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 ENGLISH CLASSICS 
 
 EDITED BY W. E. HEXLEY 
 
 WALTON'S LIVES OF 
 DONNE, WOTTON, HOOKER, 
 HERBERT, SANDERSON 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 BY VERNON BLACKBURN
 
 "■■/'• 
 
 /it/A/. . ■/„ 
 
 ■/f/// //,/■///■//
 
 THE LIVES OF 
 
 DOCTOR JOHN DONNE 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 AND DOCTOR ROBERT 
 SANDERSON, BY 
 
 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME 
 
 METHUEN AND CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET : STRAND 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1895
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 59 
 107 
 177 
 231
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Izaak Walton was born at Stafford in 1593, and died at Lon- 
 don in 1683. Of his life there is little eventful to chronicle. 
 He belonged to that noble class of men which seems to 
 have been indigenous in no other country save England, and 
 whose peculiarity is to be distinguished by that engrossing 
 commingling of qualities, the trader's craft and the art of 
 the man of letters. Trade and art have so long accepted 
 different lodgings that the mention of one is, in these faded 
 times, the necessary exclusion of the other. But, in Walton's 
 day, such a mutual repulsion had no sympathy with common 
 thought. Such a man as he might give his business hours 
 to merchandise and ledgers and his leisure to art and polite 
 learning without betraying his caste, and even with the chance 
 of pleasing a difficult posterity. It was a chance which, in 
 Walton's case, proved a happy one. Though not exactly con- 
 structed by nature for classic literary work, he belonged, 
 nevertheless, to that curious rank of literary men who are 
 destined to persuade, to amuse, and to entertain succeeding 
 generations by exceptionally engaging gifts of character. Of 
 such — though his character was vastly different, and was 
 engaging, too, for very different reasons — was Boswell, the best 
 of his kind. Walton's gifts came, so far as character was 
 concerned, from the metal of the strong and sturdy mint of 
 seventeenth-century England : he belonged essentially to the 
 middle classes of his time ; his religion was convinced, he had 
 no doubts nor fears ; mystery and all the burden of this unin- 
 telligible world had their pigeon-holes in his mind with their
 
 viii INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 solutions, marked as it were by the letters of the alphabet, 
 and docketed for immediate reference. His love of gossip 
 and of ghosts, his profound belief in the supernatural, his 
 unswerving honesty, his sentiment of hero-worship, his model 
 humility of speech rather than of meaning, all are pieces in the 
 making of as transparent and simple a personality as litera- 
 ture reveals. Walton's fortune was to possess an inimitable 
 manner, by which he summed himself up with a thousand 
 others of his class through one channel of expression. 
 
 Shortly after his coming of age he started his career as a 
 small draper in a tiny shop on the Exchange ; and there, in his 
 quiet way, he must have pi-ospered, for a decade of years later 
 he moved thence to Fleet Street, where he rented a shop within 
 three paces of the south end of Chancery Lane. A little later 
 in life he moved again to within a very few yards of his second 
 home, whither in the year 1626 he brought his wife from Canter- 
 bury, one Rachel Floud, descended on the side of her mother 
 from Archbishop Cranmer. This lady became the sad mother 
 of seven children who all died in early childhood, she herself 
 following her grief to the grave in the year 1 640, after fourteen 
 years of married life. Six years after his first wife's death 
 Walton married Anne Ken, sister of that famous Bishop whose 
 uprightness and piety have long been, as they deserve to be, 
 part of the glory of the Church of England. He was one of the 
 seven who resisted James the Second's notorious claim to the 
 dispensing power, and whose handiwork is familiar in the 
 Hymnody of his Church. Walton outlived, too, his second 
 spouse, and spent the last twenty years of his life a widower, 
 comforted by a son and a daughter, and busy with his literary 
 labours. 
 
 He was one of those whose literary work is identified with 
 maturity of life and ripeness of years. His first published 
 Life, that of Donne, did not appear until the year of his first
 
 WALTON'S LIVES ix 
 
 wife's death when he himself was forty-seven years of age. 
 The Compleat Angler did not see light until ^e was sixty; 
 and not until he had well passed his seventieth year did he 
 publish that which is perhaps the most admirable of all his 
 writings, the life of Richard Hooker ; the Wotton appeared still 
 later, and the life of Dr. Sanderson was written when Walton 
 was actually in his eighty-fifth year. He died at Winchester, 
 the contemporary of Shakespeare and Spenser in youth and of 
 Sir Isaac Newton in eld. 
 
 It is a little difficult to appraise quite at its natural merit 
 Walton's English manner. Of the style which makes literature 
 stately which orders its words in grand cycles and marshals its 
 thoughts with something of the rhythm of the inevitable 
 motions of nature, he had but little. He wrote out his 
 charming little ideas just as they occurred to him. There is 
 something engrossingly minor about nearly everything that 
 he ever produced. He is little, not as a small man is little 
 to the eyes of his greater fellows, but as a beautiful insect is 
 little to the eyes of man. He potters — 'tis the only word for 
 his pervasive manner ; but he potters with delicious ease and 
 unconsciousness. Few writings are so conversational as his ; 
 and there would seem to be few men whose conversation 
 was better worth attending. There are greater, far greater, 
 writers than he, with whom, nevertheless, the reader is 
 never taken, within a very long span, into a confidence so 
 intimate. Barrow, Hooker, and, above all, Jeremy Taylor 
 stand before you as it were in a magisterial array, and utter 
 great words which take up all your admiration and engross to 
 the full your sense of wonder and zeal for the House of 
 Letters; but Walton just throws himself into an arm-chair, and 
 chatters, chatters, without ceasing, without much construction, 
 and occasionally with somewhat personal grammar. Of the 
 Bishop of Durham he remarks, for example, that he is 'one that
 
 x INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 God hath blessed with perfect intellectuals and a cheerful heart 
 at the age of ninety-four years, and is yet living : ' so wonderful 
 an achievement was God's ! But into more than ungrammati- 
 cal profanity does his garrulousness sometimes lead him. ' It 
 hath been observed/ he declares, ' by wise and considering 
 men, that wealth hath seldom been the portion and never the 
 mark to discover good people, but that Almighty God, who 
 disposeth all things wisely, hath of His abundant goodness 
 denied it — He only knows why — to many whose minds . . !' 
 It would not be easy to discover in or out of the complaints of 
 disbelieving writers, a more delicate insinuation against the 
 justice of Heaven than that elusive parenthesis. 'He only 
 knows why : ' it is a thousand times funnier, because so much 
 less conscious, than Lord Durham's record of a fire in his diary, 
 in which Almighty God is said to have caused the conflagra- 
 tion, ' for reasons best known to Himself.' Walton, who would 
 have shuddered from Lord Durham's wit, accomplished a saying 
 infinitely more delicate, and more pointed, in precisely the same 
 order of impiety. 
 
 The peculiar charm, then, of Walton's style is that in it, while 
 writing of others, he reveals himself — a delightful self — with 
 a completeness and an unconsciousness that have very few 
 parallels, at all events in English literature. Even where 
 revelations as complete have been made, as in Walpole's letters, 
 or in Pepys, they have not the same charm of unconsciousness. 
 Walton is admirable for the very reason that his instinctive 
 art, the art of garrulous autobiography, is perfected, be it 
 said, without any conscious knowledge of it on the part 
 of Walton. One likes to learn, too, all his own beauty of 
 character, since it was a chai'acter quite beautiful in itself: 
 a character old-fashioned enough, in all conscience, old- 
 fashioned in the simplicity of its creeds, in its habitual 
 attitude of reverence, and in its contented explanations of the
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xi 
 
 difficulties of things. It was humble, too, in its own personal 
 way, and of an attractively clinging disposition. These men 
 of whom he wrote were, in fact, true heroes in his estimation, 
 the salt of the earth, whom it behoved him to admire from afar. 
 He was not even worthy to record their acts ; and thousands 
 of his casual phrases imply that he had no thought, or little 
 thought, of erecting a perennial monument in literature. ' I 
 have not the time to explain,' ' I must leave the chronicle to 
 heavier pens : ' of such are many phrases that lie scattered up 
 and down his pages. In paying tribute to the memory of 
 others, he chiefly thought to entertain himself without swerving 
 from his principles of reverence and gravity. 
 
 At the same time it must not be supposed that he was 
 deficient in a fine sense of words merely because his most sympa- 
 thetic quality happened to be his charming conversation. This 
 quality is most conspicuous in the last and in the two earlier 
 lives, while the quality of a greater style is rather to be found in 
 the life of Hooker. I confess that, although I prefer Walton the 
 gossip when administered in large quantities, my admiration is 
 far more complete for chosen passages from the life of Hooker. 
 The concluding portions of that work rise to a height of true 
 and even grand eloquence, from the words : ' More he would 
 have spoken,' down to the last solemn ' Amen.' Nor, because 
 I have said that he had but little thought of erecting a 
 perennial monument in literature, should it be understood 
 that he had no care at all for futurity. 'I have not so 
 much confidence in the relation as to make my pen fix on 
 him a scandal to posterity' is a remarkable phrase from his 
 Hooker : remarkable as much for its stateliness of rhythm as 
 for its assurance of dignity and its quiet confidence. 
 
 In the art of recording the conversation of others, the very 
 simplicity of Walton's method inspires it with its own particular 
 charm. He apportions to his characters not so much the
 
 xii INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 common utterances of everyday speech as set orations and — 
 at any rate for conversation — grandiose phrase. The preface 
 of a 'He said,' or a 'To which the good man's reply was to 
 this purpose,' invariably foreruns an equipoised and theatrical 
 paragraph, in the fashion of a completely dramatic monologue. 
 Herein is to be found, in an easily recognisable paradox, pro- 
 bably that which constitutes the charm of Walton's personal 
 manner. As I have already maintained, much of his de- 
 lightful personality is revealed in the facility, even in the 
 laxity, with which he pursues the art of narration. In re- 
 counting incident and fact he is never himself but when he 
 is completely at his ease. Where nearly all other writers, by 
 a special instinct, incline somewhat to stiffen their everyday 
 manner, Walton, with unconscious deliberation, makes a point 
 of contradicting this general tendency, and, by a piquant 
 reversal of the general custom, just there where other writers 
 study naturalness and reality, or at any rate verisimilitude, 
 he deliberately chose to stiffen his manner and to deliver 
 himself in set speeches. If there had been no inner justi- 
 fication for it in art itself, if such a reversal had been nothing 
 but a novelty, a rebellion against the natural order of things, 
 the surprise of his own generation would have sufficed for 
 applause and remembrance. But his double style is very subtly 
 justified by obviously true principles of art. When Walton 
 himself speaks, you may see him and hear him exactly as 
 he is : knowing himself, he is not confused that you should 
 know him also with his own precision of knowledge, and with 
 his own charming self-deceits. But when it is his characters 
 that speak, their historian frankly disguises his own acquaint- 
 ance with their most intimate emotions by giving to them a 
 stately and uncharacteristic method of utterance. Donne and 
 Hooker, Wotton, Herbert and Sanderson, all converse in the 
 same style, and, but for the variety of distinguishing occasions,
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xiii 
 
 it would be impossible to detect which was which, or to 
 discover any personal note in any of their speeches. This 
 fact might doubtless have reflected upon Walton's capacity 
 as a delineator of character, were it not for the peculiar and 
 acute appreciation which he elsewhere shows for character- 
 istic points, even subtler than the swing of a man's conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Having thus taken a general view of his personality and 
 style, it might be well to illustrate that view by particular 
 reference to the lives of which he was the author. Let me 
 introduce him therefore with the earliest of his biographies, the 
 life of Dr. John Donne. The first very curious and interesting 
 matter to note in connexion with that artless composition 
 is the deliberate — I had almost written the sinful — suppres- 
 sion of Donne's secular career. Donne, the literary artist, 
 the poet of high - sounding phrase, scarcely exists in these 
 prattling pages. 'It is a truth,' writes Walton, 'that in his 
 penitential years, viewing some of those pieces that had been 
 loosely — God knows, too loosely — scattered in his youth, he 
 wished they had been abortive, or so short-lived that his eyes 
 had witnessed their funerals.' And it is accordingly to Pseudo- 
 martyr and to the Book of Devotions that diffuse reference 
 is made in demonstration of how heavenly a creature the 
 Dean of St. Paul's contrived to become. The early years of 
 poetic inspiration are to this unscrupulous biographer a matter 
 for gloomy silence ; or, if for casual speech, serve as a foil against 
 the devout and pure lapse of the 'penitential years.' The 
 reader, therefore, is prepared to find a ' penitential ' rather than 
 a poetic Donne ; and he is forced to confess that Walton's 
 admirable success in this rather dreary undertaking must all 
 be put to the credit of his accomplishment, if not of his im- 
 partiality. Donne's life, as everybody knows, mildly paralleled 
 the life of St. Augustine, in so far as it was divided into two
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 portions, one given to the things of this world, the other 
 given to the things of the next. Now, the peculiar in- 
 terest of St. Augustine's Confessions lies in the subtle and 
 masterly analysis of that which he regarded as the sinful 
 half of his career. Walton's life of Donne is, on the other 
 hand, remarkable for the portrait of the man in the spiritual 
 and staid passages of his life. A most venerable divine, poig- 
 nantly conscious of sin, exact, learned, laborious, and, so far as 
 mere words go, very humble and self-accusing ; a preacher, in 
 and out of season, of the Word of the Gospel, earnest, eloquent, 
 hard-headed, and withal not lacking in a certain tendency 
 towards intrigue; an occasional writer of 'high and heavenly 
 verse,' finding, somewhat artlessly, in the mere production 
 of poetry, a relief to his oppression of sinfulness; a demure, 
 friendly, careful, somewhat pompous, very meritorious, extremely 
 accomplished invalid : this is the picture which Walton is at 
 pains to draw for you, and to impress with infinite persistence 
 upon the charmed intelligence. This is not the full, ripe Donne, 
 the Donne that uttered his youth in various literature, who is 
 here painted for our appreciation. The Donne that wrote 
 
 Send my long-stray 'd eyes to me, 
 Which O ! too long have dwelt on thee : 
 But if from you they've learnt such ill, 
 
 To sweetly smile, 
 
 And then beguile, 
 Keep the deceivers, keep them still : 
 
 that Donne, I say, takes no part nor character in these pages, 
 save behind the romantic curtain of the penitent sinner. All 
 Walton's sympathy went out to meet the reverend divine, and 
 paused with shame upon the threshold of his hero's youthful 
 fervours. Still, we must be content to have our Donne as 
 Walton listeth to serve him up ; and, we may remember that 
 if there was only one poet, but many clerics, who might have
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xv 
 
 borne the name of John Donne, there is only one Izaak Walton, 
 and that he, in the instance, is our host. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton, the subject of his second biography, was, 
 for the sake of his whole career, even better in sympathy with 
 Walton's inclination. Wotton was born with a pious and con- 
 scientious disposition : he was one of those rare productions 
 of nature to whom sin is an effort, virtue a pleasing occupa- 
 tion. Nevertheless, it is not to be inferred from such a descrip- 
 tion that he was lacking in any of the elegant or liberal 
 accomplishments of his period ; and this combination, the 
 Aristocratic Saint, was precisely what Walton most loved, if 
 perhaps it never occurred to him to acknowledge the secret 
 magnetism. One or two little traits recorded by him are quite 
 sufficient to reveal, as it were by a flash of summer lightning, 
 much of Wotton's staid and reverential manner, which, in its 
 formalism and propriety, one is used to associate with the good 
 boy who eventually grows into the good man. Sir Henry, for 
 example, never mentioned his father without some ' reverential 
 expression : as " That good man, my father," or " My father, the 
 best of men."' Cannot you hear him saying it, with suave, 
 ambassadorial politeness, with a certain ripeness of voice ? 
 For Sir Henry Wotton was renowned for the elegance of his 
 manner and the wit of his conversation. But he was a good 
 man, and as such Walton loved him. That charming trifler, 
 whose inquiries into the airy mysteries of angling, whose 
 delicate observation and tiny intensity of sport have built 
 him into something of a classic, cannot seemingly endure that 
 his heroes should ever condescend to triviality or to a forgetful- 
 ness of the high, serious thoughts of life. Wotton composed at 
 an early period of his life the tragedy of Tancredo, and it is 
 excused with much ceremony by his biographer : he actually 
 considers it worth his while to adduce the opinion of ' that 
 wise knight, Baptista Guarini,' who ' thought it neither an
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 uncomely nor an unprofitable employment ! ' But he, with 
 divine scorn : ' I pass to what will be thought more serious.' 
 It is, if nothing else, an engrossing pose, and one is not 
 unnaturally entertained to find that the crowning act of 
 Wotton's life, his entrance into Holy Orders, is that which 
 found him the greatest favour in the eyes of his biographer. 
 Sir Henry, the Provost of Eton, is clearly the Sir Henry 
 whom Walton likes best. Wotton's incapacity for handling 
 money, his unfortunate debts, which 'wrinkled his face with 
 care/ are treated with a masterly insinuation by his biographer, 
 who complains, with that artless, delightful sense of grievance 
 common to all very innocent hero-worshippers, of the cruelty 
 and forgetfulness of the world, in this respect, rather than 
 of his hero's own possible lack of business capacity. It is 
 with a generous triumph, however, that he approaches the 
 religious climax of Wotton's career, and deals with the sacred 
 calling in which Wotton chose to finish his failing days. Let 
 me not depreciate Walton's merits. His enthusiasm is very 
 sincere, and if it had had no more profitable fruit than his im- 
 mortal phrase of those infirmities that accompany age — they 
 were ' wont to visit him like civil friends, and, after some short 
 time, to leave him ' — it was not in vain. Yet it is worthy of 
 note that any references to Wotton's secular poems have but 
 the smallest place in Walton's life, and that, although these 
 unhappy lines are sedulously quoted : 
 
 O my unhappy lines ! you that before 
 Have served my youth to vent some wanton cries, 
 And now, congealed with grief, can scarce implore 
 Strength to accent, ' Here my Albertus lies ' : 
 
 no mention is made anywhere of such verses as ' On his Mis- 
 tress, the Queen of Bohemia,' despite the exquisite beauty of 
 its first stanza. For Izaak Walton wished us, first of all, to 
 understand that Wotton was a good man. The poet was
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xvii 
 
 thrown in afterwards for what he was worth. And the joy of 
 it all is that Walton succeeds to admiration in his endeavour. 
 
 In Mr. Richard Hooker, if not in Sir Henry Wotton — for 
 Hooker never wrote verses even to any Queen of Bohemia — 
 Walton found the complete realisation of his ideal. Here 
 was a man who grew up from the root of, not mere common 
 youthful goodness but, a goodness that was positively por- 
 tentous. He was born grave : ' his motion was slow even 
 in his youth, and so was his speech, never expressing an 
 earnestness in either of them, but a humble gravity suited to 
 the aged.' Here was the very man for Walton's peculiar 
 literary disposition. Here was the hero of no guile, whose 
 innocence was the primary and patent fact of his life, and who 
 combined with that innocence extraordinary mental powers 
 of logic and of stately and dignified expression. No need, in 
 this instance, to insinuate pleasing and gentle excuses for 
 conduct, tinged, perhaps, with a colour of worldliness ! Here 
 was a subject to revel in ; and Izaak Walton revels. 
 
 As I have said, it is this Life which appears to me the 
 finest of the series in point of mere literary style. Hooker 
 was a little remote from Walton's own generation ; and 
 Walton, who had therefore no opportunity of visiting his 
 faults with any certitude of knowledge, writes of him with 
 a more elaborate, a statelier sense of English than that which 
 he is used to employ in his arm-chair style when he converses 
 of acquaintances. This would, perhaps, not be very much of 
 an advantage if it did not at the same time reveal that Walton 
 had a statelier manner worth the trouble of cultivation. This 
 is more or less literature where the other was pure — Walton. 
 One does not rank it indeed with such contemporary work as 
 Religio Medici, Holt/ Dying, or Urn-Burial. Yet the little less 
 of literature which it contains is sufficiently delightful (represent- 
 ing Walton himself at his ease) to make the Life of Mr. Richard
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 Hooker as judicious a mixture as that judicious man could ever 
 himself have contrived to be. And, apart from the general 
 defect of possessing no vices, there can be no doubt that 
 Hooker was a man of rare qualities, and that Walton did well 
 to love him dearly. It is impossible, under Walton's guidance, 
 not to entertain some personal affection for this tenderly 
 solemn, wisely grave, meekly but keenly controversial man ; 
 as innocent as man well can be, and as industrious as very 
 few men ever become. He had somewhere hidden in his 
 nature a vein of that poignant feeling which gives the tone 
 to so much of the compassion of modern times. ' Our best 
 actions,' he sorrowfully writes, ' have somewhat in them to be 
 pardoned.' And it is this unsullied humility, this sincerity of 
 unworthiness — very different from the merely literary humilities 
 with which that age abounded, and which are conspicuous 
 in Walton's own work — that make one happy in his 
 company and attracted by his character. Here, as Walton 
 shows him to us, was a genuine man, but with perhaps an 
 extravagantly narrow outlook in life. It could not indeed be 
 otherwise. Hooker's every tendency was towards the formal- 
 ism of religion, although it is certain that he had profounder 
 religious sentiments, and lived rather according to the spirit 
 of his creed than according to any of those laws of ecclesiastical 
 polity, which were to him the life and breath of his secondary, 
 his academic, his literary existence. Yet indeed, poor man, his 
 natural life was something of a burthen to him ; and his long 
 suffering under petty domestic persecution deserves to rank 
 among the historic instances of sweetness and patience in great 
 men. Walton's recital of that suffering is among the most 
 charming passages he ever penned. It has a hidden humour, 
 indeed; but it paints with unerring strokes, and within the 
 compass of a very few words, more of Hooker's character than 
 one is able to derive from all those stately volumes, those
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xix 
 
 dignified periods, which make up his literary work. There is 
 a serenity, too, a shining peacefulness, brooding over the whole 
 biography which I am ready and anxious to consider part of 
 Hooker's own characteristic influence. And, as I have before 
 said, Walton reaches his highest literary accomplishment in his 
 account — his most pathetic account — of Hooker's death. I 
 confess that I can never read those few lines without some- 
 thing more than a mere literary emotion : ' More be would 
 have spoken, but his spirits failed him ; and after a short 
 conflict betwixt Nature and Death, a quiet sigh put a period to 
 his last breath, and so he fell asleep.' 
 
 The life of Mr. George Herbert once more afforded Walton a 
 fittingly virtuous theme for his virtuously inclined pen ; but to 
 me it rings a little hollow. The floods of praise poured upon the 
 head of that pious poet are not touched, or are but faintly touched, 
 by Walton's little-great personality. Such phrases, for example, 
 as ' thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels 
 and he and Mr. Ferrier now sing in heaven,' are wanton in their 
 deliberately hyperbolical allusion, and are in themselves a little 
 grotesque. I find too that the character of Herbert has less 
 vitality, less colour, less individuality, than any of the others dis- 
 cussed by Walton. It is profitably pleasant reading, and has 
 an abundance of its author's pleasing manners, his attrac- 
 tiveness, his persuasiveness. But it is Walton who makes 
 his own high standard in his other biographies. Nevertheless 
 a quiet touch, put in with apparent unconsciousness, about 
 Herbert's widow, is worth repeating, for its exquisite insinua- 
 tion. 'Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert Cook eight 
 years, and lived his widow about fifteen ; all which time she 
 took a pleasure in mentioning and commending the excellencies 
 of Mr. George Herbert.' One would not willingly lose that. 
 
 The Sanderson was written by Walton, as we have seen, 
 when he was in his eighty-fifth year ; and it is remarkable
 
 xx INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 to note how vigorous and enthusiastic his faculties and 
 powers remained even at that extraordinary age. There 
 is a sense, indeed, in which this Life may be regarded as 
 the most interesting of the series : inasmuch as, in it more 
 fully than in any other of his published writings, Walton 
 delivered himself of his views concerning the grave political 
 and social crisis which shook the Constitution to its foundations 
 during the intestine quarrels of the reign of Charles the First. 
 And a very curious picture it is which Walton effects for us. 
 It reminds me of some old Byzantine painting in which you 
 recognise, amid all the grotesqueness of its drawing, all the 
 absurdities of its perspective, some dim and assured truth from 
 the artist's point of view. The details of Walton's narrative, 
 the motives he assigns to his royal hero — 'the good King' — 
 and his conception of the true grievances of the Populace 
 against the Monarchy, are absurd, even to the verge of childish- 
 ness. Yet it is certain that to Walton, as to many another 
 simple-minded man of his time — possibly to Dr. Sanderson 
 himself — the whole agitation appeared in the light of a fanatical 
 effort on the part of evil-minded Covenanters to impose on a 
 nation by force that which they found so easy to believe for 
 their own part. The King himself, it is like enough, was 
 insincere too not to use every means in his power that this 
 point of view should be widely spread among such as had 
 no civil conception of a political grievance. He was, more- 
 over, in his own way, a man of convinced religious ideas. 
 Ceremonial was pleasant to him ; the elegance of ritual and 
 the ordered solemnity of the Rubric touched his imagination. 
 Casuistry, too, was a science in which he took a royally artistic 
 interest; so that, while languishing in prison, he even — with 
 assistance — undertook the translation 'into exact English' of 
 Sanderson's treatise De Juramento : a subject curiously inappro- 
 priate for the choice of such a prince in such a crisis. With
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xxi 
 
 these tastes and these sympathies, therefore, the King, one 
 must reasonably conclude, did manage to create a kind of 
 ecclesiastical tradition : that it was his to defend even unto the 
 peril and the act of death the cause of the Episcopal Church of 
 England. And so, indeed, it was ; but not essentially, not 
 solely. One can imagine a Great Rebellion, different of course 
 in the religious character of the rebels, without any necessity 
 for an episcopal cause at all ; and indeed, so far as that goes, 
 the King did abolish episcopacy in Scotland ; yet he sanctioned 
 the execution of Strafford. With all this, however, because the 
 officially religious sentiments of Charles were with episcopacy : 
 because the Cavalier cause was partly identified with the cause 
 of the English Church ; and because then, as in our own day, 
 men will sympathise with every detail of a great movement 
 for the reason that their own little interests are included as one 
 detail in such a movement : therefore it was that the King 
 appeared to the simple and single-minded Churchmen of his 
 own time as a Prophet raising the banner of the Lord's defence 
 and as a Martyr dying in the Lord's cause. That this was 
 certainly so Walton's life of Sanderson would prove : even if, 
 finding the necessity of reconciling all the wandering incidents 
 of this difficult period, one did not from other sources recognise 
 that this alone is the explanation of the more than fanatical 
 enthusiasm with which Churchmen were filled for the person of 
 Charles ; a fanaticism which added to the liturgy of the Church 
 the Form of Humiliation for the murder of King Charles the 
 Martyr, with other preposterous and wanton services. For my 
 own part, indeed, I hold the execution of the King in complete 
 abhorrence ; but that sentiment does not blind me to the 
 absurdity of ranking the unhappy culmination of a vehement 
 political contest with the persecutions of Diocletian or the 
 Acts of the Spanish Inquisition. Charles was, if you please, a 
 political martyr ; but that is not title enough to range him with
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 Polycarp and Felicitas. They died for the Church : he died for 
 his Monarchy, in which the Church was accidentally included. 
 
 This explanation may serve to mitigate the sense of painful 
 amusement with which one is inclined to read the opinions set 
 forth by Walton with fervour and enthusiasm in his Sanderson. 
 But to turn from his political point of view to his literary 
 achievement, I think it would not be easy, without previous 
 knowledge, to convict him of any of the failings of old age in 
 this, the latest of his lives. With that knowledge, indeed, one 
 may notice a certain increase in his naivete. That quality, although 
 it distinguishes all his work, is never marked so emphatically as 
 in his recital of Sanderson's death-bed. ' He was content,' 
 Walton writes, ' or forced, to keep his bed : in which I desire 
 he may rest, till I have given some account of his behaviour 
 there, and immediately before it : ' a sentence brimming over 
 with just such simple innocence as I should have expected to 
 find in the old age of such a man as Izaak Walton. Apart from 
 this quality, I have vainly endeavoured, even with the pre- 
 judices of knowledge, to discover any other traces of senility 
 in the Sanderso?i. Nay, the life itself is only another demon- 
 stration of what I would call Walton's dramatic sensitiveness. 
 Everybody knows how quickly a fine young mind, sensitive to 
 literature, is unconsciously affected by any great style which 
 crosses its path. Walton's sensitiveness was rather aroused by 
 character. Character affected his literary manner. As we have 
 seen, when he chose to write of Hooker, the stately, academic 
 divine, his manner took upon it quite a natural stateliness and 
 dignity; his life of Wotton, who was a personal friend, is 
 rather a good man's chapter of gossip ; while his Sanderson is 
 moist with such humility and meekness as distinguished this 
 genuinely meek Bishop. To read that Life is, without any 
 stretch of fancy, to see, as it were rising from Walton's pages, 
 this pale-faced, shy, morbidly sensitive man, with his ' matchless
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xxiii 
 
 memory ' and his resource of large and curious learning. This 
 is to s&y, in a sense, that Walton has produced a masterpiece 
 of its kiad ; for there is no more difficult task in all letters than 
 to convey a physical impression, a substantial picture, by a mere 
 assemblage of personal details. Walton has assuredly done this 
 in the instance before us, and his success, though I recognise 
 the finer style, the completer regularity of his Hooker and his 
 Herbert, inspires me with a more intimate affection for his 
 Sanderson. '• Thus,' he pathetically and solemnly concludes, 
 ' this pattern of meekness and primitive innocence changed 
 for a better life. 'Tis now too late to wish that my life may be 
 like his ; for I am in the eighty-fifth year of my age : but I 
 humbly beseech Almighty God, that my death may ; and do 
 as earnestly beg of every reader to say — Amen.' And though 
 two centuries have passed since that inevitable death touched 
 the old man's spirit, it is impossible to close the page upon 
 which he makes his entreaty without fulfilling the prayer which 
 he beseeches his readers to utter — a futile Amen. 
 
 To estimate Walton's character, it would be as useless as it 
 is in the case of most men necessary to relate him to the 
 period with which he was contemporary. He lived, indeed, 
 through the most exciting and mutable epoch of English 
 history, and he remained throughout a simple merchant, a 
 private gentleman. The stately language of the time touched 
 his style with something of Shakespearian fancy, something of 
 Clarendon's intricate dignity ; but the political restlessness of 
 the same span of time affected him not at all. Through the 
 evil days of the Rebellion it would have been no marvel if a 
 man had lost all trust in his fellow-men ; and Walton remained 
 the most trustful man that ever lived. Through the solemn 
 days of the Puritan influence it would not have been wonderful 
 if Walton had shared in the general gloom of behaviour
 
 xxiv INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 and of thought ; and there was no man more consistently 
 cheerful than he. Scarce a soul escaped the gay influence of 
 the Restoration ; but Walton, does one like it or like it not, 
 never even caught a savour of the spirit of that emancipated 
 time. He reminds me of the curiously apathetic yet very 
 full character distinguishing the many provincial men and 
 women who, though of sensitive disposition, have never been 
 drawn within the various influences of a London life. When you 
 discuss with such as these any general question of letters or art, 
 you find that, in the measure proper to their talents, they are 
 informed and skilful to judge. Touch upon any merely metro- 
 politan topic and their interest presently becomes as stony 
 as the Sphinx ; or if not, their information is so ludicrously 
 inaccurate, and their consequent judgment so childishly 
 helpless, that the sole refuge is silence. So with Walton. 
 Take him upon the question of some such philosophical con- 
 templation as the sentiment of the times indulged in, and 
 you will find him lively, agreeable, affecting; discuss the 
 countryside with him, the flushings of its grasses, the strange- 
 ness of its sunsets, the circlings of its gnats at twilight, and 
 you will catch him in a mood so delightful and observant that 
 he becomes the best companion conceivable. As to his favourite 
 angling, was there ever such a fisherman in the world ? In 
 religion, again, he is orthodox, solemn, and satisfactorily right- 
 eous. But take him by the hand for an introduction to the 
 civil movements of his time and you will presently dismiss him 
 with, not contempt (for his goodness saves him from scorn) 
 but, at any rate a perplexed smile and a distinct sentiment of 
 superiority. In a word, there seldom lived a man so keenly 
 affected by the various branches of knowledge in which he 
 naturally took an interest, or so complacently indifferent to 
 such events and theories as had no natural connexion with his
 
 WALTON'S LIVES xxv 
 
 characteristic leanings. In spite of the many quotations — some 
 of them admirably appropriate and in themselves beautiful — 
 which are scattered over the pages of his Compleat Angler, his 
 Life of Donne proves that his natural interest in poetry was 
 something of the slightest ; and as a critic of poetry he is 
 accordingly found to be exceedingly defective. His own life 
 demonstrates how remote was his anxiety about contemporary 
 politics ; and I have shown that his Life of Dr. Sanderson proves 
 that indifference to be only equalled by his ignorance. He 
 was naturally a man of order ; and it is obvious that he never 
 took the smallest trouble to examine the pretensions of the 
 Covenant, although his views upon that historical portent are 
 both prejudiced and strong. He cared most of all for goodness ; 
 and, because he was convinced that his friend Sir Henry 
 Wotton was an essentially good and virtuous man, he whistled 
 that excellent gentleman's business dilemmas down the wind 
 as the absurdest trifle. Thus, you may follow Walton's life from 
 its beginning, when Shakespeare was still in his prime, to its 
 end, when Sir Isaac Newton was scrutinising the secrets of the 
 Universe ; but in the course of your investigation you need 
 never fear to encounter with Shakespeare at the Globe, 
 or Spenser compassing the death of the Blatant Beast, or 
 Steenie cavaliering it with Baby Charles, or Wentworth bidding 
 Death to pause before his eloquence, or Cromwell greatly 
 advancing to supreme power, or the nation stricken after 
 Cromwell's death, or the splendid laxity of Charles the Second's 
 Court at Whitehall. There will be nothing save the clear airs 
 of Heaven and a gentle rural life, shining and sweet as the 
 Elysian choruses in Gluck's Orfeo, removed and separate as they 
 are from the troubled accents and gloomy passions of the Lost. 
 I have attempted, then, to introduce Walton to new and 
 old readers of his Lives, as he has recommended his own
 
 xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 character and qualities to an individual imagination. His 
 little shallop slips along no great contemporary river, but rather 
 down a silver little side-stream of its own. He will live, 
 
 And pray, and sing-, and tell old tales and laugh 
 At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news. 
 
 He dedicated his charming life to an innocence and a virtue 
 which were natural to himself, and which, therefore, most of all 
 he admired in others. He ever kept his youth fresh and new, 
 and he died, in extreme old age, a pious boy : one of the very 
 few of whom the epitaph might truly be graven, ' Puer Centum 
 Annorum.' 
 
 VERNON BLACKBURN.
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE AND REVEREND FATHER IN GOD, 
 
 GEORGE, 
 
 LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, 
 
 AND PRELATE OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 I did some years past, present you with a plain relation of the 
 Life of Mr. Richard Hooker, that humble man, to whose 
 memory, Princes and the most learned of this nation, have 
 paid a reverence at the mention of his name. And now, with 
 Mr. Hooker's, I present you also, the Life of that pattern of 
 primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert; and with his the Life 
 of Dr. Donne, and your friend Sir Henry Wotton, all re- 
 printed. The two first were written under your roof; for 
 which reason, if they were worth it, you might justly challenge 
 a Dedication. And indeed, so you might of Dr. Donne's, and 
 Sir Henry Wotton's : because, if I had been fit for this under- 
 taking, it would not have been by acquired learning or study, 
 but by the advantage of forty years' friendship, and thereby, 
 with hearing and discoursing with your Lordship, that hath 
 enabled me to make the relation of these lives passable — if 
 they prove so — in an eloquent and captious age. 
 
 And indeed, my Lord, though these relations be well-meant 
 sacrifices to the memory of these worthy men ; yet I have so 
 little confidence in my performance, that I beg pardon for
 
 xxviii WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 superscribing your name to them : and desire all that know 
 your Lordship, to apprehend this not as a Dedication, — at 
 least by which you receive any addition of honour ; — but rather 
 as an humble and more public acknowledgment, of your long- 
 continued, and your now daily favours to 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your most affectionate, 
 
 and most humble servant, 
 
 IZAAK WALTON.
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 Though the several Introductions to these several Lives have 
 partly declared the reasons how and why I undertook them, 
 yet since they are come to be reviewed, and augmented, and 
 reprinted, and the four are now become one book, I desire 
 leave to inform you that shall become my Reader that when I 
 sometimes look back upon my education and mean abilities, 
 it is not without some little wonder at myself, that I am come to 
 be publicly in print. And though I have in those Introductions 
 declared some of the accidental reasons that occasioned me to 
 be so, yet let me add this to what is there said, that by my 
 undertaking to collect some notes for Sir Henry Wotton's 
 writing the Life of Dr. Donne, and by Sir Henry Wotton's dying 
 before he performed it, I became like those men that enter 
 easily into a lawsuit or a quarrel, and having begun, cannot 
 make a fair retreat and be quiet, when they desire it. — 
 And really, after such a manner, I became engaged into a 
 necessity of writing the Life of Dr. Donne, contrary to my 
 first intentions ; and that begot a like necessity of writing the 
 Life of his and my ever-honoured friend, Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 And having writ these two Lives, I lay quiet twenty years, 
 without a thought of either troubling myself or others, by 
 any new engagement in this kind ; for I thought I knew my 
 unfitness. But, about that time, Dr. Gauden (then Lord 
 Bishop of Exeter) published the Life of Mr. Richard Hooker 
 (so he called it), with so many dangerous mistakes, both of 
 him and his books, that discoursing of them with his Grace 
 Gilbert, that now is Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, he en- 
 joined me to examine some circumstances, and then rectify 
 
 xxix
 
 xxx WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the Bishop's mistakes, by giving the world a fuller and truer 
 account of Mr. Hooker and his books than that Bishop had 
 done ; and I know I have done so. And let me tell the 
 reader, that till his Grace had laid this injunction upon me, 
 I could not admit a thought of any fitness in me to undertake 
 it; but when he twice had enjoined me to it, I then declined 
 my own, and trusted his judgment, and submitted to his 
 commands ; concluding, that if I did not, I could not forbear 
 accusing myself of disobedience, and indeed of ingratitude, 
 for his many favours. Thus I became engaged into the third 
 life. 
 
 For the life of that great example of holiness, Mr. George 
 Herbert, I profess it to be so far a free-will offering, that it was 
 writ chiefly to please myself, but yet not without some respect 
 to posterity : For though he was not a man that the next age 
 can forget, yet many of his particular acts and virtues might 
 have been neglected, or lost, if I had not collected and pre- 
 sented them to the imitation of those that shall succeed us : 
 For I humbly conceive writing to be both a safer and truer pre- 
 server of men's virtuous actions than tradition ; especially as it 
 is managed in this age. And I am also to tell the Reader, that 
 though this Life of Mr. Herbert was not by me writ in haste, 
 yet I intended it a review before it should be made public ; but 
 that was not allowed me, by reason of my absence from London 
 when it was printing ; so that the Reader may find in it some 
 mistakes, some double expressions, and some not very proper, 
 and some that might have been contracted, and some faults that 
 are not justly chargeable upon me, but the printer; and yet I 
 hope none so great, as may not, by this confession, purchase 
 pardon from a good-natured Reader. 
 
 And now I wish, that as that learned Jew, Josephus, and 
 others, so these men had also writ their own lives ; but since it 
 is not the fashion of these times, I wish their relations or friends 
 would do it for them, before delays make it too difficult. And 
 I desire this the more, because it is an honour due to the dead, 
 and a generous debt due to those that shall live and succeed us, 
 and would to them prove both a content and satisfaction. For
 
 TO THE READER xxxi 
 
 when the next age shall (as this does) admire the learning and 
 clear reason which that excellent casuist Dr. Sanderson (the late 
 Bishop of Lincoln) hath demonstrated in his sermons and other 
 writings; who, if they love virtue, would not rejoice to know, 
 that this good man was as remarkable for the meekness and 
 innocence of his life, as for his great and useful learning ; and 
 indeed as remarkable for his fortitude in his long and patient 
 suffering (under them that then called themselves the godly 
 party) for that doctrine which he had preached and printed in 
 the happy days of the nation's and the Church's peace? And 
 who would not be content to have the like account of Dr. 
 Field, that great schoolman, and others of noted learning ? 
 And though I cannot hope that my example or reason can 
 persuade to this undertaking, yet I please myself, that I shall 
 conclude mv preface with wishing that it were so. 
 
 I. W.
 
 LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 If that great master of language and art, Sir Henry Wotton, 
 the late provost of Eton College, had lived to see the publication 
 of these sermons, he had presented the world with the author's 
 life exactly written ; and 'twas pity he did not, for it was a 
 work worthy his undertaking, and he fit to undertake it : 
 betwixt whom and the author there was so mutual a knowledge, 
 and such a friendship contracted in their youth, as nothing but 
 death could force a separation. And, though their bodies were 
 divided, their affections were not; for that learned knight's 
 love followed his friend's fame beyond death and the forgetful 
 grave ; which he testified by entreating me, whom he acquainted 
 with his design, to inquire of some particulars that concerned 
 it, not doubting but my knowledge of the author, and love 
 to his memory, might make my diligence useful : I did most 
 gladly undertake the employment, and continued it with great 
 content, till I had made my collection ready to be augmented 
 and completed by his matchless pen : but then death prevented 
 his intentions. 
 
 When I heard that sad news, and heard also that these 
 sermons were to be printed, and want the author's life, which 
 I thought to be very remarkable ; indignation or grief — indeed 
 I know not which — transported me so far, that I reviewed my 
 forsaken collections, and resolved the world should see the 
 best plain picture of the author's life, that my artless pencil, 
 guided by the hand of truth, could present to it. 
 
 And if I shall now be demanded, as once Pompey's poor 
 bondman was, 'the grateful wretch had been left alone on 
 
 A
 
 2 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the sea-shore with the forsaken dead body of his once glorious 
 lord and master ; and was then gathering the scattered pieces 
 of an old broken boat to make a funeral pile to burn it ; which 
 was the custom of the Romans — Who art thou, that alone 
 hast the honour to bury the body of Pompey the Great ? ' so, 
 who am I, that do thus officiously set the author's memory on 
 fire ? I hope the question will prove to have in it more of 
 wonder than disdain ; but wonder indeed the reader may, 
 that I, who profess myself artless, should presume with my 
 faint light to show forth his life, whose very name makes it 
 illustrious ! But, be this to the disadvantage of the person 
 represented : certain I am, it is to the advantage of the 
 beholder, who shall here see the author's picture in a natural 
 dress, which ought to beget faith in what is spoken : for he 
 that wants skill to deceive, may safely be trusted. 
 
 And if the author's glorious spirit, which now is in heaven, 
 can have the leisure to look down and see me, the poorest, the 
 meanest of all his friends, in the midst of his officious duty, 
 confident I am, that he will not disdain this well-meant sacrifice 
 to his memory : for, Avhilst his conversation made me and many 
 others happy below, I know his humility and gentleness were 
 then eminent ; and, I have heard divines say, those virtues 
 that were but sparks upon earth, become great and glorious 
 flames in heaven. 
 
 Before I proceed further, I am to entreat the reader to take 
 notice, that when Dr. Donne's sermons were first printed, this 
 was then my excuse for daring to write his life ; and I dare 
 not now appear without it. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 Master John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573, 
 of good and virtuous parents : and, though his own learning 
 and other multiplied merits may justly appear sufficient to 
 dignify both himself and his posterity ; yet the reader may be
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 3 
 
 pleased to know, that his father was masculinely and lineally 
 descended from a very ancient family in Wales, where many of 
 his name now live, that deserve, and have great reputation in 
 that country. 
 
 By his mother he was descended of the family of the famous 
 and learned Sir Thomas More, sometime Lord Chancellor of 
 England : as also, from that worthy and laborious judge Rastall, 
 who left posterity the vast statutes of the law of this nation 
 most exactly abridged. 
 
 He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a 
 private tutor had the care of him, until the tenth year of his 
 age ; and, in his eleventh year, was sent to the University of 
 Oxford ; having at that time a good command both of the 
 French and Latin tongue. This, and some other of his remark- 
 able abilities, made one then give this censure of him ; That 
 this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandola ; of whom 
 story says, that he was rather born, than made wise by 
 study. 
 
 There he remained for some yeai's in Hart Hall, having, for 
 the advancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to 
 attend and instruct him, till time made him capable, and his 
 learning expressed in public exercises declared him worthy, to 
 receive his first degree in the schools, which he forbore by 
 advice from his friends, who, being for their religion of the 
 Romish persuasion, were conscionably averse to some parts of 
 the oath that is always tendered at those times, and not 
 to be refused by those that expect the titularly honour of 
 their studies. 
 
 About the fourteenth year of his age, he was transplanted 
 from Oxford to Cambridge ; where, that he might receive 
 nourishment from both soils, he stayed till his seventeenth 
 year; all which time he was a most laborious student, often 
 changing his studies, but endeavouring to take no degree, for 
 the reasons formerly mentioned. 
 
 About the seventeenth year of his age he was removed to 
 London, and then admitted into Lincoln's Inn, with an intent 
 to study the law ; where he gave great testimonies of his wit,
 
 4 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 his learning, and of his improvement in that profession ; which 
 never served him for other use than an ornament and self- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 His father died before his admission into this society ; and, 
 being a merchant, left him his portion in money. (It was 
 £3000.) His mother, and those to whose care he was com- 
 mitted, were watchful to improve his knowledge, and to that 
 end appointed him tutors both in the mathematics, and in all 
 the other liberal sciences, to attend him. But with these arts, 
 they were advised to instil into him particular principles of 
 the Romish Church ; of which those tutors professed, though 
 secretly, themselves to be members. 
 
 They had almost obliged him to their faith ; having for 
 their advantage, besides many opportunities, the example of 
 his dear and pious parents, which was a most powerful per- 
 suasion, and did work much upon him, as he professeth in his 
 preface to his Pseudo-Martyr, a book of which the reader 
 shall have some account in what follows. 
 
 He was now entered into the eighteenth year of his age ; 
 and at that time had betrothed himself to no religion, that 
 might give him any other denomination than a Christian. 
 And reason and piety had both persuaded him, that there 
 could be no such sin as schism, if an adherence to some visible 
 church were not necessary. 
 
 About the nineteenth year of his age, he, being then un- 
 resolved what religion to adhere to, and considering how much 
 it concerned his soul to choose the most orthodox, did therefore, 
 — though his youth and health promised him a long life — to 
 rectify all scruples that might concern that, presently lay aside 
 all study of the law, and of all other sciences that might give 
 him a denomination ; and began seriously to survey and 
 consider the body of divinity, as it was then controverted 
 betwixt the reformed and the Roman Church. And as God's 
 blessed Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that 
 industry did never forsake him, — they be his own words, — so he 
 calls the same Holy Spirit to witness this protestation ; that in 
 that disquisition and search he proceeded with humility and
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 5 
 
 diffidence in himself, and by that which he took to be the 
 safest way ; namely, frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection 
 to both parties ; and indeed, truth had too much light about 
 her to be hid from so sharp an inquirer ; and he had too much 
 ingenuity not to acknowledge he had found her. 
 
 Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal 
 Bellarmine to be the best defender of the Roman cause, and 
 therefore betook himself to the examination of his reasons. 
 The cause was weighty, and wilful delays had been inexcusable 
 both towards God and his own conscience : he therefore 
 proceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and about 
 the twentieth year of his age did show the then Dean of 
 Gloucester — whose name my memory hath now lost — all the 
 Cardinal's works marked with many weighty observations under 
 his own hand ; which works were bequeathed by him, at his 
 death, as a legacy to a most dear friend. 
 
 About a year following he resolved to travel ; and the Earl of 
 Essex going first to Cales [Cadiz], and after the island voyages, 
 the first anno 1596, the second 1597, he took the advantage of 
 those opportunities, waited upon his lordship, and was an 
 eye-witness of those happy and unhappy employments. 
 
 But he returned not back into England, till he had stayed 
 some years, first in Italy, and then in Spain, where he made 
 many useful observations of those countries, their laws and 
 manner of government, and returned perfect in their languages. 
 
 The time that he spent in Spain was, at his first going into 
 Italy, designed for travelling to the Holy Land, and for viewing 
 Jerusalem and the sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being 
 in the furthest parts of Italy, the disappointment of company, 
 or of a safe convoy, or the uncertainty of returns of money into 
 those remote parts, denied him that happiness, which he did 
 often occasionally mention with a deploration. 
 
 Not long after his return into England, that exemplary 
 pattern of gravity and wisdom, the Lord Ellesmere, then 
 Keeper of the Great Seal, the Lord Chancellor of England, 
 taking notice of his learning, languages, and other abilities, and 
 much affecting his person and behaviour, took him to be his
 
 6 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 chief secretary ; supposing and intending it to be an introduction 
 to some more weighty employment in the State ; for which, his 
 Lordship did often protest, he thought him very fit. 
 
 Nor did his Lordship in this time of Master Donne's 
 attendance upon him, account him to be so much his servant, 
 as to forget he was his friend ; and, to testify it, did always 
 use him with much courtesy, appointing him a place at his 
 own table, to which he esteemed his company and discourse 
 to be a great ornament. 
 
 He continued that employment for the space of five years, 
 being daily useful, and not mercenary to his friend. During 
 which time, he, — I dare not say unhappily — fell into such a 
 liking, as, — with her approbation, — increased into a love, 
 with a young gentlewoman that lived in that family, who was 
 niece to the Lady Ellesmere, and daughter to Sir George More, 
 then Chancellor of the Garter and Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 Sir George had some intimation of it, and, knowing pre- 
 vention to be a great part of wisdom, did therefore remove 
 her with much haste, from that to his own house at Lothesley, 
 in the County of Surrey ; but too late, by reason of some 
 faithful promises which were so interchangeably passed, as 
 never to be violated by either party. 
 
 These promises were only known to themselves ; and the 
 friends of both parties used much diligence, and many 
 arguments, to kill or cool their affections to each other : but in 
 vain ; for love is a flattering mischief, that hath denied aged 
 and wise men a foresight of those evils that too often pi'ove to 
 be the children of that blind father; a passion, that carries us 
 to commit errors with as much ease as whirlwinds move feathers, 
 and begets in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of 
 what we desire. And such an industry did, notwithstanding 
 much watchfulness against it, bring them secretly together, — 
 I forbear to tell the manner how — and at last to a marriage 
 too, without the allowance of those friends, whose approbation 
 always was, and ever will be necessary, to make even a virtuous 
 love become lawful. 
 
 And, that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall,
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 7 
 
 like an unexpected tempest, on those that wei-e unwilling to 
 have it so ; and that pre-apprehensions might make it the less 
 enormous when it was known, it was purposely whispered into 
 the ears of many that it was so, yet hy none that could affirm 
 it. But, to put a period to the jealousies of Sir George, — 
 doubt often begetting more restless thoughts than the certain 
 knowledge of what we fear — the news was, in favour to Mr. 
 Donne, and with his allowance, made known to Sir George, by 
 his honourable friend and neighbour Henry, Earl of North- 
 umberland; but it was to Sir George so immeasurably 
 unwelcome, and so transported him, that, as though his passion 
 of anger and inconsideration might exceed theirs of love and 
 error, he presently engaged his sister, the Lady Ellesmere, 
 to join with him to procure her lord to discharge Mr. Donne 
 of the place he held under his Lordship. This request was 
 followed with violence ; and though Sir George was remembered, 
 that errors might be over punished, and desired therefore to 
 forbear, till second considerations might clear some scruples ; 
 yet he became restless until his suit was granted, and the 
 punishment executed. And though the Lord Chancellor did 
 not, at Mr. Donne's dismission, give him such a commendation 
 as the great Emperor Charles the Fifth did of his Secretary 
 Eraso, when he parted with him to his son and successor, 
 Philip the Second, saying, ' That in his Eraso, he gave to him 
 a greater gift than all his estate, and all the kingdoms which 
 he then resigned to him : ' yet the Lord Chancellor said, ' He 
 parted with a friend, and such a secretary as Avas fitter to 
 serve a king than a subject.' 
 
 Immediately after his dismission from his service, he sent a 
 sad letter to his wife, to acquaint her with it : and after the 
 subscription of his name, writ, 
 
 John Donne, Anne Donne, Un-donc ; 
 
 And God knows it proved too true ; for this bitter physic of 
 Mr. Donne's dismission was not enough to purge out all Sir 
 George's choler ; for he was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and 
 his sometime com-pupil in Cambridge, that married him,
 
 8 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 namely, Samuel Brooke, who was after Doctor in Divinity, and 
 Master of Trinity College — and his brother Mr. Christopher 
 Brooke, sometime Mr. Donne's chamber-fellow in Lincoln's 
 Inn, who gave Mr. Donne his wife, and witnessed the marriage, 
 were all committed to three several prisons. 
 
 Mr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his 
 body or bi - ain, nor to any friend in whom he might hope to 
 have an interest, until he had procured an enlargement for his 
 two imprisoned friends. 
 
 He was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy : and 
 being past these troubles, others did still multiply upon him ; 
 for his wife was — to her extreme sorrow — detained from him ; 
 and though with Jacob he endured not a hard service for her, 
 yet he lost a good one, and was forced to make good his title, 
 and to get possession of her by a long and restless suit in law ; 
 which proved troublesome and sadly chargeable to him, whose 
 youth, and travel, and needless bounty, had brought his estate 
 into a narrow compass. 
 
 It is observed, and most truly, that silence and submission 
 are charming qualities, and work most upon passionate men ; 
 and it proved so with Sir George ; for these, and a general 
 report of Mr. Donne's merits, together with his winning 
 behaviour, — which, when it would entice, had a strange kind 
 of elegant irresistible art; — these, and time had so dis- 
 passionated Sir George, that as the world had approved his 
 daughter's choice, so he also could not but see a more than 
 ordinary merit in his new son ; and this at last melted him into 
 so much remorse, — for love and anger are so like agues, as to 
 have hot and cold fits ; and love in parents, though it may be 
 quenched, yet is easily re-kindled, and expires not till death 
 denies mankind a natural heat, — that he laboured his son's 
 restoration to his place ; using to that end, both his own and 
 his sister's power to her lord ; but with no success ; for his 
 answer was, ' That though he was unfeignedly sorry for what 
 he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his place and credit, 
 to discharge and re-admit servants at the request of passionate 
 petitioners.'
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 9 
 
 Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's re-admission was by 
 all means to be kept secret : — for men do more naturally reluct 
 for errors, than submit to put on those blemishes that attend 
 their visible acknowledgment. — But, however, it was not long 
 before Sir George appeared to be so far reconciled, as to wish 
 their happiness, and not to deny them his paternal blessing, 
 but yet refused to contribute any means that might conduce to 
 their livelihood. 
 
 Mr. Donne's estate was the greatest part spent in many and 
 chargeable travels, books, and dear-bought experience : he out 
 of all employment that might yield a support for himself and 
 wife, who had been curiously and plentifully educated ; both 
 their natures generous, and accustomed to confer, and not to 
 receive, courtesies : these and other considerations, but chiefly 
 that his wife was to bear a part in his sufferings, surrounded 
 him with many sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions 
 of want. 
 
 But his sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented, by 
 the seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis 
 Wolly, of Pirford in Surrey, who entreated them to a 
 cohabitation with him ; where they remained with much 
 freedom to themselves, and equal content to him, for some 
 years ; and as their charge increased — she had yearly a child, 
 — so did his love and bounty. 
 
 It hath been observed by wise and considering men, that 
 wealth hath seldom been the portion, and never the mark to 
 discover good people ; but that Almighty God, who disposeth 
 all things wisely, hath of his abundant goodness denied it — 
 he only knows why — to many, whose minds he hath enriched 
 with the greater blessings of knowledge and virtue, as the 
 fairer testimonies of his love to mankind : and this was the 
 present condition of this man of so excellent erudition and 
 endowments; whose necessary and daily expenses were hardly 
 reconcilable with his uncertain and narrow estate. Which 
 I mention, for that at this time, there was a most generous 
 offer made him for the moderating of his worldly cares ; the 
 declaration of which shall be the next employment of my pen.
 
 10 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 God hath been so good to his church, as to afford it in 
 every age, some such men to serve at his altar, as have been 
 piously ambitious of doing good to mankind ; a disposition, 
 that is so like to God himself, that it owes itself only to Him, 
 who takes a pleasure to behold it in his creatures. These 
 times he did bless with many such ; some of which still live 
 to be patterns of apostolical charity, and of more than human 
 patience. I have said this, because I have occasion to mention 
 one of them in my following discourse; namely, Dr. Morton, 
 the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham ; one that 
 God hath blessed with perfect intellectuals and a cheerful 
 heart at the age of 94 years — and is yet living : — one, that 
 in his days of plenty had so large a heart, as to use his large 
 revenue to the encouragement of learning and virtue, and is 
 now — be it spoken with sorrow — reduced to a narrow estate, 
 which he embraces without repining ; and still shows the 
 beauty of his mind by so liberal a hand, as if this were an 
 age in which to-morrow were to care for itself. I have taken 
 a pleasure in giving the reader a short, but true character of 
 this good man, my friend, from whom I received this follow- 
 ing relation. — He sent to Mr. Donne, and entreated to borrow 
 an hour of his time for a conference the next day. After 
 their meeting, there was not many minutes passed before he 
 spake to Mr. Donne to this purpose : ' Mr. Donne, the occasion 
 of sending for you, is to propose to you what I have often 
 revolved in my own thought since I last saw you : which, 
 nevertheless, I will not declare but upon this condition, that 
 you shall not return me a present answer, but forbear three 
 days, and bestow some part of that time in fasting and prayer ; 
 and after a serious consideration of what I shall propose, then 
 return to me with your answer. Deny me not, Mr. Donne ; 
 for, it is the effect of a true love, which I would gladly pay 
 as a debt due for yours to me.' 
 
 This request being granted, the Doctor expressed himself 
 thus : — 
 
 ' Mr. Donne, I know your education and abilities ; I know 
 your expectation of a state-employment ; and I know your
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 11 
 
 fitness for it ; and I know too the many delays and contin- 
 gencies that attend court-promises : and let me tell you, that 
 my love, begot by our long friendship and your merits, hath 
 prompted me to such an inquisition after your present temporal 
 estate, as makes me no stranger to your necessities ; which I 
 know to be such as your generous spirit could not bear, if it 
 were not supported with a pious patience. You know I have 
 formerly persuaded you to waive your court-hopes, and enter 
 into holy orders ; which I now again persuade you to embrace, 
 with this reason added to my former request : The King hath 
 yesterday made me Dean of Gloucester, and I am also pos- 
 sessed of a benefice, the profits of which are equal to those 
 of my deanery ; I will think my deanery enough for my main- 
 tenance, — who am, and resolved to die, a single man — and 
 will quit my benefice, and estate you in it, — which the patron 
 is willing I shall do — if God shall incline your heart to embrace 
 this motion. Remember, Mr. Donne, no man's education or 
 parts make him too good for this employment, which is to be 
 an ambassador for the God of glory ; that God, who by a vile 
 death opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no 
 present answer; but remember your promise, and return to 
 me the third day with your resolution.' 
 
 At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne's faint breath and per- 
 plexed countenance, give a visible testimony of an inward 
 conflict : but he performed his promise, and departed without 
 returning an answer till the third day, and then his answer 
 was to this effect : — 
 
 ' My most worthy and most dear friend, since I saw you, 
 I have been faithful to my promise, and have also meditated 
 much of your great kindness, which hath been such as would 
 exceed even my gratitude ; but that it cannot do ; and more 
 I cannot return you ; and I do that with an heart full of 
 humility and thanks, though I may not accept of your offer : 
 but, sir, my refusal is not for that. I think myself too good 
 for that calling, for which kings, if they think so, are not 
 good enough : nor for that my education and learning, though 
 not eminent, may not, being assisted with God's grace and
 
 12 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 humility, render me in some measure fit for it : but I dare 
 make so dear a friend as you are, my confessor. Some irregu- 
 larities of my life have been so visible to some men, that 
 though I have, I thank God, made my peace with Him by 
 penitential resolutions against them, and by the assistance of 
 His grace banished them my affections ; yet this, which God 
 knows to be so, is not so visible to man, as to free me from 
 their censures, and it may be that sacred calling from a dis- 
 honour. And besides, whereas it is determined by the best 
 of casuists, that God's glory should be the first end, and a 
 maintenance the second motive to embrace that calling ; and 
 though each man may propose to himself both together, yet 
 the first may not be put. last without a violation of conscience, 
 which he that searches the heart will judge. And truly my 
 present condition is such, that if I ask my own conscience, 
 whether it be reconcilable to that rule, it is at this time so 
 perplexed about it, that I can neither give myself nor you an 
 answer. You know, sir, who says, " Happy is that man whose 
 conscience doth not accuse him for that thing which he does." 
 To these I might add other reasons that dissuade me ; but I 
 crave your favour that I may forbear to express them, and 
 thankfully decline your offer.' 
 
 This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is 
 not in his own keeping ; and he was destined to this sacred 
 service by an higher hand ; a hand so powerful, as at last 
 forced hirn to a compliance : of which I shall give the reader 
 an account, before I shall give a rest to my pen. 
 
 Mr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly 
 till his death : a little before which time, Sir Francis was so 
 happy as to make a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir George 
 and his forsaken son and daughter ; Sir George conditioning 
 by bond, to pay to Mr. Donne .£800 at a certain day, as a 
 portion with his wife, or £20 quarterly for their maintenance, 
 as the interest for it, till the said portion was paid. 
 
 Most of those years that he lived with Sir Francis, he studied 
 the Civil and Canon Laws ; in which he acquired such a per-
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 13 
 
 fection, as was judged to hold proportion with many who had 
 made that study the employment of their whole life. 
 
 Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, 
 Mr. Donne took for himself a house in Miteham, — near 
 to Croydon in Surrey — a place noted for good air and choice 
 company : there his wife and children remained ; and for 
 himself he took lodgings in London, near to Whitehall, 
 whither his friends and occasions drew him very often, and 
 where he was as often visited, by many of the nobility and 
 others of this nation, who used him in their counsels of 
 greatest consideration, and with some rewards for his better 
 subsistence. 
 
 Nor did our own nobility only value and favour him, but 
 his acquaintance and friendship was sought for by most 
 ambassadors of foreign nations, and by many other strangers, 
 whose learning or business occasioned their stay in this 
 nation. 
 
 He was much importuned by many friends to make his 
 constant residence in London ; but he still denied it, having 
 settled his dear wife and children at Mitcham, and near some 
 friends that were bountiful to them and him ; for they, God 
 knows, needed it: and that you may the better now judge 
 of the then present condition of his mind and fortune, I shall 
 present you with an extract collected out of some few of his 
 many letters. 
 
 '. . . And the reason why I did not send an answer to 
 your last week's letter, was, because it then found me under 
 too great a sadness ; and at present 'tis thus with me : There 
 is not one person, but myself, well of my family : I have 
 already lost half a child, and, with that mischance of hers, 
 my wife has fallen into such a discomposure, as would afflict 
 her too extremely, but that the sickness of all her other chil- 
 dren stupifies her : of one of which, in good faith, I have not 
 much hope : and these meet with a fortune so ill-provided 
 for physic, and such relief, that if God should ease us with 
 burials, I know not how to perform even that : but I flatter
 
 14 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 myself with this hope, that I am dying too; for I cannot 
 
 waste faster than by such griefs. As for, 
 
 From my Hospital at Mitcham, 
 Aug. 10. John Donne.' 
 
 Thus he did bemoan himself: and thus in other letters. 
 
 ' . . . For, we hardly discover a sin, when it is but an 
 omission of some good, and no accusing act : with this or the 
 former, I have often suspected myself to be overtaken ; which 
 is, with an over-earnest desire of the next life : and, though I 
 know it is not merely a weariness of this, because I had the 
 same desire when I went with the tide, and enjoyed fairer 
 hopes than I now do ; yet I doubt worldly troubles have in- 
 creased it : 'tis now spring, and all the pleasures of it dis- 
 please me : every other tree blossoms, and I wither : I grow 
 older, and not better ; my strength diminisheth, and my load 
 grows heavier; and yet I would fain be or do something; 
 but that I cannot tell what, is no wonder in this time of my 
 sadness ; for to choose is to do ; but to be no part of any body, 
 is as to be nothing : and so I am, and shall so judge myself, 
 unless I could be so incorporated into a part of the world, as 
 by business to contribute some sustentation to the whole. This 
 I made account ; I began early, when I understood the study 
 of our laws ; but was diverted by leaving that, and embracing 
 the worst voluptuousness, an hydroptic immoderate desire 
 of human learning and languages : beautiful ornaments in- 
 deed to men of great fortunes, but mine was grown so low as 
 to need an occupation ; which I thought I entered well into, 
 when I subjected myself to such a service as I thought might 
 exercise my poor abilities : and there I stumbled, and fell too ; 
 and now I am become so little, or such a nothing, that I am 
 not a subject good enough for one of my own letters. — Sir, I 
 fear my present discontent does not proceed from a good root, 
 that I am so well content to be nothing, that is, dead. But, 
 sir, though my fortune hath made me such, as that I am 
 rather a sickness or a disease of the world, than any part of 
 it, and therefore neither love it, nor life ; yet I would gladly
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 15 
 
 live to become some such thing as you should not repent loving 
 me : Sir, your own soul cannot be more zealous for your good, 
 than I am; and God, who loves that zeal in me, will not 
 suffer you to doubt it : You would pity me now, if you saw me 
 write, for my pain hath drawn my head so much awry, and 
 holds it so, that my eye cannot follow my pen. I therefore 
 receive you into my prayers with mine own weary soul, and 
 commend myself to yours. I doubt not but next week will 
 bring you good news, for I have either mending or dying on 
 my side : but, if I do continue longer thus, I shall have com- 
 fort in this, that my blessed Saviour in exercising his justice 
 upon my two worldly parts, my fortune and my body, reserves 
 all his mercy for that which most needs it, my soul ! which is, 
 I doubt, too like a porter, that is very often near the gate, and 
 yet goes not out. Sir, I profess to you truly, that my loath- 
 ness to give over writing now, seems to myself a sign that I 
 shall write no more. 
 
 Your poor friend, and 
 
 God's poor patient, 
 Sept. 7. John Donne.' 
 
 By this you have seen a part of the picture of his narrow 
 fortune, and the perplexities of his generous mind ; and thus it 
 continued with him for about two years, all which time his 
 family remained constantly at Mitcham ; and to which place he 
 often retired himself, and destined some days to a constant 
 study of some points of controversy betwixt the English and 
 Roman Church, and especially those of Supremacy and 
 Allegiance : and to that place and such studies, he could willingly 
 have wedded himself during his life : but the earnest persuasion 
 of friends became at last to be so powerful, as to cause the 
 removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert 
 Drewiy, a gentleman of a very noble estate, and a more liberal 
 mind assigned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own 
 large house in Drury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also 
 a cherisher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathised 
 with him and his, in all their joy and sorrows.
 
 16 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 At this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir 
 Robert's house, the Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon 
 a glorious embassy to the then French king. Henry the Fourth; 
 and Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to accompany him to 
 the French court, and to be present at his audience there. 
 And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to solicit Mr. 
 Donne to be his companion in that journey. And this desire 
 was suddenly made known to his wife, who was then with child, 
 and otherwise under so dangerous a habit of body, as to her 
 health, that she professed an unwillingness to allow him any 
 absence from her; saying, 'Her divining soul boded her some 
 ill in his absence ;' and therefore desired him not to leave her. 
 This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the journey, 
 and really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became rest- 
 less in his persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as 
 to think he had sold his liberty, when he received so many 
 charitable kindnesses from him ; and told his wife so; who did 
 therefore, with an unwilling-willingness, give a faint consent to 
 the journey, which was proposed to be but for two months; for 
 about that time they determined their return. Within a few 
 days after this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir Robert, and Mr. 
 Donne, left London ; and were the twelfth day got all safe to 
 Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was left 
 alone in that room, in which Sir Robert, and he, and some 
 other friends had dined together. To this place Sir Robert 
 returned within half an hour ; and as he left, so he found, Mr. 
 Donne alone ; but in such an ecstasy, and so altered as to his 
 looks, as amazed Sir Robert to behold him ; insomuch that he 
 earnestly desired Mr. Donne to declare what had befallen him 
 in the short time of his absence. To which Mr. Donne was not 
 able to make a present answer : but, after a long and perplexed 
 pause, did at last say, ' I have seen a dreadful vision since I saw 
 you : I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this 
 room, with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead 
 child in her arms : this I have seen since I saw you.' To which 
 Sir Robert replied, ' Sure, sir, you have slept since I saw you ; 
 and this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I desire
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 17 
 
 you to forget, for you are now awake.' To which Mr. Donne's 
 reply was : ' I cannot be surer that I now live, than that I have 
 not slept since I saw you : and am as sure, that at her second 
 appearing, she stopped, and looked me in the face, and 
 vanished.' — Rest and sleep had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion 
 the next day : for he then affirmed this vision with a more 
 deliberate, and so confirmed a confidence, that he inclined Sir 
 Robert to a faint belief that the vision was true. — It is truly 
 said, that desire and doubt have no rest ; and it proved so with 
 Sir Robert ; for he immediately sent a servant to Drewry- 
 House, with a charge to hasten back, and bring him word, 
 whether Mrs. Donne were alive ; and, if alive, in what con- 
 dition she was as to her health. The twelfth day the messenger 
 returned with this account — That he found and left Mrs. Donne 
 veiy sad, and sick in her bed ; and that, after a long and dan- 
 gerous labour, she had been delivered of a dead child. And, 
 upon examination, the abortion proved to be the same day, and 
 about the very hour, that Mr. Donne affirmed he saw her pass 
 by him in his chamber. 
 
 This is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well 
 may ; for most of our world are at present possessed with an 
 opinion, that visions and miracles are ceased. And, though it 
 is most certain, that two lutes being both strung and tuned to 
 an equal pitch, and then one played upon, the other, that is 
 not touched, being laid upon a table at a fit distance, will — like 
 an echo to a trumpet — warble a faint audible harmony in 
 answer to the same tune ; yet many will not believe there is 
 any such thing as a sympathy of souls ; and I am well pleased, 
 that every reader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the un- 
 believing will not allow the believing reader of this story a 
 liberty to believe that it may be true, then I wish him to con- 
 sider, many wise men have believed that the ghost of Julius 
 Caesar did appear to Brutus, and that both St. Austin and 
 Monica his mother had visions in order to his conversion. And 
 though these, and many others — too many to name — have but 
 the authority of human story, yet the incredible reader may 
 find in the sacred story, that Samuel did appear to Saul 
 
 B
 
 18 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 even after his death — whether really or not, I undertake not to 
 determine. — And Bildad, in the Book of Job, says these words : 
 ' A spirit passed before my face ; the hair of my head stood up ; 
 fear and trembling came upon me, and made all my bones to 
 shake/ Upon which words I will make no comment, but leave 
 them to be considered by the incredulous reader; to whom I 
 will also commend this following consideration : That there be 
 many pious and learned men, that believe our merciful God 
 hath assigned to every man a particular guardian angel, to be 
 his constant monitor; and to attend him in all his dangers, both 
 of body and soul. And the opinion that every man hath his 
 particular Angel, may gain some authority, by the relation of 
 St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison, not by many, 
 but by one angel. And this belief may yet gain more credit, 
 by the reader's considering, that when Peter after his enlarge- 
 ment knocked at the door of Mary the mother of John, and 
 Rhode, the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter 
 was there, did not let him in, but ran in haste, and told the 
 disciples — who were then and there met together — that Peter 
 was at the door; and they, not believing it, said she was mad : 
 yet, when she again affirmed it, though they then believed it 
 not, yet they concluded, and said, 'It is his angel.' 
 
 More observations of this nature, and inferences from them, 
 might be made to gain the relation a firmer belief: but I for- 
 bear, lest I, that intended to be but a relator, may be thought 
 to be an engaged person for the proving what was related to 
 me ; and yet I think myself bound to declare, that though it 
 was not told me by Mr. Donne himself, it was told me — now 
 long since — by a person of honour, and of such intimacy with 
 him, that he knew more of the secrets of his soul, than any 
 person then living : and I think he told me the truth ; for it 
 was told with such circumstances, and such asseveration, that 
 — to say nothing of my own thoughts — I verily believe he that 
 told it me did himself believe it to be true. 
 
 I forbear the reader's further trouble, as to the relation, and 
 what concerns it ; and will conclude mine, with commending 
 to his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 19 
 
 the time he then parted from her. And I beg leave to tell, 
 that I have heard some critics, learned both in languages and 
 poetry, say, that none of the Greek or Latin poets did ever 
 equal them. 
 
 A VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING TO MOURN. 
 
 As virtuous men pass mildly away, 
 
 And whisper to their souls, to go, 
 Whilst some of their sad friends do say, 
 
 The breath goes now, and some say, No : 
 
 So let us melt, and make no noise, 
 
 No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; 
 
 'Twere profanation of our joys, 
 To tell the laity our love. 
 
 Moving of th' earth, brings harms and fears : 
 
 Men reckon what it did or meant : 
 But trepidation of the spheres, 
 
 Though greater far, is innocent. 
 
 Dull sublunary lovers' love — 
 
 Whose soul is sense — can not admit 
 Absence, because that doth remove 
 
 Those things which elemented it. 
 
 But we, by a love so far refined, 
 
 That ourselves know not what it is, 
 Inter-assured of the mind, 
 
 Care not hands, eyes, or lips to miss. 
 
 Our two souls therefore, which are one, — 
 
 Though I must go, — endure not yet 
 A breach, but an expansion, 
 
 Like gold to airy thinness beat. 
 
 If we be two ? we are'two so 
 
 As stiff twin-compasses are two : 
 Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show 
 
 To move, but does if th' other do. 
 
 And though thine in the centre sit, 
 
 Yet, when my other far does roam, 
 Thine leans and hearkens after it, 
 
 And grows erect as mine comes home.
 
 20 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Such wilt thou be to me, who must, 
 
 Like th' other foot, obliquely run : 
 Thy firmness makes my circle just, 
 
 And me to end where 1 begun. 
 
 I return from my account of the vision, to tell the reader, 
 that both before Mr. Donne's going into France, at his being 
 there, and after his return, many of the nobility and others 
 that were powerful at court, were watchful and solicitous to 
 the King for some secular employment for him. The King 
 had formerly both known and put a value upon his company, 
 and had also given him some hopes of a state-employment ; 
 being always much pleased when Mr. Donne attended him, 
 especially at his meals, where there were usually many deep 
 discourses of general learning, and very often friendly disputes, 
 or debates of religion, betwixt his Majesty and those divines, 
 whose places required their attendance on him at those times : 
 particularly the Dean of the Chapel, who then was Bishop 
 Montague — the publisher of the learned and the eloquent 
 works of his Majesty — and the most Reverend Doctor Andrews, 
 the late learned Bishop of Winchester, who was then the 
 king's almoner. 
 
