constructed horoscopes to estimate by the configurations of the stars the events of human life?

That a reciprocal intercourse may be kept up between bodied and disembodied spirits, was the fixed persuasion of John Henderson, who, had he lived before the eighteenth century, would have been enrolled by Naudæus in his catalogue of magicians. Upon this subject the recluse of Pembroke College delighted to converse; and in the third volume of papers published by the Philosophical Society at Manchester, some of his speculations on magical practices may be found.

Such were the vagaries of a young man, possessed of an enlightened understanding, and qualified to shine among the brightest luminaries of the first seat of learning in England, or perhaps in the world. Nor were his habits and appearance less extra. vagant than his studies. Fashion he held in such contempt, that he seemed to make it an object to differ as much as possible from all other people. The cap and gown indeed he could not alter, and probably he esteemed them only on account of their being relics of the olden time. His other garments were preposterously large; his shirt-collar had only one button, and he never wore either stock or cravat, but sometimes tied round his neck a black riband. His shoe-buckles were as small as those commonly worn at the knees. To hair-dressing he was a great enemy, and never could endure curling-irons or powder, which last he called white dust.

He was fond of sitting up till the morning was far advanced, and then he would lie in bed till the evening. He was as great a friend to the pipe as Dr. Parr, and it is to be lamented that this habit of smoking brought on the love of wine and strong liquors. Of these he could take considerable libations without being intoxicated; a failing which he sometimes fell into, but of which he at last sincerely repented. So little regard did he pay to the duty of self-preservation, that if his principles had not been known, it might have been supposed he was a determined fatalist and predestinarian. Thus, by way of experiment, he would swallow violent drugs, particularly quicksilver and opium, in quantities enough to kill ordinary men. One of his customs was to strip himself

naked to the waist, undergo a thorough ablution at the pump, and, having rinsed his shirt all over, put it on, and go to bed. This he used to call an admirable cold bath, and conducive to the preservation of health but what is most extraordinary, though he practised it often, he never appeared to suffer any ill effects from it. There is reason to believe, however, that his death, at the age of thirty-one, was hastened by these and other excesses. He had a presentiment of his approaching dissolution some months before it happened; for when no symptoms of disease appeared in him, he said to a person whom he had relieved under a dangerous complaint by his prescriptions, "My young and beloved friend, your cure, in all human probability, is now certain, and you will live; but I shall die. Remember, to be pious is to be happy; and to practise the moral virtues, is to become respectable."

Under the influence of this prospect, he abstracted himself more and more from the world, avoided company, and declined conversation. He seemed to retire within himself, and to be making preparation for that great journey which he anticipated.

Of his conduct when entering the valley of the shadow of death, a friend who attended him in all his sickness gave this account: "He was a meek sufferer through this world of misery; a sincere and contrite penitent for time misspent and talents misapplied; a humble believer in Christ his Saviour. I saw him in his last suffer ings; I heard his last words; he languished under weakness extreme; he laboured under most grievous pains. He was wonderfully patient and resigned; for he knew in whom he believed, and his hope was full of immortality. He prayed with uncommon fervour to his good God, even to Jesus Christ,' in whom all his hopes were placed, and without whom,' says he, 'heaven would be no heaven to me.' Death was the wished-for messenger, whom he earnestly expected. Three days before that awful event, his pulse ceased to beat, and the sight of his eyes went from him, the last struggle is over; the bitterness of death is past. There was a humble dignity and composure in that hour of trial, worthy of the man and the Christian."

He left this world for a better, on the 2nd of November, 1788, and on the 18th of the same month his body was interred in St. George's church, Kingswood, where Mr. Agutter, of Magdalen College, who had accompanied the remains of his friend from Oxford, preached an excellent sermon on the occasion.

The shock produced by this loss had such an effect upon the father, that his intellects became disordered. He would not believe that his son was dead, and actually had the grave re-opened, to be assured whether such was the case or not. From that hour he fell into a gloomy state of melancholy, and in a short time the same tomb enclosed both their remains.

ON CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS.

THE question of punishments, a question at all times important, seems at present more especially to call for some measure of public attention; from the alterations which from time to time are being made or suggested; which have been made or attempted, and which seem yet to be required, in our criminal code. These alterations appear to render necessary the recognition, by thinking men, of the fundamental principles upon which they should proceed, and the general diffusion of an acquaintance with such as may be satisfactorily established. If in concordance with such established principles, these alterations may be hailed with satisfaction as amendments, having a direct and powerful bearing on the moral character, and the highest and dearest interests of society: if in discordance with them, they can only be viewed with distrust and regret. By some it may be thought that a subject associated with painful reflections, and in itself so dry and uninteresting as this, might well have given place to some other of a lighter and more agreeable character. But though dry and uninteresting in itself, it is the moral medicine with which the ills of humanity are in part to be remedied; its importance can never admit of question, and must justify the withdrawal of our attention for a while from topics which, though more agreeable, are not, perhaps, more useful.

