ijTsr^mmwK'P'^-' ''""^ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES }it>t-1 ^ 7o 7u A^-r /] ^i'r;i / --^^•^- SELECTIONS. BY BASIL MONTAGU, Esq. A. M. J > » ' . • » ' 1 •• » ' . 1 » > » 3 J tlectioiiB FROM THE WORKS OF TAYLOR, HOOKER, BARROW, SOUTH, LATIMER, BROWN, MILTON, AND BACON; BY BASIL MONTAGU, Esq. A. M. THIRD EDITION. LONDON : WILLIAM PICKERING. MDCCCXXIX. ,c «,c'ect • «,*«ctccccc. Thomas White. Printer, Johusou's Court. V 'i 6^ 'T - \ " I have sat upon the sea shore and waited for its gradual approaches, and have seen its dancing waves and its white ^i surf, and admired that he who measured it in his hand had ^ given to it such Ufe and motion; and I have lingered till its '^ gentle waters grew into mighty billows, and had well nigh ^^ swept me from my firmest footing. So have I seen a heedless youth gazing with a too curious spirit upon the sweet motions and gentle approaches of an inviting pleasure, till it has detained his eye and imprisoned his feet and swelled ^ . upon his soul and swept him to a swift destruction." fv,-j to the sweet imitator of her favourite author, to whom i am indebted for twenty years happiness, this ijttle volume is inscribed by her ever grateful Basil Montagu, PREFACE. The first edition of these Selections was pub- lished in the year 1805; the second in 1807.* They have been for some years out of print; — but my engagements during the last twenty years have been so incessant, that, with every anxiety to assist in extending to others the blessings with which the works of these holy men abound, I have only occasionally, and not without diffi- culty, been able to appropriate a few moments to this labour of love. I trust that it will not have been in vain. " The delivery of knowledge is as of fair bodies of trees ; if you mean to use the shoot, as the builder doth, it is no matter for the roots ; but if you mean it to grow, as the planter * The Prefaces to these editions are at the conclusion of this volume. viii PREFACE. doth, look you well that the slip has part of the root."* I please myself with thinking that some of these selections cannot but give immediate de- light; and often, in my solitary walks through this noble city, more quiet to me than the retirement of academic bowers, I shall indulge the hope that this volume may, perchance, be opened by some young man who, at his entrance into life, is meditating upon that " suavissima vita indies sentire se fieri me- liorem." May this little spark of holy fire direct him to the place where the star appears, and point to the very house where the babe lies. In the works of these ancient writers, which as so many lights shine before us, he will find what is better than rubies and gold, yea, than fine gold. He will learn not to be misled by the transient pleasures of life : but to seek for permanent happiness, where it can alone be found, in knowledge, in piety, and in charity. London, Novembeu 28, 1828. * Lord Bacon. CONTENTS. A. Active Virtue, 359 Adam in Paradise 189 Adversity 145 Ambition 118 Anger 53 B. Bacon, Lord 373 Barrow, Dr 258 Bee and the Spider 2/8 Body and Mind, Connection Between 385 Brown, Sir Thomas 329 C. Cause and Effect 164 Charity 280. 338 Christianity ^9 Christian Censure 20, Christian 285 Church Patronage 1 6G X CONTENTS. Comforting the Disconsolate 114 Company 311 Concord and Discord 281 Connection Between Error and Truth 358 Contemplation and Action 168 Content 97 Conversation 108 Covetousnefes 101 D. Danger of Prosperity 48 David 233 Day of Judgment ^ G9 Death 8 Deformity 334 Destruction of the Crusaders 294 Duty of Thanksgiving 275 E Education 4. 353 Effect of Example 268 England and London 3C5 F Fancy 318 Fear , 92 Flattery 113 Foolish Jesting '. no Friendship and General Benevolence 77 Fuller, Dr 289 G. Glory of the Clergy 212 CONTENTS. XI Goodness, and Goodness of Nature 383 Goodness of the Almighty 19 Good Wife, 29G Good Parent 379 Good Sea Caplaia 299 Golden Calf , 61 Government 370. 390 Government and Revolutions 124. 128, 129 H. Hall, Bishop 218 Happiness 350 Happy Man 219 Hasty J udgment 1 60 Hatred 196 Honouring God 265 Hope 25 Hospital 105 Human terfection 189 Human Resoluiions 65 Humility 101 I. Idle Curiosity 149 Ignorance and Intelligence 217 Immoderate Grief 18 Immortality 349 Impatience 97 Intemperance 134. 137 Intellectual Superiority .,. . . 387 Invisible World 345 J. Joy 196 XII CONTENTS. K. Knowledge a Source of Delight 258 Knowledge avoids Misery to which ignorance is exposed 264 T,. Latimer, Bishop 159 Libels 364 Liberty 361 Licensers of the Press 364 Logical and Mathematical Parts of Mind 379 Love 195 Lover of Truth 392 Lukewarmness and Zeal 28 Lust 100 M. Marriage 26.368 Memory 312 Mercy 157 Method and Arrangement 384 Miscellaneous 291. 327 Miseries of Man's Life 14G Milton 351 N. Nature and Art 363 O. Old Age 256 On Sinful Pleasures 104 CONTENTS. Xlll Order of Attaining Objects 21G P. Paradise Lost 372 Passion and Reason 52 Passions 195 Patent and Latent Vice 376 Perfection in General 1S9 Perfection of Understanding 1 S9 Perfection of the Will 194 Philosopliising and Theorising 377 Piety 270 Pleasures of the World 133 Pleasures of Understanding 66 Pleasure Sensnal and Intellectual ] 82 Pleasure of Amusement 186 Pleasure of Great Place 185 Pleasure of Knowledge 388 Pleasure of Meditation 187 Pleasure of Piety 273 Pleasure of Religion ISS Pleasure of Study and Contemplation 243 Poet's Morning 371 Power of Prayer 18 Practical Understanding 1 92 Prayer 3 Presence of God G7 Pride 342 Progress of Religious Sentiment 115 Progress of Sin 59 Prosperity of Fools 211 Prostitute 52 Protestant and Catholic 331 XIV CONTENTS. Q. Queen Elizabeth 385 R. Rash Judgment 340 Real and Apparent Happiness 142 Reason and Description 5 Reform 366 Religion of Mahomet 292 Religious Persecution 175. 294 Resurrection of Sinners 60 Return of Kindness 141 S. Sacrament 139 Shepherds 10 Sickness 57 Skeleton 292 Slander 113 South, Dr 179 Speculative Understanding 190 Student 333 Superstition 144 T. Temperance ] 32 Toleration 23 Travelling 309 True and Mock Religion 45 U. Universities 375 Utility 388 CONTENTS. XV V. Virtuous Mind C2 W. Wisdom selects True Pleasures 261 Wisdom in its own Conceit , 292 Wit 276 Section 31. BISHOP TAYLOR, If these little sparks of lioly fire which I have heaped together do not give life to your prepared and already enkindled spirit, yet they will sometimes help to entertain a thought, to actuate a passion, to employ and hallow a fancy. Epistle Dedicator!/ '" Taylor's Life of Christ, B SELECTIONS. ON PRAYER. Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and the calm of our tempest ; prayer is the issue of a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts, it is the daughter of charity, and the sister of meekness ; and he that prays to God Avith an angry, that is, with a troubled and discomposed spirit, is like him that retires into a battle to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out quarters of an army. Anger is a perfect alienation of the mind fro;n prayer, and therefore is contrary to that attention, which presents our prayers in a right line to God, For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud SELECTIONS sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and unconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the libration and frequent weighing of his wings ; till the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm Avas over, and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had learned musick and motion from an angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about his ministries here below : so is the prayer of a good man, &c.* Prayers are but the body of the bird ; desires are its angel's wings. + EDUCATION. Otherwise do fathers, and otherwise do mothers handle their children. These soften them with kisses and imperfect noises, with the pap and breast milk of soft endearments; they rescue them from tutors, and snatch them from discipline; they desire to keep them fat and warm, and their feet dry, and their bellies full ; and then the children govern, and cry, and prove fools and * The Return of Prayers, Serm. v. p. 33. f Worthy Communicant, sec. 4. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 5 troublesome, so long as the feminine republic does endure. But fathers, because they design to have their children wise and valiant, apt for counsel or for arms, send them to severe governments, and tie them to study, to hard labour, and afflictive contingencies. They rejoice when the bold boy strikes a lion with his hunting spear, and shrinks not when the beast comes to affright his early courage. Softness is for slaves and beasts, for minstrels and useless persons, for such who cannot ascend higher flian the state of a fair ox, or a servant entertained for vainer offices ; but the man that designs his son for nobler employments, — to honours and to triumphs, to consular dignities, and presidencies of councils, loves to see him pale with study, or panting with labour, hardened with suffftrings, or eminent by dangers.* AGE OF REASON AND DISCRETION. We must not think that the life of a man begins when he can feed himself cr walk alone, Avhen he can fight or beget his like, for so he is contemporary with a camel or a cow; but he is first a man when he comes to a certain steady use * Holy Dying, ch. iii. 6 SELECTIONS of reason, according to his proportion ; and when that is, all the world of men cannot tell precisely. Some are called at age at fourteen, some at one- and-twenty, some never; but all men late enough ; for the life of a man comes upon him slowly and insensibly. But as when the sun approaching towards the gates of the morning, he first opens a little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits of darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls up the lark to mattens, and by and by gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, thrust- ing out his golden horns like those which decked the brows of Moses when he was forced to wear a veil because himself had seen the face of God ; and slill, while a man tells the story, the sun gets up highei', till he shows a fair face and a full light, and then he shines one whole dav, under a cloud often, and sometimes weeping great and little showers, and sets quickly. So is a man's reason and his life. He first begins to perceive himself, to see or taste, making httle reflections upon his actions of sense, and can discourse of flies and dogs, shells and play, horses and liberty : but when he is strong enough to enter into aits and little institutions, he is at first entertained Avith trifles and impertinent things, not because he needs them, but because his understanding is no FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 7 bigger, and little images of things are laid before him, like a cock-boat to a whale, only to play withal : but, before a man comes to be wise, he is half dead with gouts and consumption, with catarrhs and aches, with sore eyes and a worn-out body. So that, if we must not reckon the life of a man but by the accounts of his reason, he is long before his soul be dressed ; and he is not to be called a man without a wise and an adorned soul, a soul at least furnished with what is neces- sary towards his well-being. And now let us consider what that thing is which we call years of discretion. The young man is passed his tutors, and arrived at the bondage of a caitiff spirit; he is run from dis- ciphne and is let loose to passion. The man by this time hath wit enough to chuse his vice, to act his lust, to court his mistress, to talk confi- dently, and ignorantly, and perpetually : to despise his betters, to deny nothing to his appetite, to do things that when he is indeed a man he must for (iver be ashamed of: for this is all the discre- tion that most men show in the first stage of their manhood. They can discern good from evil ; and they prove their skill by leaving all that is good, and wallowing in the evils of folly and an unbridled j appetite. And by this time the young man hath L. 8 SELECTIONS contracted vicious habits, and is a beast in man- ners, and therefore it will not be fitting to reckon the beginning of his life ; he is a fool in his under- standing, and that is a ead death, &c.* ON DEATH. I SHALL entertain you in a charnel-house, and /v ' , carry vour meditation awhile into the chambers r 'of death, where you shall find the rooms dressed up with melancholick arts, and fit to converse with your most retired thoughts, which begin with a sigh, and proceed in deep consideration, and end in a holy resolution. It is necessary to present these bundles of cypress. f ., >. The autumn with its fruits provides disorders for us, and the winter's cold turns them into sharp diseases, and the spring brings flowers to strew our hearse, and the summer gives green turf and brambles to bind upon our graves.]: It is a mighty change that is made by the death of every person, and it is visible to us who are alive. Reckon but from the spritefulness of * Holy Dying, ch. i. \- Dedication to Holy Dying. X Holy Dying. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 9 youth and the fair cheeks and the full eyes of child- hood, from the vigorousness and strong flexure of the joints of iive-and-twenty to the hoUowness and dead paleness, to the loathsomeness and horror of a three days' burial, and we shall perceive the distance to be very great and very strange. But so I have seen a rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood, and at first it was fair as the morning, and full with the dew of heaven, as a lamb's fleece: but when a ruder breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put on darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms of a sickly age; it bowed the head, and broke its stalk; and at night having lost some of its leaves and all its beauty, it fell, &c. The wild fellow in Petroniusthat escaped upon a broken table from the furies of a shipwreck, as he was sunning himself upon the rocky shore, espied a man rolled upon his floating bed of waves,* bal- lasted with sand in the folds of his garment, and Like a common-weed, The sea-swell took her hair. KEATS. 10 SELECTIONS carried by his civil enemy the sea towards the shore to find a grave : and it cast him into some sad thoughts : that peradventure this man's wife in some part of the continent, safe and warm, looks next month for the good man's return ; or it may be his son 'knows nothing of the tempest ; or his father thinks of that affectionate kiss which still is warm upon the good old man's cheek ever since he took a kind farewell, and he weeps with joy to think how blessed he shall be when his beloved boy returns into the circle of his father's arms- These are the thoughts of mortals, this the end and sum of all their designs : a dark night and an ill guide, a boisterous sea and a broken cable, an hard rock and a rough wind dashed in pieces the fortune of a whole family, and they that shall weep loudest for the accident are not yet entered into the storm, and yet have suffered shipwreck. Then looking upon the carcase, he knew it, and found it to be the master of the ship, who the day before cast up the accounts of his patrimony and his trade, and named the day when he thought to be at home. See how the man swims who was so angry two days since ; his passions are becalmed with the storm, his accounts cast up, his cares at an end, his voyage done, and his gains are the strange events of death. I'ROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 11 Of all the evils of the world which are re- proached with an evil character, dealh is the most innocent of its accusation.* * To the same effect Bishop Taylor says, in another part of his Holy Dying, — ' Take away but the pomps of death, the disguises, and solemn bug-bears, and the actings by candlelight, and proper and phantastick ceremonies, the minstrels and the noise-makers, the women and the weepers, the swoonings and the shriekings, the nurses and the physi- cians, the dark room and the ministers, the kindred and the watches, and then to die is easy, ready, and quitted from its troublesome circumstances. It is the same harmless thing that a poor shepherd suffered yesterday, or a maid-servant to- day ; and at the same time in which you die, in thatvery night a thousand creatures die with you, some wise men and many fools ; and the wisdom of the first will not quit him, and the folly of the latter does not make him unable to die.' And in an essay ascribed (erroneously, I think,) to Lord Bacon, he says, ' I have often thought of death, and I find it the least of all evils.' But in the same essay the author says, ' Death arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, or lie heavy burthened with grief and irons ; to the poor Christian that sits bound in the galley ; to despairful widows, pensive prisoners, and deposed kings : to them whose fortune runs back, and whose spirits mutiny ; unto such death is a redeemer, and the grave a place for retiredness and rest. These wait upon the shore of dealh, and waft unto him to draw near, wishing above all others to see his star, that they might be led to his place, wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their life, and to break them off before the hour.' 12 SELECTIOKS IMMODERATE GRIEF. Solemn and appointed mournings are good ex- pressions of our dearness to the departed soul, and One of the sweetest of our modern poets says, — And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, ' Most musical, most melancholy' bird ! A melancholy bird ? Oh, idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. So sings the sweet poet. Are these the mere fancies of the brain, illusions of the imagination, or does philosophy echo what the poet sings ? Let us try this by seeing whether in death, which is as natural as life, there is not something me- lancholy ? Is there nothing melancholy in a death-bed ; in the agony and last contentions of the soul ; the reluctancies and unwillingnesses of the body; the forehead washed with a new baptism, besmeared with a cold sweat, tenacious and clammy, apt to make it cleave to the roof of the coffin ; the nose cold and undiscerning ; the eyes dim as a sullied mirror; the feet cold ; the hands stiff? How many of us have con- templated with admiration the graceful motion of the female form ; the eye sparkling with intelligence ; the countenance enlivened by wit, or animated or soothed by feeling ? Is there nothing sad in the consciousness that in a few short years, per- haps in the next moment, sensation and motion will cease ; the body lose its warmth, the eyes their lustre, and the lips and cheeks become livid ? Is there nothing melancholy in the FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 13 of his v/orth, and our value of him ; and it hath its praise in nature, and in manners and public consciousness that these are but preludes to other changes ? Will the poet still say, Oh, idle thought ! In nature there'is nothing melancholy ? And will philosophy echo -what the poet sings? It certainly is true that this is no new song of the poets. Bacon (whether truly or not is the question) says, — Know- ledge mitigates the fear of death; for, if a man be deeply imbued with the contemplation of mortality and the cor- ruptible nature of all things, he will easily concur with Epic- tetus, who went forth one day, and saw a woman weeping for her pitcher of earth that was broken ; and went forth tlie next day, and saw a woman weeping for her son that was dead; and therefore said, ' Heri vidi fragilem frangi; hodie vidi mortalem mori.' And therefore Virgil did excellently and profoundly couple the knowledge of causes and the conquest of all fears as concomitant: Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Quique metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari ! If any of my readers is desirous to discover the portion of truth and of error which these opinions of poets and philoso- phers contain, it is necessary to proceed with caution, and separately to examine the different causes which compose the painful associations with which death is accompanied : consist- ing, as it does, of a complication of terrors, aiding each other 14 SELECTIONS customs. Something is to be given to custom, something to fame, to nature, and to civilities, and and becoming formidable by their united operation, let him read Tucker's valuable Essay on Death, in vol. vii. of his ad- mirable work on the Light of Nature : and let him remember that Lor.l Bacon, in his Doctrine of all the Motions in Nature, says, ' The political motion is that by which the parts of a body are restrained from their own immediate appetites or tenden- cies, to unite in such a state as may preserve the existence of the whole body. Thus, the spirit, which exists in all living bodies, keeps all the parts in due subjection ; when it escapes, the body decomposes, or the similar parts unite — as metals rust, fluids turn sour : and in animals, when the spirit which held the parts together escapes, all things are dissolved and return to their own natures or principles : the oily parts to themselves, the aqueous to themselves, &c. upon which necessarily ensues that confusion of parts, observable in putrefaction.' So true it is, that in nature all is beauty ! that notwithstanding our partial views, and distressing associations, the forms of death misshapen as we suppose them, are but the tendencies to union in similar natures. In this spirit was the inscription written which is now on the monument of Lord Bacon. He died in the year 1626; and, according to his wish, is buried in the same grave with his mother. Near to him lies his faithful secretary; and although only a fevr letters of his name, scarcely legible, can now be traced, he will ever be remembered for his affectionate attachment to his master and friend. LTpon the monument which he raised to Lord Bacon, who appears, FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 15 to the honour of the deceased friends ; for that man is esteemed to die miserable, for whom no friend or relative sheds a tear, or pays a solemn sigh. Some showers sprinkled upon my grave would do well and comely. But that which is to be faulted in this particu- lar is, when the grief is immoderate and unrea- sonable : and Paula Romana deserved to have felt the weight of St. Hierom's severe reproof, when at the death of every of her children she almost wept herself into her grave.* sitting in deep but tranquil thought, he has inscribed this epitaph : — FRANCISCUS BACON BARO DE VERULAJl S: ALBANI VlC'i'es SEU NOTORIBUS TITULIS SCIENTIARUM LUMEN, FACUNDIiE LEX SIC SEDEBAT. QUI POSTQUAM OMNIA NATURALIS SAPIKNTIi; ET CIVILIS ARCANA EVOLVISSET NATURE DECRETUM EXPLEVIT COMPOSITA SOLVANTUR. Is not decomposition, in the sight of omniscience, as beau- tiful as union ? * Ought we in our grief for the loss of each other, to murmur at the order of nature, at the dispensations of Provi- dence, or ought we to remember that— They are not lost Who leave their parents for the calm of heaven. I know well 16 SELECTIONS And it hath been observed, that those greater and stormy passions do so spend the whole stock of grief, that they presently admit a comfort and contrary affection ; while a sorrow that is even and temperate goes on to its period with expecta- tion and the distances of a just time. The Ephesian woman that the soldier told of in Petro- nius was the talk of all the town, and the rarest example of a dear affection to her husband. She descended with the corpse into the vault, and there being attended with her maiden resolved to weep to death, or die with famine or a distempered sor- row : from which resolution, nor his nor her friends, nor the reverence of the principal citizens, who used the intreaties of their charity and their power, could persuade her. But a soldier that watched That they who love their friends most tenderly- Still bear their loss the best. There is in love, A consecrated power, that seems to wake Only at the touch of death from its repose In the profoundest depths of thinking souls, Superior to the outward signs of grief, Sighing or tears, — when these have past away. It rises calm and beautiful, like the moon, Saddening the solemn night, yet with that sadness Mingling the breath of undisturbed peace. CITY OF THE PLAGUE. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 17 seven dead bodies hanging upon trees just over against this monument, crept in, and a while stared upon the silent and comely disorders of the sorrow : and having let the wonder awhile breath out at each others eyes, at last he fetched his supper and a bottle of wine, with purpose to eat and drink, and still to feed himself with, that sad prettiness. His pity and first draught of wine made him bold and curious to try if the maid would drink ; who, having many hours since felt her resolution faint as her wearied body, took his kindness, and the hght returned into her eyes, and danced like boys in a festival : and fearing least the pertinacious- ness of her mistress* sorrows should cause her evil to revert, or her shame to approach, assayed whe- ther she would endure to hear an argument to persuade her to drink and live. The violent pas- sion had laid all her spirits in wildness and disso- lution, and the maid found them willing to be gathered mto order at the arrest of any new object, being weary of the first, of which like leeches they had sucked their fill till they fell down and burst. The weeping woman took her cordial, and was not angry with her maid, and heard the soldier talk. And he was so pleased with the change, that he, who at first loved the silence of the sor- row, was more in love with the musickt)f her 18 SELECTIONS returning voice, especially which himself had strung and put in tune : and the man began to talk amorously, and the woman's weak head and heart were soon possessed with a little wine, and grew gay, and talked, and fell in love ; and that very nigh I, in the morning of her passion, in the grave of her husband, in the pomps of niouming, and in her funeral garments, married her new and stranger guest.* THE POWER OF PRAYER. Prayer can obtain every thing, it can open the windows of heaven, and shut the gates of hell ; it can put a holy constraint upon God, and detain an angel till he leave a blessing ; it can open the treasures of rain, and soften the iron ribs of rocks, till they melt into tears and a flowing river: prayer can unclasp the girdles of the north, saying to a mountain of ice, Be thou removed hence, and cast into the bottom of the sea ; it can aiTest the sun in the midst of his course, and send the swift- winged winds upon our errand ; and all those strange things, and secret decrees, and unrevealed transactions which are above the clouds, and ■far beyond the regions of the stars, shall com- * * Holy Dying. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 19 bine in ministry and advantages for the praying ON THE GOODNESS OF THE ALMIGHTY. As the sun sends forth a benign and gentle influence on the seed of plants, that it may invite forth the active and plastick power from its recess and secrecy, that by rising into tlie tallness and dimensions of a tree it may still receive a greater and more refreshing influence from its foster father, the prince of all the bodies of light ; and in all these emanations the sun itself receives no advan- tage but the honour of doing benefits : so doth the Almighty father of all the creatures ; he at first sends forth his blessings upon us, that we by using them aright should make ourselves capable of greater ; while the giving glory to God, and doing homage to him, are nothing for his advan- tage, but only for ours; our duties towards him being like vapours ascending fiom the earth, not at all to refresh the region of the clouds, but to return back in a fruitful and refreshing shower; and God created us, not that we can increase his felicity, but that he might have a subject recep- tive of felicity from him. * Worthy Communicant. 20 SELECTIONS Does not God send his angels to keep thee in all thy ways ? are not they ministering spirits sent forth to wait upon thee as thy guard ? art not thou kept from drowning, from fracture of bones, from madness, from deformities, by the riches of the divine goodness ? Tell the joints of thy body doest thou want a finger? and if thou doest not understand how great a blessing that is, do but remember how ill thou canst spare the use of it when thou hast but a thorn in it. The very pri- 5^ vative blessings, the blessings of immunity, safe- guard, and integrity, which we all enjoy, deserve a thanksgiving of a whole life. If God should send a cancer upon thy face, or a wolf into thy breast, if he should spread a crust of leprosy upon thy skin, what Avouldest thou give to be but as now thou art ?* LUKEWARMNESS AND ZEAL. He that is warm to-day and cold to-morrow, zealous in his resolution and weary in his prac- tices, fierce in the beginning, and slack and easy in his progress, hath not yet well chosen what side he will be of. For religion cannot change though we do ; and, if we do, we have * The Mercy of the Divine Judgments. Serm. xii. p. 286. 8. 95. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 21 left God ; and whither he can go that goes from God, his own sorrows will soon enough instruct him. This fire must never go out ; but it must be like the fire of heaven ; it must shine like the stars, though sometimes covered with a cloud, or obscured by a greater light; yet they dwell for ever in their orbs, and walk in their circles, and observe their circumstances ; but go not out by day nor night, and set not when kings die, nor are extinguished when nations change their go- vernment. So must the zeal of a Christian be, a constant incentive of his duty ; and though some- times his hand is drawn back by violence or need, and his prayers shortened by the importunity of business, and some parts omitted by necessities and just compliances ; yet still the fire is kept alive, it burns within when the light breaks not forth, and is eternal as the orb of fire, or the embers of the altar of incense. In every action of religion God expects such a warmth, and a holy fire to go along, that it may be able to enkindle the wood upon the altar, and consume the sacrifice ; but God hates an indiflPerent spirit. Earnestness and vivacity ; quickness and delight, perfect choice of the ser- vice, and a delight in the prosecution, is all that the spirit of a man can yield towards his religion : 22 SELECTIONS the outward work is the effect of the body ; but if a man does it heartily and with all his mind, then religion hath wings, and moves upon wheels of fire. However it be very easy to have our thoughts wander, yet it is our indifferency and lukewarm- ness that makes it so natural ; and you may ob- serve it, that so long as the light shines bright, and the fires of devotion and desires flame out, so long the mind of a man stands close to the altar and waits upon the sacrifice; but as the fires die and desires decay, so the mind steals away and walks abroad, to see the little images of beauty and pleasure which it beholds in the falling stars and little glowworms of the world. The river that runs slow and creeps by the banks, and begs leave of every turf to let it pass, is drawn into little hoUownesses, and spends itself in smaller portions, and dies with diversion*, but when it runs with vigorousness and a full stream, and breaks down every obstacle, making it even as its own brow, it slays not to be tempted with little avocations, and to creep into holes, but runs into the sea through full and useful channels: so is a man's prayer ; if it moves upon the feet of an abated appetite, it wanders into the society of every trifling accident, and stays at the corners of FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 23 the fancy, and talks with every object it meets, and cannot arrive at heaven ; but when it is car- ried upon the wings of passion and strong de- sires, a swift motion and a hungry appetite, it passes on through all the intermedial regions of clouds, and stays not, till it dwells at the foot of the throne, where Mercy sits, and thence sends holy showers of refreshments.* TOLERATION. Anv zeal is proper for religion, but the zeal of the sword and the zeal of anger ; this is the bit- terness of zeal, and it is a certain temptation to every man against his duty ; for if the sword turns preacher, and dictates propositions by em- pire instead of arguments, and ingraves them in men's hearts with a poignard, that it shall be death to believe what I innocently and ignorantly am persuaded of, it must needs be unsafe to try the spirits, to try all things, to make inquiry ; and yet, without this liberty, no man can justify himself before God or man, nor confidently say that his religion is best. This is inordination of zeal ', for Christ, by reproving St. Peter drawing his sword, even in the cause of Christ, for his * On Lukewarmness and Fear. Serin, xii. part 2. r 24 SELECTIONS sacred and yet injured person, teaches us not to use the sword, though in the cause of God, or for God himself. When Abraham sat at his tent door, according to his custom, waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old man, stooping and leaning on his staff, weary with age and travail, coming towards him, who was an hundred years of age. He re- ceived him kindly, washed his feet, provided supper, caused him to sit down ; but observing that the old man eat, and prayed not, nor begged for a blessing on his meat, he asked him why he did not worship the God of heaven. The old man told him, that he worshipped the fire only, and acknowledged no other God. At which answer Abraham grew so zealously angry, that he thrust the old man out of his tent, and exposed him to all the evils of the night, and an unguarded condition. When the old man was gone, God called to Abraham, and asked him where the stranger was ? He replied, 1 thrust hira away because he did not worship thee. God answered him, I have suffered him these hundred years, although he dishonoured me ; and couldst not thou endure him one night ?* * Liberty of Prophesying. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 25 y ON HOPE. ^ . . Hope is like the wing of an angel soaring up to heaven, and bears our prayers to the throne of God. THE HOPES OF MAN. As a worm creepeth with her belly on the ground, with her portion and share of Adam's curse, lifts up its head to partake a little of the blessings of the air, and opens the junctures of her imperfect body, and curls her little rings into knots and combinations, drawing up her tail to a neighbourhood of the head's pleasure and motion ; but still it must return to abide the fate of its own nature, and dwell and sleep upon the dust : so are the hopes of a mortal man ; he opens his eyes and looks upon fine thmgs at distance, and shuts them again with weakness, because they are too glorious to behold ; and the man rejoices because he hopes fine things are staying for him ; but his heart aches, because he knows there are a thousand ways to fail and miss of those glories ; and though he hopes, yet he enjoys not ; he longs, but he possesses not, and must be content with his portion o/ (/Msi ; and beinga u;o?»n and 26 SELECTIONS no mail must die down in this portion, before he can receive the end of his iiopes, the salvation of his soul in the resurrection of the dead.* ON- MARRIAGE. FROM SERMOX,t ENTITLED ' THF, MARRIAOE RING.' 1. Marriage compared with single life. 2. Marriage considered by itself. 1st. ^s it relates equally to husband and wife. 1. Caution requisite in marrying: — 2. They ought when newly married, to avoid offending each other : — 3. They should be careful to avoid little vexations : — 4. They should ab- stain from those things from which they are respectively averse : — 5. They should avoid nice distinctions of mine and thine. 2dly. As it relates to the husband and wife sepa- rately ; and, 1st, To th.e husband. — Nature of his power; — His love; — He should set a good example to his wife;— His chastity should be unspotted. 2dly, To the wife.— Obedience ; — Compliance. * Funeral Sermon on the Archbishop of Armagh, t Sermon xvii. p. 1:^2. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 27 MARRIAGE COMPARED WITH SINGLE LIFE. Marriage is a school and exercise of virtue; and though marriage hath cares, yet the single life hath desires, which are more troublesome and more dangerous, and often end in sin ; while the cares are but instances of duty, and exercises of piety ; and therefore if single life hath more privacy of devotion, yet marriage hath more neces- sities and more variety of it, and is an exercise of more graces. Marriage is the proper scene of piety and patience, of the duty of parents and the charity of relations ; here kindness is spread abroad, and love is united and made firm as a centre ; mar- riage is the nursery of heaven. The virgin sends nravers to God ; but she carries but one soul to him : but the state of marriage fills up the num- bers of the elect, and hath in it the labour of love, and the delicacies of friendship, the blessing of society, and the union of hands and hearts. It hath in it less of beauty, but more of safety than the single life ; it hath more care, but less danger" it is more merry, and more sad ; is fuller of sor rows, and fuller of joys : it lies under more bur dens, but is supported by all the strengths of lov and charity, and those burdens are delightful. V 28 SELECTIONS Marriage is the mother of the world, and pre- serves kingdoms, and fills cities, and churches, and heaven itself. Celibate, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweet- ness ; but sits alone, and is confined and dies in singularity ; but marriage, like the use- ful bee, builds a house and gathers sweetness from every flower, and labours and unites into societies and republics, and sends out colonies, and feeds the world with delicacies, and obeys their king, and keeps order, and exercises many virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind, and is that state of good things to which God hath designed the present constitution of the world. CAUTION REQUISITE IN MARRYING. They that enter into the state of marriage cast a die of the greatest contingency, and yet of the 2:reatest interest in the world, next to the last throw for eternity. Life or death, felicity or a lasting sorrow, are in the power of marriagey^A woman, indeed, ventures most, for she hatn no sanctuary to retire to from an evil husband /she must dwell upon her sorrow, and hatch the eggs which her own folly or infelicity hath produced ; and she is more under it because her tormentor FROM BISHOP TAYLOR, 29 hath a warrant of prerogative, and the woman may complain to God as subjects do of tyrant princes ; but otherwise she hath no appeal in the causes of unkindness. And though the man can run from many hours of his sadness, yet he must return to it again ; and when he sits among his neighbours, he remembers the objection that is in his bosom, and he sighs deeply. /The boys, and the pedlars, and the fruiterers, shall tell of this \/ man when he is carried to his grave, that he lived and died a poor wretched person./ The stags in the Greek epigram, whose knees were clogged with frozen snow upon the moun- tains, came down to the brooks of the valleys, hoping to thaw their joints with the waters of the stream ; but there the frost overtook them, and bound them fast in ice, till the young- herdsmen took them in their stranger snare. It is the un- happy chance of many men, finding many incon- veniences upon the mountains of single life, they descend into the valleys of marriage to refresh their troubles ; and there they enter into fetters, and are bound to sorrow by the cords of a man's or woman's peevishness. As the Indian women enter into folly for the price of an elephant, and think their crime war- rantable, so do men and women change their 30 SELECTIONS liberty for a rich fortune (like Eripbile the Argive ; she preferred gold before a good man), and show themselves to be less than money, by overvaluing that to all the content and wise felicity of their lives ; and when they have counted the money and their sorrows together, how willingly would they buy, with the loss of all that money, mo- desty, or sweet nature to their relative ! As very a fool is he that chooses for beauty principally ; — " Cui sunt eruditi oculi et stulta mens," (as one said,) whose eyes are witty and their souls sensual : it is an ill band of affections to tie two hearts together by a little thread of red and white : and they can love no longer but uniil the next ague comes ; and they are fond of each other but at the chance of fancy, or the small-pox, or child-bearing, or care, or time, or any thing that can destroy a pretty flower. THEY OUGHT, WHEN MEWLY MARRIED, TO AVOID OFFKNDIMO EACH OTHER. Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid all offences of each other in the beginning of their conversation : every litlle thing can blast an infant blossom; and the breath of the south can shake the little rings of the vine, when first they begin FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 31 to curl like the locks of a new-weaned boy : but when by age and consolidation they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, and have, by the warm em- braces of the sun and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their clusters, they can endure the storms of the north, and the loud noises of a tempest, and yet nevgr be broken : so are the early unions of an unfixed marriage ; watchful and ob- servant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and apt to take alarm at every unkind word. After the hearts of the man and the wife are en- deared and hardened by a mutual confidence and experience, longer than artifice and pretence can last, there are a great many remembrances, and some things present that dash all little unkind- nesses in pieces. THEY SHOULD CAREFULLY AVOID LITTLE VEXATIONS. Let man and wife be careful to stifle little things, that as fast as they spring they be cut down and trod upon ; for if they be suffered to grow by numbers, they make the spirit peevish, and the society troublesome, and the affections loose and easy by an habitual aversation. Some 32 SELECTIONS men are more vexed with a fly than with a wound ; and when the gnats disturb our sleep, and the reason is disquieted, but not perfectly awakened, it is often seen that he is fuller of trouble than if, in the day-light of his reason, he were to contest with a potent enemy. In the frequent little accidents of a family, a man's reason cannot always be awake; and, when the discourses are imperfect, and a trifling trouble makes him yet more restless, he is soon betrayed to the violence of passion. THEY SHOULD ABSTAIN FROM THOSE THINGS FROM WHICH THEY ARE RESPECTIVELY AVERSE. Let them be sure to abstain from all those things which, by experience and observation, they find to be contrary to each other. They that govern elephants never appear before them in white. THEY SHOULD AVOID NICE DISTINCTIONS OF MINE AND THINE. Let the husband and wife infinitely avoid a curious distinction of mine and thine ; for this hath caused all the laws, and all the suits, and all FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 33 the wars in the world. Let them who have but one person, have also but one interest. As the earth, the mother of all creatures here below, sends up all its vapours and proper emissions at the command of the sun, and yet requires them again to refresh her own needs, and they are deposited between them both in the bosom of a cloud, as a common receptacle, that they may cool his flames, and yet descend to make her fruitful : so are the proprieties of a wife to be disposed of by her lord ; and yet all are for her provisions, it being a part of his need to refresh and supply hers ; and it serves the interest of both while it serves the necessities of either. These are the duties of them both, which have common regards and equal necessities and obli- gations ; and indeed there is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its variety by circumstances and little accidents ; and what in one is called love, in the other is called re- verence j and what in the wife is obedience, the same in the man is duty. He provides and she dispenses ; he gives commandments and she rules by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease her. For as the heart is set in the midst of the D 34 SELECTIONS body, and though it strikes to one side by the prerogative of nature, yet those throbs and con- stant motions are felt on the other side also, and the influence is equal to both : so it is in conjugal duties, some motions are to the one side more than to the other ; but the interest is on both, and the duty is equal in the several instances. THE DUTY A^'D POWER OF THE MAN. The next inquiry is more particular, and con- siders the power and duty of the man : ' Let every one of you so love his wife even as himself.' Thou art to be a father and a mother to her, and a brother; and great reason, unless the state of marriage should be no better than the condition of an orphan. For she that is bound to leave father, and mother, and brother for thee, either is miser- able like a poor fatherless child, or else ought to find all these, and more, in thee. HIS LOVE. The RE, is nothing can please a man without love ; and if a man be weary of the wise discourses of the apostles, and of the innocency of an even ^ and private fortune, or hates peace or a fruitful year,^he hath reaped thorns and thistles from the / FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 35 choicest flowers of paradise : for nothing can sweeten felicity itself but love. No man can tell but he that loves his children how many delicious accents make a man's heart dance in the pretty conversation of those dear pledges : their childish- ness, their stammering, their little angers, their innocence, their imperfections, their necessities, are so many little emanations of joy and comfort to him that delights in their persons and society :* but he that loves not his wife and children feeds a lioness at home, and broods a nest of sorrows; and blessing itself cannot make him happy : so that * Gentle Shepherd, Scene 2. I shall ha'e delight To hear their little plaints, and keep them right. Can greater pleasure be Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee ; When a' they etlle at — their greatest wish, Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss? See also Biirm's Cotter's Saturday Night, where the chil- dren are so beautifully described : — At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aget tree ; Th' expectant wee-things toddling stacher thro' To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee, His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily. His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie uifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee. Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 36 SELECTIONS all the commandments of God enjoining a man to love his wife, are nothing but so many necessities and capacities of joy. She that is lov'd is safe, and he that loves is joyful. HE SHOULD SET A GOOD EXAMPLE TO HISWIFE. Ulysses was a prudent man, and a wary counsellor, sober and severe; and he efformed his wife into such imagery as he desired ; and she was chaste as the snows upon the mountains ; diligent as the fatal sisters; always busy and always faithful, she had a lazy tongue, and a busy hand. HIS CHASTITY SHOULD RE UNSPOTTED. Above all the instances of love, let him pre- serve towards her an inviolable faith and an un- spotted chastity, for this is the ' Marriage Ring :' it ties two hearts by an eternal band ; it is like the cherubim's flaming sword, set for the guard of pa- radise ; for he that passes into that garden, now that it is immured by Christ and the church, enters into the shades of death. Now, in this grace, it is fit that the wisdom and severity of the man should hold forth a pure taper, that his wife may, by seeing the beauties and transparency of that crystal, dress her mind FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 37 and her body by the light of so pure reflections. These are the little lines of a mans duty, -which, like threads of light from the body of the sun, do clearly describe all the regions of his proper obliga- tions. Now, concerning the woman $ duty, although it consists in doing whatsoever her husband com- mands, and so receives measures from the rules of his government; yet there are also some lines of life depicted upon her hands, by which ^"^ may read and know how to proportion out "^'^ duty to her husband : — ^ BEDIENCE. The wife can be no ways happy unless she be governed by a prudent lord, whose commands are sober counsels, whose authority is paternal, whose orders are provisions, and whose sentences are charity. COMPLIANCE. To partake secretly, and in her heart, of all his joys and sorrows, to believe him comely and fair, though the sun hath drawn a cypress over him, (for as marriages are not to be contracted by the hands and eyes, but with reason and the heart ; so are these judgments to be made by the mind, 11911 !)a 38 SELECTIONS not by the sight:) and diamonds cannot make the ■woman virtuous, nor him to value her who sees her put them off then, when chastity and modesty are her brightest ornaments. Indeed the outward ornament is fit to take fools ; but they are not worth the taking. But she that hath a wise hus- band, must entice him to an eternal dearness, by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chas- tity, the ornament of meekness, and the jewels of faith and charity; her brightness must be purity, and she must shine round about with sweetnesses and friendship, and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired when she dies. CONCLUSION. Remember the days of darkness, for they are many; the joys of the bridal chamber are quickly past, and the remaining portion of the state is a dull progress, without variety of joys, but not without the change of sorrows ; but that portion that shall enter into the grave must be eternal. It is fit that I should infuse a bunch of myrrh into the festival goblet; and, after the Egyptian manner, serve up a dead man's bones at a feast. I will only show it and take it away again ; it will make the wine bitter, but wholesome. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 39 ON CHRISTIANITY. Jesus entered into the world with all the circumstances of poverty. He had a star to illustrate his birth; but a stable for his bed- chamber, and a manger for his cradle. The angels sang hymns when he was born; but he was cold, and cried, uneasy and unprovided. All that Christ came for was, or was mingled with, sufferings; for all those little joys which God sent, either to recreate his person, or to illustrate his office, were abated or attended with afflictions ; God being more careful to esta- blish in him the covenant of sufferings, than to refresh his sorrows. Presently after the angels had finished their hallelujahs, he was forced to fly to save his life, and the air became full of shrieks of the desolate mothers of Bethlehem for their dying babes. God had no sooner made him illustrious with a voice from heaven, and the descent of the Holy Ghost upon him in the waters of baptism, but he was delivered over to be tempted and assaulted by the devil in the wilder- ness. His transfiguration was a bright ray of glory ; but then also he entred into a cloud, and was told a sad story what he was to suffer at 40 SELECTIONS Jerusalem. And upon Palm Sunday, when he rode triumphantly into Jerusalem, and was adorned with the acclamations of a king and a god, he wet the palms with his tears, sweeter than the drops of manna, or the little pearls of heaven that descended upon mount Herraon ; weeping in the midst of this triumph over obstinate, perishing, and malicious Jerusalem. They that had overcome the world could not strangle Christianity. But so have I seen the sun with a little ray of distant light challenge all the power of darkness, and without violence and noise climbing up the hill, hath made night so to retire, that its memory was lost in the joys and spright- fulness of the morning: and Christianity without violence or armies, without resistance and self- preservation, without strength or humane elo- quence, without challenging of privileges or fighting against tyranny, without alteration of government and scandal of princes, with its humi- lity and meekness, with toleration and patience, with obedience and charity, with praying and dying, did insensibly turn the world into christian, and persecution into victory.* * The following Extract is from the 9lh of Sherlock's Discourses. Go to your Natural Religion: lay before her Mahomet aud his disciples, arrayed in armour and in blood, riding in I'ROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 41 I have often seen young and unskilful persons sitting in a little boat, when every little wave sporting about the sides of the vessel, and every motion and dancing of the barge seemed a danger, and made them cling fast upon their fellows ; and yet all the while they were as safe as if ihey triumph over the spoils of thousands and tens of thousands who fell by his victorious sword : shew her the cities which he set in flames, the countries which he ravaged and destroyed, and the miserable distress of all the inhabitants of the earth. When she has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his re- tirements : shew her the prophet's chamber, his concubines and wives ; let her see his adultery, and hear him allege revelation and his divine commission to justify his lust and his oppression. When she is tired with this prospect, then shew her the blessed Jesus, humble and meek, doing good to all the sons of men, patiently instructing both the ignorant and the perverse : let her see him in his most retired privacies : let her follow him to the mount, and hear his devotions and sup- plications to God : carry her to his table to view his poor fare, and hear his heavenly discourse : let her see him injured, but not provoked : let her attend him to the tribunal, and consider the patience with which he endured the scoffs and reproaches of his enemies : lead her to the cross, and let her view him in the agony of death, and hear his last prayer for his persecutors : " Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do !" When Natural Religion has viewed both, ask. Which is the prophet of God ? 42 SELECTIONS sate under a tree, while a gentle wind shaked the leaves into a refreshment and a cooling shade. And the unskilful, unexperienced christian shrieks out when ever his vessel shakes, thinking it always a danger, that the watery pavement is not stable and resident like a rock ; and yet all his danger is in himself, none at all from without ; for he is indeed moving upon the waters, but fastened to a rock; faith is his foundation, and hope is his anchor, and death is his harbour, and Christ is his pilot, and heaven is his country ; and all the evils of poverty, or affronts of tribunals and evil judges, of fears and sadder apprehensions, are but like the loud wind blowing from the right point, they make a noise, and drive faster to the harbour: and if we do not leave the ship, and leap into the sea ; quit the interest of religion, and run to the securities of the world ; cut our cables, and dissolve our hopes ; grow impatient, and hug a wave, and die in its embraces ; we are as safe at sea, safer in the storm which God sends us, than in a calm when we are befriended with the world.* Presently it came to pass that men were * The Faith and Patience of the Saints; Serm. ix. and xi. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 43 no longer ashamed of the cross, but it was worn upon breasts, printed in the air,* drawn upon fore- * Bacon in his New Atlantis, says : — " About twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour " it came to pass, that there was seen by the people of Renfusa, " a city upon the eastern coast of our island, within night, the " night was cloudy and calm, as it might be some mile into " the sea, a great pillar of light ; not sharp, but in form of a " column or cylinder rising from the sea, a great way up " towards heaven : and on the top of it was seen a large cross " of light, more bright and resplendent than the body of the " pillar. Upon which so strange a spectacle, the people of " the city gathered apace together upon the sands to wonder ; " and so after put themselves into a number of small boats, to " go nearer to this marvellous sight. But when the boats " were come within about sixty yards of the pillar, they " found themselves all bound, and could go no further, yet so " as they might move to go about, but might not approach " nearer : so as the boats stood all as in a theatre, beholding " this light as an heavenly sign. It so fell out, that there " was in one of the boats one of the wise men of the society of " Solomon's house, which house or college, my good brethren, " is the very eye of this kingdom; who having awhile atten- " tively and devoutly viewed and contemplated this pillar and " cross, fell down upon his face ; and then raised himself upon " his knees, and lifting up his hands to heaven, made his " prayers. " When he had made his prayer, he presently found the " boat he was in moveable and unbound ; whereas all the rest " remained still fast; and taking that for an assurance of " leave to approach, he caused the boat to be softly and with 44 SELECTIONS heads, carried upon banners, put upon crowns imperial — presently it came to pass that the reli- gion of the despised Jesus did infinitely prevail : a religion that taught men to be meek and humble, apt to receive injuries, but unapt to do any ; a religion that gave countenance to the poor and pitiful, in a time when riches were adored, and ambition and pleasure had possessed the heart of all mankind : a religion that would change the face of things, and the hearts of men, and break vile habits into gentleness and counsel. That such a religion, in such a time, by the sermons and conduct of fishermen, men of mean breeding and illiberal arts, should so speedily triumph over the philosophy of the world, and the arguments of the subtle, and the sermons of the eloquent ; the power of princes and the interests of states, the inclinations of nature and the blindness of zeal, the force of custom and the solicitation of " silence rowed towards the pillar. But ere he came near it, " the pillar and cross of light brake up, and cast itself " abroad, as it were into a firmament of many stars; which " also vanished soon after, and there was nothing left to be " seen but a small ark or chest of cedar, dry, and not wet at " all with water, though it swam. And in the fore-end of it " which was towards him, grew a small green branch of " palm." FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 45 passions, the pleasures of sin and the busy arts of the devil ; that is against wit and power, superstitioa and wilfulness, fame and money, nature and empire, which are all the causes in this world that can make a thing impossible; this, this is to be ascribed to the power of God, and is the great demonstration of the resurrection of Jesus. Every thing was an argument for it, and improved it; no objection could hinder it, no enemies destroy it ; whatsoever was for them, it made the religion to increase ; whatsoever was against them, made it to increase ; sun-shine and storms, fair weather or foul, it was all one as to the event of things : for they were instruments in the hands of God, who could make what himself should chuse to be ihe product of any cause ; so that if the christians had peace, they went abroad and brought in converts ; if they had no peace, but persecution, the converts came in to them. In prosperity they allured and enticed the world by the beauty of holiness ; in affliction and trouble they amazed all men with the splendor of their innocence, and the glories of their patience ; and quickly it was that the world became disciple to the glorious Nazarene, and men could no longer doubt of the resurrection of Jesus, when it became so demonstrated by the certainty of them that saw 46 SELECTIONS it, and the courage of them that died for it, and the multitude of them that believed it ; who by their sermons and their actions, by their publick offices and discourses, by festivals and eucharists, by arguments of experience and sense, by reason and religion, by persuading rational men, and establishing believing christians, by their living in the obedience of Jesus, and dying for the tes- timony of Jesus, have greatly advanced his king- dom, and his power, and his glory, into which he entered after his resurrection from the dead.* OF TRUE AND OF MOCK RELIGION. I HAVE seen a female religion that wholly X- dwelt upon the face and tongue ; that like a wanton and an undressed tree spends all its juice in suckers and irregular branches, in leaves and gum, and after all such goodly outsides you should never eat an apple, or be delighted with the beau- ties, or the perfumes of a hopeful blossom. But the religion of this excellent lady was of another constitution ; it took root downward in humility, and brought forth fruit upward in the substantial graces of a christian, in charity and justice, in chas- * Sermon preached at the Funeral of the Lord Primate. PROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 47 tity and modesty, in fair friendships and sweet- ness of society : she had not very much of the forms and outsides of godliness, but she was hugely careful for the power of it, for the moral, essential, and useful parts : such which would make her be, not seem to be, religious. In all her religion, and in all her actions of relation towards God, she had a strange evenness and untroubled passage, sliding toward her ocean of God and of infinity with a certain and silent motion. So have I seen a river deep and smooth passing with a still foot and a sober face, and pay- ing to the Fiscus the great exchequer of the sea, the prince of all the watery bodies, a tribute large and full : and hard by it a little brook skipping and makmg a noise upon its unequal and neigh- bour bottom ; and after all its talking and bragged motion, it payed to its common audit no more than the revenues of a little cloud, or a con- temptible vessel: so have I sometimes compared the issues of her religion to the solemnities and famed outsides of another's piety. It dwelt upon her spirit, and was incorporated with the perio- dical work of every day : she did not believe that religion was intended to minister to fame and re- putation, but to pardon of sins, to the pleasure of God, and the salvation of souls. For religion is 48 SELECTIONS like the breath of heaven ; if it goes abroad into the open air, it scatters and dissolves. THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY. As long as the waters of persecutions are upon the earth, so long we dwell in the ark ; but where the land is dry, the dove itself will be tempted to a wandering course of life, and never to return to the house of her safety.* Many are not able to suffer and endure pros- perity ; it is like the light of the sun to a weak eye, — glorious indeed in itself, but not propor- tioned to such an instrument. f In the tomb of Terentia certain lamps burned under ground many ages together ; but as soon as ever they were brought into the air, and saw a bigger light, they went out, never to be re- enkindled. So long as we are in the retirements of sorrow, of want, of fear, of sickness, or of any sad accident, we are burning and shining lamps ; but when God comes with his avoxi, with his forbearance, and lift us up from the gates of death, and carries us abroad into the open air, that we * The Faith and Patience of the Saints ; Serm. x. 272. t The Mercy of the Divine Judgments; Serm. xii. 290. " We are as safe at sea, safer in the storm which God sends us, than in a calm when we are befriended with the world." FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 49 converse with prosperity and temptation, we go out in darkness; and we cannot be preserved in heat and light, but by still dwelling in the regions .of sorrow.* If God suffers men to go on in sins, and punishes them not, it is not a mercy, it is not a forbearance ; it is a hardening them, a consigning them to ruin and reprobation : and themselves give the best argument to prove it ; for they con- tinue in their sin, they multiply their iniquity, and every day grow more enemy to God ; and that is no mercy that increases their hostility and enmity with God. A prosperous iniquity is the most un- prosperous condition in the whole world. When he slew them, they sought him and turned them .early, and enquired after God; but as long as they prevailed upon their enemies, they forgat that God was their strength, and the high God was their redeemer. It was well observed by the Persian em-bassador of old ; when he was telling the king a sad story of the overthrow of all his army by the Athenians, he adds this of his own ; that the day before the fight, the young Persian gallants, being confident they should destroy their enemies, were drmking drunk, and railing at the * Ibid. 2<.)2. 50 SELECTIONS timorousness and fears of religion, and against all their gods, saying, there were no such things, and that all things came by chance and industry, nothing by the providence of the supreme power* But the next day, when they had fought unpros- perously, and, flying from their enemies, who were eager in their pursuit, they came to the river Stry- mon, which was so frozen that their boats could not launch, and yet it began to thaw, so that they feared the ice would not bear them ; then you should see the bold gallants, that the day before said there was no God, most timorously and superstitiously fall upon their faces, and beg of God that the river Strymon might bear them over from their enemies. What wisdom, and philoso- phy, and perpetual experience, and revelation, and promises, and blessings cannot do, a mighty fear can ; it can allay the confidences of bold lust and imperious sin, and soften our spirit into the lowness of a child, our revenge into charity of prayers, our impudence into the blushings of a chidden girl ; and therefore God hath taken a course proportionable : for he is not so unmerci- fully merciful as to give milk to an infirm lust, and hatch the egg to the bigness of a cockatrice. And therefore observe how it is that God's mercy pre- vails over all his works ; it is even then when FROM BISHOP TAYLOa. 51 nothing can be discerned but his judgments, for as when a famine had been in Israel in the days of Ahab for three years and a half, when the angry prophet Elijah met the king, and presently a great wind arose, and the dust blew into the eyes of them that walked abroad, and the face of the heavens was black and all tempest, yet then the prophet was most gentle, and God began to forgive, and the heavens were more beautiful than when the sun puts on the brightest ornaments of a bridegroom, going from his chambers of rhe east. So it is in the economy of the divine mercy : when God makes our faces black, and the winds blow so loud till the cordage cracks, and our gay for- tunes split, and our houses are dressed with cypress and yew, and the mourners go about the streets, this is nothing but the pompa misericordice, this is the funeral of our sins, dressed indeed with em- blems of mourning, and proclaimed with sad accents of death ; but the sight is refreshing, as the beauties of the field which God had blessed, and the sounds are healthful, as the noise of a physician.* The caresses of a pleasant fortune are apt to swell into extravagances of spirit, and burst into the dissolution of manners ; and unmixt joy * The Mercy of the Divine Judgments; Serm. xii. pages 286,288, 295. V' 52 SELECTIONS is dangerous : but if in our fairest flowers we spy a locust, or feel the uneasiness of a sackcloth under our fine linen, or our purple be tied with an uneven and a rude cord ; any little trouble, but to correct our wildnesses, though it be but a death's-head served up at our feasts, it will make our tables fuller of health and freer from snare, it will allay our spirits, making them to retire from the weakness of dispersion, to the union and strength of a sober recollection. ON PASSION AND REASON. Truth enters into the heart of man when it is empty, and clean, and still ; but when the mind is shaken with passion as with a storm, you can never hear the voice of the charmer though he charm ever so wisely : and you will very hardly sheathe a sword when it is held by a loose and a paralytic arm.* THE PROSTITUTE. 7 /They pay their souls down for the bread they eat, buying this day's meal with the price of the last night's sin/f * Sermon preached to the University of Dublin, f Holy Dying, ch. 1. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 53 ON ANGER. In contentions be always passive, never active' upon the defensive, not the assaulting part ; and then also give a gentle answer, receiving the fu- ries and indiscretions of the other like a stone into a bed of moss and soft compliance ;* and you shall find it sit down quietly : whereas anger and vio- lence make the contention loud and long, and injurious to both the parties. Consider that anger is a professed enemy to counsel; it is a direct storm, in which no man can be heard to speak or call from without : for if you counsel gently, you are despised ; if you * When Sir Matthew Hale dismissed the jury because he was convinced that it had been illegally selected, to favour the Protector, Cromwell was highly displeased with him, and at his return from the circuit, he told him in anger he was not fit to be a judge, to which all the answer he made was that, it was very true." Abou Hanifah fut le chef des Hanifites- Ce Socrate Musulman donnoit a sa secte des lemons et des exemples. Un brutal lui ayant donne un soufflet ce Mahometan repondit ces paroles dignes d' un Chretien : " si j' etois vindicatif, je vous rendrois outrage pour outrage ; si j' etois un delateur je vous accuserois devant le Calife : mais j' aime mieux de- mander a Dieu, qu'au jour du jugement il me fasse entrer au ciel avec vous." 54 SELECTIONS. urge it and be vehement, you provoke it more. Be careful therefore to lay up before-hand a great stock of reason and prudent consideration, that like a beseiged town, you may be provided for, and be defensible from within, since you are not likely to be relieved from without. Anger is not ^ to be suppressed but by something that is as in- ward Eis itself, and more habitual. To which purpose add, that of all passions it endeavours most to make reason useless : that it is an uni- versal poison, of an infinite object; for no man was ever so amorous as to love a toad/ iio'ie so V envious as to repine at the condition of the mi- serable, no man so timorous as to fear a dead bee/^ but anger is troubled at every thing, and every man, and every accident, and therefore unless it be suppressed, it will make a man's condition restless. If it proceeds from a great cause, it turns to fury; if from a small cause, it is peevish- ness ; and so is always either terrible or ridiculous. It makes a man's body monstrous, deformed, and contemptible, the voice horrid, the eyes cruel, the face pale or fiery, the gait fierce, the speech clamorous and loud. It is neither manly nor in- genuous. It proceeds from softness of spirit and pusillanimity ; which makes that women are more angry than men, sick persons more than healthful. yaOM BISHOP TAYLOR. 55 old men more than young, unprosperous and cala- mitous people than the blessed and fortunate.* It is a passion fitter for flies and insects than for persons professing nobleness and bounty. It is troublesome not only to those that suffer it, but to them that behold it : there being no greater in- civility of entertainment than for the cook's fault, or the negligence of the servants, to be cruel, or outrageous, or unpleasant in the presence of the guests. It makes marriage to be a necessary and unavoidable trouble ; friendships, and societies, and familiarities to be intolerable. It multiplies the evils of drunkenness, and makes the levities of wine to run into madness. It makes'' mnocegt^ ,^ iesting to be the beginning of- tragedies. ' It turns friendship into hatred : it makes a man lose him- self and his reason and his argument in disputa- tion. It turns the desires of knowlege into an itch of wrangling. It adds insolency to power. It turns justice into cruelty, and judgment into oppression. It changes discipline into tediousness and hatred of liberal institution. It makes a pros- perous man to be envied, and the unfortunate to be unpitied. It is a confluence of all the irregular passions : there is in it envy and sorrow, fear and • See Bacon's Essay on Anger. 56 SELECTIONS. scorn, pride and prejudice, rashness and inconsi- deration, rejoicing in evil and a desire to inflict it, self-love, impatience, and curiosity. And lastly, though it be very troublesome to others, yet it is most troublesome to him that hath it. Only observe that such an anger alone is cri- minal which is against charity to myself or my neighbour ; but anger against sin is a holy zeal, and an effect of love to God and my brother, for whose interest I am passionate, like a concerned person : and, if I take care that my anger makes no reflection of scorn or cruelty upon the offender, or of pride and violence, or transportation to my- self, anger becomes charity and duty,* And when one commended Charilaus, the king of Sparta, for a gentle, a good, and a meek prince, his colleague said well, " How can he be good, who is not an enemy even to vicious persons ?"t * Hooker's Anger is said to have been like a vial of clear water, which, when shook, beads at the top, but' Instantly subsides, without any soil or sediment of uncharitableness t Holy Living, chap. iv. sect. 8. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 57 ON SICKNESS. At the first address and presence of sickness stand still and arrest thy spirit, that it may without amazement or afFriu:ht consider that this was that thou lookedst for, and wertalwayscertain should happen, and that now thou art to enter into the actions of a new reHgion, the agony of a strange constitution : but at no hand suffer thy spirits to be dispersed with fear, or wildness of thought, but stay their looseness and dispersion by a serious consideration of the present and future employment. For so doth the Libyan lion, spy- ing the fierce' huntsman, he first beats himself with the strokes of his tail, and curls up his spirits, making them strong with union and recollection ; till, being struck with a Mauritanian spear, he rushes fojrth into his defence and noblest conten- tion ; and either scapes into the secrets of his own dwelling, or else dies the bravest of the forest. In sickness the soul begins to dress herself for immortality. And first, she unties the strings of vanity that made her upper garment cleave to the world and sit uneasy. First she puts off the light and fantastick summer-robe of lust and wanton appetite. * See Theocritus, Idyll 25. line 230. 58 SELECTIONS Next to this, the soul by the help of sickness knocks off the fetters of pride, and vainer com- placencies. Then she draws the curtains, and stops the light from coming in, and takes the pic- tures down, those fantastic images of self-love, and gay remembrances of vain opinion, and po- pular noises. Then the spirit stoops into the sobrieties of humble thoughts, and feels corruption chiding the forwardness of fancy and allaying the vapours of conceit and factious opinions. Next to these, as the soul is still undressing, she takes off the roughness of her great and little angers and animosities, and receives the oil of mercies and smooth forgiveness, fair interpretations and gentle answers, designs of reconcilement and christian atonement, in their places. The temptations of this state, such I mean which are proper to it, are little and inconsidera- ble ; the man is apt to chide a servant too bitterly, and to be discontented with his nurse, or not sa- tisfied with his physician, and he rests uneasily, and (poor man) ! nothing can please him : and indeed these little undecencies must be cured and stopped, lest they run into an inconvenience. But sickness is in this particular a little image of the state of blessed souls, or of Adam's early morning in paradise, free from the troubles of lust, and FROM BISHOP TAYLOR, 59 violences of anger, and the intricacies of ambition, or the restlessness of covetousness. For though a man may carry all these along with him into his sickness, yet there he will not find them ; and in despite of all his own malice, his soul shall find some rest from labouring in the galleys and baser captivity of sin * THE PROGRESS OF SIN. /I HAVE seen the little purls of a spring sweat through the bottom of a bank, and intenerate the stubborn pavement, till it hath made it fit for the impression of a child's foot; and it was despised, like the descending pearls of a misty morning, till ^-jjo^^ 0^, it had opened its way, and made a stream large ^ ' enough to carry away the ruins of the undermined strand, and to invade the neighbouring gardens : but then the despised drops were grown into an artificial river, and an intolerable mischief. ^ So are the first entrances of sin/ stopped with the antidotes of a hearty prayer, and checked into sobriety by the eye of a reverend man, or the counsels of a single sermon : but when such be- ginnings are neglected, and our religion hath not Holy Dying, ch. iv. sect. 1. and ch. iii. sect, 6. 60 SELECTIONS in it so much philosophy as to think any thing evil as long as we can endure it, they grow up to ulcers, and pestilential evils ; they destroy the soul by their abode, who at their first entry might have been killed with the pressure of a little fino-er. He that hath past many stages of a good life, to prevent his being tempted to a single sin, must be very careful that he never entertain his spirit with the remembrances of his past sin, nor amuse it with the fantastic apprehensions of the pre- sent. When the Israelites fancied the sapidness and relish of the flesh-pots, they longed to taste and to return. So when a Libyan tiger drawn from his Avilder forag ngs is shut up and taught to eat civil meat, and suffer the authority of a man, he sits down tamely in his prison, and pays to his keeper fear and reverence for his meat : but if he chance to come again, and taste a draught of warm blood, he presently leaps into his natural cruelty. AdmonitEeque tument gustato sanguine fauces : Fervet, et a trepido vix abstinet ira magistro. He scarce abstains from eating those hands that brought him discipline and food. So is the nature of a man made tame and gentle by the grace of God, and reduced to reason, and kept in awe by religion and laws, and by an awful virtue is taught FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 61 to forget those alluring and sottish relishes of sin ; bat if he diverts from his path, and snatches hand- fuls from the wanton vineyards, and remembers the lasciviousness of his unwholesome food that pleased his childish palate; then he grows sick again, and hungry after unwholesome diet, and longs for the apples of Sodom. The Pannonian bears, when they have clasped a dart in the region of their liver, wheel themselves upon the wound, and with anger and malicious revenge strike the deadly barb deeper, and cannot be quit from that fatal steel, but in flying bear along that which themselves make the instrument of a more hasty death : so is every vicious person struck with a deadly wound, and his own hands force it into the entertainments of the heart; and because it is painful to draw it forth by a sharp and salutary repentance, he still rolls and turns upon his wound, and/carries his death in his ^ _ bowels, where it first entered by choice, and then dwelt by love, and at last shall finish the tragedy by divine judgments and an unalterable decree.* THE GOLDEN CALF. Formidable is the state of an intemperate man, whose sin begins with sensuality and grows * Of Growth in Sin; Serm. xvii. part. 2. 62 SELECTIONS up in folly and weak discourses, and is fed by vio- lence, and applauded by fools and parasites, full bellies and empty heads, servants and flatterers, whose hands are full of flesh and blood, and their hearts empty of pity and natural compassion ; where religion cannot inhabit, and the love of God must needs be a stranger ; whose talk is loud and trifling, injurious and impertinent, and whose em^ ployment is the same with the work of the sheep or the calf, always to eat.* THE VIRTUOUS MIND. If I shall describe a living man, a man that hath that life that distinguishes him from a fowl or a bird, that which gives him a capacity next to angels ; we shall find that even a good man lives not long, because it is long before he is born to this life, and longer yet before he hath a man's growth. " Hef that can look upon death, and see its face with the same countenance with which he hears its story ; that can endure all the labours of his life with his soul supporting his body ; that can equally despise riches when he hath them, and when he hath them not ; that is not sadder * Sermons, xv. & xvi. t Seneca, De Vita Beata, cap. 20. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 63 if they lie in his neighbour's trunks, nor more brag if they shine round about his own walls ; he that is neither moved with good fortune coming to him, nor going from him; that cm look upon another man's lands evenly and pleasedly as if they were his own, and yet look upon his own and use them too, just as if they were another man's ; that neither spends his goods prodigally, and like a fool, nor yet keeps them avariciously and like a wretch ; that weighs not benefits by weight and number, but by the mind and circumstances of him that gives them ; that never thinks his cha- rity expensive if a worthy person be the receiver ; he that does nothing for opinion's sake, but every thing for conscience, being as curious of his thoughts as of his actings in markets and theatres, and is as much in awe of himself as of a whole assembly : he that knows God looks on, and con- trives his secret affairs as in the presence of God and his holy angels ; that eats and drinks because he needs it, not that he may serve a lust or load his belly ; he that is bountiful and cheerful to his friends, and charitable and apt to forgive his ene- mies ; that loves his country and obeys his prince, and desires and endeavours nothing more than that they may do honour to God :" this person may reckon his life to be the life of a man, and 64 SELECTIONS compute his months, not by the course of the sun, but the zodiac and circle of his virtues : because these are such things which fools and children, and bird, and beasts, cannot have: these are therefore the actions of life, because they are the seeds of immortality. That day in which we have done some excellent thing, we may as truly reckon to be added to our life, as were the fifteen years to the days of Hezekiah.* * Holy Dying, ch. 1. I add the following extract from Seneca's Epistles : — I have applied myself to liberal studies, though both the poverty of my condition, and my own reason, might rather have put me upon the making of my fortune. I have given proof that all minds are capable of goodness ; and I have il- lustrated the obscurity of my family by the eminency of my .virtue. I have preserved my faith in all extremities, and I have ventured my life for it. I have never spoken one word contrary to my conscience, and I have been more solicitous for my friend, than for myself: I never made any base sub- mission to any man ; and I have never done any thing un- worthy of a resolute and of an honest man. My mind is raised so much above all dangers, that I have mastered all hazards ; and 1 bless myself in the providence which gave me that experiment of my virtue : for it was not fit, methought, that so great glory should come cheap. Nay, I did not so much as deliberate, whether good faith should suffer for me, or I for it. I stood my ground, without laying violent hands YUOBr BISHOP TAYLOR. 65 HUMAN RESOLUTIONS.* I HAVE seen a fair structure begun with art and care, and raised to half its stature, and then it stood still by the misfortune or negligence of the owner ; and the rain descended and dwelt in its joints, and supplanted the contexture of its pillars, and, having stood awhile, like the anti- quated temple of a deceased oracle, it fell into a hasty age, and sunk upon its own knees, and so descended into ruin : so is the imperfect, unfi- nished spirit of man ; it lays the foundation of a holy resolution, and strengthens it with vows and arts of prosecution; it raises up the walls, sacra- ments, and prayers, reading, and holy ordinances; and holy actions begin with a slow motion, and upon myself, to escape the rage of the powerful ; though under Caligula I saw cruelties, to such a de.