 About this time there grew many disputes, that concerned 
 the oath of supremacy and allegiance, in which the King had 
 appeared, and engaged himself by his public writings now ex- 
 tant : and his Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne, concerning 
 many of the reasons which are usually urged against the taking 
 of those oaths, apprehended such a validity and clearness in 
 his stating the questions, and his answers to them, that his 
 Majesty commanded him to bestow some time in drawing the 
 arguments into a method, and then to write his answers to 
 them ; and, having done that, not to send, but be his own 
 messenger, and bring them to him. To this he presently and 
 diligently applied himself, and within six weeks brought them 
 to him under his own hand writing, as they be now printed ; 
 the book bearing the name of Pseudo-Martyr, printed anno 
 1610. 
 
 When the King had read and considered that book, he per-
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 21 
 
 suaded Mr. Donne to enter into the ministry ; to which, at that 
 time, he was, and appeared, very unwilling, apprehending it — 
 such was his mistaken modesty — to be too weighty for his abili- 
 ties : and though his Majesty had promised him a favour, and 
 many persons of worth mediated with his Majesty for some 
 secular employment for him, — to which his education had apted 
 him — and particularly the Earl of Somerset, when in his great- 
 est height of favour ; who being then at Theobald's with the 
 King, where one of the clerks of the council died that night, 
 the Earl posted a messenger for Mr. Donne to come to him 
 immediately, and at Mr. Donne's coming, said, ' Mr. Donne, to 
 testify the reality of my affection, and my purpose to prefer you, 
 stay in this garden till I go up to the King, and bring you word 
 that you are clerk of the council : doubt not my doing this, 
 for I know the King loves you, and know the King will not 
 deny me.' But the King gave a positive denial to all requests, 
 and, having a discerning spirit, replied, ' I know Mr. Donne is 
 a learned man, has the abilities of a learned divine, and will 
 prove a powerful preacher ; and my desire is to prefer him that 
 way, and in that way I will deny you nothing for him.' 
 
 After that time, as he professeth, * the King descended to a 
 persuasion, almost to a solicitation, of him to enter into sacred 
 orders:' which, though he then denied not, yet he deferred it 
 for almost three years. All which time he applied himself to 
 an incessant study of textual divinity, and to the attainment 
 of a greater perfection in the learned languages, Greek and 
 Hebrew. 
 
 In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when the 
 clergy were looked upon with reverence, and deserved it, when 
 they overcame their opposers by high examples of virtue, by a 
 blessed patience and long suffering, those only were then judged 
 worthy the ministry, whose quiet and meek spirits did make 
 them look upon that sacred calling with an humble adoration 
 and fear to undertake it ; which indeed requires such great 
 degrees of humility, and labour, and care, that none but such 
 were then thought worthy of that celestial dignity. And such 
 only were then sought out, and solicited to undertake it. This
 
 22 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 I have mentioned, because forwardness and inconsideration, 
 could not, in Mr. Donne, as in many others, be an argument of 
 insufficiency or unfitness ; for he had considered long, and had 
 many strifes within himself concerning the strictness of life, 
 and competency of learning, required in such as enter into 
 sacred orders ; and doubtless, considering his own demerits, did 
 humbly ask God with St. Paul, ' Lord, who is sufficient for these 
 things ? ' and with meek Moses, ' Lord, who am I ? ' And sure, 
 if he had consulted with flesh and blood, he had not for these 
 reasons put his hand to that holy plough. But God, who is able 
 to prevail, wrestled with him, as the angel did with Jacob, and 
 marked him ; marked him for his own ; marked him with a 
 blessing, a blessing of obedience to the motions of his blessed 
 Spirit. And then, as he had formerly asked God with Moses, 
 ' Who am I ? ' so now, being inspired with an apprehension of 
 God's particular mercy to him, in the King's and others' soli- 
 citations of him, he came to ask King David's thankful question, 
 ' Lord, who am I, that thou art so mindful of me ? ' So mind- 
 ful of me, as to lead me for more than forty years through this 
 wilderness of the many temptations and various turnings of a 
 dangerous life : so merciful to me, as to move the learnedest of 
 Kings to descend to move me to serve at the altar ! So merciful 
 to me, as at last to move my heart to embrace this holy motion ! 
 Thy motions I will and do embrace : and I now say with the 
 blessed Virgin, ' Be it with thy servant as seemeth best in thy 
 sight : ' and so, Blessed Jesus, I do take the cup of salvation, 
 and will call upon thy name, and will preach thy gospel. 
 
 Such strifes as these St. Austin had, when St. Ambrose 
 endeavoured his conversion to Christianity ; with which he con- 
 fesseth he acquainted his friend Alipius. Our learned author, — 
 a man fit to write after no mean copy — did the like. And de- 
 claring his intentions to his dear friend Dr. King, then Bishop 
 of London, a man famous in his generation, and no stranger to 
 Mr. Donne's abilities, — for he had been chaplain to the Lord 
 Chancellor, at the time of Mr. Donne's being his Lordship's 
 secretary — that reverend man did receive the news with much 
 gladness ; and, after some expressions of joy, and a persuasion
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 23 
 
 to be constant in his pious purpose, he proceeded with all con- 
 venient speed to ordain him first deacon, and then priest not 
 long after. 
 
 Now the English Church had gained a second St. Austin ; 
 for I think none was so like him before his conversion, none so 
 like St. Ambrose after it : and if his youth had the infirmities 
 of the one, his age had the excellencies of the other ; the learn- 
 ing and holiness of both. 
 
 And now all his studies, which had been occasionally diffused, 
 were all concentered in divinity. Now he had a new calling, 
 new thoughts, and a new employment for his wit and eloquence. 
 Now, all his earthly affections were changed into divine love ; 
 and all the faculties of his own soul were engaged in the con- 
 version of others ; in preaching the glad tidings of remission to 
 repenting sinners, and peace to each troubled soul. To these 
 he applied himself with all care and diligence : and now such a 
 change was wrought in him, that he could say with David, ' O 
 how amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts ! ' 
 Now he declared openly, 'that when he required a temporal, 
 God gave him a spiritual blessing.' And that 'he was now 
 gladder to be a door-keeper in the house of God, than he 
 could be to enjoy the noblest of all temporal employments.' 
 
 Presently after he entered into his holy profession, the King 
 sent for him, and made him his chaplain in ordinary, and pro- 
 mised to take a particular care for his preferment. 
 
 And, though his long familiarity with scholars and persons of 
 greatest quality was such, as might have given some men bold- 
 ness enough to have preached to any eminent auditory ; yet his 
 modesty in this employment was such, that he could not be 
 persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied with some one 
 friend to preach privately in some village, not far from London ; 
 his first sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, 
 till his Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him 
 at Whitehall ; and, though much were expected from him, both 
 by his Majesty and others, yet he was so happy — which few are 
 — as to satisfy and exceed their expectations : preaching the 
 Word so, as showed his own heart was possessed with those
 
 24 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 very thoughts and joys that he laboured to distil into others : a 
 preacher in earnest ; weeping sometimes for his auditory, some- 
 times with them : always preaching to himself, like an angel from 
 a cloud, but in none ; carrying some, as St. Paul was, to heaven 
 in holy raptures, and enticing others by a sacred art and court- 
 ship to amend their lives : here pictm*ing a vice so as to make it 
 ugly to those that practised it : and a virtue so as to make it 
 beloved, even by those that loved it not ; and all this with a most 
 particular grace and an unexpressible addition of comeliness. 
 
 There may be some that may incline to think — such indeed 
 as have not heard him — that my affection to my friend hath 
 transported me to an immoderate commendation of his preach- 
 ing. If this meets with any such, let me entreat, though I will 
 omit many, yet that they will receive a double witness for what 
 I say ; it being attested by a gentleman of worth, — Mr. Chidley, 
 a frequent hearer of his sermons, — in part of a funeral elegy 
 writ by him on Dr. Donne ; and is a known truth, though it be 
 in verse : 
 
 Each altar had his fire 
 
 He kept his love, but not his object; wit 
 
 He did not banish, but transplanted it ; 
 
 Taught it both time and place, and brought it home 
 
 To piety which it doth best become. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 For say, had ever pleasure such a dress ? 
 
 Have you seen crimes so shaped, or loveliness 
 
 Such as his lips did clothe religion in ? 
 
 Had not reproof a beauty passing sin ? 
 
 Corrupted Nature sorrow'd that she stood 
 
 So near the danger of becoming good. 
 
 And, when he preach'd, she wish'd her ears exempt 
 
 From piety, that had such power to tempt. 
 
 How did his sacred flattery beguile 
 
 Men to amend ? 
 
 More of this, and more witnesses, might be brought; but I for- 
 bear and return. 
 
 That summer, in the very same month in which he entered 
 into sacred orders, and was made the King's chaplain, his 
 Majesty then going his progress, was entreated to received an
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 25 
 
 entertainment in the University of Cambridge : and Mr. Donne 
 attending his Majesty at that time, his Majesty was pleased to 
 recommend him to the University, to be made doctor in 
 divinity : Doctor Harsnett — after Archbishop of York — was then 
 Vice-Chancellor, who, knowing him to be the author of that 
 learned book the Pseudo- Martyr, required no other proof of his 
 abilities, but proposed it to the university, who presently 
 assented, and expressed a gladness, that they had such an 
 occasion to entitle him to be theirs. 
 
 His abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent, 
 and he so known and so beloved by persons of quality, that 
 within the first year of his entering into sacred orders, he had 
 fourteen advowsons of several benefices presented to him : but 
 they were in the country, and he could not leave his beloved 
 London, to which place he had a natural inclination, having 
 received both his birth and education in it, and there contracted 
 a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied the joys 
 of his life : but an employment that might affix him that place 
 would be welcome, for he needed it. 
 
 Immediately after his return from Cambridge, his wife died, 
 leaving him a man of a narrow, unsettled estate, and — having 
 buried five — the careful father of seven children then living, to 
 whom he gave a voluntary assurance, never to bring them under 
 the subjection of a step-mother; which promise he kept most 
 faithfully, burying with his tears, all his earthly joys in his most 
 dear and deserving wife's grave, and betook himself to a most 
 retired and solitary life. 
 
 In this retiredness, which was often from the sight of his 
 dearest friends, he became crucified to the world, and all those 
 vanities, those imaginary pleasures, that are daily acted on that 
 restless stage ; and they were as perfectly crucified to him. 
 Nor is it hard to think — being, passions may be both changed 
 and heightened by accidents — but that that abundant affection 
 which once was betwixt him and her, who had long been the 
 delight of his eyes, and the companion of his youth ; her, with 
 whom he had divided so many pleasant sorrows and contented 
 fears, as common people are not capable of; — not hard to think
 
 26 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 but that she being now removed by death, a commensurable 
 grief took as full a possession of him as joy had done ; and so 
 indeed it did ; for now his very soul was elemented of nothing 
 but sadness ; now grief took so full a possession of his heart, as 
 to leave no place for joy : if it did, it was a joy to be alone, 
 where, like a pelican in the wilderness, he might bemoan him- 
 self without witness or restraint, and pour forth his passions like 
 Job in the days of his affliction : ' Oh that I might have the 
 desire of my heart ! Oh that God would grant the thing that 
 I long for ! ' For then, as the grave is become her house, so I 
 would hasten to make it mine also ; that we two might there 
 make our beds together in the dark. Thus, as the Israelites 
 sat mourning by the rivers of Babylon, when they remembered 
 Sion ; so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by thus vent- 
 ing his sorrows : thus he began the day, and ended the night ; 
 ended the restless night and began the weary day in lamenta- 
 tions. And thus he continued, till a consideration of his new 
 engagements to God, and St. Paul's ' Woe is me, if I preach not 
 the gospel ! ' dispersed those sad clouds that had then benighted 
 his hopes, and now forced him to behold the light. 
 
 His first motion from his house was to preach where his 
 beloved wife lay buried, — in St. Clement's Church, near Temple 
 Bar, London, — and his text was a part of the Prophet Jeremy's 
 Lamentation : ' Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction.' 
 
 And indeed his very words and looks testified him to be 
 truly such a man ; and they, with the addition of his sighs and 
 tears, expressed in his sermon, did so work upon the affections of 
 his hearers, as melted and moulded them into a companionable 
 sadness ; and so they left the congregation ; but then their 
 houses presented them with objects of diversion, and his 
 presented him with nothing but fresh objects of sorrow, in 
 beholding many helpless children, a narrow fortune, and a 
 consideration of the many cares and casualties that attend 
 their education. 
 
 In this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave 
 Benchers of Lincoln's Inn — who were once the companions 
 and friends of his youth — to accept of their lecture, which, by
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 27 
 
 reason of Dr. Gataker's removal from thence, was then void ; 
 of which he accepted, being most glad to renew his intermitted 
 friendship with those whom he so much loved, and where he 
 had been a Saul, — though not to persecute Christianity, or to 
 deride it, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible 
 practice of it, — there to become a Paul, and preach salvation 
 to his beloved brethren. 
 
 And now his life was a shining light among his old friends ; 
 now he gave an ocular testimony of the strictness and regularity 
 of it ; now he might say, as St. Paul adviseth his Corinthians, 
 'Be ye followers of me, as I follow Christ, and walk as ye have 
 me for an example ; ' not the example of a busy body, but of 
 a contemplative, a harmless, an humble and an holy life and 
 conversation. 
 
 The love of that noble society was expressed to him many 
 ways ; for, besides fair lodgings that were set apart, and newly 
 furnished for him with all necessaries, other courtesies were 
 also daily added ; indeed so many, and so freely, as if they 
 meant their gratitude should exceed his merits : and in this 
 love-strife of desert and liberality, they continued for the space 
 of two years, he preaching faithfully and constantly to them, 
 and they liberally requiting him. About which time the 
 Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had lately 
 married the Lady Elizabeth, the king's only daughter, was 
 elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning 
 of many miseries in that nation. 
 
 King James, whose motto — Beati pacifici — did truly speak the 
 very thoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and 
 after to compose, the discords of that discomposed State : and, 
 amongst other his endeavours, did then send the Lord Hay, 
 Earl of Doncaster, his ambassador to those unsettled Princes ; 
 and, by a special command from his Majesty, Dr. Donne was 
 appointed to assist and attend that employment to the princes 
 of the union ; for which the Earl was most glad, who had 
 always put a great value on him, and taken a great pleasure 
 in his conversation and discourse : and his friends at Lincoln's 
 Inn were as glad ; for they feared that his immoderate study,
 
 28 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and sadness for his wife's death, would, as Jacob said, 'make 
 his days few,' and, respecting his bodily health, ' evil ' too : and 
 of this there were many visible signs. 
 
 At his going, he left his friends of Lincoln's Inn, and they 
 him, with many reluctations : for, though he could not say as 
 St. Paul to his Ephesians, ' Behold, you, to whom I have 
 preached the kingdom of God, shall from henceforth see my 
 face no more ; ' yet he, believing himself to be in a consump- 
 tion, questioned, and they feared it : all concluding that his 
 troubled mind, with the help of his unintermitted studies, 
 hastened the decays of his weak body. But God, who is the 
 God of all wisdom and goodness, turned it to the best ; for this 
 employment — to say nothing of the event of it — did not only 
 divert him from those too serious studies and sad thoughts, but 
 seemed to give him a new life, by a true occasion of joy, to be 
 an eye-witness of the health of his most dear and most honoured 
 mistress, the Queen of Bohemia, in a foreign nation ; and to be 
 a witness of that gladness which she expressed to see him : who, 
 having formerly known him a courtier, was much joyed to see 
 him in a canonical habit, and more glad to be an ear-witness of 
 his excellent and powerful preaching. 
 
 About fourteen months after his departure out of England, 
 he returned to his friends of Lincoln's Inn, with his sorrows 
 moderated, and his health improved; and there betook himself 
 to his constant course of preaching. 
 
 About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Carey was 
 made Bishop of Exeter, and by his removal the Deanery of St. 
 Paul's being vacant, the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed 
 him to attend him at dinner the next day. When his Majesty 
 was sat down, before he had eat any meat, he said after his 
 pleasant manner, 'Dr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner; 
 and, though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you 
 of a dish that I know you love well ; for, knowing you love 
 London, I do therefore make you Dean of St. Paul's ; and, 
 when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home 
 to your study, say grace there to yourself, and much good may 
 it do you.'
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 29 
 
 Immediately after he came to his deanery, he employed work- 
 men to repair and beautify the chapel ; suffering as holy David 
 once vowed, 'his eyes and temples to take no rest, till he had 
 first beautified the house of God.' 
 
 The next quarter following, when his father-in-law, Sir George 
 More — whom time had made a lover and admirer of him — came 
 to pay to him the conditioned sum of twenty pounds, he refused 
 to receive it ; and said — as good Jacob did, when he heard his 
 beloved son Joseph was alive, ' " It is enough ;" you have been 
 kind to me and mine : I know your present condition is such as 
 not to abound, and I hope mine is, or will be such as not to need 
 it : I will therefore receive no more from you upon that con- 
 tract ; ' and in testimony of it freely gave him up his bond. 
 
 Immediately after his admission into his deanery, the vicarage 
 of St. Dunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of 
 Dr. White, the advowson of it having been given to him long 
 before, by his honourable friend, Richard, Earl of Dorset, then 
 the patron, and confirmed by his brother, the late deceased 
 Edward, both of them men of much honour. 
 
 By these, and another ecclesiastical endowment which fell 
 to him about the same time, given to him formerly by the 
 Earl of Kent, he was enabled to become charitable to the poor, 
 and kind to his friends, and to make such provision for his 
 children, that they were not left scandalous, as relating to 
 their, or his profession and quality. 
 
 The next Parliament, which was within that present year, 
 he was chosen Prolocutor to the Convocation, and about that 
 time was appointed by his Majesty, his most gracious master, 
 to preach very many occasional sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, 
 and other places. All which employments he performed to 
 the admiration of the representative body of the whole clergy 
 of this nation. 
 
 He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's dis- 
 pleasure, and it was about this time ; which was occasioned 
 by some malicious whisperer, who had told his Majesty that 
 Dr. Donne had put on the general humours of the pulpits, and 
 was become busy in insinuating a fear of the King's inclining
 
 30 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 to Popery, and a dislike of his government; and particularly 
 for the King's then turning the evening lectures into catechising, 
 and expounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and 
 Commandments. His Majesty was the more inclinable to 
 believe this, for that a person of nobility and great note, 
 betwixt whom and Dr. Donne there had been a great friendship, 
 was at this very time discarded the court — I shall forbear his 
 name, unless I had a fairer occasion — and justly committed 
 to prison ; which begot many rumours in the common people, 
 who in this nation think they are not wise, unless they be 
 busy about what they understand not, and especially about 
 religion. 
 
 The King received this news with so much discontent and 
 restlessness, that he would not suffer the sun to set and leave 
 him under this doubt ; but sent for Dr. Donne, and required 
 his answer to the accusation ; which was so clear and satisfactory, 
 that the King said, f he was right glad he rested no longer 
 under the suspicion.' When the King had said this, Doctor 
 Donne kneeled down, and thanked his Majesty, and protested 
 his answer was faithful, and free from all collusion, and there- 
 fore, ' desired that he might not rise, till, as in like cases, he 
 always had from God, so he might have from his Majesty, 
 some assurance that he stood clear and fair in his opinion.' 
 At which the King raised him from his knees with his own hands, 
 and 'protested he believed him ; and that he knew he was an 
 honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly.' 
 And, having thus dismissed him, he called some lords of his 
 council into his chamber, and said with much earnestness, ' My 
 doctor is an honest man ; and, my lords, I was never better 
 satisfied with an answer than he hath now made me ; and I 
 always rejoice when I think that by my means he became a 
 divine.' 
 
 He was made dean in the fiftieth year of his age ; and in his 
 fifty-fourth year, a dangerous sickness seized him, which 
 inclined him to a consumption : but God, as Job thankfully 
 acknowledged, preserved his spirit, and kept his intellectuals 
 as clear and perfect, as when that sickness first seized his body ;
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 31 
 
 but it continued long, and threatened him with death, which 
 he dreaded not. 
 
 In this distemper of body, his dear friend, Dr. Henry King, — 
 then chief residentiary of that church, and late Bishop of 
 Chichester — a man generally known by the clergy of this 
 nation, and as generally noted for his obliging nature, visited 
 him daily ; and observing that his sickness rendered his 
 recovery doubtful, he chose a seasonable time to speak to him 
 to this purpose : 
 
 ' Mr. Dean, I am, by your favour, no stranger to your 
 temporal estate, and you are no stranger to the offer lately 
 made us, for the renewing a lease of the best Prebend's corps 
 belonging to our church ; and you know 'twas denied, for that 
 our tenant being very rich, offered to fine at so low a rate as 
 held not proportion with his advantages : but I will either 
 raise him to an higher sum, or procure that the other residen- 
 tiaries shall join to accept of what was offered ; one of these, I 
 can and will by your favour do without delay, and without 
 any trouble either to your body or mind : I beseech you to 
 accept of my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition 
 to your present estate, which I know needs it.' 
 
 To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon his bed, 
 he made this reply : 
 
 'My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for your 
 many favours, and this in particular; but in my present con- 
 dition I shall not accept of your proposal ; for doubtless there 
 is such a sin as sacrilege ; if there were not, it could not have 
 a name in Scripture ; and the primitive clergy were watchful 
 against all appearances of that evil ; and indeed then all 
 Christians looked upon it with horror and detestation, judging 
 it to be even an open defiance of the power and providence of 
 Almighty God, and a sad presage of a declining religion. But 
 instead of such Christians, who had selected times set apart to 
 fast and pray to God, for a pious clergy, which they then did 
 obey, our times abound with men that are busy and litigious 
 about trifles and church ceremonies, and yet so far from scrupling 
 sacrilege, that they make not so much as a quaere what it is :
 
 32 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 but I thank God I have ; and dare not now upon my sick-bed, 
 when Almighty God hath made me useless to the service of 
 the Church, make any advantages out of it. But if he shall 
 again restore me to such a degree of health, as again to serve 
 at his altar, I shall then gladly take the reward which the 
 bountiful benefactors of this church have designed me ; for 
 God knows my children and relations will need it. In which 
 number, my mother, — whose credulity and charity has contracted 
 a very plentiful to a very narrow estate — must not be forgotten. 
 But Dr. King, if I recover not, that little worldly estate that I 
 shall leave behind me — that very little, when divided into eight 
 parts — must, if you deny me not so charitable a favour, fall into 
 your hands, as my most faithful friend and executor ; of whose 
 care and justice I make no more doubt, than of God's blessing, 
 on that which I have conscientiously collected for them ; but it 
 shall not be augmented on my sick-bed ; and this I declare to 
 be my unalterable resolution.' 
 
 The reply to this was only a promise to observe his request. 
 
 Within a few days his distempers abated ; and as his strength 
 increased, so did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in 
 his most excellent Book of Devotions, which he published at 
 his recovery; in which the reader may see the most secret 
 thoughts that then possessed his soul, paraphrased and made 
 public : a book that may not unfitly be called a sacred picture of 
 spiritual ecstasies, occasioned and appliable to the emergencies 
 of that sickness ; which book, being a composition of meditations, 
 disquisitions, and prayers, he writ on his sick-bed ; herein 
 imitating the holy patriarchs, who were wont to build their 
 altars in that place where they had received their blessings. 
 
 This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and 
 he saw the grave so ready to devour him, that he would often 
 say, his recovery was supernatural : but that God that then 
 restored his health, continued it to him till the fifty-ninth year 
 of his life: and then, in August 1630, being with his eldest 
 daughter, Mrs. Harvey, at Abury Hatch, in Essex, he there 
 fell into a fever, which, with the help of his constant infirmity 
 — vapours from the spleen — hastened him into so visible a
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 33 
 
 consumption, that his beholders might say, as St. Paul of 
 himself, ' He dies daily ; ' and he might say with Job, ' My 
 welfare passeth away as a cloud, the days of my affliction have 
 taken hold of me, and weary nights are appointed for me.' 
 
 Reader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening, 
 but wearying him so much, that my desire is, he may now take 
 some rest ; and that before I speak of his death, thou wilt not 
 think it an impertinent digression to look back with me upon 
 some observations of his life, which, whilst a gentle slumber 
 gives rest to his spirits, may, I hope, not unfitly exercise thy 
 consideration. 
 
 His marriage was the remarkable error of his life ; an error, 
 which, though he had a wit able and very apt to maintain 
 paradoxes, yet he was very far from justifying it : and though 
 his wife's competent years, and other reasons, might be justly 
 urged to moderate severe censures, yet he would occasionally 
 condemn himself for it : and doubtless it had been attended 
 with an heavy repentance, if God had not blessed them with 
 so mutual and cordial affections, as in the midst of their 
 sufferings made their bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly 
 than the banquets of dull and low-spirited people. 
 
 The recreations of his youth were poetry, in which he was so 
 happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made only to 
 exercise his sharp wit and high fancy ; and in those pieces 
 which were facetiously composed and carelessly scattered, — 
 most of them being written before the twentieth year of his 
 age — it may appear by his choice metaphors, that both nature 
 and all the arts joined to assist him with their utmost skill. 
 
 It is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of 
 those pieces that had been loosely — God knows, too loosely — 
 scattered in his youth, he wished they had been abortive, or so 
 short-lived that his own eyes had witnessed their funerals : 
 but, though he was no friend to them, he was not so fallen out 
 with heavenly poetry, as to forsake that ; no, not in his 
 declining age ; witnessed then by many divine sonnets, and 
 other high, holy, and harmonious composures. Yea, even on 
 his former sick-bed he wrote this heavenly hymn, expressing 
 
 C
 
 34 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the great joy that then possessed his soul, in the assurance of 
 God's favour to him when he composed it : 
 
 AN HYMN 
 
 TO GOD THE FATHER. 
 
 Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, 
 
 Which was my sin, though it were done before ? 
 
 Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run, 
 And do run still, though still I do deplore ? 
 
 When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 
 
 For I have more. 
 
 Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won 
 Others to sin, and made my sin their door ? 
 
 Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
 A year or two ; — but wallow'd in a score ? 
 
 When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 
 
 For I have more. 
 
 I have a sin of fear, that when I Ve spun 
 My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; 
 
 But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son 
 Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ; 
 
 And having done that, thou hast done, 
 
 I fear no more. 
 
 I have the rather mentioned this hymn, for that he caused it 
 to be set to a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often 
 sung to the organ by the choristers of St. Paul's Church, in his 
 own hearing ; especially at the evening service ; and at his 
 return from his customary devotions in that place, did occasion- 
 ally say to a friend, ' The words of this hymn have restored to 
 me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my soul in my 
 sickness, when I composed it. And, O the power of church- 
 music ! that harmony added to this hymn has raised the 
 affections of my heart, and quickened my graces of zeal and 
 gratitude ; and I observe that I always return from paying this 
 public duty of prayer and praise to God, with an unexpressible 
 tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the world.'
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 35 
 
 After this manner did the disciples of our Saviour, and the 
 best of Christians in those ages of the church nearest to his 
 time, offer their praises to Almighty God. And the reader of 
 St. Augustine's life may there find, that towards his dissolution 
 he wept abundantly, that the enemies of Christianity had 
 broke in upon them, and profaned and ruined their sanctuaries, 
 and because their public hymns and lauds were lost out of 
 their churches. And after this manner have many devout 
 souls lifted up their hands and offered acceptable sacrifices 
 unto Almighty God, where Dr. Donne offered his, and now 
 lies buried. 
 
 But now, O Lord ! how is that place become desolate ! 
 
 Before I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, 
 that not long before his death he caused to be drawn a figure 
 of the body of Christ extended upon an anchor, like those 
 which painters draw, when they would present us with the 
 picture of Christ crucified on the cross : his varying no other- 
 wise, than to affix him not to a cross, but to an anchor — the 
 emblem of hope ; — this he caused to be drawn in little, and 
 then many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven very 
 small in Heliotropium stones, and set in gold ; and of these he 
 sent to many of his dearest friends, to be used as seals, or rings, 
 and kept as memorials of him, and of his affection to them. 
 
 His dear friends and benefactors, Sir Henry Goodier, and Sir 
 Robert Drewry, could not be of that numoer; nor could the 
 Lady Magdalen Herbert, the mother of George Herbert, for 
 they had put off mortality, and taken possession of the grave 
 before him : but Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Hall, the then late 
 deceased Bishop of Norwich, were ; and so were Dr. Duppa, 
 Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King, Bishop of Chichester 
 — lately deceased — men, in whom there was such a commixture 
 of general learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility, 
 that they deserve a commemoration by a pen equal to their own, 
 which none have exceeded. 
 
 And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must 
 be omitted, yet that man of primitive piety, Mr. George Her- 
 bert, may not; I mean that George Herbert, who was the
 
 36 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 author of 'The Temple, or Sacred Poems and Ejaculations.' 
 A book, in which by declaring his own spiritual conflicts, he 
 hath comforted and raised many a dejected and discomposed 
 soul, and charmed them into sweet and quiet thoughts ; a book, 
 by the frequent reading whereof, and the assistance of that 
 spirit that seemed to inspire the author, the reader may 
 attain habits of peace and piety, and all the gifts of the Holy 
 Ghost and heaven : and may, by still reading, still keep those 
 sacred fires burning upon the altar of so pure a heart, as shall 
 free it from the anxieties of this world, and keep it fixed upon 
 things that are above. Betwixt this George Herbert and Dr. 
 Donne there was a long and dear friendship, made up by such 
 a sympathy of inclinations, that they coveted and joyed to be 
 in each other's company ; and this happy friendship was still 
 maintained by many sacred endearments ; of which that which 
 followeth may be some testimony. 
 
 TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 
 
 SENT HIM WITH ONE OP MY SEALS OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST. 
 
 A Sheaf of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, which is the Crest 
 of our poor family. 
 
 Qui prius assuetus serpentum falce tabellas 
 
 Signare, haec nostras symbola parva domus, 
 Adscitus domui Domini 
 
 Adopted in God's family, and so 
 
 My old coat lost, into new Arms I go. 
 
 The Cross, my Seal in Baptism, spread below, 
 
 Does by that form into an Anchor grow. 
 
 Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do 
 
 Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too. 
 
 But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus, 
 
 Is Christ, who there is crucified for us. 
 
 Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold ; — 
 
 God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old — 
 
 The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be ; 
 
 My poison, as he feeds on dust, that 's me. 
 
 And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure 
 
 He is my death ; but on the Cross, my cure,
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 37 
 
 Crucify nature then ; and then implore 
 
 All grace from him, crucified there before. 
 
 When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown 
 
 This Seal 's a Catechism, not a Seal alone. 
 
 Under that little Seal great gifts 1 send, 
 
 Both works and prayers, pawns and fruits of a friend. 
 
 Oh ! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal, 
 
 To you that bear his name, large bounty deal. 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 in sacram anchoram piscatoris 
 GEORGE HERBERT. 
 
 Quod Crux nequibat fixa clavique additi, — 
 Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet, 
 Tuive Christum 
 
 Although the Cross could not here Christ detain, 
 
 When nail'd unto 't, but he ascends again ; 
 
 Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still, 
 
 But only whilst thou speak'st — this Anchor will : 
 
 Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to 
 
 This certain Anchor add a Seal ; and so 
 
 The water and the earth both unto thee 
 
 Do owe the symbol of their certainty. 
 
 Let the world reel, we and all our's stand sure, 
 
 This holy cable 's from all storms secure. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 I return to tell the reader, that, besides these verses to his 
 dear Mr. Herbert, and that hymn that I mentioned to be sung 
 in the choir of St. Paul's Church, he did also shorten and 
 beguile many sad hours by composing other sacred ditties : and 
 he writ an hymn on his death-bed, which bears this title : 
 
 AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS. 
 March 23, 1630. 
 
 Since I am coming to that holy room, 
 
 Where, with thy Choir of Saints, for evermore 
 
 I shall be made thy music, as I come 
 I tune my instrument here at the door, 
 And, what I must do then, think here before.
 
 38 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Since my Physicians by their loves are grown 
 Cosmographers ; and I their map, who lye 
 Flat on this bed 
 
 So, in his purple wrapt, receive my Lord ! 
 
 By these his thorns, give me his other Crown : 
 
 And, as to other souls I preach'd thy word, 
 Be this my text, my sermon to mine own, 
 ' That he may raise ; therefore the Lord throws down. ' 
 
 If these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much 
 mixture with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures 
 and illuminations, let him know, that many holy and devout 
 men have thought the soul of Prudentius to be most refined, 
 when, not many days before his death, ' he charged it to present 
 his God each morning and evening with a new and spiritual 
 song;' justified by the example of King David and the good 
 King Hezekiah, who, upon the renovation of his years paid his 
 thankful vows to Almighty God in a royal hymn, which he con- 
 cludes in these words : ' The Lord was ready to save ; therefore 
 I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the days of 
 my life in the temple of my God.' 
 
 The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study ; 
 for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after 
 his sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out 
 a new text, and that night cast his sermon into a form, and 
 his text into divisions ; and the next day betook himself to con- 
 sult the fathers, and so commit his meditations to his memory, 
 which was excellent. But upon Saturday he usually gave him- 
 self and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his week's 
 meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends, 
 or some other diversions of his thoughts ; and would say, ' that 
 he gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that he 
 might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not 
 faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness.' 
 
 Nor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled 
 days of his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond 
 the hour of four in the morning ; and it was no common busi- 
 ness that drew him out of his chamber till past ten ; all which
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 39 
 
 time was employed in study ; though he took great liberty after 
 it. And if this seem strange, it may gain a belief by the visible 
 fruits of his labours; some of which remain as testimonies 
 of what is here written: for he left the resultance of 1400 
 authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own 
 hand : he left also six score of his sermons, all written with his 
 own hand ; also an exact and laborious treatise concerning self- 
 murder, called Biathanatos ; wherein all the laws violated by 
 that act are diligently surveyed, and judiciously censured : a 
 treatise written in his younger days, which alone might de- 
 clare him then not only perfect in the civil and canon law, but in 
 many other such studies and arguments, as enter not into the 
 consideration of many that labour to be thought great clerks, 
 and pretend to know all things. 
 
 Nor were these only found in his study, but all businesses that 
 passed of any public consequence, either in this or any of our 
 neighbour nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the 
 language of that nation, and kept them by him for useful 
 memorials. So he did the copies of divers letters and cases of 
 conscience that had concerned his friends, with his observations 
 and solutions of them ; and divers other businesses of import- 
 ance, all particularly and methodically digested by himself. 
 
 He did prepare to leave the world before life left him ; mak- 
 ing his will when no faculty of his soul was damped or made 
 defective by pain or sickness, or he surprised by a sudden 
 apprehension of death : but it was made with mature deli- 
 beration, expressing himself an impartial father, by making 
 his children's portions equal ; and a lover of his friends, whom 
 he remembered with legacies fitly and discreetly chosen and 
 bequeathed. I cannot forbear a nomination of some of them ; 
 for methinks they be persons that seem to challenge a recor- 
 dation in this place ; as namely, to his brother-in-law, Sir 
 Thomas Grimes, he gave that striking clock, which he had 
 long worn in his pocket; to his dear friend and executor, 
 Dr. King, — late Bishop of Chichester — that model of gold 
 of the Synod of Dort, with which the States presented him 
 at his last being at the Hague ; and the two pictures of
 
 40 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Padre Paolo and Fulgentio, men of his acquaintance when he 
 travelled Italy, and of great note in that nation for their re- 
 markable learning. — To his ancient friend Dr. Brook, — that 
 married him — Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave 
 the picture of the Blessed Virgin and Joseph. — To Dr. Winniff, 
 who succeeded him in the Deanery, he gave a picture called 
 the Skeleton. — To the succeeding Dean, who was not then 
 known, he gave many necessaries of worth, and useful for his 
 house ; and also several pictures and ornaments for the chapel, 
 with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a 
 legacy to his successors. — To the Earls of Dorset and Carlisle 
 he gave several pictures ; and so he did to many other friends ; 
 legacies, given rather to express his affection, than to make 
 any addition to their estates : but unto the poor he was full 
 of charity, and unto many others, who, by his constant and 
 long continued bounty, might entitle themselves to be his 
 alms-people : for all these he made provision, and so largely, 
 as, having then six children living, might to some appear more 
 than proportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any 
 more, lest the reader may think I trespass upon his patience : 
 but I will beg his favour, to present him with the beginning 
 and end of his will. 
 
 ' In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity, Amen. 
 I, John Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the 
 calling of the Church of England, priest, being at this time 
 in good health and perfect understanding, — praised be God 
 therefore — do hereby make my last will and testament in 
 manner and form following. 
 
 'First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body 
 and soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance 
 which his blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the salvation 
 of the one, and the resurrection of the other; and for that 
 constant and cheerful resolution, which the same Spirit hath 
 established in me, to live and die in the religion now pro- 
 fessed in the Church of England. In expectation of that 
 resurrection, I desire my body may be buried — in the most 
 private manner that may be — in that place of St. Paul's
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 41 
 
 Church, London, that the now residentiaries have at my 
 request designed for that purpose, etc. — And this my last 
 will and testament, made in the fear of God, — whose mercy 
 I humbly beg, and constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ — and 
 in perfect love and charity with all the world — whose pardon 
 I ask, from the lowest of my servants, to the highest of my 
 superiors — written all with my own hand, and my name sub- 
 scribed to every page, of which there are five in number. 
 'Sealed December 13, 1630.' 
 
 Nor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at 
 his death, but in his life also, by a cheerful and frequent 
 visitation of any friend whose mind was dejected, or his 
 fortune necessitous ; he was inquisitive after the wants of 
 prisoners, and redeemed many from prison, that lay for their 
 fees or small debts : he was a continual giver to poor scholars, 
 both of this and foreign nations. Besides what he gave with 
 his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and 
 trusty friend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons in 
 London, at all the festival times of the year, especially at the 
 birth and resurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred 
 pounds at one time to an old friend, whom he had known 
 live plentifully, and by a too liberal heart and carelessness 
 became decayed in his estate ; and when the receiving of it 
 was denied, by the gentleman's saying, ' He wanted not ; ' — 
 for the reader may note, that as there be some spirits so 
 generous as to labour to conceal and endure a sad poverty, 
 rather than expose themselves to those blushes that attend 
 the confession of it ; so there be others, to whom nature and 
 grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as 
 to pity and prevent the distresses of mankind ; — which I have 
 mentioned because of Dr. Donne's reply, whose answer was i 
 ' I know you want not what will sustain nature ; for a little 
 will do that ; but my desire is, that you, who in the days of 
 your plenty have cheered and raised the hearts of so many 
 of your dejected friends, would now receive this from me, and 
 use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own : ' and upon
 
 42 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 these terms it was received. He was an happy reconciler of 
 many differences in the families of his friends and kindred, — 
 which he never undertook faintly ; for such undertakings have 
 usually faint effects — and they had such a faith in his judg- 
 ment and impartiality, that he never advised them to any 
 thing in vain. He was, even to her death, a most dutiful son 
 to his mother, careful to provide for her supportation, of which 
 she had been destitute, but that God raised him up to prevent 
 her necessities ; who having sucked in the religion of the 
 Roman Church with the mother's milk, spent her estate in 
 foreign countries, to enjoy a liberty in it, and died in his house 
 but three months before him. 
 
 And to the end it may appear how just a steward he was 
 of his lord and master's revenue, I have thought fit to let the 
 reader know, that after his entrance into his Deanery, as he 
 numbered his years, he, at the foot of a private account, to 
 which God and his angels were only witnesses with him, — 
 computed first his revenue, then what was given to the poor, 
 and other pious uses ; and lastly, what rested for him and 
 his ; and having done that, he then blessed each year's poor 
 remainder with a thankful prayer ; which, for that they dis- 
 cover a more than common devotion, the reader shall partake 
 some of them in his own words : 
 
 So all is that remains this year — [1624-5]. 
 
 Deo Opt. Max. benigno largitori, a me, et ab iis quibus haec 
 a me reservantur, Gloria et gratia in aeternum. Amen. 
 
 Translated thus. 
 
 To God all Good, all Great, the benevolent Bestower, by 
 me and by them, for whom, by me, these sums are laid up, 
 be glory and grace ascribed for ever. Amen. 
 
 So that this year [1626] God hath blessed me and mine 
 with : — 
 
 Multiplicatae sunt super nos misericordiae tuae, Domine.
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 43 
 
 Translated thus. 
 
 Thy mercies, O Lord ! are multipled upon us. 
 
 Da, Domine, ut qua? ex immensa bonitate tua nobis elargiri 
 dignatus sis, in quorumcunque manus devenerint, in tuam 
 semper cedant gloriam. Amen. 
 
 Translated thus. 
 
 Grant, O Lord ! that what out of thine infinite bounty 
 thou hast vouchsafed to lavish upon us, into whosesoever hands 
 it may devolve, may always be improved to thy glory. Amen. 
 
 In fine horum sex annorum manet : — [1628-9] 
 Quid habeo quod non accepi a Domino ? Largitur etiam 
 ut qua? largitus est sua iterum fiant, bono eorum usu ; ut 
 quemadmodirm nee officiis hujus mundi, nee loci in quo me 
 posuit dignitati, nee servis, nee egenis, in toto hujus anni 
 curriculo mihi conscius sum me defuisse ; ita et liberi, quibus 
 quae supersunt, supersunt, grato animo ea accipiant, et bene- 
 ficum authorem recognoscant. Amen. 
 
 Translated thus. 
 
 At the end of these six years remains : — 
 
 What have I, which I have not received from the Lord ? 
 He bestows, also, to the intent that what he hath bestowed 
 may revert to him by the proper use of it : that, as I have 
 not consciously been wanting to myself during the whole 
 course of the past year, either in discharging my secular duties, 
 in retaining the dignity of my station, or in my conduct to- 
 wards my servants and the poor, — so my children for whom 
 remains whatever is remaining, may receive it with gratitude, 
 and acknowledge the beneficent Giver. Amen. 
 
 But I return from my long digression. 
 
 We left the author sick in Essex, where he was forced to 
 spend much of that winter, by reason of his disability to remove 
 from that place ; and having never, for almost twenty years, 
 omitted his personal attendance on his Majesty in that month,
 
 44 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 in which he was to attend and preach to him ; nor having 
 ever been left out of the roll and number of Lent preachers, 
 and there being then — in January 1630, — a report brought to 
 London, or raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead ; that report 
 gave him occasion to write the following letter to a dear friend : 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 'This advantage you and my other friends have by my fre- 
 quent fevers, that I am so much the oftener at the gates of 
 heaven ; and this advantage by the solitude and close imprison- 
 ment that they reduce me to after, that I am so much the 
 oftener at my prayers, in which I shall never leave out your 
 happiness ; and I doubt not, among his other blessings, God 
 will add some one to you for my prayers. A man would almost 
 be content to die, — if there were no other benefit in death, — 
 to hear of so much sorrow, and so much good testimony from 
 good men, as I, — God be blessed for it — did upon the report 
 of my death : yet I perceive it went not through all ; for one 
 writ to me, that some, — and he said of my friends, — conceived 
 that I was not so ill as I pretended, but withdrew myself to 
 live at ease, discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, and, 
 God knows, an ill-grounded interpretation ; for I have always 
 been sorrier when I could not preach, than any could be they 
 could not hear me. It hath been my desire, and God may be 
 pleased to grant it, that I might die in the pulpit ; if not that, 
 yet that I might take my death in the pulpit ; that is, die the 
 sooner by occasion of those labours. Sir, I hope to see you 
 presently after Candlemas ; about which time will fall my Lent 
 sermon at court, except my Lord Chamberlain believe me to 
 be dead, and so leave me out of the roll : but as long as I 
 live, and am not speechless, I would not willingly decline that 
 service. I have better leisure to write, than you to read ; yet 
 I would not willingly oppress you with too much letter. God 
 so bless you and your son, as I wish to 
 
 Your poor friend and servant 
 in Christ Jesus, 
 
 J. Donne 

 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 45 
 
 Before that month ended, he was appointed to preach upon 
 his old constant day, the first Friday in Lent : he had notice 
 of it, and had in his sickness so prepared for that employment, 
 that as he had long thirsted for it, so he resolved his weakness 
 should not hinder his journey ; he came therefore to London 
 some few days before his appointed day of preaching. At 
 his coming thither, many of his friends — who with sorrow saw 
 his sickness had left him but so much flesh as did only cover 
 his bones — doubted his strength to perforin that task, and did 
 therefore dissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him how- 
 ever, it was like to shorten his life : but he passionately denied 
 their requests, saying ' he would not doubt that that God, who 
 in so many weaknesses had assisted him with an unexpected 
 strength, would now withdraw it in his last employment ; pro- 
 fessing an holy ambition to perform that sacred work.' And 
 when, to the amazement of some of the beholders, he appeared 
 in the pulpit, many of them thought he presented himself not 
 to preach mortification by a living voice, but mortality by a 
 decayed body, and a dying face. And doubtless many did 
 secretly ask that question in Ezekiel, — ' Do these bones live ? 
 or, can that soul organise that tongue, to speak so long time 
 as the sand in that glass will move towards its centre, and 
 measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life ? Doubt- 
 less it cannot.' And yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous 
 prayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge 
 his memory of his preconceived meditations, which were of 
 dying ; the text being, ' To God the Lord belong the issues 
 from death.' Many that then saw his tears, and heard his 
 faint and hollow voice, professing they thought the text 
 prophetically chosen, and that Dr. Donne had preached his 
 own funeral sermon. 
 
 Being full of joy that God had enabled him to perform this 
 desired duty, he hastened to his house ; out of which he never 
 moved, till, like St. Stephen, ' he was carried by devout men 
 to his grave.' 
 
 The next day after his sermon, his strength being much 
 wasted, and his spirits so spent as indisposed him to business
 
 46 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 or to talk, a friend that had often been a witness of his free 
 and facetious discourse asked him, c Why are you sad ? ' To 
 whom he replied, with a countenance so full of cheerful 
 gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of mind, 
 and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world ; and said, — 
 ' I am not sad ; but most of the night past I have entertained 
 myself with many thoughts of several friends that have left me 
 here, and are gone to that place from which they shall not 
 return ; and that within a few days I also shall go hence, and 
 be no more seen. And my preparation for this change is 
 become my nightly meditation upon my bed, which my in- 
 firmities have now made restless to me. But at this present 
 time, I was in a serious contemplation of the providence and 
 goodness of God to me ; to me, who am less than the least of 
 his mercies : and looking back upon my life past, I now plainly 
 see it was his hand that prevented me from all temporal em- 
 ployment ; and that it was his will I should never settle nor 
 thrive till I entered into the ministry ; in which I have now 
 lived almost twenty years — I hope to his glory, — and by which, 
 I most humbly thank him, I have been enabled to requite most 
 of those friends which showed me kindness when my fortune 
 was very low, as God knows it was : and, — as it hath occasioned 
 the expression of my gratitude — I thank God most of them 
 have stood in need of my requital. I have lived to be useful 
 and comfortable to my good father-in-law, Sir George More, 
 whose patience God hath been pleased to exercise with many 
 temporal crosses ; I have maintained my own mother, whom it 
 hath pleased God, after a plentiful fortune in her younger days, 
 to bring to great decay in her very old age. I have quieted the 
 consciences of many, that have groaned under the burthen of a 
 wounded spirit, whose prayers I hope are available for me. I 
 cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my youth ; but I 
 am to be judged by a merciful God, who is not willing to see 
 what I have done amiss. And though of myself I have nothing 
 to present to him but sins and misery, yet I know he looks not 
 upon me now as I am of myself, but as I am in my Saviour, and 
 hath given 'me, even at this present time, some testimonies by
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 47 
 
 his Holy Spirit, that I am of the number of his elect : I am 
 therefore full of inexpressible joy, and shall die in peace.' 
 
 I must here look so far back, as to tell the reader that at 
 his first return out of Essex, to preach his last sermon, his old 
 friend and physician, Dr. Fox — a man of great worth — came to 
 him to consult his health ; and that after a sight of him, and 
 some queries concerning his distempers, he told him, ' That by 
 cordials, and drinking milk twenty days together, there was a 
 probability of his restoration to health ; ' but he passionatel 
 denied to drink it. Nevertheless, Dr. Fox, who loved him 
 most entirely, wearied him with solicitations, till he yielded to 
 take it for ten days ; at the end of which time he told Dr. Fox, 
 • He had drunk it more to satisfy him, than to recover his 
 health ; and that he would not drink it ten days longer, upon 
 the best moral assurance of having twenty years added to his 
 life ; for he loved it not ; and was so far from fearing death, 
 which to others is the King of Terrors, that he longed for the 
 day of his dissolution.' 
 
 It is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation is 
 rooted in the very nature of man ; and that those of the 
 severest and most mortified lives, though they may become so 
 humble as to banish self-flattery, and such weeds as naturally 
 grow there ; yet they have not been able to kill this desire of 
 glory, but that like our radical heat, it will both live and die 
 with us ; and many think it should do so ; and we want not 
 sacred examples to justify the desire of having our memory to 
 outlive our lives ; which I mention, because Dr. Donne, by the 
 persuasion of Dr. Fox, easily yielded at this very time to have 
 a monument made for him ; but Dr. Fox undertook not to 
 persuade him how, or what monument it should be ; that was 
 left to Dr. Donne himself. 
 
 A monument being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a 
 Carver to make for him in wood the figure of an urn, giving 
 him directions for the compass and height of it; and to bring 
 with it a board, of the just height of his body. 'These being 
 got, then without delay a choice painter was got to be in 
 readiness to draw his picture, which was taken as followeth. —
 
 48 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Several charcoal fires being first made in his large study, he 
 brought with him into that place his winding-sheet in his hand, 
 and having put off all his clothes, had this sheet put on him, 
 and so tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so 
 placed as dead bodies are usually fitted, to be shrouded and 
 put into their coffin, or grave. Upon this urn he thus stood, 
 with his eyes shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside 
 as might show his lean, pale, and death-like face, which was 
 purposely turned towards the east, from whence he expected 
 the second coming of his and our Saviour Jesus.' In this 
 posture he was drawn at his just height ; and when the picture 
 was fully finished, he caused it so be set by his bed-side, where 
 it continued and became his hourly object till his death, and 
 was then given to his dearest friend and executor Dr. Henry 
 King, then chief residentiary of St. Paul's, who caused him to 
 be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as it now 
 stands in that church ; and by Dr. Donne's own appointment, 
 these words were to be affixed to it as an epitaph : 
 
 JOHANNES DONNE, 
 
 SAC. THEOL. PROFESS. 
 
 POST VARIA STVDIA, QVIBUS AB ANNIS 
 
 TENERRIMIS FIDELITER, NEC INFEUCITER 
 
 INCVBVIT ; 
 
 INSTINCTV ET IMPULSV SP. SANCTI, MONITV 
 
 ET HORTATV 
 
 REGIS JACOBI, ORniNES SACROS AMPLEXVS, 
 
 ANN SUI JESV, MDCXIV. ET SVjE iETATIS XLII. 
 
 DECANATV HVJVS ECCLESIjE INDVTVS, 
 
 XXVII. NOVEMBRIS, MDCXXI. 
 
 EXVTVS MORTE VLTIMO DIE MARTII, MDCXXXI. 
 
 HIC LICET IN OCCIDVO CINERE, ASPICIT EVM 
 
 CVJVS NOMEN EST ORIENS. 
 
 And no having brought him through the many labyrinths 
 and perplexities of a various life, even to the gates of death and 
 the grave ; my desire is, he may rest, till I have told my reader
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 49 
 
 that I have seen many pictures of him, in several habits, and at 
 several ages, and in several postures : and I now mention this, 
 because I have seen one picture of him, drawn by a curious 
 hand, at his age of eighteen, with his sword, and what other 
 adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth 
 and the giddy gaieties of that age ; and his motto then 
 was — 
 
 How much shall I be changed, 
 Before I am changed ! 
 
 And if that young, and his now dying picture were at this 
 time set together, every beholder might say, Lord ! how much 
 is Dr. Donne already changed, before he is changed ! And the 
 view of them might give my reader occasion to ask himself 
 with some amazement, c Lord ! how much may I also, that am 
 now in health, be changed before I am changed ; before this 
 vile, this changeable body shall put off mortality ! ' and there- 
 fore to prepare for it. — But this is not writ so much for my 
 reader's memento, as to tell him, that Dr. Donne would often 
 in his private discourses, and often publicly in his sermons, 
 mention the many changes both of his body and mind ; 
 especially of his mind from a vertiginous giddiness ; and would 
 as often say, ' His great and most blessed change was from a 
 temporal to a spiritual employment ; ' in which he was so 
 happy, that he accounted the former part of his life to be lost ; 
 and the beginning of it to be, from his first entering into 
 sacred orders, and serving his most merciful God at his altar. 
 
 Upon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took his 
 last leave of his beloved study; and, being sensible of his 
 hourly decay, retired himself to his bed-chamber; and that 
 week sent at several times for many of his most considerable 
 friends, with whom he took a solemn and deliberate farewell, 
 commending to their considerations some sentences useful for 
 the regulation of their lives ; and then dismissed them, as good 
 Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday 
 following, he appointed his servants, that if there were any 
 business yet undone, that concerned him or themselves, it should 
 
 D
 
 50 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 be prepared against Saturday next ; for after that day he would 
 not mix his thoughts with anything that concerned this world ; 
 nor ever did ; but, as Job, so he ' waited for the appointed day 
 of his dissolution.' 
 
 And now he was so happy as to have nothing to do but to 
 die, to do which, he stood in need of no longer time ; for he 
 had studied it long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a 
 former sickness he called God to witness ' He was that 
 minute ready to deliver his soul into his hands, if that minute 
 God would determine his dissolution.' In that sickness he 
 begged of God the constancy to be preserved in that estate for 
 ever ; and his patient expectation to have his immortal soul 
 disrobed from her garment of mortality, makes me confident, 
 that he now had a modest assurance that his prayers were then 
 heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly 
 expecting his hourly change ; and in the last hour of his last 
 day, as his body melted away, and vapoured into spirit, his soul 
 having, I verily believe, some revelation of the beatifical vision, 
 he said, ' I were miserable if I might not die ; ' and after those 
 words, closed many periods of his faint breath by saying often, 
 'Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.' His speech, which 
 had long been his ready and faithful servant, left him not till 
 the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not to serve 
 another master — for who speaks like him, — but died before 
 him ; for that it was then become useless to him, that now con- 
 versed with God on earth, as angels are said to do in heaven, 
 only by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing 
 heaven by that illumination by which he saw it, he did, as St. 
 Stephen, ' look steadfastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man 
 standing at the right hand of God his Father;' and being 
 satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his 
 last breath departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then 
 disposed his hands and body into such a posture, as required 
 not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him. 
 
 Thus variable, thus virtuous was the life : thus excellent, thus 
 exemplary was the death of this memorable man. 
 
 He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 51 
 
 had appointed for that use some years before his death ; and by 
 which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty 
 God — who was then served twice a day by a public form of 
 prayer and praises in that place : — but he was not buried 
 privately, though he desired it ; for, beside an unnumbered 
 number of others, many persons of nobility, and of eminence 
 for learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did show 
 it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body 
 to the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public 
 sorrow. 
 
 To which place of his burial some mournful friends repaired, 
 and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous 
 Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and 
 costly flowers ; which course, they, — who were never yet known, 
 — continued morning and evening for many days, not ceasing, 
 till the stones, that were taken up in that church, to give his 
 body admission into the cold earth — now his bed of rest, — were 
 again by the mason's art so levelled and firmed as they had 
 been formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to 
 common view. 
 
 The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, some 
 one of the many lovers and admirers of his virtue and learning, 
 writ this epitaph with a coal on the wall over his grave : — 
 
 Reader ! I am to let thee know, 
 Donne's Body only lies below ; 
 For, could the grave his Soul comprise, 
 Earth would be richer than the Skies ! 
 
 Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes ; for, 
 as there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that 
 for which God accounts himself a debtor ; persons that dare 
 trust God with their charity, and without a witness ; so there 
 was by some grateful unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's 
 memory ought to be perpetuated, an hundred marks sent to his 
 faithful friends and executors, towards the making of his 
 monument. It was not for many years known by whom ; but, 
 after the death of Dr. Fox, it was known that it was he that
 
 52 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 sent it ; and he lived to see as lively a representation of his 
 dead friend, as marble can express : a statue indeed so like Dr. 
 Donne, that — as his friend Sir Henry Wotton hath expressed 
 himself, — ' It seems to breathe faintly, and posterity shall look 
 upon it as a kind of artificial miracle.' 
 
 He was of stature moderately tall ; of a straight and equally- 
 proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an 
 unexpressible addition of comeliness. 
 
 The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so con- 
 tempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his 
 company one of the delights of mankind. 
 
 His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great 
 wit; both being made useful by a commanding judgment. 
 
 His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony 
 of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself. 
 
 His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of 
 noble compassion ; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too 
 much a Christian not to pardon them in others. 
 
 He did much contemplate — especially after he entered into 
 his sacred calling — the mercies of Almighty God, the immor- 
 tality of the soul, and the joys of heaven : and would often say 
 in a kind of sacred ecstasy, — ' Blessed be God that he is God, 
 only and divinely like himself.' 
 
 He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct 
 at the excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity, 
 and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of 
 mankind without pity and relief. 
 
 He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge, 
 with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in 
 a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his 
 active body : that body, which once was a temple of the Holy 
 Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust : — 
 
 But I shall see it re-animated. 
 
 I. W. 
 Feb. 15, 1639.
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 53 
 
 AN EPITAPH 
 
 WRITTEN BY 
 
 DOCTOR CORBET, LATE BISHOP OF OXFORD 
 
 ON HIS FRIEND DR. DONNE. 
 
 He that would write an Epitaph for thee, 
 And write it well, must first begin to be 
 Such as thou wert ; for none can truly know 
 Thy life and worth, but he that hath liv'd so : 
 He must have Wit to spare, and to hurl down, 
 Enough to keep the gallants of the town. 
 He must have Learning plenty ; both the Laws, 
 Civil and common, to judge any cause. 
 Divinity, great store, above the rest, 
 Not of the last edition, but the best. 
 He must have Language, Travel, all the Arts, 
 Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts. 
 He must have friends the highest, able to do, 
 Such as Mecaenas and Augustus too. 
 He must have such a sickness, such a death, 
 Or else his vain descriptions come beneath. 
 He that would write an Epitaph for thee, 
 Should first be dead ; — let it alone for me.
 
 54, WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OP 
 
 MY EVER-DESIRED FRIEND DOCTOR DONNE. 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 BY H. KING, LATE BISHOP OP CHICHESTER. 
 
 To have liv'd eminent, in a degree 
 Beyond our loftiest thoughts, that is, like Thee ; 
 Or t' have had too much merit is not safe, 
 For such excesses find no epitaph. 
 
 At common graves we have poetic eyes 
 
 Can melt themselves in easy elegies ; 
 
 Each quill can drop his tributary verse, 
 
 And pin it, like the hatchments, to the hearse : 
 
 But at thine, poem or inscription — 
 
 Rich soul of wit and language — we have none. 
 
 Indeed a silence does that tomb befit, 
 
 Where is no herald left to blazon it. 
 
 Widow'd Invention justly doth forbear 
 
 To come abroad, knowing thou art not there : 
 
 Late her great patron, whose prerogative 
 
 Maintain'd and cloth'd her so, as none alive 
 
 Must now presume to keep her at thy rate, 
 
 Tho' he the Indies for her dower estate. 
 
 Or else, that awful fire which once did burn 
 
 In thy clear brain, now fallen into thy urn, 
 
 Lives there, to fright rude empirics from thence, 
 
 Which might profane thee by their ignorance. 
 
 Whoever writes of thee, and in a style 
 
 Unworthy such a theme, does but revile 
 
 Thy precious dust, and wakes a learned spirit, 
 
 Which may revenge his rapes upon thy merit : 
 
 For, all a low-pitch'd fancy can devise 
 
 Will prove at best but hallow'd injuries.
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 55 
 
 Thou like the dying swan didst lately sing, 
 Thy mournful dirge in audience of the King ; 
 When pale looks and faint accents of thy breath, 
 Presented so to life that piece of death, 
 That it was fear'd and prophesy'd by all 
 Thou thither cam'st to preach thy funeral. 
 Oh ! hadst thou in an elegiac knell 
 Rung out unto the world thine own farewell, 
 And in thy high victorious numbers beat 
 The solemn measures of thy griev'd retreat, 
 Thou mightst the Poet's service now have miss'd 
 As well as then thou didst prevent the Priest ; 
 And never to the world beholden be, 
 So much as for an epitaph for thee. 
 
 I do not like the office ; nor is 't fit 
 Thou, who didst lend our age such sums of wit, 
 Shouldst now re-borrow from her bankrupt mine 
 That ore to bury thee which first was thine : 
 Rather still leave us in thy debt ; and know, 
 Exalted soul, more glory 'tis to owe 
 Thy memory what we can never pay, 
 Than with embased coin those rites defray. 
 
 Commit we then Thee to Thyself, nor blame 
 Our drooping loves, that thus to thine own fame 
 Leave Thee executor, since but thine own 
 No pen could do thee justice, nor bays crown 
 Thy vast deserts ; save that we nothing can 
 Depute, to be thy ashes' guardian. 
 
 So Jewellers no art or metal trust, 
 
 To form the diamond, but the diamond's dust. 
 
 H. K.
 
 56 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 AN ELEGY ON DR. DONNE 
 
 BY IZAAK WALTON. 
 
 Our Donne is dead ! and we may sighing say, 
 We had that man, where language choose to stay, 
 And show her utmost power. I would not praise 
 That, and his great wit, which in our vain days 
 Make others proud ; but as these serv'd to unlock 
 That cabinet his mind, where such a stock 
 Of knowledge was repos'd, that I lament 
 Our just and general cause of discontent. 
 
 And I rejoice I am not so severe, 
 But as I write a line, to weep a tear 
 For his decease ; such sad extremities 
 Can make such men as I writ elegies. 
 
 And wonder not ; for when so great a loss 
 Falls on a nation, and they slight the cross, 
 God hath rais'd Prophets to awaken them 
 From their dull lethargy ; witness my pen, 
 Not us'd to upbraid the world, though now it must 
 Freely and boldly, for the cause is just. 
 
 Dull age ! Oh, I would spare thee, but thou'rt worse 
 Thou art not only dull, but hast a curse 
 Of black ingratitude ; if not, couldst thou 
 Part with this matchless man, and make no vow 
 For thee and thine successively to pay 
 Some sad remembrance to his dying day ? 
 
 Did his youth scatter Poetry, wherein 
 Lay Love's Philosophy ? was every sin 
 Pictur'd in his sharp Satires, made so foul, 
 That some have fear'd sin's shapes, and kept their soul 
 Safer by reading verse ; Did he give days 
 Past marble monuments, to those whose praise 
 He would perpetuate ? Did he — I fear 
 Envy will doubt — these at his twentieth year ?
 
 DR. JOHN DONNE 57 
 
 But, more matur'd, did his rich soul conceive 
 And in harmonious holy numbers weave 
 A Crown of Sacred Sonnets, fit t' adorn 
 A dying martyr's brow, or to be worn 
 On that blest head of Mary Magdalen, 
 After she wip'd Christ's feet, but not till then ; 
 Did he — fit for such penitents as she 
 And he to use — leave us a Litany, 
 Which all devout men love, and doubtless shall, 
 As times grow better, grow more classical ? 
 Did he write Hymns, for piety and wit, 
 Equal to those grave Prudentius writ ? 
 Spake he all Languages ? Knew he all Laws ? 
 The grounds and use of Physic ; but, because 
 'Twas mercenary, wav'd it ? went to see 
 That happy place of Christ's nativity ? 
 Did he return and preach him ? preach him so, 
 As since St. Paul none ever did ? they know — 
 Those happy souls that heard him — know this truth. 
 Did he confirm thy ag'd ? convert thy youth ? 
 Did he these wonders? and is his dear loss 
 Mourn'd by so few ? few for so great a cross. 
 
 But sure the silent are ambitious all 
 To be close mourners of his funeral. 
 If not, in common pity they forbear 
 By repetitions to renew our care : 
 Or knowing grief conceiv'd and hid, consumes 
 Man's life insensibly, — as poison's fumes 
 Corrupt the brain, — take silence for the way 
 T' enlarge the soul from these walls, mud and clay, — 
 Materials of this body — to remain 
 With him in heaven, where no promiscuous pain 
 Lessens those joys we have ; for with him all 
 Are satisfied with joys essential. 
 
 Dwell on these joys, my thoughts ! Oh ! do not call 
 Grief back, by thinking on his funeral. 
 Forget he lov'd me : waste not my swift years, 
 Which haste to David's seventy, fill'd with fears 
 And sorrows for his death : forget his parts, 
 They find a living grave in good men's hearts :
 
 58 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 And, for my first is daily paid for sin, 
 
 Forget to pay my second sigh for him : 
 
 Forget his powerful preaching ; and forget 
 
 I am his convert. Oh my frailty! let 
 
 My flesh be no more heard ; it will obtrude 
 
 This lethargy : so should my gratitude, 
 
 My vows of gratitude should so be broke, 
 
 Which can no more be, than his virtues, spoke 
 
 By any but himself : for which cause, I 
 
 Write no encomiums, but this elegy ; 
 
 Which, as a free-will offering, I here give 
 
 Fame and the world ; and parting with it, grieve 
 
 I want abilities fit to set forth 
 
 A monument, as matchless as his worth. 
 
 IZ. WA. 
 April 7, 1631.
 
 LIFE OF SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton — whose life I now intend to write — was 
 born in the year of our redemption 1568, in Bocton Hall, — 
 commonly called Bocton, or Boughton Place, or Palace, — in the 
 Parish of Bocton Malherbe, in the fruitful country of Kent. 
 Bocton Hall being an ancient and goodly structure, beauti- 
 fying and being beautified by the Parish Church of Bocton 
 Malherbe adjoining unto it, and both seated within a fair 
 park of the Wottons, on the brow of such a hill, as gives 
 the advantage of a large prospect, and of equal pleasure to 
 all beholders. 
 
 But this house and church are not remarkable for anything 
 so much as for that the memorable family of the Wottons have 
 so long inhabited the one, and now lie buried in the other, as 
 appears by their many monuments in that church : the Wottons 
 being a family that hath brought forth divers persons eminent 
 for wisdom and valour ; whose heroic acts, and noble employ- 
 ments, both in England and in foreign parts, have adorned 
 themselves and this nation ; which they have served abroad 
 faithfully, in the discharge of their great trust, and prudently 
 in their negotiations with several princes ; and also served at 
 home with much honour and justice, in their wise managing a 
 great part of the public affairs thereof, in the various times 
 both of war and peace. 
 
 But lest I should be thought by any, that may incline either 
 to deny or doubt this truth, not to have observed moderation 
 in the commendation of this family ; and also for that I believe 
 the merits and memory of such persons ought to be thankfully 
 recorded, I shall offer to the consideration of every reader, out 
 of the testimony of their pedigree and our chronicles, a part — 
 and but a part — of that just commendation which might be 
 from thence enlarged, and shall then leave the indifferent 
 
 69
 
 60 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 reader to judge whether my error be an excess or defect of 
 commendations. 
 
 Sir Robert Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, was born 
 about the year of Christ 1640 : he, living in the reign of King 
 Edward the Fourth, was by him trusted to be Lieutenant of 
 Guisnes, to be Knight Porter, and Comptroller of Calais, where 
 he died, and lies honourably buried. 
 
 Sir Edward Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, — son and 
 heir of the said Sir Robert — was born in the year of Christ 1489, 
 in the reign of King Henry the Seventh ; he was made 
 Treasurer of Calais, and of the Privy Council to King Henry 
 the Eighth, who offered him to be Lord Chancellor of England : 
 but, saith Holinshed, out of a virtuous modesty, he refused it. 
 
 Thomas Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Esquire, son and heir 
 of the said Sir Edward, and the father of our Sir Henry, that 
 occasions this relation, was born in the year of Christ 1521. 
 He was a gentleman excellently educated, and studious in all 
 the liberal arts ; in the knowledge whereof he attained unto a 
 great perfection ; who, though he had — besides those abilities, 
 a very noble and plentiful estate, and the ancient interest of 
 his predecessors — many invitations from Queen Elizabeth to 
 change his country recreations and retirement for a court, 
 offering him a knighthood, — she was then with him at his 
 Bocton Hall — and that to be but as an earnest of some more 
 honourable and more profitable employment under her ; yet he 
 humbly refused both, being ' a man of great modesty, of a most 
 plain and single heart, of an ancient freedom, and integrity of 
 mind.' A commendation which Sir Henry Wotton took 
 occasion often to remember with great gladness, and thankfully 
 to boast himself the son of such a father ; from whom indeed 
 he derived that noble ingenuity that was always practised by 
 himself, and which he ever both commended and cherished in 
 others. This Thomas was also remarkable for hospitality, a 
 great lover and much beloved of his country ; to which may 
 justly be added, that he was a cherisher of learning, as appears 
 by that excellent antiquary Mr. William Lambarde, in his 
 Perambulation of Kent.
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON CI 
 
 This Thomas had four sons, Sir Edward, Sir James, Sir John, 
 and Sir Henry. 
 
 Sir Edward was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and made 
 Comptroller of her Majesty's Household. ' He was/ saith 
 Camden, ' a man remarkable for many great employments in 
 the State, during her reign, and sent several times ambassador 
 into foreign nations. After her death, he was by King James 
 made Comptroller of his Household, and called to be of 
 his Privy Council, and by him advanced to be Lord Wotton, 
 Baron of Merley in Kent, and made Lord Lieutenant of that 
 County.' 
 
 Sir James, the second son, may be numbered among the 
 martial men of his age, who was, in the thirty-eighth of Queen 
 Elizabeth's reign — with Robert, Earl of Sussex, Count Lodowick 
 of Nassau, Don Christophoro, son of Antonio, king of Portugal, 
 and divers other gentlemen of nobleness and valour — knighted 
 in the field near Cadiz in Spain, after they had gotten great 
 honour and riches, besides a notable retaliation of injuries, by 
 taking that toAvn. 
 
 Sir John, being a gentleman excellently accomplished, both 
 by learning and travel, was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and 
 by her looked upon with more than ordinary favour, and with 
 intentions of preferment ; but death in his younger years put 
 a period to his growing hopes. 
 
 Of Sir Henry my following discourse shall give an account. 
 
 The descent of these fore-named Wottons was all in a direct 
 line, and most of them and their actions in the memory of 
 those with whom we have conversed ; but if I had looked so 
 far back as to Sir Nicholas Wotton, who lived in the reign of 
 King Richard the Second, or before him upon divers others of 
 great note in their several ages, I might by some be thought 
 tedious; and yet others may more justly think me negligent, 
 if I omit to mention Nicholas Wotton, the fourth son of Sir 
 Robert, whom I first named. 
 
 This Nicholas Wotton was Doctor of Law, and some time 
 Dean both of York and Canterbury ; a man whom God did not 
 only bless with a long life, but with great abilities of mind,
 
 62 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and an inclination to employ them in the service of his country, 
 as is testified by his several employments, having been sent 
 nine times ambassador unto foreign princes ; and by his being 
 a Privy Councillor to King Henry the Eighth, to Edward the 
 Sixth, to Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, who also, after he 
 had been, during the wars between England, Scotland, and 
 France, three several times — and not unsuccessfully — employed 
 in committees for settling of peace betwixt this and those 
 kingdoms, ' died,' saith learned Camden, ' full of commendations 
 for wisdom and piety/ He was also, by the will of King 
 Henry the Eighth, made one of his executors, and Chief 
 Secretary of State to his son, that pious prince, Edward the 
 Sixth. Concerning which Nicholas Wotton I shall say but 
 this little more ; that he refused — being offered it by Queen 
 Elizabeth — to be Archbishop of Canterbury, — and that he 
 died not rich, though he lived in that time of the dissolution 
 of abbeys. 
 
 More might be added ; but by this it may appear, that Sir 
 Henry Wotton was a branch of such a kindred, as left a stock 
 of reputation to their posterity : such reputation as might 
 kindle a generous emulation in strangers, and preserve a noble 
 ambition in those of his name and family, to perform actions 
 worthy of their ancestors. 
 
 And that Sir Henry Wotton did so, might appear more 
 perfectly than my pen can express it, if of his many surviving 
 friends, some one of higher parts and employments had been 
 pleased to have commended his to posterity ; but since some 
 years are now past, and they have all — I know not why — 
 forborne to do it, my gratitude to the memory of my dead 
 friend, and the renewed request of some that still live solicitous 
 to see this duty performed ; these have had a power to persuade 
 me to undertake it ; which truly I have not done but with 
 distrust of mine own abilities ; and yet so far from despair, that 
 I am modestly confident my humble language shall be accepted, 
 because I shall present all readers with a commixture of truth, 
 and Sir Henry Wotton's merits. 
 
 This being premised, I proceed to tell the reader, that the
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 63 
 
 father of Sir Henry Wotton was twice married ; first to 
 Elizabeth, the daughter of Sir John Rudstone, Knight ; after 
 whose death, though his inclination was averse to all contentions, 
 yet necessitated he was to several suits in law ; in the pro- 
 secution whereof, — which took up much of his time, and were 
 the occasion of many discontents, — he was by divers of his 
 friends earnestly persuaded to a re-marriage ; to whom he as 
 often answered, 'That if ever he did put on a resolution to 
 marry, he was seriously resolved to avoid three sorts of persons : 
 namely, 
 
 Those that had children ; 
 
 Those that had law-suits ; 
 
 And those that were of his kindred.' 
 
 And yet, following his own law-suits, he met in Westminster 
 Hall with Mrs. Eleonora Morton, widow to Robert Morton, of 
 Kent, Esquire, who was also engaged in several suits in law : 
 and he observing her comportment at the time of hearing one 
 of her causes before the judges, could not but at the same 
 time both compassionate her condition, and affect her person ; 
 for the tears of lovers, or beauty dressed in sadness, are 
 observed to have in them a charming eloquence, and to become 
 very often too strong to be resisted : which I mention, because 
 it proved so with this Thomas Wotton ; for although there 
 were in her a concurrence of all those accidents, against which 
 he had so seriously resolved, yet his affection to her grew then 
 so strong, that he resolved to solicit her for a wife, and did, 
 and obtained her. 
 
 By her — who was the daughter of Sir William Finch, of 
 Eastwell, in Kent, — he had only Henry his youngest son. 
 His mother undertook to be tutoress unto him during much of 
 his childhood ; for whose care and pains he paid her each day 
 with such visible signs of future perfection in learning, as 
 turned her employment into a pleasing trouble ; which she 
 was content to continue, till his father took him into his own 
 particular care, and disposed of him to a tutor in his own 
 house at Bocton.
 