The consideration of the appropriate punishments of crimes involves the questions of the right of the magistrate or society to inflict punishments; the desired end of their infliction, their measure, and their mode. We shall not, on the present occasion, formally discuss each of these separate topics in the order here set down, yet they should be borne in mind as having an immediate reference to our subject. Archdeacon Paley says, "The fear lest of the criminal should encourage escape him, or others by his example, to repeat the same crime, or to commit different crimes, is the sole consideration which authorizes the infliction of punishment

the

human laws." But, with all deference to such authority, it is impossible to admit this imperfect view of the case.

The right to inflict punishment may be clearly deduced from the duty which is imposed on an intelligent and responsible being, of fulfilling the ends for which he was endowed with moral, intellectual, and physical powers, and placed on this stage of action. His duty is, to use his active faculties to sustain existence, and procure those comforts and enjoyments for himself, and for others who are dependent on him, which a bountiful Providence has placed within his reach, and wills that he should attain; to extend his benevolent attention, as far as his means permit, to others beyond the circle of his own immediate connexions, and labour in the advancement of the interests of humanity at large. In the performance of these duties, labours are to be undertaken, obstructions and impediments are to be removed, and difficulties to be overcome. Their successful performance calls for freedom of action, the possession of property, the inviolability of reputation, with that order, and all those advantages and facilities, which the organization of civil society confers. These labours, these obstructions and difficulties, are some of them of a physical and others of a moral character; they are equally to be overcome; of these last are the moral ills which afflict society, and the remedy of which are to be sought for through human laws and punishments-the subject of our present discussion—and which are necessary to us to maintain the power to perform our duties, and enjoy those gifts which God has given for our happiness, and the fulfilment of his purposes.

From the unity of that Being from whom our duties proceed, and to whom their performance is due, and from the oneness of His will, it follows, that no action can be a duty to be performed by one individual, which it is not at the same time the duty of every other individual, at least to abstain from obstructing the execution of, if not to aid in its accomplishment.

An injury done to the person, property, or reputation of any man, or an action which occasions mischief to society, or obstructs the attainment of the objects of its organization; such an action, as it detracts from the enjoyment which it is the will of the Almighty to diffuse amongst his intelligent creatures, it is the duty of men to remedy, as far as possible, the evil it occasions, and prevent a repetition of similarly injurious acts. And hence, as duty and right are correlative, we deduce the origin of that

right which one man acquires to control the actions of another man, equally free with himself; by which, at times, the life, the freedom, and the property of others are placed under his jurisdiction, and subject to his disposal, and this without asking permission, but altogether independent of their consent. The right and title which a man holds to freedom, is to be found in the regulation of his conduct by the rules of reason. An incapacity for the observance of these rules, or the wilful violation of them, constitutes the forfeiture of freedom, the condemnation to slavery, and the degradation of the individual to the condition of a child, a madman, or a brute, which it is unsafe to trust without control.

But, from the infirmities of human nature, and the bias which interest gives to the mind, the exercise, by his own hands, of this right, which an injured man acquires over the offender from whom this injury has proceeded, would be attended with inconvenience. The injured man is apt to magnify the mischief which has been done him beyond its real measure, while, on the other hand, the offender is ready to depreciate it as much below its real value. Hence the danger, that in the hands of such interested persons the determination of innocence or guilt, and the amount of injury, would lead to disputes between the parties; the punishment would sometimes be more severe than the occasion called for, and resistance be offered by the criminal; when, if in other hands, the award and punishment would both be quietly submitted to. On this ground, society acquires the right to deprive the parties to whom retribution is due, of the exercise with their own hands of the right of punishment, and to place it in the hands of the magistrate, or other disinterested parties, capable of dispassionately judging of the real magnitude of the offence, and of overpowering all resistance to its enforcement. But, in this case, the right remains the same; it is only the party who shall exercise it that is changed.

We proceed to consider the end and object of the infliction of punishment.

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The proper end of human punishment is not the satisfaction of justice; by this I mean, the retribution of so much pain for so much guilt; which is the dispensation we expect at the hand of God, and which we are accustomed to consider as the order of things that perfect justice dictates and requires." To dispense this perfect justice, would be wholly beyond the power of a finite being; for it would be necessary that the secret motives of the heart of the offender