^ree, that to be killed outright, was accounted a mercy. And yet I persisted in my honesty, to shew that I was ready to do more than die for it. My mind was never corrupted with gifts ; and when the humour of avarice was at the height, I never laid my hand upon any unlawful gain : I have been temperate in my diet ; modest in my discourse ; courteous and affable to my infe- riors ; and have ever paid a respect, and reverence to my betters. * Sermon on Lukewarmness and Zeal ; Scrm. xiii. part 2. F Q6 SELECTIONS the building stays, and the spirit is weary, and the soul is naked and exposed to temptation, and in the days of storm takes in every thing that can do it mischief; and it is faint and sick, listless and tired, and it stands till its own weight wearies the foimdation, and then dechnes to death and sad disorder. PLfeAStJRfeS OF UNDERSTANDING.* It is not the eye that sees the beauties of the heaven, nor the ear that hears the sweetness of music, or the glad tidings of a prosperous ac- cident, but the soul that perceives all the relishes of sensual and intellectual perfections ; and the more noble and excellent the soul is, the greater and more savory are its perceptions. And if a child beholds the rich ermine, or the diamonds of a starry night, or the order of the world, or hears the discourses of an apostle he makes no reflex acts upon himself. It is a great disreputation to the understand- ing of a man, to be so cozened and deceived, as to choose money before a moral virtue ; to please that which is common to him and beasts, rather than that part which is a communication of the * See note (C) at the end. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 67 divine nature ; to see him run after a bubble which himself hath made, and the sun hath par- ticoloured, and to despise a treasure which is offered to him to call him off from pursuing that emptiness and nothing. But so does every vicious person, feeds upon husks, and loaths manna.* ON THE PRESENCE OF GOD. God is every where present by his power. He rolls the orbs of heaven with his hand, he fixes the earth with his foot, he guides all the creatures with his eye, and refreshes them with his influence : he makes the powers of hell to shake with his terrors, and binds the devils with his word, and throws them out with his command, and sends the angels on embassies with his decrees : he hardens the joints of infants, and confirms the bones when they are fashioned beneath secretly in the earth. He it is that assists at the numerous productions of fishes, and there is not one hollowness in the bottom of the sea, but he shews himself to be lord of it, by sustaining there the creatures that come to dwell in it : and in the wilderness, the bittern and the stork, the dragon and the satyr, the * Holy Living, chap. i. sec. 3. 68 SELECTIONS unicorn and the elk, live upon his provisions, and revere his power, and feel the force of his almigh- tiness. Let every thing you see represent to your spirit the presence, the excellency, and the power of God, and let your conversation with the crea- tures lead you unto the Creator, for so shall your actions be done more frequently with an actual eye to God's presence, by your often seeing him in the glass of the creation. In the face of the sun you may see God's beauty ; in the fire you may feel his heat warming ; in the water his gen- tleness to refresh you : it is the dew of heaven that makes your field give you bread.* THE RESURRECTION OF SINNERS. So have we seen a poor condemned criminal, the weight of whose sorrows sitting heavily upon his soul, hath benumbed him into a deep sleep till he hath forgotten his groans, and laid aside his deep sighings ; but on a sudden comes the messenger of death, and unbinds the poppy gar- land, scatters the heavy cloud that encircled his miserable head, and makes him return to acts of * Holy Living, chap. i. § 3. See Psalm. — Whither shall I go from thy presence, &c. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 69 life, that he may quickly descend into death, and be no more. So is every sinner that lies down in shame, and makes his grave with the wicked ; he shall indeed rise again, and be called upon by the voice of the archangel ; but then he shall descend into sorrows greater than the reason and the pa- tience of a man, weeping and shrieking louder than the groans of the miserable children in the valley of Hinnom.* THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 2 Cor. V. 10. " For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad." Virtue and vice are so essentially distin- guished, and the distinction is so necessary to be observed in order to the well-being of men in pri- vate and in societies, that to divide them in them- selves, and to separate them by sufficient notices, and to distinguish them by rewards, hath been designed by all laws, by the sayings of wise men, by the order of things, by their proportions to * Sermon preached at the funeral of the Lord Primate. 70 SELECTIONS good or evil ; and the expectations of men have been framed accordingly : that virtue may have a proper seat in the will and in the affections, and may become amiable by its own excellency and its apparent blessing ; and that vice may be as natural an enemy to a man as a wolf to the lamb, and as darkness to light; destructive of its being, and a contradiction of its nature. But it is not enough that all the world hath armed itself against vice, and, by all that is wise and sober among men, hath taken the part of virtue, adorning it with glorious appellatives, encouraging it by re- wards, entertaining it with sweetness, and com- manding it by edicts, fortifying it with defensatives, and twining with it in all artificial compliances : all this is short of man's necessity; for this will in all modest men secure their actions in theatres and high ways, in markets and churches, before the eye of judges, and in the society of witnesses : but the actions of closets and chambers, the de- signs and thoughts of men, their discourses in dark places, and the actions of retirements and of the night, are left indifferent to virtue or to vice ; and of these, as man can take no cognisance, so he can make no coercitive ; and therefore above one-half of human actions is by the laws of man left unregarded and unprovided for. And besides FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 71 this, there are some men who are bigger than laws, and some are bigger than judges, and some judges have lessened themselves by fear and cow- ardice, by bribery and flattery, by iniquity and compliance ; and where they have not, yet they have notices but of few causes : and there are some sins so popular and universal, that to punish them is either impossible or intolerable ; and to question such would betray the weakness of the public rods and axes, and represent the sinner tO' be stronger than the power that is appointed to be his bridle. And after all this we find sinners so prosperous that they escape, so potent that they fear not; and sin is made safe when it grows great — Facere omnia sa3ve Non impune licet, nisi dum facis- and innocence is oppressed, and the poor cries, and he hath no helper; and he is oppressed, and he wants a patron. And for these and many other concurrent causes, if you reckon all the causes that come before all the judicatories of the world, though the litigious are too many, and the matters of instance are intricate and numerous, yet the personal and criminal are so few, that of two thousand sins that cry aloud to God for ven- geance, scarce two are noted by the public eye;r 72 SELECTIONS. and chastised by the hand of justice. It must follow from hence, that it is but reasonable for the interest of virtue, and the necessities of the world, that the private should be judged, and virtue should be tied upon the spirit, and the poor should be relieved, and the oppressed should appeal, and the noise of widows should be heard, and the saints should stand upright, and the cause that was ill judged should be judged over again, and tyrants should be called to account, and our thoughts should be examined, and our secret actions viewed on all sides, and the infinite num- ber of sins which escape here should not escape finally. And therefore God hath so ordained it, that there shall be a day of doom, wherein all that are let alone by men shall be questioned by God, and every word, and every action shall receive its just recompeuce of reward. " For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad." At the day of judgment every man's fear shall be increased by his neighbour's shrieks, and the amazement that all the world shall be in, shall unite as the sparks of a raging furnace mto a globe of fire, and roll upon its own principle, and FROM BISHOP TAVLOR. 73 increase by direct appearances, and intolerable reflections. He that stands in a church-yard in the time of a great plague, and hears the passing- bell perpetually telling the sad stories of death, and sees crowds of infected bodies pressing to their graves, and others sick and tremulous, and death dressed up in all the images of sorrow round about him, is not supported in his spirit by the variety of his sorrow : and at doomsday, when the terrors are universal, besides that it is in itself so much greater, because it can affright the whole world, it is also made greater by communi- cation and a sorrowful influence; grief being then strongly infectious, when there is no variety of state but an entire kingdom of fear ; and amaze- ment is the king of all our passions, and all the world its subjects ; and that shriek must needs be terrible, when millions of men and women at the same instant shall fearfully cry out, and the noise shall mingle with the trumpet of the archangel, with the thunders of the dying and groaning heavens, and the crack of the dissolving world, when the whole fabric of nature shall shake into dissolution and eternal ashes. But this general consideration may be heightened with four or five circumstances. 74 SELECTIONS Consider what an infinite multitude of angels and men and women shall then appear. In this great multitude we shall meet all those, who by their example and their holy pre- cepts have, like tapers, enkindled with a beam of the sun of righteousness, enlightened us, and taught us to walk in the paths of justice. There shall appear the men of Capernaum, and the queen of the south, and the men of Berea> and the first-fruits of the christian church, and the holy martyrs, and shall proclaim to all the world, that it was not impossible to do the work of grace in the midst of all our weaknesses, and accidental disadvantages : and that the obedience of faith, and the labour of love, and the conten- tions of chastity, and the severities of temperance and self-denial, are not such insuperable moun- tains, but that an honest and sober person may perform them in acceptable degrees if he have but a ready ear, and a willing mind, and an honest heart. There men shall meet the partners of their sins, and them that drank the round when they crowned their heads with folly and forgetfulness, and their cups with wine and noises. There shall ye see that poor perishing soul, whom thou didsi FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 75 tempt to adultery and wantonness, to drunkenness or perjury, to rebellion or an evil interest, by power or craft, by witty discourses or deep dissem- bling, by scandal or a snare, by evil example or pernicious counsel, by malice or unwariness. That soul that cries to those rocks to cover her, if it had not been for thy perpetual temp- tations, might have followed the lamb in a white robe ; and that poor man, that is clothed with shame and flames of fire, would have shined in glory, but that thou didst force him to be partner of the baseness. The majesty of the judge, and the terrors of the judgment shall be spoken aloud by the imme- diate forerunning accidents, which shall be so great violences to the old constitutions of nature that it shall break her very bones, and disorder her till she be destroyed. The sea (they say) shall rise fifteen cubits above the highest mountains, and thence descend into hollowness and a prodigious drought; and when they are reduced again to their usual pro- portions, then all the beasts and creeping things, the monsters and the usual inhabitants of the sea shall be gathered together, and make fearful noises to distract mankind : the birds shall mourn and change their songs into threnes and sad ac- 76 SELECTIONS cents : rivers of fire shall rise from the east to west, and the stars shall be rent into threads of light, and scatter like the beards of comets ; then shall be fearful earthquakes, and the rocks shall rend in pieces, the trees shall distil blood, and the mountains and fairest structures shall return into their primitive dust ; the wild beasts shall leave their dens, and come into the companies of men, so that you shall hardly tell how to call them, hei'ds of men, or congregations of beasts ; then shall the graves open, and give up their dead, and those which are alive in nature and dead in fear, shall be forced from the rocks whither they went to hide them, and from caverns of the earth, where they would fain have been concealed ; because their retirements are dismantled, and their rocks aXe broken into wider ruptures, and admit a strange light into their secret bowels ; and the men being forced abroad into the theatre of mighty horrors, shall run up and down distracted, and at their wits end. " The earth shall tremble, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken, the sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, the rocks shall rend, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat. The heavens shall be rolled up like a parchment, the earth shall be burned FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 77 with fire, the hills shall be like wax, for there «hall go a fire before him, and a mighty tempest shall be stirred round about him."* ON FRIENDSHIP AND GENERAL BENEVOLENCE. In a Discourse of the Nature, Offices, and Measures of Friendship, with Rules of conducting it : in a Letter to the most ingenious and excellent JMrs. Catharine Philips, in- quiring, ' how far a dear and perfect friendship is au- thorised by the principles of Christianity.' The word friend is of a large signification ; and means all relations and societies, and whatsoever is not enemy. But by friendships, I suppose you mean the greatest love, and the greatest useful » ness, and the most open communication, and the noblest sufferings, and the most exemplar faith- fulness, and the severest truth, and the heartiest counsel, and the greatest union of minds, of which brave men and women are capable. Christian charity is friendship to all the world ; and when friendships were the noblest things in the world, charity was little, like the sun drawn in at a chink, or his beams drawn into the centre of a burning-glass ; but christian charity is * From Sermqn entitled " Christ's Advent to Judgment:" which is the first in his Collection of Sermons. 78 SELECTIONS friendship expanded like the face of the sun when it mounts above the eastern hills : and I was strangely pleased when I saw something of this in Cicero ; for I have been so pushed at by herds and flocks of people that follow any body that whistles to them, or drives ihem to pasture, thatl am grown afraid of any truth that seems charge- able with singularity ; but therefore I say, glad I was when I saw Lselius in Cicero discourse thus: " Amicitia ex infinitate generis humaniquam con- ciliavit ipsa natura, contractares est, et adductain angustum ; ut omnis charitas, aut inter duos, aut inter paucos jungeretur." Nature hath made friendships and societies, relations and endear- ments ; and by something or other we relate to all the world ; there is enough in every man that is willing to make him become our friend ; but when men contract friendships, they inclose the com- mons ; and what nature intended should be every man's, we make proper to two or three. Friend- ship is like rivers, and the strand of seas, and the air, — common to all the world ; but tyrants, and evil customs, wars and want of love have made them proper and peculiar. But when Christianity came to renew our nature, and to restore our laws, and to increase her privileges, and to make her aptness to become religion, then it was declared rilOM BISIIUP TAYLOR. 79 that our friendships were to be as universal as our conversation ; that is, actual to all with whom we converse, and potentially extended unto those with whom we did not. For he who was to treat his enemies with forgiveness and prayers, and love and beneficence, was indeed to have no enemies, and to have all friends. So that to your question ' how far a dear and perfect friendship is authorised by the principles of Christianity, the answer is ready and easy : It is warranted to extend to all mankind ; and the more we love, the better we are; and the greater our friendships are, the dearer we are to God. Let them be as dear, and let them be as perfect, and let them be as many as you can ; there is no danger in it ; only where the restraint begins, there begins our imperfection. It is not ill that you entertain brave friendships and worthy socie- ties : it were well if you could love and if you could benefit all mankind ; for I conceive that is the sum of all friendship. I confess this is not to be expected of us in this world ; but, as all our graces here are but imperfect, that is, at the best they are but ten- dencies to glory, so our friendships are imperfect too, and but beginnings of a celestial friendship by which we shall love every one as much as they 80 SELECTIONS can be loved. But then so we must here in our proportion ; and indeed that is it that can make the difference ; we must be friends to all, that is, apt to do good, loving them really, and doing to them all the benefits which we can, and which they are capable of. The friendship is equal to all the world, and of itself hath no difference ; but is differenced only by accidents, and by the capacity or incapacity of them that receive it. For thus the sun is the eye of the world ; and he is indifferent to the Negro, or the cold Russian, to them that dwell under the line, and them that stand near the tropicks,the scalded Indian, or the poor boy that shakes at the foot of the Riphean hills. But the fluxures of the heaven and the earth, the conveniency of abode, and the ap- proaches to the north or south respectively change the emanations of his beams ; not that they do not pass always from him, but that they are not equally received below, but by periods and changes, by little inlets/ and reflections, they receive what they can. /And some have only a dark day and a long night from him, snows and white cattle, a miserable life, and a perpetual harvest of catarrhs and consumptions, apoplexies \J and dead palsies. But some have splendid fires and aromatick spices, rich wines and well-di- FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 81 gested fruits, great wit and great courage ; because they dwell in his eye, and look in his face, and are the courtiers of the sun, and wait upon him in his chambers of the east. iFust so is it in friendships ; some are worthy, ana some are necessary; some dwell hard by and are fitted for converse ; nature joins some to us, and religion combines us with others ; society and accidents, parity of fortune, and equal dispositions do actuate our friendships : which of themselves and in their prime disposition are prepared for all mankind according as any one can receive them. We see this best exempli- fied by two instances and expressions of friend- ship and charity : viz. alms and prayers : every one that needs relief is equally the object of our charity ; but though to all mankind in equal needs we ought to be alike in charity, yet we signify this severally and by limits and distinct measures : the poor man that is near me, he whom I meet, he whom I love, he whom I fancy, he who did me benefit, he who relates to my family, he rather than another; because my expressions, being finite and narrow and cannot extend to all in equal significations, must be appropriate to those whose circumstances best fit me : and yet even to all I give my alms, to all the world that needs them : I pray for all mankind, I am grieved at G 82 SELECTIONS every sad story I hear ; 1 am troubled when I hear of a pretty bride murdered in her bride- chamber by an ambitious and enraged rival; T shed a tear when I am told that a brave king was misunderstood, then slandered, then imprisoned, and then put to death by evil men : and I can never read the story of the Parisian massacre, or the Sicilian vespers, but my blood curdles, and I am disordered by two or three affections. A good man is a friend to all the world ; and he is not truly charitable that does not wish well, and do good to all mankind in what he can. But though -j- .we must pray for all men, yet we say special litanies for brave kings and holy prelates, and the wise guides of souls, for our brethren and re- lations, our wives and children. The effect of this consideration is, that the universal friendship of which I speak, must be limited, because we are so. In those things where we stand next to immensity and infinity, as in good wishes and prayers, and a readiness to benefit all mankind, in these our friendships must not be limited ; but in other things which pass un- der our hand and eye, our voices and our material exchanges ; our hands can reach no further but to our arms' end, and our voices can but sound till the next air be quiet, and therefore they can have FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 83 intercourse but within the sphere of their own activity ; our needs and our conversations are served by a few, and they cannot reach at all ; where they can, they must; but where it is im- possible, it cannot be necessary.* It must there- fore follow, that our friendships to mankind may admit variety as does our conversation ; and as by nature we are made sociable to all, so we are friendly: but as all cannot actually be of our so- ciety, so neither can all be admitted to a special, actual friendship. Of some intercourses all men are capable, but not of all ; men can pray for one another, and abstain from doing injuries to all the world, and be desirous to do all mankind good, and love all men : now ihis friendship we must pay to all, because we can ; but if we can do no more to all, we must shew our readiness to do more good to all by actually doing more good to all them to whom we can. A good man is the best friend, and therefore soonest to be chosen, longer to be retained ; and * The evils arising from attempts to act, without limita- tion, upon a system of general benevolence, are admirably ex- plained in the Tempest, act 2. scene 1. " Had I plantations of this Isle ;" — and in Joseph Andrews, book 3. c 3- " This way of life," &c. 84 SELECTIONS indeed never to be parted with, unless he cease to be that for which he was chosen. For the good man is a profitable, useful per- son, and that is the band of an effective friend- ship. For I do not think that friendships are me- taphysical nothings, created for contemplation, or that men or women should stare upon each other's faces, and make dialogues of news and pretti- nesses, and look babies in one another's eyes. Friendship is the allay of our sorrows, the ease of our passions, the discharge of our oppressions, the sanctuary to our calamities, the counsellor of our doubts, the clarity of our minds, the emission of our thoughts, the exercise and improvement of what we meditate. And although I love my friend because he is worthy, yet he is not worthy if he can do me no good : I do not speak of acci- dental hindrances and misfortunes by which the bravest man may become unable to help his child ; but of the natural and artificial capacities of the man. He only is fit to be chosen for a friend, who can do those offices for which friendship is excel- lent. For (mistake not) no man can be loved for himself; our perfections in this world cannot reach so high ; it is well if we would love God at that rate ; and I very much fear that if God did us no good we might admire his beauties, but we should I'UOM BISHOP TAYLOR. 85 have but a small proportion of love towards him; all his other greatnesses are objects of fear and wonder, it is his goodness that makes him lovely. And so it is in friendships. He only is fit to be chosen for a friend who can give counsel, or defend my cause, or guide me right, or relieve my need, or can and will, when I need it, do me good: only this I add, into the heaps of doing good, I will reckon loving me, for it is a pleasure to be beloved ;* but when his love signifies nothing but kissing my cheek, or talking kindly, and can go no further, it is a prostitution of the bravery of friendship to spend it upon impertinent people who are (it may be) loads to their families, but can never ease my loads ; but my friend is a worthy person when he can become to me instead of God, a guide or a support, an eye or a hand, a staff or a rule. * Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye, Drops on the cheek of One, he lifts from Earth ; And He, that works me good with unmov'd face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My Benefactor, not my Brother Man ! Yet even this, this cold Beneficence Seizes my Praise, when I reflect on those, The Sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe ! Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies ! Coleridge. 86 SELECTIONS Can any wise or good man be angry if I say, I chose this man to be my friend, because he is able to give me counsel, to lesrrain my wanderings, to comfort me in my sorrows ; he is pleasant to me in private, and useful in public ; he will make my joys double, and divide my grief between himself and me? For what else should I choose? For being a fool, and useless? for a pretty face or a smooth chin? I confess it is possible to be a friend to one that is ignorant, and pitiable, handsome and good for nothing, that eats well, and drinks deep, but he cannot be a friend to me ; and I love him with a fondness or a pity, but it cannot be a noble friendship. But if you yet enquire, further, whether fancy may be an ingredient in your choice ? I answer that fancy may minister to this as to all other ac- tions in which there is a liberty and variety. And we shall find that there may be peculiarities and little partialities, a friendship improperly so called, entering upon accounts of an innocent passion and a pleased fancy; even our blessed Saviour himself loved St. John and Lazarus by a special love, which was signified by special treatments ; and of the young man that spake well and wisely to Christ it is affirmed, Jesus loved him, that is, he fancied the man, and his soul had a certain cog- nation and similitude of temper and inclination. For in all things where there is a latitude, every FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 87 faculty will endeavour to be pleased, and some- times the meanest persons in a house have a fes- tival : even sympathies and natural inclinations to some persons, and a conformity of humours, and proportionable loves, and the beauty of the face, and a witty answer may first strike the flint and kindle a spark, which if it falls upon tender and compliant natures may grow into a flame ; but this will never be maintained at the rate of friendship, unless it be fed by pure materials, by worthinesses which are the food of friendship : where these are not, men and women may be pleased with one another's company, and lie under the same roof, and make themselves companions of equal pros- perities, and humour their friend ; but if you call this friendship, you give a sacred name to humour or fancy; for there is a Platonic friendship as well as a Platonic love ; but they being the images of more noble bodies are but like tinsel dressings, which will shew bravely by candle light, and do excellently in a mask, but are not fit for conver- sation and the material intercourses of our life. These are the prettinesses of prosperity and good- natured wit; but when we speak of friendship, which is the best thing in the world (for it is love and beneficence, it is charity that is fitted for so- ciety), we cannot suppose a brave pile should he 88 SELECTIONS built up with nothing ; and they that build castles in the air, and look upon friendship as upon a fine romance, a thing that pleases the fancy but is good for nothing else, will do well when they are asleep, or when they are come to Elysium ; and for aught I know in the mean time may be as much in love with Mandana in the Grand Cyrus, as with the Infanta of Spain, or any of the most per- fect beauties and real excellencies of the world ; and by dreaming of perfect and abstracted friend- ships, make them so immaterial that they perish in the handling and become good for nothing. But I know not whither I was going; 1 did only mean to say that because friendship is that by which the world is most blessed and receives most good, it ought to be chosen amongst the worthiest persons, that is, amongst those that can do greatest benefit to each other. And though in equal worthiness I may chose by my eye, or ear, that is, into the consideration of the essential, I may take in also the accidental and extrinsic worthi- nesses ; yet I ought to give every one their just value : when the internal beauties are equal, these shall help to weigh down the scale, and I will love a worthy friend that can delight me as well as pro- fit me, rather than him who cannot delight me at all, and profit me no more: but yet I will not FnOM CISHOf TAYLOR. 89 weigh the gayest flowers, or the wings of butter- flies, against wheat; but when I am to choose wheat, I may take that which looks the brightest. ^ had rather see thyme and roses, marjorum and July flowers that are fair and sweet and medicinal, than the prettiest tulips that are good for nothing: i/ and my sheep and kine are better servants than race-horses and grey-hounds./ And 1 shall rather furnish my study with Plutarch and Cicero, with Livy and Polybius, than with Cassandra and Ibra- him Bassa; and if T do give an hour to these for divertisement or pleasure, yet I will dwell with them that can instruct me, and make me wise and eloquent, severe and useful to myself and others. I end this with the saying of Leelius in Cicero: " Amicitia non debet consequi utilitatem, sed ami- citiam utilitas." When I choose my friend, I will not stay till I have received a kindness : but I will choose such an one that can do me many if I need them : but I mean such kindnesses which make me wiser, and which make me better: that is, I will, when I choose my friend, choose him that is the bravest, the worthiest, and the most excel- ent person ; and then your first question is soon answered. To love such a person, and to contract such friendships, is just so authorised by the prin- ciples of Christianity, as it is warranted to love 90 SELECTIONS wisdom and virtue, goodness and beneficence, and all the impresses of God upon the spirits of brave men. He that does a base thing in zeal for his friend, burns the golden thread that ties their hearts to- gether. If friendship be a charity in society, and is not for contemplation and noise, but for material com- forts and noble treatments and usages, this is no peradventure, but that if I buy land I may eat the fruits, and if I take a house I may dwell in it; and if I love a worthy person, I may please myself in his society: and in this there is no exception, unless the friendship be between persons of a different sex ; for then not only the interest of their religion and the care of their honour, but the worthiness of their friendship requires that their intercourse be prudent, and free from suspicion and reproach. And if a friend is obliged to bear a calamity, so he secure the honour of his friend, it will concern him to conduct his intercourse in the lines of a virtuous prudence, so that he shall rather lose much of his own comfort than she anything of her honour; and in this case the noises of people are so to be regarded that, next to innocence, they are the principal. But when by caution and prudence, and severe conduct, a friend hath done all that he FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 91 or she can to secure fame and honourable reports, after this their noises are to be despised : they must not fright us from our friendships, nor from her fairest intercourses.*f * Polemical Discourses. + I venture to subjoin a few remarks upon, 1st, tlie advan- tages of friendship, — 2dly the duties. As to the advantages see Bacon's admirable Essay on Friendship, where they are stated to be, — Peace ia the affec- tions, — Counsel in judgment, — and Assitstance when necessary : the heart ; the head ; the hand. Upon peace in the affections, or the disburthening of grief and the communication of joy, see the 2nd vol. of South's Sermons, sermon 2, on John, cap. xv. v. 15, in page 71, he says — " The third privilege of friendship is a sympathy in joy and grief. When a man shall have diffused his life, his self, and his whole concernments so far, that he can weep his sorrows with another's eyes ! when he has ano- ther heart besides his own, both to share, and t© support his griefs, and when, if his joys overflow, he can treasure up the overplus and redundancy of them in another breast ; so that he can (as it were) shake off the solitude ofa single nature, by dwel- ling in two bodies at once, and living by another's breath; this surely is the height, the very spirit and perfection of all human felicities. " It is a true and happy observation of that great philosopher the Lord Verulam, that this is the benefit of communication of our minds to others, that sorrows by being com- municated grow less, and joys greater. And indeed, sorrow, 92 SELECTIONS ON FEAR. Fear is the duty we owe to God, as being the God of power and justice, the great judge of hea- like a stream, loses itself in many channels ; and joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardour, and quickness, when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend." Upon counsel in judgment, see also the same sermon, in which he says — " The fifth advantage of friendship is counsel and ad- vice. A man will sometimes need not only another heart, but also another head besides his own. In solitude there is not only discomfort, but weakness also. And that saying of the Wiseman, Eccles.iv. 10. Woe to him that is alone, is verified upon none so much, as upon the friendless person : when a man shall be perplexed with knots and problems of business and contrary affairs ; where the determination is dubious, and both parts of the contrariety seem equally weighty, so that which way soever the choice determines, a man is sure to ven- ture a great concern. How happy then is it to fetch in aid from another person, whose judgment may be greater than my own, and whose concernment is sure not to be less ! There are some passages of a man's affairs that would quite break a single understanding. So many intricacies, so many laby- rinths are there in them, that the succours of reason fail, the very force and spirit of it being lost in an actual intention scattered upon several clashing objects at once ; in which case the interposal of a friend is like the supply of a fresh party to a besieged yielding city." In the conclusion of Bacon's Essay he says, — "After these two noble fruits of friendship, (peace in the affections, and support of the judgment), followeth the FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 93 ven and earth, the avenger of the cause of widows, the patron of the poor, and the advocate of the last fruit, which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels ; I mean, aid and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face, or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty," &c. As to the duties offriendship, some of them are Secrecy, which is the chastity of friendship ; — Patience, with infirmity ; — "It endures all things." Suspension of judgment; — "It hopes all things." Protection of children after his death. " An to Patience:" — " Do not think thou didst contract al- liance with an angel, when thou didst take thy friend into thy bosom ; he may be weak as well as thou art, and thou mayest need pardon as well as he," Suspension of judgment : see South's sermon, where he says, — " It is an imitation of the charities of heaven, which when the creature lies prostrate in the weakness of sleep, and weariness, spreads the covering night, and darkness over it, to conceal it in that condition ; but as soon as our spirits are refreshed, and nature returns to its morning vigour, God then bids the sun rise, and the day shine upon us, both to advance and to shew that activity. It is the ennobling oflSce of the understanding, to correct the fallacious and mistaken reports of sense, and to assure us that the staff in the water is straight, though our eye would tell us it is crooked. So it is the excellency of friendship to rectify, or at least to qualify the malignity of those surmises, that would misrepresent a friend, and traduce him in our 94 SELECTIONS oppressed, a mighty God and terrible. Fear is the great bridle of intecnperance, the modesty of the spirit, and the restraint of gaieties and disso- lutions ; it is the girdle to the soul, and the hand- maid to repentance, the arrest of sin; it preserves our apprehensions of the Divine Majesty, and hinders our single actions from combining to sin- ful habits; it is the mother of consideration, and the nurse of sober counsels. Fear is the guard of a man in the days of prosperity, and it stands upon the watch-towers and spies the approaching danger, and gives warning to them that laugh loud, and feast in the chambers of rejoicing, where a man cannot consider by reason of the noises of thoughts. Am I told that my friend has done me an injury, or that he has committed any undecent action ? why the first debt that I both owe to his friendship, and that he may chal- lenge from mine, is rather to question the truth of the report, than presently to believe my friend unworthy. A friend will be sure to act the part of an advocate, before he will assume that of a judge." " The last and most sacred duty of friendship is after we have stood upon the planks round his grave. When my friend is dead I will not turn into his grave and be stifled with his earth : but I will mourn for him and perform his will, and lake care of his relatives, and do for him as if he were alive ; and thus it i« that friendships never die." FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 95 wine, and jest, and music ; and if Prudence takes it by the hand and leads it on to duty, it is a state of grace, and an universal instrument to infant-reli- gion, and the only security of the less perfect per- sons ; and in all senses is that homage we owe to God, who sends often to demand it, even then when he speaks in thunder, or smites by a plague, or awakens us by threatening?, or discomposes our easiness by sad thoughts, and tender eyes, and fearful hearts, and trembling considerations. Let the grounds of our actions be noble, be- ginning upon reason, proceeding with prudence, measured by the common lines of men, and con- iident upon the expectation of an usual Provi- dence. Let us proceed from causes to effects, from natural means to ordinary events, and believe felicity not to be a chance but a choice ; and evil to be the daughter o^ sin and the divine anger, not of fortune and fancy. Let us fear God when we have made him angry; and not be afraid of him when we heartily and laboriously do our duty; and then fear shall be a duty, and a rare instru- ment of many : in all other cases, it is supersti- tion or folly, it is sin or punishment, the ivy of re- ligion, and the misery of an honest and a weak heart; and it is to be cured only by reason and 96 SELECTIONS good company, a wise guide and a plain rule, a cheerful spirit and a contented mind, by joy in God according to the commandments, that is, a rejoicing evermore. The illusions of a weak piety or an unskilful confident soul, fancy to see mountains of difficulty, but touch them and they seem like clouds riding upon the wings of the wind, and put on shapes as we please to dream. He that denies to give alms for the fear of being poor, or to entertain a disci- ple for fear of being suspected of the party : he that takes part of the intemperance because he dares not displease the company, or in any sense fears the fears of the world and not the fear of God ; this man enters into his portion of fears be- times, but it will not be finished to eternal ages. To fear the censures of men when God is your judge; to fear their evil when God is your defence ; to fear death when he is the entrance to life and felicity, is unreasonable and pernicious. But if you will turn your passion into duty, and joy and secu- rity, fear to oflend God, to enter voluntarily into temptation : fear the alluring face of lust, and the smooth entertainments of intemperance: fear th^ anger of God when you have deserved it ; and when you have recovered from the snare, then in- FROM BISflOP TAYLOR. 97 finitely fear to return into that condition, in which ■whosoever dwells is the heir of fear and eternal sorrow.