 64 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 And when time and diligent instruction had made him fit 
 for a removal to an higher form, — which was very early, — he 
 was sent to Winchester School ; a place of strict discipline and 
 order, that so he might in his youth be moulded into a method 
 of living by rule, which his wise father knew to be the most 
 necessary way to make the future part of his life both happy 
 to himself, and useful for the discharge of all business, whether 
 public or private. 
 
 And that he might be confirmed in this regularity, he was, 
 at a fit age, removed from that school, to be a commoner of 
 New College in Oxford ; both being founded by William 
 Wickham, Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 There he continued till about the eighteenth year of his age, 
 and was then transplanted into Queen's College : where, 
 within that year, he was by the chief of that College, per- 
 suasively enjoined to write a play for their private use ; — it 
 was the Tragedy of Tancredo — which was so interwoven with 
 sentences, and for the method and exact personating those 
 humours, passions and dispositions, which he proposed to 
 represent, so performed, that the gravest of that society 
 declared, he had, in a slight employment, given an early and 
 a solid testimony of his future abilities. And though there 
 may be some sour dispositions, which may think this not 
 worth a memorial, yet that wise knight, Baptista Guarini, — 
 whom learned Italy accounts one of her ornaments, — thought 
 it neither an uncomely nor an unprofitable employment for 
 his age. 
 
 But I pass to what will be thought more serious. 
 
 About the twentieth year of his age he proceeded Master 
 of Arts ; and at that time read in Latin three lectures de 
 Oculo ; wherein he having described the form, the motion, the 
 curious composure of the Eye, and demonstrated how of those 
 very many, every humour and nerve performs its distinct office, 
 so as the God of order hath appointed, without mixture or 
 confusion ; and all this to the advantage of man, to whom the 
 eye is given, not only as the body's guide, but whereas all 
 other of his senses require time to inform the soul, this in an
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 65 
 
 instant apprehends and warns him of danger ; teaching him in 
 the very eyes of others to discover wit, folly, love, and 
 hatred. After he had made these observations, he fell to 
 dispute this optic question : ' Whether we see by the emission 
 of the beams from within, or reception of the species from 
 without ? ' And after that, and many other like learned 
 disquisitions, he, in the conclusion of his lectures, took a fair 
 occasion to beautify his discourse with a commendation of the 
 blessing and benefit of ' Seeing ; — by which we do not only 
 discover nature's secrets, but, with a continued content — for 
 the eye is never weary of seeing — behold the great light of 
 the world, and by it discover the fabric of the heavens, and 
 both the order and motion of the celestial orbs ; nay, that if 
 the eye look but downward, it may rejoice to behold the bosom 
 of the earth, our common mother, embroidered and adorned 
 with numberless and various flowers, which man sees daily 
 grow up to perfection, and then silently moralise his own 
 condition, who, in a short time, — like those very flowers — 
 decays, withers, and quickly returns again to that earth, from 
 which both had their first being.' 
 
 These were so exactly debated, and so rhetorically heightened, 
 as, among other admirers, caused that learned Italian, Albericus 
 Gentilis, then Professor of the Civil Law in Oxford, to call him 
 ' Henrice mi Ocelle ; ' which dear expression of his was also 
 used by divers of Sir Henry's dearest friends, and by many 
 other persons of note during his stay in the University. 
 
 But his stay there was not long, at least not so long as his 
 friends once intended ; for the year after Sir Henry proceeded 
 Master of Arts, his father — whom Sir Henry did never mention 
 without this, or some like reverential expression, as, ' That 
 good man my father/ or, ' My father, the best of men ; ' — about 
 that time, this good man changed this for a better life ; leaving 
 to Sir Henry, as to his other younger sons, a rent-charge of an 
 hundred marks a year, to be paid for ever out of some one of 
 his manors, of a much greater value. 
 
 And here, though this good man be dead, yet I wish a 
 circumstance or two that concerns him may not be buried 
 
 E
 
 66 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 without a relation ; which I shall undertake to do, for that I 
 suppose they may so much concern the reader to know, that I 
 may promise myself a pardon for a short digression. 
 
 In the year of our redemption 1553, Nicholas Wotton, Dean 
 of Canterbury, — whom I formerly mentioned, — being then 
 ambassador in France, dreamed that his nephew, this Thomas 
 Wotton, was inclined to be a party in such a project, as, if he 
 were not suddenly prevented, would turn both to the loss of 
 his life, and ruin of his family. 
 
 Doubtless the good Dean did well know that common 
 dreams are but a senseless paraphrase on our waking thoughts, 
 or of the business of the day past, or are the result of our over- 
 engaged affections, when we betake ourselves to rest; and 
 knew that the observation of them may turn to silly super- 
 stitions, as they too often do. But, though he might know all 
 this, and might also believe that prophecies are ceased ; yet 
 doubtless he could not but consider, that all dreams are not to 
 be neglected or cast away without all consideration ; and did 
 therefore rather lay this dream aside, than intend totally to 
 lose it ; and dreaming the same again the night following, when 
 it became a double dream, like that of Pharaoh,- — of which 
 double dreams the learned have made many observations, — and 
 considering that it had no dependence on his waking thoughts, 
 much less on the desires of his heart, then he did more seriously 
 consider it ; and remembered that Almighty God was pleased 
 in a dream to i*eveal and to assure Monica, the mother of St. 
 Austin, ' That he, her son, for whom she wept so bitterly and 
 prayed so much, should at last become a Christian:' This, I 
 believe, the good Dean considered ; and considering also that 
 Almighty God, — though the causes of dreams be often un- 
 known — hath even in these latter times also by a certain 
 illumination of the soul in sleep, discovered many things that 
 human wisdom could not foresee ; upon these considerations he 
 resolved to use so prudent a remedy by way of prevention, as 
 might introduce no great inconvenience either to himself or to 
 his nephew. And to that end he wrote to the Queen, — 'twas 
 Queen Mary, — and besought her, ' That she would cause his
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 67 
 
 nephew, Thomas Wotton, to be sent for out of Kent ; and that 
 the Lords of her Council might interrogate him in some such 
 feigned questions, as might give a colour for his commitment 
 into a favourable prison ; declaring that he would acquaint her 
 Majesty with the true reason of his request, when he should 
 next become so happy as to see and speak to her Majesty.' 
 
 It was done as the Dean desired : and in prison I must leave 
 Mr. Wotton, till I have told the reader what followed. 
 
 At this time a marriage was concluded betwixt our Queen 
 Mary, and Philip, King of Spain ; and though this was con- 
 cluded with the advice, if not by the persuasion, of her Privy 
 Council, as having many probabilities of advantage to this 
 nation ; yet divers persons of a contrary persuasion did not 
 only declare against it, but also raised forces to oppose it : be- 
 lieving — as they said — it would be a means to bring England 
 to be under a subjection to Spain, and make those of this nation 
 slaves to strangers. 
 
 And of this number, Sir Thomas Wyat, of Boxley Abbey in 
 Kent, — betwixt whose family and the family of the Wottons 
 there had been an ancient and entire friendship, — was the 
 principal actor ; who having persuaded many of the nobility 
 and gentry — especially of Kent — to side with him, and he 
 being defeated, and taken prisoner, was legally arraigned and 
 condemned, and lost his life : so did the Duke of Suffolk and 
 divers others, especially many of the gentry of Kent, who were 
 there in several places executed as Wyat's assistants. 
 
 And of this number, in all probability, had Mr. Wotton been, 
 if he had not been confined ; for though he could not be 
 ignorant that 'another man's treason makes it mine by con- 
 cealing it,' yet he durst confess to his uncle, when he returned 
 into England, and then came to visit him in prison, 'That he 
 had more than an intimation of Wyat's intentions ; ' and thought 
 he had not continued actually innocent, if his uncle had not so 
 happily dreamed him into a prison ; out of which place when he 
 was delivered by the same hand that caused his commitment, 
 they both considered the dream more seriously, and then both 
 joined in praising God for it ; ' That God who ties himself to no
 
 68 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 rules, either in preventing of evil, or in showing of mercy to 
 those, whom of good pleasure he hath chosen to love.' 
 
 And this dream was the more considerable, because that 
 God, who in the days of old did use to speak to his people in 
 visions, did seem to speak to many of this family in dreams ; 
 of which I will also give the reader one short particular of this 
 Thomas Wotton, whose dreams did usually prove true, both in 
 foretelling things to come, and discovering things past ; and the 
 particular is this. — This Thomas, a little before his death, 
 dreamed that the University treasury was robbed by townsmen 
 and poor scholars, and that the number was five ; and being 
 that day to write to his son Henry at Oxford, he thought it 
 worth so much pains, as by a postscript in his letter to make a 
 slight inquiry of it. The letter — which was writ out of Kent, 
 and dated three days before — came to his son's hands the very 
 morning after the night in which the robbery was committed ; 
 and when the city and University were both in a perplexed 
 inquest of the thieves, then did Sir Henry Wotton show his 
 father's letter, and by it such light was given of this work of 
 darkness, that the five guilty persons were presently discovered 
 and apprehended, without putting the University to so much 
 trouble as the casting of a figure. 
 
 And it may yet be more considerable, that this Nicholas and 
 Thomas Wotton should both — being men of holy lives, of even 
 tempers, and much given to fasting and prayer — foresee and 
 foretell the very days of their own death. Nicholas did so, 
 being then seventy years of age, and in perfect health. 
 Thomas did the like in the sixty-fifth year of his age : who 
 being then in London, — where he died, — and foreseeing his 
 death there, gave direction in what manner his body should be 
 carried to Bocton ; and though he thought his Uncle Nicholas 
 worthy of that noble monument which he built for him in the 
 Cathedral Church of Canterbury; yet this humble man gave 
 directions concerning himself, to be buried privately, and 
 especially without any pomp at his funeral. This is some 
 account of this family, which seemed to be beloved of God. 
 But it may now seem more than time, that I return to Sir
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 69 
 
 Henry Wotton at Oxford ; where, after his optic lecture, he 
 was taken into such a bosom friendship with the learned 
 Albericus Gentilis, — whom I formerly named, — that, if it had 
 been possible, Gentilis would have breathed all his excellent 
 knowledge, both of the mathematics and law, into the breast 
 of his dear Harry, for so Gentilis used to call him : and though 
 he was not able to do that, yet there was in Sir Henry such a 
 propensity and connaturalness to the Italian language, and 
 those studies whereof Gentilis was a great master, that the 
 friendship between them did daily increase, and proved daily 
 advantageous to Sir Henry, for the improvement of him in 
 several sciences during his stay in the University. 
 
 From which place, before I shall invite the reader to follow 
 him into a foreign nation, though I must omit to mention divers 
 persons that were then in Oxford, of memorable note for 
 learning, and friends to Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I must not omit 
 the mention of a love that was there begun betwixt him and 
 Dr. Donne, sometime Dean of St. Paul's ; a man of whose 
 abilities I shall forbear to say anything, because he who is of 
 this nation, and pretends to learning or ingenuity, and is 
 ignorant of Dr. Donne, deserves not to know him. The friend- 
 ship of these two I must not omit to mention, being such a 
 friendship as was generously elemented ; and as it was begun 
 in their youth, and in an University, and there maintained by 
 correspondent inclinations and studies, so it lasted till age 
 and death forced a separation. 
 
 In Oxford he stayed till about two years after his father's 
 death ; at which time he was about the twenty-second year of 
 his age ; and having to his great wit added the ballast of 
 learning, and knowledge of the arts, he then laid aside his 
 books, and betook himself to the useful library of travel, and a 
 more general conversation with mankind ; employing the re- 
 maining part of his youth, his industry, and fortune, to adorn 
 his mind, and to purchase the rich treasure of foreign knowledge: 
 of which both for the secrets of nature, the dispositions of many 
 nations, their several laws and languages, he was the possessor 
 in a very large measure ; as I shall faithfully make to appear, 
 before I take my pen from the following narration of his life.
 
 70 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 In his travels, which was almost nine years before his return 
 into England, he stayed but one year in France, and most of 
 that in Geneva, where he became acquainted with Theodore 
 Beza, — then very aged ; — and with Isaac Casaubon, in whose 
 house, if I be rightly informed, Sir Henry Wotton was lodged, 
 and there contracted a most worthy friendship with that man 
 of rare learning and ingenuity. 
 
 Three of the remaining eight years were spent in Germany, 
 the other five in Italy, — the stage on which God appointed he 
 should act a great part of his life ; — where, both in Rome, 
 Venice, and Florence, he became acquainted with the most 
 eminent men for learning and all manner of arts ; as picture, 
 sculpture, chemistry, architecture, and other manual arts, even 
 arts of inferior nature ; of all which he was a most dear lover, 
 and a most excellent judge. 
 
 He returned out of Italy into England about the thirtieth 
 year of his age, being then noted by many both for his person 
 and comportment : for indeed he was of a choice shape, tall of 
 stature, and of a most persuasive behaviour ; which was so mixed 
 with sweet discourse and civilities, as gained him much love 
 from all persons with whom he entered into an acquaintance. 
 
 And whereas he was noted in his youth to have a sharp wit, 
 and apt to jest; that, by time, travel, and conversation, was so 
 polished, and made so useful, that his company seemed to be 
 one of the delights of mankind ; insomuch as Robert, Earl of 
 Essex — then one of the darlings of fortune, and in greatest 
 favour with Queen Elizabeth — invited him first into a friendship, 
 and, after a knowledge of his great abilities, to be one of his 
 secretaries ; the other being Mr. Henry Cuffe, sometime of 
 Merton College in Oxford, — and there also the acquaintance of 
 Sir Henry Wotton in his youth, — Mr. Cuffe being then a man 
 of no common note in the University for his learning ; nor, after 
 his removal from that place, for the great abilities of his mind, 
 nor indeed for the fatalness of his end. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton, being now taken into a serviceable friend- 
 ship with the Earl of Essex, did personally attend his counsels 
 and employments in two voyages at sea against the Spaniards,
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 71 
 
 and also in that — which was the Earl's last — into Ireland ; that 
 voyage, wherein he then did so much provoke the Queen to 
 anger, and worse at his return into England ; upon whose im- 
 movable favour the Earl had built such sandy hopes, as en- 
 couraged him to those undertakings, which, with the help of a 
 contrary faction, suddenly caused his commitment to the Tower. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton observing this, though he was not of that 
 faction — for the Earl's followers were also divided into their 
 several interests — which encouraged the Earl to those under- 
 takings which proved so fatal to him and divers of his con- 
 federation, yet, knowing treason to be so comprehensive, as to 
 take in even circumstances, and out of them to make such 
 positive conclusions, as subtle statesmen shall project, either 
 for their revenge or safety ; considering this, he thought pre- 
 vention, by absence out of England, a better security, than to 
 stay in it, and there plead his innocency in a prison. Therefore 
 did he, so soon as the Earl was apprehended, very quickly, and 
 as privately, glide through Kent to Dover, without so much as 
 looking toward his native and beloved Bocton ; and was, by the 
 help of favourable winds, and liberal payment of the mariners, 
 within sixteen hours after his departure from London, set upon 
 the French shore ; where he heard shortly after, that the Earl 
 was arraigned, condemned, and beheaded ; and that his friend 
 Mr. Cuffe was hanged, and divers other persons of eminent 
 quality executed. 
 
 The times did not look so favourably upon Sir Henry Wot- 
 ton, as to invite his return into England : having therefore 
 procured of Sir Edward Wotton, his elder brother, an assurance 
 that his annuity should be paid him in Italy, thither he went, 
 happily renewing his intermitted friendship and interest, 
 and indeed his great content in a new conversation with 
 his old acquaintance in that nation, and more particularly 
 in Florence, — which city is not more eminent for the great 
 Duke's court, than for the great recourse of men of choicest 
 note for learning and arts, — in which number he there met with 
 his old friend Signior Vietta, a gentleman of Venice, and then 
 taken to be secretary to the great Duke of Tuscany.
 
 72 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 After some stay in Florence, he went the fourth time to visit 
 Rome, where, in the English College he had very many friends ; 
 — their humanity made them really so, though they knew him 
 to be a dissenter from many of their principles of religion ; and 
 having enjoyed their company, and satisfied himself concerning 
 some curiosities that did partly occasion his journey thither, he 
 returned back to Florence, where a most notable accident befell 
 him ; an accident that did not only find new employment for 
 his choice abilities, but did introduce him to a knowledge and 
 interest with our King James, then King of Scotland ; which I 
 shall proceed to relate. 
 
 But first I am to tell the reader, that though Queen Eliza- 
 beth, or she and her Council, were never willing to declare her 
 successor ; yet James, then King of the Scots, was confidently 
 believed by most to be the man upon whom the sweet trouble 
 of kingly government would be imposed ; and the Queen de- 
 clining very fast, both by age and visible infirmities, those that 
 were of the Romish persuasion in point of religion, — even Rome 
 itself, and those of this nation, — knowing that the death of the 
 Queen and the establishing of her successor, were taken to 
 be critical days for destroying or establishing the Protestant re- 
 ligion in this nation, did therefore improve all opportunities for 
 preventing a Protestant Prince to succeed her. And as the 
 Pope's excommunication of Queen Elizabeth, had both by the 
 judgment and practice of the Jesuited Papist, exposed her to 
 be warrantably destroyed; so, — if we may believe an angry 
 adversary, a secular priest against a Jesuit — you may believe, 
 that about that time there were many endeavours, first to 
 excommunicate, and then to shorten the life of King James. 
 
 Immediately after Sir Henry Wotton's return from Rome to 
 Florence, — which was about a year before the death of Queen 
 Elizabeth — Ferdinand the Great Duke of Florence, had inter- 
 cepted certain letters, that discovered a design to take away 
 the life of James, the then King of Scots. The Duke abhor- 
 ring this fact, and resolving to endeavour a prevention of it, 
 advised with his secretary, Vietta, by what means a caution 
 might be best given to that King ; and after consideration it
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 73 
 
 was resolved to be done by Sir Henry Wotton, whom Vietta 
 first commended to the Duke, and the Duke had noted and 
 approved of above all the English that frequented his court. 
 
 Sir Henry was gladly called by his friend Vietta to the Duke, 
 who, after much profession of trust and friendship, acquainted 
 him with the secret ; and being well instructed, despatched him 
 into Scotland with letters to the King, and with those letters 
 such Italian antidotes against poison, as the Scots till then had 
 been strangers to. 
 
 Having parted from the Duke, he took up the name and 
 language of an Italian ; and thinking it best to avoid the line of 
 English intelligence and danger, he posted into Norway, and 
 through that country towards Scotland, where he found the 
 King at Stirling. Being there, he used means, by Bernard 
 Lindsey, one of the King's Bed-chamber, to procure him a 
 speedy and private conference with his Majesty; assuring him, 
 ' That the business which he was to negotiate was of such con- 
 sequence, as had caused the great Duke of Tuscany to enjoin 
 him suddenly to leave his native country of Italy, to impart it 
 to his King.' 
 
 This being by Bernard Lindsey made known to the King, the 
 King, after a little wonder — mixed with jealousy — to hear of an 
 Italian ambassador, or messenger, required his name, — which 
 was said to be Octavio Baldi, — and appointed him to be heard 
 privately at a fixed hour that evening. 
 
 When Octavio Baldi came to the presence-chamber door, he 
 was requested to lay aside his long rapier — which, Italian-like, 
 he then wore ; — and being entered the chamber, he found there 
 with the King three or four Scotch lords standing distant in 
 several corners of the chamber : at the sight of whom he made 
 a stand ; which the King observing, ' bade him be bold, and 
 deliver his message ; for he would undertake for the secrecy of 
 all that were present.' Then did Octavio Baldi deliver his 
 letters and his message to the King in Italian ; which when the 
 King had gi-aciously received, after a little pause, Octavio Baldi 
 steps to the table, and whispers to the King in his own language, 
 that he was an Englishman, beseeching him for a more private
 
 74 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 conference with his Majesty, and that he might be concealed 
 during his stay in that nation ; which was promised and really 
 performed by the King, during all his abode there, which was 
 about three months; all which time was spent with muchpleasant- 
 ness to the King, and with as much to Octavio Baldi himself, 
 as that country could afford ; from which he departed as true an 
 Italian as he came thither. 
 
 To the Duke at Florence he returned with a fair and grateful 
 account of his employment ; and within some few months after 
 his return, there came certain news to Florence, that Queen 
 Elizabeth was dead : and James, King of the Scots, proclaimed 
 King of England. The Duke knowing travel and business to 
 be the best schools of wisdom, and that Sir Henry Wotton 
 had been tutored in both, advised him to return presently to 
 England, and there joy the King with his new and better title, 
 and wait there upon fortune for a better employment. 
 
 When King James came into England, he found amongst 
 other of the late Queen's officers, Sir Edward, who was, after 
 Lord Wotton, Comptroller of the House, of whom he demanded, 
 ' If he knew one Henry Wotton, that had spent much time 
 in foreign travel?' The Lord replied he knew him well, and 
 that he was his brother. Then the King, asking where he then 
 was, was answered, At Venice or Florence ; but by late letters 
 from thence he understood he would suddenly be at Paris. 
 ' Send for him,' said the King, ' and when he shall come into 
 England, bid him repair privately to me.' The Lord Wotton, 
 after a little wonder, asked the King, ' If he knew him ? ' To 
 which the King answered, ' You must rest unsatisfied of that 
 till you bring the gentleman to me.' 
 
 Not many months after this discourse, the Lord Wotton 
 brought his brother to attend the King, who took him in his 
 arms, and bade him welcome by the name of Octavio Baldi, say- 
 ing, he was the most honest, and therefore the best dissembler 
 that ever he met with : and said, ' Seeing I know you neither 
 want learning, travel, nor experience, and that I have had so 
 real a testimony of your faithfulness and abilities to manage an 
 ambassage, I have sent for you to declare my purpose ; which
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 75 
 
 is, to make use of you in that kind hereafter.' And indeed the 
 King did so, most of those two-and-twenty years of his reign ; 
 but before he dismissed Octavio Baldi from his present attend- 
 ance upon him, he restored him to his old name of Henry Wot- 
 ton, by which he then knighted him. 
 
 Not long after this, the King having resolved according to his 
 motto — Beati pacifici — to have a friendship with his neighbour 
 kingdoms of France and Spain ; and also, for divers weighty 
 reasons, to enter into an alliance with the State of Venice, and 
 to that end to send ambassadors to those several places, did 
 propose the choice of these employments to Sir Henry Wotton ; 
 who, considering the smallness of his own estate, — which he 
 never took care to augment, — and knowing the courts of great 
 princes to be sumptuous, and necessarily expensive, inclined 
 most to that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and 
 best suiting with his genius, who did ever love to join with 
 business, study, and a trial of natural experiments ; for both 
 which, fruitful Italy, that darling of nature, and cherisher of all 
 arts, is so justly famed in all parts of the Christian world. 
 
 Sir Henry having, after some short time and consideration, 
 resolved upon Venice, and a large allowance being appointed 
 by the King for his voyage thither, and a settled maintenance 
 during his stay there, he left England, nobly accompanied 
 through France to Venice, by gentlemen of the best families 
 and breeding that this nation afforded : they were too many to 
 name ; but these two, for the following reasons, may not be 
 omitted. Sir Albertus Morton, his nephew, who went his 
 secretary ; and William Bedel, a man of choice learning, and 
 sanctified wisdom, who went his chaplain. 
 
 And though his dear friend Dr. Donne — then a private 
 gentleman — was not one of the number that did personally 
 accompany him in this voyage, yet the reading of this following 
 letter, sent by him to Sir Henry Wotton, the morning before he 
 left England, may testify he wanted not his friend's best wishes 
 to attend him.
 
 76 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Sir, 
 After those reverend papers, whose soul is 
 Our good and great King's loved hand and fear'd name, 
 By which to you he derives much of his, 
 And, how he may, makes you almost the same : 
 
 A taper of his torch ; a copy writ 
 
 From his original, and a fair beam 
 
 Of the same warm and dazzling Sun, though it 
 
 Must in another sphere his virtue stream : 
 
 After those learned papers, which your hand 
 Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too : 
 From which rich treasury you may command 
 Fit matter whether you will write or do : 
 
 After those loving papers which friends send 
 With glad grief to your sea-ward steps farewell, 
 And thicken on you now as prayers ascend 
 To Heaven on troops at a good man's passing-bell : 
 
 Admit this honest paper, and allow 
 It such an audience as yourself would ask ; 
 What you would say at Venice, this says now, 
 And has for nature what you have for task. 
 
 To swear much love ; nor to be changed before 
 Honour alone will to your fortune fit ; 
 Nor shall I then honour your fortune more, 
 Than I have done your honour wanting wit. 
 
 But 'tis an easier load — though both oppress — 
 To want, than govern greatness ; for we are 
 In that, our own and only business ; 
 In this, we must for others' vices care. 
 
 'Tis therefore well your spirits now are placed 
 
 In their last furnace, in activity, 
 
 Which fits them ; Schools, and Courts, and Wars o'erpast 
 
 To touch and taste in any best degree. 
 
 For me ! — if there be such a thing as I — 
 Fortune — if there be such a thing as she — 
 Finds that I bear so well her tyranny, 
 That she thinks nothing else so fit for me.
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 77 
 
 But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers 
 For your increase, God is as near me here : 
 And, to send you what I shall beg, his stairs 
 In length and ease are alike every where. 
 
 J. Donne. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton was received by the State of Venice with 
 much honour and gladness, both for that he delivered his ara- 
 bassage most elegantly in the Italian language, and came also 
 in such a juncture of time, as his master's friendship seemed 
 useful for that Republic. The time of his coming thither was 
 about the year 1604, Leonardo Donato being then Duke; a 
 wise and resolved man, and to all purposes such — Sir Henry 
 Wotton would often say it — as the State of Venice could not 
 then have wanted ; there having been formerly, in the time of 
 Pope Clement the Eighth, some contests about the privileges of 
 churchmen, and the power of the civil magistrates ; of which, 
 for the information of common readers, I shall say a little, 
 because it may give light to some passages that follow. 
 
 About the year 1603, the Republic of Venice made several 
 injunctions against lay-persons giving lands or goods to the 
 Church, without licence from the civil magistrate ; and in that 
 inhibition they expressed their reasons to be, ' For that when 
 any goods or land once came into the hands of the ecclesiastics, 
 it was not subject to alienation : by reason whereof — the lay- 
 people being at their death charitable even to excess, — the 
 clergy grew every day more numerous, and pretended an exemp- 
 tion from all public service and taxes, and from all secular 
 judgment ; so that the burden grew thereby too heavy to be 
 borne by the laity.' 
 
 Another occasion of difference was, that about this time com- 
 plaints were justly made by the Venetians against two clergy- 
 men, the Abbot of Nervesa, and a Canon of Vicenza, for com- 
 mitting such sins as I think not fit to name : nor are these 
 mentioned with an intent to fix a scandal upon any calling ; — 
 for holiness is not tied to ecclesiastical orders, — and Italy is 
 observed to breed the most virtuous and most vicious men of any 
 nation. These two having been long complained of at Rome in
 
 78 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the name of the State of Venice, and no satisfaction being given 
 to the Venetians, they seized the persons of this Abbot and 
 Canon, and committed them to prison. 
 
 The justice or injustice of such, or the like power, then 
 used by the Venetians, had formerly had some calm debates 
 betwixt the former Pope Clement the Eighth, and that Republic: 
 I say, calm, for he did not excommunicate them ; considering, 
 — as I conceive, — that in the late Council of Trent, it was at 
 last — after many politic disturbances and delays, and endea- 
 vours to preserve the Pope's present power, — in order to a 
 general reformation of those many errors, which were in time 
 crept into the Church, declared by that Council, ' That though 
 discipline and especial excommunication be one of the chief 
 sinews of church government, and intended to keep men in 
 obedience to it : for which end it was declared to be very pro- 
 fitable ; yet it was also declared, and advised to be used with 
 great sobriety and care, because experience had informed them, 
 that when it was pronounced unadvisedly or rashly, it became 
 more contemned than feared.' And, though this was the 
 advice of that Council at the conclusion of it, which was not 
 many years before this quarrel with the Venetians : yet this 
 prudent, patient Pope Clement dying, Pope Paul the Fifth, 
 who succeeded him, — though not immediately, yet in the same 
 year, — being a man of a much hotter temper, brought this 
 difference with the Venetians to a much higher contention ; 
 objecting those late acts of that State to be a diminution of his 
 just power, and limited a time of twenty-four days for their 
 revocation ; threatening if he were not obeyed, to proceed to 
 the excommunication of the Republic, who still offered to show 
 both reason and ancient custom to warrant their actions. But 
 this Pope, contrary to his predecessor's moderation, required 
 absolute obedience without disputes. 
 
 Thus it continued for about a year, the Pope still threatening 
 excommunication, and the Venetians still answering him with 
 fair speeches, and no compliance ; till at last the Pope's zeal to 
 the Apostolic see did make him to excommunicate the Duke, 
 the whole senate, and all their dominions, and, that done, to
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 79 
 
 shut up all their churches ; charging the whole clergy to for- 
 bear all sacred offices to the Venetians, till their obedience 
 should render them capable of absolution. 
 
 But this act of the Pope's did but the more confirm the 
 Venetians in their resolution not to obey him : and to that end, 
 upon the hearing of the Pope's interdict, they presently pub- 
 lished, by sound of trumpet, a proclamation to this effect : 
 
 'That whosoever hath received from Rome any copy of a 
 papal interdict, published there, as well against the law of God, 
 as against the honour of this nation, shall presently render it to 
 the Council of Ten, upon pain of death.' And made it loss of 
 estate and nobility, but to speak in behalf of the Jesuits. 
 
 Then was Duado their ambassador called home from Rome, 
 and the inquisition presently suspended by order of the State : 
 and the flood-gates being thus set open, any man that had a 
 pleasant or scoffing wit might safely vent it against the Pope, 
 either by free speaking, or by libels in print ; and both became 
 very pleasant to the people. 
 
 Matters thus heightened, the state advised with Father Paul, 
 a holy and learned friar, — the author of the History of the 
 Council of Trent, — whose advice was, ' Neither to provoke the 
 Pope, nor lose their own right : ' he declaring publicly in print, 
 in the name of the State, ' That the Pope was trusted to keep 
 two keys, one of prudence and the other of power : and that, if 
 they were not both used together, power alone is not effectual 
 in an excommunication.' 
 
 And thus these discontents and oppositions continued, till a 
 report was blown abroad, that the Venetians were all turned 
 Protestants ; which was believed by many, for that it was ob- 
 served that the English ambassador was so often in conference 
 with the Senate, and his chaplain, Mr. Bedel, more often with 
 Father Paul, whom the people did not take to be his friend : 
 and also, for that the Republic of Venice was known to give 
 commission to Gregory Justiniano, then their ambassador in 
 England, to make all these proceedings known to the King of 
 England, and to crave a promise of his assistance, if need should 
 require : and in the meantime they required the King's advice
 
 80 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and judgment; Avhich was the same that he gave to Pope 
 Clement, at his first coming to the Crown of England ; — that 
 Pope then moving him to an union with the Roman Church ; 
 — namely, ' To endeavour the calling of a free Council, for 
 the settlement of peace in Christendom ; and that he doubted 
 not but that the French king, and divers other princes, would 
 join to assist in so good a work ; and, in the meantime, the sin 
 of this breach, both with his and the Venetian dominions, 
 must of necessity lie at the Pope's door.' 
 
 In this contention — which lasted almost two years — the Pope 
 grew still higher, and the Venetians more and more resolved 
 and careless ; still acquainting King James with their proceed- 
 ings, which was done by the help of Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. 
 Bedel, and Padre Paulo, whom the Venetians did then call to 
 be one of their consulters of State, and with his pen to defend 
 their just cause ; which was by him so performed, that the Pope 
 saw plainly he had weakened his power by exceeding it, and 
 offered the Venetians absolution upon very easy terms ; which 
 the Venetians still slighting, did at last obtain by that which 
 was scarce so much as a show of acknowledging it : for they 
 made an order, that in that day in which they were absolved, 
 there should be no public rejoicing, nor any bonfii - es that night, 
 lest the common people might judge, that they desired an 
 absolution, or were absolved for committing a fault. 
 
 These contests were the occasion of Padre Paulo's knowledge 
 and interest with King James ; for whose sake principally, 
 Padre Paulo compiled that eminent history of the remarkable 
 Council of Trent ; which history was, as fast as it was written, 
 sent in several sheets in letters by Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. 
 Bedel, and others, unto King James, and the then Bishop of 
 Canterbury, into England, and there first made public, both in 
 English and the universal language. 
 
 For eight years after Sir Henry Wotton's going into Italy, he 
 stood fair and highly valued in the King's opinion ; but at last 
 became much clouded by an accident, which I shall proceed to 
 relate. 
 
 At his first going ambassador into Italy, as he passed through
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 81 
 
 Germany, he stayed some days at Augusta ; where having been 
 in his former travels well known by many of the best note 
 for learning and ingeniousness, — those that are esteemed the 
 virtuosi of that nation, — with whom he passing an evening in 
 merriments, was requested by Christopher Flecamore to write 
 some sentence in his Albo ; — a book of white paper, which for 
 that purpose many of the German gentry usually carry about 
 them : — and Sir Henry Wotton consenting to the motion, took 
 an occasion, from some accidental discourse of the present 
 company, to write a pleasant definition of an ambassador in 
 these very words : 
 
 ' Legatus est vir bonus, peregre missus ad mentiendum rei- 
 publicae causa.' 
 
 Which Sir Henry Wotton could have been content should have 
 been thus Englished : 
 
 ' An ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad for the 
 good of his country.' 
 
 But the word for lie — being the hinge upon which the con- 
 ceit was to turn — was not so expressed in Latin, as would admit 
 — in the hands of an enemy especially — so fair a construction as 
 Sir Henry thought in English. Yet as it was, it slept quietly 
 among other sentences in this Albo almost eight years, till by 
 accident it fell into the hands of Jasper Scioppius, a Romanist, 
 a man of a restless spirit and a malicious pen ; who, with books 
 against King James, prints this as a principle of that religion 
 professed by the King, and his ambassador Sir Henry Wotton, 
 then at Venice ; and in Venice it was presently after written in 
 several glass-windows, and spitefully declared to be Sir Henry 
 Wotton's. 
 
 This coming to the knowledge of King James, he apprehended 
 it to be such an oversight, such a weakness, or worse, in Sir 
 Henry Wotton, as caused the King to express much wrath 
 against him : and this caused Sir Henry Wotton to write two 
 apologies, one to Velserus — one of the chiefs of Augusta — in the 
 universal language, which he caused to be printed, and given and 
 scattered in the most remarkable places both of Germany and 
 Italy, as an antidote against the venomous books of Scioppius ; and 
 
 F
 
 82 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 another apology to King James ; which were both so ingenious, 
 so clear, and so choicely eloquent, that his Majesty — who was 
 a pure judge of it — could not forbear, at the receipt thereof, to 
 declare publicly, ' That Sir Henry Wotton had commuted suffi- 
 ciently for a greater offence.' 
 
 And how, as broken bones well set become stronger, so Sir 
 Henry Wotton did not only recover, but was much more con- 
 firmed in his Majesty's estimation and favour than formerly he 
 had been. 
 
 And, as that man of great wit and useful fancy, his friend 
 Dr. Donne, gave in a will of his — a will of conceits — his repu- 
 tation to his friends, and his industry to his foes, because from 
 thence he received both : so those friends, that in this time of 
 trial laboured to excuse this facetious freedom of Sir Hemy 
 Wotton's were to him more dear, and by him more highly valued ; 
 and those acquaintance, that urged this as an advantage against 
 him, caused him by this error to grow both more wise, and — 
 which is the best fruit error can bring forth — for the future to 
 become more industriously watchful over his tongue and pen. 
 
 I have told you a part of his employment in Italy ; where, 
 notwithstanding the death of his favourer, the Duke Leonardo 
 Donato, who had an undissembled affection for him, and the 
 malicious accusation of Scioppius, yet his interest — as though it 
 had been an entailed love — was still found to live and increase 
 in all the succeeding Dukes during his employment to that 
 State, which was almost twenty years ; all which time he studied 
 the dispositions of those Dukes, and the other consulters of 
 State ; well knowing that he who negotiates a continued busi- 
 ness, and neglects the study of dispositions, usually fails in his 
 proposed ends. But in this^Sir Henry Wotton did not fail ; for, 
 by a fine sorting of fit presents, curious, and not costly enter- 
 tainments, always sweetened by various and pleasant discourse 
 — with which, and his choice application of stories, and his 
 elegant delivery of all these, even in their Italian language, he 
 first got, and still preserved, such interest in the State of 
 Venice, that it was observed — such was either his merit or his 
 modesty — they never denied him any request.
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 83 
 
 But all this shows but his abilities, and his fitness for that 
 employment; it will therefore be needful to tell the reader 
 what use he made of the interest which these procured him : and 
 that indeed was rather to oblige others than to enrich himself: 
 he still endeavouring that the reputation of the English might 
 be maintained, both in the German Empire and in Italy ; where 
 many gentlemen, whom travel had invited into that nation, 
 received from him cheerful entertainments, advice for their be- 
 haviour, and, by his interest, shelter or deliverance from those 
 accidental storms of adversity which usually attend upon travel. 
 
 And because these things may appear to the reader to be but 
 generals, I shall acquaint him with two particular examples : one 
 of his merciful disposition, and one of the nobleness of his mind ; 
 which shall follow. 
 
 There had been many English soldiers brought by com- 
 manders of their own country, to serve the Venetians for pay 
 against the Turk ; and those English, having by irregularities, 
 or improvidence, brought themselves into several galleys and 
 prisons, Sir Henry Wotton became a petitioner to that State 
 for their lives and enlargement ; and his request was granted : 
 so that those — which were many hundreds, and there made the 
 sad examples of human misery, by hard imprisonment and un- 
 pitied poverty in a strange nation — were by his means released, 
 relieved, and in a comfortable condition sent to thank God and 
 him, for their lives and liberty in their own country. 
 
 And this I have observed as one testimony of the compassion- 
 ate nature of him, who was, during his stay in those parts, as a 
 city of refuge for the distressed of this and other nations. 
 
 And for that which I offer as a testimony of the nobleness 
 of his mind, I shall make way to the reader's clearer under- 
 standing of it, by telling him, that beside several other foreign 
 employments, Sir Henry Wotton was sent thrice ambassador 
 to the Republic of Venice. And at his last going thither, he 
 was employed ambassador to several of the German princes, 
 and more particularly to the Emperor Ferdinando the Second ; 
 and that his employment to him, and those princes, was to 
 incline them to equitable conditions for the restoration of the
 
 84 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Queen of Bohemia and her descendants to their patrimonial 
 inheritance of the Palatinate. 
 
 This was, by his eight months' constant endeavours and 
 attendance upon the Emperor, his court and council, brought 
 to a probability of a successful conclusion, without bloodshed. 
 But there were at that time two opposite armies in the field ; 
 and as they were treating, there was a battle fought, in the 
 managery whereof there were so many miserable errors on 
 the one side, — so Sir Henry Wotton expresses it in a despatch 
 to the King — and so advantageous events to the Emperor, as 
 put an end to all present hopes of a successful treaty ; so that 
 Sir Henry, seeing the face of peace altered by that victory, 
 prepared for a removal from the court ; and at his departure 
 from the Emperor, was so bold as to remember him, 'That 
 the events of every battle move on the unseen wheels of 
 Fortune, which are this moment up, and down the next : and 
 therefore humbly advised him to use his victory so soberly, 
 as still to put on thoughts of peace.' Which advice, though 
 it seemed to be spoken with some passion, — his dear mistress 
 the Queen of Bohemia being concerned in it — was yet taken 
 in good part by the Emperor; who replied, 'That he would 
 consider his advice. And though he looked on the King his 
 master as an abettor of his enemy, the Palsgrave ; yet for Sir 
 Henry himself, his behaviour had been such during the manage 
 of the treaty, that he took him to be a person of much honour 
 and merit; and did therefore desire him to accept of that 
 jewel, as a testimony of his good opinion of him :' which was 
 a jewel of diamonds of more value than a thousand pounds. 
 
 This jewel was received with all outward circumstances and 
 terms of honour by Sir Henry Wotton. But the next morning, 
 at his departing from Vienna, he, at his taking leave of the 
 Countess of Sabrina — an Italian lady, in whose house the 
 Emperor had appointed him to be lodged, and honourably 
 entertained — acknowledged her merits, and besought her to 
 accept of that jewel, as a testimony of his gratitude for her 
 civilities ; presenting her with the same that was given him by 
 the Emperor ; which being suddenly discovered, and told to the
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 85 
 
 Emperor, was by him taken for a high affront, and Sir Henry 
 Wotton told so by a messenger. To which he replied, ' That 
 though he received it with thankfulness, yet he found in him- 
 self an indisposition to be the better for any gift that came 
 from an enemy to his Royal mistress, the Queen of Bohemia ; ' 
 for so she was pleased he should always call her. Many other 
 of his services to his Prince and this nation might be insisted 
 upon ; as, namely, his procurations of privileges and courtesies 
 with the German princes, and the Republic of Venice, for the 
 English merchants : and what he did by direction of King 
 James with the Venetian State, concerning the Bishop of 
 Spalato's return to the Church of Rome. But for the par- 
 ticulars of these, and many more that I meant to make known, 
 I want a view of some papers that might inform me, — his late 
 Majesty's letter-office having now suffered a strange alienation, 
 — and indeed I want time too ; for the printer's press stays for 
 what is written : so that I must hasten to bring Sir Henry 
 Wotton in an instant from Venice to London, leaving the 
 reader to make up what is defective in this place, by the 
 small supplement of the inscription under his arms, which 
 he left at all those houses where he rested, or lodged, when 
 he returned from his last embassy into England. 
 
 Henricus Wottonius Anglo-Cantianus, Thomae optimi viri 
 filius natu minimus, a Serenissimo Jacobo I. Mag. Brit. Rege, 
 in equestrem titulum adscitus, ejusdemque ter ad Rempublicam 
 Venetam Legatus Ordinarius, semel ad Con feed eratarum Pro- 
 vinciarum Ordines in Juliacensi negotio. Bis ad Carolum 
 Emanuel, Sabaudiae Ducem ; semel ad Unitos Superioris Ger- 
 manise Principes in Conventu Heilbrunensi, postrem6 ad 
 Archiducem Leopoldum, Ducem Wittembergensem, Civitates 
 Imperiales, Argentinam, Ulmamque, et ipsum Romanorum 
 Imperatorem Ferdinandum Secundum, Legatus Extraordinarius, 
 tandem hoc didicit, 
 
 Animas Jieri sapientiores quicscendo. 
 
 To London he came the year before King James died ; who 
 having, for the reward of his foreign service, promised him 
 the reversion of an office, which was fit to be turned into
 
 86 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 present money, which he wanted, for a supply of his present 
 necessities ; and also granted him the reversion of the Master 
 of the Rolls place, if he outlived charitable Sir Julius Caesar, 
 who then possessed it, and then grown so old that he was 
 said to be kept alive beyond nature's course by the prayers 
 of those many poor which he daily relieved. 
 
 But these were but in hope ; and his condition required a 
 present support : for in the beginning of these employments 
 he sold to his elder brother, the Lord Wotton, the rent- 
 charge left by his good father; and — which is worse — was 
 now at his return indebted to several persons, whom he was 
 not able to satisfy, but by the King's payment of his arrears, 
 due for his foreign employments. He had brought into 
 England many servants, of which some were German and 
 Italian artists : this was part of his condition, who had many 
 times hardly sufficient to supply the occasions of the day : for 
 it may by no means be said of his providence, as himself said 
 of Sir Philip Sidney's wit, 'That it was the very measure of 
 congruity,' he being always so careless of money, as though 
 our Saviour's words, ' Care not for to-morrow,' were to be 
 literally understood. 
 
 But it pleased the God of Providence, that in this juncture 
 of time the Provostship of his Majesty's College of Eton 
 became void by the death of Mr. Thomas Murray, for which 
 there were, as the place deserved, many earnest and powerful 
 suitors to the King. And Sir Henry, who had for many years 
 — like Sisyphus — rolled the restless stone of a State employ- 
 ment, knowing experimentally that the great blessing of sweet 
 content was not to be found in multitudes of men or business, 
 and that a college was the fittest place to nourish holy thoughts, 
 and to afford rest both to his body and mind, which his age — 
 being now almost thi'eescore years — seemed to require, did 
 therefore use his own, and the interest of all his friends to 
 procure that place. By which means, and quitting the King 
 of his promised reversionary offices, and a piece of honest 
 policy, — which I have not time to relate, — he got a grant of 
 it from his Majesty.
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 87 
 
 And this was a fair satisfaction to his mind : but money was 
 wanting to furnish him with those necessai'ies which attend 
 removes, and a settlement in such a place; and, to procure 
 that, he wrote to his old friend Mr. Nicholas Pey, for his 
 assistance. Of which Nicholas Pey I shall here say a little, 
 for the clearing of some passages that I shall mention here- 
 after. 
 
 He was in his youth a clerk, or in some such way a servant 
 to the Lord Wotton, Sir Henry's brother; and by him, when 
 he was Comptroller of the King's Household, was made a great 
 officer in his Majesty's house. This and other favours being con- 
 ferred upon Mr. Pey — in whom there was a radical honesty — 
 were always thankfully acknowledged by him, and his gratitude 
 expressed by a willing and unwearied serviceableness to that 
 family even till his death. To him Sir Henry Wotton wrote, 
 to use all his interest at court to procure five hundred pounds 
 of his arrears, for less would not settle him in the college ; 
 and the want of such a sum ' wrinkled his face with care ' ; — 
 'twas his own expression, — and, that money being procured, 
 he should the next day after find him in his college, and 
 ' hividice remedium ' writ over his study door. 
 
 This money, being part of his arrears, was, by his own, and 
 the help of honest Nicholas Pey's interest in court, quickly 
 procured him, and he as quickly in the college ; the place, 
 where indeed his happiness then seemed to have its beginning ; 
 the college being to his mind as a quiet harbour to a seafaring 
 man after a tempestuous voyage ; where, by the bounty of 
 the pious founder, his very food and raiment were plentifully 
 provided for him in kind, and more money than enough ; 
 where he was freed from all corroding cares, and seated on 
 such a rock, as the waves of want could not probably shake : 
 where he might sit in a calm, and, looking down, behold the 
 busy multitude turmoiled and tossed in a tempestuous sea of 
 trouble and dangers ; and — as Sir William Davenant has happily 
 expressed the like of another person — 
 
 Laugh at the graver business of the State, 
 Which speaks men rather wise than fortunate.
 
 88 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Being thus settled according to the desires of his heart, 
 his first study was the statutes of the college ; by which he 
 conceived himself bound to enter into holy orders, which he 
 did, being made Deacon with all convenient speed. Shortly 
 after which time, as he came in his surplice from the church 
 service, an old friend, a person of quality, met him so attired, 
 and joyed him of his new habit. To whom Sir Henry Wotton 
 replied, ' I thank God and the King, by whose goodness I am 
 now in this condition ; a condition which that Emperor Charles 
 the Fifth seemed to approve ; who, after so many remarkable 
 victories, when his glory was great in the eyes of all men, 
 freely gave up his crown, and the many cares that attended 
 it, to Philip his son, making a holy retreat to a cloisteral life, 
 where he might, by devout meditations, consult with God, — 
 which the rich or busy men seldom do — and have leisure both 
 to examine the errors of his life past, and prepare for that 
 great day, wherein all flesh must make an account of their 
 actions : and after a kind of tempestuous life, I now have the like 
 advantage from him, ' that makes the outgoings of the morning 
 to praise him ; ' even from my God, whom 1 daily magnify 
 for this particular mercy of an exemption from business, a 
 quiet mind, and a liberal maintenance, even in this part of 
 my life, when my age and infirmities seem to sound me 
 a retreat from the pleasures of this world, and invite me 
 to contemplation, in which I have ever taken the greatest 
 felicity.' 
 
 And now to speak a little of the employment of his time 
 in the college. After his customary public devotions, his use 
 was to retire into his study, and there to spend some hours 
 in reading the Bible, and Authors in Divinity, closing up his 
 meditations with private prayer ; this was, for the most part, 
 his employment in the forenoon. But when he was once sat 
 to dinner, then nothing but cheerful thoughts possessed his 
 mind, and those still increased by constant company at his 
 table, of such persons as brought thither additions both of 
 learning and pleasure ; but some part of most days was usually 
 spent in philosophical conclusions. Nor did he forget his
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 89 
 
 innate pleasure of angling, which he would usually call, ' his 
 idle time not idly spent ; ' saying often, ' he would rather live 
 five May months than forty Decembers.' 
 
 He was a great lover of his neighbours, and a bountiful en- 
 tertainer of them very often at his table, where his meat was 
 choice, and his discourse better. 
 
 He was a constant cherisher of all those youths in that 
 school, in whom he found either a constant diligence, or a 
 genius that prompted them to learning ; for whose encourage- 
 ment he was — beside many other things of necessity and 
 beauty — at the charge of setting up in it two rows of pillars, on 
 which he caused to be choicely drawn the pictures of divers 
 of the most famous Greek and Latin historians, poets, and 
 orators ; persuading them not to neglect rhetoric, because 
 'Almighty God has left mankind affections to be wrought 
 upon : ' And he would often say, ' That none despised elo- 
 quence, but such dull souls as were not capable of it.' He 
 would also often make choice of some observations out of those 
 historians and poets ; and would never leave the school with- 
 out dropping some choice Greek or Latin apophthegm or sen- 
 tence, that might be worthy of a room in the memory of a 
 growing scholar. 
 
 He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful 
 youths, which he picked out of the school, and took into his 
 own domestic care, and to attend him at his meals ; out of 
 whose discourse and behaviour he gathered observations for 
 the better completing of his intended work of education : of 
 which, by his still striving to make the whole better, he lived 
 to leave but part to posterity. 
 
 He was a great enemy to wrangling disputes of religion ; 
 concerning which I shall say a little, both to testify that, and to 
 show the readiness of his wit. 
 
 Having at his being in Rome made acquaintance with a 
 pleasant priest, who invited him one evening to hear their 
 vesper music at church ; the priest seeing Sir Henry stand 
 obscurely in a corner, sends to him by a boy of the choir this 
 question, writ on a small piece of paper ; ' Where was your
 
 90 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 religion to be found before Luther ? ' To which question Sir 
 Henry presently underwrit, ' My religion was to be found then, 
 where yours is not to be found now, in the written Word of 
 God.' 
 
 The next vesper, Sir Henry went purposely to the same 
 church, and sent one of the choir boys with this question to his 
 honest, pleasant friend, the priest : ' Do you believe all those 
 many thousands of poor Christians were damned, that were ex- 
 communicated because the Pope and the Duke of Venice could 
 not agree about their temporal power — even those poor 
 Christians that knew not why they quarrelled ? Speak your 
 conscience.' To which he underwrit in French, l Monsieur, 
 excusez-moi.' 
 
 To one that asked him, ' Whether a Papist may be saved ? ' 
 he replied, ' You may be saved without knowing that. Look 
 to yourself.' 
 
 To another, whose earnestness exceeded his knowledge, 
 and was still railing against the Papists, he gave this advice : 
 ' Pray, sir, forbear till you have studied the points better ; 
 for the wise Italians have this proverb : " He that understands 
 amiss concludes worse." And take heed of thinking, the 
 farther you go from the Church of Rome, the nearer you are 
 to God.' 
 
 And to another that spake indiscreet and bitter words against 
 Arminius, I heard him reply to this purpose : 
 
 ' In my travel towards Venice, as I passed through Germany, 
 I rested almost a year at Leyden, where I entered into an 
 acquaintance with Arminius, — then the Professor of Divinity in 
 that university, — a man much talked of in this age, which is 
 made up of opposition and controversy. And indeed, if I mis- 
 take not Arminius in his expressions, — as so weak a brain as 
 mine is may easily do, — then I know I differ from him in some 
 points ; yet I profess my judgment of him to be, that he was a 
 man of most rare learning, and I knew him to be of a most 
 strict life, and of a most meek spirit. And that he was so 
 mild appears by his proposals to our Master Perkins of Cam- 
 bridge, from whose book, Of the Order and Causes of Salvation
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 91 
 
 — which first was writ in Latin — Arminius took the occasion of 
 writing some queries to him concerning the consequents of his 
 doctrine ; intending them, 'tis said, to come privately to Mr. 
 Perkins' own hands, and to receive from him a like private and 
 a like loving answer. But Mr. Perkins died before those queries 
 came to him, and 'tis thought Arminius meant them to die with 
 him : for though he lived long after, I have heard he forbore to 
 publish them : but since his death his sons did not. And 'tis 
 pity, if God had been so pleased, that Mr. Perkins did not live 
 to see, consider, and answer those proposals himself; for he 
 was also of a most meek spirit, and of great and sanctified 
 learning. And though, since their deaths, many of high parts 
 and piety have undertaken to clear the controversy ; yet for 
 the most part they have rather satisfied themselves, than con- 
 vinced the dissenting party. And, doubtless, many middle- 
 witted men, which yet may mean well, many scholars that are 
 in the highest form for learning, which yet may preach well, 
 men that are but preachers, and shall never know, till they 
 come to heaven, where the questions stick betwixt Arminius 
 and the Church of England, — if there be any, — will yet in this 
 world be tampering with, and thereby perplexing the con- 
 troversy, and do therefore justly fall under the rebuke of St. 
 Jude, for being busy-bodies, and for meddling with things they 
 understand not.' 
 
 And here it offers itself — I think not unfitly, to tell the 
 reader, that a friend of Sir Henry Wotton's being designed for 
 the employment [of an ambassador, came to Eton, and re- 
 quested from him some experimental rules for his prudent and 
 safe carriage in his negotiations ; to whom he smilingly gave 
 this for an infallible aphorism : ' That, to be in safety himself, 
 and serviceable to his country, he should always, and upon all 
 occasions, speak the truth, — it seems a State paradox — for, says 
 Sir Henry Wotton, you shall never be believed ; and by this 
 means your truth will secure yourself, if you shall ever be called 
 to any account ; and it will also put your adversaries — who will 
 still hunt counter — to a loss in all their disquisitions and under- 
 takings.'
 
 92 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Many more of this nature might be observed ; but they must 
 be laid aside : for I shall here make a little stop, and invite the 
 reader to look back with me, whilst, according to my promise, 
 I shall say a little of Sir Albertus Morton, and Mr. William 
 Bedel, whom I formerly mentioned. 
 
 I have told you that are my reader, that at Sir Henry 
 Wotton's first going ambassador into Italy, his cousin, Sir 
 Albertus Morton, went his secretary : and I am next to tell 
 you that Sir Albertus died Secretary of State to our late King ; 
 but cannot, am not able to express the sorrow that possessed 
 Sir Henry Wotton, at his first hearing the news that Sir 
 Albertus was by death lost to him and this world. And yet 
 the reader may partly guess by these following expressions : 
 the first in a letter to his Nicholas Pey, of which this that 
 followeth is a part. 
 
 '. . . And, my dear Nich., when I had been here almost a 
 fortnight, in the midst of my great contentment, I received 
 notice of Sir Albertus Morton his departure out of this world, 
 who was dearer to me than mine own being in it : what a 
 wound it is to my heart, you that knew him, and know me, will 
 easily believe : but our Creator's will must be done, and unre- 
 piningly received by his own creatures, who is the Lord of all 
 nature and of all fortune, when he taketh to himself now one, 
 and then another, till that expected day, wherein it shall please 
 him to dissolve the whole, and wrap up even the heaven itself 
 as a scroll of parchment. This is the last philosophy that we 
 must study upon earth ; let us therefore, that yet remain here, 
 as our days and friends waste, reinforce our love to each other ; 
 which of all virtues, both spiritual and moral, hath the highest 
 privilege, because death itself cannot end it. And my good 
 Nich./ etc. 
 
 This is a part of his sorrow thus expressed to his Nich. 
 Pey : the other part is in this following elegy, of which the 
 reader may safely conclude it was too hearty to be dissembled.
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 93 
 
 TEARS 
 
 WEPT AT THE GKAVE OF SIR ALBERTUS MORTON, 
 BY HENRY WOTTON. 
 
 Silence, in truth would speak my sorrow best, 
 For deepest wounds can least their feeling tell : 
 Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest, 
 A time to bid him, whom I loved, farewell. 
 
 Oh, my unhappy lines ! you that before 
 Have served my youth to vent some wanton cries, 
 And now, congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore 
 Strength to accent, ' Here my Albertus lies.' 
 
 This is that sable stone, this is the cave 
 And womb of earth, that doth his corse embrace : 
 While others sing his praise, let me engrave 
 These bleeding numbers to adorn the place. 
 
 Here will I paint the characters of woe ; 
 Here will I pay my tribute to the dead ; 
 And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow, 
 To humanise the flints on which I tread. 
 
 Where, though I mourn my matchless loss alone, 
 And none between my weakness judge and me ; 
 Yet even these pensive walls allow my moan, 
 Whose doleful echoes to my plaints agree. 
 
 But is he gone ? and live I rhyming here, 
 As if some Muse would listen to my lay ? 
 When all distuned sit waiting for their dear, 
 And bathe the banks where he was wont to play. 
 
 Dwell then in endless bliss with happy souls, 
 Discharged from Nature's and from Fortune's trust ; 
 Whilst on this fluid globe my hour-glass rolls, 
 And runs the rest of my remaiaing dust. 
 
 H. W. 
 
 This concerning his Sir Albertus Morton. 
 
 And for what I shall say concerning Mr. William Bedel, I 
 must prepare the reader by telling him, that when King James
 
 94 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 sent Sir Henry Wotton ambassador to the State of Venice, he 
 sent also an ambassador to the King of France, and another to 
 the King of Spain. With the ambassador of France went 
 Joseph Hall, late Bishop of Norwich, whose many and useful 
 works speak his great merit : with the ambassador to Spain 
 went James Wadsworth ; and with Sir Henry Wotton went 
 William Bedel. 
 
 These three chaplains to these three ambassadors were all 
 bred in one university, all of one college, all beneficed in one 
 diocese, and all most dear and entire friends. But in Spain, 
 Mr. Wadsworth met with temptations, or reasons, such as were 
 so powerful as to persuade him — who of the three was formerly 
 observed to be the most averse to that religion that calls itself 
 Catholic — to disclaim himself a member of the Church of 
 England, and to declare himself for the Church of Rome, dis- 
 charging himself of his attendance on the ambassador, and 
 betaking himself to a monasterial life, in which he lived very 
 regularly and so died. 
 
 When Dr. Hall, the late Bishop of Norwich, came into 
 England, he wrote to Mr. Wadsworth, — it is the first epistle in 
 his printed Decades, — to persuade his return, or to show the 
 reason of his apostasy. The letter seemed to have in it many 
 sweet expressions of love ; and yet there was in it some ex- 
 pression that was so unpleasant to Mr. Wadsworth, that he 
 chose rather to acquaint his old friend Mr. Bedel with his 
 motives ; by which means there passed betwixt Mr. Bedel and 
 Mr. Wadsworth, divers letters which be extant in print, and 
 did well deserve it ; for in them there seems to be a controversy, 
 not of religion only, but who should answer each other with 
 most love and meekness; which I mention the rather, because 
 it too seldom falls out to be so in a book-war. 
 
 There is yet a little more to be said of Mr. Bedel, for the 
 greater part of which the reader is referred to this following 
 letter of Sir Henry Wotton's, written to our late King Charles 
 the First : —
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 95 
 
 ' May it please Your most Gracious Majesty, 
 
 ' Having been informed that certain persons have, by the 
 good wishes of the Archbishop of Armagh, been directed 
 hither, with a most humble petition unto your Majesty that 
 you will be pleased to make Mr. William Bedel — now resident 
 upon a small benefice in Suffolk — governor of your college at 
 Dublin, for the good of that society ; and myself being re- 
 quired to render unto your Majesty some testimony of the said 
 William Bedel who was long my chaplain at Venice, in the 
 time of my first employment there, I am bound in all conscience 
 and truth — so far as your Majesty will vouchsafe to accept my 
 poor judgment — to affirm of him, that I think hardly a fitter 
 man for that charge could have been propounded unto your 
 Majesty in your whole kingdom, for singular erudition and 
 piety, conformity to the rites of the Church, and zeal to 
 advance the cause of God, wherein his travails abroad were not 
 obscure in the time of the excommunication of the Venetians. 
 
 ' For it may please your Majesty to know, that this is the 
 man whom Padre Paulo took, I may say, into his very soul, with 
 whom he did communicate the inwardest thoughts of his heart ; 
 from whom he professed to have received more knowledge in 
 all divinity, both scholastical and positive, than from any that 
 he had ever practised in his days ; of which all the passages 
 were well known to the King your father, of most blessed 
 memory. And so, with your Majesty's good favour, I will end 
 this needless office ; for the general fame of his learning, his 
 life, and Christian temper, and those religious labours which 
 himself hath dedicated to your Majesty, do better describe him 
 than I am able. 
 
 Your Majesty's 
 
 Most humble and faithful servant, 
 
 H. Wotton.' 
 
 To this letter I shall add this : that he was — to the great joy 
 of Sir Henry Wotton — made governor of the said college ; and 
 that, after a fair discharge of his duty and trust there he was 
 thence removed to be Bishop of Kilmore. In both places his
 
 96 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 life was so holy, as seemed to equal the primitive Christians : 
 for as they, so he kept all the ember-weeks, observed — besides 
 his private devotions — the canonical hours of prayer very 
 strictly, and so he did all the feasts and fast-days of his 
 mother, the Church of England. To which I may add, that his 
 patience and charity were both such, as showed his affections 
 were set upon things that are above ; for indeed his whole life 
 brought forth the fruits of the Spirit ; there being in him such 
 a remarkable meekness, that as St. Paul advised his Timothy 
 in the election of a bishop, 'That he have a good report of 
 those that be without ; ' so had he : for those that were 
 without, even those that in point of religion were of the Roman 
 persuasion, — of which there were very many in his diocese, — 
 did yet — such is the power of visible piety — ever look upon 
 him with respect and reverence, and testified it by a concealing, 
 and safe protecting him from death in the late horrid rebellion 
 in Ireland, when the fury of the wild Irish knew no distinction 
 of persons: and yet, there and then he was protected and 
 cherished by those of a contrary persuasion ; and there and 
 then he died, not by violence or misusage, but by grief in a 
 quiet prison (1642). And with him was lost many of his 
 learned writings which were thought worthy of preservation ; 
 and amongst the rest was lost the Bible, which by many 
 years' labour, and conference, and study, he had translated 
 into the Irish tongue, with an intent to have printed it for 
 public use. 
 
 More might be said of Mr. Bedel, who, I told the reader, 
 was Sir Henry Wotton' s first chaplain ; and much of his second 
 chaplain, Isaac Bargrave, Doctor in Divinity, and the late 
 learned and hospitable Dean of Canterbury ; as also of the 
 merits of many others, that had the happiness to attend Sir 
 Henry in his foreign employments : but the reader may think 
 that in this digression I have already carried him too far from 
 Eton College, and therefore I shall lead him back as gently 
 and as orderly as I may to that place, for a further conference 
 concerning Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton had proposed to himself, before he
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 97 
 
 entered into his collegiate life, to write the Life of Martin 
 Luther, and in it the History of the Reformation, as it was 
 carried on in Germany : for the doing of which he had many 
 advantages by his several embassies into those parts, and his 
 interest in the several princes of the Empire; by whose means 
 he had access to the records of all the Hans Towns, and the 
 knowledge of many secret passages that fell not under common 
 view ; and in these he had made a happy progress, as was well 
 known to his worthy friend Dr. Duppa, the late Reverend 
 Bishop of Salisbury. But in the midst of this design, his late 
 Majesty King Charles the First, that knew the value of Sir 
 Henry Wotton's pen, did, by a persuasive loving violence — to 
 which may be added a promise of £500 a year — force him to 
 lay Luther aside, and betake himself to write the History of 
 England ; in which he proceeded to write some short characters 
 of a few kings, as a foundation upon which he meant to build ; 
 but, for the present, meant to be more large in the story of 
 Henry the Sixth, the founder of that college in which he 
 then enjoyed all the worldly happiness of his present being. 
 But Sir Henry died in the midst of this undertaking, and the 
 footsteps of his labours are not recoverable by a more than 
 common diligence. 
 
 This is some account both of his inclination and the employ- 
 ment of his time in the college, where he seemed to have his 
 youth renewed by a continual conversation with that learned 
 society, and a daily recourse of other friends of choicest breeding 
 and parts ; by which that great blessing of a cheerful heart 
 was still maintained ; he being always free, even to the 
 last of his days, from that peevishness which usually attends 
 age. 
 
 And yet his mirth was sometimes damped by the remem- 
 brance of divers old debts, partly contracted in his foreign 
 employments, for which his just arrears due from the King 
 would have made satisfaction : but being still delayed with 
 court promises, and finding some decays of health, he did, 
 about two years before his death, out of a Christian desire that 
 none should be a loser by him, make his last will ; concerning 
 
 G
 
 98 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 which a doubt still remains, namely, whether it discovered 
 more holy wit or conscionable policy. But there is no doubt 
 but that his chief design was a Christian endeavour that his 
 debts might be satisfied. 
 
 And that it may remain, as such, a testimony and a legacy 
 to those that loved him, I shall here impart it to the reader as 
 it was found written with his own hand. 
 
 ' In the name of God Almighty and All-merciful, I, Henry 
 Wotton, Provost of his Majesty's College by Eton, being mindful 
 of mine own mortality, which the sin of our first parents did 
 bring upon all flesh, do by this last will and testament thus 
 dispose of myself, and the poor things I shall leave in this 
 world. My soul I bequeath to the Immortal God my Maker, 
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, my blessed Redeemer and 
 Mediator, through his all sole-sufficient satisfaction for the sins 
 of the whole world, and efficient for his elect ; in the number 
 of whom I am one by his mere grace, and therefore most 
 unremovably assured by his Holy Spirit, the true eternal 
 Comforter. My body I bequeath to the earth, if I shall 'end 
 my transitory days at or near Eton, to be buried in the chapel 
 of the said college, as the fellows shall dispose thereof, with 
 whom I have lived — my God knows — in all loving affection ; 
 or if I shall die near Bocton Malherbe, in the county of 
 Kent, then I wish to be laid in that parish church, as near as 
 may be to the sepulchre of my good father, expecting a joyful 
 resurrection with him in the day of Christ.' 
 
 After this account of his faith, and this surrender of his soul 
 to that God that inspired it, and this direction for the disposal 
 of his body, he proceeded to appoint that his executors should 
 lay over his grave a marble stone, plain, and not costly : and 
 considering that time moulders even marble to dust, — for — 
 monuments themselves must die ; therefore did he — waving 
 the common way — think fit rather to preserve his name — to 
 which the son of Sirach adviseth all men — by a useful 
 apophthegm, than by a large enumeration of his descent or 
 merits, of both which he might justly have boasted ; but he 
 was content to forget them, and did choose only this prudent,
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 99 
 
 pious sentence to discover his disposition, and preserve his 
 memory. 
 
 It was directed by him to be thus inscribed : 
 
 Hicjacet hujus Sententiae primus Author : 
 
 niSPUTANDI PRURITUS ECCLESIARUM SCABIES. 
 
 Nomen alias quaere. 
 Which may be Englished thus : 
 
 Here lies the first Author of this sentence : 
 
 THE ITCH OF DISPUTATION WILL PROVE 
 THE SCAB OF THE CHURCH. 
 
 Inquire his Name elsewhere. 
 
 And if any shall object, as I think some have, that Sir Henry 
 Wotton was not the first author of this sentence : but that this, 
 or a sentence like it, was long before his time ; to him I answer, 
 that Solomon says, ' Nothing can be spoken, that hath not been 
 spoken ; for there is no new thing under the sun.' But grant, 
 that in his various reading he had met Avith this, or a like 
 sentence, yet reason mixed with charity should persuade all 
 readers to believe, that Sir Henry Wotton's mind was then so 
 fixed on that part of the communion of saints which is above, 
 that an holy lethargy did surprise his memory. For doubtless, 
 if he had not believed himself to be the first author of what he 
 said, he was too prudent first to own, and then expose it to 
 public view and censure of every critic. And questionless it 
 will be charity in all readers to think his mind was then so 
 fixed on heaven, that a holy zeal did transport him ; and that, 
 in this sacred ecstasy, his thoughts were then only of the 
 Church triumphant, into which he daily expected his admission ; 
 and that Almighty God was then pleased to make him a 
 prophet, to tell the Church militant, and particularly that part 
 of it in this nation, where the weeds of controversy grow to be 
 daily both more numerous and more destructive to humble 
 piety ; and where men have consciences that boggle at 
 ceremonies, and yet scruple not to speak and act such sins as 
 the ancient humble Christians believed to be a sin to think ;
 
 100 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and where, our reverend Hooker says, 'former simplicity, and 
 softness of spirit, is not now to be found, because zeal hath 
 drowned charity, and skill meekness.' It will be good to 
 think that these sad changes have proved this epitaph to be 
 a useful caution unto us of this nation ; and the sad effects 
 thereof in Germany have proved it to be a mournful truth. 
 
 This by way of observation concerning his epitaph ; the rest 
 of his will follows in his own words. 
 
 ' Further, I, the said Henry Wotton, do constitute and ordain 
 to be joint executors of this my last will and testament, my 
 two grand-nephews, Albert Morton, second son to Sir Robert 
 Morton, Knight, late deceased, and Thomas Bargrave, eldest 
 son to Dr. Bargrave, Dean of Canterbury, husband to my right 
 virtuous and only niece. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. 
 Bargrave, and Mr. Nicholas Pey, my most faithful and chosen 
 friends, together with Mr. John Harrison, one of the fellows 
 of Eton College, best acquainted with my books and pictures, 
 and other utensils, to be supervisors of this my last will and 
 testament. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. Bargrave, and Mr. 
 Nicholas Pey, to be solicitors for such arrearages as shall 
 appear due unto me from his Majesty's exchequer at the time 
 of my death ; and to assist my forenamed executors in some 
 reasonable and conscientious satisfaction of my creditors, and 
 discharge of my legacies now specified ; or that shall be here- 
 after added unto this my testament, by any codicil or schedule, 
 or left in the hands, or in any memorial with the aforesaid Mr. 
 John Harrison. And first, to my most dear sovereign and 
 master, of incomparable goodness, — in whose gracious opinion 
 I have ever had some portion, as far as the interest of a plain 
 honest man — I leave four pictures at large of those Dukes of 
 Venice, in whose time I was there employed, with their names 
 written on the back side, which hang in my great ordinary 
 dining-room, done after the life by Edoardo Fialetto : likewise 
 a table of the Venetian College, where ambassadors had their 
 audience, hanging over the mantel of the chimney in the said 
 room, done by the same hand, which containeth a draught in 
 little, well resembling the famous Duke Leonardo Donato, in a
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 101 
 
 time which needed a wise and constant man. Item : The 
 picture of a Duke of Venice, hanging over against the door, 
 done either by Titiano, or some other principal hand, long 
 before my time. Most humbly beseeching his Majesty, that 
 the said pieces may remain in some corner of any of his houses, 
 for a poor memorial of his most humble vassal. 
 
 ' Item : I leave his said Majesty all the papers and negotiations 
 of Sir Nich. Throgmorton, Knight, during his famous employment 
 under Queen Elizabeth, in Scotland, and in France ; which 
 contain divers secrets of State, that perchance his Majesty will 
 think fit to be preserved in his paper-office, after they have 
 been perused and sorted by Mr. Secretary Windebank, with 
 whom I have heretofore, as I remember, conferred about them. 
 They were committed to my disposal by Sir Arthur Throgmorton, 
 his son, to whose worthy memory I cannot better discharge my 
 faith than by assigning them to the highest place of trust. 
 Item : I leave to our most gracious and virtuous Queen Mary, 
 Dioscorides, with the plants naturally coloured, and the text 
 translated by Matthiolo, in the best language of Tuscany, 
 whence her said Majesty is lineally descended, for a poor token 
 of my thankful devotion for the honour she was once pleased 
 to do my private study with her presence. I leave to the most 
 hopeful Prince, the picture of the elected and crowned Queen 
 of Bohemia, his aunt, of clear and resplendent virtues, through 
 the clouds of her fortune. To my Lord's Grace of Canterbury 
 now being, I leave my picture of Divine Love, rarely copied 
 from one in the King's galleries, of my presentation to his 
 Majesty; beseeching him to receive it as a pledge of my 
 humble reverence to his great wisdom. And to the most 
 worthy Lord Bishop of London, Lord High Treasurer of 
 England, in true admiration of his Christian simplicity and 
 contempt of earthly pomp, I leave a picture of Heraclitus 
 bewailing, and Democritus laughing at the world ; most humbly 
 beseeching the said Lord Archbishop his Grace, and the Lord 
 Bishop of London, of both whose favours I have tasted in my 
 lifetime, to intercede with our most gracious Sovereign after 
 my death, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, that out of compassion-
 
 102 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 ate memory of my long services, — wherein I more studied the 
 public honour than mine own utility, — some order may be taken 
 out of my arrears due in the exchequer, for such satisfaction of 
 my creditors, as those whom I have ordained supervisors of this 
 my last will and testament shall present unto their Lordships, 
 without their further trouble : hoping likewise in his Majesty's 
 most indubitable goodness, that he will keep me from all pre- 
 judice, which I may otherwise suffer by any defect of formality 
 
 in the demand of my said arrears. To for a poor addition 
 
 to his cabinet, I leave, as emblems of his attractive virtues and 
 obliging nobleness, my great loadstone, and a piece of amber* 
 of both kinds naturally united, and only differing in degree of 
 concoction, which is thought somewhat rare. Item : A piece of 
 crystal sexangular — as they grow all — grasping divers several 
 things within it, which I bought among the Rhaetian Alps, in 
 the very place where it grew ; recommending most humbly un- 
 to his Lordship, the reputation of my poor name in the point of 
 my debts, as I have done to the forenamed Spiritual Lords, and 
 am heartily sorry that I have no better token of my Humble 
 thankfulness to his honoured person. Item : I leave to Sir 
 Francis Windebank, one of his Majesty's principal secretaries of 
 State, — whom I found my great friend in point of necessity, — ■ 
 the Four Seasons of old Bassano, to hang near the eye in his par- 
 lour, — being in little form, — which I bought at Venice, where I 
 first entered into his most worthy acquaintance. 
 