* IMPATIENCE. I HAVE seen the rays of the sun or moon dash upon a brazen vessel, whose lips kissed the face of those waters that lodged within its bosom; but being turned back and sent off, with its smooth pretences or rougher waftings, it wandered about the room and beat upon the roof, and still doubled its heat and motion. So is sickness and a sor- row entertained by an unquiet and discontented man. Nothing is more unreasonable than to entan- gle our spirits in wildness and amazement, like a partridge fluttering in a net, which she breaks not though she breaks her wings. f ON CONTENT. Since all the evil in the world consists in the disagreeing between the object and the appetite, * Sermon on Godly Fear; Serm. ix. part 3. f Holy Dying, chap. 3. H 98 SELECTIONS as when a man hath what he desires not, or desires what he hath not, or desires amiss ; he that com- poses his spirit to the present accident hath variety of instances for his virtue, but none to trouble him, because his desires enlarge not beyond his pre- sent fortune : and a wise man is placed in the va- riety of chances, like the nave or centre of a wheel in the midst of all the circumvolutions and changes of posture, without violence or change, save that it turns gently in compliance with its changed parts, and is indifferent which part is up^ and which is down ; for there is some virtue or other to be exercised whatever happens, — either patience or thanksgiving, love or fear, moderation or humility, charity or contentedness. It conduces much to our content, if we pass by those things which happen to our trouble, and con- sider that which is pleasing and prosperous ; that by the representation of the better, the worse may be blotted out. It may be thou art entered into the cloud which will bring a gentle shower to refresh thy sorrows. I am fallen into the hands of publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all from me : what now ? let me look about me. They have left me the sun and moon, fire and water, a loving FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 99 wife, and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me, and I can still discourse ; and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry coun- tenance, and my cheerful spirit, and a good con- science ; they still have left me the providence of God, and all the promises of the gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to them too : and still I sleep and digest, I eat and drink, I read and meditate, I can walk in my neighbour's pleasant fields, and see the varieties of natural beauties, and delight in all that in which God delights, that is, in virtue and wisdom, in the whole creation, and in God himself.* If thy coarse robe trouble thee, remember * Holy Living, ch ii. § 6. Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. Are free alike to all. Burns. I care not Fortune what you me deny. You cannot rob me of free nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shews her bright'ning face. You cannot bar my constant feet to trace. The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve ; Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace. And I their toys to the great children leave. Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. Thomson. 100 SELECTIONS the swaddling-clothes of Jesus: if thy bed be uneasy, yet it is not worse than his manger; and it is no sadness to have a thin table, if thou callest to mind that the king of heaven and earth was fed with a little breast-milk : and yet besides this he suffered all the sorrows which we deserved. If God should send a cancer upon thy face, or a wolf into thy side, if he should spread a crust of leprosy upon thy skin, what wouldst thou give to be but as now thou art? LUST. Lust is a captivity of the reason, and an en- raging of the passions: it wakens every night and rages every day ; it desires passionately, and pro- secutes violently ; it hinders business, and distracts counsel; it brings jealousies, and enkindles wars; it sins against the body, and weakens the soul ;* it defiles the temple, and drives the Holy Spirit forth.t * I waive the quantum of the sin The hazard of concealing: But och ! it hardens all within And petrifies the feehng. Burns. t Sermon on the Flesh and the Spirit, Serm. xi, part 2. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 101 ON SINFUL PLEASURE. Look upon pleasures not upon that side that is next the sun, or where they look beauteously, that is, as they come towards you to be enjoyed, for then they paint and smile, and dress themselves up in tinsel and glass gems and counterfeit ima- gery; but when thou hast rifled and discomposed them with enjoying their false beauties, and that they begin to go off, then behold them in their nakedness and weariness. See what a sigh and sorrow, what naked unhandsome proportions and a filthy carcase they discover; and the next time they counterfeit, remember what you have already discovered, and be no more abused.* COVETOUSNESS. CovETOusNESs swells the principal to no pur- pose, and lessons the use to all purposes; disturb- ing the order of nature, and the designs of God ; makingmoney not to be the instrument of exchange or charity, nor corn to feed himself or the poor, nor wool to clothe himself or his brother, nor wine to refresh the sadness of the afflicted, nor oil to make his own countenance cheerful ; but all these to look upon, and to tell over, and to take ac- * Holy Living, ch, ii. § 1. 102 SELECTIONS counts by, and make himself considerable, and wondered at by fools, tliat while he lives he may be called rich, and when he dies may be accounted miserable. It teaches men to be cruel and crafty, industrious and evil, full of care and mahce; and, after all this, it is for no good to itself, for it dares not spend those heaps of treasure which it snatched.* CHRISTIAN CENSURE. It was an exemplar of charity, and reads to us a rule for our deportment towards erring and lapsed persons, that we entreat them with meekness and pity and fear ; not hastening their shame, nor pro- voking their spirit, nor making their remedy des- perate by using of them rudely, till there be no worse thing for them to fear if they should be dis- solved into all licentiousness. For an open shame is commonly protested unto when it is remediless, and the person either despairs and sinks under the burthen, or else grows impudent and tramples upon it. But the gentleness of a modest and cha- ritable remedy preserves that which is virtue's gir- * Holy Living, ch. iv. § 8. See South's sermon on covct- misaess, on Luke, chap. xii. verse. Id. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 103 die — fear and blushitig; and the beginning of a punishment chides them into the horror of remem- brance and guilt, but preserves their meekness and modesty, because they, not feeling the worst of evils, dare not venture upon the worst of sins.*t * Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness ; con- sidering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ. Gal. cliap. vi. f Then gently scan your brother man. Still gentler sister woman ; Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it : And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis he alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord — its various tone, Each spring — its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. Burns. 104 SELECTIONS THE HOSPITAL. If you please in charity to visit an hospital, which is indeed a map of the whole world, there you shall see the effects of Adam's sin, and the ruins of human nature ; bodies laid up in heaps, like the bones of a destroyed town, hominis pre- carii spiritus et male hasrentis, men whose souls seem to be borrowed, and are kept there by art and the force of medicine, whose miseries are so great that few people have charity or humanity enough to visit them, fewer have the heart to dress them and we pity them in civility or with a transient prayer ; but we do not feel their sorrows by the mercies of a religious pity ; and therefore we leave their sorrows in many degrees unrelieved and un- eased. So we contract by our unmercifulness a guilt by which ourselves become liable to the same calamities. Those many that need pity, and those infinities of people that refuse to pity, are miserable upon a several charge, but yet they almost make up all mankind. Abel's blood had a voice, and cried to God ; and humanity hath a voice, and cries so loud to God that it pierces the clouds; and so hath every sorrow and every sick- ness.* * The thoughtless are averse from an interruption of their joy ; reflection turns from wretchedness which it is unable FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 105 ON HUMILITY. The other appendage of her religion, which also was a great ornament to all the parts of her to relieve. Can we ask gaiety to exchange its light pleasures for the gloom of a prison 1 the young tree to leave its flowers and its sweetness, or the olive its good fruit? Can we invite opulence, knowing none but self-created wants, to witness the squalid poverty of him who is bereft of fortune and disowned by friends. The industrious shun him, for he has no industry: the virtuous stand afar off, for he is con- victed of crime : and piety, fulfilling all other christian pre- cepts, may forget that he has a brother sick and in prison and visit him not. A. M. To this general apathy our country affords one glorious exception. " Hearing the cry of the miserable," says How- ard, " I devoted my time to their relief, and, in order to " procure it, I made it my business to collect materials, the " authenticity of which could not be doubted. I hope not " to be entirely deserted in the conflict : if I am the means " of exciting the attention of my countrymen to this impor- «' tant national concern, of alleviating the distress of prison- " ers : of procuring them cleanly and wholesome abodes ; " of exterminating the gaol fever ; of introducing a habit of " industry ; of restraining the shocking debauchery, and im- " morality which prevail in our gaols and other prisons ; if any " of these beneficial consequences shall accrue, I shall be ' • happy in the pleasing reflection, that I have not lived with " out doing some good to my fellow creatures; and I shall " think myself abundantly repaid for all the pains I have "taken, the time I have spent, and the hazards I have " encountered.'' t 106 SELECTIONS life, was a rare modesty and humility of spirit, a confident despising and undervaluing of herself. For though she had the greatest judgment, and the greatest experience of things and persons that I ever yet knew in a person of her youth, and sex, and circumstances ; yet, as if she knew nothing of it, she had the meanest opinion of herself; and like a fair taper, when she shined to all the room, yet round about her own station she had cast a shadow and a cloud, and she shined to every body but herself.* It is in some circumstances and from some persons more secure to conceal visions, and those heavenly gifts which create estimations among men, than to publish them, which may possibly minister to vanity; and those exterior graces may do God's work, though no observer note them but the person for whose sake they are sent : like rain falling in uninhabited valleys, where no eye observes showers; yet the valleys laugh and sing to God in their refreshment without a witness.! All the world, all that we are, and all that we have, our bodies and our souls, our actions and our sufferings, our conditions athome, our accidents * Sermon on the Death of Lady Carbery. t Life of Christ. FROM BlSHOi- TAYLOR. 107 abroad, our many sins, and our seldom virtues, are as so many arguments to make our souls dwell low in the deep valleys of humility.* * Holy Living ; chap. 2, § iv. Bishop Taylor in his preface to Holy Dying, says — "I shall measure the success of my labors, not by popular noises, or the^sentences of curious persons, but by the ad- vantage which good people may receive. My work here is not to please tlie speculative part of men, but to minister to practice, to preach to the weary, to comfort the sick, to assist the penitent, to reprove the confident, to strengthen weak hands and feeble knees, having scarce any other possibilities left me of doing alms, or exercising that charity by which we shall be judged at doom's-day. It is enough for me to be an under-builder in the house of God, and I glory intheemploy- ment. 1 labour in the foundations ; and therefore the work needs no apology for being plain, so it be strong jmd well laid." And to the same effect Locke in his Epistle to the Reader prefixed to his Essay on the Understanding, says — " The commonwealth of learning is not at this time without master-builders, wboss mighty designs, in advancing the sciences, will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of posterity. But every one must not hope to be a Boyle, or a Sydenham ; and in an age that produces such masters, as the great Huygenius, and the incomparable Mr. Newton, with some others of that strain; 'tis ambition enou£;h to be employed as an under-labourer in clearing ground a little, and removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to knowledge." And to the same effect Dr. Rawley speaking of Lord Bacon in the preface to the Sylva Sylvarum, says — " I have heard his Lordship speak complainingly ; that his Lordship (who thinketh he deserveth to be an architect in this 108 SELECTIONS ON CONVERSATION. FROM SERMON* ENTITLED ' THE GOOD AND EVILTONGUE.' The following is an Analysis of the Sermon. I. General Observations. II. The Vices of Conversation. fl. Talking foolishly. 2. Scurrility. 3. Revealing secrets. 4. Common swearing. 2. Slander. 3. Flattery. ,5. Contentious wrangling. III. The virtues of Conversation. 1. Instruction. 2. Comfort. 3. Reproof. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. By the use of the tongue, God hath distin- guished us from beasts, and by the well or ill building), should be forced to be a workman and a labourer ; aiid to dig the clay and burn the brick ; and more than that (according to the hard condition of the Israelites at the lat- ter end) to gather the straw and stubble, over all the fields, to burn the bricks withal. For he knoweth that unless he do it nothing will be done ; men are so set to despise the means of their own good." * Sermon xxii. p. 161. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 109 using it we are distinguished from one another ; and therefore though silence be innocent as death, harmless as a rose's brealh to a distant passenger, yet it is rather the state of death than life. By voices and homilies, by questions and answers, by narratives and invectives, by counsel and reproof, by praises and hymns, by prayers and glorifications, we serve God's glory, and the necessities of men ; and by the tongue our tables are made to differ from mangers, our cities from deserts, our churches from herds of beasts, and flocks of sheep. •V TALKING TOO MUCH. I have heard that all the noises and prating of the pool, the croaking of frogs and toads, is hushed and appeased upon the instant of bringing upon them the light of a candle or torch. Every beam of reason and ray of knowledge checks the disso- lutions of the tongue. But, ut quisque contempi- issimus et maxime ludihrio est, ita solutissimce lin- guce est, said Seneca^ Every man as he is a fool and contemptible, so' his tongue is hanged loose, being like a bell, in which there is nothing but tongue and noise. / TALKING FOOLISHLY. No prudence is a sufficient guard, or can al- ways stand in excubiis still watching, when a man 1/ 110 SELECTIONS is in perpetual floods of talk ; for prudence attends after the manner of an angel's ministry ; it is dis- patched on n^.essages from God, and drives away enemies, and places guards, and calls upon the man to awake, and bids him send out spies and observers, and then goes about his own ministries above : but an angel does not sit by a man, as a nurse by the baby's cradle, watching every motion and the lighting of a fly upon the child's lip : and so is prudence ; it gives rules, and proportions out our measures, and prescribes us cautions, and by general influences, orders our particulars : but he that is given to talk cannot be secured by all this; the emissions of his tongue are beyond the gene- ral figures and lines of rule ; and he can no more be wise in every period of a long and running talk, than a lutenist can deliberate and make every mo- tion of his hand by the division of his notes, to be chosen and distinctly voluntary. SCURRILITY, OR FOOLISH JESTING. Plaisance, and joy, and a lively spirit, and a pleasant conversation, and the innocent caresses of a charitable humanity, is not forbidden ; plenum tamen suavitatis et gratioi sermonem non esse inde- corum, saint Ambrose affirmed : and here in my text our conversation is commanded to be such, ivcx, S&) xa^iv, Uiat it may minister grace, that is, fa- FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. Ill vour, complacence, cheerfulness; and be accep- table and pleasant to the hearer : and so must be our conversation ; it must be as far from sullen- ness, as it ought to be from lightness, and a cheer- full spirit is the best convoy for religion ; and though sadness does in some cases become a chris- tian, as being an index of a pious mind, of com- passion, and a wise proper resentment of things, yet it serves but one end, being useful in the only instance of repentance ; and hath done its greatest works, not when it weeps and sighs, but when it hates and grows careful against sin. But cheer- fulness and a festival spirit fills the soul full of harmony, it composes music for churches and hearts, it makes and publishes glorifications of God, it produces thankfulness and serves the end of charity; cuid when the oil of gladness runs over, it makes bright and tall emissions of light and holy fires, reaching up to a cloud, and making joy round about: and therefore, since it is so in- nocent, and may be so pious and full of holy ad- vantage, whatsoever can innocently minister to this holy joy does set forward the work of religion and charity. And indeed charity itself, which is the vertical top of all religion, is nothing else but an union of joys, concentrated in the heart, and reflected from all the angles of our life and inter- 112 SELECTIONS course. It is a rejoicing in God, a gladness in our neighbour's good, a pleasure in doing good, a rejoicing with him ; and without love we cannot have any joy at all. It is this that makes children to be a pleasure, and friendship to be so noble and divine a thing : and upon this account it is certain that all that which innocently make a man cheer- ful, does also make him charitable ; for grief, and age, and sickness,- and weariness, these are pee- vish and troublesome ; but mirth and cheerfulness is content, and civil, and compliant, and commu- nicative, and loves to do good, and swells up to felicity only upon the wings of charity. Upon this account here is pleasure enough for a christian at present, and if a facete discourse, and an amicable friendly mirth can refresh the spirit, and take it off from the vile temptation of peevish, despairing, uncomplying, melancholy, it must needs be inno- cent, and commendable. And we may as well be refreshed by a clean and a brisk discourse, as by the air of Campanian wines ; and our faces and our heads may as well be anointed and look plea- sant with wit and friendly intercourse, as with the fat of the balsam-tree ; and such a conversation no wise man ever did, or ought to reprove. But when the jest hath teeth and nails, biting or scratching our brother, when it is loose and FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 113 wanton, when it is unseasonable, and much or many, when it serves ill purposes, or spends better time, then it is the drunkenness of the soul, and makes the spirit fly away, seeking for a temple where the mirth and the music is solemn and religious. 01' SLANDER. This crime is a conjugation of evils, and is pro- ductive of infinite mischiefs : it undermines peace, and saps the foundation of friendship ; it destroys families, and rends in pieces the very heart and vital parts of charity : it makes an evil man, party, and witness, and judge, and executioner of the innocent. OF FLATTERY. He that persuades an ugly deformed man, that he is handsome, a short man that he is tall, a bald man that he hath a good head of hair, makes him to become ridiculous and a fool, but does no other mischief. But he that persuades his friend that is a goat in his manners, that he is a holy and a chaste person, or that his looseness is a sign of a quick spirit, or that it is not dangerous but easily par- donable, a trick of youth, a habit that old age will lay aside as a man pares his nails, — this man hath 114 SELECTIONS given great advantage to his friend's mischief; he hath made it grow in all the dimensions of the sin, till it grows intolerable, and perhaps unpardonable. And let it be considered, what a fearful destruction and contradiction of friendship or service it is, so to love myself and my little interest, as to prefer it before the soul of him whom I ought to love, OF COMFORTING THE DISCONSOLATE. Certain it is, that as nothing can better do it, SO there is nothing greater, for which God made our tongues, next to reciting his praises, than to minister comfort to a weary soul. And what greater measure can we have, than that we should bring joy to our brother, who with his dreaiy eyes looks to heaven and round about, and cannot find so much rest as to lay his eyelids close together, than that thy tongue should be tuned with heavenly accents, and make the weary soul to listen for light and ease, and when he perceives that there is such a thing in the world, and in the order of things, as comfort and joy, to begin to break out from the prison of his sorrows at the door of, sighs and tears, and by little and little melt into showers and re- freshment ? This is glory to thy voice, and em- ployment fit for the brightest angel. But so have FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 115 I seen the sun kiss the frozen earth, whicli was bound up with the images of death, and the colder breath of the north ; and then the waters break from their enclosures, and melt with joy, and run in useful channels ; and the flies do rise again from their little graves in walls, and dance awhile in the air, to tell that there is joy within, and that the great mother of creatures will open the stock of her new refreshment, become useful to mankind, and sing praises to her redeemer : so is the heart of a sorrowful man under the discourses of a wise comforter, he breaks from the despairs of the grave, and the fetters and chains of sorrow, he blesses God, and he blesses thee, and he feels his life returning ; for to be miserable is death, but nothing is life but to be comforted ; and God is pleased with no music from below so much as in the thankssfiving: songs of relieved widows, of supported orphans, of rejoicing and comforted and thankful persons. THE PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT. The canes of Egypt, when they newly arise from their bed of mud and slime of Nilus, start up into an equal and continual length, and are inter- rupted but with few knots, and are strong and beauteous with great distances and intervals : but when they are grown to their full length, they les- 116 SELECTIONS sen into the point of a pyramis, and multiply their knots and joints, interrupting the fineness and smoothness of its body. So are the steps and de- clensions of him that does not grow in grace : at first, when he springs up from his impurity by the waters of baptism and repentance, he grows straight and strong, and suffers but few interruptions of piety, and his constant courses of religion are but rarely intermitted, till they ascend up to a full age, or towards the ends of their life ; then they are weak, and their devotions often intermitted, and their breaches are frequent, and they seek excuses, and labour for dispensations, and love God and reli- gion less and less, till their old age, instead of a crown of their virtue and perseverance, ends in le- vity and unprofitable courses ; light and useless as the tufted feathers upon the cane, every wind can play with it and abuse it, but no man can make it use- ful. When therefore our piety interrupts its greater and more solemn expressions, and upon the return of the greater offices and bigger solemnities we find them to come upon our spirits like the wave of a tide, which retired only because it was natural so to do, and yet came farther upon the strand at the next rolling; when every new confession, every succeeding communion, every time of separation far more solemn and intense prayer is better spent FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 117 and more afFectionate, leaving a greater relish upon the spirit, and possessing greater portions of our affections, our reason and our choice ; then we may give God thanks, who hath given us more grace to use that grace, and a blessing to endea- vour our duty; and a blessing upon our endeavour.* Every man hath his indiscretions and infirmities, his arrests and sudden incursions, his neighbour- hoods and semblances of sin, his little violences to reason, and peevish melancholy, and humorous fan- tastic discourses ; unaptness to a devout prayer, his fondness to judge favourably in his own cases, little deceptions, and voluntary and involuntary cozen- ages, ignorances and inadvertences, careless hours, and unwatchful seasons. This happens more fre- quently in persons of an infant-piety, when the vir- tue is not corroborated by a long abode, and a con_ firmed resolution, and an usual victory, and a triumphant grace; and the longer we are accustomed to piety, the more unfrequent will be the little breaches of folly, and a returning to sin. But as the needle of a compass, when it is directed to its beloved star, at the first addresses waves on e'ther side, and seems indifferent in his courtship of the rising or declining sun, and when it seems first deter- * Cf Growth ip Grace ; serm, xiv. p. 305" 118 SELECTIONS mined to the north, stands awhile trembUng, as if it suffered inconvenience in the first fruition of its desires, and stands not still in full enjoyment till after first a great variety of motion, and then an undisturbed posture ; so is the piety, and so is the conversion of a man, wrought by degrees and several steps of imperfection ; and ac first our choices are wavering, convinced by the grace of God, and yet not persuaded ; and then persuaded, but not resolved ; and then resolved, but deferring to begin ; and then beginning, but, as all begin- nings are, in weakness and uncertainty ; and we fly out often into huge indiscretions, and look back to Sodom and long to return to Egypt : and when the storm is quite over, we find little bubblings and uneavennesses upon the face of the waters, we often weaken our own purposes by the returns of sin ; and we do not call ourselves conquerors, till by the long possession of virtues it is a strange and unusual, and therefore an uneasy and unpleasant thing, to act a crime.* AMBITION. I have read of a fair young German gentleman, who living, often refused to be pictured, but put off the importunity of his friends' desire by giving way * Of Growth of Sin ; part ii. serui. xvii. FROM BISHOP TAYLOR, 119 that after a few days' burial, they might send a painter to his vault, and, if they saw cause for it, draw the image of his death unto the life. They did so, and found his face half eaten, and his mid- riff and back bone full of serpents; and so he stands pictured among his armed ancestors. So does the fairest beauty change, and it will be as bad with you and me ; and then, what servants shall we have to wait upon us in the grave ? what friends to visit us ? what officious people to cleanse away the moist and unwholesome cloud reflected upon our faces from the sides of the weeping vaults, which are the longest weepers for our funeral. St. Austin with his mother Monica was led one day by a Roman Proetor to see the tomb of Caesar. Himself thus describes the corpse, " It looked of a blue mould, the bone of the nose laid bare, the flesh of the nether lip quite fallen off, his mouth full of worms, and in his eye pit a hungry toad feasting upon the remanent portion of flesh and moisture : and so he dwelt in his house of dark- ness."* * See Tucker's Light of Nature, vol. v. chap. 9, where there is an interesting enquiry upon the distinction between the love of excelling and the love of excellence : where, with his usual ingenuity, he examines the question. " Nevertheless it will probably be asked, would I then extinguish every spark of vanity in the world ! every thirst of fame, of splendor, of magnificence, of show ? every desire 1^20 SELECTIONS Virtue hath not half so much trouble in it, it sleeps quietly without startings and affrighting of excelling or distinguisbing one's self above the common herd 1 what must become of the public services, of sciences, arts, commerce, manufactures 1 the business of life must stagnate. Nobody would spend his youth in fatigues and dangers to qualify himself for a general or an admiral. No- body would study, and toil, and struggle, and roar out liberty to be a minister.'' If Tucker is right, and he generally is right, in his opi- nions, the love of excelling, although the common motive of action does not influence the noblest minds ; is only a temporary motive, and generates bad passion : but the love of excellence is a powerful motive ; is a permanent motive, and generates good feeling : is always ready to forward those abilities which overpower its own If Tucker's reasoning is not satisfactory, let him consider the words of Lord Bacon- " We enter into a desire of knowledge sometimes from a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite ; sometimes to entertain our minds with variety and delight ; sometimes for ornament und reputation ; sometimes to enable us to vic- tory of wit and contradiction, and most times for lucre and profession ; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of our gift of reason, for the benefit and use of man: — as if there were sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless spirit ; or a terrace for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair pros- pect ; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself upon ; or a fort or commanding ground for strife and con- . teniion ; or a shop for profit or sale ; and not a rich store house for the glory of the Creator and the relief of man's estate." FROM BISHOP TAYLOK. 121 fancies, it looks cheerfully, smiles with much sere- nity, and though it laughs not often, yet it is ever " For our undertaking, we judge it of such a nature, that it were highly unwortliy to pollute it witli any degree of am- bition or affectation ; as it is an unavoidable decree with us ever to retain our native candour and simplicity, and not at- tempt a passage to truth under the conduct of vanity ; for seeking real nature with all her fruits about her, we should think it a betraying of our trust to infect such a subject either with an ambitious, or ignorant, or any other faulty manner of treating it.'' See Sidney Smith's sermon, vol. ii. page 129, on V^anity. In Whitaker's History of Craven, when examining the tombs in the church of Skipton, he says — " Here lies, the body of George Clifford third Earl of Cumberland of that family, and knight of the most noble order of the garter, who, by right of inlieritance from a long continued descent of an- cestors, was Lord Veteripont, Baron Clifford, Westmorland, and Vesey, Lord of the Honour of Skipton in Craven, and Hereditary High Shirieve of Westmorland, and was the last heir male of the Cliffords that rightfully enjoyed those an- cient lands of inheritance in Westmoreland and in Craven, with the baronies and honours appertaicing to them ; and lefte but one legitimate child behinde him, his daughter and sole heir, the lady Ann Clifford, now Countesse Dowager of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomerie, who in memory of her father, erected this monument in 1653." The present church of Skipton is a spacious and respect- able building, though of very different periods. Perha])s no part of the original structure now remains ; but from stone seats, with pointed arches and cylindrical columns, now in 122 SELECTIONS delightful in the apprehensions of some faculty : it fears no man, nor no thing, nor is it discom- the south wall of the nave, may perhaps be referred to the earlier part of the thirteenth century. Beneath the altar un- usually elevated on that account, is the vault of the Cliffords, the place of their interment from the dissolution of Bolton Priory to the death of the last Earl of Cumberland ; which, after having been closed many years, I obtained permission to examine, March 29, 1803 ; the original vault, intended only for the first Earl and his second lady, had undergone two enlargements ; and the bodies having been deposited in chronological order, first, and immediately under his tomb, lay Henry the first earl; whose lead coffin was much corroded, and exhibited the skeleton of a short and very stout man, with a longhead of flaxen hair, gathered in a knot behind the scull. The coffin had been closely fitted to the body, and proved him to have been very corpulent as well as mus- cular. Next lay the remains of Margaret Percy, his second Countess, whose coffin was still entire. She must have been a slender and diminutive woman. The third was ' the lady Eleanor's grave,' whose coffin was decayed, and exhibited the skeleton (as might be expected in a daughter of Charles Brandon and a sister of Henry the Vlllth) of a tall and large limbed female. At her right hand was Henry the second earl, a very tall and rather slender man, whose thin envelope of lead really resembled a winding sheet, and folded hke coarse drapery, over the limbs. The head was beaten to the left side ; something of the shape of the face might be distin- guished, and a long prominent nose was very conspicuous. Next lay Francis, Lord Cliffijrd, a boy. At his right hand FKJM BISHOP TAYLOR. 123 posed, and hath no concernments in the great al- terations of the world, and entertains death like a was his father George the third earl, whose lead coffin pre- cisely resemhled the outer case of an Egyptian mummy, with a rude face, and something female mammffi cast upon it ; as were also the letters G. C. 1605. The body was closely wrapped in ten folds of coarse cere cloth, which being removed exliibited the face so entire (only turned to cop- per colour) as plainly to resemble his portraits. All his painters however, had complaisance to omit three large warts upon the left cheek. The coffin of earl Francis, who lay next to his brother, was of the modern shape, and alone had an outer shell of wood, which was covered with leather ; the soldering had decayed, and notliing appeared but the ordinary skeleton of a tall man. This earl had never been embalmed. Over him lay another coffin, much decayed, which, I suspect, liad contained the lady Anne Dacre his mother. Last, lay Henry the fifth earl, in a coffin of the same form with that of his father. Lead not allowing of absorption, or a narrow vault of much evaporation, a good deal of moisture remained in the coffin, and some hair about the skull. Both these coffins had been cut open, l^oom might have been found for another slender lady ; but the countess of Pembroke chose to be buried at Appleby ; partly, per- haps, because her beloved mother was interred there, and partly that she might not mingle her ashes with rivals and enemies. It is curious to contrast wiih these humiliating relics of departed greatness, the pomp and heraldry, and the pride of genealogy, which are displayed above. I"i4 SELECTIONS t'riend, and reckons the issues of it as the greatest of its hopes ; but ambition is full of distractions, it teems with stratagems, as Rebecca with strug- gling twins, and is swelled with expectation as with a tympany, and sleeps sometimes as the wind in a ^torm, still and quiet for a minute, that it may burst out into an impetuous blast till the cordage of his heart-strings crack ; fears when none is nigh, and prevents things which never had intention, and falls under the inevitability of such accidents which either could not be foreseen, or not prevented. ON GOVERNMENT AND REVOLUTIONS. During the civil wars in this country, Bishop Tay- lor retired into IVales. His dedication to his work on the Liberty of Prophesying, in his Pole' viical Discourses, begins as follows : — i-' In this great storm, which hath dashed the vessel of the church all in pieces, I have been cast upon the coast of Wales, and in a little boat thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England in a greater I could not hope for. Here I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the storm followed me with so much impetuous vio- lence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor ; and here again I was exposed to the mercy of the FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 125 sea, and the gentleness of an element that could neither distinguish things nor persons* And but that he who stilleth the raging of the sea, and the * The following extract is from an extremely interesting volume entitled " Peace and Contentment of Mind," by Peter Du Moulin, D. D. Canon of Christ's Church, Canter- bury, one of his majesty's chaplains. " Some years ago being cast by the storm upon a remote coast, and judging that it would have been to no purpose for me to quarrel with the tempest, I sat upon the shore to be- hold it calmly ; taking no other interest in it, but that of my sympathy with those friends whom I saw yet beaten by the wind and the waves, And to that calmness my condition contributed very much, because former tempests had left me little occasion to be much concerned in the present agitation, or to fear much those which might come after. " There I found myself invited to husband that uncertain interval of unexpected rest, to meditate by what means I might possess every where, and in the very storm, the peace and contentment of my mind; and to try whether I could be so happy while I got peace for myself, to procure it unto others. " For that contemplation I made use of four books, the half wild country where I found myself affording but few more. The first and chief was the Holy Scripture, the meditation whereof brings that peace which passeth all understanding. My second book was the great volume of Nature. The third was the lessons of Divine Providence. The fourth that which every one carrieth along with himself, and that is man." * Sermon xv. and xvi. 126 SELECTIONS noise of his waves, and the madness of his peo- ple, had provided a plank for me, I had been lost to all the opportunities of content or study. iBut I know not whether I have been more preserved by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy. 'Ot yap ^cxptapoi •jrapeixov ov t/]v TV/fiV(Tav (piXavOpuTrtav tiy-tv, avai^avre? ynp Tivpocv Ttpo their way rejoicing. Oh ! what meaning there was in the whole! what piety! what intelligence! what simplicity! The men were shepherds and came up in their shepherd'* guise, and the very brute, the shepherd's servant and compa- nion, rejoiced to come at his feet. Oh ! it was a sabbath I a sabbath of rest I From a Sermon of Edward Irvi»gs. 156 SELECTIONS daisy, and the next year a plantane ; why the ap- ple bears his seed in his heart and wheat bears it in his head ; let him tell why a graft taking nou- rishment from a crab-stock shall have a fruit more noble than its nurse and parent : let him say why the best of oil is at the top, the best of wine in the middle, and the best of honey at the bottom. But these things are not such as please busy-bodies ; they must feed upon tragedies, and stories of misfor- tunes and crimes.* * There is (for life is too short to be wasted on fruitless speculations) scarcely any subject of more importance than idle curiosity ; or, to speak more correctly, (as all knowledge contains something good, all dross some pure metal), curiosity in things of little use. " Be not curious," says the preacher, "in unnecessary matters, for more things are shewed unto thee than men understand." " We spend our days," says the philosopher, "in unprofitable questions and disputations, intricate subtleties, de lana caprina, about moonshine in the water." Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, Are not important always as dear bought, 'Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains ; But truths, on which depend our main concern, That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn, Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread. With such a lustre, he that runs may read. See the conclusion of this note, in note P. at the end of the 'volume. fkOM BISHOP TAYLOR. 157 ON MERCY. If you do but see a maiden carried to her grave a little before her intended marriage, or an infant die before the birth of reason, nature hath taught us to pay a tributary tear. Alas ! your eyes will be- hold the ruin of many families, which though they sadly have deserved, yet mercy is not delighted with the spectacle ; and therefore God places a watery cloud in the eye, that when the light of heaven shines upon it, it may produce a rainbow to be a sacrament and a memorial that God and the sons of God do not love to see a man perish.* As contrary as cruelty is to mercy, as tyranny to charity, so is war and bloodshed to the meekness and gentleness of Christian rehgion : and, however, there are some exterminating spirits who think God to delight in human sacrifices, as if that Oracle — Ka) n((paXa,<; clbrj v-oa, tS Ttdrpi irefj-TieTe (pSra, had come from the Father of Spirit, yet if they were capable of cool and tarne homilies, or would hear men of other opinions give a quiet account without invincible resolutions never to alter their persuasions, 1 am very much persuaded it would not be very hard to dispute such men into mercies and compliances, and tolerations mutual, such I * Sermon at the Opening of the Parliament. 158 SELECTIONS say, who are zealous for Jesus Christ, than whose doctrine never was anything more merciful and humane, whose lessons were softer than nard, or the juice of the Candian olive. CONCLUSION. I have followed the design of scripture, and have given milk fur babes, and for stronger men stronger meat ; and in all I have despised my own reputa- tion, by so striving to make it useful, that I was less careful to make it strict in retired sences, and embossed* with unnecessary but graceful orna- ments. I pray God this may go forth into a bless- ing to all that shall use it, and reflect blessings upon me all the way, that my spark may grow greater by kindling my brother's taper, and God may be glorified in us both.f * Query inlaid, t Preface to Life of Christ. Section n. BISHOP LATIMER. My father was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own, only he had a farm of three or four pounds by the year at the utmost, and hereupon he tilled so much as kept half a dozen men. He had walk for an hundred sheep ; and my mother milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a harness, with himself and his horse, whilct he came to the place that he should receive the king's wages. I can remem- ber that I buckled his harness when he went to Blackheath fteld. He kept me to school, or else I had not been able to have preached before the king's majesty now. ' Sermon preached before the King, vat. I, 79. BISHOP LATIMER. HASTY JUDGMENT. Heue I have occasion to tell you a story which happened at Cambridge. Master Bilney, or rather Saint Bilney, that suffered death for God's word sake, the same Bilney was the instrument whereby God called me to knowledge, for I may thank him, next to God, for that knowledge that I have in the word of God. Fori was as obstinate a Papist as any Avas in England, insomuch that when I should be made Bachelor of Divinity, my whole oration went against Philip Melancthon and against his opi- nions. Bilney heard me at that time and per- ceived that I was zealous without knowledge ; he came to me afterward in my study and desired me for God's sake to hear his confession : I did so and, to say the very truth, by his confession I learned more than before in many years ; so from that time forward I began to smell the word of M 162 SELECTIONS God, and forsook the school-doctors and such fooleries. Now after I had been acquainted with him, I went with him to visit the prisoners in the tower at Cambridge, for he was ever visiting prisoners and sick folk. So we went together, and exhorted them as well as we were able to do ; minding them to patience, and to acknowledge their faults. Among other prisoners, there was a woman which was accused that she had killed her child, which act she plainly and stedfastly denied and could not be brought to confess the act; which denying gave us occasion to search for the matter, and so we did, and at length we found that her husband loved her not, and therefore he sought means to make her out of the way. The matter was thus: A child of hers had been sick by the space of a year, and so decayed as it were in a consumption. At length it died in harvest time ; she went to her neighbours and other friends to desire their help to prepare the child for burial ; but there was nobody at home, every man was in the field. The woman, in an heaviness and trouble of spirit, went, and being herself alone, prepared the child for burial. Her husband coming home, not having great love towards her, accused her of the murder, and so she was taken and brought to Cambridge. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 163 But as far forth as I could learn, through earnest inquisition, I thought in my conscience the wo- man was not guilty, all the circumstances well considered. Immediately after this, I was called to preach before the king, which was my first Sermon that I made before his majesty, and it was done at Windsor: where his majesty after the sermon was done did most famiharly talk with me in a gal- lery. Now when I saw my time, I kneeled down before his majesty, opening the whole matter, and afterwards most humbly desired his majesty to pardon that woman. For I thought in my con- science she was not guilty, or else I would not for all the world sue for a murderer. The kins: most graciously heard my humble request, inso- much that I had a pardon ready for her at my returning homeward. In the mean season, that woman was delivered of a child in the tower of Cambridge, whose godfather I was, and Mistress Cheek was godmother. But all that time I hid my pardon, and told her nothing of it, only ex- horting her to confess the truth. At the length the time came when she looked to suffer ; I came as I was wont to do, to instruct her; she made great moan to me. So we travailed with this woman till we brought her to a good opinion; 164 SELECTIONS and at length shewed her the king's pardon, and let her go. This tale I told you by this occasion, that though some women be very unnatural, and for- get their children, yet when we hear any body so report, we should not be too hasty in believing the tale, but rather suspend our judgments till we know the truth.* CAUSE AND EFFECT. Here now I remember an argument of Master More's, which he bringeth in a book that he made against Bilney, and here by the way I will tell you a merry toy. Master More was once sent in commission into Kent, to help to try out, if it might be, what was the cause of Goodwin sands and the shelf that stopped up Sandwich haven. Thither cometh Master More, and calleth the country before him, such as were thought to be men of experience, and men that could of likeli- hood best certify him of that matter concerning the stopping of Sandwich haven. Among others came in before him an old man with a white head, and one that was thought to be little less than an hundred years old. When Master More saw this * Serm. xvi. vol. 1, 326. ed. 1758. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 165 aged man, he thought it expedient to hear him say his mind in this matter, for, being so old a man, it was hkely that he knew most of any man in that presence and company. So Master More called this old aged man unto him, and said, father, tell me, if ye can, what is the cause of this great rising of the sands and shelves here ' about this haven, the which stop it up, so that no ships can arrive here ? Ye are the eldest man that I can espy in all this company, so that if any man can tell any cause of it, ye of likelihood can say most of it, or at leastwise more than any man here assembled. Yea, forsooth, good Master, quoth this old man, for I am well nigh an hundred years old, and no man here in this company any thing near unto my age. Well then, quoth Master More, how say you in this matter? What think ye to be the cause of these shelves and flats that stop up Sandwich haven ? Forsooth, sir, quoth he, I am an old man; I think that Tenderden-steeple, is the cause of Goodwin sands ; for I am an old man, sir quoth he, and I may remember the building of Tenderden-steepl6, and I may remem- ber, when there was no steeple at all there. And before that Tenderden-steeple was in building, there was no manner of speaking of any flats or sands that stopped the hnven, and therefore 1 166 SELECTIONS think that Tenderden-steeple is the cause of the destroying and decay of Sandwich haven. And so to my purpose, preaching of God's word is the cause of rebellion, as Tenderden-steeple was the cause that Sandwich haven is decayed.* CHURCH PATRONAGE. If the men in Turkey should use in their reli- gion of Mahomett to sell, as our patrons com- monly sell benefices here, the office of preaching, the office of salvation, it would be taken as an intolerable thing ; the Turk would not suffer it in his commonwealth. Patrons be charged to see the office done, and not to seek lucre and gain by their patronship. There was a patron in *The subject of Cause and Effect, is of so much import- ance to the regulation of our opinions, and the subject has of late been so much investigated, particularly by Brown, in bis excellent work on Cause and Effect, that 1 venture to subjoin six general positions upon this most interesting part of science. See note X. at the end of the volume. f Ricaut says, the Turks have a great regard to truth in all their dealings ; and that they detest lying and deceit. The Mufti of Constantinople keep no ofiice for the sale of dis- pensations, pardons, indulgences, the purchase of livings in proviso, the praying of souls out of purgatory, and the canoni- zation of saints. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 167 England, when it was, that had a benefice fallen into his hand, and a good brother of mine came unto him, and brought him thirty apples in a dish, and gave them to his man to carry them to his master ; and it is like he gave one to his man for his labour, to make up the game, and so there was thirty one. This man cometh to his master, and presenteth him with the dish of apples, saying, sir, such a man hath sent you a dish of fruit, and desireth you to be good unto him for such a bene- fice. Tush, tush, quoth he, this is no apple mat- ter ; I will have none of his apples, I have as good as these, or as any he hath, in my own orchard. The man came to the priest again, and told him what his master said : then quoth the priest, desire him vet to prove one of them for my sake, he shall find them much better than they look for. He cut one of them, and found ten pieces of gold in it. Marry quoth he, this is a good apple : the priest standing not far off, hearing what the gentleman said, cried out and answered, they are all one fruit, I warrant you sir; they grew all on one tree, and have all one taste. Well, he is a good fellow, let liim have it, said the patron, &c. Get you a graft of this tree, and I warrant you it will stand you in better stead than all St. Paul's learning.* * Serm. ix. vol. 1, 165. ed. 1758. 168 SELECTIONS CONTEMPLATION AND ACTION.* We read a pretty story of St. Anthony, who being in the wilderness, led there a very hard and strict life, insomuch as none at that time did the like, to whom came a voice from heaven, saying, Anthony, thou art not so perfect as is a cobbler that dwelleth at Alexandria. Anthony hearing this, rose up forthwith, and took his staff and travelled till he came to Alexandria, where he found the cobbler. The cobbler was astonished to * Lord Bacon is constant in his admonition of the wisdom of uniting Contemplation and Action, " that," he says, " will indeed dignfy and exalt knowledge, if contemplation and ac- tion may be more nearly and strongly conjoined and united together, than they have been : a conjunction like unto that of the two highest planets, Saturn the planet of rest and con- templation, and Jupiter the planet of civil society and action : And speaking of himself. Lord Bacon says, we judge also that mankind may conceive some hopes from our example, which we offer, not by way of ostentation, but because it may be useful. If any one therefore should despair, let him con- sider a man as much employed in civil affairs as any other of his age, a man of no great share of health, who must there- fore have lost much time, and yet, in this undertaking, he is the first that leads the way, unassisted by any mortal, and steadfastly entering the true path, that was absolutely untrod before, and submitting his mind to things, may somewhat have advanced the design." FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 169 see so reverend a father come to his house. Then Anthony said unto him, Come and tell me thy whole conversation, and how thou spendest thy time ? Sir, said the cobbler, as for me, good works have I none, for my life is but simple and slender ; I am but a poor cobbler : in the morning when I rise, I pray for the whole city wherein I dwell, especially for all such neighbours and poor friends as I have : after, I set me at ray labour* where I spend the whole day in getting my liv- ing, and I keep me from all falsehood, for I hate nothing so much as I do deceitfulness : wherefore, when I make any man a promise, I keep it, and perform it truly ; and thus I spend my time poorly, with my wife and children, whom I teach and instruct, as far as my wit will serve me, to fear and dread God. And this is the sum of my sim- ple life.* * Serm. xxxiii. vol. 2, p. 737. ed. 1758. Amongst the reasons which Sir Thomas More as- signs for not having sooner published his Utopia, he has transmitted to us the following family picture : — Dum foris totura ferme diem aliis impertior, reliquum meis : relinquo mihi, hoc est. Uteris nihil. Nempe reverso domum, cum uxore fabulandum est, garriendum cum liberis, collo- quendum cum ministris. Quae ego omnia inter negotia nu- nievo, quando fieri necesse est (necesae est autem, nisi velis 170 SELECTION'S THE SHEPHERDS. The Nativity vvlas revealed first to the shepherds, and it was revealed unto them in the night time, when every body was at rest, then they heard the joyful tidings of the Saviour of the world: for these shepherds were keeping their sheep in the night season from the wolf or other beasts, and from the fox. By these shepherds all men may learn to at- tend upon their offices, and callings : T w^ould wish that all clergymen, the curates, parsons, and vicars, the bishops and all other spiritual persons, would learn this lesson by these poor shepherds ; which is this, to abide by their flocks and by their sheep, to tarry amongst them, to be careful over esse domi tua peregrinus) et danda omnino opera est, ut quos vitse tuae comites, aut naturaprovidit, aut fecitcasus, aut ipse delegisti, his ut te quam jucundissimum compares. — Mori Utopia, prcefafio, pagina, 4. 5. He devoted the little time which he could spare from his avocations abroad to his family, and spent it in little innocent and endearing conversations with his wife and children: which, though some might think them trifling amusements, he placed among the necessary duties and business of life ; it being incumbent on every one to make him-self as agreeable as possible to those whom nature has made, or he himself has singled out for his companions in life. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 171 them, not to run hither and thither after their own pleasure, but to tarry by their benefices and feed their sheep with the food of God's word, and to keep hospitality, and so to feed them both soul and body.* And now I would ask a strange question ; who is the most diligent bishop and prelate in all Eng- land, and passeth all" the rest in doing his office ? I can tell, for I know him who he is ; I know him well : but now methinks I see you listening and hearkening that I should name him. There is one that passeth all the other, and is the most diligent prelate and preacher in all England. And will ye know who it is ? I will tell you : It is the devil. He is the most diligent preacher of all other ; he is never out of his diocese ; he is never from his cure ; ye shall never find him unoccupied ; he is ever in his parish ; he keepeth residence at all times ; ye shall never find him out of the way, call for him when ye will ; he is ever at home ; the most diligent preacher in all the realm. He is ever at his plough ; no lording nor loitering may hinder him ; he is ever applying to his business ; ye shall never find him idle, I warrant you. And his office is to hinder religion, to maintain super- * Serm. xxxv. vol. 2. p. 7G9. ed. 175S. 172 SELECTIONS stition, to set up idolatry, to teach all kind of popery. He is as ready as can be wished for to set forth his plough ; to devise as many ways as can be to deface and obscure God's glory. Where the devil is resident, and hath his plough going, there away with books and up with candles; away with bibles and up with beads ; away with the hght of the gospel, and up with the light of candles, yea, at noon-day. Where the devil is resident, that he may prevail, up with ail superstition and ido- latry; censing, painting of images, candles, palms, ashes, holy water, and new service of mens' invent- ing; as though man could invent a better way to honour God with, than God himself hath appoint- ed. Down with Christ's cross, up with purgatory pickpurse, up with popish purgatory, I mean. Away with clothing the naked, the poor and im- potent, up with decking of images, and gay gar- nishing of stocks and stones ; up with man's tradi- tions and his laws, down with God's will and his most holy word. Down with the old honour due unto God, and up with the new god's honour. Let all things be done in Latin : there must be nothing but Latin, not so much as, " Remember man that thou art ashes, and into ashes shalt thou - return."* * Serm, iv. vol. 1, p. 32. ed. 3758. TROM BISHOP LATIMER. 173 DRESS. We need not to cry out against Bethlehem, but let us cry out on ourselves, for we are as ill in all points as they were. I warrant you, there was many ajoUy damsel at that time in Bethlehem , yet amongst them all there was not one found that would humble herself so much as once to go see poor Mary in the stable, and to comfort her. No, no; they were too fine to take so much pains. I warrant you they had their bracelets, and fardingals, and were trimmed with all manner of fine and costly raiment, like as there be many now-a-days amongst us, which study nothing else but how they may devise fine raiment ; and in the mean season, they suffer poor Mary to lie in the stable ; that is to say, the poor people of God they suffer to perish for lack of necessaries.* But what was her swad- dling clothes wherein she laid the king of heaven and earth ? no doubt it was poor geer, peradven- ture it was her kerchief which she took from her head.f * Serm. xxxii. vol. 2, p. 715. ed. 1758. f Burnet in his History of his Own Times, when speaking of Sir H. Grimstone, says, — " His second wife, whom I knew, was niece to the p'reat Sir Francis Bacon, and was the last of that family. She had all the high notions for the church and the crown, in which 174 SELECTIONS " By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye shall love one another." So that he maketh love his cocjnizance, his badge, his livery. Like as every lord most commonly giveth a certain livery to his servants, whereby they may be known that they pertain unto him ; and so lie had been bred ; but was the humblest, and devoutest, and the best tempered person I ever knew of that sort. It was really a pleasure to hear her talk of religion. She did it with so much elevation and force. She was always very plain in her clothes. And went oft to jails to consider the wants of the prisoners, and relieve, or discharge them ; and by the meanness of her dress she passed but for a servant trusted with the charities of others. When she was travellino; in the country, as she drew near a village, she often ordered her coach to stay behind till she had walked about it, giving orders for the instruction of clTildren, and leaving liberally for that end. With two such persons I spent several of my years very happily." — Virtue," says Lord Bacon, "is like a rich stone, best plain set. CleanUness, and the civil beauty of the body was ever esteemed to proceed from a modesty of beha- viour, and a due reverence in the first place towards God, whose creatures we are : then towards society, wherein we live : then towards ourselves, whom we ought no less, nay much more to revere. But adulterate decoration by painting and cerusse, is well worthy the imperfections which attend it ; being neither fine enough to deceive, nor handsome enough to please, nor wholesome to use. We read of Jesabel that she painted her face : but there is no such report of Esther or Judith. — Lord Bacon. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 175 we say yonder is this Lord's servants, because they wear his livery. So our Savour, who is the lord above al! lords, would have his servants to be known by their liveries and badge, which badge is love alone. Whosoever now is indued with love and charity, is his servant; him we may call Christ's servant : for love is the token whereby you know that such a servant pertaineth to Chirst ; so that charity may be called the very livery of Christ. He that hath charity is Christ's servant : he that hath not charity, is the servant of the devil. For like as Christ's livery is love and charity, so the devil's livery is hatred, malice, and discord. RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION. St. Luke hath observants, observants; that is, watchers, tooters, spies, much like the ob- servant friars, the barefoot friars that were here ; which indeed were the bishop of Rome's spies, watching, in every country, what was said or done against him. He had it quickly by one or other of his spies, they were his men altogether; his posts, to work against the regalita. In the court, in the noblemen's houses, in every merchant's house, those observants were spying, tooting, and looking, watching and praying, what they might 176 SELECTIOIsS hear and see, against the see of Rome. Take heed of these observants.* I was once in examination before five or six bishops, where I had much turmoiling : every week thrice 1 came to examination, and many snares and traps were laid to get something. Now God knoweth I was ignorant of the law ; but that God gave me answer and wisdom what I should speak. It was God, indeed, for else I had never escaped them. At the last I was brought forth to be examined, in a chamber hanged with arras, where I was wont to be examined, but now at this time the chamber was somewhat altered. For whereas before there was wont ever to be a fire in the chimney, now the fire was taken away, and an arras hanging hanged over the chimney, and the table stood near the chimney's end ; so that I stood between the table and the chimney's end. There was among these bishops that examined me, one with whom I have been very familiar, and took him for my great friend, an aged man, and he sat next the table's end. Then among all other questions, he put forth one, a very subtle and crafty one, and such a one indeed as I could not * Serm. xii. vol. 2, p. 236, ed. 1758. FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 177 think so ^reat danger in. And when I should make answer, I pray you, Master Latimer, saith he, speak out; I am very thick of hearing, and here be many that sit far off. I marvelled at this, that I was bidden to speak out, and began to misdeem, and gave an ear to the chimney. And, sir, there I heard a pen walking in the chimney behind the cloth. They had appointed one there to write all my answers, for they made sure work that I should not start from them, there was no starting from them. God was my good Lord, and gave me answer, I could never else have escaped it.* At the trial of Bishop Latimer in the 76th year of his age, the charge was read by the Bishop of Lincoln. " We object to thee, Hugh Latimer, first, that thou in this University of Oxford, in the year 1554, in April, May, June, July, or in some one or more of them, hast affirmed, and openly de- fended and maintained, and in many other times and places besides. That the true and natural body of Christ, after the consecration of the priest, is not really present in the sacrament of the altar." Whereupon Lincoln, with the other Bishops, ex- horted Master Latimer again to recant and revoke his errors. But on his refusal the Bishop of Lin- * Serm. xii. vol. 1. p. 247. ed. 1758. N 178 SELECTIOTJS, &C. coin called aloud to Master Latimer, and bid him hearken to him ; and then he pronounced on him the sentence, and delivered him over to the secular power. About eight of the clock Ridley and Latimer were conducted from the mayor's house to the place of execution, which was a spot of ground on the north side of the town over-against Baliol College. In their way thither Ridley outwent Latimer some way before; but he looking back espied Latimer coming after, and said to him, " O, be ye there?" "Yea, said Master Latimer, have after as fast as I can follow." Bishop Ridley first entered the lists, dressed in his episcopal habit; and scon after, bishop Latimer, as usual, in his prison garb. Master Latimer now suffered the keeper to pull off his prison-garb, and then he ap- peared in a shroud. Being ready, he fervently re- commended his soul to God, and then delivered himself to the executioner, saying, to the Bishop of London these prophetical words : " We shall this day, ray lord, light such a candle in England^ as shall never be extinguished." Section ^n. DR. SOUTH. Who can tell ail the windings and turnings, all the depths, all the hollownesses and dark corners of the mind of man? He who enters upon this scrutiny, enters into a labyrinth or a wilderness, where he has no guide but chance or industry to direct bis enquiries or to put an end to his search. It is a wilderness, in which a man may wander more than forty years ; a wilderness through which few have passed to the promised land. Sermon on Prnv. xxviii, 2(5. SELECTIONS. PLEASURE. 1. In general. 2. In particular. 1. Sensual compared with intellectual pleasure. 2. Pleasure of great place. 3. Pleasure of amusement compared with the pleasure of industry. 4. Pleasure of meditation. 5. Pleasure of religion. PLEASURE IN GENERAL. Pleasure in general, is the apprehension of a suitable object, sutably applied to a rightly dis- posed faculty ; and so must be conversant both about the faculties of the body and of the soul respectively.* * Does not happiness consist in a due exercise of all pur faculties 1 The harp in tune and properly played. Strange that a harp with many strings Should keep in tune so long. 182 SELECTIONS SENSUAL COMPARED WITH INTELLECTUAL PLEASURE. The difference of which two estates consists in this ; that in the former the sensitive appetites rule and domineer ; in the latter the supreme fa- culty of the soul, called reason, sways the sceptre and acts the whole man above the irregular de- mands of appetite and affection. There is no doubt, but a man while he resigns himself up to the brutish guidance of sense and appetite, has no relish at all for the spiritual re- refined delights of a soul clarified by grace and virtue. The pleasures of an angel can never be the pleasures of a hog. But this is the thing that Ave contend for, that a man having once advanced himself to a state of superiority over the control of his inferior appetites finds an infinitely more solid and sublime pleasure in the delights proper to his reason, than the same person had ever conveyed to him by the bare ministry of his senses.* * The pleasure -and delight of knowledge and learning far surpasseth all other in nature : for, shall the pleasures of the affections so exceed the senses, as much as the obtaining of desire or victory, exceedeth a song or a dinner ; and must not, of consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or under- standing exceed the pleasures of the affections ? We see in all other pleasures there is satiety, and after they be used, their FROM DR. SOUTH. 183 The change and passage from a state of nature, to a state of virtue, is laborious* The ascent up verdure departeth ; which sheweth well they be but deceits of pleasure, and not pleasure ; and that it was the novelty which pleased, and not the quality : and therefore we see that vo- luptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melan- choly. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction and appetite ar« perpetually interchangeable. The poet that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently well : It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea : a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a bat- tle, and the adventures thereof below : but no pleasure is com- parable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale below ; so always that this prospect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in charity' rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of truth. Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy : for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues. Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life. Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 184 SELECTIONS the hill is hard and tedious, but the serenity and fair prospect at the top, is sufficient to incite the labour of undertaking it, and to reward it being undertook.* Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Wordsworth. Children and fools chuse to please their senses rather than their reason, because they still dwell within the regions of sense, and have but little residence among intellectual essences. And because the needs of nature first employ the sensual ap- petites, these being first in possession would also fain retain it, and therefore for ever continue the title, and perpetually fight for it ; but because the inferior faculty fighting against the su- perior is no better than a rebel, and that it takes reason for its enemy, it shews such actions which please the sense and do not please the reason to be unnatural, monstrous, and unrea- sonable. And it is a great disreputation to the understandino- of a man, to be so cozened and deceived, as to chuse money before a moral virtue ; to please that which is common to him and beasts, rather than that part which is a communication of the divine nature ; to see him run after a bubble which himself bath made, and the sun hath particoloured. Against this folly christian religion opposes contempt of things below, and setting our affections on things above. Taylor's Life of Christ. * I shall detain you now no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct you to a hill side, where I will point you out the right path of a virtuous and noble education ; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious FROM DR. SOUTH. 185 PLEASITRE OF GREAT PLACE. But to look upon those pleasures also, that have an higher object than the body; as those that spring from honour and grandeur of condition ; yet we shall find, that even these are not so fresh and constant, but the mind can nauseate them^ and quickly feel the thinness of a popular breath. Those that are so fond of applause while they pur- sue it, how little do they taste it when they have it ! like lightning, it only flashes upon the face and is gone, and it is well if it does not hurt the man. But for greatness of place, though it is fit and necessary that some persons in the world should be in love with a splendid servitude, yet certainly they must be much beholding to their own fancy, that they can be pleased at it.* sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming. — Milton. * Men in great place are thrice servants ; servants of the sovereign or state, servants of fame, and servants of business ; so as they have no freedom, neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor in their times. It is a strange desire to seek power and to lose liberty ; or to seek power over others and to lose power over a man's self. Certainly great per- sons had need to borrow other men's opinions to think them- selves happy ; for if they judge by their own feeling they cannot find it ; but if they think with themselves what other men think of them, and that other men would fain be as they are, then they are happy a» it were by report, when, perhaps , 186 SELECTIONS THE PLEASUREOF AMUSEMENT COMPARED WITH THE PLEASURE FROM INDUSTRY IN OUR CALLINGS. Nor is that man less deceived, that thinks to maintain a constant tenure of pleasure, by a conti- nual pursuit of sports and recreations. The most voluptuous and loose person breathing, were he but tied to follow iiis hawks and his hounds, his dice and his courtships every day, would find it the greatest torment and calamity that could be- fall him ; he would fly to the mines and galleys for his recreation, and to the spade and the mat- tock for a diversion from the misery of a conti- nual unintermitted pleasure. But, on the con- trary, the providence of God has so ordered the course of things, that there is no action, the use- fulness of which has made ii the matter of duty and of a profession, but a man may bear the con- tinual pursuit of it, without loathing and satiety. The same shop and trade, that employs a man in his youth, employs him also in his age. Every they find the contrary within ; for they are the first that find their own giiefs, tliough they be the last that find their own faults. Certainly men in great fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are in the puzzle of business they have no time to tend their health either of body or mind: " Illi mors gravis incubat, qui notus nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi.'' — Baron. FROM DR. SOUTH. 187 morning he rises fresh to his hammer and anvil ;* he passes the day singing; custom has naturalised his labour to him ; his shop is his element, and he cannot with any enjoyment of himself live out of it.t THE PLEASURE OF MEDITATION' Has been sometimes so great, so intense, so in- grossing all the powers of the soul, that there has been no room left for any other pleasure. Contemplation feels no hunger, nor is sensible of any thirst, but of that after knowledge. How^fre- quent and exalted a pleasure did David find from his meditation in the divine law ? all the day long- it was the theme of his thoughts; The affairs of state, the government of his kingdom, might indeed employ, but it was this only that refreshed his mind. * See Ante 1C8. f Willi what liard toil, with what uneasy cares, The woodpecker his scanty meal prepares: Tho' small the feast that must reward his pains, Sweet is that meal whicli honest labour gains. Johnson thought the happiest life was that of a man of business, with some literary pursuits for his amusement : and that in general no one could be virtuous or happy, that was not completely employed. " Be not solitary; be not idle,'' i« the conclusion of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. See Search's Light of Nature, vol, x. where there is a chapter on employment of Time. 188 SELECTIONS How short of this are the delights of the epicure ? how vastly disproportionate are the pleasures of the eating and of the thinking man ? indeed as different as the silence of an Archimedes in the study of a problem, and the stillness of a sow at her wash. PLEASURE OF RELIGION. Its object is no less than the great God himself, and that both in his nature and his works. For the eye of reason, like that of the eagle, directs itself chiefly to the sun, to a glory that neither ad- mits of a superior, nor an equal. Religion carries the soul to the study of every divine attribute. Her ways are ways of pleasantnegg and all her paths are peace.* * Serm. i. vol. 1. It was now the middle of May, and the morning was remarkably serene, when Mr. Allworthy walked forth on the terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely prospect we have before described to his eye. And now, having sent forth streams of light, which ascended the blue firmament before him as harbingers preceding his pomp, in the full blaze of his majesty, up rose the sun : than which one object alone in this lower creation could be more glorious, and tliat Mr. Allworthy himself presented — a human being re- plete with benevolence, meditating in what manner he might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by doing most good to his creatures. — Fielding. FROM DR. SOUTH. 189 HUMAN PERFECTION: OR ADAM IN PARADISE. So God created man iii his own image, in the image of God created he him. ANALYSIS OF THE SERMON. 1, The mind. The Understanding. The Will. The Passions. 2. The Body. PERFECTION IN GENERAL. The image of God in man is That universal rectitude of all the faculties of the soul, by which they stand apt and disposed to their respective offices and operations. PERFECTION OF UNDERSTANDING. And first for its noblest faculty, the understand- ing: it was then sublime, clear, and aspiring, and, as it were, the soul's upper region, lofty and serene, free from the vapours and disturbances of the in- ferior affections. It was the leading, controlling faculty ; all the passions wore the colours of rea- son ; it did not so much persuade, as command ; it was not consul but dictator. Discourse was then almost as quick as intuition ; it was nimble 190 SELECTIONS in proposing, firm in concluding ; it could sooner determine than now it can dispute. Like the sun it had both light and agility ; it knew no rest but in motion ; no quiet but in activity. It did not so properly apprehend as irradiate the object ; not so much find, as make things intelligible. It did ar- bitrate upon the several reports of sense, and all the varieties of imagination ; not like a drousy judge, only hearing, but also directing their ver- dict. In sum, it was vegete, quick, and lively; open as the day, untainted as the morning, full of the innocence and sprightliness of youth ; it gave the soul a bright and a full view into all things. SPECULATIVE UNDERSTANOING*. For the understanding speculative, there are some general maxims and notions in the mind of man, which are the rules of discourse, and the basis of all philosophy. Now it v/as Adam's hap- piness in the state of innocence to have these clear and unsullied. He came into the world a philoso- pher. He could seeconsequentsyetdormantin their * That understanding is in a perfect state for tLe ac- quisition of knowledge, which is capable, at any time, to acquire any sort of knowledge. The defects therefore are either, 1st An inability at particular times to acquire know- ledge : or 2ndly. An inability to acquire particular sorts of knowledge. FROM DR. SOUTH. 191 principles, and effects yet unborn and in the womb of their causes : his understanding could almost pierce into future contingents; his conjectures im- proving even to prophecy, or the certainties of pre- diction ; till his fall it was ignorant of riothing but of sin; or at least it rested in the notion without the smart of the experiment. Could any difficulty have been proposed, the resolution would have been as early as the proposal ; it could not have had time to settle into doubt. Like a better Archimedes, the issue of all his enquiries was an eW/jna an evpvj-/.a, the offspring of his brain without the sweat of his brow. There was then no poring, no struggling with memory, no straining for invention. His faculties were quick and expedite; they an- swered without knocking, they were ready upon the first summons, there was freedom, and firmness in all their operations. I confess 'tis as difficult for us who date our ignorance from our first being, and were still bred up with the same infirmities about us with which we were born, to raise our thoughts and imagination to those intellectual perfections that attended our nature in the time of innocence, as it is for a peasant bred up in the obscurities of a cottage, to fancy in his mind the unseen splen- dours of a court. But by rating positives by their privatives, atid other arts of reason, by which dis- 192 SELECTIONS course supplies the want of the reports of sense, we may collect the excellency of the understanding then, by the glorious remainders of it now, and guess at the stateliness of the building by the magnificence of its ruins. And certainly that must needs have been very glorious, the decays of which are so admirable. He that is comely, when old and decrepit, surely was very beautiful, when he was young. An Aristotle was but the rubbish of an Adam, and Athens but the rudiments of pnradise. PRACTICAL UNDERSTANDING. The image of God was no less resplendent in that which we call man's practical understanding ; namely, that store- house of the soul, in which are treasured up the rules of action, and the seeds of morality. Now of this sort are these maxims, " That God is to be worshipped." " That parents are to be honoured." " That a man's word is to be kept." It was the privilege of Adam innocent to have these notions also firm and untainted, to carry his monitor in his bosom, his law in his heart. His own mind taught him a due depend- ance upon God, and chalked out to him the just proportions, and measures of behaviour to his fel- low-creatures. Reason was his tutor, and first FROM DR. SOUTH. 193 principles his magna moralia. The decalogue of Moses was but a transcript, not an original. All the laws of nations and wise decrees of state, the statutes of Solon, and the twelve tables, were but a paraphrase upon this standing rectitude of nature, this fruitful principle of Justice, that was ready to run out and enlarge itself into suitable determinations upon all emergent objects and occasions. Justice then was neither blind to dis- cern nor lame to execute. It was not subject to be imposed upon by a deluded fancy, nor yet to be bribed by a glozing appetite, for an utile or jucundum to turn the balance to a false or disho- nest sentence. In all its directions of the inferior faculties it conveyed its suggestions with clear- ness and enjoined them with power; it had the passions in perfect subjection ; and though its command over them was but suasive and political, yet it had the force of coaction and despotical. It was not then, as it is now, where the conscience has only power to disapprove and to protest against the exorbitances of the passions, and ra- ther to wish, than make them otherwise. The voice of conscience now is low and weak, chastis- ing the passions, as old Eli did his lustful domi- neering, sons: " Not so, my sons, not so ;" but the voice of conscience then was not, " This should, 194 SELECTIONS or this ought to be done :" but" this must, this shall be done." It spoke like a legislator: the thing spoke was a law : and the manner of speaking it a new obligation. PEUFECTION OF THE AVILL. The will was then ductile and pliant to all the motions of right reason, it met the dictates of a clarified understanding half way. And the ac- tive information of the intellect filling the passive reception of the will, like form closing with matter, grew actuate into a third and distinct perfection of practice: the understanding and will never dis- agreed, for the proposals of the one never thwarted - the inclinations of the other. Yet neither did the will survilely attend upon the understanding, but as a favourite does upon his prince, where the service is privilege and preferment ; or as Solo- men's servants waited upon him, it admired its wisdom, and heard his prudent dictates and coun- sels, both the direction and the reward of its obe- dience. It is indeed the nature of this faculty to follow a superior guide, to be drawn by the intel- lect; but then it was drawn, as a triumphant cha- riot, which at the same time both follows and tri- umphs; while it obeyed this it commanded the other faculties. It was subordinate, not enslaved FROM DR. SOUTH. 