 ( To the above-named Dr. Bargrave, Dean of Canterbury, I 
 leave all my Italian books not disposed in this will. I leave 
 to him likewise my Viol da gamba, which hath been twice with 
 me in Italy, in which country I first contracted with him an 
 unremovable affection. To my other supervisor, Mr. Nicholas 
 Pey, I leave my chest, or cabinet of instruments and engines 
 of all kinds of uses : in the lower box whereof are some fit to 
 be bequeathed to none but so entire an honest man as he is. I 
 leave him likewise forty pounds for his pains in the solicitation 
 of my arrears ; and am sorry that my ragged estate can reach 
 no further to one that hath taken such care for me in the same 
 kind, during all my foreign employments. To the Library of
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 103 
 
 Eton College I leave all my manuscripts not before disposed, 
 and to each of the fellows a plain ring of gold, enamelled black, 
 all save the verge, with this motto within, "Amor unit omnia." 
 
 c This is my last will and testament, save what shall be 
 added by a schedule thereunto annexed, written on the 1st of 
 October, in the present year of our redemption, 1637, and 
 subscribed by myself, with the testimony of these witnesses, 
 
 'Nich. Oudert, Henry Wotton. 
 
 ' Geo. Lash.' 
 
 And now, because the mind of man is best satisfied by the 
 knowledge of events, I think fit to declare, that every one that 
 was named in his will did gladly receive their legacies : by 
 which, and his most just and passionate desires for the payment 
 of his debts, they joined in assisting the overseers of his will ; 
 and by their joint endeavours to the King, — than whom none 
 was more willing — conscionable satisfaction was given for his 
 just debts. 
 
 The next thing wherewith I shall acquaint the reader is, that 
 he went usually once a year, if not oftener, to that beloved 
 Bocton Hall, where he would say, ' He found a cure for all 
 cares, by the cheerful company, which he called the living 
 furniture of that place : and a restoration of his strength, by 
 the connaturalness of that which he called his genial air.' 
 
 He yearly went also to Oxford. But the summer before his 
 death he changed that for a journey to Winchester College, to 
 which school he was first removed from Bocton. And as he 
 returned from Winchester towards Eton College, said to a 
 friend, his companion in that journey : ' How useful was that 
 advice of a holy monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his 
 customary devotions in a constant place, because in that place 
 we usually meet with those very thoughts which possessed us 
 at our last being there ! And I find it thus far experimentally 
 true, that at my now being in that school, and seeing that very 
 place where I sat when I was a boy, occasioned me to remember 
 those very thoughts of my youth which then possessed me : 
 sweet thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numer-
 
 104 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 ous pleasures, without mixtures of cares : and those to be 
 enjoyed, when time — which I therefore thought slow-paced — 
 had changed my youth into manhood. But age and experience 
 have taught me that those were but empty hopes ; for I have 
 always found it true, as my Saviour did foretell, " Sufficient for 
 the day is the evil thereof." Nevertheless, I saw there a 
 succession of boys using the same recreations, and, questionless, 
 possessed with the same thoughts that then possessed me. Thus 
 one generation succeeds another, both in their lives, recreations, 
 hopes, fears, and death.' 
 
 After his return from Winchester to Eton, which was about 
 five months before his death, he became much more retired and 
 contemplative : in which time he was often visited by Mr. John 
 Hales, — learned Mr. John Hales, — then a fellow of that college, 
 to whom upon an occasion he spake to this purpose : ' I have, in 
 my passage to my grave, met with most of those joys of which 
 a discoursive soul is capable ; and been entertained with more 
 inferior pleasures than the sons of men are usually made par- 
 takers of: nevertheless, in this voyage I have not always floated 
 on the calm sea of content ; but have often met with cross 
 winds and storms, and with many troubles of mind and tempta- 
 tions to evil. And yet, though I have been, and am a man com- 
 passed about with human frailties, Almighty God hath by his 
 grace prevented me from making shipwreck of faith and a good 
 conscience, the thought of which is now the joy of my heart, 
 and I most humbly praise him for it : and I humbly acknowledge 
 that it was not myself, but he that hath kept me to this great 
 age, and let him take the glory of his great mercy. — And, my 
 dear friend, I now see that I draw near my harbour of death ; 
 that harbour that will secure me from all the future storms and 
 waves of this restless world ; and I praise God I am willing to 
 leave it, and expect a better; that world wherein dwelleth 
 righteousness ; and I long for it ! ' 
 
 These and the like expressions were then uttered by him at 
 the beginning of a feverish distemper, at which time he was 
 also troubled with an asthma, or short spitting : but after less 
 than twenty fits, by the help of familiar physic and a spare
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON 105 
 
 diet, this fever abated, yet so as to leave him much weaker than 
 it found him ; and his asthma seemed also to be overcome in a 
 good degree by his forbearing tobacco, which, as many thought- 
 ful men do, he also had taken somewhat immoderately. This 
 was his then present condition, and thus he continued till about 
 the end of October, 16.39, which was about a month before his 
 death, at which time he again fell into a fever, which though he 
 seemed to recover, yet these still left him so weak, that they, 
 and those other common infirmities that accompany age, were 
 wont to visit him like civil friends, and after some short time 
 to leave him, — came now both oftener and with more violence, 
 and at last took up their constant habitation with him, still 
 weakening his body and abating his cheerfulness ; of both which 
 he grew more sensible, and did the oftener retire into his study, 
 and there made many papers that had passed his pen, both in 
 the days of his youth and in the busy part of his life, useless, by 
 a fire made there to that purpose. These, and several unusual 
 expressions to his servants and friends, seemed to foretell that 
 the day of his death drew near ; for which he seemed to those 
 many friends that observed him to be well prepared, and to be 
 both patient and free from all fear, as several of his letters 
 writ on this his last sick-bed may testify. And thus he con- 
 tinued till about the beginning of December following, at which 
 time he was seized more violently with a quotidian fever ; in 
 the tenth fit of which fever, his better part, that part of Sir 
 Henry Wotton which could not die, put off mortality with as 
 much content and cheerfulness as human frailty is capable of, 
 being then in great tranquillity of mind, and in perfect peace 
 with God and man. 
 
 And thus the circle of Sir Henry Wotton's life — that circle 
 which began at Bocton, and in the circumference thereof did 
 first touch at Winchester School, then at Oxford, and after upon 
 so many remarkable parts and passages in Christendom — that 
 circle of his life was by death thus closed up and completed, in 
 the seventy and second year of his age, at Eton College ; where, 
 according to his will, he now lies buried, with his motto on a 
 plain gravestone over him : dying worthy of his name and
 
 106 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 family, worthy of the love and favour of so many princes, and 
 persons of eminent wisdom and learning, worthy of the trust 
 committed unto him, for the service of his prince and country. 
 
 And all readers are requested to believe that he was worthy 
 of a more worthy pen, to have preserved his memory and com- 
 mended his merits to the imitation of posterity. Iz. Wa. 
 
 AN ELEGY ON SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 
 MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY. 
 
 What shall we say, since silent now is he, 
 Who when he spoke all things would silent he ? 
 Who had so many languages in store, 
 That only Fame shall speak of him in more. 
 Whom England now no more return'd, must see ; 
 He 's gone to Heaven, on his fourth embassy. 
 On earth he travell'd often, not to say, 
 He 'd been abroad to pass loose time away ; 
 For in whatever land he chanced to come, 
 He read the men and manners ; bringing home 
 Their wisdom, learning, and their piety, 
 As if he went to conquer, not to see. 
 So well he understood the most and best 
 Of tongues that Babel sent into the West ; 
 Spoke them so truly, that he had, you 'd swear, 
 Not only liv'd, but been born everywhere. 
 Justly each nation's speech to him was known, 
 Who for the world was made, not us alone : 
 Nor ought the language of that man be less, 
 Who in his breast had all things to express. 
 We say that learning 's endless, and blame Fate 
 For not allowing life a longer date, 
 He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find, 
 And found them not so large as was his mind ; 
 But, like the brave Pellean youth, did moan, 
 Because that Art had no more worlds than one. 
 And when he saw that he through all had past, 
 He died — lest he should idle grow at last. 
 
 A. Cowley
 
 LIFE OF 
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I have been persuaded, by a friend whom I reverence, and 
 ought to obey, to write the Life of Richard Hooker, the 
 happy author of five — if not more — of the eight learned books 
 of The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. And though I have 
 undertaken it, yet it hath been with some unwillingness : 
 because I foresee that it must prove to me, and especially at 
 this time of my age, a work of much labour to inquire, con- 
 sider, research, and determine what is needful to be known 
 concerning him. For I knew him not in his life, and must 
 therefore not only look back to his death, — now sixty-four 
 years past — but almost fifty years beyond that, even to his 
 childhood and youth ; and gather thence such observations 
 and prognostics, as may at least adorn, if not prove necessary 
 for the completing of what I have undertaken. 
 
 This trouble I foresee, and foresee also that it is impossible 
 to escape censures ; against which I will not hope my well- 
 meaning and diligence can protect me, — for I consider the age 
 in which I live — and shall therefore but entreat of my reader 
 a suspension of his censures, till I have made known unto him 
 some reasons, which I myself would now gladly believe do 
 make me in some measure fit for this undertaking : and if 
 these reasons shall not acquit me from all censures, they may 
 at least abate of their severity, and this is all I can probably 
 hope for. My reasons follow. 
 
 About forty years past — for I am now past the seventy of 
 
 107
 
 108 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 my age — I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer, — 
 now with God, — a grand-nephew unto the great archbishop 
 of that name ; — a family of noted prudence and resolution ; 
 with him and two of his sisters I had an entire and free 
 friendship : one of them was the wife of Dr. Spencer, a bosom 
 friend and sometime com-pupil with Mr. Hooker in Corpus 
 Christi College in Oxford, and after president of the same. 
 I name them here, for that I shall have occasion to mention 
 them in the following discourse, as also George Cranmer, their 
 brother, of whose useful abilities my reader may have a more 
 authentic testimony than my pen can purchase for him, by 
 that of our learned Camden and others. 
 
 This William Cranmer and his two fore-named sisters had 
 some affinity, and a most familiar friendship, with Mr. Hooker, 
 and had had some part of their education with him in his 
 house, when he was parson of Bishopsbourne, near Canter- 
 bury ; in which city their good father then lived. They had, 
 I say, a part of their education with him as myself, since that 
 time, a happy cohabitation with them ; and having some years 
 before read part of Mr. Hooker's works with great liking and 
 satisfaction, my affection to them made me a diligent inquisitor 
 into many things that concerned him ; as namely, of his persons, 
 his nature, the management of his time, his wife, his family, 
 and the fortune of him and his. Which inquiry hath given 
 me much advantage in the knowledge of what is now under 
 my consideration, and intended for the satisfaction of my 
 reader. 
 
 I had also a friendship with the Reverend Dr. Usher, the 
 late learned Archbishop of Armagh ; and with Dr. Morton, 
 the late learned and charitable Bishop of Durham ; as also 
 the learned John Hales, of Eton College ; and with them also 
 — who loved the very name of Mr. Hooker — I have had many 
 discourses concerning him ; and from them, and many others 
 that have now put off mortality, I might have had more infor- 
 mations, if I could then have admitted a thought of any fit- 
 ness, for what by persuasion I have now undertaken. But 
 though that full harvest be irrecoverably lost, yet my memory
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 109 
 
 hath preserved some gleanings, and my diligence made such 
 additions to them, as I hope will prove useful to the com- 
 pleting of what I intend : in the discovery of which I shall 
 be faithful, and with this assurance put a period to my intro- 
 duction. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 It is not to be doubted, but that Richard Hooker was born 
 at Heavy-tree, near, or within the precincts, or in the city of 
 Exeter; a city which may justly boast, that it was the birth- 
 place of him and Sir Thomas Bodley ; as indeed the county 
 may, in which it stands, that it hath furnished this nation 
 with Bishop Jewel, Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 and many others, memorable for their valour and learning. 
 He was born about the year of our redemption 1553, and 
 of parents that were not so remarkable for their extraction or 
 riches, as for their virtue and industry, and God's blessing 
 upon both; by which they were enabled to educate their 
 children in some degree of learning, of which our Richard 
 Hooker may appear to be one fair testimony, and that nature 
 is not so partial as always to give the great blessings of wisdom 
 and learning, and with them the greater blessings of virtue 
 and government, to those only that are of a more high and 
 honourable birth. 
 
 His complexion — if we may guess by him at the age of 
 forty — was sanguine, with a mixture of choler; and yet his 
 motion was slow even in his youth, and so was his speech, 
 never expressing an earnestness in either of them, but an 
 
 humble gravity suitable to the aged. And it is observed, 
 
 so far as inquiry is able to look back at this distance of time, 
 — that at his being a school-boy he was an early questionist, 
 quietly inquisitive f why this was, and that was not, to be 
 remembered ? why this was granted, and that denied ? ' This 
 being mixed with a remarkable modesty, and a sweet, serene 
 quietness of nature, and with them a quick apprehension of
 
 110 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 many perplexed parts of learning, imposed then upon him as 
 a scholar, made his master and others to believe him to have 
 an inward blessed divine light, and therefore to consider him 
 to be a little wonder. For in that, children were less preg- 
 nant, less confident and more malleable, than in this wiser, 
 but no better, age. 
 
 This meekness and conjuncture of knowledge, with modesty 
 in his conversation, being observed by his schoolmaster, caused 
 him to persuade his parents — who intended him for an appren- 
 tice — to continue him at school till he could find out some 
 means, by persuading his rich uncle, or some other charitable 
 person, to ease them of a part of their care and charge ; assur- 
 ing them that their son was so enriched with the blessings of 
 nature and grace, that God seemed to single him out as a 
 special instrument of his glory. And the good man told them 
 also, that he would double his diligence in instructing him, 
 and would neither expect nor receive any other reward, than 
 the content of so hopeful and happy an employment. 
 
 This was not unwelcome news, and especially to his mother, 
 to whom he was a dutiful and dear child, and all parties were 
 so pleased with this proposal, that it was resolved so it should 
 be. And in the meantime his parents and master laid a 
 foundation for his future happiness, by instilling into his soul 
 the seeds of piety, those conscientious principles of loving and 
 fearing God, of an early belief, that he knows the very secrets 
 of our souls ; that he punisheth our vices, and rewards our 
 innocence ; that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear 
 to man what we are to God, because first or last the crafty 
 man is catched in his own snare. These seeds of piety were 
 so seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the 
 daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his infant virtues grew 
 into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily into more 
 and more favour both with God and man ; which, with the 
 great learning that he did after attain to, hath made Richard 
 Hooker honoured in this, and will continue him to be so to 
 succeeding generations. 
 
 This good schoolmaster, whose name I am not able to re-
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 111 
 
 cover, — and am sorry, for that I would have given him a better 
 memorial in this humble monument, dedicated to the memory 
 of his scholar, — was very solicitous with John Hooker, then 
 chamberlain of Exeter, and uncle to our Richard, to take his 
 nephew into his care, and to maintain him for one year in 
 the university, and in the meantime to use his endeavours 
 to procure an admission for him into some college, though it 
 were but in a mean degree ; still urging and assuring him, 
 that his charge would not continue long ; for the lad's learn- 
 ing and manners were both so remarkable, that they must of 
 necessity be taken notice of; and that doubtless God would 
 provide him some second patron, that would free him and his 
 parents from their future care and charge. 
 
 These reasons, with the affectionate rhetoric of his good 
 master, and God's blessing upon both, procured from his 
 uncle a faithful promise, that he would take him into his care 
 and charge before the expiration of the year following, which 
 was performed by him, and with the assistance of the learned 
 Mr. John Jewel; of whom this may be noted, that he left, 
 or was about the first of Queen Mary's reign expelled out of 
 Corpus Christi College in Oxford, — of which he was a fellow, 
 — for adhering to the truth of those principles of religion, to 
 which he had assented and given testimony in the days of 
 her brother and predecessor, Edward the Sixth ; and this 
 John Jewel, having within a short time after, a just cause to 
 fear a more heavy punishment than expulsion, was forced, by 
 forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation ; and, with 
 that safety, the enjoyment of that doctrine and worship for 
 which he suffered. 
 
 But the cloud of that persecution and fear ending with the 
 life of Queen Mary, the affairs of the Church and State did 
 then look more clear and comfortable ; so that he, and with 
 him many others of the same judgment, made a happy return 
 into England about the first of Queen Elizabeth ; in which 
 year this John Jewel was sent a commissioner or visitor, of 
 the churches of the western parts of this kingdom, and 
 especially of those in Devonshire, in which county he was
 
 112 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 born ; and then and there he contracted a friendship with 
 John Hooker, the uncle of our Richard. 
 
 About the second or third year of her reign, this John 
 Jewel was made Bishop of Salisbury ; and there being always 
 observed in him a willingness to do good, and to oblige his 
 friends, and now a power added to his willingness ; this John 
 Hooker gave him a visit in Salisbury, and besought him for 
 chai'ity's sake to look favourably upon a poor nephew of his, 
 whom nature had fitted for a scholar; but the estate of his 
 parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the 
 advantage of learning ; and that the Bishop would therefore 
 become his patron, and prevent him from being a tradesman, 
 for he was a boy of remarkable hopes. And though the Bishop 
 knew men do not usually look with an indifferent eye upon 
 their own children and relations, yet he assented so far to 
 John Hooker, that he appointed the boy and his schoolmaster 
 should attend him, about Easter next following, at that place : 
 which was done accordingly ; and then, after some questions 
 and observations of the boy's learning, and gravity, and be- 
 haviour, the Bishop gave his schoolmaster a reward, and took 
 order for an annual pension for the boy's parents ; promising 
 also to take him into his care for a future preferment, which 
 he performed : for about the fifteenth year of his age, which 
 was anno 1567, he was by the Bishop appointed to remove to 
 Oxford, and there to attend Dr. Cole, then president of Corpus 
 Christi College. Which he did ; and Dr. Cole had — according 
 to a promise made to the Bishop — provided for him both a 
 tutor — which was said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds, 
 — and a clerk's place in that college : which place, though 
 it were not a full maintenance, yet, with the contribution of 
 his uncle, and the continued pension of his patron, the good 
 Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And in this con- 
 dition he continued until the eighteenth year of his age, still 
 increasing in learning and prudence, and so much in humility 
 and piety, that he seemed to be filled with the Holy Ghost ; and 
 even like St. John Baptist, to be sanctified from his mother's 
 womb, who did often bless the day in which she bare him. 

 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 113 
 
 About this time of his age, he fell into a dangerous sickness, 
 which lasted two months ; all which time his mother, having 
 notice of it, did in her hourly prayers as earnestly beg his life 
 of God, as Monica the mother of St. Augustine did, that he 
 might become a true Christian ; and their prayers were both 
 so heard as to be granted. Which Mr. Hooker would often 
 mention with much joy, and as often pray that 'he might 
 never live to occasion any sorrow to so good a mother ; of whom 
 he would often say, he loved her so dearly, that he would 
 endeavour to be good, even as much for her as for his own sake.' 
 
 As soon as he was perfectly recovered from his sickness, he 
 took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy and see his 
 good mother, being accompanied with a countryman and com- 
 panion of his own college, and both on foot ; which was then 
 either more in fashion, or want of money, or their humility 
 made it so : but on foot they went, and took Salisbury in their 
 way, purposely to see the good Bishop, who made Mr. Hooker 
 and his companion dine with him at his own table : which Mr. 
 Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw 
 his mother and friends : and at the Bishop's parting with him, 
 the Bishop give him good counsel, and his benediction, but for- 
 got to give him money ; which, when the Bishop had considered, 
 he sent a servant in all haste to call Richard back to him : and 
 at Richard's return, the Bishop said to him, ' Richard, I sent for 
 you back to lend you a horse, which hath carried me many a 
 mile, and, I thank God, with much ease ; ' and presently de- 
 livered into his hand a walking-staff, with which he professed 
 he had travelled through many parts of Germany. And he said, 
 ' Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse : be sure you be 
 honest, and bring my horse back to me at your return this way 
 to Oxford. And I do now give you ten groats, to bear your 
 charges to Exeter ; and here is ten groats more, which I charge 
 you to deliver to your mother and tell her I send her a bishop's 
 benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for 
 me. And if you bring my horse back to me, I will give you ten 
 groats more, to carry you on foot to the college : and so God 
 bless you, good Richard.' 
 
 U
 
 114 WALTONS LIVES 
 
 And this, you may believe, was performed by both parties. 
 But, alas ! the next news that followed Mr. Hooker to Oxford 
 was, that his learned and charitable patron had changed this 
 for a better life. Which happy change may be believed, for 
 that as he lived, so he died, in devout meditation and prayer : 
 and in both so zealously, that it became a religious question, 
 ' Whether his last ejaculations or his soul did first enter into 
 heaven ? ' 
 
 And now Mr. Hooker became a man of sorrow and fear : of 
 sorrow, for the loss of so dear and comfortable a patron ; and of 
 fear for his future subsistence. But Dr. Cole raised his spirits 
 from this dejection, by bidding him go cheerfully to his studies, 
 and assuring him he should neither want food nor raiment, — 
 which was the utmost of his hopes, — for he would become his 
 patron. 
 
 And so he was for about nine months, and not longer ; for 
 about that time this following accident did befall Mr. Hooker. 
 
 Edwin Sandys — sometime Bishop of London, and after Arch- 
 bishop of York — had also been in the days of Queen Mary, 
 forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation ; 
 where, for some years, Bishop Jewel and he were companions 
 at bed and board in Germany ; and where, in this their exile, 
 they did often eat the bread of sorrow, and by that means they 
 there began such a friendship, as lasted till the death of Bishop 
 Jewel, which was in September 1571. A little before which 
 time the two bishops meeting, Jewel had an occasion to begin 
 a story of his Richard Hooker, and in it gave such a character 
 of his learning and manners, that though Bishop Sandys was 
 educated in Cambridge, where he had obliged, and had many 
 friends ; yet his resolution was, that his son Edwin should be 
 sent to Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and by all means be 
 pupil to Mr. Hooker, though his son Edwin was not much 
 younger than Mr. Hooker then was : for the Bishop said, ' I will 
 have a tutor for my son that shall teach him learning by in- 
 struction, and virtue by example : and my greatest care shall be 
 of the last ; and, God willing, this Richard Hooker shall be the 
 man into whose hands I will commit my Edwin.' And the
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 115 
 
 Bishop did so about twelve months, or not much longer, after 
 this resolution. 
 
 And doubtless, as to these two, a better choice could not be 
 made ; for Mr. Hooker was now in the nineteenth year of his 
 age ; had spent five in the university ; and had, by a constant 
 unwearied diligence, attained unto a perfection in all the 
 learned languages ; by the help of which, an excellent tutor, 
 and his unintermitted studies, he had made the subtilty of all 
 the arts easy and familiar to him, and useful for the discovery 
 of such learning as lay hid from common searchers. So that by 
 these, added to his great reason, and his restless industry added 
 to both, he did not only know more of causes and effects ; but 
 what he knew, he knew better than other men. And with this 
 knowledge he had a most blessed and clear method of demon- 
 strating what he knew, to the great advantage of all his pupils, 
 — which in time were many, — but especially to his two first, his 
 dear Edwin Sandys, and his as dear George Cranmer; of which 
 there will be a fair testimony in the ensuing relation. 
 
 This for Mr. Hooker's learning. And for his behaviour, 
 amongst other testimonies, this still remains of him, that in four 
 years he was but twice absent from the chapel prayers ; and 
 that his behaviour there was such, as showed an awful reverence 
 of that God which he then worshipped and prayed to ; giving 
 all outward testimonies that his affections were set on heavenly 
 things. This was his behaviour towards God ; and for that to 
 man, it is observable that he was never known to be angry, or 
 passionate, or extreme in any of his desires ; never heard to 
 repine or dispute with Providence, but, by a quiet, gentle sub- 
 mission and resignation of his will to the wisdom of his Creator, 
 bore the burthen of the day with patience ; never heard to 
 utter an uncomely word : and by this, and a grave behaviour, 
 which is a divine charm, he begot an early reverence unto his 
 person, even from those that at other times and in other com- 
 panies took a liberty to cast off that strictness of behaviour and 
 discourse that is required in a collegiate life. And when he 
 took any liberty to be pleasant, his wit was never blemished 
 with scoffing, or the utterance of any conceit that bordered upon
 
 116 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 or might beget a thought of looseness in his hearers. Thus 
 mild, thus innocent and exemplary was his behaviour in his 
 college ; and thus this good man continued till his death, still 
 increasing in learning, in patience, and piety. 
 
 In this nineteenth year of his age, he was, December 24, 
 1573, admitted to be one of the twenty scholars of the founda- 
 tion; being elected and so admitted as born in Devon or Hant- 
 shire ; out of which counties a certain number are to be elected 
 in vacancies by the founder's statutes. And now as he was 
 much encouraged, so now he was perfectly incorporated into 
 this beloved college, which was then noted for an eminent 
 library, strict students, and remarkable scholars. And indeed 
 it may glory, that it had Cardinal Poole, but more that it had 
 Bishop Jewel, Dr. John Reynolds, and Dr. Thomas Jackson, of 
 that foundation. The first famous for his learned apology for 
 the Church of England, and his defence of it against Harding. 
 The second, for the learned and wise manage of a public dispute 
 with John Hart, of the Romish persuasion, about the Head and 
 Faith of the Church, and after printed by consent of both 
 parties. And the third, for his most excellent Exposition of 
 the Creed, and other treatises ; all such as have given greatest 
 satisfaction to men of the greatest learning. Nor was Dr. 
 Jackson more noteworthy for his learning than for his strict 
 and pious life, testified by his abundant love, and meekness, 
 and charity to all men. 
 
 And in the year 1576, Februaiy 23, Mr. Hooker's grace was 
 given him for Inceptor of Arts ; Dr. Herbert Westphaling, a 
 man of note for learning, being then Vice-Chancellor : and the 
 Act following he was completed Master, which was anno 1577, 
 his patron, Dr. Cole, being Vice-Chancellor that year, and his 
 dear friend, Henry Savile of Merton College, being then one 
 of the proctors. 'Twas that Henry Savile that was after Sir 
 Henry Savile, Warden of Merton College, and Provost of Eton ; 
 he which founded in Oxford two famous lectures ; and endowed 
 them with liberal maintenance. 
 
 It was that Sir Henry Savile that translated and enlightened 
 the History of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most excellent com-
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 117 
 
 ment ; and enriched the world by his laborious and chargeable 
 collecting the scattered pieces of St. Chrysostom, and the publica- 
 tion of them in one entire body in Greek ; in which language 
 he was a most judicious critic. It was this Sir Henry Savile 
 that had the happiness to be a contemporary and familiar 
 friend to Mr. Hooker; and let posterity know it. 
 
 And in this year of 1577, he was so happy as to be admitted 
 fellow of the college ; happy also in being the contemporary and 
 friend of that Dr. John Reynolds, of whom I have lately spoken, 
 and of Dr. Spencer; both which were after, and successively 
 made presidents of Corpus Christi College : men of great 
 learning and merit, and famous in their generations. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his contemporaries of his 
 time and college, than in the pupilage and friendship of his 
 Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer ; of whom my reader may 
 note, that this Edwin Sandys was after Sir Edwin Sandys, and 
 as famous for his Speculum Europce, as his brother George for 
 making posterity beholden to his pen by a learned relation and 
 comment on his dangerous and remarkable travels ; and for his 
 harmonious translation of the Psalms of David, the Book of Job, 
 and other poetical parts of Holy Writ, into most high and 
 elegant verse. And for Cranmer, his other pupil, I shall refer 
 my reader to the printed testimonies of our learned Mr. Cam- 
 den, of Fynes Moryson, and others. 
 
 'This Cranmer,' says Mr. Camden in his Annals of Queen 
 Elizabeth, — 'whose Christian name was George, was a gentle- 
 man of singular hopes, the eldest son of Thomas Cranmer, son 
 of Edmund Cranmer, the Archbishop's brother : he spent much 
 of his youth in Corpus Christi College in Oxford, where he con- 
 tinued Master of Arts for some time before he removed, and 
 then betook himself to travel, accompanying that worthy 
 gentleman Sir Edwin Sandys into France, Germany, and Italy, 
 for the space of three years ; and after their happy return, he 
 betook himself to an employment under Secretary Davison, a 
 Privy Councillor of note, who, for an unhappy undertaking, 
 became clouded and pitied : after whose fall, he went in place 
 of secretary with Sir Henry Killegrew in his embassage into
 
 118 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 France : and after his death he was sought after by the most 
 noble Lord Mountjoy, with whom he went into Ireland, where 
 he remained, until in a battle against the rebels near Carling- 
 ford, an unfortunate wound put an end both to his life and the 
 great hopes that were conceived of him, he being then but in 
 the thirty-sixth year of his age.' 
 
 Betwixt Mr. Hooker and these his two pupils there was a 
 sacred friendship ; a friendship made up of religious principles, 
 which increased daily by a similitude of inclinations to the same 
 recreations and studies ; a friendship elemented in youth, and in 
 an university, free from self-ends, which the friendships of age 
 usually are not. And in this sweet, this blessed, this spiritual 
 amity, they went on for many years : and as the holy prophet 
 saith, ' so they took sweet counsel together, and walked in the 
 house of God as friends.' By which means they improved this 
 friendship to such a degree of holy amity, as bordered upon 
 heaven : a friendship so sacred, that when it ended in this 
 world, it began in that next, where it shall have no end. 
 
 And, though this world cannot give any degree of pleasui'e 
 equal to such a friendship ; yet obedience to parents, and a 
 desire to know the affairs, manners, laws, and learning of other 
 nations, that they might thereby become the more serviceable 
 unto their own, made them put off their gowns, and leave the 
 college and Mr. Hooker to his studies, in which he was daily 
 more assiduous, still enriching his quiet and capacious soul with 
 the precious learning of the philosophers, casuists, and school- 
 men ; and with them the foundation and reason of all laws, 
 bcth sacred and civil ; and indeed with such other learning as 
 lay most remote from the track of common studies. And, as he 
 was diligent in these, so he seemed restless in searching the 
 scope and intention of God's Spirit revealed to mankind in the 
 sacred scripture : for the understanding of which, he seemed to 
 be assisted by the same Spirit with which they were written ; He 
 that regardeth truth in the inward parts, making him to under- 
 stand wisdom secretly. And the good man would often say, 
 that ' God abhors confusion as contrary to his nature ; ' and as 
 often say, ' That the scripture was not writ to beget disputations
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 119 
 
 and pride, and opposition to government ; but charity and 
 humility, moderation, obedience to authority, and peace to man- 
 kind ; ' of which virtues, he would as often say, ' no man did 
 ever repent himself on his death-bed.' And that this was 
 really his judgment did appear in his future writings and in all the 
 actions of his life. Nor was this excellent man a stranger to the 
 more light and airy parts of learning, as music and poetry ; all 
 which he had digested and made useful ; and of all which the 
 reader will have a fair testimony in what will follow. 
 
 In the year 1579, the Chancellor of the University was given 
 to understand, that the public Hebrew lecture was not read 
 according to the statutes ; nor could be, by reason of a distem- 
 per, that had then seized the brain of Mr. Kingsmill, who was to 
 read it ; so that it lay long unread, to the great detriment of 
 those that were studious of that language. Therefore the Chan- 
 cellor writ to his Vice-Chancellor, and the university, that he 
 had heard such commendations of the excellent knowledge of 
 Mr. Richard Hooker in that tongue, that he desired he might be 
 procured to read it : and he did, and continued to do so, till he 
 left Oxford. 
 
 Within three months after his undertaking this lecture, — 
 namely in October 1579, — he was, with Dr. Reynolds and others 
 expelled his college; and this letter, transcribed from Dr. Rey- 
 nolds his own hand, may give some account of it. 
 
 ' To Sir Francis Knolles. 
 
 ' I am sorry, Right Honourable, that I am enforced to make 
 unto you such a suit, which I cannot move, but I must complain 
 of the unrighteous dealing of one of our college ; who hath 
 taken upon him, against all law and reason, to expel out of our 
 house both me and Mr. Hooker, and three other of our fellows, 
 for doing that which by oath we were bound to do. Our 
 matter must be heard before the Bishop of Winchester, with 
 whom I do not doubt but we shall find equity. Howbeit, foras- 
 much as some of our adversaries have said that the Bishop is 
 already forestalled, and will not give us such audience as we 
 look for ; therefore I am humbly to beseech your Honour, that
 
 120 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 you will desire the Bishop, by your letters, to let us have justice; 
 though it be with vigour, so it be justice : our cause is so good, 
 that I am sure we shall prevail by it. Thus much I am bold to 
 request of your Honour for Corpus Christi College sake, or rather 
 for Christ's sake ; whom I beseech to bless you with daily in- 
 crease of his manifold gifts, and the blessed graces of his Holy 
 Spirit. Your Honour's 
 
 in Christ to command, 
 
 London, October 9, 1579- John Reynolds.' 
 
 This expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, then Vice-president 
 of the college, and chaplain to Ambrose Earl of Warwick. I 
 cannot learn the pretended cause ; but, that they were restored 
 the same month is most certain. 
 
 I return to Mi*. Hooker in his college, where he continued his 
 studies with all quietness, for the space of three years ; about 
 which time he entered into sacred orders, being then made 
 deacon and priest, and, not long after, was appointed to preach 
 at St. Paul's Cross. 
 
 In order to which Sermon, to London he came, and immedi- 
 ately to the Shunamite's house ; which is a house so called, 
 for that, besides the stipend paid the preacher, there is provi- 
 sion made also for his lodging and diet for two days before, and 
 one day after his sermon. This house was then kept by John 
 Churchman, sometime a draper of good note in Watling Street, 
 upon whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and 
 brought him into a necessitous condition ; which, though it be a 
 punishment, is not always an argument of God's disfavour; for 
 he was a virtuous man. I shall not yet give the like testimony 
 of his wife, but leave the reader to judge by what follows. But 
 to this house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weather- 
 beaten, that he was never known to express more passion, than 
 against a friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, 
 and for finding him no easier an horse, — supposing the horse 
 trotted when he did not ; — and at this time also, such a faint- 
 ness and fear possessed him, that he would not be persuaded 
 two days' rest and quietness, or any other means could be used
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 121 
 
 to make him able to preach his Sunday's sermon : but a warm 
 bed, and rest, and drink proper for a cold, given him by Mrs. 
 Churchman, and her diligent attendance added unto it, enabled 
 him to perform the office of the day, which was in, or about the 
 year 1581. 
 
 And in this first public appearance to the world, he was not 
 so happy as to be free from exceptions against a point of 
 doctrine delivered in his sermon ; which was, ' That in God 
 there were two wills ; an antecedent and a consequent will : 
 his first will, that all mankind should be saved ; but his second 
 will was, that those only should be saved that did live answer- 
 able to that degree of grace which he had offered or afforded 
 them.' This seemed to cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin's, 
 and then taken for granted by many that had not a capacity to 
 examine it, as it had been by him hefore, and hath been since 
 by Master Henry Mason, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Hammond, and 
 others of great learning, who believe that a contrary opinion 
 intrenches upon the honour and justice of our merciful God. 
 How he justified this, I will not undertake to declare ; but it 
 was not excepted against — as Mr. Hooker declares in his rational 
 Answer to Mr. Travers — by John Elmer, then Bishop of London, 
 at this time one of his auditors, and at last one of his advocates 
 too, when Mr. Hooker was accused for it. 
 
 But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove of so bad 
 consequence, as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him 
 of his late distemper and cold ; for that was so gratefully 
 apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought himself bound in 
 conscience to believe all that she said : so that the good man 
 came to be persuaded by her, ' that he was a man of a tender 
 constitution ; and that it was best for him to have a wife, that 
 might prove a nurse to him ; such a one as might both prolong 
 his life, and make it more comfortable ; and such a one she 
 could and would provide for him, if he thought fit to marry.' 
 And he, not considering that 'the children of this world are 
 wiser in their generation than the children of light ; ' but, like 
 a true Nathanael, fearing no guile, because he meant none, did 
 give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with, — you may
 
 122 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 read it in the book of Genesis, — when he was sent to choose a 
 wife for Isaac ; for even so he trusted her to choose for him, 
 promising upon a fair summons to return to London, and 
 accept of her choice ; and he did so in that, or about the year 
 following. Now, the wife provided for him was her daughter 
 Joan, who brought him neither beauty nor portion : and for 
 her conditions, they were too like that wife's, which is by 
 Solomon compared to a dripping house : so that the good man 
 had no reason to 'rejoice in the wife of his youth;' but too 
 just cause to say with the holy prophet, ' Woe is me, that I am 
 constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar !' 
 
 This choice of Mr. Hooker's — if it were his choice — may be 
 wondered at : but let us consider that the Prophet Ezekiel 
 says, ' There is a wheel within a wheel ; ' a secret sacred wheel 
 of Providence, — most visible in marriages, — guided by His hand 
 that ' allows not the race to the swift,' nor ' bread to the wise,' 
 nor good wives to good men : and he that can bring good out 
 of evil — for mortals are blind to this reason — only knows why 
 this blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to 
 our as meek and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was ; and let 
 the reader cease to wonder, for affliction is a divine diet ; which 
 though it be not pleasing to mankind, yet Almighty God hath 
 often, very often, imposed it as good, though bitter physic to 
 those children whose souls are dearest to him. 
 
 And by this marriage the good man was drawn from the 
 tranquillity of his college ; from that garden of piety, of 
 pleasure, of peace, and a sweet conversation, into the thorny 
 wilderness of a busy world ; into those corroding cares that 
 attend a married priest, and a country parsonage ; which was 
 Drayton-Beauchamp in Buckinghamshire, not far from Aylesbury, 
 and in the diocese of Lincoln ; to which he was presented by 
 John Cheney, Esq. — then patron of it — the 9th of December, 
 1584, where he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of 
 evil, but as St. Paul adviseth a minister of God — f in much 
 patience, in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities, in poverty 
 and no doubt in long-suffering; ' yet troubling no man with his 
 discontents and wants,
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 123 
 
 And in this condition he continued about a year ; in which 
 time his two pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took 
 a journey to see their tutor; where they found him with a 
 book in his hand, — it was the Odes of Horace, — he being then 
 like humble and innocent Abel, tending his small allotment of 
 sheep in a common field; which he told his pupils he was 
 forced to do then, for that his servant was gone home to dine, 
 and assist his wife to do some necessary household business. 
 But when his servant returned and released him, then his two 
 pupils attended him unto his house, where their best entertain- 
 ment was his quiet company, which was presently denied 
 them ; for Richard was called to rock the cradle ; and the rest 
 of their welcome was so like this, that they stayed but till next 
 morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their 
 tutor's condition ; and they having in that time rejoiced in the 
 remembrance, and then paraphrased on many of the innocent 
 recreations of their younger days, and other like diversions, 
 and thereby given him as much present comfort as they were 
 able, they were forced to leave him to the company of his wife 
 Joan, and seek themselves a quieter lodging for next night. 
 But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer said, ' Good tutor, 
 I am sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground, as to your 
 parsonage ; and more sorry that your wife proves not a more 
 comfortable companion, after you have wearied yourself in your 
 restless studies.' To whom the good man replied, ' My dear 
 George, if saints have usually a double share in the miseries of 
 this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise 
 Creator hath appointed for me : but labour — as indeed I do 
 daily — to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in 
 patience and peace.' 
 
 At their return to London, Edward Sandys acquaints his 
 father, who was then Archbishop of York, with his tutor's sad 
 condition, and solicits for his removal to some benefice that might 
 give him a more quiet and a more comfortable subsistence ; 
 which his father did most willingly grant him when it should 
 next fall into his power. And not long after this time, which 
 was in the year 1585, Mr. Alvey, — Master of the Temple, —
 
 124 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 died, who was a man of a strict life, of great learning, and of 
 so venerable behaviour, as to gain so high a degree of love and 
 reverence from all men, that he was generally known by the 
 name of Father Alvey. And at the Temple reading, next after 
 the death of this Father Alvey, he, the said Archbishop of 
 York being then at dinner with the judges, the reader, and 
 the benchers of that Society, met with a general condolement 
 for the death of Father Alvey, and with a high commendation 
 of his saint-like life, and of his great merit both towards God 
 and man ; and as they bewailed his death, so they wished for a 
 like pattern of virtue and learning to succeed him. And here 
 came in a fair occasion for the Bishop to commend Mr. Hooker 
 to Father Alvey's place, which he did with so effectual an 
 earnestness, and that seconded with so many other testimonies 
 of his worth, that Mr. Hooker was sent for from Drayton- 
 Beauchamp to London, and there the mastership of the Temple 
 proposed unto him by the Bishop, as a greater freedom from 
 his country cares, the advantages of a better society, and a 
 more liberal pension than his country parsonage did afford him. 
 But these reasons were not powerful enough to incline him to 
 a willing acceptance of it : his wish was rather to gain a better 
 country living, where he might see God's blessings spring out 
 of the earth, and be free from noise, — so he expressed the 
 desire of his heart, — and eat that bread which he might more 
 properly call his own, in privacy and quietness. But, notwith- 
 standing this averseness, he was at last persuaded to accept of 
 the Bishop's proposal ; and was, by patent for life, made Master 
 of the Temple the 17th of March 1585, he being then in the 
 thirty-fourth year of his age. 
 
 And here I shall make a stop ; and, that the reader may the 
 better judge of what follows, give him a character of the times 
 and temper of the people of this nation, when Mr. Hooker had 
 his admission into this place ; a place which he accepted, rather 
 than desired : and yet here he promised himself a virtuous 
 quietness, that blessed tranquillity which he always prayed and 
 laboured for, that so he might in peace bring forth the fruits of 
 peace, and glorify God by uninterrupted prayers and praises.
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 125 
 
 For this he always thirsted and prayed : but Almighty God did 
 not grant it ; for his admission into this place was the very 
 beginning of those oppositions and anxieties, which till then 
 this good man was a stranger to ; and of which the reader may 
 guess by what follows. 
 
 In this character of the times, I shall by the reader's favour, 
 and for his information, look so far back as to the beginning of 
 the reign of Queen Elizabeth ; a time, in which the many 
 pretended titles to the crown, the frequent treasons, the doubts 
 of her successor, the late civil war, and the sharp persecution 
 for religion that raged to the effusion of so much blood in the 
 reign of Queen Mary, were fresh in the memory of all men ; 
 and begot fears in the most pious and wisest of this nation, lest 
 the like days should return again to them, or their present 
 posterity. And the apprehension of these dangers begot a 
 hearty desire of a settlement in the Church and State ; believ- 
 ing there was no other probable way left to make them sit 
 quietly under their own vines and fig-trees, and enjoy the 
 desired fruit of their labours. But time, and peace, and 
 plenty, begot self-ends : and these begot animosities, envy, 
 opposition, and unthankfulness for those very blessings for 
 which they lately thirsted, being then the very utmost of their 
 desires, and even beyond their hopes. 
 
 This was the temper of the times in the beginning of her 
 reign ; and thus it continued too long ; for those very people 
 that had enjoyed the desires of their hearts in a reformation 
 from the Church of Rome, became at last so like the grave, as 
 never to be satisfied, but were still thirsting for more and 
 more ; neglecting to pay that obedience, and perform those 
 vows, which they made in their days of adversities and fear : so 
 that in short time there appeared three several interests, each 
 of them fearless and restless in the prosecution of their designs: 
 they may for distinction be called, the active Romanists, the 
 restless Non-conformists, — of which there were many sorts, — 
 and the passive peaceable Protestant. The counsels of the first 
 considered and resolved on in Rome ; the second both in 
 Scotland, in Geneva, and in divers selected, secret, dangerous
 
 126 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 conventicles, both there, and within the bosom of our own 
 nation : the third pleaded and defended their cause by 
 established laws, both ecclesiastical and civil : and if they 
 were active, it was to prevent the other two from destroying 
 what was by those known laws happily established to them and 
 their posterity. 
 
 I shall forbear to mention the very many and dangerous plots 
 of the Romanists against the Church and State ; because what 
 is principally intended in this digression, is an account of the 
 opinions and activity of the Non-conformists : against whose 
 judgment and practice Mr. Hooker became at last, but most 
 unwillingly, to be engaged in a book-war; a war which he 
 maintained not as against an enemy, but with the spirit of 
 meekness and reason. 
 
 In which number of Non-conformists, though some might be 
 sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet zeal might be so 
 like charity, as thereby to cover a multitude of their errors ; yet 
 of this party there were many that were possessed with a high 
 degree of spiritual wickedness ; I mean with an innate restless 
 pride and malice ; I do not mean the visible carnal sins of 
 gluttony and drunkenness, and the like,— from which, good 
 Lord, deliver us ! — but sins of a higher nature, because they 
 are more unlike God, who is the God of love, and mercy, and 
 order, and peace : and more like the devil, who is not a glutton, 
 nor can be drunk, and yet is a devil : but I mean those spiritual 
 wickednesses of malice and revenge, and an opposition to 
 government: men that joyed to be the authors of misery, 
 which is properly his work that is the enemy and disturber of 
 mankind; and thereby greater sinners than the glutton or 
 drunkard, though some will not believe it. And of this party 
 there were also many, whom prejudice and a furious zeal had 
 so blinded, as to make them neither to hear reason, nor adhere 
 to the ways of peace : men that were the very dregs and pest 
 of mankind ; men whom pride and self-conceit had made to 
 over-value their own pitiful crooked wisdom so much as not to 
 be ashamed to hold foolish and unmannerly disputes against 
 those men whom they ought to reverence, and those laws
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 127 
 
 which they ought to obey ; men that laboured and joyed first 
 to find out the faults, and then speak evil of government, and 
 to be the authors of confusion ; men whom company, and 
 conversation, and custom had at last so blinded, and made so 
 insensible that these were sins, that like those that perished in 
 the gainsaying of Korah, so these died without repenting of 
 these spiritual wickednesses ; of which the practices of Cop- 
 pinger and Hacket in their lives, and the death of them and 
 their adherents, are, God knows, too sad examples, and ought 
 to be cautions to those men that are inclined to the like 
 spiritual wickednesses. 
 
 And in these times, which tended thus to confusion, there 
 were also many of these scruple-mongers, that pretended a 
 tenderness of conscience, refusing to take an oath before a law- 
 ful magistrate : and yet these very men in their secret con- 
 venticles did covenant and swear to each other, to be assiduous 
 and faithful in using their best endeavours to set up the Pres- 
 byterian doctrine and discipline ; and both in such a manner as 
 they themselves had not yet agreed on ; but up that govern- 
 ment must. To which end there were many that wandered up 
 and down and were active in sowing discontents and seditions, 
 by venomous and secret murmurings, and a dispersion of 
 scurrilous pamphlets and libels against the Church and State ; 
 but especially against the bishops ; by which means, together 
 with venomous and indiscreet sermons, the common people 
 became so fanatic, as to believe the bishops to be Antichrist, 
 and the only obstructers of God's discipline ! and at last some 
 of them were given over to so bloody a zeal, and such other 
 desperate delusions, as to find out a text in the Revelation of 
 St. John, that Antichrist was to be overcome by the sword. 
 So that those very men, that began with tender and meek 
 petitions, proceeded to admonitions : then to satirical remon- 
 strances : and at last — having, like Absalom, numbered who 
 was not, and who was, for their cause — they got a supposed 
 certainty of so great a party, that they durst threaten first the 
 bishops, and then the Queen and Parliament, to all which they 
 were secretly encouraged by the Earl of Leicester, then in
 
 128 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 great favour with her Majesty, and the reputed cherisher and 
 patron-general of these pretenders to tenderness of conscience : 
 his design being, by their means, to bring such an odium upon 
 the bishops, as to procure an alienation of their lands, and a 
 large proportion of them for himself: which avaricious desire 
 had at last so blinded his reason, that his ambitious and greedy 
 hopes seemed to put him into a present possession of Lambeth 
 House. 
 
 And to these undertakings the Non-conformists of this 
 nation were much encouraged and heightened by a corre- 
 spondence and confederacy with that brotherhood in Scotland ; 
 so that here they become so bold, that one told the Queen 
 openly in a sermon, ' She was like an untamed heifer, that 
 would not be ruled by God's people, but obstructed his dis- 
 cipline.' And in Scotland they were more confident ; for there 
 they declared her an atheist, and grew to such an height, as 
 not to be accountable for anything spoken against her, nor 
 for treason against their own King, if it were but spoken in the 
 pulpit ; showing at last such a disobedience to him, that his 
 mother being in England, and then in distress, and in prison, 
 and in danger of death, the Church denied the King their 
 prayers for her ; and at another time, when he had appointed a 
 day of feasting, the Church declared for a general fast, in 
 opposition to his authority. 
 
 To this height they were grown in both nations, and by these 
 means there was distilled into the minds of the common people 
 such other venomous and turbulent principles, as were incon- 
 sistent with the safety of the Church and State : and these 
 opinions vented so daringly, that, beside the loss of life and 
 limbs, the governors of the Church and State were forced to 
 use such other severities as will not admit of an excuse, if it 
 had not been to prevent the gangrene of confusion, and the 
 perilous consequences of it ; which, without such prevention, 
 would have been first confusion, and then ruin and misery, to 
 this numerous nation. 
 
 These errors and animosities were so remarkable, that they 
 begot wonder in an ingenious Italian, who being about this
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 129 
 
 time come newly into this nation, and considering them, writ 
 scoffingly to a friend in his own country, to this purpose : 'That 
 the common people of England were wiser than the wisest of 
 his nation ; for here the very women and shop-keepers were 
 able to judge of predestination, and to determine what laws 
 were fit to be made concerning Church government ; and then, 
 what were fit to be obeyed or abolished. That they were more 
 able — or at least thought so — to raise and determine perplexed 
 cases of conscience, than the wisest of the most learned colleges 
 in Italy ! That men of the slightest learning, and the most 
 ignorant of the common people, were mad for a new, or super, 
 or re-reformation of religion ; and that in this they appeared 
 like that man, who would never cease to whet and whet his 
 knife, till there was no steel left to make it useful.' And he 
 concluded his letter with this observation, 'That those very 
 men that were most busy in oppositions, and disputations, and 
 controversies, and finding out the faults of their governors, had 
 usually the least of humility and mortification, or of the power 
 of godliness.' 
 
 And to heighten all these discontents and dangers, there was 
 also sprung up a generation of godless men ; men that had so 
 long given way to their own lusts and delusions, and so highly 
 opposed the blessed motions of his Spirit, and the inward light 
 of their own consciences, that they became the very slaves of 
 vice, and had thereby sinned themselves into a belief of that 
 which they would, but could not believe, into a belief, which is 
 repugnant even to human nature ; — for the heathens believe 
 that there are many gods ; — but these had sinned themselves 
 into a belief that there was no God ! and so, finding nothing in 
 themselves but what was worse than nothing, began to wish 
 what they were not able to hope for, namely, ' That they might 
 be like the beasts that perish ! ' and in wicked company — which 
 is the atheist's sanctuary — were so bold as to say so : though 
 the worst of mankind, when he is left alone at midnight, may 
 wish, but is not then able to think it : even into a belief that 
 there is no God. Into this wretched, this reprobate condition, 
 many had then sinned themselves. 
 
 I
 
 130 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 And now, when the Church was pestered with them, and 
 with all those other fore-named irregularities ; when her lands 
 were in danger of alienation, her power at least neglected, and 
 her peace torn to pieces by several schisms, and such heresies 
 as do usually attend that sin : — for heresies do usually outlive 
 their first authors ; — when the common people seemed ambitious 
 of doing those very things that were forbidden and attended 
 with most dangers, that thereby they might be punished, and 
 then applauded and pitied : when they called the spirit of 
 opposition a tender conscience, and complained of persecution, 
 because they wanted power to persecute others : when the 
 giddy multitude raged, and became restless to find out misery 
 for themselves and others ; and the rabble would herd them- 
 selves together, and endeavour to govern and act in spite of 
 authority : — in this extremity of fear, and danger of the Church 
 and State, when, to suppress the growing evils of both, they 
 needed a man of prudence and piety, and of an high and fearless 
 fortitude, they were blest in all by John Whitgift, his being 
 made Archbishop of Canterbury ; of whom Sir Henry Wotton 
 — that knew him well in his youth, and had studied him in his 
 age, — gives this true character : • That he was a man of 
 reverend and sacred memory, and of the primitive temper ; such 
 a temper as when the Church by lowliness of spirit did flourish 
 in highest examples of virtue.' And indeed this man proved 
 so. 
 
 And though I dare not undertake to add to this excellent 
 and true character of Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I shall neither 
 do right to this discourse, nor to my reader, if I forbear to give 
 him a further and short account of the life and manners of this 
 excellent man ; and it shall be short, for I long to end this 
 digression, that I may lead my reader back to Mr. Hooker 
 where we left him at the Temple. 
 
 John Whitgift was born in the county of Lincoln, of a family 
 that was ancient ; and noted to be both prudent and affable, 
 and gentle by nature. He was educated in Cambridge ; much 
 of his learning was acquired in Pembroke Hall, — where Mr. 
 Bradford the martyr was his tutor; — from thence he was
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 131 
 
 removed to Peter House ; from thence to be Master of Pem- 
 broke Hall ; and from thence to the Mastership of Trinity 
 College. About which time the Queen made him her chaplain ; 
 and not long after Prebend of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln ; 
 and having for many years past looked upon him with much 
 reverence and favour, gave him a fair testimony of both, by 
 giving him the Bishoprick of Worcester, and — which was not 
 with her a usual favour — forgiving him his first fruits ; then by 
 constituting him Vice-President of the Principality of Wales. 
 And having experimented his wisdom, his justice, and modera- 
 tion in the manage of her affairs in both these places, she, in 
 the twenty-sixth of her reign, 1583, made him Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, and, not long after, of her Privy Council ; and 
 trusted him to manage all her ecclesiastical affairs and prefer- 
 ments. In all which removes, he was like the ark, which left 
 a blessing on the place where it rested ; and in all his employ- 
 ments was like Jehoiada, that did good unto Israel. 
 
 These were the steps of this bishop's ascension to this place 
 of dignity and cares : in which place — to speak Mr. Camden's 
 very words in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth — 'he devoutly 
 consecrated both his whole life to God, and his painful labours 
 to the good of his Church.' 
 
 And yet in this place he met with many oppositions in the 
 regulation of Church affairs, which were much disordered at 
 his entrance, by reason of the age and remissness of Bishop 
 Grindal, his immediate predecessor, the activity of the Non- 
 conformists, and their chief assistant the Earl of Leicester ; and 
 indeed by too many others of the like sacrilegious principles. 
 With these he was to encounter; and though he wanted 
 neither courage, nor a good cause, yet he foresaw, that without 
 a great measure of the Queen's favour, it was impossible to 
 stand in the breach, that had been lately made into the lands 
 and immunities of the Church, or indeed to maintain the 
 remaining lands and rights of it. And therefore by justifiable 
 sacred insinuations, such as St. Paul to Agrippa, — 'Agrippa, 
 believest thou ? I know thou believest,' he wrought himself 
 into so great a degree of favour with her, as, by his pious use
 
 132 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 of it, hath got both of them a great degree of fame in this 
 world, and of glory in that into which they are now both 
 entered. 
 
 His merits to the Queen, and her favours to him were such, 
 that she called him 'her little black husband,' and called 'his 
 servants her servants : ' and she saw so visible and blessed a 
 sincerity shine in all his cares and endeavours for the Church's 
 and for her good, that she was supposed to trust him with the 
 very secrets of her soul, and to make him her confessor; of 
 which she gave many fair testimonies : and of which one was, 
 that ' she would never eat flesh in Lent, without obtaining a 
 licence from her little black husband : ' and would often say 
 ' she pitied him because she trusted him, and had thereby eased 
 herself by laying the burthen of all her clergy cares upon his 
 shoulders, which he managed with prudence and piety.' 
 
 I shall not keep myself within the promised rules of brevity 
 in this account of his interest with her Majesty, and his care of 
 the Church's rights, if in this digression I should enlarge to 
 particulars ; and therefore my desire is, that one example may 
 serve for a testimony of both. And, that the reader may the 
 better understand it, he may take notice, that not many years 
 before his being made Archbishop, there passed an Act, or Acts 
 of Parliament, intending the better preservation of the Church 
 lands, by recalling a power which was vested in others to sell or 
 lease them, by lodging and trusting the future care and pro- 
 tection of them only in the Crown : and amongst many that 
 made a bad use of this power or trust of the Queen's, the Earl 
 of Leicester was one ; and the Bishop having, by his interest 
 with her Majesty, put a stop to the Earl's sacrilegious designs, 
 they two fell to an open opposition before her; after which 
 they both quitted the room, not friends in appearance. But 
 the Bishop made a sudden and seasonable return to her 
 Majesty, — for he found her alone — and spake to her with great 
 humility and reverence, to this purpose. 
 
 'I beseech your Majesty to hear me with patience, and to 
 believe that your's and the Church's safety are dearer to me 
 than my life, but my conscience dearer than both : and there-
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 133 
 
 fore give me leave to do my duty, and tell you, that princes 
 are deputed nursing fathers of the Church, and owe it a pro- 
 tection ; and therefore God forbid that you should be so much 
 as passive in her ruin, when you may prevent it ; or that I 
 should behold it without horror and detestation ; or should for- 
 bear to tell your Majesty of the sin and danger of sacrilege. 
 And though you and myself were born in an age of frailties, 
 when the primitive piety and care of the Church's lands and 
 immunities are much decayed ; yet, Madam, let me beg that 
 you would first consider that there are such sins as profaneness 
 and sacrilege : and that, if there were not, they could not have 
 names in Holy Writ, and particularly in the New Testament. 
 And I beseech you to consider, that though our Saviour said, 
 he judged no man ; and, to testify it, would not judge nor 
 divide the inheritance betwixt the two brethren, nor would 
 judge the woman taken in adultery; yet in this point of the 
 Church's rights he was so zealous, that he made himself both 
 the accuser, and the judge, and the executioner too, to punish 
 these sins ; witnessed, in that he himself made the whip to 
 drive the profaners out of the temple, overthrew the tables of 
 the money-changers, and drove them out of it. And I beseech 
 you to consider, that it was St. Paul that said to those Christians 
 of his time that were offended with idolatry, and yet committed 
 sacrilege: "Thou that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacri- 
 lege?" supposing, I think, sacrilege the greater sin. This may 
 occasion your Majesty to consider, that there is such a sin as 
 sacrilege ; and to incline you to prevent the curse that will 
 follow it, I beseech you also to consider, that Constantine, the 
 first Christian Emperor, and Helena his mother; that King 
 Edgar, and Edward the Confessor : and indeed many others of 
 your predecessors, and many private Christians, have also given 
 to God, and to his Church, much land, and many immunities, 
 which they might have given to those of their own families, 
 and did not : but gave them for ever as an absolute right and 
 sacrifice to God : and with these immunities and lands they have 
 entailed a curse upon the alienators of them : God prevent 
 your Majesty and your successors from being liable to that
 
 134 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 curse, which will cleave unto Church lands as the leprosy to 
 the Jews. 
 
 ' And to make you, that are trusted with their preservation, 
 the better to understand the danger of it, I beseech you forget 
 not, that, to prevent these curses, the Church's land and power 
 have been also endeavoured to be preserved, as far as human 
 reason and the law of this nation have been able to preserve 
 them, by an immediate and most sacred obligation on the con- 
 sciences of the princes of this realm. For they that consult 
 Magna Charta shall find, that as all your predecessors were at 
 their coronation, so you also were sworn before all the nobility 
 and bishops then present, and in the presence of God, and in 
 his stead to him that anointed you, to maintain the Church 
 lands, and the rights belonging to it : and this you yourself 
 have testified openly to God at the holy altar, by laying your 
 hands on the Bible then lying upon it. And not only Magna 
 Charta, but many modern statutes have denounced a curse 
 upon those that break Magna Charta ; a curse like the leprosy, 
 that was entailed on the Jews : for as that, so these curses have, 
 and will cleave to the very stones of those buildings that have 
 been consecrated to God ; and the father's sin of sacrilege hath, 
 and will prove to be entailed on his son and family. And now, 
 Madam, what account can be given for the breach of this oath 
 at the last great day, either by your Majesty, or by me, if it be 
 wilfully, or but negligently, violated, I know not. 
 
 ' And therefore, good Madam, let not the late Lord's ex- 
 ceptions against the failings of some few clergymen prevail 
 with you to punish posterity for the errors of the present age ; 
 let particular men suffer for their particular errors ; but let 
 God and his Church have their inheritance : and though I 
 pretend not to prophesy, yet I beg posterity to take notice of 
 what is already become visible in many families ; that Church 
 land added to ah ancient and just inheritance, hath proved 
 like a moth fretting a garment, and secretly consumed both : or 
 like the eagle that stole a coal from the altar, and thereby set 
 her nest on fire, which consumed both her young eagles and 
 herself that stole it. And though I shall forbear to speak
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 135 
 
 reproachfully of your father, yet I beg you to take notice, that 
 a part of the Church's rights added to the vast treasures left 
 him by his father, hath been conceived to bring an unavoidable 
 consumption upon both, notwithstanding all his diligency to 
 preserve them. 
 
 'And consider, that after the violation of those laws, to 
 which he had sworn in Magna Charta, God did so far deny 
 him his restraining grace, that as King Saul, after he was 
 forsaken of God, fell from one sin to another ; so he, till at last 
 he fell into greater sins than I am willing to mention. Madam, 
 religion is the foundation and cement of human societies ; and 
 when they that serve at God's altar shall be exposed to 
 poverty, then religion itself will be exposed to scorn, and 
 become contemptible ; as you may already observe it to be in 
 too many poor vicarages in this nation. And therefore, as you 
 are by a late Act or Acts of Parliament, intrusted with a great 
 power to preserve or waste the Church lands ; yet dispose of 
 them, for Jesus' sake, as you have promised to men, and vowed 
 to God, that is, as the donors intended : let neither falsehood 
 nor flattery beguile you to do otherwise ; but put a stop to 
 God's and the Levites' portion, I beseech you, and to the ap- 
 proaching ruins of his Church, as you expect comfort at the 
 last great day; for kings must be judged. Pardon this affec- 
 tionate plainness, my most dear Sovereign, and let me beg to 
 be still continued in your favour ; and the Lord still continue 
 you in his.' 
 
 The Queen's patient hearing this affectionate speech, and 
 her future care to preserve the Church's rights, which till then 
 had been neglected, may appear a fair testimony, that he made 
 her's and the Church's good the chiefest of his cares, and that 
 she also thought so. And of this there were such daily testi- 
 monies given, as begot betwixt them so mutual a joy and 
 confidence, that they seemed born to believe and do good to 
 each other; she not doubting his piety to be more than all 
 his opposers, which were many ; nor doubting his prudence 
 to be equal to the chiefest of her council, who were then as 
 remarkable for active wisdom, as those dangerous times did
 
 136 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 require, or this nation did ever enjoy. And in this condition 
 he continued twenty years ; in which time he saw some 
 flowings, but many more ebbings of her favour towards all 
 men that had opposed him, especially the Earl of Leicester : 
 so that God seemed still to keep him in her favour, that he 
 might preserve the remaining Church lands and immunities 
 from sacrilegious alienations. And this good man deserved all 
 the honour and power with which she gratified and trusted 
 him ; for he was a pious man, and naturally of noble and grate- 
 ful principles : he eased her of all her Church cares by his wise 
 manage of them; he gave her faithful and prudent counsels in 
 all the extremities and dangers of her temporal affairs, which 
 were very many ; he lived to be the chief comfort of her life 
 in her declining age, and to be then most frequently with her, 
 and her assistant at her private devotions ; he lived to be the 
 greatest comfort of her soul upon her deathbed, to be present 
 at the expiration of her last breath, and to behold the closing 
 of those eyes that had long looked upon him with reverence 
 and affection. And let this also be added, that he was the 
 chief mourner at her sad funeral ; nor let this be forgotten, 
 that, within a few hours after her death, he was the happy pro- 
 claimed that King James — her peaceful successor — was heir to 
 the Crown. 
 
 Let me beg of my reader to allow me to say a little, and but 
 a little, more of this good Bishop, and I shall then presently 
 lead him back to Mr. Hooker ; and because I would hasten, I 
 will mention but one part of the Bishop's charity and humility ; 
 but this of both. He built a large alms-house near to his own 
 palace at Croydon in Surrey, and endowed it with maintenance 
 for a master and twenty-eight poor men and women ; which he 
 visited so often, that he knew their names and dispositions ; 
 and was so truly humble, that he called them brothers and 
 sisters ; and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowliness 
 to dine with him at his palace in Lambeth, — which was very 
 often, — he would usually the next day show the like lowliness 
 to his poor brothers and sisters at Croydon, and dine with them 
 at his hospital ; at which time, you may believe, there was joy
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 137 
 
 at the table. And at this place he built also a fair free-school, 
 with a good accommodation and maintenance for the master 
 and scholars. Which gave just occasion for Boyse Sisi, then 
 ambassador for the French king, and resident here, at the 
 Bishop's death, to say, ' the Bishop had published many learned 
 books ; but a free-school to train up youth, and an hospital to 
 lodge and maintain aged and poor people, were the best 
 evidences of Christian learning that a bishop could leave to 
 posterity.' This good bishop lived to see King James settled 
 in peace, and then fell into an extreme sickness at his palace 
 in Lambeth ; of which when the King had notice, he went 
 presently to visit him, and found him in his bed in a declining 
 condition and very weak ; and after some short discourse be- 
 twixt them, the King at his departure assured him, ' He had a 
 great affection for him, and a very high value for his prudence 
 and virtues, and would endeavour to beg his life of God for the 
 good of his Church.' To which the good Bishop replied, ' Pro 
 Ecclesia Dei ! Pro Ecclesia Dei!' which were the last words 
 he ever spake ; therein testifying, that as in his life, so at his 
 death, his chiefest care was of God's Church. 
 
 This John Whitgift was made archbishop in the year 1583. 
 In which busy place he continued twenty years and some 
 months ; and in which time you may believe he had many 
 trials of his courage and patience : but his motto was ' lineil 
 qui patitur ; ' and he made it good. 
 
 Many of his trials were occasioned by the then powerful Earl 
 of Leicester, who did still — but secretly — raise and cherish a 
 faction of Non - conformists to oppose him ; especially one 
 Thomas Cartwright, a man of noted learning, sometime con- 
 temporary with the Bishop in Cambridge, and of the same 
 college, of which the Bishop had been master; in which place 
 there began some emulations, — the particulars I forbear, — and 
 at last open and high oppositions betwixt them ; and in which 
 you may believe Mr. Cartwright was most faulty, if his ex- 
 pulsion out of the university can incline you to it. 
 
 And in this discontent after the Earl's death, — which was 
 1588, — Mr. Cartwright appeared a chief cherisher of a party
 
 138 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 that were for the Geneva Church government ; and, to effect it, 
 he ran himself into many dangers both of liberty and life, 
 appearing at the last to justify himself and his party in many 
 remonstrances, which he caused to be printed : and to which 
 the Bishop 'made a first answer, and Cartwright replied upon 
 him ; and then the Bishop having rejoined to his first reply, Mr. 
 Cartwright either was, or was persuaded to be, satisfied, for he 
 wrote no more, but left the reader to be judge which had 
 maintained their cause with most charity and reason. After 
 some silence, Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop many 
 personal favours and betook himself to a more private living, 
 which was at Warwick, where he was made master of an 
 hospital, and lived quietly, and grew rich ; and where the 
 Bishop gave him a licence to preach, upon promises not to 
 meddle with controversies, but incline his hearers to piety and 
 moderation : and this promise he kept during his life, which 
 ended 1602, the Bishop surviving him but some few months; 
 each ending his days in perfect charity with the other. 
 
 And now after this long digression, made for the information 
 of my reader concerning what follows, I bring him back to 
 venerable Mr. Hooker, where we left him in the Temple, and 
 where we shall find him as deeply engaged in a controversy 
 with Walter Travers, — a friend and favourite of Mr. Cart- 
 wright's — as the Bishop had ever been with Mr. Cartwright 
 himself, and of which I shall proceed to give this following 
 account. 
 
 And first this : that though the pens of Mr. Cartwright and 
 the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up a new 
 generation of restless men, that by company and clamours 
 became possessed of a faith which they ought to have kept to 
 themselves, but could not : men that were become positive in 
 asserting, ' That a Papist cannot be saved : ' insomuch, that 
 about this time, at the execution of the Queen of Scots, 
 the Bishop that preached her funeral sermon — which was 
 Dr. Howland, then Bishop of Peterborough — was reviled for 
 not being positive for her damnation. And besides this bold- 
 ness of their becoming gods, so far as to set limits to his
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 139 
 
 mercies, there was not only one Martin Mar-Prelate, but other 
 venomous books daily printed and dispersed ; books that were 
 so absurd and scurrilous, that the graver divines disdained 
 them an answer. And yet these were grown into high esteem 
 with the common people, till Tom Nash appeared against them 
 all, who was a man of a sharp wit, and the master of a scoffing, 
 satirical, merry pen, which he employed to discover the ab- 
 surdities of those blind, malicious, senseless pamphlets, and 
 sermons as senseless as they ; Nash's answer being like his 
 books, which bore these, or like titles : ' An Almond for a 
 Parrot;' ' A Fig for my Godson;' 'Come Crack Me this Nut,' 
 and the like ; so that this merry wit made some sport, and such 
 a discovery of their absurdities, as — which is strange — he put a 
 greater stop to these malicious pamphlets, than a much wiser 
 man had been able. 
 
 And now the reader is to take notice, that at the death of 
 Father Alvey, who was Master of the Temple, this Walter 
 Travers was lecturer there for the evening sermons, which he 
 preached with great approbation, especially of some citizens, 
 and the younger gentlemen of that society ; and for the most 
 part approved by Mr. Hooker himself, in the midst of their 
 oppositions. For he continued lecturer a part of his time ; Mr. 
 Travers being indeed a man of competent learning, of a winning 
 behaviour, and of a blameless life. But he had taken orders by 
 the Presbytery in Antwerp, — and with them some opinions, 
 that could never be eradicated, — and if in anything he was 
 transported, it was in an extreme desire to set up that govern- 
 ment in this nation ; for the promoting of which he had a 
 correspondence with Theodore Beza at Geneva, and others in 
 Scotland ; and was one of the chiefest assistants to Mr. Cart- 
 wright in that design. 
 
 Mr. Travers had also a particular hope to set up this govern- 
 ment in the Temple, and to that end used his most zealous 
 endeavours to be Master of it ; and his being disappointed by 
 Mr. Hooker's admittance proved the occasion of a public 
 opposition betwixt them in their sermons : many of which 
 were concerning the doctrine and ceremonies of this Church :
 
 140 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 insomuch that, as St. Paul withstood St. Peter to his face, 
 so did they withstand each other in their sermons : for, as 
 one hath pleasantly expressed it, 'The forenoon sermon spake 
 Canterbury ; and the afternoon Geneva.' 
 
 In these sermons there was little of bitterness, but each party 
 brought all the reasons he was able to prove his adversary's 
 opinion erroneous. And thus it continued a long time, till 
 the oppositions became so visible, and the consequences so 
 dangerous, especially in that place, that the prudent Arch- 
 bishop put a stop to Mr. Travers his preaching, by a positive 
 prohibition. Against which Mr. Travers appealed, and petitioned 
 her Majesty's Privy Council to have it recalled ; where, besides 
 his patron, the Earl of Leicester, he met also with many assist- 
 ing friends : but they were not able to prevail with, or against 
 the Archbishop, whom the Queen had intrusted with all Church 
 power ; and he had received so fair a testimony of Mr. Hooker's 
 principles, and of his learning and moderation, that he with- 
 stood all solicitations. But the denying this petition of Mr. 
 Travers was unpleasant to divers of his party ; and the reason- 
 ableness of it became at last to be so publicly magnified by 
 them, and many others of that party, as never to be answered : 
 so that, intending the Bishop's and Mr. Hooker's disgrace, 
 they procured it to be privately printed and scattered abroad ; 
 and then Mr. Hooker was forced to appear, and make as public 
 an answer ; which he did, and dedicated it to the Archbishop ; 
 and it proved so full an answer, an answer that had in it so 
 much of clear reason, and writ with so much meekness and 
 majesty of style, that the Bishop began to have him in admira- 
 tion, and to rejoice that he had appeared in his cause, and 
 disdained not earnestly to beg his friendship ; even a familiar 
 friendship with a man of so much quiet learning and humility. 
 
 To enumerate the many particular points in which Mr. 
 Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented, — all, or most of which I 
 have seen written, — would prove at least tedious : and there- 
 fore I shall impose upon my reader no more than two, which 
 shall immediately follow, and by which he may judge of the 
 rest.
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 141 
 
 Mr. Travers excepted against Mr. Hooker, for that in one 
 of his sermons he declared, 'That the assurance of what we 
 believe by the Word of God is not to us so certain as that 
 which we perceive by sense.' And Mr. Hooker confesseth he 
 said so, and endeavours to justify it by the reasons following : — 
 
 ' First : I taught that the things which God promises in 
 his Word are surer than what we touch, handle, or see : but 
 are we so sure and certain of them ? If we be, why doth 
 God so often prove his promises to us as he doth, by argu- 
 ments drawn from our sensible experience ? For we must be 
 surer of the proof than of the things proved ; otherwise it is 
 no proof. For example : how is it that many men looking 
 on the moon, at the same time, every one knoweth it to be 
 the moon as certainly as the other doth ? but many believing 
 one and the same promise, have not all one and the same 
 fulness of persuasion. For how falleth it out, that men being 
 assured of any thing by sense, can be no surer of it than they 
 are ; when as the strongest in faith that liveth upon the earth 
 hath always need to labour, strive, and pray, that his assurance 
 concerning heavenly and spiritual things may grow, increase, 
 and be augmented ? ' 
 
 The sermon, that gave him the cause of this his justification, 
 makes the case more plain, by declaring ' That there is, besides 
 this certainty of evidence, a certainty of adherence.' In which 
 having most excellently demonstrated what the certainty of 
 adherence is ; he makes this comfortable use of it, ' Comfort- 
 able,' he says, 'as to weak believers, who suppose themselves 
 to be faithless, not to believe, when notwithstanding they have 
 their adherence ; the Holy Spirit hath his private operations, 
 and worketh secretly in them, and effectually too, though they 
 want the inward testimony of it.' 
 
 Tell this, saith he, to a man that hath a mind too much 
 dejected by a sad sense of his sin; to one that, by a too 
 severe judging of himself, concludes that he wants faith, 
 because he wants the comfortable assurance of it; and his 
 answer will be, Do not persuade me against my knowledge, 
 against what I find and feel in myself: I do not, I know, I
 
 142 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 do not believe. — Mr. Hooker's own words follow : — ' Well then, 
 to favour such men a little in their weakness, let that be 
 granted which they do imagine ; be it, that they adhere not 
 to God's promises, but are faithless, and without belief: but 
 are they not grieved for their unbelief? They confess they 
 are ; do they not wish it might, and also strive that it may 
 be otherwise? We know they do. Whence cometh this, but 
 from a secret love and liking, that they have of those things 
 believed ? For no man can love those things which in his 
 own opinion are not ; and if they think those things to be, 
 which they show they love, when they desire to believe them ; 
 then must it be, that, by desiring to believe, they prove them- 
 selves true believers : for without faith no man thinketh that 
 things believed are : which argument all the subtilties of 
 infernal powers will never be able to dissolve.' This is an 
 abridgment of part of the reasons Mr. Hooker gives for his 
 justification of this his opinion, for which he was excepted 
 against by Mr. Travers. 
 
 Mr. Hooker was also accused by Mr. Travers, for that he 
 in one of his sermons had declared, 'That he doubted not 
 but that God was merciful to many of our forefathers living 
 in Popish superstition, forasmuch as they sinned ignorantly ; ' 
 and Mr. Hooker in his answer professeth it to be his judg- 
 ment, and declares his reasons for this charitable opinion to 
 be as followeth. 
 
 But first, he states the question about Justification and 
 Works, and how the foundation of Faith without works is 
 overthrown ; and then he proceeds to discover that way which 
 natural men and some others have mistaken to be the way, 
 by which they hope to attain true and everlasting happiness : 
 and having discovered the mistake, he proceeds to direct to 
 that true way, by which, and no other, everlasting life and 
 blessedness is attainable. And these two ways he demon- 
 strates thus ; — they be his own words that follow : — ' That, 
 the way of nature ; this, the way of grace ; the end of that 
 way, salvation merited, pre-supposing the righteousness of 
 men's works ; their righteousness, a natural ability to do them ;
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 143 
 
 that ability, the goodness of God, which created them in such 
 perfection. But the end of this way, salvation bestowed upon 
 men as a gift : pre-supposing not their righteousness, but the 
 forgiveness of their unrighteousness, justification; their justi- 
 fication, not their natural ability to do good, but their hearty 
 sorrow for not doing, and unfeigned belief in him, for whose 
 sake not-doers are accepted, which is their vocation ; their 
 vocation, the election of God, taking them out of the number 
 of lost children : their election, a mediator in whom to be 
 elected; this mediation, inexplicable mercy: this mercy, sup- 
 posing their misery for whom he vouchsafed to die, and make 
 himself a mediator.' 
 
 And he also declareth, c There is no other meritorious cause 
 for our justification, but Christ: no effectual, but his mercy;' 
 and says also, 'We deny the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 we abuse, disannul and annihilate the benefit of his passion, 
 if by a proud imagination we believe we can merit everlasting 
 life, or can be worthy of it.' This belief, he declareth, is to 
 destroy the very essence of our justification; and he makes 
 all opinions that border upon this to be very dangerous. ' Yet 
 nevertheless,' — and for this he was accused, — ' considering how 
 many virtuous and just men, how many saints and martyrs 
 have had their dangerous opinions, amongst which this was 
 one, that they hoped to make God some part of amends, by 
 voluntary punishments which they laid upon themselves : because 
 by this, or the like erroneous opinions, which do by conse- 
 quence overthrow the merits of Christ, shall man be so bold 
 as to write on their graves, ' Such men are damned ; there is 
 for them no salvation ? ' St. Austin says, Errare possum, Hcere- 
 ticus esse nolo. And except we put a difference betwixt them 
 that err ignorantly, and them that obstinately persist in it, 
 how is it possible that any man should hope to be saved ? 
 Give me a Pope or Cardinal, whom great afflictions have made 
 to know himself, whose heart God hath touched with true 
 sorrow for all his sins, and filled with a love of Christ and 
 his gospel ; whose eyes are willingly open to see the truth, 
 and his mouth ready to renounce all error, — this one opinion
 
 144 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 of merit excepted, which he thinketh God will require at his 
 hands ; — and because he wanteth, trembleth, and is discouraged, 
 and yet can say, Lord, cleanse me from all my secret sins ! 
 shall I think, because of this, or a like error, such men touch 
 not so much as the hem of Christ's garment ? If they do, 
 wherefore should I doubt, but that virtue may proceed from 
 Christ to save them ? No, I will not be afraid to say to such 
 a one, You err in your opinion ; but be of good comfort ; you 
 have to do Avith a merciful God, who will make the best of 
 that little which you hold well ; and not with a captious 
 sophister, who gathereth the worst out of everything in which 
 you are mistaken.' 
 
 But it will be said, says Mr. Hooker, the admittance of 
 merit in any degree overthroweth the foundation, excludeth 
 from the hope of mercy, from all possibility of salvation. (And 
 now Mr. Hooker's own words follow.) 
 
 ' What, though they hold the truth sincerely in all other 
 parts of Christian faith ; although they have in some measure 
 all the virtues and graces of the Spirit, although they have 
 all other tokens of God's children in them ? although they 
 be far from having any proud opinion, that they shall be saved 
 by the worthiness of their deeds ? although the only thing that 
 troubleth and molesteth them be a little too much dejection, 
 somewhat too great a fear arising from an erroneous conceit, 
 that God will require a worthiness in them, which they are 
 grieved to find wanting in themselves ? although they be not 
 obstinate in this opinion ? although they be willing, and would 
 be glad to forsake it, if any one reason were brought sufficient 
 to disprove it ? although the only cause why they do not for- 
 sake it ere they die, be their ignorance of that means by 
 which it might be disproved ? although the cause why the 
 ignorance in this point is not removed, be the want of know- 
 ledge in such as should be able, and are not, to remove it ? 
 Let me die,' says Mr. Hooker, ' if it be ever proved, that 
 simply an error doth exclude a Pope or Cardinal in such a 
 case utterly from hope of life. Surely, I must confess, that 
 if it be an error to think that God may be merciful to save
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 145 
 
 men, even when they err, my greatest comfort is my error : 
 were it not for the love I bear to this error, I would never 
 wish to speak or to live/ 
 
 I was willing to take notice of these two points, as sup- 
 posing them to be very material ; and that, as they are thus 
 contracted, they may prove useful to my reader; as also for 
 that the answers be arguments of Mr. Hooker's great and 
 clear reason, and equal charity. Other exceptions were also 
 made against him by Mr. Travers, as c That he prayed before, 
 and not after, his sermons ; that in his prayers he named 
 bishops ; that he kneeled, both when he prayed, and when 
 he received the sacrament ; ' and — says Mr. Hooker in his 
 defence — ' other exceptions so like these, as but to name, I 
 should have thought a greater fault than to commit them.' 
 
 And it is not unworthy the noting, that in the manage of 
 so great a controversy, a sharper reproof than this, and one 
 like it, did never fall from the happy pen of this humble man. 
 That like it, was upon a like occasion of exceptions, to which 
 his answer was, 'Your next argument consists of railing and 
 of reasons : to your railing I say nothing ; to your reasons I 
 say what follows.' And I am glad of this fair occasion to 
 testify the dove-like temper of this meek, this matchless man. 
 And doubtless, if Almighty God had blessed the dissenters from 
 the ceremonies and discipline of this Church, with a like 
 measure of wisdom and humility, instead of their pei'tinacious 
 zeal, then obedience and truth had kissed each other ; then 
 peace and piety had flourished in our nation, and this Church 
 and State had been blessed like Jerusalem, that is at unity 
 with itself: but this can never be expected, till God shall 
 bless the common people of this nation with a belief, that 
 schism is a sin, and they not fit to judge what is schism : 
 and bless them also with a belief, that there may be offences 
 taken which are not given, and, that laws are not made for 
 private men to dispute, but to obey. 
 
 And this also may be worthy of noting, that these ex- 
 ceptions of Mr. Travers against Mr. Hooker proved to be 
 felix error, for they were the cause of his transcribing those 
 
 K
 
 146 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 few of his sermons, which we now see printed with his books ; 
 and of his Answer to Mr. Tr -avers his Supplication ; and of 
 his most learned and useful Discourse of Justification, of 
 Faith, and Works: and by their transcription they fell into 
 such hands as have preserved them from being lost, as too 
 many of his other matchless writings were : and from these 
 I have gathered many observations in this discourse of his 
 life. 
 
 After the publication of his Answer to the Petition of Mr. 
 Travers, Mr. Hooker grew daily into greater repute with the 
 most learned and wise of the nation ; but it had a contrary 
 effect in very many of the Temple, that were zealous for Mr. 
 Travers, and for his Church discipline ; insomuch, that though 
 Mr. Travers left the place, yet the seeds of discontent could 
 not be rooted out of that society, by the great reason, and 
 as great meekness, of this humble man : for though the chief 
 benchers gave him much reverence and encouragement, yet 
 he there met with many neglects and oppositions by those 
 of Master Travers' judgment; insomuch that it turned to his 
 extreme grief: and, that he might unbeguile and win them, 
 he designed to write a deliberate, sober treatise of the Church's 
 power to make canons for the use of ceremonies, and by law 
 to impose an obedience to them, as upon her children ; and 
 this he proposed to do in Eight Books of the Eaw of Ecclesiastical 
 Polity; intending therein to show such arguments as should 
 force an assent from all men, if reason, delivered in sweet 
 language, and void of any provocation, were able to do it : 
 and, that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before it 
 a large preface, or epistle to the dissenting brethren, wherein 
 there were such bowels of love, and such a commixture of 
 that love with reason, as was never exceeded but in Holy 
 Writ ; and particularly by that of St. Paul to his dear brother 
 and fellow-labourer Philemon : than which none ever was more 
 like this epistle of Mr. Hooker's. So that his dear friend and 
 companion in his studies, Dr. Spencer, might, after his death, 
 justly say, ' What admirable height of learning, and depth of 
 judgment, dwelt in the lowly mind of this truly humble man;
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 147 
 
 — great in all wise men's eyes, except his own ; with what 
 gravity and majesty of speech his tongue and pen uttered 
 heavenly mysteries ; whose eyes, in the humility of his heart, 
 were always cast down to the ground ; how all things that 
 proceeded from him were breathed as from the spirit of love ; 
 as if he, like the bird of the Holy Ghost, the dove, had wanted 
 gall : — let those that knew him not in his person judge by 
 these living images of his soul, his writings.' 
 
 The foundation of these books was laid in the Temple ; but 
 he found it no fit place to finish what he had there designed ; 
 he therefore earnestly solicited the Archbishop for a remove 
 from that place ; to whom he spake to this purpose : ' My 
 Lord, when I lost the freedom of my cell, which was my college, 
 yet I found some degree of it in my quiet country parsonage : 
 but I am weary of the noise and oppositions of this place ; and 
 indeed God and nature did not intend me for contentions, but 
 for study and quietness. My Lord, my particular contests with 
 Mr. Travers here have proved the more unpleasant to me, 
 because I believe him to be a good man ; and that belief hath 
 occasioned me to examine mine own conscience concerning his 
 opinions ; and, to satisfy that, I have consulted the scripture, 
 and other laws, both human and divine, whether the conscience 
 of him, and others of his judgment, ought to be so far complied 
 with, as to alter our frame of Church government, our manner 
 of God's worship, our praising and praying to him, and our 
 established ceremonies, as often as his and other tender 
 consciences shall require us. And in this examination I have 
 not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise, in which I 
 intend a justification of the laws of our ecclesiastical polity; in 
 which design God and his holy angels shall at the last great 
 day bear me that witness which my conscience now does ; that 
 my meaning is not to provoke any, but rather to satisfy all 
 tender consciences : and I shall never be able to do this, but 
 where I may study, and pray for God's blessing upon my 
 endeavours, and keep myself in peace and privacy, and behold 
 God's blessings spring out of mv mother earth, and eat mv own 
 bread without oppositions; and therefore, if your Grace can
 
 148 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 judge me worthy of such a favour, let me beg it, that I may 
 perfect what I have begun.' 
 
 About this time the parsonage or rectory of Boscum, in the 
 diocese of Sarum, and six miles from that city, became void. 
 The Bishop of Sarum is patron of it ; but in the vacancy of that 
 see, — which was three years betwixt the translation of Bishop 
 Pierce to the See of York, and Bishop Caldwell's admission into 
 it, — the disposal of that, and all benefices belonging to that see, 
 during this said vacancy, came to be disposed of by the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury: and he presented Richard Hooker 
 to it in the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in the 
 said year instituted, July 17, to be a Minor Prebend of Salisbury, 
 the corps to it being Nether Haven, about ten miles from that 
 city ; which prebend was of no great value, but intended 
 chiefly to make him capable of a better preferment in that 
 church. In this Boscum he continued till he had finished four 
 of his eight proposed books of The Laws of Ecclesiastical 
 Polity, and these were entered into the register-book in 
 Stationers' Hall, the 9th of March, 1592, but not published 
 till the year 1594-, and then were with the before-mentioned 
 large and affectionate preface, which he directs to them that 
 see k — as they term it — the reformation of the Laws and Orders 
 Ecclesiastical in the Church of England ; of which books I 
 shall yet say nothing more, but that he continued his laborious 
 diligence to finish the remaining four during his life ;— of all 
 which more properly hereafter ; — but at Boscum he finished 
 and published but only the first four, being then in the thirty- 
 ninth year of his age. 
 
 He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it into 
 the hands of Bishop Caldwell : and he presented Benjamin 
 Russell, who was instituted into it the 23rd of June in the 
 same year. 
 
 The parsonage of Bishop' s-Bourne in Kent, three miles from 
 Canterbury, is in that Archbishop's gift : but, in that latter end 
 of the year 1594, Dr. William Redman, the rector of it, was 
 made Bishop of Norwich ; by which means the power of 
 presenting to it was pro ea vice in the Queen ; and she presented
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 149 
 
 Richard Hooker, whom she loved well, to this good living of 
 Bourne, the 7th July, 1595; in which living he continued till 
 his death, without any addition of dignity or profit. 
 
 And now having brought our Richard Hooker from his birth- 
 place, to this where he found a grave, I shall only give some 
 account of his books and of his behaviour in this parsonage 
 of Bourne, and then give a rest both to myself and my reader. 
 
 His first four books and large epistle have been declared to 
 be printed at his being at Boscum, anno 1594. Next I am to 
 tell, that at the end of these four books there was, when he 
 first printed them, this advertisement to the reader. ' I have 
 for some causes thought it at this time more fit to let go these 
 first four books by themselves, than to stay both them and 
 the rest, till the whole might together be published. Such 
 generalities of the cause in question as are here handled, it 
 will be perhaps not amiss to consider apart, by way of intro- 
 duction unto the books that are to follow concerning particulars ; 
 in the meantime the reader is requested to mend the printer's 
 errors, as noted underneath.' 
 
 And I am next to declare, that his fifth book — which is 
 larger than his first four — was first also printed by itself, anno 
 1597, and dedicated to his patron — for till then he chose none 
 — the Archbishop. These books were read with an admiration 
 of their excellency in this, and their just fame spread itself also 
 into foreign nations. And I have been told, more than forty 
 years past, that either Cardinal Allen, or learned Dr. Stapleton, 
 — both Englishmen, and in Italy about the time when Mr. 
 Hooker's four books were first printed, — meeting with this 
 general fame of them, were desirous to read an author that 
 both the reformed and the learned of their own Romish Church 
 did so much magnify ; and therefore caused them to be sent 
 for to Rome : and after reading them, boasted to the Pope, — 
 which then was Clement the Eighth, — ' That though he had 
 lately said he never met with an English book whose writer 
 deserved the name of author; yet there now appeared a 
 wonder to them, and it would be so to his Holiness, if it were 
 in Latin : for a poor obscure English priest had writ four such
 
 150 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 books of laws, and Church polity, and in a style that expressed 
 such a grave and so humble a majesty, with such clear demon- 
 stration of reason, that in all their readings they had not met 
 with any that exceeded him : ' and this begot in the Pope an 
 earnest desire that Dr. Stapleton should bring the said four 
 books, and, looking on the English, read a part of them to him 
 in Latin ; which Dr. Stapleton did, to the end of the first book ; 
 at the conclusion of which, the Pope spake to this purpose : 
 ' There is no learning that this man hath not searched into, 
 nothing too hard for his understanding : this man indeed 
 deserves the name of an author : his books will get reverence 
 by age ; for there is in them such seeds of eternity, that if the 
 rest be like this, they shall last till the last fire shall consume 
 all learning.' 
 
 Nor was this high, the only testimony and commendations 
 given to his books ; for at the first coming of King James into 
 this kingdom, he inquired of the Archbishop Whitgift for his 
 friend Mr. Hooker, that writ the books of Church polity ; to 
 which the answer was, that he died a year before Queen 
 Elizabeth, who received the sad news of his death with very 
 much sorrow ; to which the King replied, ' And I receive it with 
 no less, that I shall want the desired happiness of seeing and 
 discoursing with that man, from whose books I have received 
 such satisfaction : indeed, my Lord, I have received more 
 satisfaction in reading a leaf or paragraph, in Mr. Hooker, 
 though it were but about the fashion of Churches, or Church 
 music, or the like, but especially of the sacraments, than I 
 have had in reading particular large treatises written but of 
 one of those subjects by others, though very learned men : and 
 I observe there is in Mr. Hooker no affected language : but a 
 grave, comprehensive, clear manifestation of reason, and that 
 backed with the authority of the scripture, the fathers, and 
 schoolmen, and with all law both sacred and civil. And, 
 though many others write well, yet in the next age they will 
 be forgotten; but doubtless there is in every page of Mr. 
 Hooker's book the picture of a divine soul, such pictures of 
 truth and reason, and drawn in so sacred colours, that they
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 151 
 
 shall never fade, but give an immortal memory to the author.' 
 And it is so truly true, that the King thought what he spake, 
 that, as the most ^learned of the nation have, and still do 
 mention Mr. Hooker with reverence ; so he also did never 
 mention him but with the epithet of learned, or judicious, or 
 reverend, or venerable Mr. Hooker. 
 
 Nor did his son, our late King Charles the First, ever mention 
 him but with the same reverence, enjoining his son, our now 
 gracious King, to be studious in Mr. Hooker's books. And 
 our learned antiquary, Mr. Camden, mentioning the death, the 
 modesty, and other virtues of Mr. Hooker, and magnifying his 
 books, wished, 'that, for the honour of this, and benefit of 
 other nations, they were turned into the universal language.' 
 Which work, though undertaken by many, yet they have been 
 weary, and forsaken it : but the reader may now expect it, 
 having been long since begun and lately finished, by the happy 
 pen of Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I may 
 justly say, — and let it not offend him, because it is such a 
 truth as ought not to be concealed from posterity, or those 
 that now live, and yet know him not, — that since Mr. Hooker 
 died, none have lived whom God hath blessed with more 
 innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a more pious, 
 peaceable, primitive temper : so that this excellent person 
 seems to be only like himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker, 
 and only fit to make the learned of all nations happy, in 
 knowing what hath been too long confined to the language of 
 our little island. 
 
 There might be many more and just occasions taken to speak 
 of his books, which none ever did or can commend too much ; 
 but I decline them, and hasten to an account of his Christian 
 behaviour and death at Bourne ; in which place he continued 
 his customary rules of mortification and self-denial ; was much 
 in fasting, frequent in meditation and prayers, enjoying those 
 blessed returns which only men of strict lives feel and know, 
 and of which men of loose and godless lives cannot be made 
 sensible ; for spiritual things are spiritually discerned. 
 
 At his entrance into this place, his friendship was much
 
 152 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 sought for by Dr. Hadrian Saravia, then, or about that time, 
 made one of the Prebends of Canterbury ; a German by birth, 
 and sometime a pastor both in Flanders and Holland, where 
 he had studied, and well considered the controverted points 
 concerning episcopacy and sacrilege ; and in England had a 
 just occasion to declare his judgment concerning both, unto his 
 brethren ministers of the Low Countries ; which was excepted 
 against by Theodore Beza and others ; against whose exceptions 
 he rejoined, and thereby became the happy author of many 
 learned tracts writ in Latin ; especially of three ; one, of the 
 Degrees of Ministers, and of the Bishops' Superiority above 
 the Presbytery; a second, Against Sacrilege; and a third of 
 Christian Obedience to Princes; the last being occasioned by 
 Gretzerus the Jesuit. And it is observable, that when, in a 
 time of Church tumults, Beza gave his reasons to the Chancellor 
 of Scotland for the abrogation of episcopacy in that nation, 
 partly by letters, and more fully in a treatise of a threefold 
 episcopacy, — which he calls divine, human, and satanical, — this 
 Dr. Saravia had, by the help of Bishop Whitgift, made such an 
 early discovery of their intentions, that he had almost as soon 
 answered that treatise as it became public ; and he therein 
 discovered how Beza's opinion did contradict that of Calvin's 
 and his adherents ; leaving them to interfere with themselves 
 in point of episcopacy. But of these tracts it will not concern 
 me to say more, than that they were most of them dedicated 
 to his, and the Church of England's watchful patron, John 
 Whitgift, the Archbishop ; and printed about the time in which 
 Mr. Hooker also appeared first to the world, in the publication 
 of his first four books of Ecclesiastical Polity. 
 
 This friendship being sought for by this learned doctor 
 you may believe was not denied by Mr. Hooker, who was by 
 fortune so like him, as to be engaged against Mr. Travers, Mr. 
 Cartwright, and others of their judgment, in a controversy too 
 like Dr. Saravia's; so that in this year of 15.95, and in this 
 place of Bourne, these two excellent persons began a holy 
 friendship, increasing daily to so high and mutual affections, 
 that their two wills seemed to be but one and the same ; and
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 153 
 
 their designs both for the glory of God, and peace of the 
 Church, still assisting and improving each other's virtues, and 
 the desired comforts of a peaceable piety ; which I have 
 willingly mentioned, because it gives a foundation to some 
 things that follow. 
 
 This parsonage of Bourne is from Canterbury three miles, 
 and near to the common road that leads from that city to 
 Dover ; in which parsonage Mr. Hooker had not been twelve 
 months, but his books, and the innocency and sanctity of his 
 life became so remarkable, that many turned out of the road, 
 and others — scholars especially — went purposely to see the 
 man, whose life and learning were so much admired : and alas ! 
 as our Saviour said of St. John Baptist, ' What went they out 
 to see ? a man clothed in purple and fine linen ?' No, indeed : 
 but an obscure, harmless man ; a man in poor clothes, his loins 
 usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat ; of a mean 
 stature, and stooping, and 3^et more lowly in the thoughts of 
 his soul ; his body worn out, not with age, but study and holy 
 mortifications ; his face full of heat pimples, begot by his 
 unactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of 
 his person, let me add this of his disposition and behaviour : 
 God and nature blessed him with so blessed a bashfulness, that 
 as in his younger days his pupils might easily look him out of 
 countenance ; so neither then, nor in his age, did he ever 
 willingly look any man in the face : and was of so mild and humble 
 a nature, that his poor parish clerk and he did never talk but 
 with both their hats on, or both off, at the same time : and to 
 this may be added, that though he was not purblind, yet he 
 was short or weak-sighted ; and where he fixed his eyes at the 
 beginning of his sermon, there they continued till it was ended : 
 and the reader has a liberty to believe, that his modesty and 
 dim sight were some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs. 
 Churchman to choose his wife. 
 
 This parish clerk lived till the third or fourth year of the 
 late Long Parliament ; betwixt which time and Mr. Hooker's 
 death there had come many to see the place of his burial, and 
 the monument dedicated to his memory by Sir William Cowper,
 
 154 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 who still lives ; and the poor clerk had many rewards for 
 showing Mr. Hooker's grave place, and his said monument, 
 and did always hear Mr. Hooker mentioned with commenda- 
 tions and reverence ; to all which he added his own knowledge 
 and observations of his humility and holiness ; and in all which 
 discourses the poor man was still more confirmed in his opinion 
 of Mr. Hooker's virtues and learning. But it so fell out, that 
 about the said third or fourth year of the Long Parliament, the 
 then present parson of Bourne was sequestered, — you may 
 guess why, — and a Genevan minister put into his good living. 
 This, and other like sequestrations, made the clerk express 
 himself in a wonder, and say, ' They had sequestered so many 
 good men, that he doubted, if his good master Mr. Hooker 
 had lived till now, they would have sequestered him too ! ' 
 
 It was not long before this intruding minister had made a 
 party in and about the said parish, that were desirous to 
 receive the sacrament as in Geneva ; to which end, the day was 
 appointed for a select company, and forms and stools set about 
 the altar, or communion-table, for them to sit and eat and 
 drink : but when they went about this work, there was a want 
 of some joint-stools, which the minister sent the clerk to fetch, 
 and then to fetch cushions, — but not to kneel upon. When 
 the clerk saw them begin to sit down, he began to wonder ; 
 but the minister bade him 'cease wondering, and lock the 
 church door : ' to whom he replied, ' Pray take you the keys, 
 and lock me out : I will never come more into this church ; for 
 all men will say, my master Hooker was a good man, and a 
 good scholar ; and 1 am sure it was not used to be thus in his 
 days : ' and report says the old man went presently home and 
 died ; I do not say died immediately, but within a few days 
 after. 
 
 But let us leave this grateful clerk in his quiet grave, and 
 return to Mr. Hooker himself, continuing our observations of 
 his Christian behaviour in this place, where he gave a holy 
 valediction to all the pleasures and allurements of earth ; 
 possessing his soul in a virtuous quietness, which he maintained 
 by constant study, prayers, and meditations. His use was to
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 155 
 
 preach once every Sunday, and he, or his curate, to catechise 
 after the second lesson in the evening prayer. His sermons 
 were neither long nor earnest, but uttered with a grave zeal 
 and an humble voice : his eyes always fixed on one place, to 
 prevent imagination from wandering ; insomuch, that he 
 seemed to study as he spake. The design of his sermons 
 — as indeed of all his discourses — was to show reasons for 
 what he spake ; and with these reasons such a kind of rhetoric, 
 as did rather convince and persuade, than frighten men into 
 piety; studying not so much for matter, — which he never 
 wanted, — as for apt illustrations, to inform and teach his 
 unlearned hearers by familiar examples, and then make them 
 better by convincing applications; never labouring by hard 
 words, and then by heedless distinctions and sub-distinctions, 
 to amuse his hearers, and get glory to himself ; but glory only 
 to God. Which intention, he would often say, was as discernible 
 in a preacher, ' as a natural from an artificial beauty.' 
 
 He never failed the Sunday before every ember -week to 
 give notice of it to his parishioners, persuading them both to 
 fast, and then to double their devotions for a learned and a 
 pious clergy, but especially the last ; saying often, ' That the 
 life of a pious clergyman was visible rhetoric ; and so con- 
 vincing, that the most godless men — though they would not 
 deny themselves the enjoyment of their present lusts — did 
 yet secretly wish themselves like those of the strictest lives.' 
 And to what he persuaded other, he added his own example 
 of fasting and prayer ; and did usually every ember-week take 
 from the parish clerk the key of the church door, into which 
 place he retired every day, and locked himself up for many 
 hours ; and did the like most Fridays and other days of fasting. 
 
 He would by no means omit the customary time of pro- 
 cession, persuading all, both rich and poor, if they desired the 
 preservation of love, and their parish rights and liberties, to 
 accompany him in his perambulation ; and most did so : in which 
 perambulation he would usually express more pleasant discourse 
 than at other times, and would then always drop some loving and 
 facetious observations to be remembered against the next year
 
 156 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 especially by the boys and young people ; still inclining them 
 and all his present parishioners, to meekness, and mutual kind- 
 ness and love ; because ' Love thinks not evil, but covers a 
 multitude of infirmities.' 
 
 He was diligent to inquire who of his parish were sick, or 
 any ways distressed, and would often visit them, unsent for; 
 supposing that the fittest time to discover to them those errors 
 to which health and prosperity had blinded them. And having 
 by pious reasons and prayers moulded them into holy resolu- 
 tions for the time to come, he would incline them to confession 
 and bewailing their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and 
 then to receive the communion, both as a strengthening of 
 those holy resolutions, and as a seal betwixt God and them 
 of his mercies to their souls, in case that present sickness did 
 put a period to their lives. 
 
 And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, so 
 he was as diligent to prevent law - suits ; still urging his 
 parishioners and neighbours to bear with each other's in- 
 firmities, and live in love, because, as St. John says, ' He that 
 lives in love, lives in God; for God is love.' And to maintain 
 this holy fire of love constantly burning on the altar of a pure 
 heart, his advice was to watch and pray, and always keep 
 themselves fit to receive the communion, and then to receive 
 it often ; for it was both a confirming and strengthening of 
 their graces. This was his advice ; and at his entrance or 
 departure out of any house, he would usually speak to the 
 whole family, and bless them by name ; insomuch, that as 
 he seemed in his youth to be taught of God, so he seemed 
 in this place to teach his precepts as Enoch did, by walking 
 with him in all holiness and humility, making each day a 
 step towards a blessed eternity. And though, in this weak 
 and declining age of the world, such examples are become 
 barren, and almost incredible ; yet let his memory be blessed 
 by this true recordation, because he that praises Richard 
 Hooker, praises God who hath given such gifts to men ; and 
 let this humble and affectionate relation of him become such a 
 pattern, as may invite posterity to imitate these his virtues.
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 157 
 
 This was his constant behaviour both at Bourne and in all 
 the places in which he lived : thus did he walk with God, and 
 tread the footsteps of primitive piety ; and yet, as that great 
 example of meekness and purity, even our blessed Jesus, was 
 not free from false accusations, no more was this disciple of his, 
 this most humble, most innocent, holy man. His was a slander 
 parallel to that of chaste Susannah's by the wicked elders ; or 
 that against St. Athanasius, as it is recorded in his life, — for 
 this holy man had heretical enemies, — a slander which this age 
 calls trepanning. The particulars need not a repetition ; and 
 that it was false needs no other testimony than the public 
 punishment of his accusers, and their open confession of his 
 innocency. It was said that the accusation was contrived by a 
 dissenting brother, one that endured not Church ceremonies, 
 hating him for his book's sake, which he was not able to 
 answer ; and his name hath been told me ; but I have not so 
 much confidence in the relation as to make my pen fix a 
 scandal on him to posterity ; I shall rather leave it doubtful till 
 the great day of revelation. But this is certain, that he lay 
 under the great charge, and the anxiety of this accusation, and 
 kept it secret to himself for many months ; and, being a 
 helpless man, had lain longer under this heavy burthen, but 
 that the protector of the innocent gave such an accidental 
 occasion, as forced him to make it known to his two dearest 
 friends, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, who were so 
 sensible of their tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves 
 no rest, till by their disquisitions and diligence they had found 
 out the fraud, and brought him the welcome news, that his 
 accusers did confess they had wronged him, and begged his 
 pardon. To which the good man's reply was to this purpose : 
 ' The Lord forgive them ; and the Lord bless you for this 
 comfortable news. Now have I a just occasion to say with 
 Solomon, ' Friends are born for the days of adversity ; ' and 
 such you have proved to me. And to my God I say, as did the 
 mother of St. John Baptist, " Thus hath the Lord dealt with 
 me, in the day wherein he looked upon me, to take away my 
 reproach among men." And, O my God ! neither my life, nor
 
 158 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 my reputation, are safe in my own keeping ; but in thine, who 
 didst take care of me when I yet hanged upon my mother's 
 breast. Blessed are they that put their trust in thee, O Lord ! 
 for when false witnesses were risen up against me ; when 
 shame was ready to cover my face ; when my nights were 
 restless ; when my soul thirsted for a deliverance, as the hart 
 panteth after the rivers of water ; then thou, Lord, didst hear 
 my complaints, pity my condition, and art now become my 
 deliverer ; and as long as I live I will hold up my hands in this 
 manner, and magnify thy mercies, who didst not give me over 
 as a prey to mine enemies : the net is broken, and they are 
 taken in it. Oh ! blessed are they that put their trust in thee ! 
 and no prosperity shall make me forget those days of sorrow, 
 or to perform those vows that I have made to thee in the days 
 of my affliction ; for with such sacrifices, thou, O God, art well 
 pleased ; and I will pay them.' 
 
 Thus did the joy and gratitude of this good man's heart 
 break forth ; and it is observable, that as the invitation to this 
 slander was his meek behaviour and dove-like simplicity, for 
 which he was remarkable ; so his Christian charity ought to be 
 imitated. For though the spirit of revenge is so pleasing to 
 mankind, that it is never conquered but by a supernatural grace, 
 revenge being indeed so deeply rooted in human nature, that, 
 to prevent the excesses of it, — for men would not know 
 moderation, — Almighty God allows not any degree of it to 
 any man, but says ' vengeance is mine:' and though this be 
 said positively by God himself, yet this revenge is so pleasing, 
 that man is hardly persuaded to submit the manage of it to 
 the time, and justice, and wisdom of his Creator, but would 
 hasten to be his own executioner of it. And yet nevertheless, 
 if any man ever did wholly decline, and leave this pleasing 
 passion to the time and measure of God alone, it was this 
 Richard Hooker, of whom I write : for when his slanderers 
 were to suffer, he laboured to procure their pardon ; and when 
 that was denied him, his reply was, ' That however he would 
 fast and pray that God would give them repentance, and 
 patience to undergo their punishment.' And his prayers were
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 159 
 
 so far returned into his own bosom, that the first was granted, 
 if we may believe a penitent behaviour, and an open con- 
 fession. And 'tis observable, that after this time he would 
 often say to Dr. Saravia, ' Oh ! with what quietness did I 
 enjoy my soul, after I was free from the fears of my slander ! 
 And how much more after a conflict and victory over my 
 desires of revenge ! ' 
 
 About the year 1600, and of his age forty-six, he fell into a 
 long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken in his 
 passage by water betwixt London and Gravesend, from the 
 malignity of which he was never recovered ; for after that 
 time, till his death, he was not free from thoughtful days 
 and restless nights: but a submission to his will that makes 
 the sick man's bed easy, by giving rest to his soul, made his 
 veiy languishment comfortable : and yet all this time he 
 was solicitous in his study, and said often to Dr. Saravia — 
 who saw him daily, and was the chief comfort of his life, — 
 ' That he did not beg a long life of God for any other reason, 
 but to live to finish his three remaining books of polity ; and 
 then " Lord, let thy servant depart in peace;'" which was 
 his usual expression. And God heard his prayers, though he 
 denied the Church the benefit of them, as completed by him- 
 self; and 'tis thought he hastened his own death, by hastening 
 to give life to his books. But this is certain, that the nearer 
 he was to his death, the more he grew in humility, in holy 
 thoughts, and resolutions. 
 
 About a month before his death, this good man, that never 
 knew, or at last never considered, the pleasures of the palate, 
 became first to lose his appetite, and then to have an averseness 
 to all food, insomuch that he seemed to live some intermitted 
 weeks by the smell of meat only, and yet still studied and writ. 
 And now his guardian angel seemed to foretell him that the day 
 of his dissolution drew near ; for which his vigorous soul 
 appeared to thirst. 
 
 In this time of his sickness and not many days before his 
 death, his house was robbed ; of which he having notice, his 
 question was, ' Are my books and written papers safe ? ' And
 
 160 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 being answered that they were ; his reply was, e Then it matters 
 not ; for no other loss can trouble me.' 
 
 About one day before his death, Dr. Saravia, who knew the 
 very secrets of his soul, — for they were supposed to be con- 
 fessors to each other, — came to him, and, after a conference of 
 the benefit, the necessity, and safety of the Church's absolution, 
 it was resolved the Doctor should give him both that and the 
 sacrament the following day. To which end the Doctor came, 
 and, after a short retirement and privacy, they two returned to 
 the company ; and then the Doctor gave him, and some of those 
 friends which were with him, the blessed sacrament of the body 
 and blood of our Jesus. Which being performed, the Doctor 
 thought he saw a reverend gaiety and joy in his face; but it 
 lasted not long ; for his bodily infirmities did return suddenly, 
 and became more visible, insomuch that the Doctor appre- 
 hended death ready to seize him ; yet, after some amendment, 
 left him at night, with a promise to return early the day 
 following ; which he did, and then found him better in appear- 
 ance, deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse ; 
 which gave the Doctor occasion to require his present thoughts. 
 To which he replied, 'That he was meditating the number 
 and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and order, 
 without which, peace could not be in heaven : and Oh ! that 
 it might be so on earth ! ' After which words, he said, ' 1 have 
 lived to see this world is made up of perturbations ; and I have 
 been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the 
 dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now 
 apprehend to be near : and though I have by his grace loved 
 him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to 
 have a conscience void of offence to him, and to all men ; yet 
 if thou, O Lord ! be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, 
 who can abide it ? And therefore, where I have failed, Lord, 
 show mercy to me ; for I plead not my righteousness, but the 
 forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for his merits, who died to 
 purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a 
 death, Lord, let it not be terrible, and then take thine own 
 time : I submit to it : let not mine, O Lord ! but let thy will be
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 161 
 
 done.' With which expression he fell into a dangerous slumber ; 
 dangerous as to his recovery, yet recover he did, but it was to 
 speak only these few words : ' Good Doctor, God hath heard my 
 daily petitions, for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace 
 with me ; and from that blessed assurance I feel that inward joy, 
 which this woidd can neither give norjtake from me : my con- 
 science beareth me this witness, and this witness makes the 
 thoughts of death joyful. I could wish to live to do the Church 
 more service ; but cannot hope it, for my days are past as a 
 shadow that returns not.' More he would have spoken, but his 
 spirits failed him ; and, after a short conflict betwixt nature 
 and death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so 
 he fell asleep. And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in 
 Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till with the 
 most glorious company of the patriarchs and apostles, the most 
 noble army of martyrs and confessors, this most learned, most 
 humble, holy man shall also awake to receive an eternal tran- 
 quillity, and with it a greater degree of glory, than common 
 Christians shall be made partakers of. 
 
 In the meantime, Bless, O Lord ! Lord, bless his brethren, 
 the clergy of this nation, with effectual endeavours to attain, if 
 not to his great learning, yet to his remarkable meekness, his 
 godly simplicity, and his Christian moderation; for these will 
 bring peace at the last. And, Lord, let his most excellent 
 writings be blest with what he designed, when he undertook 
 them : which was, glory to thee, O God ! on high, peace in thy 
 Church, and goodwill to mankind. Amen. Amen. 
 
 Izaak Walton. 
 
 This following epitaph was long since presented to the 
 world, in memory of Mr. Hooker, by Sir William Cowper, who 
 also built him a fair monument in Bourne Church, and acknow- 
 ledges him to have been his spiritual father. 
 
 Though nothing can he spoke worthy his fame, 
 Or the remembrance of that precious name, 
 Judicious Hooker ; though this cost be spent 
 On him, that hath a lasting monument 
 L
 
 162 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 In his own books ; yet ought we to express., 
 
 If not his worth, yet our respectfulness. 
 
 Church Ceremonies he maintain'd ; then why 
 
 Without all ceremony should he die ? 
 
 Was it because his life and death should be 
 
 Both equal patterns of humility ? 
 
 Or that perhaps this only glorious one 
 
 Was above all, to ask, why had he none ? 
 
 Yet he, that lay so long obscurely low, 
 
 Doth now preferr'd to greater honours go. 
 
 Ambitious men, learn hence to be more wise, 
 
 Humility is the true way to rise : 
 
 And God in me this lesson did inspire, 
 
 To bid this humble man, ' Friend, sit up higher. 
 
 AN APPENDIX 
 
 TO THE 
 
 LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 
 
 And now, having by a long and laborious search satisfied myself, and 
 I hope my reader, by imparting to him the true relation of Mr. Hooker's 
 life, I am desirous also to acquaint him with some observations that 
 relate to it, and which could not properly fall to be spoken till after 
 his death ; of which my reader may expect a brief and true account in 
 the following Appendix. 
 
 And first, it is not to be doubted but that he died in the forty-seventh, 
 if not in the forty-sixth year of his age : which I mention, because 
 many have believed him to be more aged : but I have so examined it, 
 as to be confident I mistake not : and for the year of his death, Mr. 
 Camden, who in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth, 1599, mentions him 
 with a high commendation of his life and learning, declares him to die 
 in the year 1599 ; and yet in that inscription of his monument, set up 
 at the charge of Sir William Cowper, in Bourne Church, where Mr. 
 Hooker was buried, his death is there said to be in anno 1603 ; but 
 doubtless both are mistaken ; for I have it attested under the hand 
 of William Somner, the Archbishop's registrar for the Province of
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 163 
 
 Canterbury, that Richard Hooker's will bears date October 26th in 
 anno 1600, and that it was proved the third of December following. 
 
 And that at his death he left four daughters, Alice, Cicely, Jane and 
 Margaret ; that he gave to each of them an hundred pounds ; that he 
 left Joan, his wife, his sole executrix ; and that by his inventory his 
 estate — a great part of it being in books — came to ,£1092, 9s. 2d. , which 
 was much more than he thought himself worth ; and which was not 
 got by his care, much less by the good housewifery of his wife, but 
 saved by his trusty servant, Thomas Lane, that was wiser than his 
 master in getting money for him, and more frugal than his mistress in 
 keeping of it. Of which will of Mr. Hooker's I shall say no more, 
 but that his dear friend Thomas, the father of George Cranmer, — of 
 whom I have spoken, and shall have occasion to say more, — was one 
 of the witnesses to it. 
 
 One of his elder daughters was married to one Chalinor, sometime 
 a schoolmaster in Chichester, and are both dead long since. Mar- 
 garet, his youngest daughter, was married unto Ezekiel Charke, 
 Bachelor in Divinity, and Rector of St. Nicholas in Harbledown 
 near Canterbury, who died about sixteen years past, and had a son 
 Ezekiel, now living, and in sacred orders ; being at this time Rector 
 of Waldron in Sussex. She left also a daughter, with both whom 
 I have spoken not many months past, and find her to be a widow 
 in a condition that wants not, but very far from abounding. And 
 these two attested unto me, that Richard Hooker, their grandfather, 
 had a sister, by name Elizabeth Harvey, that lived to the age of 121 
 years, and died in the month of September 1663. 
 
 For his other two daughters I can learn little certainty, but have 
 heard they both died before they were marriageable. And for his wife, 
 she was so unlike Jephtha's daughter, that she stayed not a comely time 
 to bewail her widowhood ; nor lived long enough to repent her second 
 marriage ; for which, doubtless, she would have found cause, if there 
 had been but four months betwixt Mr. Hooker's and her death. But 
 she is dead, and let her other infirmities be buried with her. 
 
 Thus much briefly for his age, the year of his death, his estate, his 
 wife, and his children. I am next to speak of his books ; concerning 
 which I shall have a necessity of being longer, or shall neither do right 
 to myself, or my reader, which is chiefly intended in this Appendix. 
 
 I have declared in his Life, that he proposed eight books, and that 
 his first four were printed anno 1594, and his fifth book first printed, 
 and alone, anno 1597 ; and that he lived to finish the remaining three 
 of the proposed eight : but whether we have the last three as finished
 
 164 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 by himself, is a just and material question ; concerning which I do 
 declare, that I have been told almost forty years past, by one that very 
 well knew Mr. Hooker and the affairs of his family, that, about a month 
 after the death of Mr. Hooker, Bishop Whitgift, then Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, sent one of his chaplains to inquire of Mrs. Hooker for 
 the three remaining books of Polity, writ by her husband : of which 
 she would not, or could not, give any account : and that about three 
 months after that time the Bishop procured her to be sent for to London, 
 and then by his procurement she was to be examined by some of her 
 Majesty's council, concerning the disposal of those books : but, by way 
 of preparation for the next day's examination, the Bishop invited her 
 to Lambeth, and after some friendly questions, she confessed to him, 
 that one Mr. Charke, and another minister that dwelt near Canterbury, 
 came to her, and desired that they might go into her husband's study, 
 and look upon some of his writings : and that there they two burnt 
 and tore many of them, assuring her that they were writings not fit to 
 be seen : and that she knew nothing more concerning them. Her 
 lodging was then in King Street in Westminster, where she was found 
 next morning dead in her bed, and her new husband suspected and 
 questioned for it ; but he was declared innocent of her death. 
 
 And I declare also, that Dr. John Spencer, — mentioned in the Life 
 of Mr. Hooker, — who was of Mr. Hooker's college, and of his time 
 there, and betwixt whom there was so friendly a friendship, that they 
 continually advised together in all their studies, and particularly in 
 what concerned these books of Polity — this Dr. Spencer, the three 
 perfect books being lost, had delivered into his hands — I think by 
 Bishop Whitgift — the imperfect books, or first rough draughts of them, 
 to be made as perfect as they might be by him, who both knew Mr. 
 Hooker's handwriting, and was best acquainted with his intentions. 
 And a fair testimony of this may appear by an epistle, first, and 
 usually printed before Mr. Hooker's five books, — but omitted, I 
 know not why, in the last impression of the eight printed together in 
 anno 16G2, in which the publishers seem to impose the three doubtful 
 books, to be the undoubted books of Mr. Hooker, — with these two 
 letters, J. S., at the end of the said epistle, which was meant for this 
 John Spencer : in which epistle the reader may find these words, 
 which may give some authority to what I have here written of his last 
 three books. 
 
 ' And though Mr. Hooker hastened his own death by hastening to 
 give life to his books, yet he held out with his eyes to behold these 
 Benjamins, these sons of his right hand, though to him they proved
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 165 
 
 Benonies, sons of pain and sorrow. But some evil-disposed minds, 
 whether of malice or covetousness, or wicked blind zeal, it is uncertain, 
 as soon as they were born, and their father dead, smothered them, and 
 by conveying the perfect copies, left unto us nothing but the old, im- 
 perfect, mangled draughts, dismembered into pieces ; no favour, no 
 grace, not the shadow of themselves remaining in them. Had the father 
 lived to behold them thus defaced, he might rightly have named them 
 Benonies, the sons of sorrow : but being the learned will not suffer 
 them to die and be buried, it is intended the world shall see them as 
 they are ; the learned will find in them some shadows and resem- 
 blances of their father's face. God grant, that as they were with their 
 brethren dedicated to the Church for messengers of peace : so, in the 
 strength of that little breath of life that remaineth in them, they may 
 prosper in their work, and, by satisfying the doubts of such as are 
 willing to learn, they may help to give an end to the calamities of 
 these our civil wars. J. S.' 
 
 And next the reader may note, that this epistle of Dr. Spencer's 
 was writ and first printed within four years after the death of Mr. 
 Hooker, in which time all diligent search had been made for the per- 
 fect copies ; and then granted not recoverable, and therefore en- 
 deavoured to be completed out of Mr. Hooker's rough draughts, as is 
 expressed by the said Dr. Spencer in the said epistle, since whose 
 death it is now fifty years. 
 
 And I do profess by the faith of a Christian, that Dr. Spencer's wife 
 — who was my aunt, and sister to George Cranmer, of whom I have 
 spoken — told me forty years since, in these, or in words to this pur- 
 pose : ' That her husband had made up, or finished Mr. Hooker's 
 last three books ; and that upon her husband's death-bed, or in his 
 last sickness, he gave them into her hand, with a charge that they 
 should not be seen by any man, but be by her delivered into the 
 hands of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, which was Dr. Abbot, 
 or unto Dr. King, then Bishop of London, and that she did as he 
 enjoined her.' 
 
 I do conceive, that from Dr. Spencer's, and no other copy, there 
 have been divers transcripts ; and I know that these were to be found 
 in several places ; as namely, in Sir Thomas Bodley's library ; in that 
 of Dr. Andrews, late Bishop of Winton ; in the late Lord Conway's ; 
 in the Archbishop of Canterbury's ; and in the Bishop of Armagh's : 
 and in many others : and most of these pretended to be the author's 
 own hand, but much disagreeing, being indeed altered and diminished, 
 as men have thought fittest to make Mr. Hooker's judgment suit with
 
 166 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 their fancies, or give authority to their corrupt designs ; and for proof 
 of a part of this, take these following testimonies. 
 
 Dr. Barnard, sometime chaplain to Dr. Usher, late Lord Arch 
 bishop of Armagh, hath declared in a late book, called Clavi 
 Trabales, printed by Richard Hodgkinson, anno 1661, that, in his 
 search and examination of the said bishop's manuscripts, he found the 
 three written books which were supposed the sixth, seventh, and 
 eighth of Mr. Hooker's books of Ecclesiastical Polity; and that in 
 the said three books — now printed as Mr. Hooker's — there are so 
 many omissions, that they amount to many paragraphs, and which 
 cause many incoherencies : the omissions are set down at large in the 
 said printed book, to which I refer the reader for the whole ; but 
 think ht in this place to insert this following short part of some of the 
 said omissions. 
 
 First, as there could be in natural bodies no motion of anything, 
 unless there were some first which moved all things, and continued 
 unmovable ; even so in politic societies there must be some unpunish- 
 able, or else no man shall suffer punishment : for sith punishments 
 proceed always from superiors, to whom the administration of justice 
 belongeth ; which administration must havej necessarily a fountain, 
 that deriveth it to all others, and receiveth not from any, because 
 otherwise the course of justice should go infinitely in a circle, every 
 superior having his superior without end, which cannot be : therefore 
 a well-spring, it folio weth, there is : a supreme head of justice, 
 whereunto all are subject, but itself in subjection to none. Which 
 kind of pre-eminency if some ought to have in a kingdom, who but a 
 king shall have it? Kings, therefore, or no man, can have lawful 
 power to judge. 
 
 If private men offend, there is the magistrate over them, which 
 judgeth ; if magistrate, they have their prince ; if princes, there is 
 heaven, a tribunal before which they shall appear ; on earth they 
 are not accountable to any. Here, says the Doctor, it breaks off 
 abruptly. 
 
 And I have these words also attested under the hand of Mr. Fabian 
 Philips, a man of note for his useful books. ' I will make oath, if I 
 shall be required, that Dr. Sanderson, the late Bishop of Lincoln, did 
 a little before his death affirm to me, he had seen a manuscript 
 affirmed to him to be the handwriting of Mr. Richard Hooker, in 
 which there was no mention made of the King or supreme governors 
 being accountable to the people. This I will make oath, that that 
 good man attested to me. Fabian Philips. '
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 167 
 
 So that there appears to be both omissions and additions in the said 
 last three printed books : and this may probably be one reason why 
 Dr. Sanderson, the said learned bishop, — whose writings are so highly 
 and justly valued, — gave a strict charge near the time of his death, or 
 in his last will, ' That nothing of his that was not already printed, 
 should be printed after his death.' 
 
 It is well known how high a value our learned King James put 
 upon the books writ by Mr. Hooker ; and known also that our late 
 King Charles — the martyr for the Church — valued them the second 
 of all books, testified by his commending them to the reading of his 
 sou Charles, that now is our gracious King : and you may suppose 
 that this Charles the First was not a stranger to the three pretended 
 books, because, in a discourse with the Lord Say, in the time of the 
 Long Parliament, when the said Lord required the King to grant the 
 truth of his argument, because it was the judgment of Mr. Hooker, 
 — quoting him in one of the three written^books, the King replied : 
 'They were not allowed to be Mr. Hooker's books ; but, however, he 
 would allow them to be Mr. Hooker's, and consent to what his Lord- 
 ship proposed to prove out of those doubtful books, if he would but 
 consent to the judgment of Mr. Hooker, in the other five, that were 
 the undoubted books of Mr. Hooker.' 
 
 In this relation concerning these three doubtful books of Mr. 
 Hooker's, my purpose was to inquire, then set down what I observed 
 and know ; which I have done, not as an engaged person, but in- 
 differently ; and now leave my reader to give sentence, for their 
 legitimation, as to himself ; but so as to leave others the same liberty 
 of believing, or disbelieving them to be Mr. Hooker's : and 'tis 
 observable, that as Mr. Hooker advised with Dr. Spencer, in the de- 
 sign and manage of these books ; so also, and chiefly with his dear 
 pupil, George Cranmer, — whose sister was the wife of Dr. Spencer — 
 of which this following letter may be a testimony, and doth also give 
 authority to some things mentioned both in this Appendix and in the 
 Life of Mr. Hooker, and is therefore added. I. W. 
 
 GEORGE CRANMER'S 
 LETTER UNTO MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 
 
 February, 1598. 
 
 What posterity is likely to judge of these matters concerning Church 
 scipline, we may the better conjecture, if we call to mind what our
 
 168 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 own age, within few years, upon better experience, hath already 
 judged concerning the same. It may be remembered, that at first, 
 the greatest part of the learned in the land were either eagerly 
 affected, or favourably inclined that way. The books then written for 
 the most part savoured of the disciplinary style ; it sounded every- 
 where in pulpits, and in common phrase of men's speech. The con- 
 trary part began to fear they had taken a wrong course ; many 
 which impugned the discipline, yet so impugned it, not as not being 
 the better form of government, but as not being so convenient for our 
 state, in regard of dangerous innovations thereby likely to grow : one 
 man alone there was to speak of, — whom let no suspicion of flattery 
 deprive of his deserved commendation — who, in the defiance of the 
 one part, and courage of the other, stood in the gap and gave others 
 respite to prepare themselves to the defence, which, by the sudden 
 eagerness and violence of their adversaries, had otherwise been pre- 
 vented, wherein God hath made good unto him his own impress, 
 Vincit qui patitur : for what contumelious indignities he hath at their 
 hands sustained, the world is witness ; and what reward of honour 
 above his adversaries God hath bestowed upon him, themselves — 
 though nothing glad thereof, — must needs confess. Now of late 
 years the heat of men towards the discipline is greatly decayed ; their 
 judgments begin to sway on the other side ; the learned have weighed 
 it, and found it light ; wise men conceive some fear, lest it prove not 
 only not the best kind of government, but the very bane and destruc- 
 tion of all government. The cause of this change in men's opinions 
 may be drawn from the general nature of error, disguised and clothed 
 with the name of truth ; which did mightily and violently possess men 
 at first, but afterwards, the weakness thereof being by time discovered, 
 it lost that reputation, which before it had gained. As by the outside 
 of an house the passers-by are oftentimes deceived, till they see the 
 conveniency of the rooms within ; so, by the very name of discipline 
 and reformation, men were drawn at first to cast a fancy towards it, 
 but now they have not contented themselves only to pass by and be- 
 hold afar off the fore-front of this reformed house ; they have entered 
 in, even at the special request of the master-workmen and chief- 
 builders thereof: they have perused the rooms, the lights, the con- 
 veniences, and they find them not answerable to that report which 
 was made of them, nor to that opinion which upon report they had 
 conceived : so as now the discipline, which at first triumphed over all, 
 being unmasked, beginneth to droop, and hang down her head. 
 The cause of change in opinion concerning the discipline is proper
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 169 
 
 to the learned, or to such as by them have been instructed. Another 
 cause there is, more open, and more apparent to the view of all, 
 namely, the course of practice, which the Reformers have had with us 
 from the beginning. The hrst degree was only some small difference 
 about the cap and surplice ; but not such as either bred division in the 
 Church, or tended to the ruin of the government established. This 
 was peaceable ; the next degree more stirring. Admonitions were 
 directed to the Parliament in peremptory sort against our whole form 
 of regiment. In defence of them, volumes were published in English 
 and in Latin : yet this was no more than writing. Devices were set 
 on foot to erect the practice of the discipline without authority ; yet 
 herein some regard of modesty, some moderation was used. Behold 
 at length it brake forth into open outrage, first in writing by Martin ; 
 in whose kind of dealing these things may be observed : 1. That 
 whereas Thomas Cartwright and others his great masters, had always 
 before set out the discipline as a queen, and the daughter of God ; he 
 contrariwise, to make her more acceptable to the people, brought her 
 forth as a Vice upon the stage. 2. This conceit of his was grounded 
 — as may be supposed — upon this rare policy, that seeing the dis- 
 cipline was by writing refuted, in Parliament rejected, in secret 
 corners hunted out and decried, it was imagined that by open railing, 
 — which to the vulgar is commonly most plausible, — the State 
 Ecclesiastical might have been drawn into such contempt and hatred, 
 as the overthrow thereof should have been most graceful to all men, 
 and in a manner desired by all the common people. 3. It may be 
 noted — and this I know myself to be true — how some of them, although 
 they could not for shame approve so lewd an action, yet were content 
 to lay hold on it to the advancement of their cause, by acknowledging 
 therein the secret judgments of God against the bishops, and hoping 
 that some good might be wrought thereby for his Church ; as indeed 
 there was, though not according to their construction. For 4thly, con- 
 trary to their expectation, that railing spirit did not only not further, 
 but extremely disgrace and prejudice their cause, when it was once 
 perceived from how low degrees of contradiction, at first, to what 
 outrage of contumely and slander they were at length proceeded ; 
 and were also likely to proceed further. 
 
 A further degree of outrage was also in fact : certain prophets did 
 arise, who deeming it not possible that God should suffer that to be 
 undone, which they did so fiercely desire to have done, namely, that 
 his holy saints, the favourers and fathers of the discipline, should be 
 enlarged and delivered from persecution ; and seeing no means of
 
 170 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 deliverance ordinary, were fain to persuade themselves that God must 
 needs raise some extraordinary means; and being persuaded of none 
 so well as of themselves, they forthwith must needs be the instru- 
 ments of this great work. Hereupon they framed unto themselves an 
 assured hope, that, upon their preaching out of a peas-cart in Cheap- 
 side, all the multitude would have presently joined unto them, and in 
 amazement of mind have asked them, Viri fratres, quid agimus ? 
 whereunto it is likely they would have returned an answer far unlike 
 to that of St. Peter : ' Such and such are men unworthy to govern ; 
 pluck them down : such and such are the dear children of God ; let 
 them be advanced.' 
 
 Of two of these men it is meet to speak with all commiseration ; yet 
 so, that others by their example may receive instruction, and withal 
 some light may appear, what stirring affections the discipline is like 
 to inspire, if it light upon apt and prepared minds. 
 
 Now if any man doubt of what society they were ; or if the Re- 
 formers disclaim them, pretending that by them they were condemned ; 
 let these points be considered. 1. Whose associates were they before 
 they entered into this frantic passion ? Whose sermons did they 
 frequent? Whom did they admire? 2. Even when they were en- 
 tering into it, whose advice did they require ? and when they were in, 
 whose approbation ? Whom advertised they of their purpose ? Whose 
 assistance by prayer did they request? But we deal injuriously with 
 them to lay this to their charge ; for they reproved and condemned 
 it. How ! did they disclose it to the magistrate, that it might be 
 suppressed ? or were they not rather content to stand aloof off, and 
 see the end of it, as being loath to quench that spirit ? No doubt 
 these mad practitioners were of their society, with whom before, and 
 in the practice of their madness, they had most affinity. Hereof 
 read Dr. Bancroft's book. 
 
 A third inducement may be to dislike of the discipline, if we 
 consider not only how far the Reformers themselves have proceeded, 
 but what others upon their foundations have built. Here come the 
 Brownists in the first rank, their lineal descendants, who have 
 seized upon a number of strange opinions ; whereof, although their 
 ancestors, the Reformers, were never actually possessed, yet, by 
 right and interest from them derived, the Brownists and Barrowists 
 have taken possession of them : for if the positions of the Reformers 
 be true, I cannot see how the main and general conclusions of 
 Brownism should be false ; for upon these two points, as I conceive, 
 they stand.
 
 MR RICHARD HOOKER 171 
 
 1. That, because we have no Church, they are to sever themselves 
 from us. 2. That without civil authority they are to erect a Church 
 of their own. And if the former of these be true, the latter, I 
 suppose, will follow : for if above all things men be to regard their 
 salvation ; and if out of the Church there be no salvation ; it 
 followeth, that, if we have no Church, we have no means of salva- 
 tion ; and therefore separation from us in that respect is both lawful 
 and necessary ; as also, that men, so separated from the false and 
 counterfeit Church, are to associate themselves unto some Church ; 
 not to ours ; to the Popish much less ; therefore to one of their own 
 making. Now the ground of all these inferences being this, that in 
 our Church there is no means of salvation, is out of the Reformers' 
 principles most clearly to be proved. For wheresoever any matter of 
 faith unto salvation necessary is denied, there can be no means of 
 salvation ; but in the Church of England, the discipline, by them 
 accounted a matter of faith, and necessary to salvation, is not only 
 denied, but impugned, and the professors thereof oppressed. Ergo. 
 
 Again, — but this reason perhaps is weak, every true Church of 
 Christ acknowledgeth the whole gospel of Christ : the discipline, in 
 their opinion, is a part of the gospel, and yet by our Church resisted. 
 Ergo. 
 
 Again, the discipline is essentially united to the Church : by which 
 term essentially they must mean either an essential part or an 
 essential property. Both which ways it must needs be, that where 
 that essential discipline is not, neither is there any Church. If 
 therefore between them and the Brownists there should be appointed 
 a solemn disputation, whereof with us they have been oftentimes so 
 earnest challengers ; it doth not yet appear what other answer they 
 could possibly frame to these and the like arguments, wherewith 
 they may be pressed, but fairly to deny the conclusion, — for all the 
 premises are their own — or rather ingeniously to reverse their own 
 principles before laid, whereon so foul absurdities have been so firmly 
 built. What further proofs you can bring out of their high words, 
 magnifying the discipline, I leave to your better remembrance : but, 
 above all points, I am desirous this one should be strongly enforced 
 against them, because it wringeth them most of all, and is of all 
 others — for aught I see — the most unanswerable. You may notwith- 
 standing say, that you would be heartily glad these their positions 
 might be salved, as the Brownists might not appear to have issued 
 out of their loins : but until that be done, they must give us leave to 
 think that they have cast the seed whereout these tares are grown.
 
 172 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Another sort of men there are, which have been content to run on 
 with the Reformers for a time, and to make them poor instruments of 
 their own designs. These are a sort of godless politics, who, perceiv- 
 ing the plot of discipline to consist of these two parts, the overthrow 
 of Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority — and that this 
 latter can take no place till the former be removed — are content to 
 join with them in the destructive part of discipline, bearing them in 
 hand, that in the other also they shall find them as ready. But when 
 time shall come, it may be they would be as loath to be yoked with 
 that kind of regiment, as now they are willing to be released from 
 this. These men's ends in all their actions is distraction ; their 
 pretence and colour, reformation. Those things which under this 
 colour they have effected to their own good, are, 1. By maintaining 
 a contrary faction, they have kept the clergy always in awe, and 
 thereby made them more pliable, and willing to buy their peace. 
 2. By maintaining an opinion of equality among ministers, they have 
 made way to their own purposes for devouring Cathedral Churches, 
 and Bishops' livings. 3. By exclaiming against abuses in the Church, 
 they have carried their own corrupt dealing in the Civil State more 
 covertly. For such is the nature of the multitude, that they are not 
 able to apprehend many things at once ; so as being possessed with a 
 dislike or liking of any one thing, many other in the meantime may 
 escape them without being perceived. 4. They have sought to disgrace 
 the clergy, in entertaining a conceit in men's minds, and confirming 
 it by continual practice, that men of learning, and especially of the 
 clergy, which are employed in the chiefest kind of learning, are not 
 to be admitted to matters of State ; contrary to the practice of all 
 well-governed commonwealths, and of our own till these late years. 
 
 A third sort of men there are, though not descended from the 
 Reformers, yet in part raised and greatly strengthened by them ; 
 namely, the cursed crew of atheists. This also is one of those points 
 which I am desirous you should handle most effectually, and strain 
 yourself therein to all points of motion and affection ; as in that of 
 the Brownists, to all strength and sinews of reason. This is a sort 
 most damnable, and yet by the general suspicion of the world at this 
 day most common. The causes of it, which are in the parties them- 
 selves, although you handle in the beginning of the fifth book, yet 
 here again they may be touched : but the occasions of help and 
 furtherance, which by the Reformers have been yielded unto them, 
 are, as I conceive, two ; namely, senseless preaching, and disgracing 
 of the ministry : for how should not men dare to impugn that, which
 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 173 
 
 neither by force of reason, nor by authority of persons, is main- 
 tained ? But in the parties themselves these two causes I conceive of 
 atheism : 1. More abundance of wit than judgment, and of witty 
 than judicious learning ; whereby they are more inclined to contradict 
 anything, than willing to be informed of the truth. They are not 
 therefore men of sound learning for the most part, but smatterers ; 
 neither is their kind of dispute so much by force of argument, as by 
 scoffing ; which humour of scoffing, and turning matters most serious 
 into merriment, is now become so common, as we are not to marvel 
 what the prophet means by the seat of scorners, nor what the 
 apostles, by foretelling of scorners to come ; for our own age hath 
 verified their speech unto us : which also may be an argument against 
 these scoffers and atheists themselves, seeing it hath been so many 
 ages ago foretold, that such men the latter days of the world should 
 afford : which could not be done by any other spirit, save that where- 
 unto things future and present are alike. And even for the main 
 question of the resurrection, whereat they stick so mightily, was it not 
 plainly foretold, that men should in the latter times say, ' Where is the 
 promise of his coming?' Against the creation, the ark, and divers 
 other points, exceptions are said to be taken, the ground whereof is 
 superfluity of wit, without ground of learning and judgment. A 
 second cause of atheism is sensuality, which maketh men desirous to 
 remove all stops and impediments of their wicked life ; among which 
 because religion is the chiefest, so as neither in this life without shame 
 they can persist therein, nor— if that be true — without torment in the 
 life to come ; they therefore whet their wits to annihilate the joys of 
 heaven, wherein they see — if any such be — they can have no part, 
 and likewise the pains of hell, wherein their portion must needs be 
 very great. They labour therefore, not that they may not deserve 
 those pains, but that, deserving them, there may be no such pains to 
 seize upon them. But what conceit can be imagined more base, than 
 that man should strive to persuade himself even against the secret 
 instinct, no doubt, of his own mind, that his soul is as the soul of a 
 beast, mortal, and corruptible with the body ? Against' which 
 barbarous opinion their own atheism is a very strong argument. 
 For, were not the soul a nature separable from the body, how could 
 it enter into discourse of things merely spiritual, and nothing at all 
 pertaining to the body ? Surely the soul were not able to conceive 
 anything of heaven, no not so much as to dispute against heaven, 
 and against God, if there were not in it somewhat heavenly, and 
 derived from God.
 
 174 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 The last which have received strength and encouragement from the 
 Reformers are Papists ; against whom, although they are most bitter 
 enemies, yet unwittingly they have given them great advantage. For 
 what can any enemy rather desire than the breach and dissension of 
 those which are confederates against him ? Wherein they are to re- 
 member that if our communion with Papists in some few ceremonies do 
 so much strengthen them, as is pretended, how much more doth this 
 division and rent among ourselves, especially seeing it is maintained 
 to be, not in light matters only, but even in matters of faith and 
 salvation? Which over-reaching speech of theirs, because it is so 
 open an advantage for the Barrowist and the Papist, we are to wish 
 and hope for, that they will acknowledge it to have been spoken 
 rather in heat of affection than with soundness of judgment; and 
 that through their exceeding love to that creature of discipline which 
 themselves have bred, nourished, and maintained, their mouth in 
 commendation of her did so often overflow. 
 
 From hence you may proceed — but the means of connection I leave 
 to yourself — to another discourse, which I think very meet to be 
 handled either here or elsewhere at large ; the parts whereof may be 
 these : 1. That in this cause between them and us, men are to sever 
 the proper and essential points and controversy from those which are 
 accidental. The most essential and proper are these two : overthrow 
 of the Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority. But in 
 these two points whosoever joineth with them is accounted of their 
 number ; whosoever in all other points agreeth with them, yet 
 thinketh the authority of bishops not unlawful, and of elders not 
 necessary, may justly be severed from their retinue. Those things 
 therefore, which either in the persons, or in the laws and orders 
 themselves are faulty, may be complained on, acknowledged, and 
 amended, yet they no whit the nearer their main purpose : for what 
 if all errors by them supposed in our Liturgy were amended, even 
 according to their own heart's desire ; if non-residence, pluralities, 
 and the like, were utterly taken away ; are their lay-elders therefore 
 presently authorised? or their sovereign ecclesiastical jurisdiction 
 established ? 
 
 But even in their complaining against the outward and accidental 
 matters in Church government, they are many ways faulty. 1. In 
 their end, which they propose to themselves. For in declaiming 
 against abuses, their meaning is not to have them redressed, but, by 
 disgracing the present state, to make way for their own discipline. 
 As therefore in Venice, if any senator should discourse against the
 
 MK. K1CHAKD HUUMK 175 
 
 power of their senate, as being either too sovereign, or too weak in 
 government, with purpose to draw their authority to a moderation, it 
 might well be suffered ; but not so, if it should appear he spake with 
 purpose to induce another state by depriving the present. So in all 
 causes belonging either to Church or Commonwealth, we are to have 
 regard what mind the complaining part doth bear, whether of amend- 
 ment or innovation ; and accordingly either to suffer or suppress it. 
 Their objection therefore is frivolous, f Why, may not men speak 
 against abuses?' Yes; but with desire to cure the part affected, 
 not to destroy the whole. 2. A second fault is in their manner of 
 complaining, not only because it is for the most part in bitter and 
 reproachful terms, but also it is to the common people, who are 
 judges incompetent and insufficient, both to determine anything 
 amiss, and for want of skill and authority to amend it. Which also 
 discovereth their intent and purpose to be rather destructive than 
 corrective. 3. Those very exceptions which they take are frivolous 
 and impertinent. Some things indeed they accuse as impious ; which 
 if they may appear to be such, God forbid they should be maintained. 
 Against the rest it is only alleged, that they are idle ceremonies 
 without use, and that better and more profitable might be devised. 
 Wherein they are doubly deceived ; for neither is it a sufficient plea 
 to say, this must give place, because a better may be devised ; because 
 in our judgments of better and worse we oftentimes conceive amiss 
 when we compare those things which are in devise with those which 
 are in practice : for the imperfections of the one are hid, till bv time 
 and trial they be discovered : the others are already manifest and 
 open to all. But last of all, — which is a point in my opinion of great 
 regard, and which I am desirous to have enlarged, — thev do not see 
 that for the most part when they strike at the State Ecclesiastical, 
 they secretly wound the Civil State, for personal faults : ' What can 
 be said against the Church, which may not also agree to the Common- 
 wealth?' In both, statesmen have always been, and will be always, 
 men ; sometimes blinded with error, most commonly perverted by 
 passions ; many unworthy have been and are advanced in both ; many 
 worthy not regarded. And as for abuses, which they pretend to be 
 in the law themselves ; when they inveigh against non-residence, do 
 they take it a matter lawful or expedient in the Civil State, for a man 
 to have a great and gainful office in the North, himself continually 
 remaining in the South? 'He that hath an office let him attend his 
 office.' When they condemn plurality of livings spiritual to the pit 
 of hell, what think they of the infinity of temporal promotions? By 
 
 I
 
 176 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the great Philosopher, Pol., lib. ii. cap. 9, it is forbidden as a thing 
 most dangerous to commonwealths, that by the same man many- 
 great offices should be exercised. When they deride our ceremonies 
 as vain and frivolous, were it hard to apply their exceptions even to 
 those civil ceremonies, which at the coronation, in Parliament, and 
 all courts of justice, are used? Were it hard to argue even against 
 circumcision, the ordinance of God, as being a cruel ceremony ? 
 against the Passover, as being ridiculous — shod, girt, a staff in their 
 hand, to eat a lamb ? 
 
 To conclude : you may exhort the clergy, — or what if you direct 
 your conclusion not to the clergy in general, but only to the learned 
 in or of both universities ? — you may exhort them to a due considera- 
 tion of all things, and to a right esteem and valuing of each thing in 
 that degree wherein it ought to stand. For it oftentimes falleth out, 
 that what men have either devised themselves, or greatly delighted 
 in, the price and the excellency thereof they do admire above desert. 
 The chiefest labour of a Christian should be to know, of a minister to 
 preach, Christ crucified : in regard whereof, not only worldly things, 
 but things otherwise precious, even the discipline itself, is vile and 
 base. Whereas now, by the heat of contention, and violence of 
 affection, the zeal of men towards the one hath greatly decayed their 
 love to the other. Hereunto therefore they are to be exhorted to 
 preach Christ crucified, the mortification of the flesh, the renewing of 
 the spirit ; not those things which in time of strife seem precious, but 
 — passions being allayed — are vain and childish. G. C.
 
 LIFE OF 
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In a late retreat from the business of this world, and those 
 many little cares with which I have too often cumbered myself, 
 I fell into a contemplation of some of those historical passages 
 that are recorded in sacred story : and more particularly of 
 what had passed betwixt our blessed Saviour and that wonder 
 of women, and sinners, and mourners, St. Mary Magdalen. 
 I call her saint, because I did not then, nor do now consider 
 her, as when she was possessed with seven devils ; not as when 
 her wanton eyes and dishevelled hair were designed and 
 managed to charm and ensnare amorous beholders. But I 
 did then, and do now consider her, as after she had expressed 
 a visible and sacred sorrow for her sensualities; as after 
 those eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as did 
 wash, and that hair had wiped, and she most passionately 
 kissed the feet of hers and our blessed Jesus. And I do now 
 consider, that because she loved much, not only much was 
 forgiven her: but that beside that blessed blessing of having 
 her sins pardoned, and the joy of knowing her happy con- 
 dition, she also had from him a testimony, that her alabaster 
 box of precious ointment poured on his head and feet, and 
 that spikenard, and those spices that were by her dedicated 
 to embalm and preserve his sacred body from putrefaction, 
 should so far preserve her own memory, that these demonstra- 
 tions of her sanctified love, and of her officious and generous 
 gratitude, should be recorded and mentioned wheresoever his 
 gospel should be read ; intending thereby, that as his, so her 
 
 M
 
 178 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 name, should also live to succeeding generations, even till 
 time itself shall be no more. 
 
 Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look back, 
 and not without some content, — at least to myself, — that I 
 have endeavoured to deserve the love, and preserve the memory, 
 of my two deceased friends, Dr. Donne, and Sir Henry 
 Wotton, by declaring the several employments and various 
 accidents of their [lives. And though Mr. George Herbert — 
 whose life I now intend to write — were to me a stranger as 
 to his person, for I have only seen him ; yet since he was, and 
 was worthy to be, their friend, and very many of his have 
 been mine, I judge it may not be unacceptable to those that 
 knew any of them in their lives, or do now know them by 
 mine, or their own writings, to see this conjunction of them 
 after their deaths ; without which, many things that concerned 
 them, and some things that concerned the age in which they 
 lived, would be less perfect, and lost to posterity. 
 
 For these reasons I have undertaken it ; and if I have 
 prevented any abler person, I beg pardon of him and my 
 reader. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 George Herbert was born the third day of April, in the year 
 of our redemption 1593. The place of his birth was near to 
 the town of Montgomery, and in that castle that did then bear 
 the name of that town and county ; that castle was then a 
 place of state and strength, and had been successively happy 
 in the family of the Herberts, who had long possessed it ; and 
 with it, a plentiful estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor 
 neighbours. A family that hath been blessed with men of 
 remarkable wisdom, and a willingness to serve their country, 
 and, indeed, to do good to all mankind ; for which they are 
 eminent : But alas ! this family did in the late rebellion suffer 
 extremely in their estates ; and the heirs of that castle saw it 
 laid level with that earth, that was too good to bury those 
 wretches that were the cause of it.
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 179 
 
 The father of our George was Richard Herbert, the son of 
 Edward Herbert, Knight, the son of Richard Herbert, Knight, 
 the son of the famous Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook, in the 
 county of Monmouth, Banneret, who was the youngest brother 
 of that memorable William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that 
 lived in the reign of our King Edward the Fourth. 
 
 His mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest daughter 
 of Sir Richard, and sister to Sir Francis Newport of High Arkall, 
 in the county of Salop, Knight, and grandfather of Francis Lord 
 Newport, now Controller of his Majesty's Household. A family 
 that for their loyalty have suffered much in their estates, and 
 seen the ruin of that excellent structure, where their ancestors 
 have long lived, and been memorable for their hospitality. 
 