195 to the understanding : not as a servant to a master, but as a queen to her king ; who both acknow- ledges a subjection, and yet retains a majesty. LOVE. This is the great instrument and engine of nature, the bond and cement of society, the spring and spirit of the universe. It is of that active, restless nature, that it must of necessity exert itself : and like the fire, to which it is so often compared, it is not a free agent to choose whither it will heat or no, but it streams forth by natural results, and unavoidable emanations, so that it will fasten upon an inferior, unsuitable object, rather than none at all,* The soul may sooner leave off to subsist, than to love ; and like the vine, it whithers and dies, if it has nothine: to embrace. Now this affection in the state of innocence was happily pitched upon its right object; it flamed up in direct fervors of de- votion to God, and in collateral emissions of cha- * Bacon in his Essay of Goodness of Nature, says, " The inclination to goodness is imprinted deeply in the nature of man, insomuch, that if it issue not towards men, it will take unto other living creatures ; as it is seen in the Turks, a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and give alms to dogs and birds ; insomuch, as Busbechius reporteth a Christian boy in Constantinople had like to have been stoned for gagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl. 196 SELECTIONS rity to its neighbour. It was a vestal and a vir- gin fire, and differed as much from that which usually passes by this name now-a-days, as the vital heat from the burnins: of a fever. HATRED. No rancour, no hatred of our brother: an inno- cent nature could hate nothing that was innocent, In a word, so great is the commutation, that the soul then hated only that, which now only it loves, i. e, sin, ANGER. Anger then was, like the sword of Justice, keen, but innocent and righteous. It did not act like fury, and then call it self-zeal. It always espoused God's honour : and never kindled upon anything but in order to a sacrifice. It sparkled like the coal upon the altar, with the fervours of piety, the heats of devotion, the sallies and vibrations of an harmless activity.* JOY. In the next place, for the lightsome passion of joy. It was not that which now often usurps this name ; that trivial, vanishing, superficial thing, that only gilds the apprehension, and plays upon the surface of the soul. It was not the mere crack- ling of thorns, a sudden blaze of the spirits, theexul- * Ante 53. FROM DR. SOUTH. 197 tation of a tickled fancy or a pleased appetite. Joy was then a masculine and a severe thing : the recreation of the judgment, the jubilee of rea- son. It was the result of a real good suitably ap- plied. It commenced upon the solidities of truth and the substance of fruition. It did not run out in voice orundecent eruptions, but filled the soul, as God does the universe, silently and without noise. SORROW. And, on the other side, for sorrow. Had any loss or disaster, made but room for grief, it would have moved according to the severe allowances of prudence, and the proportions of the provocation. It would not have sallied out into complaint or loudness, nor spread itself upon the face and writ sad stories upon the forehead. No wringing of the hands ; knocking the breast, or wishing one's-self unborn ; all which are but the ceremonies of sor- row, the pomp and ostentation of an effeminate grief: which speak not so much the greatness of the misery, as the smallness of ihe mind. Sorrow then would have been as silent as thought, as se- vere as philosophy. It would have rested in in- ward senses, tacit dislikes ; and the whole scene of it been transacted in sad and silent reflections.* • See Ante 12. i98 SELECTIONS FEAR. It is now indeed an unhappiness, the disease of the soul ; it flies from a shadow, and makes more dangers than it avoids : it weakens the judgment and betrays the succours of reason. It was then the instrument of caution, not of anxiety ; a guard and not a torment to the breast. It fixed upon him who is only to be feared — God : and yet with a filial fear, which at the same time both fears and loves. It was awe without amazement, dread without distraction. There was then a beauty even in its very paleness. It was the colour of devotion, giving a lustre to reverence and a gloss to humility.* THE BODY. Adam was no less glorious in his externals ; he had a beautiful body, as well as an immortal soul. The whole compound was like a well built temple, stately without, and sacred within. f * See Ante 92. + MINUTE ANALYSIS OF THE SERMOX. '' 1. Id General. 1. The Understand- 1 1. Speculative. fj TVTinH J '""' 1 2. Practical. fl. Mina. ^ „ TV,o Will I c I« Particular 7 1. Love. The Passions. | 2. Hatred. 3. Anger. 4. Envy. 5. Sorrow. 6. Fear. 2. Body. riiOiM DR. SOUTH. 199 GRATITUDE AND INGRATITUDE. Gratitude is properly a virtue, disposing the mind to an inward sense and an outward ac- knowledgment of a benefit received, together with a readiness to return the same, or the like, as the occasions of the doer of it shall require, and the abilities of the receiver extend to. David in the overflowing sense of God's goodness to him cries out in the 116 Psalm, verse 12, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits towards me?'' So the grateful person pressed down upon the apprehension of any great kindness done him, eases his burthened mind a little by such expostu- lations with himself as these: " What shall I do for such a friend, for such a patron, who has so frankly, so generously, so unconstrainedly, relieved me in such a distress ; supported me against such an enemy; supplied, cherished, and upheld me, when relations would not know me, or at least could not help me ; and, in a word, has prevented my desires, and outdone my necessities ?"* Ingra* * I subjoin a specimen of " GRATI rUDE," as taught by the Moralist, the Historian, and the Poet. THE MORALIST. Examples of ingratitude check and discourage voluntary beneficence : and in this the mischief of ingratitude consists. jVor is the mischief small ; for after all is done that can be done, by prescribing general rules of justice, aud enforcing 200 SELECTIONS tilude is an insensibility of kindnesses received, the observation of them by penalties or compulsion, much must be left to those offices of kindness, which men remain at liberty to exert or withhold. — Paley's Moral Philosophy, 23'}. THE HISTORIAN. The father of Cuius Toranius had been proscribed by the triumvirate. Cams Toranius, coming over to the interests of that party, discovered to the officers, who were in pursuit of his father's life, the place where he concealed himself, and gave them withal a description, by which they might distin- guish his person, when they found him. The old man more anxious for the safety and fortunes of his son, than about the little that might remain of his own life, began immediately to enquire of the officers who seized him, whether his son were well, whether he had done his duty to the satisfaction of his generals. " That son," replied one of the officers, " so dear to tliy affections, betrayed thee to us; by his in- formation thou art apprehended, and diest." The officer with this struck a poniard to his heart ; and the unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his fate, as by the means to which he owed it. — Ibid, 8. THE POET. The bridegroom may forget his bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen : The monarch may forget his crown Which on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget her child Wha' smiles sae sweetly on her knee. But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And all that thou hast done for me. Burns. FROM DU. SOUTH. 201 without any endeavour either to acknowledge or repay them. Ingratitude sits on its throne, with pride at its right hand and cruelty at its left, worthy supporters of such a state. You may rest upon this as a proposition of an eternal unfailing truth, that there neither is, nor ever was any person re- markably ungrateful, who was not also insufferably proud ; nor, convertibly, any one proud, who was not equally ungrateful. For as snakes breed in dunghills not singly, but in knots, so in such base noisome hearts, you shall ever see pride and ingra- titude indivisibly wreathed, and twisted together. Ingratitude overlooks all kindnesses, but it is, be- cause pride makes it carry its head so high. Ingra- titude is too base to return a kindness, and too proud to regard it ; much like the tops of moun- tains, barren indeed, but yet lofty ; they produce nothing, they feed nobody, they clothe nobody, yet are high and stately, and look down upon all the world about them. Ingratitude indeed put the poniard into Brutus's hand, but it was want of compassion which thurst it into Caesar's heart. Friendship consists properly in mutual offices, and a generous strife in alternate acts of kindness. But he who does a kindness to an ungrateful per- son, sets his seal to a flint, and sows his seed upon the sand : upon the former he makes no impression^ 202 SELECTIONS and from the latter he finds no production. The only voice of ingratitude, is, give, give ; but when the gift is once received, then, like the swine at his trough, it is silent and insatiable. Inaword, the ungrateful person is a monster, which is all throat and belly ; a kind of thoroughfare or com- mon-shore, for the good things of the v/orld to pass into ; and of whom, in respect of all kind- nesses conferred on him, may be verified that ob- servation of the lion's den ; before which appeared the foot-steps of many that had gone in thither, but no prints of any that evercame out thence. COVETOUSNESS. Of covetousness we may truly say, that it makes both the Alpha and Omega in the devil's alpha- bet, and that it is the first vice in corrupt nature which moves, and the last which dies. For look upon any infant, and as soon as it can but move a hand, we shall see it reaching out after something or other which it should not have ; and he who does not know it to be the proper and peculiar sin of old age, seems himself to have the dotage of that age upon him, whether he has the years or no. The covetous person lives as if the world were FROM DPv. SOUTH. ^03 made altogether for liim, and not be for the world, to take in every thing, and to part with nothing. Charity is accounted no grace with him, nor gratitude any virtue. The cries of the poor never enter into his ears ; or if they do, he has always one ear readier to let them out than the other to take them in. In a word, by bis rapines and extortions, he is always for making as many poor as he can, but for relieving none, whom he either finds or makes so. So that it is a question, whether his heart be harder, or his fist closer. In a word, he is a pest and a monster: greedier than the sea, and barrenner than the shore. SELF DECEPTION. From the beginning of the world, to this day, there was never any great villainy acted by men, but it was in the strength of some great fallacy put upon their minds by a false representation of evil for good, or good for evil. Is a man impo- verished and undone by the purchase of an estate ? why; it is, because he bought an imposture; payed down his money for a lie, and by the help of the best and ablest counsel (forsooth) that could be had, took a bad title for a good. Is a man un- 204 SELECTIONS fortunate in marriage ? still it is, because he was deceived, and put his neck into the snare, before he put it into the yoke, and so took that for virtue and affection, which was nothing but vice in a dis- guise, and a devilish humour under a demure look. Is he again unhappy and calamitous in his friend- ships? why: in this also, it is because he built upon the air and trod upon a quicksand, and took that for kindness and sincerity which was only malice and design. KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL. The natural inability of most men to judge exactly of things, makes it very difficult for them to discern the real good and evil of what comes before them, to consider and weigh circum- stances, to scatter and look through the mists of error, and so separate appearances from reality. For the greater part of mankind is but slow and dull of apprehension ; and therefore in many cases under a necessity of seeing with other men's eyes, and judging with other men's understand- ings. To which their want of judging or discern- ing abilities, we may add also their want of lei- sure and opportunity to apply their minds to such a serious and attent consideration, as may FROM DR. SOUTH. 205 let them into a full discovery of the true goodness and evil of things, which are qualities which sel- dom display themselves to the first view : There must be leisure and retirement, solitude and a se- questration of man's self from the noise and toil of the world ; for truth scorns to be seen by eyes too much fixed upon inferior objects. It lies too deep to be fetched up with the plough, and too close to be beaten out with the hammer. It dwells not in shops or workhouses ; nor till the late age was it ever known, that any one served seven years to a smith or a tailor, that he might at the end thereof, proceed master of any other arts, but such as those trades taught him : and much less that he should commence doctor or divine from the shopboard, or the anvil ; or from whistling to a team, come to preach to a congregation. These were the peculiar, extraordinary privileges of the late blessed times of light and inspiration : other- wise nature will still hold on its old course, never doing any thing which is considerable without the assistance of its two great helps — art and industry. But above all, the knowledge of what is good and what is evil, what ought and what ought not to. be done in the several oflfices and relations of life, is a thing too large to be compassed, and too hard 206 SELECTIONS to be maslered, without brains and study, parts, and contemplation.* * Such were tlie sentiments of South. Shakespeare in Troilus and Cressida, says, Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well ; And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd, but superficially ; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy : The reasons you allege, do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper'd blood. Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure and revenge, Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision. Lord Bacon, in stating the objections made by divines to the advancement of learning says, " They urge that know- ledge is of the nature and number of those things, which are to be accepted with great limitation and caution ; that the aspiring to overmuch knowledge, was the original tempta- tion and sin, whereupon ensued the fall of man." To which Lord Bacon answers, " the divines do not observe and con- sider, that it was not that pure and primitive knowledge of nature, by the light whereof man did give names to other creatures in paradise, as they were brought before him, ac- cording to their proprieties, which gave the occasion to the fall ; but it was that proud knowledge of good and evil, with an intent to shake off God and to give law unto himself. So too, in his tract on education, he says " Is it not a wise FROM DR. SOUTH. 207 IGNORANCE IN POWER.* We know how great an absurdity our Saviour accounted it, for the bhnd to lead the bhnd ; and to put him that cannot so much as see, to dis- charge the office of a watch. Nothing more ex- poses to contempt than ignorance. When Samp- son's eyes were out, of a pubhc magistrate opinion of Aristotle and worthy to be regarded : That young men are no fit auditors of Moral philosophy, because the boiling heat of their affections is not yet settled, nor attem- pered with time and experience. And to speak truth, doth it not hereof come that those excellent books and discourses of ancient writers, (whereby they have persuaded unto vir- tue most effectually ; representing as well her stately ma- jesty to the eyes of the world, as exposing to scorn popular opinions in disgrace of virtue, attired as it were, in their pa- rasite coats) are of so little effect towards honesty of life and the reformation of corrupt manners ; because they use not to be read and rovolved by men mature in years and judg- ment, but are left and confined only to boys and beginners. But is it not true also that young men are much less fit au- ditors of policy than morality, till they have been thoroughly seasoned with religion and the knowledge of manners and duties ; lest tlieir judgments be corrupted and made apt to- think that there are no moral differences true and solid of things ; but that all is to be valued according to utility and' fortune." * VoL i. 258. 208 SELECTIONS he was made a public sport. And when Eli was blind, we know how well he governed his sons, and how well they governed the church under him. But now the blindness of the understanding is greater and more scandalous : especially in such a seeing age as ours ; in which the very knowledge of former times, passes but for ignorance in a better dress ; an age that flies at all learning, and en- quires into every thing, but especially into faults and defects. Ignorance, indeed, so far as it may be resolved into natural inability, is, as to men, at least, inculpable, and consequently not the object of scorn, but pity ; but in a governor, it cannot be without the conjunction of the highest impudence; for who bid such an one aspire to teach and to govern. A blind man sitting in the chimney corner is pardonable enough, but sitting at the helm he is intolerable. If men will be ignorant and illiterate, let them be so in private, and to themselves, and not set their defects in an high place, to make them visible and conspicuous. If owls will not be hooted at, let them keep close within the tree, and not perch upon the upper boughs. Solomon built his temple with the tallest cedars ; and surely when God refused the defective and the maimed for sacrifice, we cannot think that he requires FROM DR. SOUTH. 209 them for the priesthood. When learning, abihties, and what is excellent in the world forsake the church, we may easily foretell its ruin without the gift of prophesy. And when ignorance succeeds in the place of learning, weakness in the room of judgment, we may be sure heresy and confusion will quickly come in the room of religion.* VICE IN POWER. Every rebuke of vice comes, or should come, from the preacher's mouth, like a dart or arrow thrown by some mighty hand, which does execu- tion proportion ably to the force or impulse it re- ceived from that which threw it ; so our Saviour's matchless virtue, free from the least tincture of any thing immoral, armed everyone of his reproofs with a piercing edge and an irresistible force. f We may easily guess with what impatience the world would have heard an incestuous Herod dis- coursing of chastity, a Judas condemning covetous- ness, or a Pharasee preaching against hypocrisy. t THE EYE OF CONSCIENCE. " That the eye of conscience may be always quick and lively, let constant use be sure to keep it constantly open, and thereby ready and pre- pared to admit and let in those heavenly beams • Vol. i. 258. t Vol. iv. 423. X See Proverbs, c. 29. V 210 SELECTIONS which are always streaming forth from God upon minds fitted to receive them. And to this purpose let a man fly from every thing which may leave either a foulness or a bias upon it; let him dread every gross act of sin ; for one great stab may as certainly and speedily destroy life as forty lesser wounds. Let him carry a jealous eye over every growing habit of sin ; let him keep aloof from all commerce and fellowship with any vitious and base affection, especially from all sensuality ; let him keep himself untouched with the heUish, un- hallowed heats of lust and the noisome steams and exhalations of intemperance r let him bear himself above that sordid and low thing, that utter con- tradiction to all greatness of mind — covetousness : let him disensiave himself from the pelf of the world, from that " amor sceleratus habendi ;" lastly, let him learn so to look upon the honours, the pomp, and greatness of the world, as to look through them. Fools indeed are apt to be blown up by them and to sacrifice all for them: sometimes venturing their heads only to get a feather in their caps.* SENSUALlTY-t The Avicked and sensual part of the world are only concerned to find scope and room enough to wallow in ; if they can but have it, whence they » Vol. iii. 104. ] See ante. p. 48. niOM DU. SOUTH. 211 have it troubles not their thoughts ; saying grace is no part of their meai ; they feed and grovel hke swine under an oak, filling themselves with the mast, but never so much as looking up either to the bows that bore, or the hands that shook it down. THE PllOSrEKITY OF FOOLS. f Why the prosperity of fools proves destructive to them, is, because prosperity has a peculiar force to abate men's virtues, and to heighten their corruptions. Prosperity and ease upon an f Bacon, in liis Essay on Adversity, says, — The virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Oid Testament, adversity is the blessing of the New, wliich carrieth the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of God's favour. Yet even in the Old Tastament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall Iiear as many hearse-like airs as carols ; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and adversity is not without com- fort and hopes. We see in needle works and embroideries, it is more plea.sing to have a lively work upon a sad and so- lemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground ; judge therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed, or crushed ; for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue. 212 SELECTIONS unsanctitied impure heart, is like the sun-beams upon a dunghill, it raises many filthy, noisome ex- halations. The same soldiers, who in hard service and in the battle are in perfect subjection to their leaders, in peace and luxury are apt to mutiny and rebel. That corrupt affection which has lain, as it were dead and frozen in the midst of distractingbu- sinesses or under adversity, when the sun of pros- perity has shined upon it, then like a snake it pre- sently recovers its former strength and venom.* THE GLORY OF THE CLERGY. God is the fountain of honour, and the conduit by which he conveys it to the sons of men, are virtues and generous practices. Some indeed may please and promise themselves high matters from full revenues, stately palaces, court-interests, and great dependances. But that which makes the clergy glorious, is to be knowing in their pro- fession, unspotted in their lives, active and labo- rious in their charges, bold and resolute in oppo- sing seducers, and daring to look vice in the face though never so potent and illustrious. And lastly, to be gentle, courteous, and compassionate to all. These are our robes, and our maces, our escutcheons and highest titles of honour.f * Mud walls swell when the sun shines upon them, t Vol. i. 264. Section ^V. BISHOP HALL. All that I can say for myself, is a desire of doing good ; which if it were as fervent in richer hearts, the church, which now we see comely, would ihen be glorious. This honest ambition hath carried me to neglect the fear of seeming prodigal of my little ; and, while I see others' talents rusting in the earth, hath drawn me to traffic with mine in public. BISHOP HALL. REAL AND APPARENT HAPPINESS. We pity the folly of the lark, which while it playeth with the feather and stoopeth to the glass is caught in the fowler's net ; and yet cannot see ourselves alike made fools by Satan : who, deluding us by the vain feathers and glasses of the world, suddenly enwrappeth us in his snares. We see not the nets indeed : it is too much that we shall feel them, and that ihey are not so easily escaped after, as before avoided. O Lord keep thou mine eyes from beholding vanity. And, though mine eyes see it, let not my heart stoop to it, but loath it afar off. And, if I stoop at any time and be taken, set thou my soul at liberty, that I may say my soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is broken, and I am de- livered.* Cent. ii. 25. 216 SELECTIONS ORDER OF ATTAINING OBJECTS. I will account virtue the best riches, knowledge the next, riches the worst : and therefore will la- bour to be virtuous and learned, without condi- tion; as for riches, if they fall in my way, I refuse them not; but if not, I desire them not.* * Ibid. 44. Lord Bacon says, as for the true marshalling of men's pursuits towards their fortune, as they are more or less ma- terial, I hold them to stand thus ; first the amendment of their own minds ; for the remove of the impediments of the mind will sooner clear the passages of fortune, than the ob- taining fortune will remove the impediments of the mind. In the second place I set down wealth and means ; which I know most men would have placed first, because of the gene- ral use which it beareth towards all variety of occasions ; bat that opinion I may condemn with like reason as Maclii- aval doth that other, that monies were the sinews of the wars ; whereas saith he, the true sinews of the wars are the sinews of men's arms, that is, a valiant, populous, and mili- tary nation ; and he voucheth aptly the authority of Solon, ■who, when Croesus shewed him his treasury of gold, said to him, that if another came that had better iron, he would be master of his gold. In like manner it may be truly affirmed that it is not monies that are the sinews of fortune, but it is the sinews and steel of men's minds, wit, courage, audacity, resolution, temper, industry, and the like. In the third place, I set down reputation, because of the peremptory FROM BISHOP HALL. 217 IGNORANCE AND INTELLIGENCE. Tell a plain country man, that the sun, or some higher or lesser star is much bigger than his cart wheel ; or at least so many scores bigger than the Avhole earth; he laughs thee to scorn, as affect- ing admiration with a learned untruth; yet the scholar, by the eye of reason, doth as plainly see and acknowledge this truth, as that his hand is tides and currents it hath ; which if they be not taken in their due time, are seldom recovered, it being extreme hard to play an after game of reputation. And lastly, 1 place ho- nour, which is more easily won by any of the other three, much more by all, than any of them can be purchased by honour. He, in whom talents, genius, and principle are united, will have a firm mind, in whatever embarrassment he may be placed ; will look steadily at the most undefined shapes of difficulty and danger, of possible mistake or mis- chance J nor will they appear to him more formidable than they really are. For his attention is not distracted — hehas but one business, and that is with the object before him. Nei- ther in general conduct nor in particular emergencies are his plans subservient to considerations of rewards, estate, or title ; these are not to have precedence in his thoughts, to govern his actions, but to follow in the train of his duty. Such men in ancient times, were Phocion, Epaminondas, and Philopoemon ; and such a man was Sir Philip Sidney, of whom it has been said, that he first taught this country the majesty of honest dealing. — William Wordsworth, 218 SELECTIONS bigger than his pen. What a thick mist, yea what a palpable and more than Egyptian darkness, doth the natural man live in ! what a world is there that he doth not see at all ! and how little doth he see in this, which is his proper element! there is no bodily thing, but the brute creatures see as well as he, and some of them better. As for his eye of reason, how dim is it in those things which are best fitted to it ! what one thing is there in nature, which he doth perfectly know? what herb or flower, or worm that he treads on, is there whose true essence he knoweth ! no, not so much as what is in his own bosom ; what it is, where it is, or whence it is, that gives being to himself. But, for those things which concern the best world he doth not so much as confusedly see them ; neither knoweth whether they be. He sees no whit into the great and awful majesty of God. He discerns him not in all his creatures, filling the world with his infinite and glorious presence. He sees not his wise providence, overruling all things, disposing all casual events, ordering all sinful actions of men to his own glory.* As tra- vellers in a foreign country, make every sight a lesson ; so ought we in this our pilgrimage. Thou seest the heaven rolling above thine head, in a • Century ii. S2. FROM BISHOP HALL. 219 constant and unmoveable motion; the stars so overlooking one another, that the greatest shew little, and the least greatest, all glorious; the air full of the bottles of rain, or fleeces of snow, or divers forms of fiery exhalations; the sea, under one uniform face, full of strange and monstrous shapes beneath ; the earth so adorned with variety of plants, that thou canst not but tread on many at once with every foot ; besides the store of crea- tures that fly above it, walk upon it, live in it. Thou idle truant, dost thou learn nothing of so many masters ?* THE HAPPY MAN, That hath learned to read himself more than all books ; and hath so taken out this lesson that he can never forget it : that knows the world, and cares not for it; that after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to know what he may trust to, and stands now equally armed for all events ; that hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross his will without a mutiny, and so please it, that he makes it not a wanton : that in earthly things wishes no more than nature ; in spiritual, is ever graciously ambitious ; that for his condition, stands on his own feet, not needing to lean upon the * Art of Divine Meditation, chap. iv. 220 SELECTIONS great ; and can so frame his thoughts to his estate, that when he hath least, he cannot want, because he is as free from desire, as superfluity ; that he hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure- Upon whom all smaller crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and for the greater calamities, he can take them as tributes of life, and tokens of love; and if his ship be tossed, yet is he sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his, he could be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, no whit higher in his carriage, because he knows contentment is not in the things he hath, but in the mind that values them.* The powers of his re- * Its no in titles nor in rank ; Its no in wealth like Lon'on bank. To purchase peace and rest ; Its no in making muckle viair : Its no in books : its no in lear, To make us truly blest ; If happiness has not her seat And centre in the breast. We may be wise, or rich, or great, But nevercan be blestj: Nae treasures, nor pleasures. Could make us happy lang ; The heart ay's the part a^'. That makes us right or wrang. Burns, I'ROM BISHOP HALL. 221 solution can either multiply, or substract at plea- sure. He can make his cottage a manor, or a — In early youth among my native hills I knew a Scottish peasant who possessed A few small crofts of stone-encumbered ground ; Masses of every shape and size, that lay' Scattered about beneath the mouldering: walls Of a rough precipice ; and some apart, In quarters unobnoxious to such chance, As if the moon had showered them down in spite. But he repined not. Though the plough was scared By these obstructions, "round the shady stones A fertilizing moisture," said the swain, " Gathers, and is preserved ; and feeding dews "And damps, through all the droughty summer day, " From out their substance issuing, maintain " Herbage that never fails; no grass springs up "So green, so fresh, so plentiful, as mine !" Excursion, 4to. 240. This truth then ought to be deeply printed in minds stu- dious of wisdom and their own content, that they bear their happiness or unhappiness within their breast ; and that all outward things have a right and a wrong handle : he that takes them by the right handle, finds them good ; be that takes them by the wrong indiscretely, finds them evil. Take a knife by the haft it will serve you, take it by the edge it will cut you. There is no good thing but is mingled with evil : There is no evil but some good enters into the compo- sition. The same truth holds, in all persons, actions, and events. Out of the worst a well composed mind endowed 222 SELECTIONS palace when he lists ; and his home-close a large dominion; his stained cloth, arrass; his earth, with the grace of God, may extract good, with no other cby- mistry than piety, wisdom and serenity. It lieth in us, as we incline our minds, to be pleased or displeased with most thmgs of the world. One that hath fed his eyes with the rich prospect of delicate countries, as Lombardy, Anjou, where all the beauties and dainties of nature are assembled, will another time take no less delight in a wild and rugged pros- pect of high bare mountaius, and fifty stories of steep rocks, as about the grand CLartreuse, and the bottom of Ardennes, where the very horror contributes to the delectation* If I have been delighted to see the trees of my orchard, in the spring blossomed, in summer shady, in autumn hung with fruit ; I will dehght again, after the fall of the leaf, to see through my trees new prospects which the bushy boughs hid before ; and will be pleased with the sight of the snow can- died about the branches, as the flowers of the season. — Du, Moulin. E'en winter bleak has charms tO/me When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray ; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, Darkening the day. Burns. These symptoms of a rising reputation gave me encourage- ment, aa I was ever more disposed to see the favourable than the unfavourable side of things, a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year. — Hume's Life of Himself. FROM BISHOP HALL. 223 plate; and can see state in the attendance of one servant: as one that hath learned a man's great- We are not here, as those angels, celestial powers and bodies, sun and moon, to finish our course without all offence, with such constancy, to continue for so many ages ; but sub- ject to such infirmities, miseries, interrupted, tossed and tum- bled up and down, carried about with every small blast, often molested and disquieted upon each slender occasion, uncertain, brittle ; and so is all that we trust unto. And he that knows not this, and is not armed to endure it, is not fit to live in this world (as one condoles our time) ; he knows not the condition of it, where with a reciprocal tye, pleasure and pain are still united, and sncceedone another in a ring. Burton. Some look at the black clouds, others at the blue sky. Some look through the clouds. See number 126 of the World. Arachne collecting poison from the fairest flowers ; and Me- lissa gathering honey from every weed. THE FRENCH PEASANT. A peasant of the true French breed Was driving in a narrow road, A cart with but one sorry steed. And filled with onions, sav'ry load. Careless he trudged along before Singing a Gascon roundelay, Hard by there ran a whimpering brook. The road hung shelving towards the brim, The spiteful wind th' advantage took, The wheels fly up, the onions swim. The peasant saw his favourite store At one rude blast all puffed away. 224 ^ELECTIONS ness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may even contest with the proud, that he thinks his own the best. Or if he must be outwardly great, he can but turn the other end of the glass, and make his stately manor a low and straight cot- tage ; and in all his costly furniture he can see not richness but use. He can see dross in the best metal, and earth through the best cloths; and in all his troop he can see himself his own How would an English clown have sworn, And cursed the day that he was born, &c. Our Frenchman acted quite as well, He stopped, and hardly stopped, his song, First raised the poney from his swoon ; Then stood a little while to view His onions floating up and down ; At last he shrugging cried " Parbleu II ne manqu' ici que de sel Pour faire du potage excellent." See the character of Croker in Goldsmith's Good-natured Man. See Goldsmith's Essay, 230. Be not over exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, What need a man forstall his date of grief. And run to meet what he woi.ld most avoid 1 Or if they be but false alarms of fear, How bitter is such self delusion 1 Milton. FROM BISHOP HALL. 225 servant. He lives quietly at home,* out of the noise of the world, f and loves to enjoy himself • I knew a man that had health and riches and several houses, all beautiful and ready furnished, and would often trouble himself and family to be removing from one house to another : and, being asked by a friend " Why he removed so often from one house to another 1" replied, " It was to find content in some one of them." Content, said his friend, ever dwells in a meek and quiet soul. — Walton's Angler. f The happiness of light minds is always in the next room ; its eyes are in the ends of the earth. The Philosopher carries with him into the world the tem- per of the cloister, and preserves the fear of doing evil, while he is impelled by the zeal of doing good. He is rich or poor, without pride in riches, or discontent in poverty ; he par- takes the pleasures of sense with temperance, and enjoys the distinctions of honor with moderation. He passes un- defiled through a polluted world, and, amidst all the vicissi- tudes of good and evil, has his heart fixed only where true joys are to be found. Newton etoit doux, tranquille, modeste, simple, affable, toujours de niveau avec tout le monde, ne se dementit point pendant le cours de sa longue et brillante carriere. 11 au- roit mieux aime etre inconnu, que de voir le calme de sa vie trouble par ces orages litteraires, que I'esprit et la science attirent a ceux qui cherchent trop la gloire. Je me repro- cherois, disoit-il, mon imprudence, de perdre une chose aussi reelle que le repos, pour courir apres une ombre. Si Descartes eut quelques foiblesses de I'humanite, il eut aussi les priacipales vertus du philosophe. Sobre, tempe- 226 SELECTIONS always, and sometimes his friend, and hath as full scope to his thoughts as to his eyes. He walks rant, ami de la liberie et de la retraite, reconnoiasant, libe- ral, sensible a Tamitie, tendre, compatissant, il ne connoissoit que les passions douces et savoit resister aux violentes. Quand on me fait offense, disoit-il, je tache d'elever mon ame bi haut, que Voffense ne yarvienne pasjusqu'a elle. L'ambition ne I'agita pas plus que la vengeance. II disoit, comme Ovide ; Vivre cache, c'est vivre heureux. The Caliph of Bagdad, fatigued with hunting, separated himself from the company, to sleep on the green bank of a rivulet, which seemed by its gentle murmuring to iuvite him to repose. — He awoke suddenly in the most acute pain. In a few days after his return to the palace, his com- plexion became pale and sickly, his eyes grew dim, his limbs swelled, and his appetite failed. The physicians employed all their art in vain ; The Angel of Death stood ready to summon him. A stranger at that time in Bagdad of great skill in medicine, was summoned to the palace. The moment he looked upon the eyes of the Caliph, he said, " It is the sting of a lizard ;" and, taking a small phial from his pocket, gave the Caliph a few drops mixed with water. After the struggle of an hour his patient became composed ; on the next day the delirium left him ; and, before the moon had performed its revolution, his colour returned and the heat of youth glowed again in his veins. " Henceforth Alchaman," said the Caliph, " the palace of Bagdad is your home. My treasury is open to you. The honors of my king- dom are at your disposal." — " Generous Monarch," said FROM BISHOP HALL. 227 ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, resolved to fear nothing but God, to hope for no- thing but that which he must have. He hath a wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body ; which, that better part affects as a present servant and a future companion, so cherishing his flesh, as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath no enemies; not for that all love him, but because he knows to make a gain of malice.