 This mother of George Herbert — of whose person, and wisdom, 
 and virtue, I intend to give a true account in a seasonable 
 place — was the happy mother of seven sons and three daughters, 
 which she would often say was Job's number, and Job's 
 distribution ; and as often bless God, that they were neither 
 defective in their shapes, or in their reason ; and very often 
 reprove them that did not praise God for so great a blessing. 
 I shall give the reader a short account of their names, and not 
 say much of their fortunes. 
 
 Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight of the Bath, at 
 that glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being installed 
 Knight of the Garter ; and after many years' useful travel, and 
 the attainment of many languages, he was by King James sent 
 ambassador resident to the then French king, Lewis the 
 Thirteenth. There he continued about two years ; but he 
 could not subject himself to a compliance with the humours of 
 the Duke de Luisnes, who was then the great and powerful 
 favourite at court : so that upon a complaint to our King, he 
 was called back into England in some displeasure ; but at his 
 return he gave such an honourable account of his employment, 
 and so justified his comportment to the Duke and all the court, 
 that he was suddenly sent back upon the same embassy, from 
 which he returned in the beginning of the reign of our good 
 King Charles the First, who made him first Baron of Castle-
 
 180 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 island, and not long after of Cherbury in the county of Salop. 
 He was a man of great learning and reason, as appears by his 
 printed book Dc Veritate, and by his History of the Reign of King 
 Henri/ the Eighth, and by several other tracts. 
 
 The second and third brothers were Richard and William, 
 who ventured their lives to purchase honour in the wars of the 
 Low Countries, and died officers in that employment. Charles 
 was the fourth, and died fellow of New College in Oxford. 
 Henry was the sixth, who became a menial servant to the 
 crown in the days of King James, and hath continued to be so 
 for fifty years ; during all which time he hath been Master of 
 the Revels ; a place that requires a diligent wisdom, with 
 which God hath blessed him. The seventh son was Thomas, 
 who, being made captain of a ship in that fleet with which Sir 
 Robert Mansell was sent against Algiers, did there show a 
 fortunate and true English valour. Of the three sisters I need 
 not say more than that they were all married to persons of 
 worth and plentiful fortunes ; and lived to be examples of 
 virtue, and to do good in their generations. 
 
 I now come to give my intended account of George, who 
 was the fifth of those seven brothers. 
 
 George Herbert spent much of his childhood in a sweet 
 content under the eye and care of his prudent mother, and 
 the tuition of a chaplain, or tutor to him and two of his brothers, 
 in her own family, — for she was then a widow, — where he 
 continued till about the age of twelve years ; and being at that 
 time well instructed in the rules of grammar, he was not long 
 after commended to the care of Dr. Neale, who was then Dean 
 of Westminster ; and by him to the care of Mr. Ireland, who 
 was then chief master of that school ; where the beauties of 
 his pretty behaviour and wit shined, and became so eminent 
 and lovely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to be 
 marked out for piety, and to become the care of heaven, and 
 of a particular good angel to guard and guide him. And thus 
 he continued in that school, till he came to be perfect in the 
 learned languages, and especially in the Greek tongue, in which 
 he after proved an excellent critic.
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 181 
 
 About the age of fifteen — he being then a King's scholar — 
 he was elected out of that school for Trinity College in 
 Cambridge, to which place he was transplanted about the year 
 l608; and his prudent mother, well knowing that he might 
 easily lose or lessen that virtue and innocence, which her 
 advice and example had planted in his mind, did therefore 
 procure the generous and liberal Dr. Nevil, who was then Dean 
 of Canterbury, and master of that college, to take him into his 
 particular care, and provide him a tutor ; which he did most 
 gladly undertake, for he knew the excellencies of his mother, 
 and how to value such a friendship. 
 
 This was the method of his education, till he was settled in 
 Cambridge ; where we will leave him in his study, till I have 
 paid my promised account of his excellent mother ; and I will 
 endeavour to make it short. 
 
 I have told her birth, her marriage, and the number of her 
 children, and have given some short account of them. I shall 
 next tell the reader 'that her husband died when our George 
 was about the age of four years : I am next to tell, that she 
 continued twelve years a widow ; that she then married happily 
 to a noble gentleman, the brother and heir of the Lord Danvers, 
 Earl of Danby, who did highly value both her person and the 
 most excellent endowments of her mind. 
 
 In this time of her widowhood, she being desirous to give 
 Edward, her eldest son, such advantages of learning, and other 
 education, as might suit his birth and fortune, and thereby 
 make him the more fit for the service of his country, did, at his 
 being of a fit age, remove from Montgomery Castle with him, 
 and some of her younger sons, to Oxford ; and having entered 
 Edward into Queen's College, and provided him a fit tutor, she 
 commended him to his care, yet she continued there with him, 
 and still kept him in a moderate awe of herself, and so much 
 under her own eye, as to see and converse with him daily : but 
 she managed this power over him without any such rigid 
 sourness, as might make her company a torment to her child ; 
 but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations 
 and pleasures of youth, as did incline him willingly to spend
 
 182 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 much of his time in the company of his dear and careful mother ; 
 which was to her great content : for she would often say, ' That 
 as our bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which 
 we feed ; so our souls do as insensibly take in vice by the 
 example or conversation Avith wicked company : ' and would 
 therefore as often say, ' That ignorance of vice was the best 
 preservation of virtue ; and that the very knowledge of wicked- 
 ness was as tinder to inflame and kindle sin and keep it 
 burning.' For these reasons she endeared him to her own 
 company, and continued with him in Oxford four years ; in 
 which time her great and harmless wit, her cheerful gravity, 
 and her obliging behaviour, gained her an acquaintance and 
 friendship with most of any eminent worth or learning, that 
 were at that time in or near that university ; and particularly 
 with Mr. John Donne, who then came accidentally to that 
 place, in this time of her being there. It was that John Donne, 
 who was after Dr. Donne, and Dean of St. Paul's, London : and 
 he, at his leaving Oxford, writ and left there, in verse, a 
 character of the beauties of her body and mind : of the first 
 he says, 
 
 No spring nor summer-beauty lias such grace, 
 
 As I have seen in an autumnal face. 
 
 Of the latter he says, 
 
 In all her words to every hearer fit, 
 You may at revels, or at council sit. 
 
 The rest of her character may be read in his printed poems, 
 in that elegy which bears the name of ' The Autumnal Beauty.' 
 For both he and she were then past the meridian of man's life. 
 
 This amity, begun at this time and place, was not an amity 
 that polluted their souls ; but an amity made up of a chain of 
 suitable inclinations and virtues; an amity like that of St. 
 Chrysostom's to his dear and virtuous Olympias ; whom, in his 
 letters, he calls his saint : or an amity, indeed, more like that 
 of St. Hierome to his Paula ; whose affection to her was such, 
 that he turned poet in his old age, and then made her epitaph ; 
 wishing all his body were turned into tongues that he might
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 183 
 
 declare her just praises to posterity. And this amity betwixt 
 her and Mr. Donne was begun in a happy time for him, he 
 being then near to the fortieth year of his age, — which was 
 some years before he entered into sacred orders ; — a time when 
 his necessities needed a daily supply for the support of his wife, 
 seven children, and a family. And in this time she proved 
 one of his most bountiful benefactors ; and he as grateful an 
 acknowledger of it. You may take one testimony for what I 
 have said of these two worthy persons, from this following 
 letter and sonnet : — 
 
 ' Madam, 
 
 ' Your favours to me are everywhere : I use them and have 
 them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there ; and 
 yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become 
 things inexpressible ; and such is your goodness. I was almost 
 sorry to find your servant here this day, because I was loath 
 to have any witness of my not coming home last night, and 
 indeed of my coming this morning. But my not coming was 
 excusable, because earnest business detained me ; and my 
 coming this day is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, 
 who rose early upon Sunday to seek that which she loved 
 most ; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such 
 thanks as are due to one, to whom we owe all the good opinion, 
 that they, whom we need most, have of us. By this messenger, 
 and on this good day, I commit the enclosed holy hymns and 
 sonnets — which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet 
 escaped the fire — to your judgment, and to your protection too, 
 if you think them worthy of it ; and I have appointed this 
 inclosed sonnet to usher them to your happy hand. 
 
 Your unworthiest servant, 
 
 Unless your accepting him to be so 
 
 have mended him, 
 
 Mitcham, Jo. Donne.' 
 
 July 11, 1607.
 
 184 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 To the Lady Magdalen Herbert : Of St. Mary 
 Magdalen. 
 
 Her of your name, whose fair inheritance 
 
 Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo, 
 An active faith so highly did advance, 
 
 That she once knew more than the Church did know, 
 The Resurrection ! so much good there is 
 
 Delivered of her, that some Fathers be 
 Loth to believe one woman could do this, 
 
 But think these Magdalens were two or three. 
 Increase their number, Lady, and their fame : 
 
 To their devotion add your innocence : 
 Take so much of th' example, as of the name ; 
 
 The latter half; and in some recompense 
 That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest, 
 
 Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 These hymns are now lost to ns ; but doubtless they were 
 such as they two now sing in heaven. 
 
 There might be more demonstrations of the friendship, and 
 the many sacred endearments betwixt these two excellent 
 persons, — for I have many of their letters in my hand, — and 
 much more might be said of her great prudence and piety ; but 
 my design was not to write her's, but the life of her son ; and 
 therefore I shall only tell my reader, that about that very day 
 twenty years that this letter was dated, and sent her, I saw 
 and heard this Mr. John Donne — who was then Dean of St. 
 Paul's — weep, and preach her funeral sermon, in the Parish 
 Church of Chelsea, near London, where she now rests in her 
 quiet grave : and where we must now leave her, and return to 
 her son George, whom we left in his study in Cambridge. 
 
 And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's 
 behaviour to be such, that we may conclude he consecrated the 
 first-fruits of his early age to virtue, and a serious study of 
 learning. And that he did so, this following letter and sonnet, 
 which were, in the first year of his going to Cambridge, sent 
 his dear mother for a New Year's gift, may appear to be some 
 testimony :
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 185 
 
 c . . . But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up those 
 springs by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their 
 habitations. However, I need not their help to reprove the 
 vanity of those many love-poems that are daily writ and 
 consecrated to Venus ; nor to bewail that so few are writ that 
 look towards God and heaven. For my own part, my meaning 
 — dear mother — is, in these sonnets, to declare my resolution 
 to be, that my poor abilities in poetry shall be all and ever 
 consecrated to God's glory : and I beg you to receive this as 
 one testimony.' 
 
 My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, 
 
 Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn, 
 
 Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry 
 Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? 
 Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays 
 
 Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love 
 
 Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise 
 As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove 
 Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight ? 
 
 Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same, 
 
 Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name? 
 Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might 
 
 Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose 
 
 Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse ? 
 Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 
 
 Oceans of ink ; for as the Deluge did 
 
 Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty ; 
 Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid 
 Poets to turn it to another use. 
 
 Roses and lilies speak Thee ; and to make 
 
 A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse. 
 Why should I women's eyes for crystal take ? 
 Such poor invention burns in their low mind 
 
 Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go 
 
 To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. 
 Open the bones, and you shall nothing find 
 
 In the best face but filth ; when Lord, in Thee 
 
 The beauty lies in the discovery. 
 
 G. H.
 
 186 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his dear 
 mother, about which time he was in the seventeenth year of 
 his age; and as he grew older, so he grew in learning, and 
 more and more in favour both with God and man : insomuch 
 that, in this morning of that short day of his life, he seemed to 
 be marked out for virtue, and to become the care of Heaven ; 
 for God still kept his soul in so holy a frame, that he may, and 
 ought to be a pattern of virtue to all posterity, and especially 
 to his brethren of the clergy, of which the reader may expect a 
 more exact account in what will follow. 
 
 I need not declare that he was a strict student, because, that he 
 was so, there will be many testimonies in the future part of his life. 
 I shall therefore only tell, that he was made Minor Fellow in 
 the year 1609, Bachelor of Arts in the year l6ll ; Major Fellow 
 of the College, March 15th, 1615 : and that in that year he was 
 also made Master of Arts, he being then in the twenty-second 
 year of his age ; during all which time, all, or the greatest 
 diversion from his study, was the practice of music, in which he 
 became a great master ; and of which he would say, ( That it 
 did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, 
 and raised his weary soul so far above earth, that it gave him 
 an earnest of the joys of heaven, before he possessed them.' 
 And it may be noted, that from his first enti'ance into the 
 college, the generous Dr. Nevil was a cherisher of his studies, 
 and such a lover of his person, his behaviour, and the excellent 
 endowments of his mind, that he took him often into his own 
 company ; by which he confirmed his native gentleness : and if 
 during his time he expressed any error, it was, that he kept 
 himself too much retired, and at too great a distance with all 
 his inferiors ; and his clothes seemed to prove, that he put too 
 great a value on his parts and parentage. 
 
 This may be some account of his disposition, and of the 
 employment of his time till he was Master of Arts, which was 
 anno 1615, and in the year 1619 he was chosen Orator for the 
 University. His two precedent Orators were Sir Robert 
 Naunton, and Sir Francis Nethersole. The first was not long 
 after made Secretary of State, and Sir Francis, not very long
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 187 
 
 after his being Orator, was made secretary to the Lady 
 Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. In this place of Orator our 
 George Herbert continued eight years ; and managed it with 
 as becoming and grave a gaiety, as any had ever before or since 
 his time. For 'he had acquired great learning, and was blessed 
 with a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit ; and with a natural 
 elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pen.' Of 
 all which there might be very many particular evidences ; but 
 I will limit myself to the mention of but three. 
 
 And the first notable occasion of showing his fitness for this 
 employment of Orator was manifested in a letter to King James, 
 upon the occasion of his sending that university his book called 
 Basilicun Doron ; and their Orator was to acknowledge this 
 great honour, and return their gratitude to his Majesty for 
 such a condescension ; at the close of which letter he writ, 
 
 Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis, hospes ! 
 Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber. 
 
 This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full 
 of conceits, and all the expressions so suited to the genius 
 of the King, that he inquired the Orator's name, and then 
 asked William, Earl of Pembroke, if he knew him ? whose 
 answer was, 'That he knew him very well, and that he was 
 his kinsman ; but he loved him more for his learning and 
 virtue, than for that he was of his name and family.' At 
 which answer the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave 
 that he might love him too, for he took him to be the jewel 
 of that university. 
 
 The next occasion he had and took to show his great 
 abilities, was, with them, to show also his great affection to 
 that Church in which he received his baptism, and of which he 
 professed himself a member; and the occasion was this: There 
 was one Andrew Melvin, a minister of the Scotch Church, and 
 Rector of St. Andrews ; who, by a long and constant converse 
 with a discontented part of that clergy which opposed episco- 
 pacy, became at last to be a chief leader of that faction; and 
 had proudly appeared to be so to King James, when he was but
 
 188 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 King of that nation, who, the second year after his coronation 
 in England, convened a part of the bishops, and other learned 
 divines of his Church, to attend him at Hampton Court, in order 
 to a friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, both of 
 this and the Church of Scotland : of which Scotch party Andrew 
 Melvin was one ; and he being a man of learning, and inclined 
 to satirical poetry, had scattered many malicious, bitter verses 
 against our Liturgy, our ceremonies, and our Church govern- 
 ment ; which were by some of that party so magnified for the 
 wit, that they were therefore brought into Westminster School, 
 where Mr. George Herbert, then, and often after, made such 
 answers to them, and such reflections on him and his Kirk, as 
 might unbeguile any man that was not too deeply pre-engaged 
 in such a quarrel. But to return to Mr. Melvin at Hampton 
 Court conference ; he there appeared to be a man of an unruly 
 wit, of a strange confidence, of so furious a zeal, and of so 
 ungoverned passions, that his insolence to the King, and others 
 at this conference, lost him both his Rectorship of St. Andrews 
 and his liberty too ; for his former verses, and his present 
 reproaches there used against the Church and State, caused 
 him to be committed prisoner to the Tower of London ; whei'e 
 he remained very angry for three years. At which time of his 
 commitment, he found the Lady Arabella an innocent prisoner 
 thei-e ; and he pleased himself much in sending, the next day 
 after his commitment, these two verses to the good lady ; 
 which I will underwrite, because they may give the reader a 
 taste of his others, which were like these : 
 
 Causa tibi mecum est communis, carceris, Ara- 
 bella, tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi. 
 
 I shall not trouble my reader with an account of his en- 
 largement from that prison, or his death ; but tell him Mr. 
 Herbert's verses were thought so worthy to be preserved, 
 that Dr. Duport, the learned Dean of Peterborough, hath 
 lately collected and caused many of them to be printed, as an 
 honourable memorial of his friend Mr. George Herbert, and 
 the cause he undertook.
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 189 
 
 And in order to my third and last observation of his great 
 abilities, it will be needful to declare, that about this time 
 King James came very often to hunt at Newmarket and 
 Royston, and was almost as often invited to Cambridge, where 
 his entertainment was comedies, suited to his pleasant humour; 
 and where Mr. George Herbert was to welcome him with 
 gratulations, and the applauses of an Orator ; which he always 
 performed so well, that he still grew more into the King's 
 favour, insomuch that he had a particular appointment to 
 attend his Majesty at Royston; where, after a discourse with 
 him, his Majesty declared to his kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, 
 that he found the Orator's learning and wisdom much above 
 his age or wit. The year following, the King appointed to end 
 his progress at Cambridge, and to stay there certain days ; at 
 which time he was attended by the great secretary of nature 
 and all learning, Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, and by the 
 ever-memorable and learned Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Win- 
 chester, both which did at that time begin a desired friendship 
 with our Orator. Upon whom, the first put such a value on his 
 judgment, that he usually desired his approbation before he 
 would expose any of his books to be printed ; and thought him 
 so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many of the 
 Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he made George 
 Herbert his patron, by a public dedication of them to him, as 
 the best judge of divine poetry. And for the learned Bishop, 
 it is observable, that at that time there fell to be a modest 
 debate betwixt them two about predestination, and sanctity of 
 life ; of both of which the Orator did, not long after, send the 
 Bishop some safe and useful aphorisms, in a long letter, written 
 in Greek ; which letter was so remarkable for the language 
 and reason of it, that, after the reading of it, the Bishop put it 
 into his bosom, and did often show it to many scholars, both of 
 this and foreign nations ; but did always return it back to the 
 place where he first lodged it, and continued it so near his 
 heart till the last day of his life. 
 
 To this I might add the long and entire friendship betwixt 
 him and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne; but I have
 
 190 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 promised to contract myself, and shall therefore only add one 
 testimony to what is also mentioned in the Life of Dr. Donne ; 
 namely, that a little before his death he caused many seals to 
 be made, and in them to be engraven the figure of Christ, 
 crucified on an anchor, — the emblem of hope, — and of which 
 Dr. Donne would often say, ' Crux mihi anchora.' — These seals he 
 gave or sent to most of those friends on which he put a value ; 
 and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these verses were found wrapt 
 up with that seal, which was by the Doctor given to him : 
 
 When my dear friend could write no more, 
 He gave this Seal and so gave o'er. 
 
 When winds and waves rise highest I am sure, 
 This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure. 
 
 At this time of being Orator, he had learned to understand 
 the Italian, Spanish, and French tongues very perfectly : hoping, 
 that as his predecessors, so he might in time attain the place of 
 a Secretary of State, he being at that time very high in the 
 King's favour, and not meanly valued and loved by the most 
 eminent and most powerful of the court nobility. This, and 
 the love of a court conversation, mixed with a laudable ambition 
 to be something more than he then was, drew him often from 
 Cambridge, to attend the King wheresoever the court was, who 
 then gave him a sinecure, which fell into his Majesty's disposal, 
 I think, by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph. It was the 
 same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given to her favourite 
 Sir Philip Sidney, and valued to be worth an hundred and 
 twenty pounds per annum. With this, and his annuity, and 
 the advantage of his college, and of his Oratorship, he enjoyed 
 his genteel humour for clothes, and court-like company, and 
 seldom looked towards Cambridge, unless the King were there, 
 but then he never failed ; and, at other times, left the manage 
 of his Orator's place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert Thorn- 
 dike, who is now Prebend of Westminster. 
 
 I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to leave 
 the university, and decline all study, which he thought did 
 impair his health ; for he had a body apt to a consumption, and
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 191 
 
 to fevers, and other infirmities, which he judged were increased 
 by his studies ; for he would often say, ' He had too thoughtful 
 a wit ; a wit like a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp 
 for his body.' But his mother would by no means allow him 
 to leave the university, or to travel ; and though he inclined 
 very much to both, yet he would by no means satisfy his own 
 desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an undutiful son to so 
 affectionate a mother ; but did always submit to her wisdom. 
 And what I have now said may partly appear in a copy of 
 verses in his printed poems ; 'tis one of those that bear the 
 title of Affliction ; and it appears to be a pious reflection on 
 God's providence, and some passages of his life, in which he 
 says, — 
 
 Whereas my birth and spirit rather took 
 
 The way that takes the town : 
 Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, 
 
 And wrapt me in a gown : 
 I was entangled in a world of strife, 
 Before I had the power to change my life. 
 
 Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise, 
 
 Not simpering all mine age ; 
 Thou often didst with academic praise 
 
 Melt and dissolve my rage : 
 I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where 
 I could not go away, nor persevere. 
 
 Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be 
 
 In my unhappiness, 
 Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me 
 
 Into more sicknesses. 
 Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making 
 Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 
 
 None of my books will show. 
 I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, 
 
 For then sure I should grow 
 To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust 
 Her household with me, and I would be just.
 
 192 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Yet, though thou trouhlest me, I must be meek, 
 
 In weakness must be stout, 
 Well, I will change my service, and go seek 
 
 Some other master out ; 
 Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, 
 Let me not love thee, if I love thee not. 
 
 G. H. 
 
 In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expectation of 
 some good occasion to remove from Cambridge to court, God, 
 in whom there is an unseen chain of causes, did in a short time 
 put an end to the lives of two of his most obliging and most 
 powerful friends, Lodowick Duke of Richmond, and James 
 Marquis of Hamilton ; and not long after him King James 
 died also, and with them all Mr. Herbert's court hopes : so 
 that he presently betook himself to a retreat from London, to 
 a friend in Kent, where he lived very privately, and was such a 
 lover of solitariness, as was judged to impair his health, more 
 than his study had done. In this time of retirement he had 
 many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to the 
 painted pleasures of a court life, or betake himself to a study of 
 divinity, and enter into sacred orders, to which his mother had 
 often persuaded him. These were such conflicts as they only 
 can know that have endured them ; for ambitious desires, and 
 the outward glory of this world, are not easily laid aside ; but at 
 last God inclined him to put on a resolution to serve at his altar. 
 
 He did, at his return to London, acquaint a court-friend 
 with his resolution to enter into sacred orders, who persuaded 
 him to alter it, as too mean an employment, and too much 
 below his birth, and the excellent abilities and endowments 
 of his mind. To whom he replied, ' It hath been formerly 
 judged that the domestic servants of the King of Heaven 
 should be of the noblest families on earth. And though the 
 iniquity of the late times have made clergymen meanly valued, 
 and the sacred name of priest contemptible ; yet I will labour 
 to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and 
 all my poor abilities to advance the glory of that God that 
 gave them ; knowing that I can never do too much for him,
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 193 
 
 that hath done so much for me, as to make me a Christian. 
 And I will labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility 
 lovely in the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful 
 and meek example of my dear Jesus.' 
 
 This was then his resolution ; and the God of constancy, 
 who intended him for a great example of virtue, continued 
 him in it, for within that year he was made deacon, but the 
 day when, or by whom, I cannot learn ; but that he was about 
 that time made deacon is most certain ; for I find by the 
 records of Lincoln, that he was made Prebend of Layton 
 Ecclesia, in the diocese of Lincoln, July 15th, 1626, and 
 that this Prebend was given him by John, then Lord Bishop 
 of that see. And now he had a fit occasion to show that 
 piety and bounty that was derived from his generous mother, 
 and his other memorable ancestors, and the occasion was this. 
 
 This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to Spalden, in the 
 county of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the parish 
 church was fallen down, and that of it which stood was so 
 decayed, so little, and so useless, that the parishioners could 
 not meet to perform their duty to God in public prayer and 
 praises ; and thus it had been for almost twenty years, in 
 which time there had been some faint endeavours for a public 
 collection to enable the parishioners to rebuild it ; but with 
 no success, till Mr. Herbert undertook it ; and he, by his own, 
 and the contribution of many of his kindred, and other noble 
 friends, undertook the re-edification of it ; and made it so 
 much his whole business, that he became restless till he saw 
 it finished as it now stands ; being for the workmanship, a costly 
 mosaic ; for the form, an exact cross ; and for the decency and 
 beauty, I am assured, it is the most remarkable parish church 
 that this nation affords. He lived to see it so wainscotted, as 
 to be exceeded by none, and, by his order, the reading pew 
 and pulpit were a little distant from each other, and both of 
 an equal height ; for he would often say, ' They should neither 
 have a precedency or priority of the other; but that prayer 
 and preaching, being equally useful, might agree like brethren, 
 and having an equal honour and estimation.' 
 
 N
 
 194 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Before I proceed further, I must look back to the time of Mr. 
 Herbert's being made Prebend, and tell the readei', that not 
 long after, his mother being informed of his intentions to re- 
 build that church, and apprehending the great trouble and 
 charge that he Avas like to draw upon himself, his relations 
 and friends, before it could be finished, sent for him from 
 London to Chelsea, — where she then dwelt, — and at his 
 coming, said, ' George, I sent for you, to persuade you to 
 commit simony, by giving your patron as good a gift as he 
 has given to you ; namely, that you give him back his pre- 
 bend ; for, George, it is not for your weak body, and empty 
 purse, to undertake to build churches.' Of which, he desired 
 he might have a day's time to consider, and then make her 
 an answer. And at his return to her the next day, when he 
 had first desired her blessing, and she given it him, his next 
 request was, ' That she would, at the age of thirty-three years, 
 allow him to become an undutiful son ; for he had made a vow 
 to God, that, if he were able, he would rebuild that church.' 
 And then showed her such reasons for his resolution, that she 
 presently subscribed to be one of his benefactors ; and under- 
 took to solicit William Earl of Pembroke to become another, 
 who subscribed for fifty pounds ; and not long after, by a witty 
 and persuasive letter from Mr. Herbert, made it fifty pounds 
 more. And in this nomination of some of his benefactors, 
 James Duke of Lenox, and his brother, Sir Henry. Herbert, 
 ought to be remembered ; as also the bounty of Mr. Nicholas 
 Farrer, and Mr. Arthur Woodnot : the one a gentleman in 
 the neighbourhood of Layton, and the other a goldsmith in 
 Foster Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten : for the 
 memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. Of Mr. 
 Farrer I shall hereafter give an account in a more seasonable 
 place ; but before I proceed further, I will give this short 
 account of Mr. Arthur Woodnot. 
 
 He was a man, that had considered overgrown estates do 
 often require more care and watchfulness to preserve than 
 get them, and considered that there be many discontents 
 that riches cure not ; and did therefore set limits to himself,
 
 MR GEORGE HERBERT 195 
 
 as to desire of wealth. And having attained so much as to 
 be able to show some mercy to the poor, and preserve a com- 
 petence for himself, he dedicated the remaining part of his 
 life to the service of God, and to be useful to his friends ; 
 and he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert ; for besides his own 
 bounty, he collected and returned most of the money that 
 was paid for the rebuilding of that church ; he kept all the 
 account of the charges, and would often go down to state 
 them, and see all the workmen paid. When I have said 
 that this good man was a useful friend to Mr. Herbert's 
 father, and to his mother, and continued to be so to him, 
 till he closed his eyes on his death-bed, I will forbear to 
 say more, till I have the next fair occasion to mention the 
 holy friendship that was betwixt him and Mr. Herbert. From 
 whom Mr. Woodnot carried to his mother this following letter, 
 and delivered it to her in a sickness, which was not long 
 before that which proved to be her last : — 
 
 A Letter of Mr. George Herbert to his mother, in her 
 
 sickness. 
 ' Madam, 
 
 ' At my last parting from you, I was the better content, 
 because I was in hope I should myself carry all sickness out 
 of your family : but since I know I did not, and that your 
 share continues, or rather increaseth, I wish earnestly that I 
 were again with you ; and would quickly make good my wish, 
 but that my employment does fix me here, it being now but 
 a month to our commencement : wherein my absence, by how 
 much it naturally augmenteth suspicion, by so much shall it 
 make my prayers the more constant and the more earnest 
 for you to the God of all consolation. In the meantime, I 
 beseech you to be cheerful, and comfort yourself in the God 
 of all comfort, who is not willing to behold any sorrow but 
 for sin. — What hath affliction grievous in it more than for a 
 moment ? or why should our afflictions here have so much 
 power or boldness as to oppose the hope of our joys hereafter ? 
 Madam, as the earth is but a point in respect of the heavens,
 
 196 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly joys ; therefore, 
 if either age or sickness lead you to those joys, consider what 
 advantage you have over youth and health, who are now so 
 near those true comforts. Your last letter gave me earthly 
 preferment, and I hope kept heavenly for yourself: but would 
 you divide and choose too ? Our college customs allow not 
 that : and I should account myself most happy, if I might 
 change with you ; for I have always observed the thread of 
 life to be like other threads or skeins of silk, full of snarles 
 and incumbrances. Happy is he, whose bottom is wound up, 
 and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem. For myself, 
 dear mother, I always feared sickness more than death, because 
 sickness hath made me unable to perform those offices for 
 which I came into the world, and must yet be kept in it ; but 
 you are freed from that fear, who have already abundantly 
 discharged that part, having both ordered your family and so 
 brought up your children, that they have attained to the years 
 of discretion, and competent maintenance. So that now, if 
 they do not well, the fault cannot be charged on you, whose 
 example and care of them will justify you both to the world 
 and your own conscience ; insomuch that, whether you turn 
 your thoughts on the life past, or on the joys that are to 
 come, you have strong preservatives against all disquiet. And 
 for temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider, all that can 
 happen to you are either afflictions of estate, or body, or mind. 
 For those of estate, of what poor regard ought they to be ? 
 since, if we had riches, we are commanded to give them 
 away : so that the best use of them is, having, not to have 
 them. But perhaps, being above the common people, our 
 credit and estimation calls on us to live in a more splendid 
 fashion : but, O God ! how easily is that answered, when we 
 consider that the blessings in the holy scripture are never 
 given to the rich, but to the poor. I never find " Blessed be 
 the rich," or "Blessed be the noble;" but "Blessed be the 
 meek," and "Blessed be the poor," and "Blessed be the 
 mourners, for they shall be comforted." And yet, O God ! 
 most carry themselves so as if they not only not desired, but
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 197 
 
 even feared to be blessed. And for afflictions of the body, 
 dear madam, remember the holy martyrs of God, how they 
 have been burned by thousands, and have endured such other 
 tortures, as the very mention of them might beget amazement : 
 but their fiery trials have had an end ; and yours — which, 
 praised be God, are less, — are not like to continue long. I 
 beseech you, let such thoughts as these moderate your present 
 fear and sorrow ; and know that if any of yours should prove 
 a Goliah-like trouble, yet you may say with David, " That God, 
 who hath delivered me out of the paws of the lion and bear, 
 will also deliver me out of the hands of this uncircumcised 
 Philistine." Lastly, for those afflictions of the soul ; consider 
 that God intends that to be as a sacred temple for himself 
 to dwell in, and will not allow any room there for such an 
 inmate as grief; or allow that any sadness shall be his com- 
 petitor. And, above all, if any care of future things molest 
 you, remember those admirable words of the Psalmist: "Cast 
 thy care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee." To which 
 join that of St. Peter, " Casting all your care on the Lord, 
 for he careth for you." What an admirable thing is this, 
 that God puts his shoulder to our burden, and entertains our 
 care for us, that we may the more quietly intend his service ! 
 To conclude, let me commend only one place more to you : 
 Philipp. iv. 4. St. Paul saith there, " Rejoice in the Lord 
 always : and again I say, Rejoice." He doubles it, to take 
 away the scruple of those that might say, What, shall we 
 rejoice in afflictions ? Yes, I say again, rejoice ; so that it is 
 not left to us to rejoice, or not rejoice ; but, whatsoever befalls 
 us, we must always, at all times, rejoice in the Lord, who 
 taketh care for us. And it follows in the next verses : " Let 
 your moderation appear to all men : The Lord is at hand : Be 
 careful for nothing." What can be said more comfortably ? 
 Trouble not yourselves ; God is at hand, to deliver us from 
 all, or in all. Dear madam, pardon my boldness, and accept 
 the good meaning of 
 
 Your most obedient son, 
 Trin. Coll., George Herbert.' 
 
 May 25th, 1622.
 
 198 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth of his age, Mr. 
 Herbert was seized with a sharp quotidian ague, and thought 
 to remove it by the change of air ; to which end he went to 
 Woodford in Essex, but thither more chiefly to enjoy the 
 company of his beloved brother, Sir Henry Herbert, and other 
 friends then of that family. In his house he remained about 
 twelve months, and there became his own physician, and cured 
 himself of his ague, by forbearing to drink, and not eating 
 any meat, no not mutton, nor a hen, or pigeon, unless they 
 were salted ; and by such a constant diet he removed his 
 ague, but with inconveniences that were worse ; for he brought 
 upon himself a disposition to rheums, and other weaknesses, 
 and a supposed consumption. And it is to be noted, that in 
 the sharpest of his extreme fits he would often say, ' Lord, 
 abate my great affliction, or increase my patience : but Lord, 
 I repine not ; I am dumb, Lord, before thee, because thou 
 doest it.' By which, and a sanctified submission to the will 
 of God, he showed he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke 
 of Christian discipline, both then and in the latter part of his 
 life, of which there will be many true testimonies. 
 
 And now his care was to recover from his consumption, by 
 a change from Woodford into such an air as was most proper to 
 that end. And his remove was to Dauntsey in Wiltshire, a 
 noble house, which stands in a choice air ; the owner of it 
 then was the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, who loved Mr. 
 Herbert so very much, that he allowed him such an apart- 
 ment in it, as might best suit with his accommodation and 
 liking. And in this place, by a spare diet, declining all 
 perplexing studies, moderate exercise, and a cheerful conver- 
 sation, his health was apparently improved to a good degree 
 of strength and cheerfulness. And then he declared his 
 resolution both to marry and to enter into the sacred orders 
 of priesthood. These had long been the desires of his mother, 
 and his other relations ; but she lived not to see either, for 
 she died in the year l6'27. And though he was disobedient 
 to her about Layton Church, yet, in conformity to her 
 will, he kept his Orator's place till after her death, and then
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 199 
 
 presently declined it; and the more willingly, that he might 
 be succeeded by his friend Robert Creighton, who now is Dr. 
 Creighton, and the worthy Bishop of Wells. 
 
 I shall now proceed to his marriage ; in order to which, it 
 will be convenient that I first gave the reader a short view 
 of his person, and then an account of his wife, and of some 
 circumstances concerning both. He was for his person of a 
 stature inclining towards tallness ; his body was very straight, 
 and so far from being cumbered with too much flesh, that 
 he was lean to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and 
 his speech and motion did both declare him a gentleman ; for 
 they were all so meek and obliging, that they purchased love 
 and respect from all that knew him. 
 
 These, and his other visible virtues, begot him much love 
 from a gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near kinsman to his 
 friend the Earl of Danby ; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of 
 Bainton, in the county of Wilts, Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having 
 known him long, and familiarly, did so much affect him, that 
 he often and publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would 
 marry any of his nine daughters, — for he had so many, — but 
 rather his daughter Jane than any other, because Jane was his 
 beloved daughter. And he had often said the same to Mr. 
 Herbert himself; and that if he could like her for a wife, and 
 she him for a husband, Jane should have a double blessing : 
 and Mr. Danvers had so often said the like to Jane, and so 
 much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane became so 
 much a platonic, as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen. 
 
 This was a fair preparation for a marriage ; but, alas ! her 
 father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dauntsey : yet 
 some friends to both parties procured their meeting ; at which 
 time a mutual affection entered into both their hearts, as a 
 conqueror enters into a surprised city ; and love having got 
 such possession, governed, and made there such laws and 
 resolutions, as neither party was able to resist ; insomuch, that 
 she changed her name into Herbert the third day after this 
 first interview. 
 
 This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy, or
 
 200 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 worse ; but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes, as 
 to have select proxies ; such as were true friends to both 
 parties, such as well understood Mr. Herbert's and her temper 
 of mind, and also their estates, so well before this interview, 
 that the suddenness was justifiable by the strictest rules of 
 prudence ; and the more, because it proved so happy to both 
 parties ; for the eternal lover of mankind made them happy 
 in each other's mutual and equal affections, and compliance ; 
 indeed, so happy, that there never was any opposition betwixt 
 them, unless it were a contest which should most incline to a 
 compliance with the other's desires. And though this begot, 
 and continued in them, such a mutual love, and joy, and 
 content, as was no way defective ; yet this mutual content, 
 and love, and joy, did receive a daily augmentation, by such 
 daily obligingness to each other, as still added such new 
 affluences to the former fulness of these divine souls, as was 
 only improvable in heaven, where they now enjoy it. 
 
 About three months after this marriage, Dr. Curie, Avho was 
 then Rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, was made Bishop of 
 Bath and Wells, and not long after translated to Winchester, 
 and by that means the presentation of a clerk to Bemerton 
 did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke, — who was the undoubted 
 patron of it, — but to the King, by reason of Dr. Curie's ad- 
 vancement : but Philip, then Earl of Pembroke, — for William 
 was lately dead — requested the King to bestow it upon his 
 kinsman George Herbert; and the King said, 'Most willingly 
 to Mr. Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance ; ' and the Earl 
 as willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking. But 
 though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for the 
 clergy ; yet, at receiving this presentation, the apprehension of 
 the last great account, that he was to make for the cure of so 
 many souls, made him fast and pray often, and consider for not 
 less than a month : in which time he had some resolutions to 
 decline both the priesthood and that living. And in this time 
 of considering, 'he endured,' as he would often say, 'such 
 spiritual conflicts, as none can think, but only those that have 
 endured them.'
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 201 
 
 In the midst of these conflicts, his old and dear friend, Mr. 
 Arthur Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at Bainton, 
 — where he then was with his wife's friends and relations — 
 and was joyful to be an eye-witness of his health and happy 
 marriage. And after they had rejoiced together some few 
 days, they took a journey to Wilton, the famous seat of the 
 Earls of Pembroke ; at which time the King, the Earl, and the 
 whole court were there, or at Salisbury, which is near to it. 
 And at this time Mr. Herbert presented his thanks to the Earl 
 for his presentation to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to 
 accept it, and told him the reason why : but that night, the 
 Earl acquainted Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, with his kinsman's irresolution. 
 And the Bishop did the next day so convince Mr. Herbert that 
 the refusal of it was sin, that a tailor was sent for to come 
 speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to take measure, and make 
 him canonical clothes against next day ; which the tailor did : 
 and Mr. Herbert being so habited, went with his presenta- 
 tion to the learned Dr. Davenant, who was then Bishop of 
 Salisbury, and he gave him institution immediately, — for Mr. 
 Herbert had been made deacon some years before, — and he 
 was also the same day — which was April 26th, 1630, — inducted 
 into the good, and more pleasant than healthful, parsonage of 
 Bemerton ; which is a mile from Salisbury. 
 
 I have now brought him to the parsonage of Bemerton, and 
 to the thirty-sixth year of his age, and must stop here, and 
 bespeak the reader to prepare for an almost incredible story, 
 of the great sanctity of the short remainder of his holy life ; a 
 life so full of charity, humility, and all Christian virtues, that it 
 deserves the eloquence of St. Chrysostom to commend and 
 declare it : a life, that if it were related by a pen like his, 
 there would then be no need for this age to look back into 
 times past for the examples of primitive piety ; for they might 
 be all found in the life of George Herbert. But now, alas ! 
 who is fit to undertake it ? I confess I am not ; and am not 
 pleased with myself that I must ; and profess myself amazed, 
 when I consider how few of the clergy lived like him then, and
 
 202 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 how many live so unlike him now. But it becomes not me to 
 censure : my design is rather to assure the reader that I have 
 used very great diligence to inform myself, that I might inform 
 him of the truth of what follows ; and though I cannot adorn 
 it with eloquence, yet I will do it with sincerity. 
 
 When at his induction he was shut into Bemerton Church, 
 being left there alone to toll the bell, — as the law requires 
 him, — he stayed so much longer than an ordinary time, before 
 he returned to those friends that stayed expecting him at the 
 church door, that his friend Mr. Woodnot looked in at the 
 church window, and saw him lie prostrate on the ground before 
 the altar; at which time and place — as he after told Mr. 
 Woodnot — he set some rules to himself, for the future manage 
 of his life ; and then and there made a vow to labour to keep 
 them. 
 
 And the same night that he had his induction, he said to 
 Mr. Woodnot, ' I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, 
 and think myself more happy than if I had attained what then 
 I so ambitiously thirsted for. And I now can behold the court 
 with an impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made up of 
 fraud and titles, and flattery, and many other such empty, 
 imaginary, painted pleasures ; pleasures, that are so empty, as 
 not to satisfy when they are enjoyed. But in God, and his 
 service, is a fulness of all joy and pleasure, and no satiety. 
 And I will now use all my endeavours to bring my relations 
 and dependants to a love and reliance on him, who never fails 
 those that trust him. But above all, I will be sure to live well, 
 because the virtuous life of a clergyman is the most powerful 
 eloquence to persuade all that see it to reverence and love, 
 and at least to desire to live like him. And this I will do, 
 because I know we live in an age that hath more need of good 
 examples than precepts. And I beseech that God, who hath 
 honoured me so much as to call me to serve him at his altar, 
 that as by his special grace he hath put into my heart these 
 good desires and resolutions ; so he will, by his assisting grace, 
 give me ghostly strength to bring the same to good effect. 
 And I beseech him, that my humble and charitable life may so
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 203 
 
 win upon others, as to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I have 
 this day taken to be my master and governor ; and I am so 
 proud of his service, that I will always observe, and obey, and 
 do his will ; and always call him, Jesus my Master ; and I will 
 always contemn my birth, or any title or dignity that can be 
 conferred upon me, when I shall compare them with my title 
 of being a priest, and serving at the altar of Jesus my Master.' 
 
 And that he did so may appear in many parts of his book of 
 Sacred Poems : especially in that which he calls ' The Odour.' 
 In which he seems to rejoice in the thoughts of that word 
 Jesus, and say, that the adding these words, my master, to it, 
 and the often repetition of them, seemed to perfume his mind, 
 and leave an oriental fragrancy in his very breath. And for his 
 unforced choice to serve at God's altar, he seems in another place 
 of his poems, 'The Pearl' (Matt. xiii. 45, 46), to rejoice and 
 say : ' He knew the ways of learning ; knew what nature does 
 willingly, and what, when it is forced by fire ; knew the ways 
 of honour, and when glory inclines the soul to noble expressions: 
 knew the court : knew the ways of pleasure, of love, of wit, of 
 music, and upon what terms he declined all these for the 
 service of his master Jesus : ' and then concludes, saying : 
 
 That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit, 
 
 But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me, 
 Did both conduct, and teach me, how by it 
 
 To climb to thee. 
 
 The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, and 
 had changed his sword and silk clothes into a canonical coat, 
 he returned so habited with his friend Mr. Woodnot to Bainton ; 
 and immediately after he had seen and saluted his wife, he 
 said to her — 'You ai'e now a minister's wife, and must now so 
 far forget your father's house, as not to claim a precedence of 
 any of your parishioners ; for you are to know, that a priest's 
 wife can challenge no precedence or place, but that which she 
 purchases by her obliging humility ; and I am sure, places so 
 purchased do best become them. And let me tell you, that I 
 am so good a herald, as to assure you that this is truth.' And
 
 204 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 she was so meek a wife, as to assure him, 'it was no vexing 
 news to her, and that he should see her observe it with a 
 cheerful willingness.' And, indeed, her unforced humility, 
 that humility that was in her so original, as to be born with 
 her, made her so happy as to do so ; and her doing so begot 
 her an unfeigned love, and a serviceable respect from all that 
 conversed with her ; and this love followed her in all places, 
 as inseparably as shadows follow substances in sunshine. 
 
 It was not many days before he returned back to Bemerton, 
 to view the church and repair the chancel : and indeed to 
 rebuild almost three parts of his house, which was fallen down, 
 or decayed by reason of his predecessor's living at a better 
 parsonage-house ; namely, at Minal, sixteen or twenty miles 
 from this place. At which time of Mr. Herbert's coming alone 
 to Bemerton, there came to him a poor old woman, with an 
 intent to acquaint him with her necessitous condition, as also 
 with some troubles of her mind : but after she had spoke some 
 few words to him, she was surprised with a fear, and that begot 
 a shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed her ; 
 which he perceiving, did so compassionate her, and was so 
 humble, that he took her by the hand, and said, ' Speak, good 
 mother ; be not afraid to speak to me ; for I am a man that 
 will hear you with patience ; and will relieve your necessities 
 too, if I be able : and this I will do willingly ; and therefore, 
 mother, be not afraid to acquaint me with what you desire.' 
 After which comfortable speech, he again took her by the 
 hand, made her sit down by him, and understanding she was of 
 his parish, he told her ' He would be acquainted with her, and 
 take her into his care.' And having with patience heard and 
 understood her wants, — and it is some relief for a poor body 
 to be but heard with patience, — he, like a Christian clergyman, 
 comforted her by his meek behaviour and counsel ; but because 
 that cost him nothing, he relieved her with money too, and so 
 sent her home with a cheerful heart, praising God, and praying 
 for him. Thus worthy, and — like David's blessed man — thus 
 lowly, was Mr. George Herbert in his own eyes, and thus lovely 
 in the eyes of others.
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 205 
 
 At his return that night to his wife at Bainton, he gave her 
 an account of the passages betwixt him and the poor woman ; 
 with which she was so affected, that she went next day to 
 Salisbury, and there bought a pair of blankets, and sent them 
 as a token of her love to the poor woman ; and with them a 
 message, ' that she would see and be acquainted with her, 
 when her house was built at Bemerton/ 
 
 There be many such passages both of him and his wife, of 
 which some few will be related : but I shall first tell, that he 
 hasted to get the parish church repaired ; then to beautify the 
 ehapel, — which stands near his house, — and that at his own 
 great charge. He then proceeded to rebuild the greatest part 
 of the parsonage-house, which he did also very completely, and 
 at his own charge ; and having done this good work, he caused 
 these verses to be writ upon, or engraven in, the mantel of the 
 chimney in his hall. 
 
 TO MY SUCCESSOR. 
 
 If thou chance for to find 
 
 A new house to thy mind, 
 And built without thy cost ; 
 
 Be good to the poor, 
 
 As God gives thee store, 
 And then my labour 's not lost. 
 
 We will now, by the reader's favour, suppose him fixed at 
 Bemerton, and grant him to have seen the church repaired, and 
 the chapel belonging to it very decently adorned at his own 
 great charge, — which is a real truth ; — and having now fixed 
 him there, I shall proceed to give an account of the rest of his 
 behaviour, both to his parishioners, and those many others that 
 knew and conversed with him. 
 
 Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and given rules to 
 himself for his Christian carriage both to God and man, before 
 he entered into holy orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he 
 renewed those resolutions at his prostration before the holy 
 altar, at his induction into the church of Bemerton : but as yet 
 he was but a deacon, and therefore longed for the next ember-
 
 206 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 week, that he might be ordained priest, and made capable of 
 administering both the sacraments. At which time the Rever- 
 end Dr. Humphrey Henchman, now Lord Bishop of London, — 
 who does not mention him but with some veneration for his life 
 and excellent learning, — tells me, ' He laid his hand on Mr. 
 Herbert's head., and, alas ! within less than three years lent his 
 shoulder to carry his dear friend to his grave.' 
 
 And that Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those holy 
 rules which such a priest as he intended to be ought to observe ; 
 and that time might not insensibly blot them out of his memory, 
 but that the next year might show him his variations from this 
 year's resolutions ; he therefore did set down his rules, then 
 resolved upon, in that order as the world now sees them printed 
 in a little book, called The Country Parson ; in which some of 
 his rules are : 
 
 The Parson's knowledge. The Parson arguing. 
 
 The Parson on Sundays. The Parson condescending. 
 
 The Parson praying. The Parson in his journey. 
 
 The Parson preaching. The Parson in his mirth. 
 
 The Parson's charity. The Parson with his Church- 
 
 The Parson comforting the wardens. 
 
 sick. The Parson blessing the people. 
 
 And his behaviour towards God and man may be said to be a 
 practical comment on these, and the other holy rules set down 
 in that useful book : a book so full of plain, prudent, and useful 
 rules, that that country parson, that can spare twelve pence, 
 and yet wants it, is scarce excusable ; because it will both 
 direct him what he ought to do, and convince him for not 
 having done it. 
 
 At the death of Mr. Herbert this book fell into the hands of 
 his friend Mr. Woodnot; and he commended it into the trusty 
 hands of Mr. Barnabas Oley, who published it with a most con- 
 scientious and excellent preface ; from which I have had some 
 of those truths, that are related in this life of Mr. Herbert. 
 The text of his first sermon was taken out of Solomon's Pro- 
 verbs, chap. iv. 23, and the words were, ' Keep thy heart with
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 207 
 
 all diligence.' In which first sermon he gave his parishioners 
 many necessary, holy, safe rules for the discharge of a good con- 
 science, both to God and man ; and delivered his sermon after 
 a most florid manner, both with great learning and eloquence ; 
 but, at the close of this sermon, told them, ' That should not be 
 his constant way of preaching; for since Almighty God does 
 not intend to lead men to heaven by hard questions, he would 
 not therefore fill their heads with unnecessary notions ; but 
 that, for their sakes, his language and his expressions should be 
 more plain and practical in his future sermons.' And he then 
 made it his humble request, ' That they would be constant to 
 the afternoon's service, and catechising ; ' and showed them con- 
 vincing reasons why he desired it ; and his obliging example and 
 persuasions brought them to a willing conformity to his desires. 
 The texts for all his future sermons — which God knows, were 
 not many — were constantly taken out of the gospel for the day ; 
 and he did as constantly declare why the Church did appoint 
 that portion of scripture to be that day read ; and in what man- 
 ner the collect for every Sunday does refer to the gospel, or to 
 the epistle then read to them ; and, that they might pray with 
 understanding, he did usually take occasion to explain, not only 
 the collect for every particular Sunday, but the reasons of all 
 the other collects and responses in our Church service ; and made 
 it appear to them, that the whole service of the Church was a 
 reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacrifice to God: as 
 namely, that we begin with ' Confession of ourselves to be vile, 
 miserable sinners ; ' and that we begin so, because, till we have 
 confessed ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that mercy 
 which we acknowledge we need, and pray for : but having, in 
 the prayer of our Lord, begged pardon for those sins which we 
 have confessed ; and hoping, that as the priest hath declared 
 our absolution, so by our public confession, and real repentance, 
 we have obtained that pardon ; then we dare and do proceed to 
 beg of the Lord, ' to open our lips, that our mouth may show 
 forth his praise ; ' for till then we are neither able nor worthy 
 to praise him. But this being supposed, we are then fit to say, 
 ' Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy
 
 208 WALTON S LIVES 
 
 Ghost ; ' and fit to proceed to a further service of our God, in 
 the collects, and psalms, and lauds, that follow in the service. 
 
 And as to the psalms and lauds, he proceeded to inform them 
 why they were so often, and some of them daily, repeated in 
 our Church service ; namely, the psalms every month, because 
 they be an historical and thankful repetition of mercies past, 
 and such a composition of prayers and praises, as ought to be 
 repeated often, and publicly ; for with such sacrifice God is 
 honoured and well-pleased. This for the psalms. 
 
 And for the hymns and lauds appointed to be daily repeated 
 or sung after the first and second lessons are read to the con- 
 gregation ; he proceeded to inform them, that it was most 
 reasonable, after they have heard the will and goodness of God 
 declared or preached by the priest in his reading the two chap- 
 ters, that it was then a seasonable duty to rise up, and express 
 their gratitude to Almighty God, for those his mercies to them, 
 and to all mankind ; and then to say with the Blessed Virgin, 
 ' that their souls do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do 
 also rejoice in God their Saviour : ' and that it was their duty 
 also to rejoice with Simeon in his song, and say with him, ' That 
 their eyes have ' also ' seen their salvation ; ' for they have seen 
 that salvation which was but prophesied till his time : and he 
 then broke out into these expressions of joy that he did see it; 
 but they live to see it daily in the history of it, and therefore 
 ought daily to rejoice, and daily to offer up their sacrifices of 
 praise to their God, for that particular mercy. A service, which 
 is now the constant employment of that Blessed Virgin and 
 Simeon, and all those blessed saints that are possessed of 
 heaven : and where they are at this time interchangeably and 
 constantly singing, ' Holy, holy, holy, Lord God ; glory be to God 
 on high, and on earth peace.' And he taught them that to do 
 this was an acceptable service to God, because the Prophet David 
 says in his Psalms, ' He that praiseth the Lord honoureth him.' 
 
 He made them to understand how happy they be that are 
 freed from the incumbrances of that law which our forefathers 
 groaned under : namely, from the legal sacrifices, and from the 
 many ceremonies of the Levitical law ; freed from circumcision,
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 209 
 
 and from the strict observation of the Jewish Sabbath, and the 
 like. And he made them know, that having received so many 
 and so great blessings, by being born since the days of our 
 Saviour, it must be an acceptable sacrifice to Almighty God, for 
 them to acknowledge those blessings daily, and stand up and 
 worship, and say as Zacharias did, ' Blessed be the Lord God of 
 Israel, for he hath — in our days — visited and redeemed his 
 people ; and — he hath in our days — remembered, and showed 
 that mercy, which by the mouth of the prophets he promised 
 to our forefathers ; and this he has done according to his holy 
 covenant made with them.' And he made them to understand 
 that we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in his birth, in 
 his life, his passion, his resurrection, and ascension into heaven, 
 where he now sits sensible of all our temptations and infirmities ; 
 and where he is at this present time making intercession for us, 
 to his and our Father : and therefore they ought daily to express 
 their public gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, ' Blessed 
 be the Lord God of Israel, that hath thus visited and thus re- 
 deemed his people.' These were some of the reasons by which 
 Mr. Herbert instructed his congregation for the use of the 
 psalms and hymns appointed to be daily sung or said in the 
 Church service. 
 
 He informed them also when the priest did pray only for 
 the congregation, and not for himself; and when they did only 
 pray for him ; as namely, after the repetition of the creed before 
 he proceeds to pray the Lord's Prayer, or any of the appointed 
 collects, the priest is directed to kneel down, and pray for them, 
 saying, ' The Lord be with you ' ; and when they pray for him, 
 saying, 'And with thy spirit;' and then they join together in 
 the following collects : and he assured them, that when there 
 is such mutual love, and such joint prayers offered for each 
 other, then the holy angels look down from heaven, and are 
 ready to carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, and he 
 as ready to receive them ; and that a Christian congregation 
 calling thus upon God with one heart, and one voice, and 
 in one reverent and humble posture, looks as beautifully as 
 Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself. 
 
 O
 
 210 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 He instructed them also why the prayer of our Lord was 
 prayed often in every full service of the Church ; namely, at 
 the conclusion of the several parts of that service ; and prayed 
 then, not only because it was composed and commanded by our 
 Jesus that made it, but as a perfect pattern for our less perfect 
 forms of prayer, and therefore fittest to sum up and conclude 
 all our imperfect petitions. 
 
 He instructed them also, that as by the second commandment 
 we are required not to bow down, or worship an idol, or false 
 God ; so, by the contrary rule, we are to bow down and kneel, 
 or stand up and worship the true God. And he instructed 
 them why the Church required the congregation to stand up at 
 the repetition of the creeds ; namely, because they thereby 
 declare both their obedience to the Church, and an assent to 
 that faith into which they had been baptized. And he taught 
 them, that in that shorter creed or doxology, so often repeated 
 daily, they also stood up to testify their belief to be, that ' the 
 God that they trusted in was one God, and three persons ; the 
 Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; to whom they and the 
 priest gave glory.' And because there had been heretics that 
 had denied some of those three persons to be God, therefore 
 the congregation stood up and honoured him, by confessing and 
 saying, ' It was so in the beginning, is now so, and shall ever be 
 so, world without end.' And all gave their assent to this belief, 
 by standing up and saying, Amen. 
 
 He instructed them also what benefit they had by the Church's 
 appointing the celebration of holidays and the excellent use of 
 them, namely, that they were set apart for particular comme- 
 morations of particular mercies received from Almighty God ; 
 and — as Reverend Mr. Hooker says — to be the landmarks to 
 distinguish times ; for by them we are taught to take notice how 
 time passes by us, and that we ought not to let the years pass 
 without a celebration of praise for those mercies which those 
 days give us occasion to remember, and therefore they were to 
 note that the year is appointed to begin the 25th day of March ; 
 a day in which we commemorate the angel's appearing to the 
 Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that 'she should conceive
 
 MR GEORGE HERBERT 211 
 
 and bear a son, that should be the redeemer of mankind.' And 
 she did so forty weeks after this joyful salutation ; namely, at 
 our Christmas ; a day in which we commemorate his birth with 
 joy and praise : and that eight days after this happy birth we 
 celebrate his circumcision ; namely, in that which we call New 
 Year's day. And that, upon that day which we call Twelfth day, 
 we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable riches 
 of Jesus to the Gentiles : and that that day we also celebrate 
 the memory of his goodness in sending a star to guide the three 
 wise men from the east to Bethlehem, that they might there 
 worship, and present him with their oblations of gold, frankin- 
 cense, and myrrh. And he — Mr. Herbert — instructed them, 
 that Jesus was forty days after his birth presented by his blessed 
 mother in the temple ; namely, on that day which we call 
 ' The Purification of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Mary.' And he 
 instructed them, that by the Lent-fast we imitate and comme- 
 morate our Saviour's humiliation in fasting forty days ; and that 
 we ought to endeavour to be like him in purity : and that on 
 Good Friday we commemorate and condole his crucifixion ; and 
 at Easter commemorate his glorious resurrection. And he 
 taught them, that after Jesus had manifested himself to his 
 disciples to be ' that Christ that was crucified, dead and buried ; ' 
 and by his appearing and conversing with his disciples for the 
 space of forty days after his resurrection, he then, and not till 
 then, ascended into heaven in the sight of those disciples ; 
 namely, on that day which we call the ascension, or Holy 
 Thursday. And that we then celebrate the performance of the 
 promise which he made to his disciples at or before his ascen- 
 sion ; namely, ' that though he left them, yet he would send 
 them the Holy Ghost to be their comforter ; ' and that he did 
 so on that day which the Church calls Whitsunday. Thus the 
 Church keeps an historical and circular commemoration of times, 
 as they pass by us ; of such times as ought to incline us to 
 occasional praises, for the particular blessings which we do, or 
 might receive, by those holy commemorations. 
 
 He made them know also why the Church hath appointed 
 ember-weeks ; and to know the reason why the commandments,
 
 212 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and the epistles and gospels, were to be read at the altar or 
 communion table : why the priest was to pray the Litany 
 kneeling ; and why to pray some collects standing : and he 
 gave them many other observations, fit for his plain congrega- 
 tion, but not fit for me now to mention ; for I must set limits to 
 my pen, and not make that a treatise, which I intended to be a 
 much shorter account than I have made it : but I have done, 
 when I have told the reader that he was constant in catechis- 
 ing every Sunday in the afternoon, and that his catechising was 
 after his second lesson, and in the pulpit ; and that he never 
 exceeded his half hour, and was always so happy as to have an 
 obedient and a full congregation. 
 
 And to this I must add, that if he were at any time too 
 zealous in his sermons, it was in reproving the indecencies of 
 the people's behaviour in the time of divine service ; and of 
 those ministers that huddle up the Church prayers, without a 
 visible reverence and affection ; namely, such as seemed to say 
 the Lord's Prayer or a collect in a breath. But for himself, 
 his custom was to stop betwixt every collect, and give the 
 people time to consider what they had prayed, and to force 
 their desires affectionately to God, before he engaged them 
 into new petitions. 
 
 And by this account of his diligence to make his parishioners 
 understand what they prayed, and why they praised and adored 
 their Creator, I hope I shall the more easily obtain the reader's 
 belief to the following account of Mr. Herbert's own practice ; 
 which was to appear constantly with his wife and three nieces 
 — the daughters of a deceased sister — and his whole family, 
 twice every day at the Church prayers in the chapel, which 
 does almost join to his parsonage-house. And for the time of 
 his appearing, it was strictly at the canonical hours of ten and 
 four : and then and there he lifted up pure and charitable 
 hands to God in the midst of the congregation. And he would 
 joy to have spent that time in that place, where the honour of 
 his master Jesus dwelleth ; and there, by that inward devotion 
 which he testified constantly by an humble behaviour and 
 visible adoration, he, like Joshua, brought not only 'his own
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 213 
 
 household thus to serve the Lord ; ' but brought most of his 
 parishioners, and many gentlemen in the neighbourhood, con- 
 stantly to make a part of his congregation twice a day : and some 
 of the meaner sort of his parish did so love and reverence Mr. 
 Herbert, that they would let their plough rest when Mr. 
 Herbert's saint's-bell rung to prayers, that they might also 
 offer their devotions to God with him ; and would then return 
 back to their plough. And his most holy life was such, that it 
 begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they thought 
 themselves the happier, when they carried Mr. Herbert's 
 blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was 
 his reason and example to persuade others to a practical piety 
 and devotion. 
 
 And his constant public prayers did never make him to 
 neglect his own private devotions, nor those prayers that he 
 thought himself bound to perform with his family, which 
 always were a set form, and not long ; and he did always 
 conclude them with a collect which the Church hath appointed 
 for the day or week. Thus he made every day's sanctity a step 
 towards that kingdom, where impurity cannot enter. 
 
 His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he 
 was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many 
 divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his lute 
 or viol : and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love 
 to music was such, that he went usually twice every week, on 
 certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury ; 
 and at his return would say, ' That his time spent in prayer, and 
 cathedral-music, elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon 
 earth.' But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would 
 usually sing and play his part at an appointed private music- 
 meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say, 
 ' Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets 
 rules to it.' 
 
 And as his desire to enjoy his heaven upon earth drew him 
 twice every week to Salisbury, so his walks thither were the 
 occasion of many happy accidents to others ; of which I will 
 mention some few.
 
 214 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 In one of his walks to Salisbury, he overtook a gentleman, 
 that is still living in that city ; and in their walk together, Mr. 
 Herbert took a fair occasion to talk with him, and humbly 
 begged to be excused, if he asked him some account of his 
 faith ; and said, ' I do this the rather because though you are 
 not of my parish, yet I receive tithe from you by the hand of 
 your tenant ; and, sir, I am the bolder to do it, because I know 
 there be some sermon-hearers that be like those fishes that 
 always live in salt water, and yet are always fresh.' 
 
 After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some needful 
 questions, and having received his answer, gave him such rules 
 for the trial of his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so 
 loving and meek a manner, that the gentleman did so fall in 
 love with him, and his discourse, that he would often contrive 
 to meet him in his walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to 
 Bemerton ; and still mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert 
 with veneration, and still praiseth God for the occasion of 
 knowing him. 
 
 In another of his Salisbury walks he met with a neighbour 
 minister; and after some friendly discourse betwixt them, and 
 some condolement for the decay of piety, and too general 
 contempt of the clergy, Mr. Herbert took occasion to say : 
 
 ' One cure for these distempers would be for the clergy 
 themselves to keep the ember-weeks strictly, and beg of their 
 parishioners to join with them in fasting and prayers for a more 
 religious clergy. 
 
 ' And another cure would be for themselves to restore the 
 great and neglected duty of catechising, on which the salvation 
 of so many of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend ; 
 but principally, that the clergy themselves would be sure to 
 live unblamably ; and that the dignified clergy especially 
 which preach temperance would avoid surfeiting and take all 
 occasions to express a visible humility and charity in their 
 lives ; for this would force a love and an imitation, and an 
 unfeigned reverence from all that knew them to be such.' 
 (And for proof of this, we need no other testimony than the 
 life and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop of Bath and
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 215 
 
 Wells.) 'This/ said Mr. Herbert, 'would be a cure for the 
 w'ckedness and growing atheism of our age. And, my dear 
 brother, till this be done by us, and done in earnest, let no 
 maa expect a reformation of the manners of the laity ; for 'tis 
 not learning, but this, this only that must do it ; and, till then, 
 the p ault must lie at our doors.' 
 
 In another walk to Salisbury he saw a poor man with a 
 poorer horse, that was fallen under his load : they were both 
 in distress, and needed present help ; which Mr. Herbert 
 perceiving, put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man 
 to unload, and after to load, his horse. The poor man blessed 
 him for it, and he blessed the poor man ; and was so like the 
 good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both 
 himself and his horse ; and told him, ' That if he loved himself 
 he should be merciful to his beast.' Thus he left the poor 
 man : and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, 
 they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to 
 be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and 
 discomposed : but he told them the occasion. And when one 
 of the company told him 'He had disparaged himself by so 
 dirty an employment,' his answer was, 'That the thought of 
 what he had done would prove music to him at midnight ; and 
 that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord 
 in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place : 
 for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure 
 that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I 
 pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion 
 every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one 
 day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy ; 
 and I praise God for this occasion. And now let's tune our 
 instruments.' 
 
 Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his resurrection, did take 
 occasion to interpret the scripture to Cleopas, and that other 
 disciple, which he met with and accompanied in their journey 
 to Emmaus ; so Mr. Herbert, in his path toward heaven, did 
 daily take any fair occasion to instruct the ignorant, or comfort 
 any that were in affliction ; and did always confirm his precepts
 
 216 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 by showing humility and mercy, and ministering grace to the 
 hearers. 
 
 And he was most happy in his wife's unforced compliance 
 with his acts of charity, whom he made his almoner, and paid 
 constantly into her hand, a tenth penny of what money he 
 received for tithe, and gave her power to dispose that to the 
 poor of his parish, and with it a power to dispose a tenth part 
 of the corn that came yearly into his barn : which trust she 
 did most faithfully perform, and would often offer to hiiu an 
 account of her stewardship, and as often beg an enlargement 
 of his bounty ; for she rejoiced in the employment : and this 
 was usually laid out by her in blankets and shoes for some such 
 poor people as she knew to stand in most need of them. This 
 as to her charity. — And for his own, he set no limits to it : nor 
 did ever turn his face from any that he saw in want, but would 
 relieve them ; especially his poor neighbours ; to the meanest 
 of whose houses he would go, and inform himself of their 
 wants, and relieve them cheerfully, if they were in distress ; 
 and would always praise God, as much for being willing, as for 
 being able to do it. And when he was advised by a friend to 
 be more frugal, because he might have children, his answer 
 was, ' He would not see the danger of want so far off: but 
 being the scripture does so commend charity, as to tell us that 
 charity is the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins, the 
 fulfilling of the law, the life of faith ; and that charity hath a 
 promise of the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that 
 life which is to come : being these, and more excellent things 
 are in scripture spoken of thee, O charity ! and that, being all 
 my tithes and Church dues are a deodate from thee, O my 
 God ! make me, O my God ! so far to trust thy promise, as to 
 return them back to thee ; and by thy grace I will do so, in 
 distributing them to any of thy poor members that are in 
 distress, or do but bear the image of Jesus my master.' ' Sir,' 
 said he to his friend, ' my wife hath a competent maintenance 
 secured her after my death ; and therefore, as this is my prayer, 
 so this my resolution shall, by God's grace, be unalterable.' 
 
 This may be some account of the excellencies of the active
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 217 
 
 part of his life ; and thus he continued, till a consumption so 
 weakened him, as to confine him to his house, or to the chapel, 
 which does almost join to it ; in which he continued to read 
 prayers constantly twice every day, though he were very weak : 
 in one of which times of his reading, his wife observed him to 
 read in pain, and told him so, and that it wasted his spirits, 
 and weakened him ; and he confessed it did, but said, his ( life 
 could not be better spent, than in the service of his master 
 Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for him. But,' said 
 he, ' I will not be wilful ; for though my spirit be willing, 
 yet I find my flesh is weak ; and therefore Mr. Bostock shall 
 be appointed to read prayers for me to-morrow; and I will 
 now be only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on 
 immortality.' And Mr. Bostock did the next day undertake 
 and continue this happy employment till Mr. Herbert's death. 
 This Mr. Bostock was a learned and virtuous man, an old 
 friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then his curate to the church 
 of Fulston, which is a mile from Bemerton, to which church 
 Bemerton is but a chapel of ease. And this Mr. Bostock did 
 also constantly supply the Church service for Mr. Herbert in 
 that chapel, when the music-meeting at Salisbury caused his 
 absence from it. 
 
 About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Farrer, 
 — for an account of whom I am by promise indebted to the 
 reader, and intend to make him sudden payment, — hearing 
 of Mr. Hei'bert's sickness, sent Mr. Edmund Duncon — who is 
 now rector of Friar Barnet in the county of Middlesex — from 
 his house of Gidden Hall, which is near to Huntingdon, to 
 see Mr. Herbert, and to assure him he wanted not his daily 
 prayers for his recovery ; and Mr. Duncon was to return back to 
 Gidden, with an account of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr. 
 Duncon found him weak, and at that time lying on his bed, or 
 on a pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon he raised himself 
 vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness inquired 
 the health of his brother Farrer ; of which Mr. Duncon satisfied 
 him, and after some discourse of Mr. Farrer's holy life, and the 
 manner of his constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon, —
 
 218 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 ' Sir, I see by your habit that you are a priest, and I desire you 
 to pray with me : ' which being granted, Mr. Duncon asked 
 him, 'What prayers?' To which Mr. Herbert's answer was, 
 ' O, sir ! the prayers of my mother, the Church of England : no 
 other prayers are equal to them ! But at this time, I beg of 
 you to pray only the Litany, for I am weak and faint : ' and 
 Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other discourse of 
 Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain supper, 
 and a clean lodging, and he betook himself to rest. This Mr. 
 Duncon tells me ; and tells me, that, at his first view of Mr. 
 Herbert, he saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his 
 looks and behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for 
 his person ; and says, ' his discourse was so pious, and his 
 motion so genteel and meek, that after almost forty years, yet 
 they remain still fresh in his memory.' 
 
 The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, and betook himself 
 to a journey to Bath, but with a promise to return back to him 
 within five days ; and he did so : but before I shall say any- 
 thing of what discourse then fell betwixt them two, I will pay 
 my promised account of Mr. Farrer. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Farrer — who got the reputation of being called 
 Saint Nicholas at the age of six years — was born in London, 
 and doubtless had good education in his youth ; but certainly 
 was, at an early age, made Fellow of Clare Hall in Cambridge ; 
 where he continued to be eminent for his piety, temperance, 
 and learning. About the twenty-sixth year of his age he 
 betook himself to travel : in which he added, to his Latin and 
 Greek, a perfect knowledge of all the languages spoken in the 
 western parts of our Christian world ; and understood well the 
 principles of their religion, and of their manner, and the 
 reasons of their worship. In this his travel he met with many 
 persuasions to come into a communion with that Church which 
 calls itself Catholic : but he returned from his travels as he 
 went, eminent for his obedience to his mother, the Church of 
 England. In his absence from England, Mr. Farrer's father — 
 who was a merchant — allowed him a liberal maintenance ; and, 
 not long after his return into England, Mr. Farrer had, by the
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 219 
 
 death of his father, or an elder brother, or both, an estate left 
 him, that enabled him to purchase land to the value of four or 
 five hundred pounds a year ; the greatest part of which land 
 was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from Huntingdon, and 
 about eighteen from Cambridge ; which place he chose for the 
 privacy of it, and for the hall, which had the parish church or 
 chapel belonging and adjoining near to it ; for Mr. Farrer, 
 having seen the manners and vanities of the world, and found 
 them to be, as Mr. Herbert says, 'a nothing between two 
 dishes,' did so contemn it, that he resolved to spend the 
 remainder of his life in mortifications, and in devotion, and 
 charity, and to be always prepared for death. And his life was 
 spent thus : 
 
 He and his family, which were like a little college, and about 
 thirty in number, did most of them keep Lent and all ember 
 weeks strictly, both in fasting and using all those mortifications 
 and prayers that the Church hath appointed to be then used : 
 and he and they did the like constantly on Fridays, and on the 
 vigils or eves appointed to be fasted before the saints' days : 
 and this frugality and abstinence turned to the relief of the 
 poor : but this was but a part of his charity ; none but God and 
 he knew the rest. 
 
 This family, which I have said to be in number about thirty, 
 were a part of them his kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a 
 temper fit to be moulded into a devout life ; and all of them 
 were for their dispositions serviceable, and quiet, and humble, 
 and free from scandal. Having thus fitted himself for his 
 family, he did, about the year 1630, betake himself to a 
 constant and methodical service of God ; and it was in this 
 manner : — He, being accompanied with most of his family, 
 did himself use to read the common prayers — for he was a 
 deacon — every day, at the appointed hours of ten and four, in 
 the parish church, which was very near his house, and which 
 he had both repaired and adorned ; for it was fallen into a 
 great ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the village before 
 Mr. Farrer bought the manor. And he did also constantly 
 read the matins every morning at the hour of six, either in the
 
 220 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 church, or in an oratory, which was within his own house. 
 And many of the family did there continue with him after the 
 prayers were ended, and there they spent some hours in singing 
 hymns, or anthems, sometimes in the church, and often to an 
 organ in the oratory. And there they sometimes betook 
 themselves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to read a part 
 of the New Testament to themselves, or to continue their 
 praying or reading the psalms ; and in case the psalms were 
 not always read in the day, then Mr. Farrer, and others of the 
 congregation, did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, 
 repair to the church or oratory, and there betake themselves 
 to prayers and lauding God, and reading the psalms that had 
 not been read in the day : and when these, or any part of the 
 congregation, grew weary or faint, the watch-bell was rung, 
 sometimes before, and sometimes after midnight ; and then 
 another part of the family rose, and maintained the watch, 
 sometimes by praying, or singing lauds to God, or reading the 
 psalms ; and when, after some hours, they also grew weary 
 or faint, then they rung the watch-bell and were also relieved 
 by some of the former, or by a new part of the society, which 
 continued their devotions — as hath been mentioned — until 
 morning. And it is to be noted, that in this continued serving 
 of God, the psalter or the whole book of psalms, was in every 
 four-and-twenty hours sung or read over, from the first to the 
 last verse : and this was done as constantly as the sun runs his 
 circle every day about the world, and then begins again the 
 same instant that it ended. 
 
 Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family serve God day 
 and night ; thus did they always behave themselves as in his 
 presence. And they did always eat and drink by the strictest 
 rules of temperance ; eat and drink so as to be ready to rise at 
 midnight, or at the call of a watch-bell, and perform their de- 
 votions to God. And it is fit to tell the reader, that many of 
 the clergy, that were more inclined to practical piety and 
 devotion, than to doubtful and needless disputations, did often 
 come to Gidden Hall, and make themselves a part of that 
 happy society, and stay a week or more, and then join with
 
 MR GEORGE HERBERT 221 
 
 Mr. Farrer and the family in these devotions, and assist and 
 ease him or them in their watch by night. And these various 
 devotions had never less than two of the domestic family in 
 the night ; and the watch was always kept in the church or 
 oratory, unless in extreme cold winter nights, and then it was 
 maintained in a parlour, which had a fire in it ; and the parlour 
 was fitted for that purpose. And this course of piety, and 
 great liberality to his poor neighbours, Mr. Farrer maintained 
 till his death, which was in the year 1639- 
 
 Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives were both so 
 noted, that the general report of their sanctity gave them 
 occasion to renew that slight acquaintance which was begun 
 at their being contemporaries in Cambridge ; and this new holy 
 friendship was long maintained without any interview, but only 
 by loving and endearing letters. And one testimony of their 
 friendship and pious designs, may appear by Mr. Farrer's com- 
 mending the Considerations of John Valdcsso — a book which 
 he had met with in his travels, and translated out of Spanish 
 into English, — to be examined and censured by Mr. Herbert 
 before it was made public : which excellent book Mr. Herbert 
 did read, and return back with many marginal notes, as they be 
 now printed with it; and with them, Mr. Herbert's affectionate 
 letter to Mr. Farrer. 
 
 This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his learning 
 and virtue much valued and loved by the great Emperor 
 Charles the Fifth, whom Valdesso had followed as a cavalier 
 all the time of his long and dangerous wars : and when Val- 
 desso grew old, and grew weary both of war and the world, he 
 took his fair opportunity to declare to the Emperor, that his 
 resolution was to decline his Majesty's service, and betake 
 himself to a quiet and contemplative life, ' because there ought 
 to be a vacancy of time betwixt fighting and dying.' The 
 Emperor had himself, for the same, or other like reasons, put 
 on the same resolution : but God and himself did, till then, 
 only know them ; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to 
 consider well of what he had said, and to keep his purpose 
 within his own breast, till they two might have a second
 
 222 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 opportunity of a friendly discourse; which Valdesso promised 
 to do. 
 
 In the meantime the Emperor appoints privately a day for 
 him and Valdesso to meet again ; and after a pious and free 
 discourse, they both agreed on a certain day to receive the 
 blessed sacrament publicly ; and appointed an eloquent and 
 devout friar to preach a sermon of contempt of the world, and 
 of the happiness and benefit of a quiet and contemplative life ; 
 which the friar did most affectionately. After which sermon, 
 the Emperor took occasion to declare openly, 'That the 
 preacher had begot in him a resolution to lay down his dig- 
 nities, and to forsake the world, and betake himself to a 
 monastical life.' And he pretended he had persuaded John 
 Valdesso to do the like : but this is most certain, that after the 
 Emperor had called his son Philip out of England, and resigned 
 to him all his kingdoms, that then the Emperor and John 
 Valdesso did perform their resolutions. 
 
 This account of John Valdesso I received from a friend, 
 that had it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer. And the reader 
 may note, that in this retirement John Valdesso writ his 
 Hundred and Ten Considerations, and many other treatises 
 of worth, which want a second Mr. Farrer to procure and 
 translate them. 
 
 After this account of Mr. Farrer and John Valdesso, I pro- 
 ceed to my account of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Duncon, who 
 according to his promise returned from Bath the fifth day, 
 and then found Mr. Herbert much weaker than he left him ; 
 and therefore their discourse could not be long : but at Mr. 
 Duncon' s parting with him, Mr. Herbert spoke to this purpose : 
 Sir, I pray you give my brother Farrer an account of the 
 decaying condition of my body, and tell him I beg him to 
 continue his daily prayers for me ; and let him know that I 
 have considered, that God only is what he would be ; and that 
 I am, by his grace, become now so like him, as to be pleased 
 with what pleaseth him; and tell him, that I do not repine 
 but am pleased with my want of health : and tell him, my 
 heart is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found ;
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 223 
 
 and that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed 
 change with hope and patience.' Having said this, he did, 
 with so sweet a humility as seemed to exalt him, bow down to 
 Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful and contented look, say to 
 him, ' Sir, I pray deliver this little book to my dear brother 
 Farrer, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many 
 spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, 
 before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my master: in 
 whose service I have now found perfect freedom. Desire him 
 to read it ; and then, if he can think it may turn to the ad- 
 vantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public ; if 
 not, let him- burn it; for I and it are less than the least 
 of God's mercies.' Thus meanly did this humble man think 
 of this excellent book, which now bears the name of The 
 Temple; or, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations ; of which 
 Mr. Farrer would say, e There was in it the picture of a 
 divine soul in every page : and that the whole book was 
 such a harmony of holy passions, as would enrich the world 
 with pleasure and piety.' And it appears to have done so ; 
 for there have been more than twenty thousand of them sold 
 since the first impression. 
 
 And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer sent 
 this book to Cambridge to be licensed for the press, the Vice- 
 Chancellor would by no means allow the two so much noted 
 verses, 
 
 Religion stands a tiptoe in our land, 
 Ready to pass to the American strand, 
 
 to be printed ; and Mr. Farrer would by no means allow the 
 book to be printed and want them. But after some time, and 
 some arguments for and against their being made public, the 
 Vice-Chancellor said, ' I knew Mr. Herbert well, and know that 
 he had many heavenly speculations, and was a divine poet : but 
 I hope the world will not take him to be an inspired prophet, 
 and therefore I license the whole book.' So that it came to be 
 printed without the diminution or addition of a syllable, since 
 it was delivered into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save only that
 
 224 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent preface that is printed 
 before it. 
 
 At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert, — which 
 was about three weeks before his death, — his old and dear 
 friend Mr. Woodnot came from London to Bemerton, and 
 never left him till he had seen him draw his last breath, and 
 closed his eyes on his death-bed. In this time of his decay, he 
 was often visited and prayed for by all the clergy that lived 
 near to him, especially by his friends the Bishop and Prebends 
 of the Cathedral Church in Salisbury ; but by none more de- 
 voutly than his wife, his three nieces, — then a part of his 
 family, — and Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of his 
 daily decay ; to whom he would often speak to this purpose : 
 ' I now look back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see 
 the content I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and 
 pleasant conversation, are now all past by me like a dream, or 
 as a shadow that returns not, and are now all become dead to 
 me, or I to them ; and I see, that as my father and generation 
 hath done before me, so I also shall now suddenly (with Job) 
 make my bed also in the dark ; and I praise God I am prepared 
 for it ; and I praise him that I am not to learn patience now I 
 stand in such need of it ; and that I have practised mortifica- 
 tion, and endeavoured to die daily, that I might not die 
 eternally ; and my hope is, that I shall shortly leave this 
 valley of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain ; and, 
 which will be a more happy condition, I shall be free from 
 sin, and all the temptations and anxieties that attend it : and 
 this being past, I shall dwell in the New Jerusalem ; dwell 
 there with men made perfect ; dwell where these eyes shall 
 see my master and Saviour Jesus ; and with him see my dear 
 mother, and all my relations and friends. But I must die, or 
 not come to that happy place. And this is my content, that I 
 am going daily towards it : and that every day which I have 
 lived, hath taken a part of my appointed time from me ; and 
 that I shall live the less time, for having lived this and the day 
 past/ These, and the like expressions, which he uttered often, 
 may be said to be his enjoyment of heaven before he enjoyed
 
 MR GEORGE HERBERT 225 
 
 it. The Sunday before his death, he rose suddenly from his 
 bed or couch, called for one of his instruments, took it into his 
 hand and said, — 
 
 My God, my God, 
 
 My music shall find thee, 
 
 And every string 
 Shall have his attribute to sing. 
 
 And having tuned it, he played and sung — 
 
 The Sundays of man's life, 
 Threaded together on time's string, 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternal glorious King : 
 On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope ; 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife, 
 
 More plentiful than hope. 
 
 Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the 
 angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer now sing in heaven. 
 
 Thus he continued meditating, and praying, and rejoicing, 
 till the day of his death ; and on that day said to Mr. Woodnot, 
 ' My dear friend, I am sorry I have nothing to present to my 
 merciful God but sin and misery ; but the first is pardoned, and 
 a few hours will now put a period to the latter; for I shall 
 suddenly go hence, and be no more seen.' Upon which ex- 
 pression Mr. Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the 
 re-edifying Layton Church, and his many acts of mercy. To 
 which he made answer, saying, ' They be good works, if they 
 be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not otherwise.' 
 After this discourse he became more restless, and his soul 
 seemed to be weary of her earthly tabernacle ; and this un- 
 easiness became so visible, that his wife, his three nieces, and 
 Mr. Woodnot, stood constantly about his bed, beholding him 
 with sorrow, and an unwillingness to lose the sight of him, 
 whom they could not hope to see much longer. As they stood 
 thus beholding him, his wife observed him to breathe faintly, 
 and with much trouble, and observed him to fall into a sudden 
 agony; which so surprised her, that she fell into a sudden 
 
 P
 
 226 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 passion, and required of him to know how he did. To which 
 his answer was, 'that he had passed a conflict with his last 
 enemy, and had overcome him by the merits of his master 
 Jesus.' After which answer, he looked up, and saw his wife 
 and nieces weeping to an extremity, and charged them, if they 
 loved him, to withdraw into the next room, and there pray 
 every one alone for him ; for nothing but their lamentations 
 could make his death uncomfortable. To which request their 
 sighs and tears would not suffer them to make any reply ; but 
 they yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. 
 Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. Immediately after they had left 
 him, he said to Mr. Bostock, ' Pray, sir, open that door, then 
 look into that cabinet, in which you may easily find my last 
 will, and give it into my hand:' which being done, Mr. 
 Herbert delivered it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, 
 ' My old friend, I here deliver you my last will, in which you 
 will find that I have made you my sole executor for the good 
 of my wife and nieces ; and I desire you to show kindness to 
 them, as they shall need it : I do not desire you to be just; for 
 I know you will be so for your own sake ; but I charge you, by 
 the religion of our friendship, to be careful of them.' And 
 having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to be so, he said, ' I 
 am now ready to die.' After which words, he said, ' Lord, for- 
 sake me not now my strength faileth me : but grant me mercy 
 for the merits of my Jesus. And now, Lord — Lord, now re- 
 ceive my soul.' And with those words he breathed forth his 
 divine soul, without any apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot 
 and Mr. Bostock attending his last breath, and closing his 
 eyes. 
 
 Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a saint, unspotted of 
 the world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the 
 examples of a virtuous life ; which I cannot conclude better, 
 than with this borrowed observation : 
 
 — All must to their cold graves : 
 
 But the religious actions of the just 
 
 Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.
 
 MR GEORGE HERBERT 227 
 
 Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, and will doubt- 
 less do so to succeeding generations. I have but this to say 
 more of him ; that if Andrew Melvin died before him, then 
 George Herbert died without an enemy. I wish — if God 
 shall be so pleased — that I may be so happy as to die like 
 him. Iz. Wa. 
 
 There is a debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Herbert's 
 virtuous wife ; a part of which I will endeavour to pay, by a 
 very short account of the remainder of her life, which shall 
 follow. 
 
 She continued his disconsolate widow about six years, be- 
 moaning herself, and complaining, that she had lost the delight 
 of her eyes ; but more that she had lost the spiritual guide for 
 her poor soul ; and would often say, ' O that I had, like holy 
 Mary, the mother of Jesus, treasured up all his sayings in my 
 heart ! But since I have not been able to do that, I will labour 
 to live like him, that where he now is I may be also.' And she 
 would often say, — as the prophet David for his son Absalom, — 
 ' O that I had died for him ! ' Thus she continued mourning 
 till time and conversation had so moderated her sorrows, that 
 she became the happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam, in 
 the county of Gloucester, Knight. And though he put a high 
 value on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and body, 
 and was so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a master, 
 but as an affectionate husband ; yet she would even to him 
 often take occasion to mention the name of Mr. George 
 Herbert, and say, that name must live in her memory till she 
 put off mortality. By Sir Robert she had only one child, a 
 daughter, whose parts and plentiful estate make her happy in 
 this world, and her well using of them gives a fair testimony 
 that she will be so in that which is to come. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert eight years, and 
 lived his widow about fifteen ; all which time she took a 
 pleasure in mentioning and commending the excellencies of 
 Mr. George Herbert. She died in the year 1663, and lies 
 buried at Highnam : Mr. Herbert in his own church, under
 
 228 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 the altar, and covered with a gravestone without any inscrip- 
 tion. 
 
 This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's private 
 writings, which she intended to make public ; but they and 
 Highnam House were burnt together by the late rebels, and so 
 lost to posterity. I. W. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 TO NICHOLAS FARRER 
 
 (The Translator of Valdesso). 
 
 ' My dear and deserving brother, your Valdesso I now return 
 with many thanks, and some notes, in which perhaps you will 
 discover some care which I forbear not in the midst of my 
 griefs ; first for your sake, because I would do nothing negli- 
 gently that you commit unto me : secondly for the author's 
 sake, whom I conceive to have been a true servant of God ; and 
 to such, and all that is their' s, I owe diligence : thirdly for the 
 Church's sake, to whom by printing it, I would have you conse- 
 crate it. You owe the Church a debt, and God hath put this 
 into your hands — as he sent the fish with money to St. Peter 
 — to discharge it ; happily also with this — as his thoughts are 
 fruitful — intending the honour of his servant the author, who, 
 being obscured in his own country, he would have to flourish in 
 this land of light, and region of the gospel among his chosen. 
 It is true there are some things which I like not in him, as my 
 fragments will express, when you read them : nevertheless, I 
 wish you by all means to publish it, for these three eminent 
 things observable therein: First, that God in the midst of 
 Popery should open the eyes of one to understand and express 
 so clearly and excellently the intent of the gospel in the ac- 
 ceptation of Christ's righteousness, — as he showeth through all 
 his considerations, — a thing strangely buried and darkened by 
 the adversaries, and their great stumbling-block. Secondly, the
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 229 
 
 great honour and reverence which he everywhere bears towards 
 our dear master and Lord ; concluding every consideration 
 almost with his holy name, and setting his merit forth so 
 piously ; for which I do so love him, that were there nothing 
 else, I would print it, that with it the honour of my Lord 
 might be published. Thirdly, the many pious rules of ordering 
 our life about mortification, and observation of God's kingdom 
 within us, and the working thereof; of which he was a very 
 diligent observer. These three things are very eminent in the 
 author, and overweigh the defects — as I conceive — towards the 
 publishing thereof 
 
 From his Parsonage of Bemerton, near Salisbury, 
 Sept. 29th, 1632.
 
 LIFE OF 
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 
 
 LATE LORD BISHOP OF LINCOLN 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 TO THE RIGHT REVEREND AND HONOURABLE 
 
 GEORGE, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER 
 
 PRELATE OF THE GARTER AND ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRIVY COUNCIL 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 If I should undertake to enumerate the many favours and ad- 
 vantages I have had by my very long acquaintance with your Lord- 
 ship, I should enter upon an employment that might prove as tedious 
 as the collecting of the materials for this poor monument, which I 
 have erected, and do dedicate to the memory of your beloved friend, 
 Dr. Sanderson : but though I will not venture to do that ; yet I do 
 remember with pleasure, and remonstrate with gratitude, that your 
 Lordship made me known to him, Mr. Chillingmorth, and Dr. 
 Hammond j men, whose merits ought never to be forgotten. 
 
 My friendship with the first was begun almost forty years past, 
 when I was as far from a thought as a desire to outlive him ; and 
 further from an intention to write his life. But the wise Disposer 
 of all men's lives and actions hath prolonged the first, and now 
 permitted the last ; which is here dedicated to your Lordship, — and, 
 as it ought to be — with all humility, and a desire that it may remain 
 as a public testimony of my gratitude. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your most affectionate old friend, and most humble servant, 
 
 IZAAK WALTON. 
 
 231
 
 232 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 I dare neither think, nor assure the reader, that I have com- 
 mitted no mistakes in this relation of the life of Dr. Sanderson ; 
 but I am sure there is none that are either wilful, or very- 
 material. I confess it was worthy the employment of some 
 person of more learning and greater abilities than I can pretend 
 to ; and I have not a little wondered that none have yet been 
 so grateful to him and to posterity as to undertake it. For it 
 may be noted, that our Saviour hath had such care, that, for 
 Mary Magdalen's kindness to him, her name should never be 
 forgotten : and doubtless Dr. Sanderson's meek and innocent 
 life, his great and useful learning, might therefore challenge 
 the like endeavours to preserve his memory : and 'tis to me a 
 wonder that it has been already fifteen years neglected. But, 
 in saying this, my meaning is not to upbraid others, — I am far 
 from that, — but excuse myself, or beg pardon for daring to 
 attempt it. This being premised, I desire to tell the reader, 
 that in this relation I have been so bold as to paraphrase and 
 say what I think he — whom I had the happiness to know well 
 — would have said upon the same occasions : and if I have erred 
 in this kind, and cannot now beg pardon of him that loved 
 me ; yet I do of my reader, from whom I desire the same 
 favour. 
 
 And, though my age might have procured me a writ of 
 ease, and that secured me from all further trouble in this kind ; 
 yet I met with such persuasions to begin, and so many willing 
 informers since, and from them, and others, such helps and en- 
 couragements to proceed, that when I found myself faint, and 
 weary of the burthen with which I had loaden myself, and 
 ready to lay it down ; yet time and new strength hath at last 
 brought it to be what it now is, and presented to the reader, 
 and with it this desire ; that he will take notice, that Dr. 
 Sanderson did in his will, or last sickness, advertise, that after 
 his death nothing of his might be printed ; because that might 
 be said to be his which indeed was not ; and also for that he
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 233 
 
 might have changed his opinion since he first writ it. And 
 though these reasons ought to be regarded, yet regarded so, 
 as he resolves in that case of conscience concerning rash vows ; 
 that there may appear very good second reasons why we may 
 forbear to perform them. However, for his said reasons, they 
 ought to be read as we do Apocryphal Scripture ; to explain, 
 but not oblige us to so firm a belief of what is here presented 
 as his. 
 
 And I have this to say more : That as in my queries for 
 writing Dr. Sanderson's life, I met with these little tracts 
 annexed ; so, in my former queries for my information to write 
 the life of venerable Mr. Hooker, I met with a sermon, which I 
 also believe was really his, and here presented as his to the 
 reader. It is affirmed, — and I have met with reason to believe 
 it, — that there be some artists that do certainly know an ori- 
 ginal picture from a copy ; and in what age of the world, and by 
 whom drawn. And if so, then I hope it may be as safely 
 affirmed, that what is here presented for theirs is so like their 
 temper of mind, their other writings, the times when, and the 
 occasions upon which they were writ, that all readers may 
 safely conclude they could be writ by none but venerable Mr. 
 Hooker, and the humble and learned Dr. Sanderson. 
 
 And lastly, I am now glad that I have collected these 
 memoirs, which lay scattered, and contracted them into a 
 narrower compass ; and if I have, by the pleasant toil of doing 
 so, either pleased or profited any man, I have attained what I 
 designed when I first undertook it. But I seriously wish, both 
 for the reader's and Dr. Sanderson's sake, that posterity had 
 known his great learning and virtue by a better pen ; by such 
 a pen as could have made his life as immortal as his learning 
 and merits ought to be. 
 
 I. W. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 Doctor Robert Sanderson, the late learned Bishop of Lincoln, 
 whose life I intend to write with all truth and equal plainness?
 
 234 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 was born the nineteenth clay of September in the year of our 
 redemption 1587. The place of his birth was Rotherham in 
 the county of York ; a town of good note, and the more for 
 that Thomas Rotherham, sometime archbishop of that see, 
 was born in it ; a man, whose great wisdom, and bounty, and 
 sanctity of life, have made it the more memorable : as indeed it 
 ought also to be, for being the birthplace of our Robert 
 Sanderson. And the reader will be of my belief, if this humble 
 relation of his life can hold any proportion with his great piety, 
 his useful learning, and his many other extraordinary endow- 
 ments. 
 
 He was the second and youngest son of Robert Sanderson, 
 of Gilthwaite Hall, in the said Parish and County, Esq., by 
 Elizabeth, one of the daughters of Richard Carr, of Butter- 
 thwaite Hall, in the Parish of Ecclesfield, in the said County of 
 York, Gentleman. 
 
 This Robert Sanderson, the father, was descended from a 
 numerous, ancient, and honourable family of his own name : for 
 the search of which truth, I refer my reader, that inclines to 
 it, to Dr. Thoroton's History of the Antiquities of Nottingham- 
 shire, and other records ; not thinking it necessary here to 
 engage him into a search for bare titles, which are noted to 
 have in them nothing of reality : for titles not acquired, but 
 derived only, do but show us who of our ancestors have, and 
 how they have achieved that honour which their descendants 
 claim, and may not be worthy to enjoy. For, if those titles 
 descend to persons that degenerate into vice, and break off the 
 continued line of learning, or valour, or that virtue that acquired 
 them, they destroy the very foundation upon which that 
 honour was built ; and all the rubbish of their vices ought to 
 fall heavy on such dishonourable heads ; ought to fall so heavy, 
 as to degrade them of their titles, and blast their memories with 
 reproach and shame. 
 
 But our Robert Sanderson lived worthy of his name and 
 family : of which one testimony may be, that Gilbert, called 
 the great Earl of Shrewsbury, thought him not unworthy to be 
 joined with him as a godfather to Gilbert Sheldon, the late
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 235 
 
 Lord Archbishop of Canterbury ; to whose merits and memory, 
 posterity — the clergy especially — ought to pay a reverence. 
 
 But I return to my intended relation of Robert the son, who 
 began in his youth to make the laws of God, and obedience 
 to his parents, the rules of his life ; seeming even then to dedi- 
 cate himself, and all his studies, to piety and virtue. 
 
 And as he was inclined to this by that native goodness, with 
 which the wise Disposer of all hearts had endowed his ; so this 
 calm, this quiet and happy temper of mind — his being mild, and 
 averse to oppositions — made the whole course of his life easy 
 and grateful both to himself and others : and this blessed 
 temper was maintained and improved by his prudent father's 
 good example ; and by frequent conversing with him, and 
 scattering short apophthegms and little pleasant stories, and 
 making useful applications of them, his son was in his infancy 
 taught to abhor vanity and vice as monsters, and to discern the 
 loveliness of wisdom and virtue ; and by these means, and 
 God's concurring grace, his knowledge was so augmented, and 
 his native goodness so confirmed, that all became so habitual, 
 as it was not easy to determine whether nature or education 
 were his teachers. 
 
 And here let me tell the reader, that these early beginnings 
 of virtue, were by God's assisting grace, blessed with what 
 St. Paul seemed to beg for his Philippians ; namely, ' That he 
 that had begun a good work in them would finish it.' And 
 Almighty God did : for his whole life was so regular and 
 innocent, that he might have said at his death — and with 
 truth and comfort — what the same St. Paul said after to 
 the same Philippians, when he advised them to walk as they 
 had him for an example. 
 
 And this goodness, of which I have spoken, seemed to in- 
 crease as his years did ; and with his goodness his learning, the 
 foundation of which was laid in the grammar school of Rother- 
 ham — that being one of those three that were founded and 
 liberally endowed by the said great and good Bishop of that 
 name. And in this time of his being a scholar there, he was 
 observed to use an unwearied diligence to attain learning, and
 
 236 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 to have a seriousness beyond his age, and with it a more than 
 common modesty ; and to be of so calm and obliging a be- 
 haviour, that the master and whole number of scholars loved 
 him as one man. 
 
 And in this love and amity he continued at that school till 
 about the thirteenth year of his age ; at which time his father 
 designed to improve his grammar learning by removing him 
 from Kotherham to one of the more noted schools of Eton or 
 Westminster ; and after a year's stay there, then to remove him 
 thence to Oxford. But, as he went with him, he called on an 
 old friend, a minister of noted learning, and told him his 
 intentions ; and he, after many questions with his son, received 
 such answers from him, that he assured his father, his son was 
 so perfect a grammarian, that he had laid a good foundation to 
 build any or all the arts upon ; and therefore advised him to 
 shorten his journey, and leave him at Oxford. And his father 
 did so. 
 
 His father left him there to the sole care and manage of 
 Dr. Kilbie, who was then Rector of Lincoln College. And he, 
 after some time and trial of his manners and learning, thought 
 fit to enter him of that college, and after to matriculate him 
 in the university, which he did the first of July, 1603 ; but he 
 was not chosen Fellow till the third of May, 1606; at which 
 time he had taken his degree of Bachelor of Arts : at the 
 taking of which degree, his tutor told the rector, 'That his 
 pupil Sanderson had a metaphysical brain and a matchless 
 memory ; and that he thought he had improved or made the 
 last so by an art of his own invention.' And all the future 
 employments of his life proved that his tutor was not mistaken. 
 I must here stop my reader, and tell him that this Dr. Kilbie 
 was a man of so great learning and wisdom, and was so ex- 
 cellent a critic in the Hebrew tongue, that he was made 
 Professor of it in this university ; and was also so perfect a 
 Grecian, that he was by King James appointed to be one of 
 the translators of the Bible ; and that this Doctor and Mr. 
 Sanderson had frequent discourses, and loved as father and 
 son. The Doctor was to ride a journey into Derbyshire, and
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 237 
 
 took Mr. Sanderson to bear him company : and they going 
 together on a Sunday with the Doctor's friend to that parish 
 church where they then were, found the young preacher to 
 have no more discretion than to waste a great part of the 
 hour allotted for his sermon in exceptions against the late 
 translation of several words, — not expecting such a hearer as 
 Dr. Kilbie, — and showed three reasons why a particular word 
 should have been otherwise translated. When evening prayer 
 was ended, the preacher was invited to the Doctor's friend's 
 house ; where after some other conference the Doctor told 
 him, ' He might have preached more useful doctrine, and not 
 have filled his auditors' ears with needless exceptions against 
 the late translation : and for that word, for which he offered to 
 that poor congregation three reasons why it ought to have 
 been translated as he said ; he and others had considered all 
 them, and found thirteen more considerable reasons why it 
 was translated as now printed ; ' and told him, ' If his friend, 
 then attending him, should prove guilty of such indiscretion, 
 he should forfeit his favour.' To which Mr. Sanderson said, 
 ' He hoped he should not.' And the preacher was so in- 
 genuous as to say, ' He would not justify himself.' And so I 
 return to Oxford. In the year 1608, — July the 11th, — Mr. 
 Sanderson was completed Master of Arts. I am not ignorant, 
 that for the attaining these dignities the time was shorter 
 than was then or is now required ; but either his birth or 
 the well performance of some extraordinary exercise, or some 
 other merit, made him so : and the reader is requested to 
 believe, that 'twas the last : and requested to believe also, 
 that if I be mistaken in the time, the college records have 
 misinformed me : but I hope they have not. 
 
 In that year of 1608, he was — November the 7th — by his 
 college chosen Reader of Logic in the house ; which he per- 
 formed so well, that he was chosen again the sixth of November, 
 1609. In the year 1613, he was chosen Sub-Rector of the 
 college, and the like for the year 1614, and chosen again to 
 the same dignity and trust for the year l6l6. 
 
 In all which time and employments, his abilities and be-
 
 238 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 haviour were such, as procured him both love and reverence 
 from the whole society ; there being no exception against him 
 for any faults, but a sorrow for the infirmities of his being 
 too timoi*ous and bashful ; both which were, God knows, so 
 connatural as they never left him. And I know not whether 
 his lovers ought to wish they had ; for they proved so like 
 the radical moisture in man's body, that they preserved 
 the life of virtue in his soul, which by God's assisting grace 
 never left him till this life put on immortality. Of which 
 happy infirmities — if they may be so called — more hereafter. 
 
 In the year 1614 he stood to be elected one of the Proctors 
 for the university. And 'twas not to satisfy any ambition of 
 his own, but to comply with the desire of the rector and 
 whole society, of which he was a member ; who had not had 
 a Proctor chosen out of their college for the space of sixty 
 years; — namely, not from the year 1554, unto his standing; — 
 and they persuaded him, that if he would but stand for Proctor, 
 his merits were so generally known, and he so well beloved, 
 that 'twas but appearing, and he would infallibly carry it 
 against any opposers ; and told him, ' That he would by that 
 means recover a right or reputation that was seemingly dead 
 to his college.' By these, and other like persuasions, he 
 yielded up his own reason to their's, and appeared to stand 
 for Proctor. But that election was carried on by so sudden 
 and secret, and by so powerful a faction, that he missed it. 
 Which, when he undei'stood, he professed seriously to his 
 friends, ' That if he were troubled at the disappointment, it 
 was for their's, and not for his own sake : for he was far from 
 any desire of such an employment, as must be managed with 
 charge and trouble, and was too usually rewarded with hard 
 censures, or hatred, or both.' 
 
 In the year following he was earnestly persuaded by Dr. 
 Kilbie and others to review the logic lectures which he 
 had read some years past in his college ; and, that done, to 
 methodise and print them, for the ease and public good of 
 posterity. But though he had an averseness to appear publicly 
 in print ; yet after many serious solicitations, and some second
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 239 
 
 thoughts of his own, he laid aside his modesty, and promised 
 he would: and he did so in that year of 1615. And the book 
 proved as his friends seemed to prophesy, that is, of great and 
 general use, whether we respect the art or the author. For 
 logic may be said to be an art of right reasoning ; an art that 
 undeceives men who take falsehood for truth ; enables men to 
 pass a true judgment, and detect those fallacies, which in 
 some men's understandings usurp the place of right reason. 
 And how great a master our author was in this art, will 
 quickly appear from that clearness of method, argument, 
 and demonstration, which is so conspicuous in all his other 
 writings. He, who had attained to so great a dexterity in 
 the use of reason himself, was best qualified to prescribe 
 rules and directions for the instruction of others. And I am 
 the more satisfied of the excellency and usefulness of this, 
 his first public undertaking, by hearing that most tutors in 
 both universities teach Dr. Sanderson's logic to their pupils, 
 as a foundation upon which they are to build their future 
 studies in philosophy. And, for a further confirmation of 
 my belief, the reader may note, that since his book of logic 
 was first printed there has not been less than ten thousand 
 sold : and that 'tis like to continue both to discover truth and 
 to clear and confirm the reason of the unborn world. 
 
 It will easily be believed that his former standing for a 
 Proctor's place, and being disappointed, must prove much 
 displeasing to a man of his great wisdom and modesty, and 
 create in him an averseness to run a second hazard of his 
 credit and content : and yet he was assured by Dr. Kilbie, 
 and the Fellows of his own college, and most of those that 
 had opposed him in the former election, that his book of 
 logic had purchased for him such a belief of his learning 
 and prudence, and his behaviour at the former election had 
 got for him so great and so general a love, that all his former 
 opposers repented what they had done ; and therefore per- 
 suaded him to venture to stand a second time. And, upon 
 these, and other like encouragements, he did again, but not 
 without an inward unwillingness, yield up his own reason to
 
 240 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 their' s, and promised to stand. And he did so ; and was, the 
 tenth of April, l6l6, chosen Senior Proctor for the year 
 following ; Mr. Charles Crooke of Christ Church being then 
 chosen the Junior. 
 
 In this year of his being Proctor, there happened many 
 memorable accidents; namely, Dr. Robert Abbot, Master of 
 Balliol College, and Regius Professor of Divinity, — who being 
 elected or consecrated Bishop of Sarum some months before, 
 — was solemnly conducted out of Oxford towards his diocese, 
 by the heads of all houses, and the chief of all the university. 
 And Dr. Prideaux succeeded him in the Professorship, in which 
 he continued till the year 1642, — being then elected Bishop of 
 Worcester, — and then our now Proctor, Mr. Sanderson, suc- 
 ceeded him in the Regius Professorship. 
 
 And in this year Dr. Arthur Lake — then Warden of New 
 College — was advanced to the Bishopric of Bath and Wells : a 
 man of whom I take myself bound in justice to say, that he 
 has made the great trust committed to him the chief care 
 and whole business of his life. And one testimony of this 
 proof may be, that he sate usually with his chancellor in his 
 consistory, and at least advised, if not assisted, in most 
 sentences for the punishing of such offenders as deserved 
 Church censures. And it may be noted, that, after a sentence 
 for penance was pronounced, he did very rarely, or never, allow 
 of any commutation for the offence, but did usually see the 
 sentence for penance executed ; and then as usually preached 
 a sermon on mortification and repentance, and did so apply 
 them to the offenders, that then stood before him, as begot 
 in them a devout contrition, and at least resolutions to 
 amend their lives : and having done that, he would take 
 them — though never so poor — to dinner with him, and use 
 them friendly, and dismiss them with his blessing and 
 persuasions to a virtuous life, and beg them to believe him. 
 And his humility and charity, and other Christian excellencies, 
 were all like this. Of all which the reader may inform himself 
 in his life, truly writ, and printed before his sermons. 
 
 And in this year also, the very prudent and very wise Lord
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 241 
 
 Ellesmere, who was so very long Lord Chancellor of England, 
 and then of Oxford, resigning up the last, the Right Honour- 
 able, and as magnificent, William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, 
 was chosen to succeed him. 
 
 And in this year our late King Charles the First — then 
 Prince of Wales, came honourably attended to Oxford ; and 
 having deliberately visited the university, the schools, col- 
 leges, and libraries, he and his attendants were entertained 
 with ceremonies and feasting suitable to their dignity and 
 merits. 
 
 And this year King James sent letters to the university 
 for the regulating their studies ; especially of the young 
 divines : advising they should not rely on modern sums and 
 systems, but study the fathers and councils, and the more 
 primitive learning. And this advice was occasioned by the 
 indiscreet inferences made by very many preachers out of 
 Mr. Calvin's doctrine concerning predestination, universal re- 
 demption, the irresistibility of God's grace, and of some other 
 knotty points depending upon these ; points which many 
 think were not, but by interpreters forced to be, Mr. Calvin's 
 meaning ; of the truth or falsehood of which I pretend not 
 to have an ability to judge; my meaning in this relation being 
 only to acquaint the reader with the occasion of the King's 
 letter. 
 
 It may be observed that the various accidents of this year 
 did afford our Proctor large and laudable matter to dilate and 
 discourse upon : and that though his office seemed, according 
 to statute and custom, to require him to do so at his leaving 
 it ; yet he chose rather to pass them over with some very short 
 observations, and present the governors, and his other hearers, 
 with rules to keep up discipline and order in the university ; 
 which at that time was, either by defective statutes, or want 
 of the due execution of those that were good, grown to be 
 extremely irregular. And in this year also, the magisterial 
 part of the Proctor required more diligence, and was more 
 difficult to be managed than formerly, by reason of a multi- 
 plicity of new statutes, which begot much confusion ; some of 
 
 Q
 
 242 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 which statutes were then, and others suddenly after, put into 
 an useful execution. And though these statutes were not 
 then made so perfectly useful as they were designed, till 
 Archbishop Laud's time — who assisted in the forming and 
 promoting them ; — yet our present Proctor made them as 
 effectual as discretion and diligence could do : of which one 
 example may seem worthy the noting ; namely, that if in his 
 night walk he met with irregular scholars absent from their 
 colleges at university hours, or disordered by drink, or in 
 scandalous company, he did not use his power of punishing to 
 an extremity ; but did usually take their names, and a promise 
 to appear before him unsent for next morning : and when they 
 did, convinced them, with such obligingness, and reason added 
 to it, that they parted from him with such resolutions, as the 
 man after God's own heart was possessed with, when he 
 said, ' There is mercy with thee, and therefore thou shalt be 
 feared ' — Psal. cxxx. 4. And by this and a like behaviour to 
 all men, he was so happy as to lay down this dangerous em- 
 ployment, as but very few, if any, have done, even without an 
 enemy. 
 
 After his speech was ended, and he retired with a friend 
 into a convenient privacy, he looked upon his friend with a 
 more than common cheerfulness, and spake to him to this 
 purpose : ' I look back upon my late employment with some 
 content to myself, and a great thankfulness to Almighty God 
 that he hath made me of a temper not apt to provoke the 
 meanest of mankind, but rather to pass by infirmities, if 
 noted ; and in this employment I have had — God knows — many 
 occasions to do both. And when I consider how many of a 
 contrary temper are by sudden and small occasions transported 
 and hurried by anger to commit such errors, as they in that 
 passion could not foresee, and will in their more calm and 
 deliberate thoughts upbraid, and require repentance : and 
 consider, that though repentance secures us from the punish- 
 ment of any sin, yet how much more comfortable it is to be 
 innocent than need pardon : and consider, that errors against 
 men, though pardoned both by God and them, do yet leave
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 243 
 
 such anxious and upbraiding impressions in the memory, as 
 abates of the offender's content : — when I consider all this, 
 and that God hath of his goodness given me a temper that 
 hath prevented me from running into such enormities, I re- 
 member my temper with joy and thankfulness. And though 
 I cannot say with David — I wish I could, — that therefore ' his 
 praise shall always be in my mouth' (Psal. xxxiv. 1); yet I 
 hope, that by his grace, and that grace seconded by my 
 endeavours, it shall never be blotted out of my memory ; and 
 I now beseech Almighty God that it never may/ 
 
 And here I must look back, and mention one passage more 
 in his Proctorship, which is, that Gilbert Sheldon, the late 
 Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, was this year sent to Trinity 
 College in that university ; and not long after his entrance 
 there, a letter was sent after him from his godfather — the 
 father of our Proctor — to let his son know it, and commend 
 his godson to his acquaintance, and to more than a common 
 care of his behaviour; which proved a pleasing injunction to 
 our Proctor, who was so gladly obedient to his father's desire, 
 that he some few days after sent his servitor to entreat Mr. 
 Sheldon to his chamber next morning. But it seems Mr. 
 Sheldon having — like a young man as he was — run into some 
 such irregularity as made him conscious he had transgressed 
 his statutes, did therefore apprehend the Proctor's invitation 
 as an introduction to punishment ; the fear of which made 
 his bed restless that night : but, at their meeting the next 
 morning, that fear vanished immediately by the Proctor's 
 cheerful countenance, and the freedom of their discourse of 
 friends. And let me tell my reader, that this first meeting 
 proved the beginning of as spiritual a friendship as human 
 nature is capable of; of a friendship free from all self ends: 
 and it continued to be so, till death forced a separation of it 
 on earth ; but it is now reunited in heaven. 
 
 And now, having given this account of his behaviour, and 
 the considerable accidents, in his Proctorship, I proceed to 
 tell my reader, that, this busy employment being ended, he 
 preached his sermon for his degree of Bachelor in Divinity
 
 244 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 in as elegant Latin, and as remarkable for the matter, as hath 
 been preached in that university since that day. And having 
 well performed his other exercises for that degree, he took 
 it the nine - and - twentieth of May following, having been 
 ordained deacon and priest in the year 1 6 1 1 , by John King, 
 then Bishop of London, who had not long before been Dean 
 of Christ Church, and then knew him so well, that he became 
 his most affectionate friend. And in this year, being then 
 about the twenty-ninth of his age, he took from the university 
 a licence to preach. 
 
 In the year 1618, he was by Sir Nicholas Sanderson, Lord 
 Viscount Castleton, presented to the rectory of Wibberton, 
 not far from Boston, in the county of Lincoln, a living of very 
 good value ; but it lay in so low and wet a part of that country 
 as was inconsistent with his health. And health being— next 
 to a good conscience — the greatest of God's blessings in this 
 life, and requiring therefore of every man a care and diligence 
 to preserve it, he, apprehending a danger of losing it, if he 
 continued at Wibberton a second winter, did therefore resign 
 it back into the hands of his worthy kinsman and patron, about 
 one year after his donation of it to him. 
 
 And about this time of his resignation he was presented 
 to the rectory of Boothby Pannell, in the same county of 
 Lincoln ; a town which has been made famous, and must 
 continue to be famous, because Dr. Sanderson, the humble 
 and learned Dr. Sanderson, was more than forty years parson 
 of Boothby Pannell, and from thence dated all or most of his 
 matchless writings. 
 
 To this living — which was of no less value, but a purer air 
 than Wibberton — he was presented by Thomas Harrington, 
 of the same county and parish, Esq., who was a gentleman 
 of a very ancient family, and of great use and esteem in his 
 country during his whole life. And in this Boothby Panned 
 the meek and charitable Dr. Sanderson and his patron lived 
 with an endearing, mutual, and comfortable friendship, till the 
 death of the last put a period to it. 
 
 About the time that he was made parson of Boothby
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 245 
 
 Pannell, he resigned his Fellowship of Lincoln College unto 
 the then Rector and Fellows ; and his resignation is recorded 
 in these words : 
 
 Ego Robertus Sanderson perpetuus, etc. 
 
 I, Robert Sanderson, Fellow of the College of St. Mary's 
 and All-Saints, commonly called Lincoln College, in the 
 University of Oxford, do freely and willingly resign into the 
 hands of the Rector and Fellows, all the right and title that 
 I have in the said college, wishing to them and their suc- 
 cessors all peace, and piety, and happiness, in the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 
 
 May 6, 1619. Robert Sanderson. 
 
 And not long after this resignation, he was by the then 
 Bishop of York, or the King sede vacante, made Prebend of 
 the Collegiate Church of Southwell in that diocese; and 
 shortly after of Lincoln by the bishop of that see. 
 
 And being now resolved to set down his rest in a quiet 
 privacy at Boothby Pannell, and looking back with some 
 sadness upon his removal from his general acquaintance left 
 in Oxford, and the peculiar pleasures of a university life ; 
 he could not but think the want of society would render this 
 of a country parson the more uncomfortable, by reason of 
 that want of conversation ; and therefore he did put on some 
 faint purposes to marry. For he had considered, that though 
 marriage be cumbered with more worldly care than a single 
 life ; yet a complying and a prudent wife changes those very 
 cares into so mutual a content, as makes them become like 
 the sufferings of St. Paul (Colos. i. 24), which he would not 
 have wanted, because they occasioned his rejoicing in them. 
 And he, having well considered this, and observed the secret 
 unutterable joys that children beget in parents, and the mutual 
 pleasures and contented trouble of their daily care and con- 
 stant endeavours to bring up those little images of themselves, 
 so as to make them as happy as all those cares and endeavours 
 can make them : he, having considered all this, the hopes of
 
 246 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 such happiness turned his faint purposes into a positive resolu- 
 tion to marry. And he was so happy as to obtain Anne, the 
 daughter of Henry Nelson, Bachelor in Divinity, then Rector 
 of Haugham, in the county of Lincoln, a man of noted worth 
 and learning. And the Giver of all good things was so good 
 to him, as to give him such a wife as was suitable to his own 
 desires ; a wife, that made his life happy by being always 
 content when he was cheerful ; that divided her joys with 
 him, and abated of his sorrow, by bearing a part of that 
 burden; a wife that demonstrated her affection by a cheerfu 
 obedience to all his desires, during the whole course of his 
 life ; and at his death too, for she outlived him. 
 
 And in this Boothby Pannell, he either found or made his 
 parishioners peaceable, and complying with him in the decent 
 and regular service of God. And thus his parish, his patron, 
 and he lived together in a religious love and a contented 
 quietness; he not troubling their thoughts by preaching high 
 and useless notions, but such plain truths as were necessary 
 to be known, believed and practised, in order to their salva- 
 tion. And their assent to what he taught was testified by 
 such a conformity to his doctrine, as declared they believed 
 and loved him. For he would often say, ' That, without the 
 last, the most evident truths — heard as from an enemy, or 
 an evil liver — either are not, or are at least the less effectual ; 
 and do usually rather harden than convince the hearer.' 
 
 And this excellent man did not think his duty discharged 
 by only reading the Church prayers, catechising, preaching, 
 and administering the sacraments seasonably ; but thought — if 
 the law or the canons may seem to enjoin no more, — yet that 
 God would require more, than the defective laws of man's making 
 can or do enjoin ; the performance of that inward law, which 
 Almighty God hath imprinted in the conscience of all good 
 Christians, and inclines those whom he loves to perform. He, 
 considering this, did therefore become a law to himself, prac- 
 tising what his conscience told him was his duty, in reconciling 
 differences, and preventing law-suits, both in his parish and 
 in the neighbourhood. To which may be added his often
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 247 
 
 visiting sick and disconsolate families, persuading them to 
 patience, and raising them from dejection by his advice and 
 cheerful discourse, and, by adding his own alms, if there were 
 any so poor as to need it : considering how acceptable it is 
 to Almighty God, when we do as we are advised by St. Paul 
 (Gal. vi. 2), ' Help to bear one another's burden,' either of 
 sorrow or want : and what a comfort it will be, when the 
 Searcher of all hearts shall call us to a strict account for that 
 evil we have done, and the good we have omitted, to remember 
 we have comforted and been helpful to a dejected or distressed 
 family. 
 
 And that his practice was to do good, one example may 
 be, that he met with a poor dejected neighbour, that com- 
 plained he had taken a meadow, the rent of which was £9 
 a year; and when the hay was made ready to be carried into 
 his barn, several days' constant rain had so raised the water, 
 that a sudden flood carried all away, and his rich landlord 
 would bate him no rent; and that unless he had half abated, 
 he and seven children were utterly undone. It may be noted, 
 that in this age, there are a sort of people so unlike the God 
 of Mercy, so void of the bowels of pity, that they love only 
 themselves and children : love them so, as not to be con- 
 cerned whether the rest of mankind waste their days in 
 sorrow or shame; people that are cursed with riches, and 
 a mistake that nothing but riches can make them and their's 
 happy. But it was not so with Dr. Sanderson ; for he was 
 concerned, and spoke comfortably to the poor dejected man; 
 bade him go home and pray, and not load himself with sorrow, 
 for he would go to his landlord next morning ; and if his 
 landlord would not abate what he desired, he and a friend 
 would pay it for him. 
 
 To the landlord he went the next day, and, in a conference, 
 the Doctor presented to him the sad condition of his poor de- 
 jected tenant; telling him how much God is pleased when 
 men compassionate the poor : and told him, that though God 
 loves sacrifice, yet he loves mercy so much better, that he is 
 pleased when called the God of Mercy. And told him, the
 
 248 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 riches he was possessed of were given him by that God of 
 Mercy, who would not be pleased, if he, that had so much 
 given, yea, and forgiven him too, should prove like the rich 
 steward in the gospel, 'that took his fellow-servant by the 
 throat to make him pay the utmost farthing.' This he told 
 him : and told him, that the law of this nation — by which law 
 he claims his rent — does not undertake to make men honest or 
 merciful ; but does what it can to restrain men from being dis- 
 honest or unmerciful, and yet was defective in both : and that 
 •taking any rent from his poor tenant, for what God suffered 
 him not to enjoy, though the law allowed him to do so, yet if 
 he did so, he was too like that rich steward which he had 
 mentioned to him ; and told him that riches so gotten, and 
 added to his great estate, would, as Job says, 'prove like gravel 
 in his teeth : ' would in time so corrode his conscience, or 
 become so nauseous when he lay upon his death-bed, that he 
 would then labour to vomit it up, and not be able : and there- 
 fore advised him, being very rich, to make friends of his un- 
 righteous mammon, before that evil day come upon him : but 
 however, neither for his own sake, nor for God's sake, to take 
 any rent of his poor, dejected, sad tenant ; for that were to 
 gain a temporal, and lose his eternal happiness. These, and 
 other such reasons were urged with so grave and compassionate an 
 earnestness, that the landlord forgave his tenant the whole rent. 
 
 The reader will easily believe that Dr. Sanderson, who was 
 so meek and merciful, did suddenly and gladly carry this com- 
 fortable news to the dejected tenant ; and we believe, that at 
 the telling of it there was mutual rejoicing. It was one of Job's 
 boasts, that ' he had seen none perish for want of clothing : and 
 that he had often made the heart of the widow to rejoice.' — 
 Job xxxi. 19. And doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have made 
 the same religious boast of this and very many like occasions. 
 But, since he did not, I rejoice that I have this just occasion 
 to do it for him ; and that I can tell the reader, I might tire 
 myself and him, in telling how like the whole course of Dr. 
 Sanderson's life was to this which I have now related. 
 
 Thus he went on in an obscure and quiet privacy, doing good
 
 DR ROBERT SANDERSON 249 
 
 daily both by word and by deed, as often as any occasion offered 
 itself ; yet not so obscurely, but that his very great learning, 
 prudence, and piety, were much noted and valued by the bishop 
 of his diocese, and by most of the nobility and gentry of that 
 county. By the first of which he was often summoned to 
 preach many visitation sermons, and by the latter at many 
 assizes. Which sermons, though they were much esteemed by 
 them that procured, and were fit to judge them ; yet they were 
 the less valued, because he read them, which he was forced to 
 do ; for though he had an extraordinary memory, — even the art 
 of it, — yet he had such an innate invincible fear and bashfulness, 
 that his memory was wholly useless, as to the repetition of his 
 sermons as he had writ them ; which gave occasion to say, when 
 they were first printed and exposed to censure, which was in the 
 year 1632, — 'that the best sermons that were ever read were 
 never preached.' 
 
 In this contented obscurity he continued, till the learned and 
 good Archbishop Laud, who knew him well in Oxford — for he 
 was his contemporary there, — told the King, — 'twas the know- 
 ing and conscientious King Charles the First, — that there was 
 one Mr. Sanderson, an obscure country minister, that was of 
 such sincerity, and so excellent in all casuistical learning, that 
 he desired his Majesty would make him his chaplain. The 
 King granted it most willingly, and gave the Bishop charge to 
 hasten it, for he longed to discourse with a man that had dedi- 
 cated his studies to that useful part of learning. The Bishop 
 forgot not the King's desire, and Mr. Sanderson was made his 
 Chaplain in Ordinary in November following, 1631. And when 
 they became known to each other, the King did put many cases 
 of conscience to him, and received from him such deliberate, 
 safe, and clear solutions, as gave him great content in conversing 
 with him ; so that, at the end of his month's attendance, the 
 King told him, 'he should long for the next November; for he 
 resolved to have a more inward acquaintance with him, when 
 that month and he returned.' And when the month and he did 
 return, the good King was never absent from his sermons, and 
 would usually say, ' I carry my ears to hear other preachers ;
 
 250 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 but I carry my conscience to hear Mr. Sanderson, and to act 
 accordingly.' And this ought not to be concealed from poster- 
 ity, that the King thought what he spake ; for he took him to 
 be his adviser in that quiet part of his life, and he proved to be 
 his comforter in those days of his affliction, when he appre- 
 hended himself to be in danger of death or deposing. Of which 
 more hereafter. 
 
 In the first Parliament of this good King, — which was 1625, 
 — he was chosen to be a clerk of the convocation for the diocese 
 of Lincoln ; which I here mention, because about that time did 
 arise many disputes about predestination, and the many critical 
 points that depend upon, or are interwoven in it ; occasioned as 
 was said, by a disquisition of new principles of Mr. Calvin's, 
 though others say they were before his time. But of these Dr. 
 Sanderson then drew up, for his own satisfaction, such a scheme 
 — he called it Pax Ecclesioe — as then gave himself, and hath 
 since given others, such satisfaction, that it still remains to be 
 of great estimation among the most learned. He was also 
 chosen clerk of all the convocations during that good King's 
 reign. Which I here tell my reader, because I shall hereafter 
 have occasion to mention that convocation in 1 640, the unhappy 
 Long Parliament, and some debates of the predestination points 
 as they have been since charitably handled betwixt him, the 
 learned Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, the now Reverend Dean 
 of Salisbury. 
 
 In the year 1636, his Majesty, then in his progress, took a 
 fair occasion to visit Oxford, and to take an entertainment for 
 two days for himself and honourable attendants ; which the 
 reader ought to believe was suitable to their dignities. But this 
 is mentioned, because at the King's coming thither, Dr. Sander- 
 son did attend him, and was then — the 31st of August — created 
 Doctor of Divinity ; which honour had an addition to it, by hav- 
 ing many of the nobility of this nation then made Doctors and 
 Masters of Arts with him ; some of whose names shall be re- 
 corded and live with his, and none shall outlive it. First, Dr. 
 Curie and Dr. Wren, who were then Bishops of Winton and of 
 Norwich, — and had formerly taken their degrees in Cambridge,
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 251 
 
 were with him created Doctors of Divinity in his University. So 
 was Meric, the son of the learned Isaac Casaubon ; and Prince 
 Rupert, who still lives, the then Duke of Lenox, Earl of Hereford, 
 Earl of Essex, of Berkshire, and very many others of noble birth 
 — too many to be named — were then created Masters of Arts. 
 
 Some years before the unhappy Long Parliament, this nation 
 being then happy and in peace, — though inwardly sick of being 
 well, — namely, in the year 1639, a discontented party of the 
 Scots Church were zealously restless for another reformation of 
 their Kirk government ; and to that end created a new cove- 
 nant, for the general taking of which they pretended to petition 
 the King for his assent, and that he would enjoin the taking of 
 it by all of that nation. But this petition was not to be pre- 
 sented to him by a committee of eight or ten men of their fra- 
 ternity ; but by so many thousands, and they so armed as seemed 
 to force an assent to what they seemed to request ; so that 
 though forbidden by the King, yet they entered England, and 
 in the heat of zeal took and plundered Newcastle, where the 
 King was forced to meet them with an army : but upon a treaty 
 and some concessions, he sent them back, — though not so rich 
 as they intended, yet, — for that time, without bloodshed. But, 
 Oh ! this peace, and this covenant, were but the fore-runners 
 of war, and the many miseries that followed : for in the year 
 following there were so many chosen into the Long Parliament, 
 that were of a conjunct council with these very zealous and as 
 factious reformers, as begot such a confusion by the several 
 desires and designs in many of the members of that Parliament, 
 and at last in the very common people of this nation, that they 
 were so lost by contrary designs, fears, and confusions, as to 
 believe the Scots and their covenant would restore them to 
 their former tranquillity. And to that end the Presbyterian 
 party of this nation did again, in the year 1643, invite the Scotch 
 covenanters back into England : and hither they came march- 
 ing with it gloriously upon their pikes and in their hats, with 
 this motto : ' For the Crown and Covenant of both Kingdoms.' 
 This I saw, and suffered by it. But when I look back upon the 
 ruin of families, the bloodshed, the decay of common honesty,
 
 252 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 and how the former piety and plain dealing of this now sinful 
 nation is turned into cruelty and cunning, I praise God that he 
 prevented me from being of that party which helped to bring in 
 this covenant, and those sad confusions that have followed it. 
 And I have been the bolder to say this to myself, because in a 
 sad discourse with Dr. Sanderson, I heard him make the like 
 grateful acknowledgment. 
 
 This digression is intended for the better information of the 
 reader in what will follow concerning Dr. Sanderson. And 
 first, that the covenanters of this nation, and their party in 
 Parliament, made many exceptions against the common prayer 
 and ceremonies of the Church and seemed restless for a refor- 
 mation : and though their desires seemed not reasonable to the 
 King, and the learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury ; yet, to quiet their consciences, and prevent future con- 
 fusion, they did, in the year 1641, desire Dr. Sanderson to call 
 two more of the convocation to advise with him, and that he 
 would then draw up some such safe alterations as he thought 
 fit in the service-book, and abate some of the ceremonies that 
 were least material for satisfying their consciences : — and to this 
 end they did meet together privately twice a week at the Dean 
 of Westminster's house, for the space of three months or more. 
 But not long after that time, when Dr. Sanderson had made the 
 reformation ready for a view, the Church and State were both 
 fallen into such a confusion, that, Dr. Sanderson's model for 
 reformation became then useless. Nevertheless, his reputation 
 was such, that he was, in the year 1642, proposed by both 
 Houses of Parliament to the King, then in Oxford, to be one of 
 their trustees for the settling of Church affairs, and was allowed 
 of by the King to be so : but that treaty came to nothing. 
 
 In the year 1643, the two Houses of Parliament took upon 
 them to make an ordinance, and call an assembly of divines, 
 to debate and settle some Church controversies, of which many 
 were very unfit to judge; in which Dr. Sanderson was also 
 named, but did not appear ; I suppose for the same reason that 
 many other worthy and learned men did forbear, the summons 
 wanting the King's authority. And here I must look back, and
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 253 
 
 tell the reader, that in the year 1642, he was, July 21st, named 
 by a more undoubted authority to a more noble employment, 
 which was to be Professor Regius of Divinity in Oxford : but, 
 though knowledge be said to puff up, yet his modesty and too 
 mean an opinion of his great abilities, and some other real or 
 pretended reasons, — expressed in his speech, when he first 
 appeared in the Chair, and since printed, — kept him from enter- 
 ing into it till October, l64b\ 
 
 He did, for about a year's time, continue to read his match- 
 less lectures, which were first de Juramento, a point very difficult, 
 and at that time very dangerous to be handled as it ought to be. 
 But this learned man, as he was eminently furnished with 
 abilities to satisfy the consciences of men upon that important 
 subject ; so he wanted not courage to assert the true obligation 
 of oaths in a degenerate age, when men had made perjury a 
 main part of their religion. How much the learned world 
 stands obliged to him for these, and his following lectures de 
 Conscientid, I shall not attempt to declare, as being very sensible 
 that the best pens must needs fall short in the commendation 
 of them : so that I shall only add, that they continued to this 
 day, and will do for ever, as a complete standard for the resolu- 
 tion of the most material doubts in casuistical divinity. And 
 therefore I proceed to tell the reader, that about the time of 
 his reading those lectures, — the King being then prisoner in the 
 Isle of Wight, — the Parliament had sent the covenant, the 
 negative oath, and I know not what more, to be taken by the 
 Doctor of the Chair, and all heads of houses ; and all other 
 inferior scholars, of what degree soever, were all to take these 
 oaths by a fixed day ; and those that did not, to abandon their 
 college, and the university too, within twenty-four hours after 
 the beating of a drum ; for if they remained longer, they were 
 to be proceeded against as spies. 
 
 Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of 
 Strafford, and many others, had been formerly murdered by 
 this wicked Parliament ; but the King yet was not : and 
 the university had yet some faint hopes that in a treaty then 
 in being, or pretended to be suddenly, there might be such
 
 254 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 an agreement made between King and Parliament, that the 
 dissenters in the university might both preserve their con- 
 sciences and subsistence which they then enjoyed by their 
 colleges. 
 
 And being possessed of this mistaken hope, that the 
 Parliament were not yet grown so merciless as not to allow 
 manifest reason for their not submitting to the enjoined oaths, 
 the university appointed twenty delegates to meet, consider, 
 and draw up a manifesto to the Parliament, why they could 
 not take those oaths but by violation of their consciences : 
 and of these delegates Dr. Sheldon, — late Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, — Dr. Hammond, — Dr. Sanderson, — Dr. Morley, — 
 now Bishop of Winchester, — and that most honest and as 
 judicious civil lawyer, Dr. Zouch, were a part ; the rest I 
 cannot now name : but the whole number of the delegates 
 requested Dr. Zouch to draw up the law part, and give it to 
 Dr. Sanderson : and he was requested to methodise and add 
 what referred to reason and conscience, and put it into form. 
 He yielded to their desires and did so. And then, after they 
 had been read in a full convocation, and allowed of, they were 
 printed in Latin, that the Parliament's proceedings and the 
 university's sufferings might be manifested to all nations : and 
 the imposers of these oaths might repent, or answer them : but 
 they were past the first; and for the latter, I might swear they 
 neither can, nor ever will. And these reasons were also 
 suddenly turned into English by Dr. Sanderson, that those of 
 these three kingdoms might the better judge of the loyal 
 party's sufferings. 
 
 About this time the Independents — who were then grown 
 to be the most powerful part of the army — had taken the King 
 from a close to a more large imprisonment ; and, by their own 
 pretences to liberty of conscience, were obliged to allow some- 
 what of that to the King, who had, in the year 1642, sent for 
 Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sheldon, — the late Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, — and Dr. Morley, the now Bishop of 
 Winchester, to attend him, in order to advise with them, how 
 far he might with a good conscience comply with the proposals
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 255 
 
 of the Parliament for a peace in Church and State : but these, 
 having been then denied him by the Presbyterian Parliament, 
 were now allowed him by those in present power. And as 
 those other divines, so Dr. Sanderson gave his attendance on 
 his Majesty also in the Isle of Wight, preached there before 
 him, and had in that attendance many, both public and private, 
 conferences with him, to his Majesty's great satisfaction. At 
 which time he desired Dr. Sanderson, that, being the 
 Parliament had proposed to him the abolishing of episcopal 
 government in the Church, as inconsistent with monarchy, 
 that he would consider of it; and declare his judgment. He 
 undertook to do so, and did it ; but it might not be printed 
 till our King's happy restoration, and then it was. And at 
 Dr. Sanderson's taking his leave of his Majesty in his last 
 attendance on him, the King requested him to betake himself 
 to the writing cases of conscience for the good of posterity. 
 To which his answer was, ' That he was now grown old, and 
 unfit to write cases of conscience.' But the King was so bold 
 with him as to say, ' It was the simplest answer he ever heard 
 from Dr. Sanderson ; for no young man was fit to be a judge, 
 or write cases of conscience.' And let me here take occasion 
 to tell the reader this truth, not commonly known ; that in 
 one of these conferences this conscientious King told Dr. 
 Sanderson, or one of them that then waited with him, 
 ' that the remembrance of two errors did much afflict him ; 
 which were, his assent to the Earl of Strafford's death, and 
 the abolishing episcopacy in Scotland ; and that if God ever 
 restored him to be in a peaceable possession of his crown, he 
 would demonstrate his repentance by a public confession, and 
 a voluntary penance/ — I think barefoot — from the Tower of 
 London, or Whitehall, to St. Paul's Church, and desire the 
 people to intercede with God for his pardon. I am sure one 
 of them that told it me lives still, and will witness it. And 
 it ought to be observed, that Dr. Sanderson's lectures de 
 Juramento were so approved and valued by the King, that in 
 this time of his imprisonment and solitude he translated them 
 into exact English ; desiring Dr. Juxon, — then Bishop of
 
 256 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 London, — Dr. Hammond, and Sir Thomas Herbert, who then 
 attended him, — to compare them with the original. The last 
 still lives, and has declared it, with some other of that King's 
 excellencies, in a letter under his own hand, which was lately 
 showed me by Sir William Dugdale, King at Arms. The book 
 was designed to be put into the King's library at St. James's ; 
 but, I doubt, not now to be found there. I thought the 
 honour of the author and the translator to be both so much 
 concerned in this relation, that it ought not to be concealed 
 from the reader, and 'tis therefore here inserted. 
 
 I now return to Dr. Sanderson in the Chair in Oxford ; where 
 they that complied not in taking the covenant, negative oath, 
 and Parliament ordinance for Church discipline and worship, 
 were under a sad and daily apprehension of expulsion : for the 
 visitors were daily expected, and both city and university 
 full of soldiers, and a party of Presbyterian divines, that were 
 as greedy and ready to possess, as the ignorant and ill-natured 
 visitors were to eject the dissenters out of their colleges and 
 livelihoods : but, notwithstanding, Dr. Sanderson did still 
 continue to read his lecture, and did, to the very faces of those 
 Presbyterian divines and soldiers, read with so much reason, 
 and with a calm fortitude make such applications, as, if they 
 were not, they ought to have been ashamed, and begged 
 pardon of God and him, and forborne to do what followed. 
 But these thriving sinners were hardened ; and as the visitors 
 expelled the orthodox, they, without scruple or shame, pos- 
 sessed themselves of their colleges ; so that, with the rest, Dr. 
 Sanderson was in June, 1648, forced to pack up and be gone, 
 and thank God he was not imprisoned, as Dr. Sheldon, and 
 Dr. Hammond, and others then were. 
 
 I must now again look back to Oxford, and tell my reader, 
 that the year before this expulsion, when the university had 
 denied this subscription, and apprehended the danger of that 
 visitation which followed, they sent Dr. Morley, then Canon of 
 Christ Church, — now Lord Bishop of Winchester, and others, to 
 petition the Parliament for recalling the injunction, or a 
 mitigation of it, or accept of their reasons why they could not
 
 DR ROBERT SANDERSON 257 
 
 take the oaths enjoined them ; and the petition was by Parlia- 
 ment referred to a committee to hear and report the reasons 
 to the House, and a day set for hearing them. This done, 
 Dr. Morley and the rest went to inform and see counsel, to 
 plead their cause on the day appointed ; but there had been 
 so many committed for pleading, that none durst undertake it ; 
 for at this time the privileges of that Parliament were become 
 a Noli me tangere, as sacred and useful to them, as traditions 
 ever were, or are now, to the Church of Rome ; their number 
 must never be known, and therefore not without danger to be 
 meddled Avith. For which reason Dr. Morley was forced, for 
 want of counsel, to plead the university's reasons for non- 
 compliance with the Parliament's injunctions : and though this 
 was done with great reason, and a boldness equal to the justice 
 of his cause ; yet the effect of it was, but that he and the rest 
 appearing with him were so fortunate, as to return to Oxford 
 without commitment. This was some few days before the visitors 
 and more soldiers were sent down to drive the dissenters out 
 of the university. And one that was, at this time of Dr. 
 Morley's pleading, a powerful man in the Parliament, and of 
 that committee, observing Dr. Morley's behaviour and reason, 
 and inquiring of him and hearing a good report of his morals, 
 was therefore willing to afford him a peculiar favour ; and, that 
 he might express it, sent for me that relate this story, and 
 knew Dr. Morley well, and told me, ' he had such a love for 
 Dr. Morley, that knowing he would not take the oaths, and 
 must therefore be ejected his college, and leave Oxford ; he 
 desired I would therefore write to him to ride out of Oxford, 
 when the visitoi-s came into it, and not return till they left it, 
 and he should be sure then to return in safety ; and that he 
 should, without taking any oath or other molestation, enjoy 
 his canon's place in his college.' I did receive this intended 
 kindness with a sudden gladness, because I was sure the party 
 had a power, and as sure he meant to perform it, and did 
 therefore write the Doctor word : and his answer was, that I 
 must not fail to return my friend, — who still lives — his humble 
 and undissembled thanks, though he could not accept of his 
 
 B
 
 258 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 intended kindness ; for when the Dean, Dr. Gardner, Dr. Paine, 
 Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and all the rest of the college 
 were turned out, except Dr. Wall, he should take it to be, 
 if not a sin, yet a shame, to be left behind with him only. 
 Dr. Wall I knew, and will speak nothing of him, for he is 
 dead. 
 
 It may easily be imagined, with what a joyful willingness 
 these self-loving reformers took possession of all vacant pre- 
 ferments, and with what reluctance others parted with their 
 beloved colleges and subsistence : but their consciences were 
 dearer than their subsistence, and out they went ; the reformers 
 possessing them without shame or scruple : where I leave these 
 scruple-mongers, and make an account of the then present 
 affairs of London, to be the next employment of my reader's 
 patience. 
 
 And in London all the bishop's houses were turned to be 
 prisons, and they filled with divines, that would not take the 
 covenant, or forbear reading common prayer, or that were 
 accused for some faults like these. For it may be noted, that 
 about this time the Parliament set out a proclamation, to 
 encourage all laymen that had occasion to complain of their 
 ministers for being troublesome or scandalous, or that con- 
 formed not to orders of Parliament, to make their complaint 
 to a committee for that purpose ; and the minister, though a 
 hundred miles from London, should appear there, and give 
 satisfaction, or be sequestered ; — and you may be sure no 
 parish could want a covetous, or malicious, or cross-grained 
 complaint ; — by which means all prisons in London, and in some 
 other places, became the sad habitations of conforming divines. 
 
 And about this time the Bishop of Canterbury having been 
 by an unknown law condemned to die, and the execution 
 suspended for some days, many of the malicious citizens, 
 fearing his pardon, shut up their shops, professing not to open 
 them till justice was executed. This malice and madness is 
 scarce credible ; but I saw it. 
 
 The bishops had been voted out of the House of Parliament, 
 and some upon that occasion sent to the Tower : which made
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 259 
 
 many covenanters rejoice, and believe Mr. Brightman — who 
 probably was a good and well-meaning man — to be inspired in 
 his Comment on the Apocalypse, an abridgment of which 
 was now printed, and called Mr. Brightman's Revelation of 
 the Revelation. And though he was grossly mistaken in 
 other things, yet, because he had made the Churches of 
 Geneva and Scotland, which had no bishops, to be Philadelphia 
 in the Apocalypse, the angel that God loved (Rev. hi. 7-13), 
 and the power of prelacy to be antichrist, the evil angel, 
 which the House of Commons had now so spewed up, as never 
 to recover their dignity ; therefore did those covenanters 
 approve and applaud Mr. Brightman for discovering and fore- 
 telling the bishops' downfall ; so that they both railed at them, 
 and rejoiced to buy good pennyworths of their land, which 
 their friends of the House of Commons did afford them, as a 
 reward of their diligent assistance to pull them down. 
 
 And the bishops' power being now vacated, the common 
 people were made so happy, as every parish might choose 
 their own minister, and tell him when he did, and when he 
 did not, preach true doctrine : and by this and like means, 
 several churches had several teachers, that prayed and 
 preached for and against one another : and engaged their 
 hearers to contend furiously for truths which they under- 
 stood not; some of which I shall mention in the discourse 
 that follows. 
 
 I have heard of two men, that in their discourse undertook 
 to give a character of a third person : and one concluded he 
 was a very honest man, ' for he was beholden to him ; ' and 
 the other, that he was not, ' for he was not beholden to him.' 
 And something like this was in the designs both of the Cove- 
 nanters and Independents, the last of which were now grown 
 both as numerous and as powerful as the former : for though 
 they differed much in many principles, and preached against 
 each other, one making it a sign of being in the state of grace, 
 if we were but zealous for the covenant ; and the other, that 
 we ought to buy and sell by a measure, and to allow the same 
 liberty of conscience to others, which we by scripture claim
 
 2G0 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 to ourselves; and therefore not to force any to swear the 
 covenant contrary to their consciences, and lose both their 
 livings and liberties too. Though these differed thus in their 
 conclusions, yet they both agreed in their practice to preach 
 down common prayer, and get into the best sequestered 
 livings ; and whatever became of the true owners, their wives 
 and children, yet to continue in them without the least scruple 
 of conscience. 
 
 They also made other strange observations of election, 
 reprobation, and free will, and the other points dependent 
 upon these; such as the wisest of the common people were 
 not fit to judge of; I am sure I am not: though I must 
 mention some of them historically in a more proper place, 
 when I have brought my reader with me to Dr. Sanderson at 
 Boothby Pannell. 
 
 And in the way thither I must tell him, that a very cove- 
 nanter, and a Scot too, that came into England with this 
 unhappy covenant, was got into a good sequestered living 
 by the help of a Presbyterian parish, which had got the true 
 owner out. And this Scotch Presbyterian, being well settled 
 in this good living, began to reform the churchyard, by 
 cutting down a large yew - tree, and some other trees that 
 were an ornament to the place, and very often a shelter to 
 the parishioners ; who, excepting against him for so doing, 
 were answered, 'That the trees were his, and 'twas lawful for 
 every man to use his own, as he, and not as they thought fit.' 
 I have heard, but do not affirm it, that no action lies against 
 him that is so wicked as to steal the winding-sheet of a dead 
 body after it is buried ; and have heard the reason to be, 
 because none were supposed to be so void of humanity ; and 
 that such a law would vilify that nation that would but suppose 
 so vile a man to be born in it : nor would one suppose any man 
 to do what this covenanter did. And whether there were any 
 law against him, I know not ; but pity the parish the less for 
 turning out their legal minister. 
 
 We have now overtaken Dr. Sanderson at Boothby Parish, 
 where he hoped to enjoy himself, though in a poor, yet in a
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 261 
 
 quiet and desired privacy ; but it proved otherwise : for all 
 corners of the nation were filled with covenanters, confusion, 
 committee - men, and soldiers, serving each other to their 
 several ends, of revenge, or power, or profit : and these com- 
 mittee-men and soldiers were most of them so possessed with 
 this covenant, that they became like those that were infected 
 with that dreadful plague of Athens ; the plague of which 
 plague was, that they by it became maliciously restless to 
 get into company, and to joy, — so the historian saith, — when 
 they had infected others, even those of their most beloved 
 or nearest friends or relations : and though there might be 
 some of these covenanters that were beguiled and meant 
 well ; yet such were the generality of them, and temper of 
 the times, that you may be sure Dr. Sanderson, who though 
 quiet and harmless, yet an eminent dissenter from them, could 
 not live peaceably ; nor did he ; for the soldiers would ap- 
 pear, and visibly disturb him in the church when he read 
 prayers, pretending to advise him how God was to be served 
 most acceptably : which he not approving, but continuing to 
 observe order and decent behaviour in reading the Church 
 service, they forced his book from him, and tore it, expecting 
 extemporary prayers. 
 
 At this time he was advised by a Parliament man of power 
 and note, that valued and loved him much, not to be strict 
 in reading all the common prayer, but make some little 
 variation, especially if the soldiers came to watch hiin ; for 
 then it might not be in the power of him and his other friends 
 to secure him from taking the covenant, or sequestration : 
 for which reasons he did vary somewhat from the strict rules 
 of the rubric. I will set down the very words of confession 
 which he used, as I have it under his own hand ; and tell the 
 reader, that all his other variations were as little, and much 
 like to this. 
 
 HIS CONFESSION. 
 
 ' O Almighty God and merciful Father, we, thy unworthy 
 servants, do with shame and sorrow confess, that we have
 
 262 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 all our life long gone astray out of thy ways like lost sheep ; 
 and that, by following too much the vain devices and desires 
 of our own hearts, we have grievously offended against thy 
 holy laws, both in thought, word, and deed ; we have many 
 times left undone those good duties which we might and 
 ought to have done ; and we have many times done those 
 evils, when we might have avoided them, which we ought not 
 to have done. We confess, O Lord ! that there is no health 
 at all, nor help in any creature to relieve us ; but all our hope 
 is in thy mercy, whose justice we have by our sins so far 
 provoked. Have mercy therefore upon us, O Lord ! have 
 mercy upon us miserable offenders : spare us, good God, who 
 confess our faults, that we perish not; but, according to thy 
 gracious promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord, restore us upon our true repentance into thy grace and 
 favour. And grant, O most merciful Father ! for his sake, that 
 we henceforth study to serve and please thee by leading a 
 godly, righteous, and a sober life, to the glory of thy holy 
 name, and the eternal comfort of our own souls, through Jesus 
 Christ our Lord.' Amen. 
 