* He is not so engaged to any earthly thing that they two Alchaman, " to your majesty's care in action the public welfare is entrusted, my utility consists in contemplation. Permit me to return to my borne, -where I endeavour to con- verse -with truth and vi^isdom. Pardon me. Sire, for saying that freedom of mind is the only empire a philosoplier can covet ; not from sloth, but from a conviction that the life and faculties of man, at the best but short and limited, cannot be more usefully employed than in researches which may en- lighten the world and benefit future ages : and, as a know- ledge of the properties of a few drops of fluid has enabled me to restore a beloved monarch to his people, may I retire with this grateful recollection, confirmed in my opinion, that all truths partake of one common essence, and, like drops of rain, which fall separately into the river, mix them- selves at once with the stream, and strengthen the general current." * " Did a person," said the Abbe de Raunci, " but know the value of an enemy, he would purchase him with pure gold." 228 SELECTIONS cannot part on even terms ;* there is neither laugh- ter in their meeting, nor in their shaking hands, tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of spirits, and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light, or with none at all. His conscience and his hands are friends, and (what devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burthen of a wiUing sin, not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples; he would not, if he could, run away from himself, or from God ; not caring from whom he is hid so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are passengers to him, not guests ; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their harbour ; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough f or himself and others, which are ever stretched * See Ante. p. ] 1. FROM BISHOP HALL. 229 forth for beneficence, not for need. He walks cheerfully the way that God hath chalked, and never wishes it more wide, or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby he is foiled, strengthen him ; he comes forth crowned, and triumphing out of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath, make him beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God in whom he is, and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for bis own sake. His eyes stick so fast in heaven, that no earthly object can remove them ; yea, his whole self is there before his time ; and sees with Stephen, and hears with Paul, and en- joys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have ; and takes possession before hand of his room amongst the saints ; and these heavenly content- ments have so taken him up, that now he looks down displeasedly upon the earth, as the regions of his sorrow and banishment ; yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evil, he holds it no great matter to live, and greatest business to die; and is so well acquainted with his last guest, that he fears no unkind ness from him; neither makes he any other of dying, than of walking home when he is abroad, or of going to bed when he is weary of the day. He is well provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory 230 SELECTIONS hereafter ; and therefore hath a Hght heart, and a cheerful face. All his fellow-creatures rejoice to serve him ; his betters, the angels, love to observe him ; God himself takes pleasure to converse vpith him ; and halh sainted him before his death, and in his death crowned him. THE HYPOCRITE. An hypocrite is the worst kind of player, by so much that he acts the better part ; which hath al- ways two faces, oft-times two hearts; that can compose his forehead to sadness and gravity, while he bids his heart be wanton and careless within, and (in the mean time) laughs within him- self to think how smoothly he hath cosened the beholder. In whose silent face are written the characters of religion which his tongue and ges- tures pronounce, but his hands recant. That hath a clean face and garment, with a foul soul ; whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers bely his mouth. Walking early up into the city he turns into the great church, and salutes one of the pillars on one knee, worshipping that God which at home he cares not for, while his eye is fixed on some window or some passenger, and his heart kn&ws not whither his lips go. He rises, FROM BISHOP HALL. 231 and, looking about with admiration, complains of our frozen charity, commends the ancient. At church he will ever sit where he may be seen best, and in the midst of the sermon pulls out his tables in haste, as if he feared to lose that note, when he writes either his forgotten errand, or nothing. Then he turns his bible with a noise, to seek an omitted quotation, and folds the leaf as if he had found it, and asks aloud the name of the preacher, and repeats it, whom he publicly salutes, thanks, praises in an honest mouth. He can command tears when he speaks of his youth, indeed, because it is past, not because it was sinful; himself is now better, but the times are worse. All other sins he reckons up with detestation, while he loves and hides his darling in his bosom ; all his speech returns to himself, and every occurrent draws in a story to his own praise. When he should give, he looks about him, and says, Who sees me ? no alms nor prayers fall from him without a witness; belike lest God should deny that he hath received them; and when he hath done (lest the world should not know it) his own mouth is his trumpet to proclaim it. With the superfluity of his usury he builds an hospital, and harbours them whom his extortion hath spoiled ; so when he makes many beggars, he keeps some. He turneth all 232 , SELECTIONS gnats into camels, and cares not to undo the world for a circumstance. Flesh on a Friday is more abominable to him than his neighbour's bed; he abhors more not to uncover at the name of Jesus than to swear by the name of God. When a rimer reads his poem to him, he begs a copy, and persuades the press. There is nothing that he dis- likes in presence, that in absence he censures not. He comes to the sick bed of his stepmother and •weeps, when he secretly fears her recovery. He greets his friend in the street with a clear coun- tenance, so fast a closure, that the other thinks he reads his heart in his face ; and shakes hands with an indefinite invitation of When will you come? and when his back is turned, joys that he is so well rid of a guest; yet if that guest visit him unfeared, he counterfeits a smiling welcome and excuses his cheer, when closely he frowns on his wife for too much. He shews well, and says well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In brief, he is the stranger's saint, the neighbour's dis- ease, the blot of goodness, a rotten stick in a dark night, the poppy in a cornfield, an ill-tempered candle with a great snufF, that in going out smells ill ; an angel abroad, a devil at home ; and worse when an angel, than when a devil. FROM BISHOP HALL. 233 DAVID.* David had lived obscurely in his father's house ; his only care and ambition was the welfare of the * In the preface to an edition of Home on the Psalms by the Rev. Edward Irving, there is a character of David, from ■which the following is extracted — "Now, as the apostle, in writing to the Hebrews, con- cerning the priesthood of Christ, calls upon them to con- sider Melchizedek his solitary majesty, and singular condi- tion, and remarkable honor ; so call we upon the church to consider David, the son of Jesse, his unexampled accu- mulation of gifts, his wonderful variety of conditions, his spi- ritual riches and his spiritual desolation, and the multifa- rious contingencies of his life ; with his faculty, his unrival- led faculty, of expressing the emotions of his soul, under all the days of brightness and days of darkness which passed over his head. For thereby shall the church understand how this the lawgiver of her devotion was prepared by God for the work which he accomplished, and how it hath hap- pened that one man should have brought forth that vast va- riety of experience, in which every soul rejoiceth to find itself reflected. There rfever was a specimen of manhood, so rich and ennobled as David, the son of Jesse, whom other saints haply ma3 have equalled in single features of his cha- racter, but such a combination of manly, heroic qualities, such a flush of generous godlike excellencies, hath never yet been seen embodied in a single man. His psalms, to speak as a man, do place him in the highest rank of lyrical poets, as they set him above all the inspired writers of the old Tes- 234 SELECTIONS flock he tended ; and now while his father and his brothers neglected him as fit for nothing but tament, — equalling in sublimity the flights of Isaiah himself, and revealing the cloudy mystery of Ezekiel ; but in love of country, and glorying in its heavenly patronage, surpassing them all. And where are there such expressions of the va- ried conditions into -which human nature is cast by the acci- dents of providence, such delineations of deep affliction and inconsolable anguish, and anon such joy, such rapture, such revelry of emotion, in the worship of the living God ! such invocations to all nature, animate and inanimate, such sum- monings of the hidden powers of harmony, and of the breath- ing instruments of melody ! single hymns of this poet would have conferred immortality upon any mortal, and borne down his name as one of the most favored of the sons of men. But it is not the writings of the man, which strike us with such wonder, as the actions and events of his wonderful his- tory. He was a hero without a peer, bold in battle, and generous in victory ; by distress or by triumph never over- come. Though hunted like a wild beast among the moun- tains, and forsaken like a pelican in the wilderness, by the country whose armies he had delivered from disgrace, and by the monarch whose daughter he had won — whose son he had bound to him with cords of brotherly love, and whose own soul he was wont to charm with the sacredness of his minstrelsy — he never indulged malice or revenge against his unnatural enemies. Twice, at the peril of his life, he brought his blood hunter within his power, and twice he spared him and would not be persuaded to injure a hair upon his head, — who, when he fell in his high plans, was lamented over FROM BISHOP HALL. 235 the field, he is talked of at the court. Some of Saul's followers had been at Jesse's house, and by David, with the bitterness of a son^ and his death avenged upon the saciiligious man who had lifted his sword against the lords anointed. In friendship and love, and also in do- mestic affection, he was not less notable than in heroical en- dowments, and in piety to God he was most remakabie of all. He had to flee from his bedchamber in the dead of night, his friendly meetings had to be concerted upon the perilous edge of captivity and death, his food he had to seek at the risk of sacrilege, for a refuge from death to cast himself upon the people of Gath to counterfeit idiocy, and become the laughing stock of his enemies. And who shall tell of his hidings in the cave of AduUam, and of his wanderings in the wilderness cf Ziph : in the weariness of which he had power to stand before his armed enemy with all his host, and by the genero- sity of his deeds, and the affectionate language which flowed from his lips, to melt into childlike weeping the obdurate spirit of king Saul, which had the nerve to evoke the spirits of the dead ! King David was a man extreme in all his ex- cellencies, — a man of the highest strain, whether for counsel, for expression, or for action, in peace and in war, in exile and on the throne. That such a warm and ebullient spirit should have given way before the tide of its afiections, we wonder not. We rather wonder that tried by such extremes his mighty spirit should not often have burst controul, and enacted right forward the conqueror, the avenger and the destroyer. But God, who anointed him from his childhood, had given him store of the best natural and inspired gifts, which preserved hirp. from sinking under the long delay of his promised crown, and kept him from contracting any of 236 SELECTIONS taken notice of David's skill ; and now, that harp which he practised for his private recreation shall the craft or cruelty of a hunted, persecuted man. And adver- sity did but bring out the splendour of his character, which might have slumbered like the fire in the flint, or the pre- cious metal in the dull and earthly ore. But to conceive aright of the gracefulness and strength of king David's character, we must draw him into comparison with men similarly conditioned, and then we shall see how vain the world is to cope with him. Conceive a man who had saved his country, and clothed himself with grace- fulness and renown in the sight of all the people by the chi- valry of his deeds, won forhimself intermarriage with the royal line, and by unction of the lord's prophet been set apart to the throne itself; such a one conceive driven with fury from house and hold, and through tedious years, deserted of every stay but heaven, with no soothing sympathies of quiet life, harassed for ever between famine and the edge of the sword, and kept in savage holds and deserts ; and tell us, in the annals of men, of one so disappointed, so bereaved and straitened, maintaining not fortitude alone, but sweet com- posure and a heavenly frame of soul, inditing praise to no avenging deity, and couching songs in no revengeful mood, according with his outcast and unsocial life ; but inditing praises to the God of mercy and songs which soar into the third heavens of the soul ; not indeed without the burst of sor- row and the complaint of solitariness, and prophetic warnings to his blood-thirsty foes, but ever closing in sweet preludes of good to come, and desire of present contentment. Find us such a one in the annals of men, and we yield the argu- FROM BISHOP HALL. 237 make him of a sliepherd a courtier. The music that he meant only to himself and his sheep brings him before kings. ment of this controversy. Men there liave been driven before the wrath of kings to wander outlaws and exiles, ■whose musings and actings have been recorded to us in the minstrelsy of our native land. Draw these songs of the exile into comparison with the psalms of David, and know the spirit of the man after God's own heart ; the stern defiance of the one, with the tranquil acquiescence of the other ; the deep despair of the one, with the rooted trust of the other ; the vindictive imprecations of the one, with the tender regret and forgiveness of the other. Show us an outlaw who never spoiled the country which had forsaken him, nor turned his hand in self-defence or revenge upon his persecutors, who used the vigour of his arm only against the enemies of his country, yea lifted up his arm in behalf of that mother, which had cast her son, crowned with salvation, away from her bosom, and held him at a distance from her love, and raised the rest of her family to hunt him to the death ; — in the defence of that thankless, unnatural mother country, find us such a repudiated son lifting up his arm, and spend- ing its vigour in smiting and utterly discomfiting her ene- mies, whose spoils he kept not to enrich himself and his ruthless followers, but dispensed to comfort lier and her happier children. Find us among the Themistocles, and Coriolani, and Cromwells and Napoleons of the earth such a man, and we will yield the argument of this controversy which we maintain for the peerless son of Jesse. But we fear that not such another man is to be found in 238 SELECTIONS Now David halh leisure to return to Bethlehem. The glory of the court cannot transport him to the recorded annals of men. Though he rose from the pea- santry to fill the throne, and enlarge the borders of his na- tive land, he gave himself neither to ambition or to glory ; though more basely treated than the sons of men, he gave not place to despondency or revenge : though of the highest genius in poetry, he gave it not licence to sing his own deeds, nor to depict loose and licentious life, nor to ennoble any •worldly sentiment or attachment of the human heart, how- ever virtuous or honourable, but constrained it to sing the praises of God, and the victories of the right hand of the Lord of hosts, and -his admirable works which are of old from everlasting. And he hath dressed out religion in such a rich and beautiful garment of divine poesy as beseemeth her majesty, in which, being arrayed, she can stand up be- fore the eyes even of her enemies, in more royal state than any personification of love, or glory, or pleasure, to which highly gifted mortals have devoted their genius. The force of his character was vast, and the scope of his life was immense. His harp was full stringed, and every angel of joy and of sorrow swept over the^chords as he past ; but the melody always breathed of heaven. And such oceans of affection lay within his breast, as could not always slum- ber in their calmness. For the hearts of a hundred men strove and struggled together within the narrow continent of his single heart. And will the scornful men have no sym- pathy for one so conditioned, but scorn him because he ruled not with constant quietness, the unruly host of divers natures which dwelt within his single soul ? of self com- mand surely he will not be held deficient, who endured FROM BtSHOP HALL. 239 ambitious vanity ; he would rather be his father's shepherd, than Saul's armour-bearer; all the ■'" .1. , , I ,,_ — , — . , Saul's javelin to be so often launched at Lim, while the peo- ple without were willing to hail him king; who endured all bodily hardships and taunts of his enemies when revenge was in his hand, and ruled his desperate band like a com- pany of saints, and restrained them from their country's injury. But that he should not be able to enact all charac- ters without a fault , the simple shepherd, the conquering hero, and the romantic lover ; the perfect friend, the inno- cent outlaw, and the ro} al monarch ; the poet, the prophet, and the regenerator of the church ; and withal the man, the man of vast soul, who played not tliese parts by turns, but was the original of them all, and wholly present in them all ; oh ! that he should have fulfilled this high priesthood of humanity, this universal ministry of manhood without an error, were more than human. With the defence of his backslidings, which he hath himselfmore keenly scrutinized, more clearly discerned against, and more bitterly lamented than any of his censors, we do not charge ourselves ; but if, when of these acts he became convinced, he be found less true to God, and to righteousneFs ; indisposed to repent- ance and sorrow and anguish ; exculpatory of himself ; stout-hearted in his courses, a formalist in his penitence, or in any way less worthy of a spiritual man in those than in the rest of his infinite moods, then, verily, strike him from the canon, and let his psalms become monkish legends, or what you please. But if these penitential psalms discover the souls deepest hell of agony, and lay bare the iron ribs of misery, whereon the very heart dissolveth, and if they, ex- pressing the same in words, which melt the soul that con- 240 SELECTIONS. magnificence and state which he saw, could not put his mouth out of the taste of a retired sim- plicity; yea rather he loves his hook the better since he saw the court ; and now his brethren serve Saul in his stead. Forty days together had the Philistines and Israelites faced each other, nothing but a valley was betwixt them. Both stand upon defence and advantage ; if they had not meant to fight, they had never drawn so near; and if they had been eager to fight, a valley could not have parted them. David hath now lain long enough close amongst his flock in the field of Beth- lehem ; God sees a time to send him to the pitched field of Israel. Good old Jesse, that was doubt- less joyful to think that he had afforded three sons to the wars of his king, is no less careful of their welfare and provision ; and who, amongst all the rest of his seven sons, shall be picked out for this service, but his youngest son David, whose former and almost worn out acquaintance in the court and employment under Saul, seemed to fit him best for this employment. Early in the morning ceiveth, and bow the head that uttereth them, then, we say, let us keep these records of the psalmist's grief and dis- pondency, as the most precious of his utterances, and sure to be needed in the case of every man who essayelh to live a spiritual life, &c. FROM BISHOP HALL. 241 is David upon his way; yet not so early as to leave his flock unprovided. If his father's com- mands dismiss him, yet will he stay till he have trusted his sheep with a careful keeper. Ere David's speed can bring him to the valley of Elah, both the armies are on foot ready to join. He takes not this excuse to stay without, as a man daunted with the horrors of war ; but leaving his present with his servant, he thrusts himself into the thickest of the host, and salutes his brethren which were now thinking of nothing but killing or dying, when the proud champion of the Phi- listines comes stalking forth before all the troops, and renews his insolent challenge against Israel. David sees the man and hears his defiance, and looks about him to see what answer would be given ; and when he espies nothing but pale faces and backs turned, he wonders, not so much that one man should dare all Israel, as that all Israel should run from one man. Even when they fly from Goliath, they talk of the reward that should be given to that encounter and victory which they dare not undertake ; so those which have not grace to believe, yet can say, "There is glory laid up for the faithful." Ever since his anointing was David possessed with God's spirit, and thereby filled both with R 242 SELECTIONS courage and wisdom : the more strange doth it seem to him, that all Israel should be thus das- tardly ; ready to undertake the quarrel, because no man else dare do it. His eyes sparkled with holy anger, and his heart rose up to his mouth when he heard this proud challenger; " Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should revile the host of the living God?" It was for his bre- thren's sake, that David came thither ; and yet his very journey is cast upon him by them, for a reproach ; " Wherefore cam est thou down hi- ther?" and when their bitterness can meet with nothing else to shame him, his sheep are cast in his teeth : " Is it for thee, an idle proud boy, to be meddling with our martial matters ? Doth not yonder champion look as if he were a fit match for thee? What makest thou of thyself, or what dost thou think of us ? I wis it were fitter for thee to be looking to thy sheep, than looking to Goliath : the wilderness would become thee better than the field ; wherein art thou equal to any man thou seest, but in arrogance and presumption? The pastures of Bethlehem could not hold thee, but thou thoughtest it a goodly matter to see the wars ; I know thee, as if I were in thy bosom ; this was thy thought, ' There is no glory to be got among fleeces, I will go seek it in arms ; now are my FROM BISHOP HALL. 243 tirethrcn winning honour in the troops of Israel, while I am basely tending on sheep ; why should not I be as forward as the best of them?' This vanity would make thee straight of a shepherd, a soldier, a champion ; get thee home, foolish strip- ling, to thy hook and thy harp : let swords and «pears alone to those that know how to use them." David's first victory is of himself; next, of his brother ; he overcomes himself, in a patient for- bearance of his brother ; he overcomes the mali- ■cious rage of his brother, with the mildness of his answer. There now lieth the great defier of Israel, grovelling and grinning in death : and is not suf- sufFered to deal one blow for his life : and bites the unwelcome earth for indignation that he dies by the hand of a shepherd. THE PLEASURE OF STUDY AND CONTEMPLA- TION.* I can wonder at nothing more than how a man can be idle; but of all others, a scholar; in so many improvements of reason, in such sweetness of knowledge, in such variety of studies, in such * From his Epistle to Mr. Milward. A discourse of the pleasure of study and contemplation, with the varieties of scholarlike employments, not without incitatiou of othert AhereuDto ; and a censure of their neglect. 244 SELECTIONS importunity of thoughts : other artizans do but practice, we still learn ; others run still in the same gyre to weariness, to satiety; our choice is infinite ; other labours require recreations ; our very labour recreates our sports ; we can never want either somewhat to do, or somewhat that we would do. How numberless are the volumes which men have written of arts, of tongues! How endless is that volume which God hath written of the world ! wherein every creature is a letter ; every day a new page. Who can be weary of either of these? To find wit in poetry ; in philo- sophy, profoundness ; in mathematics, acuteness ; in history, wonder of events ; in oratory, sweet eloquence ; in divinity, supernatural light, and holy devotion ; as so many rich metals in their proper mines ; whom would it not ravish with de- light ? After all these, let us but open our eyes we cannot look beside a lesson, in this universal book of our Maker, worth our study, worth taking out. What creature hath not his miracle ? what event doth not challenge his observation ? And, if, weary of foreign employment, we list to look home into ourselves, there we find a more private world of thoughts which set us on work anew, more busily and not less profitably : now our silence is vocal, our solitariness popular; and we are shut VROM BISHOP HALL. 245 up, to do good unto many ; if once we be cloyed with our own company, the door of conference is open ; here interchange of discourse (besides pleasure ) benefits us ; and he is a weak compa- nion from whom we return not wiser. I could envy, if I could believe that anchoret, who, se- cluded from the world, and pent up in his volun- tary prison walls, denied that he thought the day long, whiles yet he wanted learning to vary his thoughts. Not to be cloyed with the same con- ceit is difficult, above human strength ; but to a man so furnished with all sorts of knowledge, that according to his dispositions he can change his studies, I should wonder that ever the sun should seem to pass slowly. How many busy tongues chase away good hours in pleasant chat, and complain of the haste of night ! What ingenious mind can be sooner weary of talking with learned authors, the most harmless and sweetest companions ? What an heaven lives a scholar in, that at once in one close room can daily converse with all the glorious martyrs and fathers ? that can single out at pleasure, either sententious Tertullian, or grave Cyprian, or resolute Hierome, or flowing Chry- sostome, or divine Ambrose, or devout Bernard, or, (who alone is all these) heavenly Augustine, 246 SELECTIONS and talk with them and hear their wise and holy counsels, verdicts, resolulions; yea, (to rise highery with courtly Esay, with learned Paul, with all their fellow-prophets, apostles; yet more, like another Moses, with God himself, in them both? Let the world contemn us ; while we have these delights we cannot envy them ; we cannot wish ourselves other than we are. Besides, the way to all other contentments is troublesome; the only recom- pence is in the end. To delve in the mines, ta scorch in the fire for the getting, for the fining of gold is a slavish toil ; the comfort is in the wedge to the owner, not the labourers ; where our very search of knowledge is delightsome. Study it- self is our life ; from which we would not be bar- red for a world. How much sweeter then is the fruit of study, the conscience of knowledge? In comparison whereof the soul that hath once tasted it, easily contemns all human comforts. Go now, ye worldlings, and insult over our paleness, our neediness, our neglect. Ye could not be so jocund if you were not ignorant ; if you did not want knowledge, you could not overlook him that hath it ; for me,- I am so far from emulating you, that I profess I had as lieve be a brute beast, as an ignorant rich man. How is it then, that those rUOM BISHOP HALL. 247 gallants, which have privilege of blood and birth, and better education, do so scornfully turn off these most manly, reasonable, noble exercises of scholarship? an hawk becomes their fist better than a book ; no dog but is a better company : any thing or nothing, rather than what we ought. O minds brutishly sensual ! Do they think that God made them for disport, who even in his pa- radise, would not allow pleasure without work ? And if for business, either of body or mind : those of the body are commonly servile, like itself. The mind therefore, the mind only, that honourable and divine part, is fittest to be employed of those which would reach to the highest perfection of men, and would be more than the most. And what work is there of the mind but the trade of a scholar, study? Let me therefore fasten this problem on our school gates, and challenge all commers, in the defence of it ; that no scholar, cannot but be truly noble. And if I make it not good let me never be admitted further then to the subject of our question. Thus we do well to congra- tulate to ourselves our own happiness ; if others will come to us, it shall be our comfort, but more theirs ; if not, it is enough that we can joy in our- selves, and in him in whom we are that we are. 248 SELECTIONS HOW A DAY SHOULD BE SPENT.* TROM AN EPISTLr. TO MY LORD DENNY. Every day is a little life : and our whole is but a day repeated : whence it is that old Jacob num- bers his life by days, and Moses desires to be taught this point of holy arithmetic, to number not his years, but his days. Those therefore that dare lose a day, are dangerously prodigal ; those that dare mispend it, desperate. We can best teach others by ourselves ; let me tell your lord- ship, how I would pass my days, whether common or secret; that you (or whosoever others, over- hearing me) may either approve my thriftiness, or correct my errors : to whom is the account of my hours more due, or more known. All days are his, who gave time a beginning and continu- ance ; yet some he hath made ours, not to com- mand, but to use. In none may we forget him ; in some we must forget all, besides him. First, therefore, I desire to awake at those hours, not when I will, but when I must; pleasure is not a fit rule for rest, but health; neither do I consult so much with the sun, as mine own necessity, whether of body or * David vi. Epist. 1. FROM BISHOP HALL. 249 in that of the mind. If this vassal could well serve me waking, it should never sleep ; but now it must be pleased, that it must be serviceable. Now, when sleep is rather driven away than leaves me, I would ever awake with God; my first thoughts are for him, who hath made the night for rest, and the day for travel ; and as he gives, so blesses both.* If my heart be early seasoned with his presence, it will savour of him all day after. While my body is dressing, not with an effeminate curiosity, nor yet with rude neglect; my mind addresses itself to her ensuing task, bethinking what is to be done, and in what order ; and marshalling (as it may) my hours with my work ; that done, after some whiles meditation, I walk up to my masters and companions, my books; and sitting down amongst them, with the best contentment, I dare not reach forth my hand to salute any of them, till I have first looked up * See Bisbop Taylor's rules in his Holy Living for employ- ing our time. — " In the morning, wlien you awake, accus- tom yourself to think first upon God, or something in order to his service ; and at night also let him close thine eyes, and let your sleep be necessary and healthful, not idle and expensive of time, beyond the needs and conveniences of nature; and sometimes be curious to see the preparatioa wrhich the sun makes, vi-hen he is coming forth from hi* chambers of the east. 250 SELECTIONS to heaven, and craved favour of him to whom all my studies are duly referred : without whom, I can neither profit, nor labour. After this, out of noovergreai variety, 1 call fortli those, which may best fit my occasions ; wherein, I am not too scru- pulous of age; sometimes I put myself to school, to one of those ancients, whom the church hath ho- noured with the name ol Fathers; whose volumes I confess not to open, without a sacred reverence of their holiness, and gravity; sometimes to those later doctors, which want nothing but age to make them classical : always to God's book. That day is lost, whereof some hours are not improved in those divine monuments: others I turn over out of choice ; these out of duty. Ere I can have sate unto weariness, my family, having now overcome all household-distractions, invites me to our com- mon devotions ; not without some short prepara- tion. These heartily performed, send me up with a more strong and cheerful appetite to my former work, which I find made easy to me by intermis- sion, and variety ; now therefore can I deceive the hours with change of pleasures, that is, of labours. One while mine eyes are busied, an- other while my hand, and sometimes my mind takes the burthen from them both ; wherein I would imitate the skilfulest cooks, which make the best FROU BISHOP HALL. 25J dishes with manifold mixtures ; one hour is spent in textual divinity, another in controversy ; his- tories relieve them both. Now, when the mind is weary of other labours, it begins to undertake her own ; sometimes it meditates and winds up for future use ; sometimes it lays forth her conceits into present discourse ; sometimes for itself, ofter for others. Neither know I whether it works or plays in these thoughts ; I am sure no sport hath more pleasure, no work more use : only the decay of a weak body, makes me think these delights insensibly laborious. Thus could I all day (as ringers use) make myself music with changes, and complain sooner of the day for shortness, than of the business for toil ; were it not that this faint monitor interrupts me still in the midst of my busy pleasures, and inforces me both to respite and repast; I must yield to both; while my body and miird are joined together in unequal couples^ the better must follow the weaker. Before my meals,, therefore, and after, I let myself loose from all thoughts ; and now, would forget that I ever studied ; a full mind takes away the bodies appe- tite, no less than a full body makes a dull and unwieldy mind ; company, discourse, recreations^ are now seasonable and welcome : these prepare me for a diet, not gluttonous, but medicinal; the palate may not be pleased, but the stomach ; nor 252 SELECTIONS that for its own sake : neither would I think any of these comforts worth respect in themselves but in their use, in their end ; so far as they may en- able me to better things. If I see any dish to tempt my palate, I fear a serpent in that apple, and would please myself in a wilful denial ; I rise capable of more, not desirous ; not now imme- diately from my trencher to my book ; but after some interm.ission. Moderate speed is a sure help to all proceedings; where those things which are prosecuted with violence of endeavour or de- sire, either succeed not, or continue not. After my later meal, my thoughts are slight; only my memory may be charged with her task, of recalling what was committed to her custody in the day ; and my heart is busy in examining my hands and mouth, and all other senses, of that day's behaviour. And now the evening is come, no tradesnaan doth more carefully take in his wares, clear his shopboard, and shut his windows, than I would shut up my thoughts, and clear my mind. That student shall live miserably, which like a camel lies down under his burden. All this done, calling together my family, we end the day with God.* Thus do we rather drive * Fuller in his Life of Lord Burleigh, says, — " No man was more pleasant and merry at meals ; and he had a pretty FROM BISHOP HALL. 253 away the time before us, than follow it, I grant neither is my practice worthy to be exemplary, neither are our callings proportionable. The lives of a nobleman, of a courtier, of a scholar, of a citizen, of a countryman, differ no less than their dispositions ; yet must all conspire in honest labour. Sweet is the destiny of all trades, whether of the wit-rack in himself, to make the dumb to speak, to draw speech out of the most sullen and silent guest at his table, to shew his disposition in any point he should propound. For foreign intelligence, though he traded sometimes on the stock of Secretary Walsingham, yet wanted he not a plen- tiful bank of his own. At night when he put off his gown he used to say, "Lie there. Lord Treasurer," and bidding adieu to all state-afFairs, disposed himself to his quiet rest. Bacon, in his Essay on Health, says, " To be free-minded and cheerfully disposed at hours of meat, and sleep, and of exercise, is one of the best precepts of long lasting." See in the Sentimental Journey, the anecdote of "The Grace," which concludes thus : — " I thought I beheld Reli- gion mixing in the dance, but as I had never seen her so engaged, 1 should have looked upon it now, as one of the illusions of an imagination which is eternally misleading me, had not the old man, as soon as the dance was ended, said, that this was their constant way, and that all his life long he had made it a rule, after supper was over, to call out his family to dance and rejoice, believing he said, that a cheer- ful and contented mind was the best sort of thanks to heaven that an illiterate peasant could pay. Or a learned prelate either, said I." "254 SliLECTIONS •brows, or of the mind. God never allowed any man to do nothing'. How miserable is the condi- tion of those men, which spend the time as if it were given them, and not lent; as if hours were waste creatures, and such as never should be ac- counted for ; as if God would take this for a good bill of reckoning : Item, spent upon ray pleasures forty years! These men shall once find, that no blood can privilege idleness ; and that nothing is more precious to God, than that which they desire to cast away; time. Such are my common days; hut God's day calls for another respect. The same sun arises on this day, and enlightens it; yet because that Sun of Righteousness arose upon it, and gave a new life unto the world in it, and drew the strength of God's moral precept unto it, therefore justly do we sing with the psalmist; This is the day which the Lord hath made. Now I forget the world, and in a sort myself; and deal with ray wonted thoughts, as great men use, who, at sometimes of their privacy, forbid the access of all suitors. Prayer, meditation, reading, hearing, preaching, singing, good conference, are the bu- sinesses of this day, which I dare not bestow on any work, or pleasure, but heavenly. I hate superstition on the one side, and loose- ness on the other ; but I find it hard to offend in too much devotion, easy in profaneness. Tlie FROM CIS HOP HALL. 255 whole week is sanctified by this day;* and accord- ing to my care of this, is my blessing on the rest. I show your lordship what I would do, and what I ought ; I commit my desires to the imitation of the weak ; my actions to the censures of the wise and holy ; my weaknesses to the pardon and re- dress of my merciful God. * See Burnet's Life of Sir M. Hale, where he says, " he divided himself between the duties of religion, and the studies of his profession ; in the former he was so regular, that for six and thirty years time, he never once failed going to church on the Lord's day ; he took a strict account of his time, of whicli the reader will best judge, by the scheme he drew for a diary. It is set down in the same simplicity in which he writ it for his own private use. MOnNINC. To lift up my heart to God in thankfulness for renewino- my life. EVENING. Cast up the accounts of the day. If ought amiss, beg par- don. Gather resolution of more vigileuce. If well, bless ^he mercy and grace of God that liath supported thee. Locke, in his Conduct of the Understanding, says, " Be- sides his particular calling for the support of his life, every one has a concern in a future life, which he is bound to look after. This engages his thoughts in religion; and here it mightily lies upon him to understand and reason right. Rlen therefore cannot be excused from understanding the words, and framing the general notions relating to religion right. The one day of seven, besides other days of rest, allows in 256 SELECTIONS OLD AGE. Our infancy is full of folly : youth, of disorder and toil; age, of infirmity. Each time hath his burden; and that which may justly work our weariness : yet infancy longeth after youth ; and youth after more age ; and he, that is very old, as he is a child for simplicity, so he would be for years. I account old age the best of the three ; partly, for that it hath passed through the folly and disorder of the others ; partly, for that the inconveniences of this are but bodily, with a bet- tered estate of the mind ; and partly, for that it is nearest to dissolution. There is nothing more miserable, than an old man that would be young again. It was an answer worthy the commenda- tions of Petrarch; and that, which argued a mind truly philosophical of him, who, when his friend bemoaned his age appearing in his white temples, telling him he was sorry to see him look so old, replied, " Nay, be sorry rather, that ever I was young, to be a fool." the christian world time enough for this (had they no other idle hours) if they would but make use of these vacancies from their daily labour, and apply themselves to an improve- ment of knowledge, with as much diligence as they often do to a great many other things that are useless. lection T^3), DR. BARROW. If a man lack wisdom, let him ask it of God, wlio giveth freely. Therefore, O everlasting wisdom, the maker, re- deemer, and governor of all things, let some comfortable beams from thy great body of heavenly light descend upon us, to illuminate our dark minds and quicken our dead hearts ; to enflame us with ardent love unto thee, and to direct our steps in obedience to thy laws through the gloomy shades of this world into that region of eternal light and bliss where thou reignest in perfect glory and majesty, one God ever-blessed, world without end. Amen. DOCTOR BARROW. KNOWLEDGE IS A SOURCE OF DKLlGIll".* Wisdom of itself is delectable and satisfactory, as it implies a revelation of truth and a detection of error to us. 'Tis like light, pleasant to behold, casting a sprightly lustre, and diffusing a benign influence all about; presenting a goodly prospect of things to the eyes of our mind ; displaying ob- jects ui their due shapes, postures, magnitudes, and colours ; quickening our spirits with a com- fortable warmth, and disposing our minds to a cheerful activity ; dispelling the darkness of ig- norance, scattering the mists of doubt, driving p.way the spectres of delusive fancy ; mitigating the cold of sullen melancholy; discovering ob- stacles, securing progress, and making the pas- sages of life clear, open and pleasant. We are all naturally endowed with a strong appetite to know, to see, to pursue truth ; and with a b^ish- Sermon i. p. 1, 260 St^LECTIONS f ul abhorrency from being deceived and entangled in mistake. And as success in enquiry after truth affords matter of joy and triumph ; so being con- scious of error and miscarriage therein, is at- tended with shame and sorrow. These desires wisdom in the most perfect manner satisfies, not by entertaining us with dry, empty, fruitless theo- ries upon mean and vulgar subjects; but by en- riching our minds with excellent and useful know- ledge, directed to the noblest objects and service- able to the highest ends.* * Bacon in enumerating the advantages of knowledge, says, 1. It relieves man's afflictions. 2. It promotes public virtue and order. 3. It promotes private virtues, by hu- manizing, humbling, nullifying vain admiration, improving. 3. It is pow^er. 4. The pleasure of knowledge far ex- ceedeth all other pleasures ; for, shall the pleasures of the affections so exceed the senses, as much as the oblainitig of desire or victory exceedeth a song or a dinner ; and must not, of consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or under- standing exceed the pleasures of the affections ? We see in all other pleasures tliere is satiety, and after they be used, their verdure departctb ; which sheweth well they be but deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures ; and that it was the novelty which pleased, and not the quality ; and there- fore we see that voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melancholy. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpetually inter- FROM DR. BARROW. 261 WISDOM SELECTS TRUE PLEASURES. Wisdom is exceedingly pleasant and peaceable ; in general, by disposing us to acquire and to en- joy all the good delight and happiness we are capable of; and by freeing us from all the incon- veniences, mischiefs, and infelicities our condition is subject to. For whatever good from clear un- derstanding, deliberate advice, sagacious foresight, stable resolution, dextrous address, right intention, changeable ; and therefore appeareth to be good in itself simply, without fallacy or accident. Neither is tliat plea- sure of small efficacy and contentment to the mind of man, which the poet Lucretius describith elegantly, " Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis, &c. " It is a view of delight," saith he, " to s'.and or walk upon the shore side, and to see a ship tossed with tempest upon the sea ; or to be in a fortified towc-r, and to see two battles join upon a plain ; but it is a pleasure incompara- ble, for the mind of man to be settled, landed, and fortified in the certainty of truth, and from thence to descry and behold the errors, perturbations, labours, and wanderings up and down of otlier men." " So always, that this pros- pect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Cer- tainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of truth." 262 Sl.LECTlONS and orderly proceeding doth naturally result, wis- dom confers : whatever evil blind ignorance, false presumption, unwary credulity, precipitate rash- ness, unsteady purpose, ill contrivance, backward- ness, inability, unwieldiness and confusion of thought beget, wisdom prevents. From a thou- sand snares and treacherous allurements, from in- numerable rocks and dangerous surprizes, from exceedingly many needless incumbrances and vex- atious toils of fruitless endeavours she redeems and secures us. Wisdom instructs us to examine, compare, and rightly to value the objects that court our affec- tions and challenge our care; and thereby regu- lates our passions and moderates our endeavours, ■which begets a pleasant serenity and peaceable tranquillity of mind. For when being deluded with false shews, and relying upon ill-groui:ded presumptions, we highly esteem, passionately af- fect; and eagerly pursue things of little worth ia themselves or concernment to us ; as we un- handsomely prostitute our affections, and prodi- gally mis-spend our time, and vainly lose our la- bour, so the event not answering our expecta- tion, our minds thereby are confounded, disturbed and distempered. But, when guided by right lUOM DR. BARllOW. 263 reason, we conceive great esteem of, and zea- lously are enamoured with, and vigorously strive to attain things of excellent worth and weighty consequence, the conscience of having well placed our affections and well employed our pains, and the experience of fruits corresponding to our hopes, ravishes our minds with unexpressible con- tent. And so it is: present appearance and vul- gar conceit ordinarily impose upon our fancies, disguising things with a deceitful varnish, and re- presenting those that are vainest with the greatest advantage ; whilst the noblest objects, being of a more subtle and spiritual nature, like fairest jewels enclosed in a homely box, avoid the notice of gross sense and pass undiscerned by us. But the light of wisdom, as it unmasks specious im- posture and bereaves it of its false colours, so it penetrates into the retirements of true excellency and reveals its genuine lustre.* * Wisdom dotb balance in her scales those true and false pleasures winch do equally invite the senses : and rejecting all sucli as have uo solid value or lasting refreshment, doth select and take to her bosom those deliijhts that, proving immortal, do seem to smell and taste of that paradise from which they sijrung. Like the wise husbandman who, taking the rough grain which carries in its heart the bread to sustain life, doth trample under foot the gay and idle flowers which many times destroy it. A. 1\I. 264 SELECTIONS KNOWLEDGE AVOIDS THE MISERY TO WHICH IGNORANCE IS EXPOSED.* Wisdom makes all the troubles, griefs and pains incident to life, whether casual adversities, or na- tural afflictions, easy and supportable, by rightly valuing the importance and moderatiug the in- fluence of them. It suffers not busy fancy to alter the nature, amplyfy the degree, or extend the duration of them, by representing them more sad, heavy and remediless than they truly are. It allows them no force beyond what naturally and necessarily they have, nor contributes nourish- ment to their increase. It keeps them at a due distance, not permitting them to encroach upon the soul, or to propogate their influence beyond their proper sphere. f * Serm. l.p. 2. + Ignorance can shake strong sinews with idle thoughts, and sink brave hearts with light sorrows, and doih lead in- nocent feet to inipure dens, and haunts the simple rustic with credulous fears, and the swart Indian with that more potent magic, under which spell he pines and dies. And by ignorance is a man fast hound from childhood to the grave, till knowledge, which is the revelation of good and evil, doth set him free. A, M. Knowledge mitigates the fear of death and adverse for- tune ; for, if a man be deeply imbued with the contempla- lUO.M DR. BARROW. 265 HONORING GOD.* God is honoured by a willing and careful practice of all piety and virtue for conscience tion of mortality and the corruptible nature of all things, he will easily concur with Epicte.tu3 who went forth one day and saw a woman weeping for her pitcher of earth that was broken ; and went forth the next day and saw a woman weeping for her son that was dead : and thereupon said, " Heri vidi fragilem frangi ; hodie vidi mortalem mori." And therefore Virgil did excellently and profoundly couple the knowledge of causes and the conquest of all fears a3 concomitant ; Felix, qui poluit reruni cognoscere causas, Quique metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. Bacon. Near to the Hartz Mountains in Germany, a gigantic figure has from time immemorial occasionally appeared in the heavens. It is indistinct, but always resembles the form of a human being. Its appearance has ever been a certain indication of approacliing misfortune. It is called the Spectre of the Broken. It has been seen by many tra- vellers. In speaking of it, Monsieur Jordan says, " In the course of my repeated tours through the Hartz Mountains I often, but in vain, ascended the Broken, that I might see the spectre. At length, on a serene morning, as the sun was just appearing above the horizon, it stood before me, at a gi-eat distance, towards the opposite mountain. It seemed to be the gigantic figure of a man. It vanished in n moment.'' In September 1796, the celebrated Abbe Haiiy visited this * Sermon iv. p. ',}l. '266 \ SELECIIONS sake, or an avowed obedience to his holy will. This is ihe most natural expression of our reverence towards him, and the most effectual way of promoting the same in others. A subject cannot better demonstrate the reverence he bears towards his piince, than by (with a cheerful dili- gence) observing his laws ; for by so doing he de- clares that he acknowledgeth the authority, and revereth the majesty which enacted them ; that he countrj'. He sa_) s : " After having ascended the mountain for thirty times, I at last saw the spectre. It was just at sun-rise, in the middle of the month of May, about four o'clock in the morning. 1 saw distinctly a human figure of a monstrous size. The atmospliere was quite serene towards the east. In the south-west a high wind carried before it some light vapours, which were scarcely condensed into clouds and hung round the mountains upon which the figure stood. I bowed. The colossal figure repeated it. I paid my respects a second time, which was returned with the same civility. I then called the landlord of the inn ; and having taken the same position which I had before occupied, we looked towards the mountain, when we clearly saw two such colossal figures, which, after having repeated our com- pliment by bending their bodies, vanished When the rising sun throws his rays over the Broken upon the body of a man standing opposite to fleecy clouds, let him fix his eye stedfastly upon them, and in all probability he will see his own shadow extending the length of five or six hundred feet, at the distance of about two miles from him." ruoAi Du. BAunow. 267 approves the wisdom which devised them, and the goodness which designed them for public benefit; that he dreads his prince's power, which can , maintain them, and his justice, which will vindicate them: that here lies upon his fidelity in making good what of protection or of recompence he propounds to the observers of them. No less preg- nant a signification of our reverence towards God, do we yield in our gladly and strictly obeying his laws: thereby evidencing our submission to God's sovereign authority, our esteem of his wisdom and goodness, our awful regard to his power and jus- tice, our confidence in him, and dependence upon his word. The goodliness to the sight, the plea- santness to the taste, which is ever perceptible in those fruits which genuine piety beareth, the beauty men see in a calm mind and a sober con- versation, the sweetness they taste from works of justice and charity, will certainly produce vene- ration to the doctrine which teacheth such things, and to the authority which eujoyns them. We shall especially honour God, by discharging faith- fully those offices which God hath entrusted us with ; by improving diligently those talents which God hath committed to us; by using carefully those means and opportunities which God hath vouchsafed us of doing him service and promo- ting his glory. Thus he to whom God hath 268 St; LECTIONS given wealth, if he expend it, not to the nourish- ment of pride and luxury, not only to the gratify- ing his own pleasure or humour, but to the fur- therance of God's honour, or to the succour of his indigent neighbour, in any pious or charit- able way, he doth thereby in a special manner honour God. He also on whom God hath be- stowed wit and parts, if he employ them not so much in contriving projects to advance his own petty interests, or in procuring vain applause to himself, as in advantageously setting forth God's praise, handsomely recommending goodness, dex- terously engaging men in ways of virtue, he doth, thereby remarkably honour God. He like- wise that hath honour conferr'd upon him, if he subordinate it to God's honour, if he use his own credit as an instrument of bringing credit to goodness, thereby adorning and illustrating piety, he by so doing doth eminently practise this duty. EFFECT OF EXAMPLE. What extreme advantage great persons have, especially by the influence of their practice, to bring God himself, as it were, into credit ! how much it is in their power easily to render piety a thing in fashion and request! for in what they do thev never are alone, or are ill attended ; whiihcr FROM DR. BAKHOW. 269 they go, they carry the world along with them ; they lead crowds of people after them, as well when they go in the right way, as when they run astray. The custom of living well, no less than other modes and garbs, will be soon conveyed and propagated from the court ; the city and country will readily draw good manners thence, good manners truly so called, not only superficial forms of civility, but real practices of goodness. For the main body of men goeth not "qua eundem, sed qua itur," not according to rules and reasons, but after examples and authorities; es- pecially of great persons, who are like stars, shining in high and conspicuous places by which men steer their course ; their actions are to be reckoned not as single or solitary ones, but are, like their persons, of a public and representative nature, involving the practice of others, who are by ihem awed, or shamed into compliance. Their good example especially hath this advantage, that men can find no excuse, can have no pretence why they should not follow it. Piety is not only beautified, but fortified by their dignity ; it not only shines on them with a clear lustre, but with a mightier force and influence ; a word, a look, the least intimation from them will do more good, than others best eloqueuce, clearest reason, most 27.0 SELECTIONS earnest endeavours. For it is in them, if lliey would apply themselves to it, as ihe wisest prince implies, to " scatter iniquity with their eyes." A smile of theirs were able to enliven virtue, and diffuse it all about ; a frown might suffice to mor- tify and dissipate wickedness. Such apparently is their power of honouring God ; and in propor- tion thereto surely great is their obligation to do it; of them peculiarly God expects it, and all equity exacts it. pii:tv.* Is a man prosperous, high, or wealthy in con- dition ? Piety guardeth him from all the mischiefs incident to that state, and disposeth him to en- joy the best advantages thereof. It keepeth him from being swelled and puffed up with vain con- ceit, from being transported with fond complaisance * Senu. II. ji. 12. In the Profitableness of Goodness, the object of wliich is to prove tliat jiiety,^ 1st. It disposes all men properly to disdiargc their peculiar duties. 2nd. Fits men for all conditions Srd. Is the greatest of all blessings. 4th. Is immutable. The above extract is from art. 2. FROM DR. BARROW. 271 or confidence therein ; minding him that it is purely the gift of God, that it absolutely dependeth on his disposal, so that it may soon be taken from him, and that he cannot otherwise than by humi- lity, by gratitude, by the good use of ii, be secure to retain it; minding him also, that he shall assuredly be forced to render a strict account concerning the good management thereof. It preserveth him from being perverted or corrupted with the temptations to wliich that condition is mostliable; from luxury, from sloth, from stupidity, from forgetfulness of God, and of himself; main- taining among the flouds of plenty a sober and steady mmd. It fenceth him from insolence, and fastuous contempt of others ; rendereth him civil, condescensive, kind and helpful to those who are in a meaner state. It instructeth and incitethhim to apply his wealth and power to the best uses, to the service of God, to the benefit of his neighbour for his own best reputation, and most solid com- fort. It IS the right ballast of prosperity, the only antidote for all the inconveniences of wealth ; that which secureth, sweeteneth and sanctifieth all other goods : without it all apparent goods are very noxious, or extremely dangerous ; riches, power, honour, ease, pleasure, are so many poisons or so many snares without it. Again, is a man 272 SELIiCTIONS poor and low, in the world ? Piety doth improve and sweeten even that state ; it keepeth his spirits up above dejection, desperation, and disconsolate- ness: it freeth him from all grievious solicitude and anxiety : shewing him, that although he seemeth to have little, yet he may be assured to want nothing, he having a certain succour, and never-failing supply from God's good Providence ; that notwithstanding the present straightness of his condition, or scantiness of outward things, he hath a title to goods infinitely more precious and more considerable. A pious man cannot but apprehend himself like the child of a most wealthy, kind and careful father, who although he hath yet nothing in his own possession, or passing under his name, yet is assured that he can never come into any want of what is needful to him: the Lord of all things (who hath all things in heaven and earlh at his disposal, who is infi- nitely tender of his children's good, who doth in- cessantly watch over them) being his gracious Father, how can he fear to be left destitute, or not to be competently provided for, as is truly best for him 1 What if a man seem very poor ; if he be abundantly satisfied in his own possessions and enjoyments? what if he tasteth not the plea- sures of sense ; if he enjoyeth purer and sweeter FROM DU. BARROW. 273 delights of mind ? what if tempests of fortune sur- round him; if his mind be cahn and serene? what if we have few or no friends; if he yet be thoroughly in peace and amity with himself, and can delightfully converse with his own thoughts ? what if men slight, censure, or revile him; if he doth value his own state, doth approve his own actions, doth acquit himself of blame in his own conscience ? such external contingencies can surely no more prejudice a man's real happiness, than winds blustering abroad can harm or trouble him (hat abideth in a good room within doors, than storms and fluctuations at sea can molest him who standeth firm upon the shore.* PLEASURES OF PIIiTY. What have we to do but to eat and drink, like horses or like swine ; but to sport and play like children or apes; but to bicker and scuffle about trifles and impertinences, like idiots ? what, but to scrape and scramble for useless pelf ; to hunt after empty shews aud shaddows of honour, or the vain fancies and dreams of men ? what but to wallow or bask in sordid pleasures, the which soon dege- nerate into remorse and bitterness ? to which sort * Page 21. 274 SELECTIONS of employments were a man confined, what a piti- ful thing would he be, and how inconsiderable were his life ? were a man designed only, like a fly, to buz about here for a time, sucking in the air and licking the dew, then soon to vanish back into nothing, or to be transformed into worms ; how sorry and despicable a thing were he ? and such without religion we should be. But it sup- plieth us with business of a most worthy nature, and lofty importance; it setteth us upon doing things great and noble as can be ; it engageth us to free our minds from ail fond conceits, and cleanse our hearts from all corrupt affections ; to curb our brutish appetites, to tame our wiid pas- sions, to correct our perverse inclinations, to con- form the dispositions of our soul, and the actions of our life to the eternal laws of righteousness and goodness ; it putteth us upon the imitation of God, and aiming at ths resemblance of his per- fections; upon obtaining a friendship, and main- taining a correspondence with the High and Holy One ; upon fitting our minds for conversation and society with the wisest and purest spirits above ; upon providing for an immortal state;" upon the acquistof joy and glory everlasting. It employeth us in the divinest actions of promoting virtue, of performing beneficence, of serving the public, and TROM DR. BARROW. 275 doing good to all; the being exercised in which things doth indeed render a man highly consider- able, and his life excellently valuable.* DUTY OF THANKSGIVING.! Wherever we direct our eyes, whether we reflect them inward vipon ourselves, we behold his good- ness to occupy and penetrate the very root and centre of our beings ; or extend them abroad toward the things about us, we may perceive our- selves enclosed wholly, and surrounded with his benefits. At home we find a comely body framed by his curious artifice, various organs fitly pro- portioned, situated and tempered for strength, ornament and motion, actuated by a gentle heat, and invigorated with lively spirits, disposed to health, and qualified for a long endurance; sub- servient to a soul endued with divers senses, fa- culties and powers, apt to enquire after, pursue and perceive various delights and contents. Or when we contemplate the wonderful works of nature, and, walking about at our leisure, gaze upon this ample theatre of the world, considering the stately beauty, constant order, and sumptuous furniture thereof; the glorious splendor and uni- form motion of the heavens ; the pleasant fertihty * Serm. 3, p. 25. t Vol. I. Serw. 8, i>. 71, 7he convenience of a college cell, within gates which are shut betimes, as carefully as a besieged city, it being well thought by the fathers and founders of learning that the outward world is not more adverse to knowledge than to true religion. Here he trims his midnight lamp, and paleth the bloom of his youthful cheek ; he stiuteth himself of sleej), his books are his silent companions ; the thoughts of the learned are his banquet, — his inward man engrosses him, — his outward man often altogether neglected, — health itself hardly cared for, while he is passing through this chrysalis stale of the mind, and obtaining for bis soul X 306 SELECTIONS OF JESTING. It is good to make a jest, but not to make a trade of jesting. The Earl of Leicester knowing that plumage, which shall bear it into the regions of thought and fancy, hitherto unexplored, and reward him with disco- veries hitherto unknown, and weave a chaplet of laurel for his brow, and bequeath unto his name an immortality of fame. But if I keep my ej'e on this bookworm, and follow him onward through the more advanced stage of knowledge, then I perceive the selfish, avaricious, and monopolizing feeling which moved him to such sacrifice of his pleasure and health, begin to abate as he becomes well fraught and stored ; and as if God used his soul for a transport vessel, which doubtless be doth, he is driven with his spirit full of knowledge, to carry the same abroad, to communicate it to his fellows; he no sooner discovers truth than he hastens to reveal it ; he no sooner detects errors than he hastens to warn the world of them, — he joins himself to the societies of the learned, — he enters into fellowships, and acadamies, and colleges, — he meditates in his mind and stirs up his thoughts, he writes books and communicates his gathered knowledge to all man- kind ; so that, in the first instance, while there is nothing so avaricious as the spirit of knowledge, there is in the next instance nothing so generous. It reveals without being put to the question. It bestows without being besought. The more precious its discoveries, the more it hastens to make them common. If, again, I consider the pursuit of wealth, then I perceive a like correspendence of the selfish and the social. The merchant and tradesman are indefatigable, FROM DR. FULLER. 307 that Queen Elizabeth was much delighted to see a gentleman dance well, brought the master of a making the most of every occasion, and driving every bar- gain with as much nicety as if their all was at stake. They measure with exactness, — they weigh out scrupulously. They gather up the remnants of things and suffer nothing to be lost, — they introduce an economy of time into their business, almost as if every day were the last; — they lay off the several branches, each to a several hand, and there they ply at their departments with a haste and with an accuracy, which nothing can surpass. Tlieir books are kept like the book of fate ; every man's account is there as if it were the book of divine remem- brance : — not an error through the whole can escape their view, and when the balance is struck it turns out as just and exact to the uttermost farthing. And to see the house in the work of accumulation, you would suppose every one a nig- gard and a miser who could part with nothing, and who could not bear that anything should be lost. But this is only half the man ; to know him wholly you must see the other half \ likewise in action. Follow him from his workshop to his house, and you will see a spirit of profusion equalled only by the spirit of accumulation, and often to his cost not equalled by that. Here is generosity in every form. It is lavished on elegancies of the house, on attendants, on equipage, on sensual enjoyments, on magnificent schemes of pleasure, on charities, on subscriptions, on every profuse, liberal, and noble undertaking. Insomuch that these men who in the morning gathered with a hundred hands, in the evening scatter with a hundred hands that which they gathered ; and are under the providence of God but instruments for 308 SELECTIONS "dancing school to dance before her. '* Pish,'' said the Queen, " it is his profession, I will not see him." Wanton jests make fools laugh, and wise men frown. Jest not with the two edged sword of God's word. Will nothing please thee to Avash thy hands in but the font, or to drink healths in but the church chalice ?* Let not thy jests, like mummy, be made of dead men's flesh. Abuse not any that are departed, for to wrong their memories is to rob their ghosts of their winding sheets. Scoff not at the natural defects of any which are changing the current of his beneficence, for gathering it where otherwise it would be wasted, and bestowing it wliere other- wise it would not bs had. He gathered it at a thousand fountains, as the streams which come out of the recesses of a thousand solitudes are gathered into one lake; then he dis- penseth it through the fertile places of society, and setteth in action, or engageth a thousand departments of business, just as if you should sluice off that lake into a thousand rills, with each of which to fertalize a productive field, or give force to the wheel of some more active machine. E. I. * As for jest, there be certain things wliich ought to be privileged from it j namely religion, matters of state, great persons, any man's present business of importance, and any case that deserveth pity. Lord Bacon. FROM DR. FULLER. 309 not in their power to amend. Oh! 'tis cruelty to beat a cripple with his own crutches. No time to break jests when the heart-strings are about to be broken. He that will lose his friend for a jest, deserves to die a beggar by the bargain. OF TRAVELLING. Travel not early, before thy judgment be risen ; lest thou observest rather shows than substance. Get the language (in part) without which key thou shalt unlock little of moment. Know most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest over the threshold thereof. Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Ascham did thank God that he was but nine days in Italy, wherein he saw in one city (Venice) more liberty to sin than in London he ever heard of in nine years.* * I was once in Italy myself: but I thank God my abode there was but nine days ; and yet I saw in that little time, in one city, more liberty to sin, than ever I heard tell of in our noble city of London in nine years. I saw, it was there as free to sin, not only without all punishment, but also witliout any man's marking, as it is free in the city of London, to 310 SELECTIONS To travel from the sun is uncomfortable. Yet the northern parts with much ice have some crystal. If thou wilt see much in a little, travel the Low Counties. Holland is all Europe in an Amsterdam print. Be wise in choosing objects, dihgent in marking, careful in remembering of them. Yet herein men much follow their own humours. One asked a choose without all blame, whether a man list to wear shoe'or pantofle. And good cause why : for being unlike in truth of religion, they must needs be unlike in honesty of living. For, blessed be Christ, in our city of London, commonly the com- mandments of God be ijpore diligently taught, and the service of God more reverently used, and that daily in many private men's houses, than they be in Italy once a week in their com- mon churches : where making ceremonies to delight the eye, and vain sounds to please the ear, do quite thrust out of the churches all service of God in spirit and in truth. Yea, the Lord Mayor of London, being but a civil officer, is com- monly for his time, more diligent in punishing sin, the bent enemy against God and good order, than all the bloody in- quisitors in Italy be in seven years. For their care and charge is, not to punish sin, not to amend manners, not to purge doctrine, but only to watch and oversee that Christ's true religion set no sure footing where the Pope has any jurisdiction, AsCHAM. FROM DR. FULLER. , 311 barber who never before had been at the court, what he saw there ? " Oh," said he, " the king was excellently well trimmed !" Labour to distil and unite into thyself the scattered perfections of several nations. Many weed foreign countries, bringing home Dutch drunkenness, Spanish pride, French wantonness, and Italian Atheism ; as for the good herbs, Dutch industry, Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and Italian frugality, these they leave behind them ; others bring home just nothing ; and, because they singled not themselves from their countrymen, though some years beyond sea, were never out of England. OF COMPANY. Company is one of the greatest pleasures of the nature of man. It is unnatural for a man to court and hug solitariness. Yet a desart is better than a de- bauched companion. The Nazarites who might drink no wine were also forbidden to eat grapes whereof wine is made. If thou beest cast into bad company like Her- cules, thou must sleep with thy club in thine hand and stand on thy guard ; like the river Dee in Me- 3l2 SELECTIONS rionethshire, in Wales, which running through Pitnble Meer, remains entire and mingles not her streams with the waters of the lake. The company he keeps is the comment by help whereof men expound the most close and mys- tical man. Csesar came thus to discern his two daughters' inclinations, for being once at a public show, where much people was present, he ob- served that the grave senators talked with Livia, but loose youngsters and riotous persons with Julia. OF MEMORY. It is the treasure-house of the mind, wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved. Plato makes it the mother of the Muses. Aris- totle sets it one degree further, making expe- rience the mother of arts, memory the parent of experience. Philosophers place it in the rear of the head; and it seems the mine of me- mory lies there, because there naturally men dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss. This again is twofold : one, the simple retention of things ; the other, a regaining them when forgotten. Brute creatures equal if not exceed men in FROM DR. FULLER. 313 a bare retentive memory. Through how many labyrinths of woods, without other clue of thread tiian natural instinct, duth the hunted hare return to her meuse? How doth the little bee, flying into several meadows and gardens, sipping of many cups, yet never intoxicated, through an ocean (as I may say) of air, steadily steer herself home, without help of card or "compass. But these cannot play an aftergame, and recover what they have forgotten, which is done by the medi- ation of discourse- Artificial memory is rather a trick than an art, and more for the gain of the teacher than profit of the learners. Like the tossing of a pike, which is no part of the postures and motions thereof, and is rather for ostentation than use, to shew the strength and nimbleness of the arm, and is often used by wandering soldiers, as an intro- duction to beg. Understand it of the artificial rules which at this day are delivered by^ memory mountebanks ; for sure an art thereof may be made (wherein as yet the world is defective) and that no more destructive to natural memory than spectacles are to eyes, which girls in Holland wear from twelve years of age. But till this be found out, let us observe these plain rules. First, soundly infix in thy mind what thou 314 SELECTIONS desirest to remember. What wonder is it if agi- tation of business jog that out of thy head, which was there rather tacked than fastened ? whereas those notions which get in by "violentapossessio," will abide there till " ejectio firma," sickness, or extreme age, dispossess them. It is best knocking in the nail over night, and clinching it the next morning. Overburthen not thy memory to make so faithful a servant a slave. Remember Atlas was weary. Have as much reason as a camel, to rise when thou hast thy full load. Memory, like a purse, if it be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop out of it : take heed of a gluttonous curiosity to feed on many things, lest the greediness of the appetite of thy memory, spoil the digestion thereof. Beza's case was peculiar and memorable ; being above fourscore years of age, he perfectly could say by heart any Greek chapter in St. Paul's epistles, or any thing else which he had learnt long before, but forgot whatsoever was newly told him ; his memory, like an inn, retaining old guests, but having no room to entertain new. Spoil not thy memory by thine own jealousy nor make it bad by suspecting it. How canst thou find that true which thou wilt not trust? St. Augustine tells us of his friend Simplicius, who FROM DR. FULLER. 315 being asked, could tell all Virgil's verses back- ward and forward, and yet the same party avowed to God, that he knew not that he could do it till they did try him. Sure there is concealed strength in men's memories, which they take no notice of. Marshall thy notions into a handsome me- thod. One will carry twice more weight trussed and packed up in bundles, then when it lies un- toward flapping aud hanging about his shoulders. Things orderly fardled up under heads are most portable. Adventure not all thy learning in one bot- tom, but divide it betwixt thy memory and thy note-books. He that with Bias carries all his learning about him in his head, will utterly be beggered and bankrupt, if a violent disease, a merciless thief, should rob and strip him. I know some have a common-place against common- place-books, and yet perchance will privately make use of what they publicly declaim against. A common-place-book contains many notions in garrison, whence the owner may draw out an army into the field on competent warning. Moderate diet and good air preserve me- mory ; but what air is best I dare not define, when such great ones differ. Some say a pure and subtle air is best, another commends a thick 316 SELECTIONS and fogg-y air. For the Pisans scited in the fens and marshes of Arnus have excellent memories, as if the foggy air were a cap for their heads. Thankfulness to God for it continues the me- mory;* whereas some proud people have been visited with such oblivion, that they have for- gotten their own names. Staupitius, tutor to * Dr. Fuller had an extraordinary memory. He could name in order the signs on both sides the way from the beginning of Paternoster-row at Ave-Maria-Lane to the bottom of Cheapside. He could dictate to five several amanuenses at the same time, aud each on a diflFerent sub- ject. The doctor making a visit to the committee of seques- trators sitting at Waltham, in Essex, they soon fell into a discourse and commendation of his great memory ; to which he replied ; " 'Tis true, gentleman, that fame has given me the report of a memorist, and, if you please, I will give you an experiment of it." They all accepted the motion, and told him they should look upon it as an obligation, prayino- him to begin. " Gentlemen," says be, " I will give you an instance of my memory in the particular business in which you are employed. Your worships have thought fit to se- quester an honest, but poor cavalier parson, my neighbour, from his living, and committed him to prison ; he has a large family of children, and his circumstances are but indifferent ; if you will please to release him out of prison, and restore him to his living, I will never forget the kindness while I liver FROM DR. FULLER. 317 Luther, and a godly man, in a vain ostentation of his memory, repeated Christ's genealogy by heart in his sermon, but being out about the captivity of Babylon, I see, saith he, God re- sisteth the proud, and so betook himself to his book. Abuse not thy memory to be sin's register, nor make advantage thereof for wickedness. Excel- lently* Augustine, " Quidam vero pessimi me- • In the Novum Organum of Lord Bacon, the subject of memory is under the article " Constituent Instances," beau- tifully analized. It may be thus exhibited: The Art of Memory consists, 1st. In making a strong impression. 2nd. In recalling the impression when made. In the art of making strong impressions the state of the mind of the patient, and the conduct of the agent, are to be duly regarded. The state of the patient's mind apt to receive impressions, is when the mind is free, as in youth; or when the mind is exerted by some powerful cause excluding all alien thoughts, as boys to remember the boundaries of a parish are struck by the officer. The art of the agent in producing strong impressions, depends, 1st. Upon variety of impres- sion, as by verse and prose ; algebraic and geometric proofs of the same proposition : and 2ndly. Slowness of impression, as great wits have short memories. The art of recalling a given impression consists, 1st. In cutting oft" infinity, as in hunting the fallow deer in a i)ark instead of a forest : and 2nd. By reducing intellectual 318 SELECTIONS moria sunt mirabili, qui tanto pejores sunt, quanto minus possunt, quae male cogitant, oblivisci. OF FANCY.* It is an inward sense of the soul, for a while retaining and examining things brought in thither be the common sense. It is the most boundless and restless faculty of the soul ; for whilst the un- derstanding and the will are kept as it were in " libera custodia," to their objects of " verum et bonum," the fancy is free from all engagements ; it digs without spade, sails without ship, flies without wings, builds without charges, fights with- out bloodshed, in a moment striding from the centre to the circumference of the world, by a kind to sensible things : as the image of a huntsman pursuing a hare for invention. Infinity is cut off first by order: according to the 6th maxim of Fuller. 2nd. By places for artificial memory: as painted windows of birds, beasts, plants, men, &c. for different sorts of natural history. 3rd. By technical memory, according to maxim _2, -of Fuller, as the word viBcyon for the prismatic colours. There are also some valuable observations upon memory in Bacon's Advancement of Learning, where he divides the science of the understanding into, 1. Invention. 2 Judgment. 3. Memory. 4. Delivery. * See note Y at the end on the Pleasures of Imagination. fROM DR. FULLER. 319 of omnipotence creating and annihilating things in an instant ; and things divorced in nature are married in fancy, as in a lawful place. It is also most restless: whilst the senses are bound and reason in a manner asleep, fancy like a sentinel walks the round, ever working, never wearied. The chief diseases of the fancy are, either that they are too wild and high-soaring, or else too low and grovelling, or else too desultory and overvolu- able. Of the first, 1 . If thy fancy be but a little too rank, age itself will correct it. To lift too high is no fault in a young horse, because with travelling he will mend it for his own ease. Thus lofty fancies in young men will come down of themselves, and in process of time the overplus will shrink to be but even measure. But if this will not do it ob- serve these rules. 2. Take part always with thy judgment against thy fancy in any thing wherein they shall dissent. If thou suspectest thy conceits too luxuriant, herein account thy suspicion a legal conviction, and damn whatsoever thou doubtest of. "Warily Tully, bene monent, qui vetant quicquam facere, de quo dubitas, aequum sit an iniquum." 3. Take the advice of a faithful friend, and submit thy inventions to his censure. When thou 320 SELECTIONS pennest an oration, let him have the power of " index expurgatorius," to expunge what he pleaseth ; and do not thou, like a fond mother, cry if the child of thy brain be corrected for playing the wanton. Mark the arguments and reasons of his alterations, why that phrase least proper, this passage more cautious and advised, and after a while thou shalt perform the place in thine own person, and not go out of thyself for a censurer. If thy fancy be too low and humble, 4. Let thy judgment be king but not tyrant over it, to condemn harmless, yea, commendable conceits. Some for fear their orations should giggle will not let them smile. Give it also liberty to rove, for it will not be extravagant. There is no danger that weak folks if they walk abroad will straggle far, as wanting strength. 5. Acquaint thyself with reading poets, for there fancy is in her throne ; and in time the sparks of the author's wit will catch hold on the reader, and inflame him with love, liking, and desire of imitation. I confess there is more re- quired to teach one to write than to see a copy : however there is a secret force of fascination in reading poems to raise and provoke fancy. If thy fancy be over voluble, then 6. Whip this vagrant home to the first object FROM DR. FULLER. 321 >vherein it should be selected. Indeed nimble- ness is the perfection of this faculty, but levity the bane of it. Great is the difference betwixt a swift horse and a skittish, that will stand on no ground. Such is (he ubiquitary fancy, which will keep long residence on no one subject, but is so courteous to strangers that it ever welcomes that conceit most which comes last ; and new species supplant the old ones, before seriously considered. If this be the fault of the fancy, I say whip it home to the first object, wherein it should be settled. This do as often as occasion requires, and by degrees the fugitive servant will learn to abide by his work without running away. Acquaintthyself by degreeswith hard and knotty studies, as school-divinity, which will clog thy overnimble fancy. True, at the first it will be as welcome to thee as a prison, and their very so- lutions will seem knots unto thee. But take not too much at once, lest thy brain turn edge. Taste it first as a potion for physic, and by degrees thou shalt drink it as beer for thirst: practice will make it pleasant. Mathematics are also good for this purpose : if beginning to try a conclusion, tl)ou must make an end, lest thou loseth thy pains that are past, and must proceed seriously and exactly. I meddle not with those Y 322 SELECTIONS Bedlam-fancies, all whose conceits are antique^ but leave them for the physician to purge with hellebore.* * Upon the art of obtaining mastery over the mind which is of such importance iu the conduct of the understanding, there are Tarious observations in Lord Bacon's works, as follows :^ Let the mind be daily employed upon some subjects from which it is averse. Bear ever toward the contrary of that whereunto you are by nature inclined, that yoa may bring the mind straij^ht from its warp. Like as when we row against the stream, or when we make a crooked wand straight, by bending it the contrary way. INSTANTLY STUDY WHEN THE DISPOSITION TO STUDY APPEARS. As in the improvement of the unders'.anding, the mind ou