 In these disturbances of tearing his service-book, a neighbour 
 came on a Sunday, after the evening service was ended, to 
 visit and condole with him for the affront offered by the 
 soldiers. To whom he spake with a composed patience, and 
 said : ' God hath restored me to my desired privacy, with my 
 wife and children ; where I hoped to have met with quietness, 
 and it proves not so : but I will labour to be pleased, be- 
 cause God, on whom I depend, sees it is not fit for me to 
 be quiet. I praise him, that he hath by his grace prevented 
 me from making shipwreck of a good conscience to maintain 
 me in a place of great reputation and profit : and though my 
 condition be such, that I need the last, yet I submit ; for God 
 did not send me into this world to do my own, but suffer his 
 will, and I will obey it.' Thus by a sublime depending on his 
 wise, and powerful, and pitiful Creator, he did cheerfully sub- 
 mit to what God hath appointed, justifying the truth of that 
 doctrine which he had preached.
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 263 
 
 About this time that excellent book of The King's Medi- 
 tation in his Solitude was printed and made public ; and Dr. 
 Sanderson was such a lover of the author, and so desirous 
 that the whole world should see the character of him in 
 that book, and something of the cause for which they 
 suffered, that he designed to turn it into Latin : but when 
 he had done half of it most excellently, his friend Dr. Earle 
 prevented him, by appearing to have done the whole very 
 well before him. 
 
 About this time his dear and most intimate friend, the 
 learned Dr. Hammond, came to enjoy a conversation and rest 
 with him for some days ; and did so. And having formerly 
 persuaded him to trust his excellent memory, and not read, 
 but try to speak a sermon as he had writ it, Dr. Sanderson 
 became so compliant as to promise he would. And to that 
 end they two went early the Sunday following to a neighbour 
 minister, and requested to exchange a sermon ; and they did 
 so. And at Dr. Sanderson's going into the pulpit, he gave 
 his sermon — which was a very short one — into the hand of 
 Dr. Hammond, intending to preach it as it was writ : but 
 before he had preached a third part, Dr. Hammond, — looking 
 on his sermon as written — observed him to be out, and so 
 lost as to the matter, that he also became afraid for him ; 
 for 'twas discernible to many of the plain auditory. But 
 when he had ended this short sermon, as they two walked 
 homeward, Dr. Sanderson said with much earnestness, ' Good 
 Doctor, give me my sermon ; and know, that neither you 
 nor any man living shall ever persuade me to preach again 
 without my books.' To which the reply was, ' Good Doctor, 
 be not angry : for if I ever persuade you to preach again with- 
 out book, I will give you leave to burn all those that I am 
 master of.' 
 
 Part of the occasion of Dr. Hammond's visit was at this 
 time to discourse with Dr. Sanderson about some opinions, 
 in which, if they did not then, they had doubtless differed 
 formerly : it was about those knotty points, which are by 
 the learned called the Quinquarticular Controversy ; of which
 
 2G4 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 I shall proceed, not to give any judgment, — I pretend not 
 to that, — but some short historical account which shall follow. 
 
 There had been, since the unhappy covenant was brought 
 and so generally taken in England, a liberty given or taker by 
 many preachers — those of London especially — to preach and 
 be too positive in the points of universal redemption, pre- 
 destination, and those others depending upon these. Some 
 of which preached, ' That all men were, before they came into 
 this world, so predestinated to salvation or damnation, that it 
 was not in their power to sin so, as to lose the first, nor by 
 their most diligent endeavour to avoid the latter. Others, 
 that it was not so : because then God could not be said to 
 grieve for the death of a sinner, when he himself had made 
 him so by an inevitable decree, before he had so much as 
 a being in this world;' affirming therefore, 'that man had 
 some power left him to do the will of God, because he was 
 advised to work out his salvation with fear and trembling ; ' 
 maintaining, ' that it is most certain every man can do what he 
 can to be saved ; ' and that ' he that does what he can to be 
 saved, shall never be damned.' And yet many that affirmed 
 this would confess, ' That that grace, which is but a persuasive 
 offer, and left to us to receive, or refuse, is not that grace which 
 shall bring men to heaven.' Which truths, or untruths, or 
 both, be they which they will, did upon these, or the like 
 occasions, come to be searched into, and charitably debated 
 betwixt Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, the 
 now Reverend Dean of Salisbury, — of which I shall proceed to 
 give some account, but briefly. 
 
 In the year 1648, the fifty-two London ministers — then 
 a fraternity of Sion College in that city — had in a printed 
 declaration aspersed Dr. Hammond most heinously, for that 
 he had in his practical catechism affirmed, that our Saviour 
 died for the sins of all mankind. To justify which truth, he 
 presently makes a charitable reply — as 'tis now printed in 
 his works. After which there were many letters passed be- 
 twixt the said Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Pierce, 
 concerning God's grace and decrees. Dr. Sanderson was
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 265 
 
 with much unwillingness drawn into this debate ; for he de- 
 clared it would prove uneasy to him, who in his judgment of 
 God's decrees differed with Dr. Hammond, — whom he rever- 
 enced and loved dearly, — and would not therefore engage 
 him into a controversy, of which he could never hope to see 
 an end : but they did all enter into a charitable disquisition of 
 these said points in several letters, to the full satisfaction of the 
 learned ; those betwixt Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Hammond being 
 printed in his works ; and for what passed betwixt him and the 
 learned Dr. Pierce, I refer my reader to a letter annexed to the 
 end of this relation. 
 
 I think the judgment of Dr. Sanderson was, by these de- 
 bates, altered from what it was at his enti-ance into them ; 
 for in the year 1632, when his excellent sermons were first 
 printed in quarto, the reader may on the margin find some 
 accusation of Arminius for false doctrine ; and find that, upon 
 a review and reprinting those sermons in folio, in the year 
 1657, that accusation of Arminius is omitted. And the change 
 of his judgment seems more fully to appear in his said letter 
 to Dr. Pierce. And let me now tell the reader, which may 
 seem to be perplexed with these several affirmations of God's 
 decrees before mentioned, that Dr. Hammond, in a postscript 
 to the last letter of Dr. Sanderson's, says, ' God can reconcile 
 his own contradictions, and therefore advises all men, as the 
 apostle does, to study mortification, and be wise to sobriety.' 
 And let me add further, that if these fifty-two ministers of 
 Sion College were the occasion of the debates in these letters, 
 they have, I think, been the occasion of giving an end to the 
 Quinquarticular Controversy : for none have since undertaken 
 to say more ; but seem to be so wise, as to be content to be 
 ignorant of the rest, till they come to that place where the 
 secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. And let me here tell 
 the reader also, that if the rest of mankind would, as Dr. 
 Sanderson, not conceal their alteration of judgment, but con- 
 fess it to the honour of God, and themselves, then our nation 
 would become freer from pertinacious disputes, and fuller of 
 recantations.
 
 266 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 I cannot lead my reader to Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sander- 
 son, where we left them at Boothby Pannell, till I have looked 
 back to the Long Parliament, the society of covenanters in 
 Sion College, and those others scattered up and down in 
 London, and given some account of their proceedings and 
 usage of the late learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury. And though I will forbear to mention the injustice of 
 his death, and the barbarous usage of him, both then and 
 before it ; yet my desire is that what follows may be noted, 
 because it does now, or may hereafter, concern us ; namely, 
 that in his last sad sermon on the scaffold at his death, he 
 having freely pardoned all his enemies, and humbly begged 
 of God to pardon them, and besought those present to pardon 
 and pray for him ; yet he seemed to accuse the magistrates 
 of the city for suffering a sort of wretched people, that could 
 not know why he was condemned, to go visibly up and down 
 to gather hands to a petition, that the Parliament would hasten 
 his execution. And having declared how unjustly he thought 
 himself to be condemned, and accused for endeavouring to 
 bring in Popery, — for that was one of the accusations for 
 which he died, — he declared with sadness, 'That the several 
 sects and divisions then in England — which he had laboured 
 to prevent, — were like to bring the Pope a far greater harvest 
 than he could ever have expected without them.' And said, 
 ' These sects and divisions introduce profaneness under the 
 cloak of an imaginary religion ; and that we have lost the 
 substance of religion by changing it into opinion : and that 
 by these means this Church, which all the Jesuits' machina- 
 tions could not ruin, was fallen into apparent danger by those 
 which were his accusers.' To this purpose he spoke at his 
 death : for this, and more of which, the reader may view his 
 last sad sermon on the scaffold. And it is here mentioned, 
 because his dear friend, Dr. Sanderson, seems to demon- 
 strate the same in his two large and remarkable prefaces 
 before his two volumes of sermons ; and he seems also with 
 much sorrow to say the same again in his last will, made 
 when he apprehended himself to be very near his death.
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 267 
 
 And these covenanters ought to take notice of it, and to 
 remember, that, by the late wicked war begun by them, Dr. 
 Sanderson was ejected out of the Professor's Chair in Oxford; 
 and that if he had continued in it, — for he lived fourteen 
 years after, — both the learned of this, and other nations, had 
 been made happy by many remarkable cases of conscience, so 
 rationally stated, and so briefly, so clearly, and so convincingly 
 determined, that posterity might have joyed and boasted, that 
 Dr. Sanderson was born in this nation, for the ease and benefit 
 of all the learned that shall be born after him : but this benefit 
 is so like time past, that they are both irrevocably lost. 
 
 I should now return to Boothby Pannell, where we left 
 Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sanderson together; but neither can 
 be found there : for the first was in his journey to London, 
 and the second seized upon the day after his friend's depar- 
 ture, and carried prisoner to Lincoln, then a garrison of the 
 Parliament's. For the pretended reason of which commitment 
 I shall give this following account. 
 
 There was one Mr. Clarke, the minister of Alington, a 
 town not many miles from Boothby Pannell, who was an 
 active man for the Parliament and covenant ; one that, when 
 Belvoir Castle — then a garrison for the Parliament — was taken 
 by a party of the King's soldiers, was taken in it, and made 
 a prisoner of war in Newark, then a gax-rison of the King's; 
 a man so active and useful for his party, that they became 
 so much concerned for his enlargement, that the committee of 
 Lincoln sent a troop of horse to seize and bring Dr. Sanderson 
 a prisoner to that garrison : and they did so. And there he 
 had the happiness to meet with many that knew him so well 
 as to treat him kindly; but told him, 'He must continue 
 their prisoner, till he should purchase his own enlargement by 
 procuring an exchange for Mr. Clarke, then prisoner in the 
 King's garrison of Newark.' There were many reasons given 
 by the Doctor of the injustice of his imprisonment, and the 
 inequality of the exchange : but all were ineffectual ; for done 
 it must be, or he continue a prisoner. And in time done it 
 was, upon the following conditions.
 
 268 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 First, that Dr. Sanderson and Mr. Clarke, being exchanged, 
 should live undisturbed at their own parishes; and if either 
 were injured by the soldiers of the contrary party, the other, 
 having notice of it, should procure him a redress, by having 
 satisfaction made for his loss, or for any other injury; or if 
 not, he to be used in the same kind by the other party. 
 Nevertheless, Dr. Sanderson could neither live safe nor quietly, 
 being several times plundered, and once wounded in three 
 places : but he, apprehending the remedy might turn to a 
 more intolerable burden by impatience or complaining, forbore 
 both ; and possessed his soul in a contented quietness, with- 
 out the least repining. But though he could not enjoy the 
 safety he expected by this exchange, yet, by His providence 
 that can bring good out of evil, it turned so much to his 
 advantage, that whereas as his living had been sequestered 
 from the year 1644, and continued to be so till this time of 
 his imprisonment, he, by the Articles of War in this exchange 
 for Mr. Clarke, procured his sequestration to be recalled, and 
 by that means enjoyed a poor, but contented subsistence for 
 himself, wife, and children, till the happy restoration of our 
 King and Church. 
 
 In this time of his poor but contented privacy of life, his 
 casuistical learning, peaceful moderation, and sincerity, be- 
 came so remarkable, that there were many that applied them- 
 selves to him for resolution in cases of conscience ; some known 
 to him, many not ; some requiring satisfaction by conference, 
 others by letters ; so many, that his life became almost as 
 restless as their minds ; yet he denied no man : and if it be 
 a truth which holy Mr. Herbert says, ' That all worldly joys 
 seem less, when compared with showing mercy or doing kind- 
 nesses ; ' then doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have boasted 
 for relieving so many restless and wounded consciences which, 
 as Solomon says, 'are a burden that none can bear, though 
 their fortitude may sustain their other infirmities ; ' and if 
 words cannot express the joy of a conscience relieved from 
 such restless agonies ; then Dr. Sanderson might rejoice that 
 so many were by him so clearly and conscientiously satisfied,
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 269 
 
 for he denied none, and would often praise God for that 
 ability, and as often for the occasion, and that God had in- 
 clined his heart to do it to the meanest of any of those poor, 
 but precious souls, for which his Saviour vouchsafed to be 
 crucified. 
 
 Some of these very many cases that were resolved by letters, 
 have been preserved and printed for the benefit of posterity ; 
 as namely, 
 
 1. Of the Sabbath. 
 
 2. Marrying with a Recusant. 
 
 3. Of Unlawful Love. 
 
 4. Of a Military Life. 
 
 5. Of Scandal. 
 
 6. Of a Bond taken in the King's Name. 
 
 7. Of the Engagement. 
 
 8. Of a Rash Vow. 
 
 But many more remain in private hands, of which one is of 
 simony ; and I wish the world might see it, that it might 
 undeceive some patrons, who think they have discharged that 
 great and dangerous trust, both to God and man, if they take 
 no money for a living, though it may be parted with for other 
 ends less justifiable. 
 
 And in this time of his retirement, when the common people 
 were amazed and grown giddy by the many falsehoods and 
 misapplications of truths frequently vented in sermons; when 
 they wrested the scripture by challenging God to be of 
 their party, and called upon him in their prayers to patronise 
 their sacrilege and zealous frenzies ; in this time he did so 
 compassionate the generality of this misled nation, that though 
 the times threatened danger, yet he then hazarded his safety 
 by writing the large and bold preface, now extant, before his 
 last twenty sermons; — first printed in the year 1655; — in 
 which there was such strength of reason, with so powerful 
 and clear convincing applications made to the Non-conformists, 
 as being read by one of those dissenting brethren, who was 
 possessed with such a spirit of contradiction, as being neither
 
 270 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 able to defend his error, nor yield to truth manifest, — his 
 conscience having slept long and quietly in a good sequestered 
 living, — was yet at the reading of it so awakened, that after 
 a conflict with the reason he had met, and the damage he 
 was to sustain if he consented to it, — and being still unwilling 
 to be so convinced, as to lose by being over-reasoned, — he went 
 in haste to the bookseller of whom it was bought, threatened 
 him, and told him in anger, 'he had sold a book in which 
 there was false divinity ; and that the preface had upbraided 
 the Parliament, and many godly ministers of that party, for 
 unjust dealing.' To which his reply was, — 'twas Tim. Garth- 
 waite, — 'That 'twas not his trade to judge of true or false 
 divinity, but to print and sell books : and yet if he, or any 
 friend of his, would write an answer to it, and own it by 
 setting his name to it, he would print the answer, and promote 
 the selling of it.' 
 
 About the time of his printing this excellent preface, I met 
 him accidentally in London, in sad-coloured clothes, and, God 
 knows, far from being costly. The place of our meeting was 
 near to Little Britain, where he had been to buy a book, 
 which he then had in his hand. We had no inclination to 
 part presently, and therefore turned to stand in a corner under 
 a pent-house, — for it began to rain, — and immediately the 
 wind rose, and the rain increased so much, that both became 
 so inconvenient, as to force us into a cleanly house, where 
 we had bread, cheese, ale, and a fire for our money. This 
 rain and wind were so obliging to me, as to force our stay 
 there for at least an hour, to my great content and advantage, 
 for in that time he made to me many useful observations, with 
 much clearness and conscientious freedom. I shall relate a 
 part of them, in hope they may also turn to the advantage 
 of my reader. He seemed to lament that the Parliament had 
 taken upon them to abolish our Liturgy, to the scandal of so 
 many devout and learned men, and the disgrace of those 
 many martyrs, who had sealed the truth and use of it with 
 their blood : and that no minister was now thought godly that 
 did not decry it, and at least pretend to make better prayers ex
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 271 
 
 tempore : and that they, and only they, that could do so, prayed 
 by the Spirit, and were godly ; though in their sermons they 
 disputed, and evidently contradicted each other in their prayers. 
 And as he did dislike this, so he did most highly commend the 
 common prayer of the Church, saying, 'the collects were the 
 most passionate, proper, and most elegant expressions that any 
 language ever afforded ; and that there was in them such piety, 
 and so interwoven with instructions, that they taught us to 
 know the power, the wisdom, the majesty, and mercy of God, 
 and much of our duty both to him and our neighbour : and 
 that a congregation, behaving themselves reverently, and put- 
 ting up to God these joint and known desires for pardon of 
 sins, and praises for mercies received, could not but be more 
 pleasing to God, than those raw, unpremeditated expressions 
 to which many of the hearers could not say, Amen.' 
 
 And he then commended to me the frequent use of the 
 Psalter, or Psalms of David ; speaking to this purpose : ' That 
 they were the treasury of Christian comfort, fitted for all 
 persons and necessities; able to raise the soul from dejection 
 by the frequent mention of God's mercies to repentant sinners ; 
 to stir up holy desires : to increase joy ; to moderate sorrow ; 
 to nourish hope, and teach us patience, by waiting God's 
 leisure : to beget a trust in the mercy, power, and providence 
 of our Creator ; and to cause a resignation of ourselves to his 
 will ; and then, and not till then, to believe ourselves happy.' 
 This, he said, the Liturgy and psalms taught us ; and that 
 by the frequent use of the last, they would not only prove 
 to be our soul's comfort, but would become so habitual, as to 
 transform them into the image of his soid that composed 
 them. After this manner he expressed himself concerning 
 the Liturgy and psalms ; and seemed to lament that this, 
 which was the devotion of the more primitive times, should 
 in common pulpits be turned into needless debates about 
 freewill, election, and reprobation, of which, and many like 
 questions, we may be safely ignorant, because Almighty God 
 intends not to lead us to heaven by hard questions, but by 
 meekness and charity, and a frequent practice of devotion.
 
 272 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 And he seemed to lament very much, that, by the means 
 of irregular and indiscreet preaching, the generality of the 
 nation were possessed with such dangerous mistakes, as to 
 think, 'they might be religious first, and then just and merci- 
 ful ; that they might sell their consciences, and yet have 
 something left that was worth keeping ; that they might be 
 sure they were elected, though their lives were visibly scandal- 
 ous ; that to be cunning was to be wise ; that to be rich was 
 to be happy, though their wealth was got without justice or 
 mercy ; that to be busy in things they understood not, was 
 no sin.' These and the like mistakes he lamented much, and 
 besought God to remove them, and restore us to that humility, 
 sincerity, and singleheartedness, with which this nation was 
 blessed before the unhappy covenant was brought into the 
 nation, and every man preached and prayed what seemed best 
 in his own eyes. And he then said to me, ' That the way to 
 restore this nation to a more meek and Christian temper, was 
 to have the body of divinity — or so much of it as was need- 
 ful to be known — to be put into fifty-two homilies or sermons, 
 of such a length as not to exceed a third, or fourth part of 
 an hour's reading: and these needful points to be made so 
 clear and plain, that those of a mean capacity might know 
 what was necessary to be believed, and what God requires to 
 be done ; and then some applications of trial and conviction : 
 and these to be read every Sunday of the year, as infallibly 
 as the blood circulates the body ; and then as certainly begun 
 again, and continued the year following : and that this being 
 done, it might probably abate the inordinate desires of know- 
 ing what we need not, and practising what we know and 
 ought to do.' This was the earnest desire of this prudent 
 man. And oh that Dr. Sanderson had undertaken it ! for then 
 in all probability it would have proved effectual. 
 
 At this happy time of enjoying his company and his dis- 
 course, he expressed a sorrow by saying to me, r Oh that I 
 had gone chaplain to that excellently accomplished gentleman, 
 your friend, Sir Henry Wotton ! which was once intended, 
 when he first went ambassador to the State of Venice : for by
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 273 
 
 that employment I had been forced into a necessity of con- 
 versing, not with him only, but with several men of several 
 nations; and might thereby have kept myself from my un- 
 manly bashfulness, which has proved very troublesome, and 
 not less inconvenient to me ; and which I now fear is become 
 so habitual as never to leave me : and by that means I might 
 also have known, or at least have had the satisfaction of 
 seeing, one of the late miracles of general learning, prudence, 
 and modesty, Sir Henry Wotton's dear friend, Padre Paulo, 
 who, the author of his life says, was born with a bashfulness 
 as invincible as I have found my own to be : a man whose fame 
 must never die, till virtue and learning shall become so use- 
 less as not to be regarded.' 
 
 This was a part of the benefit I then had by that hour's 
 conversation : and I gladly remember and mention it, as an 
 argument of my happiness, and his great humility and con- 
 descension. I had also a like advantage by another happy 
 conference with him, which I am desirous to impart in this 
 place to the reader. He lamented much, that in many parishes, 
 where the maintenance was not great, there was no minister to 
 officiate ; and that many of the best sequestered livings were 
 possessed with such rigid covenanters as denied the sacrament 
 to their parishioners, unless upon such conditions, and in such 
 a manner, as they could not take it. This he mentioned with 
 much sorrow, saying, ' The blessed sacrament did, by way of 
 preparation for it, give occasion to all conscientious receivers to 
 examine the performance of their vows, since they received 
 their last seal for the pardon of their sins past ; and to examine 
 and research their hearts, and make penitent reflections on 
 their failings ; and, that done, to bewail them, and then make 
 new vows or resolutions to obey all God's commands, and beg 
 his grace to perform them. And this done, the sacrament re- 
 pairs the decays of grace, helps us to conquer infirmities, gives 
 us grace to beg God's grace, and then gives us what we beg ; 
 makes us still hunger and thirst after his righteousness, which 
 we then receive, and being assisted with our endeavours, will 
 still so dwell in us, as to become our satisfaction in this life, and 
 
 S
 
 274 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 our comfort on our last sick-beds.' The want of this blessed 
 benefit he lamented much, and pitied their condition that 
 desired, but could not obtain it. 
 
 I hope I shall not disoblige my reader, if I here enlarge into 
 a further character of his person and temper. As first, that 
 he was moderately tall : his behaviour had in it much of a 
 plain comeliness, and very little, yet enough, of ceremony or 
 courtship ; his looks and motion manifested affability and mild- 
 ness, and yet he had with these a calm, but so matchless a 
 fortitude, as secured him from complying with any of those 
 many Parliament injunctions, that interfered with a doubtful 
 conscience. His learning was methodical and exact, his wisdom 
 useful, his integrity visible, and his whole life so unspotted, that 
 all ought to be preserved as copies for posterity to write after ; 
 the clergy especially, who with impure hands ought not to offer 
 sacrifice to that God, whose pure eyes abhor iniquity. 
 
 There was in his sermons no improper rhetoric, nor such 
 perplexed divisions, as may be said to be like too much light, 
 that so dazzles the eyes, that the sight becomes less perfect : 
 but there was therein no want of useful matter, nor waste of 
 words ; and yet such clear distinctions as dispelled all confused 
 notions, and made his hearers depart both wiser, and more con- 
 firmed in virtuous resolutions. 
 
 His memory was so matchless and firm, as 'twas only over- 
 come by his bashfulness ; for he alone, or to a friend, could 
 repeat all the Odes of Horace, all Tully's Offices, and much of 
 Juvenal and Persius, without book : and would say, ' the repe- 
 tition of one of the Odes of Horace to himself, was to him such 
 music, as a lesson on the viol was to others, when they played 
 it to themselves or friends.' And though he was blessed with a 
 clearer judgment than other men, yet he was so distrustful of 
 it, that he did over-consider of consequences, and would so 
 delay and reconsider what to determine, that though none ever 
 determined better, yet, when the bell tolled for him to appear 
 and read his divinity lectures in Oxford, and all the scholars 
 attended to hear him, he had not then, or not till then, resolved 
 and writ what he meant to determine ; so that that appeared
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 275 
 
 to be a truth, which his old dear friend Dr. Sheldon would 
 often say, namely, 'That his judgment was so much superior to 
 his fancy, that whatsoever this suggested, that disliked and 
 controlled ; still considering, and re-considering, till his time 
 was so wasted, that he was forced to write, not, probably, what 
 was best, but what he thought last.' And yet what he did 
 then read, appeared to all hearers to be so useful, clear, and 
 satisfactory, as none ever determined with greater applause. 
 These tiring and perplexing thoughts, begot in him an averse- 
 ness to enter into the toil of considering and determining all 
 casuistical points ; because during that time, they neither gave 
 rest to his body or mind. But though he would not be always 
 loaden with these knotty points and distinctions ; yet the 
 study of old records, genealogies, and heraldry, were a recrea- 
 tion, and so pleasing, that he would say they gave rest to his 
 mind. Of the last of which I have seen two remarkable 
 volumes ; and the reader needs neither to doubt their truth or 
 exactness. 
 
 And this humble man had so conquered all repining and 
 ambitious thoughts, and with them all other unruly passions, 
 that, if the accidents of the day proved to his danger or 
 damage, yet he both began and ended it with an even and 
 undisturbed quietness ; always praising God that he had not 
 withdrawn food and raiment from him and his poor family ; 
 nor suffered him to violate his conscience for his safety, or to 
 support himself or them in a more splendid or plentiful condi- 
 tion ; and that he therefore resolved with David, ' That his 
 praise should be always in his mouth.' 
 
 I have taken a content in giving my reader this character of 
 his person, his temper, and some of the accidents of his life past ; 
 and more might be added of all ; but I will with great sorrow 
 look forward to the sad days, in which so many good good men 
 suffered, about the year 1658, at which time Dr. Sanderson was 
 in a very low condition as to his estate ; and in that time Mr. 
 Robert Boyle — a gentleman of a very noble birth, and more 
 eminent for his libei'ality, learning, and virtue, and of whom I 
 would say much more, but that he still lives — having casually
 
 276 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 met with and read his lectures tie Juramento, to his great satis- 
 faction, and being informed of Dr. Sanderson's great innocence 
 and sincerity, and that he and his family were brought into a 
 low condition by his not complying with the Parliament's in- 
 junctions, sent him by his dear friend Dr. Barlow — the now 
 learned Bishop of Lincoln — £50, and with it a request and 
 promise. The request was, that he would review the lectures 
 de Conscientid, which he had read when he was Doctor of the 
 Chair in Oxford, and print them for the good of posterity : — 
 and this Dr. Sanderson did in the year 1659- And the promise 
 was, that he would pay him that, or a greater sum if desired, 
 during his life, to enable him to pay an amanuensis, to ease him 
 from the trouble of writing what he should conceive or dictate. 
 For the more particular account of which, I refer my reader to 
 a letter writ by the said Dr. Barlow, which I have annexed to 
 the end of this relation. 
 
 Towards the end of this year, 1659, when the many mixed 
 sects, and their creators and merciless protectors, had led or 
 driven each other into a whirlpool of confusion : when amaze- 
 ment and fear had seized them, and their accusing consciences 
 gave them an inward and fearful intelligence, that the god 
 which they had long served was now ready to pay them such 
 wages, as he does always reward witches with for their obeying 
 him : when these wretches were come to foresee an end of their 
 cruel reign, by our King's return ; and such sufferers as Dr. 
 Sanderson — and with him many of the oppressed clergy and 
 others — could foresee the cloud of their afflictions would be dis- 
 persed by it ; then, in the beginning of the year following, the 
 King was by God restored to us, and we to our known laws and 
 liberties, and a general joy and peace seemed to breathe 
 through the three nations. Then were the suffering clergy 
 freed from their sequestration, restored to their revenues, and 
 to a liberty to adore, praise, and pray to God in such order as 
 their consciences and oaths had formerly obliged them. And 
 the reader will easily believe, that Dr. Sanderson and his 
 dejected family rejoiced to see this day, and be of this 
 number.
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 277 
 
 It ought to be considered — which I have often heard or read 
 — that in the primitive times men of learning and virtue were 
 usually sought for, and solicited to accept of episcopal govern- 
 ment, and often refused it. For they conscientiously con- 
 sidered, that the office of a bishop was made up of labour and 
 care ; that they were trusted to be God's almoners of the 
 Church's revenue, and double their care for the poor; to live 
 strictly themselves, and use all diligence to see that their 
 family, officers, and clergy did so ; and that the account of that 
 stewardship, must, at the last dreadful day, be made to the 
 Searcher of all hearts : and that in the primitive times they 
 were therefore timorous to undertake it. It may not be said 
 that Dr. Sanderson was accomplished with these, and all the 
 other requisites required in a bishop, so as to be able to answer 
 them exactly ; but it may be affirmed, as a good preparation, 
 that he had at the age of seventy-three years — for he was so 
 old at the King's return — fewer faults to be pardoned by God 
 or man, than are apparent in others in these days, in which God 
 knows, we fall so short of that visible sanctity and zeal to God's 
 glory, which was apparent in the days of primitive Christianity. 
 This is mentioned by way of preparation to what I shall say 
 more of Dr. Sanderson ; and namely, that, at the King's return, 
 Dr. Sheldon, the late prudent Bishop of Canterbury, — than 
 whom none knew, valued, or loved Dr. Sanderson, more or 
 better, — was by his Majesty made a chief trustee to commend 
 to him fit men to supply the then vacant bishoprics. And Dr. 
 Sheldon knew none fitter than Dr. Sanderson, and therefore 
 humbly desired the King that he would nominate him : and, 
 that done, he did as humbly desire Dr. Sanderson that he 
 would, for God's and the Church's sake, take that charge and 
 care upon him. Dr. Sanderson had, if not an unwillingness, 
 certainly no forwardness to undertake it ; and would often say, 
 he had not led himself, but his friend would now lead him into 
 a temptation, which he had daily prayed against ; and besought 
 God, if he did undertake it, so to assist him with his grace, 
 that the example of his life, his cares and endeavours, might 
 promote his glory, and help forward the salvation of others.
 
 278 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 This I have mentioned as a happy preparation to his bishop- 
 ric ; and am next to tell, that he was consecrated Bishop of 
 Lincoln at Westminster, the 28th of October, 1660. 
 
 There was about this time a Christian care taken, that those 
 whose consciences were, as they said, tender, and could not 
 comply with the service and ceremonies of the Church, might 
 have satisfaction given by a friendly debate betwixt a select 
 number of them, and some like number of those that had been 
 sufferers for the Church service and ceremonies, and now restored 
 to liberty ; of which last some were then preferred to power and 
 dignity in the Church. And of these Bishop Sanderson was 
 one, and then chose to be a moderator in that debate : and he 
 performed his trust with much mildness, patience, and reason ; 
 but all proved ineffectual : for there be some prepossessions 
 like jealousies, which, though causeless, yet cannot be removed 
 by reasons as apparent as demonstration can make any truth. 
 The place appointed for this debate was the Savoy in the 
 Strand : and the points debated were, I think, many ; some 
 affirmed to be truth and reason, some denied to be either ; and 
 these debates being then in words, proved to be so loose 
 and perplexed as satisfied neither party. For some time that 
 which had been affirmed was immediately forgot or denied, and 
 so no satisfaction given to either party. But that the debate 
 might become more useful, it was therefore resolved that the 
 day following the desires and reasons of the Non-conformists 
 should be given in writing, and they in writing receive answers 
 from the conforming party. And though I neither now can, 
 nor need to mention all the points debated, nor the names of 
 the dissenting brethren ; yet I am sure Mr. Baxter was one, and 
 am sure what shall now follow was one of the points debated. 
 
 Concerning a command of lawful superiors, what was sufficient 
 to its being a lawful command ; this proposition was brought 
 by the conforming party. 
 
 ' That command which commands an act in itself lawful, and 
 no other act or circumstance unlawful, is not sinful.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it for two reasons, which he gave in with 
 his own hand in writing, thus :
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 279 
 
 One, was ' Because that may be a sin per accidens, which is 
 not so in itself, and may be unlawfully commanded, though that 
 accident be not in the command.' Another was, ' That it may 
 be commanded under an unjust penalty.' 
 
 Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists, 
 ' That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, 
 and no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor 
 any circumstance whence, per accidens, any sin is consequent 
 which the commander ought to provide against, is not sinful.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it for this reason, then given in with his 
 own hand in writing thus: 'Because the first act commanded 
 may be per accidens unlawful, and be commanded by an unjust 
 penalty, though no other act or circumstance commanded be 
 such.' 
 
 Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists, 
 1 That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, and 
 no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor any 
 circumstance, whence directly, or per accidens, any sin is con- 
 sequent, which the commander ought to provide against, hath 
 in it all things requisite to the lawfulness of a command, and 
 particularly cannot be guilty of commanding an act per accidens 
 unlawful, nor of commanding an act under an unjust penalty.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it upon the same reasons. 
 
 Peter Gunning. 
 John Pearson. 
 
 These were then two of the disputants, still alive, and will 
 attest this ; one being now Lord Bishop of Ely, and the other 
 of Chester. And the last of them told me very latety, that 
 one of the dissenters — which I could, but forbear to name — 
 appeared to Dr. Sanderson to be so bold, so troublesome, and so 
 illogical in the dispute, as forced patient Dr. Sanderson — who 
 was then Bishop of Lincoln, and a moderator with other 
 bishops — to say, with an unusual earnestness, 'That he had 
 never met with a man of more pertinacious confidence, and 
 less abilities, in all his conversation.' 
 
 But though this debate at the Savoy was ended without any
 
 280 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 great satisfaction to either party, yet both parties knew the 
 desires, and understood the abilities, of the other, much better 
 than before it : and the late distressed clergy, that were now 
 restored to their former rights and power, did, at the next 
 meeting in convocation, contrive to give the dissenting party 
 satisfaction by alteration, explanation, and addition to some 
 part both of the rubric and common prayer, as also by adding 
 some necessary collects, and a particular collect of thanks- 
 giving. How many of those new collects were worded by Dr. 
 Sanderson, I cannot say; but am sure the whole convocation 
 valued him so much that he never undertook to speak to any 
 point in question, but he was heard with great willingness and 
 attention; and when any point in question was determined, 
 the convocation did usually desire him to word their intentions, 
 and as usually approve and thank him. 
 
 At this convocation the common prayer was made more 
 complete, by adding three new necessary offices ; which were, 
 ' A form of humiliation for the murder of King Charles the 
 Martyr; A thanksgiving for the restoration of his son our 
 King ; and for the baptizing of persons of riper age.' I cannot 
 say Dr. Sanderson did form, or word them all, but doubtless 
 more than any single man of the convocation ; and he did also, 
 by desire of the convocation, alter and add to the forms of 
 prayers to be used at sea — now taken into the service-book. 
 And it may be noted, that William, the now Right Reverend 
 Bishop of Canterbury, was in these employments diligently 
 useful ; especially in helping to rectify the calendar and rubric. 
 And lastly, it may be noted, that, for the satisfying all the dis- 
 senting brethren and others, the convocation's reasons for the 
 alterations and additions to the Liturgy were by them desired 
 to be drawn up by Dr. Sanderson ; which being done by 
 him, and appi-oved by them, was appointed to be printed 
 before the Liturgy, and may be known by this title — 'The 
 Preface ; ' and begins thus — ' It hath been the wisdom of the 
 Church.' 
 
 I shall now follow him to his bishopric, and declare a part 
 of his behaviour in that busy and weighty employment. And
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 281 
 
 first, that it was with such condescension and obligingness to 
 the meanest of his clergy, as to know and be known to them. 
 And indeed he practised the like to all men of what degree 
 soever, especially to his old neighbours or parishioners of 
 Boothby Pannell ; for there was all joy at his table, when they 
 came to visit him : then they prayed for him, and he for them, 
 with an unfeigned affection. 
 
 I think it will not be denied, but that the care and toil 
 required of a bishop, may justly challenge the riches and 
 revenue with which their predecessors had lawfully endowed 
 them : and yet he sought not that so much, as doing good 
 both to the present age and posterity ; and he made this 
 appear by what follows. 
 
 The Bishop's chief house at Buckden, in the county of 
 Huntingdon, the usual residence of his predecessors, — for it 
 stands about the midst of his diocese, — having been at his 
 consecration a great part of it demolished, and what was left 
 standing under a visible decay, was by him undertaken to be 
 erected and repaired : and it was performed with great speed, 
 care, and charge. And to this may be added, that the King 
 having by an injunction commended to the care of the bishops, 
 deans, and prebends of all Cathedral Churches, 'the repair 
 of them, their houses, and augmentation of small vicarages ; ' 
 he, when he was repairing Buckden, did also augment the last, 
 as fast as fines were paid for renewing leases : so fast, that a 
 friend, taking notice of his bounty, was so bold as to advise 
 him to remember 'he was under his first-fruits, and that he 
 was old, and had a wife and children yet but meanly provided 
 for, especially if his dignity were considered.' To whom he 
 made a mild and thankful answer, saying, ' It would not 
 become a Christian bishop to suffer those houses built by his 
 predecessors to be ruined for want of repair; and less justifiable 
 to suffer any of those, that were called to so high a calling as 
 to sacrifice at God's altar, to eat the bread of sorrow constantly, 
 when he had a power by a small augmentation, to turn it into 
 the bread of cheerfulness : and wished, that as this was, so it 
 were also in his power to make all mankind happy, for he
 
 282 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 desired nothing more. And for his wife and children, he 
 hoped to leave them a competence, and in the hands of a God 
 that would provide for all that kept innocence, and trusted his 
 providence and protection, which he had always found enough 
 to make and keep him happy.' 
 
 There was in his diocese a minister of almost his age, that 
 had been of Lincoln College when he left it, who visited him 
 often, and always welcome, because he was a man of innocence 
 and open-heartedness. This minister asked the Bishop what 
 books he studied most, when he laid the foundation of his 
 great and clear learning. To which his answer was, ' that he 
 declined reading many ; but what he did read were well 
 chosen, and read so often, that he became very familiar with 
 them ; ' and said, ' they were chiefly three, Aristotle's Rhetoric, 
 Aquinas's Secunda Secundce, and Tully, but chiefly his Offices, 
 which he had not read over less that twenty times, and could 
 at this age say without book.' And told him also, ' the learned 
 civilian Doctor Zouch — who died lately — had writ Elementa 
 JurisprudenticB, which was a book that he could also say without 
 book ; and that no wise man could read it too often, or love 
 or commend too much ; ' and told him ' these had been his 
 toil : but for himself he always had a natural love to 
 genealogies and heraldry ; and that when his thoughts were 
 harassed with any perplexed studies, he left off, and turned to 
 them as a recreation ; and that his very recreation had made 
 him so perfect in them, that he could, in a very short time, give 
 an account of the descent, arms, and antiquity of any family 
 of the nobility or gentry of this nation.' 
 
 Before I give an account of Dr. Sanderson's last sickness, I 
 desire to tell the reader that he was of a healthful constitution, 
 cheerful and mild, of an even temper, very moderate in his 
 diet, and had had little sickness, till some few years before his 
 death ; but was then every winter punished with a diarrhoea, 
 which left not till warm weather returned and removed it : and 
 this distemper did, as he grew older, seize him oftener, and 
 continue longer with him. But though it weakened him, yet 
 it made him rather indisposed than sick, and did no way
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 283 
 
 disable him from studying — indeed too much. In this decay 
 of his strength, but not of his memory or reason, — for this dis- 
 temper works not upon the understanding, — he made his last 
 will, of which I shall give some account for confirmation of 
 what hath been said, and what I think convenient to be 
 known, before I declare his death and burial. 
 
 He did in his last will, give an account of his faith and 
 persuasion in point of religion, and Church government, in 
 these very words : 
 
 ' I, Robert Sanderson, Doctor of Divinity, an unworthy 
 minister of Jesus Christ, and, by the providence of God, Bishop 
 of Lincoln, being by the long continuance of an habitual dis- 
 temper brought to a great bodily weakness and faintness of 
 spirits, but — by the great mercy of God — without any bodilv 
 pain otherwise, or decay of understanding, do make this my 
 will and testament,— written all with my own hand, — re- 
 voking all former wills by me heretofore made, if any such 
 shall be found. First, I commend my soul into the hands of 
 Almighty God, as of a faithful Creator, which I humbly beseech 
 him mercifully to accept, looking upon it, not as it is in itself, 
 — infinitely polluted with sin, — but as it is redeemed and 
 purged with the precious blood of his only beloved Son, and 
 my most sweet Saviour Jesus Christ ; in confidence of whose 
 merits and mediation alone it is, that I cast myself upon the 
 mercy of God for the pardon of my sins, and the hopes of 
 eternal life. And here I do profess, that as I have lived, so I 
 desire, and — by the grace of God — resolve, to die in the com- 
 munion of the Catholic Church of Christ, and a true son of 
 the Church of England : which, as it stands by law established, 
 to be both in doctrine and worship agreeable to the word of 
 God, and in the most, and most material points of both con- 
 formable to the faith and practice of the godly Churches of 
 Christ in the primitive and purer times, I do firmly believe : 
 led so to do, not so much from the force of custom and 
 education, — to which the greatest part of mankind owe their 
 particular different persuasions in point of religion, — as upon 
 the clear evidence of truth and reason, after a serious and
 
 284 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 impartial examination of the grounds, as well of Popery as 
 Puritanism, according to that measure of understanding, and 
 those opportunities which God hath afforded me : and herein 
 I am abundantly satisfied, that the schism which the Papists 
 on the one hand, and the superstition which the Puritan on 
 the other hand, lay to our charge, are very justly chargeable 
 upon themselves respectively. Wherefore I humbly beseech 
 Almighty God, the Father of mercies, to preserve the Church 
 by his power and providence, in peace, truth, and godliness, 
 evermore to the world's end : which doubtless he will do, if 
 the wickedness and security of a sinful people — and particularly 
 those sins that are so rife, and seem daily to increase among 
 us, of unthankfulness, riot, and sacrilege — do not tempt his 
 patience to the contrary. And I also further humbly beseech 
 him, that it would please him to give unto our gracious 
 Sovereign, the reverend bishops, and the Parliament, timely 
 to consider the great danger that visibly threatens this Church 
 in point of religion by the late great increase of Popery, and in 
 point of revenue by sacrilegious inclosures ; and to provide 
 such wholesome and effectual remedies, as may prevent the 
 same before it be too late.' 
 
 And for a further manifestation of his humble thoughts and 
 desires, they may appear to the reader by another part of 
 his will which follows. 
 
 'As for my corruptible body, I bequeath it to the earth 
 whence it was taken, to be decently buried in the Parish 
 Church of Buckden, towards the upper end of the chancel, 
 upon the second, or — at the furthest — the third day after my 
 decease ; and that with as little noise, pomp, and charge as 
 may be, without the invitation of any person how near soever 
 related unto me, other than the inhabitants of Buckden ; with- 
 out the unnecessary expense of escutcheons, gloves, ribbons, 
 etc., and without any blacks to be hung anywhere in or about 
 the house or Church, other than a pulpit cloth, a hearse cloth, 
 and a mourning gown for the preacher ; whereof the former — 
 after my body shall be interred — to be given to the preacher 
 of the funeral sermon, and the latter to the curate of the
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 285 
 
 parish for the time being. And my will further is that the 
 funeral sermon be preached by my own household chaplain, 
 containing some wholesome discourse concerning mortality, the 
 resurrection of the dead and the last judgment; and that 
 he shall have for his pains £,5, upon condition that he speak 
 nothing at all concerning my person, either good or ill, other 
 than I myself shall direct ; only signifying to the auditory that 
 it was my express will to have it so. And it is my will, that 
 no costly monument be erected for my memory, but only a 
 fair flat marble stone to be laid over me, with this inscription 
 in legible Roman characters, depositum roberti Sanderson 
 
 NUPER LINCOLNIENSIS EPISCOPI, QUI OBIIT ANNO DOMINI MDCLXII. 
 ET ^ETATIS SU.E SEPTUAGESIMO SEXTO, HIC REQUIESCIT IN SPE BEATE 
 
 resurrectionis. This manner of burial, although I cannot but 
 foresee it will prove unsatisfactory to sundry my nearest friends 
 and relations, and be apt to be censured by others, as an 
 evidence of my too much parsimony and narrowness of mind, 
 as being altogether unusual, and not according to the mode of 
 these times : yet it is agreeable to the sense of my heart, and 
 I do very much desire my will may be carefully observed 
 herein, hoping it may become exemplary to some or other : at 
 least however testifying at my death — what I have so often 
 and earnestly professed in my lifetime— my utter dislike of the 
 flatteries commonly used in funeral sermons, and of the vast 
 expenses otherwise laid out in funeral solemnities and enter- 
 tainments, with very little benefit to any ; which if bestowed 
 in pious and charitable works, might redound to the public 
 or private benefit of many persons.' 
 
 I am next to tell, that he died the 29th of January, 1662; 
 and that his body was buried in Buckden, the third day after 
 his death ; and for the manner, that it was as far from ostentation 
 as he desired it ; and all the rest of his will was as punctually 
 performed. And when I have — to his just praise — told this 
 truth, 'that he died far from being rich,' I shall return back 
 to visit, and give a further account of him on his last sick-bed. 
 
 His last will — of which I have mentioned a part — was made 
 about three weeks before his death, about which time, finding
 
 286 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 his strength to decay, by reason of his constant infirmity, and 
 a consumptive cough added to it, he retired to his chamber, 
 expressing a desire to enjoy his last thoughts to himself in 
 private, without disturbance or care, especially of what might 
 concern this world. And that none of his clergy — which are 
 more numerous than any other bishop's — might suffer by his 
 retirement, he did by commission empower his chaplain, Mr. 
 Pullin, with episcopal power to give institutions to all livings or 
 Church preferments, during this his disability to do it himself. 
 In this time of his retirement he longed for his dissolution ; and 
 when some that loved him prayed for his recovery, if he at any 
 time found any amendment, he seemed to be displeased, by 
 saying, ' His friends said their prayers backward for him : and 
 that it was not his desire to live a useless life, and by filling up 
 a place keep another out of it, that might do God and his 
 Church service.' He would often with much joy and thank- 
 fulness mention, ' That during his being a housekeeper — which 
 was more than forty years — there had not been one buried out 
 of his family, and that he was now like to be the first.' He 
 would also often mention with thankfulness, ' That till he was 
 threescore years of age, he had never spent five shillings in 
 law, nor — upon himself — so much in wine : and rejoiced much 
 that he had so lived, as never to cause an hour's sorrow to his 
 good father; and hoped he should die without an enemy.' 
 
 He, in this retirement, had the Church prayers read in his 
 chamber twice every day ; and at nine at night, some prayers 
 read to him and a part of his family out of The Whole Duty of 
 Man. As he was remarkably punctual and regular in all his 
 studies and actions, so he used himself to be for his meals. 
 And his dinner being appointed to be constantly ready at the 
 ending of prayers, and he expecting and calling for it, was 
 answered, ' It would be ready in a quarter of an hour.' To 
 which his reply was, ' A quarter of an hour ! Is a quarter of an 
 hour nothing to a man that probably has not many hours to 
 live ? ' And though he did live many hours after this, yet he 
 lived not many days ; for the day after — which was three days 
 before his death — he was become so weak and weary of either
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 287 
 
 motion or sitting, that he was content, or forced, to keep his 
 bed : in which I desire he may rest, till I have given some 
 account of his behaviour there, and immediately before it. 
 
 The day before he took his bed, — which was three days 
 before his death, — he, that he might receive a new assurance 
 for the pardon of his sins past, and be strengthened in his way 
 to the New Jerusalem, took the blessed sacrament of the body 
 and blood of his and our blessed Jesus, from the hands of his 
 chaplain, Mr. Pullin, accompanied with his wife, children, and a 
 friend, in as awful, humble, and ardent a manner, as outward 
 reverence could express. After the praise and thanksgiving 
 for it was ended, he spake to this purpose : ' Thou, O God ! 
 tookest me out of my mother's womb, and hast been the 
 powerful protector of me to this present moment of my life : 
 Thou hast neither forsaken me now I am become grey-headed, 
 nor suffered me to forsake thee in the late days of temptation, 
 and sacrifice my conscience for the preservation of my liberty 
 or estate. It was by grace that I have stood, when others have 
 fallen under my trials : and these mercies I now remember with 
 joy and thankfulness ; and my hope and desire is, that I may 
 die praising thee.' 
 
 The frequent repetition of the Psalms of David, hath been 
 noted to a great part of the devotion of the primitive Christians ; 
 the psalms having in them not only prayers and holy instructions, 
 but such commemorations of God's mercies, as may preserve, 
 comfort, and confirm our dependence on the power, and 
 providence, and mercy of our Creator. And this is mentioned 
 in order to telling, that as the holy Psalmist said, that his eyes 
 should prevent both the dawning of the day and night watches, 
 by meditating on God's word (Psal. cxix. 147), so it was Dr. 
 Sanderson's constant practice every morning to entertain his 
 first waking thoughts with a repetition of those very psalms 
 that the Church hath appointed to be constantly read in the 
 daily morning service : and having at night laid him in his bed, 
 he as constantly closed his eyes with a repetition of those 
 appointed for the service of the evening, remembering and 
 repeating the very psalms appointed for every day ; and as the
 
 288 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 month had formerly ended and began again, so did this 
 exercise of his devotion. And if his first waking thoughts were 
 of the world, or what concerned it, he would arraign and 
 condemn himself for it. Thus he began that work on earth, 
 which is now his employment in heaven. 
 
 After his taking his bed, and about a day before his death, 
 he desired his chaplain, Mr. Pullin, to give him absolution : and 
 at his performing that office, he pulled off his cap, that Mr. 
 Pullin might lay his hand upon his bare head. After this 
 desire of his was satisfied, his body seemed to be at more ease, 
 and his mind more cheerful ; and he said, ' Lord, forsake me 
 not now my strength faileth me ; but continue thy mercy, and 
 let my mouth be filled with thy praise.' He continued the 
 remaining night and day very patient, and thankful for any of 
 the little offices that were performed for his ease and refresh- 
 ment : and during that time did often say the 103rd Psalm to 
 himself, and veiy often these words, ' My heart is fixed, O God ! 
 my heart is fixed where true joy is to be found.' His thoughts 
 seemed now to be wholly of death, for which he was so 
 prepared, that the King of Terrors could not surprise him as a 
 thief in the night : for he had often said, he was prepared, and 
 longed for it. And as this desire seemed to come from heaven, 
 so it left him not till his soul ascended to that region of blessed 
 spirits, whose employments are to join in concert with him, and 
 sing praise and glory to that God, who hath brought them to 
 that place, into which sin and sorrow cannot enter. 
 
 Thus this pattern of meekness and primitive innocence 
 changed this for a better life. 'Tis now too late to wish that 
 my life may be like his ; for I am in the eighty-fifth year of 
 my age : but I humbly beseech Almighty God, that my death 
 may : and do as earnestly beg of every reader, to say — Amen. 
 
 Blessed is the man in whose spii-it there is no guile, Psal. 
 xxxii. 2.
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 289 
 
 DR. PIERCE'S LETTER. 
 
 Goon Mr. Walton, — 
 
 At my return to this place, I made a yet stricter search after the letters 
 long ago sent me from our most excellent Dr. Sanderson, before the 
 happy restoration of the King and Church of England to their several 
 rights : in one of which letters more especially, he was pleased to give 
 me a narrative both of the rise and the progress, and reasons also, as 
 well of his younger, as of his last and riper judgment, touching the 
 famous points controverted between the Calvinians and the Arminians, 
 as they are commonly (though unjustly and unskilfully) miscalled on 
 either side. 
 
 The whole letter I allude to does consist of several sheets, whereof 
 a good part had been made public long ago, by the most learned, most 
 judicious, most pious Dr. Hammond (to whom I sent it both for his 
 private, and for the public satisfaction, if he thought fit), in his 
 excellent book, entitled, A Pacific Discourse of God's Grace and Decrees, 
 in full accordance with Dr. Sanderson : to which discourse I refer you 
 for an account of Dr. Sanderson and the history of his thoughts in his 
 own handwriting, wherein I sent it to Westwood, as I received it 
 from Boothby Pannell. And although the whole book (printed in 
 the year 1660, and reprinted since with his other tracts in folio) is 
 very worthy of your perusal ; yet, for the work you are about, you 
 shall not have need to read more at present than from the 8th to the 
 23rd page, and as far as the end of section 33. There you will find in 
 what year the excellent man, whose life you write, became a Master 
 of Arts : how his first reading of learned Hooker had been occasioned 
 by certain puritanical pamphlets ; and how good a preparative he found 
 it for his reading of Calvin's Institutions, the honour of whose name 
 (at that time especially) gave such credit to his errors : how he erred 
 with Mr. Calvin, whilst he took things upon trust in the sublapsarian 
 way : how, being chosen to be a clerk of the convocation for the 
 diocese of Lincoln, 1625, he reduced the Quinquarticular Controversy 
 into five schemes or tables ; and thereupon discerned a necessity of 
 quitting the sublapsarian way, of which he had before a better liking, 
 as well as the supralapsarian, which he could never fancy. There you 
 will meet with his two weighty reasons against them both, and find 
 his happy change of judgment to have been ever since the year 162.5, 
 even thirty-four years before the world either knew, or, at least, took 
 notice of it ; and more particularly his reasons for rejecting Dr. Twiss 
 
 T
 
 290 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 (or the way he walks in), although his acute and very learned and 
 ancient friend. 
 
 I now proceed to let you know from Dr. Sanderson's own hand, 
 
 which was never printed (and which you can hardly know from any, 
 
 unless from his son, or from myself), that, when that Parliament was 
 
 hroken up, and the convocation therewith dissolved, a gentleman of 
 
 his acquaintance hy occasion of some discourse about these points, told 
 
 him of a book not long before published at Paris (a.d. 1623), by a 
 
 Spanish bishop, who had undertaken to clear the differences, in the 
 
 great controversy, De Concordia Gratice et Liberi Arbitrii. And because 
 
 nis friend perceived he was greedily desirous to see the book, he sent 
 
 him one of them, containing the four first books of twelve which he 
 
 intended then to publish. ' When I had read,' says Dr. Sanderson, 
 
 in the following words of the same letter, ' his Epistle Dedicatory to 
 
 the Pope (Gregory xv.), he spake so highly of his own invention, 
 
 that I then began rather to suspect him for a mountebank, than to hope 
 
 I should find satisfaction from his performances. I found much 
 
 confidence and great pomp of words, but little matter as to the main 
 
 knot of the business, other than had been said an hundred times 
 
 before to wit, of the co-existence of all things past, present, and 
 
 future in mente divina realiter ab ceterno, which is the subject of his 
 
 whole third book : only he interpreteth the word realiler so as to 
 
 import not only prcesentialitatem objectivam (as others held before 
 
 him), but propriam et actualem existentiam : yet confesseth it is hard 
 
 to make this intelligible. In his fourth book he endeavours to 
 
 declare a twofold manner of God's working ad extra; the one sub 
 
 ordine prcedestinationis, of which eternity is the proper measure : and 
 
 the other sub ordine gratia, whereof time is the measure ; and that 
 
 God worketh fortiter in the one (though not irresistibiliter) as well 
 
 suaviter in the other, wherein the freewill hath his proper working 
 
 also. From the result of his whole performance I was confirmed in 
 
 this opinion ; that we must acknowledge the work of both grace and 
 
 free will in the conversion of a sinner ; and so likewise in all other 
 
 events, the consistency of the infallibility of God's foreknowledge at 
 
 least (though not with any absolute, but conditional predestination) 
 
 with the liberty of man's will, and the contingency of inferior causes 
 
 and effects. These, I say, we must acknowledge for the oti : but for 
 
 the to irws, I thought it bootless for me to think of comprehending it. 
 
 And so came the two Acta Synodalia Dordrechtana to stand in my 
 
 study, only to fill up a room to this day. 
 
 ( And yet see the restless curiosity of man. Not many years after,
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 291 
 
 to wit, a.d. 1632, out cometh Dr. Twiss's Vindicice Gratia, a large 
 volume, purposely writ against Arminius : and then, notwithstanding 
 my former resolution, I must need be meddling again. The respect I 
 bore to his person and great learning, and the acquaintance I had had 
 with him in Oxford, drew me to the reading of that whole book. But 
 from the reading of it (for I read it through to a syllable) I went away 
 with many and great dissatisfactions. Sundry things in that book I 
 took notice of, which brought me into a greater dislike of his opinion 
 than I had before : but especially these three : First, that he bottometh 
 very much of his discourse upon a very erroneous principle, which 
 yet he seemeth to be so deeply in love with, that he hath repeated it, 
 I verily believe, some hundreds of times in that work : to wit this ; 
 That whatsoever is first in the intention is last in execution, and 
 e converso. Which is an error of that magnitude, that I cannot but 
 wonder how a person of such acuteness and subtilty of wit could 
 possibly be deceived with it. All logicians know there is no such 
 universal maxim as he buildeth upon. The true maxim is but this : 
 Finis qui primus est in intentione, est ultimus in executione. In the 
 order of final causes, and the means used for that end, the rule 
 holdeth perpetually : but in other things it holdeth not at all, or but 
 by chance ; or not as a rule, and necessarily. Secondly, that, fore- 
 seeing such consequences would naturally and necessarily follow 
 from his opinion, as would offend the ear of a sober Christian at 
 the very first sound, he would yet rather choose not only to admit 
 the said harsh consequences, but professedly endeavour also to 
 maintain them, and plead hard for them in large digressions, than 
 to recede in the least from that opinion which he had undertaken to 
 defend. Thirdly, that seeing (out of the sharpness of his wit) a 
 necessity of forsaking the ordinary sublapsarian way, and the supra- 
 lapsarian too, as it had diversely been declared by all that had gone 
 before him (for the shunning of those rocks, which either of those 
 ways must unavoidably cast him upon), he was forced to seek out an 
 untrodden path, and to frame out of his own brain a new way (like 
 a spider's web wrought out of her own bowels), hoping by that devise 
 to salve all absurdities, that could be objected ; to wit, by making the 
 glory of God (as it is indeed the chiefest, so) the only end of all other 
 his decrees, and then making all those other decrees to be but one 
 entire co-ordinate medium conducing to that one end, and so the 
 whole subordinate to it, but not any one part thereof subordinate to 
 any other of the same. Dr. Twiss should have done well to have 
 been more sparing in imputing the stadium partium to others, where-
 
 292 WALTON'S LIVES 
 
 with his own eyes, though of eminent perspicacity, were so strangely 
 blindfolded, that he could not discern how this his new devise, and 
 his old dearly beloved principle (like the Cadmean Sparti), do mutually 
 destroy the one the other. 
 
 "This relation of my past thoughts having spun out to a far 
 greater length than I intended, I shall give a shorter account of what 
 they now are concerning these points.' 
 
 For which account I refer you to the following parts of Dr. Ham- 
 mond's book aforesaid, where you may find them already printed : and 
 for another account at large of Bishop Sanderson's last judgment con- 
 cerning God's concurrence or non-concurrence with the actions of men, 
 and the positive entity of sins of commission, I refer you to his letters 
 already printed by his consent, in my large Appendix to my Impartial 
 Enquiry into the Nature of Sin, § G8, p. 193, as far as p. 200. 
 
 Sir, I have rather made it my choice to transcribe all above out of 
 the letters of Dr. Sanderson, which lie before me, than venture the 
 loss of my originals by post or carrier, which, though not often, yet 
 sometimes fail. Make use of as much or as little as you please, of 
 what I send you from himself (because from his own letters to me), 
 in the penning of his life, as your own prudence shall direct you : 
 using my name for your warranty in the account given of him, as 
 much or as little as you please too. You have a performance of my 
 promise, and an obedience to your desires from 
 
 Your affectionate humble servant, 
 
 North Tidworth, Tho. Pierce. 
 
 March 5, 1677-8. 
 
 THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S LETTER. 
 
 My worthy Friend, Mr. Walton, — 
 
 I am heartily glad that you have undertaken to write the life of that 
 excellent person, and, both for learning and piety, eminent prelate, 
 Dr. Sanderson, late Bishop of Lincoln ; because 1 know your ability 
 to know, and integrity to write truth : and sure I am, that the 
 life and actions of that pious and learned prelate will afford you 
 matter enough for his commendation, and the imitation of posterity. 
 In order to the carrying on your intended good work, you desire my 
 assistance, that I would communicate to you such particular passages 
 of his life as were certainly known to me. I confess I had the happi-
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 293 
 
 ness to be particularly known to him for about the space of twenty 
 years ; and, in Oxon, to enjoy his conversation, and his learned and 
 pious instructions while he was Regius Professor of Divinity there. 
 Afterwards, when (in the time of our late unhappy confusions) he left 
 Oxon, and was retired into the country, I had the benefit of his 
 letters ; wherein, with great candour and kindness, he answered those 
 doubts I proposed, and gave me that satisfaction, which I neither had 
 nor expected from some others of greater confidence, but less judg- 
 ment and humility. Having, in a letter, named two or three books 
 writ {ex professo) against the being of any original sin : and that 
 Adam, by his fall, transmitted some calamity only, but no crime to 
 his posterity ; the good old man was exceedingly troubled, and be- 
 wailed the misery of those licentious times, and seemed to wonder 
 (save that the times were such) that any should write, or be permitted 
 to publish any error so contradictory to truth, and the doctrine of the 
 Church of England, established (as he truly said) by clear evidence 
 of scripture, and the just and supreme power of this nation, both 
 sacred and civil. 1 name not the books, nor their authors, which are 
 not unknown to learned men (and I wish they had never been known) 
 because both the doctrine and the unadvised abettors of it are, and 
 shall be, to me apocryphal. 
 
 Another little story 1 must not pass in silence, being an argument 
 of Dr. Sanderson's piety, great ability, and judgment, as a casuist. 
 Discoursing with an honourable person (whose piety I value more 
 than his nobility and learning, though both be great) about a case of 
 conscience concerning oaths and vows, their nature and obligation — 
 in which, for some particular reasons, he then desired more fully 
 to be informed — I commended to him Dr. Sanderson's book De 
 Juramento ; which having read, with great satisfaction, he asked 
 me, — ' If I thought the Doctor could be induced to write cases of 
 conscience, if he might have an honorary pension allowed him to 
 furnish him with books for that purpose ? ' I told him I believed he 
 would : and, in a letter to the Doctor, told him what great satisfaction 
 that honourable person, and many more, had reaped by reading his 
 book De Juramento ; and asked him, ' whether he would be pleased, 
 for the benefit of the Church, to write some tract of cases of con- 
 science ? ' He replied, ' That he was glad that any had received any 
 benefit by his books ' : and added further, ' That if any future tract of 
 his could bring such benefit to any, as we seemed to say his former 
 had done, he would willingly, though without any pension, set about 
 that work.' Having received this answer, that honourable person,
 
 294 WALTON S LIVES 
 
 before mentioned, did, by my bands, return ,£50 to the good Doctor, 
 whose condition then (as most good men's at that time were) was but 
 low ; and he presently revised, finished, and published that excellent 
 book, De Conscientid : a book little in bulk, but not so if we con- 
 sider the benefit an intelligent reader may receive by it. For there 
 are so many general propositions concerning conscience, the nature 
 and obligation of it, explained and proved, with such firm consequence 
 and evidence of reason, that he who reads, remembers, and can with 
 prudence pertinently apply them hie et nunc to particular cases, may, 
 by their light and help, rationally resolve a thousand particular doubts 
 and scruples of conscience. Here you may see the charity of that 
 honourable person promoting, and the piety and industry of the good 
 Doctor, in performing that excellent work. 
 
 And here 1 shall add the judgment of that learned and pious prelate 
 concerning a passage very pertinent to our present purpose. When 
 he was in Oxon, and read his public lectures in the school as Regius 
 Professor of Divinity, and by the truth of his positions, and evidences 
 of his proofs, gave great content and satisfaction to all his hearers, 
 especially in his clear resolutions of all difficult cases which occurred 
 in the explication of the subject-matter of his lectures ; a person of 
 quality (yet alive) privately asked him, ' What course a young divine 
 should take in his studies to enable him to be a good casuist ? ' His 
 answer was, ' That a convenient understanding of the learned lan- 
 guages, at least of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and a sufficient know- 
 ledge of arts and sciences presupposed ; there were two things in human 
 literature, a comprehension of which would be of very great use, to 
 enable a man to be a rational and able casuist, which otherwise was very 
 difficult, if not impossible : 1. A convenient knowledge of moral 
 philosophy ; especially that part of it which treats of the nature of 
 human actions : To know, " quid sit actus human us (spontaneus, invitus, 
 mixtus), unde habet bonitatem et malitiam moralem? an ex genere et 
 objccto, ml ex circumstantiis I '" How the variety of circumstances 
 varies the goodness or evil of human actions ? How far knowledge 
 and ignorance may aggravate or excuse, increase or diminish the 
 goodness or evil of our actions ? For every case of conscience being 
 only this — "Is this action good or bad ? May I do it, or may I not ? " — 
 He who, in these, knows not how and whence human actions become 
 morally good and evil, never can {in hypothesi) rationally and certainly 
 determine, whether this or that particular action be so. 2. The 
 second thing, which,' he said, ' would be a great help and advantage 
 to a casuist, was a convenient knowledge of the nature and obligation
 
 DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 295 
 
 of laws in general ; to know what a law is ; what a natural and a 
 positive law ; what 's required to the ( latio, dispensatio, derogatio, vel 
 abrogatio legis ; what promulgation is antecedently required to the 
 obligation of any positive law ; what ignorance takes off the obligation 
 of a law, or does excuse, diminish, or aggravate the transgression : 
 For every case of conscience being only this — " Is this lawful for me, 
 or is it not ? " and the law the only rule and measure by which I must 
 judge of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of any action ; it evidently 
 follows, that he, who, in these, knows not the nature and obligation 
 of laws, never can be a good casuist, or rationally assure himself or 
 others, of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of actions in particular.' 
 
 This was the judgment and good counsel of that learned and pious 
 prelate : and having, by long experience, found the truth and benefit 
 of it, I conceive, I could not without ingratitude to him, and want of 
 charity to others, conceal it. Pray pardon this rude, and, I fear im- 
 pertinent scribble, which if nothing else, may signify thus much, that 
 I am willing to obey your desires, and am indeed, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 London, Thomas Lincoln. 
 
 May 10, 1G78. 
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
 A LIST OF NEW BOOKS 
 
 AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF 
 
 METHUEN AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS : LONDON 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET 
 
 W.C. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 FORTHCOMING BOOKS, . 
 
 
 
 FAG1 
 
 2 
 
 POETRY, 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 ENGLISH CLASSICS, 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 HISTORY, ... 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 BIOGRAPHY, 
 
 
 
 15 
 
 GENERAL LITERATURE, 
 
 
 
 16 
 
 THEOLOGY, 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 LEADERS OF RELIGION, 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 WORKS BY S. BARING GOULD, . 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 FICTION, 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, . 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 THE PEACOCK LIBRARY, 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES, 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY, 
 
 
 
 31 
 
 CLASSICAL TRANSLATIONS, 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 SEPTEMBER 1895
 
 September 1895. 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 Poetry and Belles Lettres 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 BALLADS. By Rudyard Kipling. Cro?vn Zvo. Buckram. 6s. 
 
 Also 200 copies on hand-made paper. 2is. 
 Also 35 copies on Japanese vellum. 42J. 
 
 The exceptional success of ' Barrack-Room Ballads,' with which this volume will he 
 uniform, justifies the hope that the new book too will obtain a wide popularity. 
 
 W. E. HENLEY 
 
 ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W. E. Henley. 
 
 Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s. 
 Also 30 copies on hand-made paper Demy 8vo. 21s. 
 Few announcements will be more welcome to lovers of English verse than the one 
 that Mr. Henley is bringing together into one book the finest lyrics in our 
 language. The book will be produced with the same care that made ' Lyra 
 Heroica' delightful to the hand and eye. 
 
 ANDREW LANG 
 THE POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. Edited, with Intro- 
 duction, etc., by Andrew Lang. With Portraits. Crown 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 Also 75 copies on hand-made paper. Demy 8vo. 21s. 
 This edition will contain a carefully collated Text and Notes on the Text, a critical 
 and Biographical Introduction, Introductory Notes to the Poems, and a Glossary.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Annoucements 3 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 VAILIMA LETTERS. By Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 With an Etched Portrait by William Strang, and other Illustra- 
 tions. Ctown Svo. Buckram. Js. 6d. 
 Also 125 copies on hand-made paper. Demy Svo. 2$s. 
 A series of long journal letters written from Samoa to Mr. Sidney Colvin during the 
 last five years. They form an autobiography of Mr. Stevenson during this 
 period, giving a full account of his daily life and literary work and ambitions. 
 Mr. Colvin has written a Prologue and Epilogue, and has added numerous notes. 
 
 ENGLISH CLASSICS 
 Edited by W. E. HENLEY. 
 
 The books, which are designed and printed by Messrs. Constable, are issued in 
 two editions — (i) A small edition, on the finest Japanese vellum, limited in most 
 cases to 25 copies, demy 8vo, 21s. a volume nett; (2) The popular edition on laid 
 paper, crown Svo, buckram, 3^. 6d. a volume. 
 
 NEW VOLUMES. 
 
 THE LIVES OF DONNE, WOTTON, HOOKER, HERBERT, 
 and SANDERSON. By Izaak Walton. With an Introduction 
 by Vernon Blackburn, and a Portrait. 
 
 THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By Samuel 
 Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by James Hepburn 
 Millar, and a Portrait. 3 vols. 
 
 W. M. DIXON 
 A PRIMER OF TENNYSON. By W. M. Dixon, M.A., 
 Professor of English Literature at Mason College. Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 This book consists of (1) a succinct but complete biography of Lord Tennyson; 
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 various aspects as lyrist, dramatist, and representative poet of his day ; (4) a 
 bibliography. Such a complete book on such a subject, and at such a moderate 
 price, should find a host of readers. 
 
 Fiction 
 
 MARIE CORELLI 
 
 A NEW ROMANCE. By Marie Corelli, Author of 
 
 'Barabbas,' 'A Romance of Two Worlds,' etc. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 The title of Miss Corelli' s new novel is not yet settled.
 
 4 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 
 
 ANTHONY HOPE 
 THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. By Anthony 
 Hope, Author of ' The Prisoner of Zenda,' ' The God in the Car,' 
 etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 A romance of mediaeval Italy. 
 
 GILBERT PARKER 
 
 AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH. By Gilbert 
 
 Parker, Author of ' Pierre and his People,' ' The Translation of a 
 
 Savage,' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 This book consists of more tales of the Far North, and contains the last adventures 
 of ' Pretty Pierre.' Mr. Parker's first volume of Canadian stories was published 
 about three years ago, and was received with unanimous praise. 
 
 EMILY LAWLESS 
 
 HURRISH. By the Honble. Emily Lawless, Author of 
 ' Maelcho,' 'Grania,' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 A reissue of Miss Lawless' most popular novel. 
 
 S. BARING GOULD 
 
 NOEMI. By S. Baring Gould, Author of ' Mehalah,' ' In the 
 Roar of the Sea,' etc. Illustrated by R. Caton Woodville. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 A Romance of Old France. 
 
 MRS. CLIFFORD 
 
 A FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs. W. K. Clifford, 
 Author of 'Aunt Anne.' Crown8vo. 6s. 
 
 J. MACLAREN COBBAN 
 THE KING OF ANDAMAN. By J. Maclaren Cobban, 
 Author of 'The Red Sultan,' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 G. MANVILLE FENN 
 AN ELECTRIC SPARK. By G. Manville Fenn, Author of 
 ' The Vicar's Wife,' ' A Double Knot,' etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 C. PHILLIPS WOOLLEY 
 THE OUEENSBERRY CUP. A Tale of Adventure. By 
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 Game Shooting.' Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 This is a story of amateur pugilism and chivalrous adventure, written by an author 
 whose books on sport are well known.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 5 
 
 H. G. WELLS 
 
 THE STOLEN BACILLUS, AND OTHER STORIES. By 
 H. G. Wells, Author of ' The Time Machine.' Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 MARY GAUNT 
 
 THE MOVING FINGER: chapters from the Romance of 
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 Crown Svo. 35. 6d. 
 
 EVAN ANGUS ABBOTT 
 
 THE GODS GIVE MY DONKEY WINGS. By Evan 
 Angus Abbott. Crown Svo. p. 6d. 
 
 Illustrated Books 
 
 S. BARING GOULD 
 
 OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES collected and edited by S. 
 Baring Gould. With numerous illustrations by F. D. Bedford. 
 Crown Svo, 6s. 
 
 This volume consists of some of the old English stories which have been lost to 
 sight, and they are fully illustrated by Mr. Bedford. 
 
 A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES. Edited 
 by S. Baring Gould, and illustrated by the Students of the Bir- 
 mingham Art School. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 A collection of old nursery songs and rhymes, including a number which are little 
 known. The book contains some charming illustrations, borders, etc., by the 
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 a special heavy type by Messrs. Constable. 
 
 H. C. BEECHING 
 
 A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited by H. C. 
 Beeching, M.A., and Illustrated by Walter Crane. Crown 
 Svo. $s. 
 A collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of Christ from the Middle Ages 
 to the present day. Mr. Walter Crane has designed several illustrations, and 
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 by modern authors, a few of which are here printed for the first time.
 
 6 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 
 
 JOHN KEBLE 
 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With an Intro- 
 duction and Notes by W. Lock, M. A., Sub- Warden of Keble College, 
 Author of 'The Life of John Keble.' Illustrated by R. Anning 
 Bell. Fcap. Svo. $s. 
 
 A new edition of a famous book, illustrated and printed in black and red, 
 uniform with the ' Imitation of Christ.' 
 
 Theology and Philosophy 
 
 E. C. GIBSON 
 THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE CHURCH OF ENG- 
 LAND. Edited with an Introduction by E. C. Gibson, M.A., 
 Principal of Wells Theological College. In two volumes. Demy 
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 This is the first volume of a treatise on the xxxix. Articles, and contains the Intro- 
 duction and Articles i.-xviii. 
 
 R. L. OTTLEY 
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. By R. L. 
 
 Ottley, M.A., late fellow of Magdalen College, Oxon. Principal 
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 F. S. GRANGER 
 
 THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By F. S. Granger, 
 
 M.A., Litt.D., Professor of Philosophy at University College, 
 
 Nottingham. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 The author has attempted to delineate that group of beliefs which stood in close 
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 L. T. HOBHOUSE 
 THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By L. T. HOBHOUSE, 
 
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 are considered and met.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 7 
 
 w. h. fairbrother 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. By W. H. Fair- 
 brother, M.A., Lecturer at Lincoln College, Oxford. Crown 8vo. 
 5* 
 
 This volume is expository, not ci ideal, and is intended for senior students at the 
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 to the study of Idealist Philosophy. 
 
 F. W. BUSSELL 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF PLATO : its Origin and Revival under 
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 of Brasenose College, Oxford. In two volumes. Demy 8vo. Vol. I. 
 
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 In succeeding divisions the works of Latin and Greek writers under the Empire 
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 Platonists of Alexandria and Athens. 
 
 C. J. SHEBBEARE 
 THE GREEK THEORY OF THE STATE AND THE 
 
 NONCONFORMIST CONSCIENCE : a Socialistic Defence of 
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 Christ Church, Oxford. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 History and Biography 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 
 By Edward Gibbon. A New Edition, edited with Notes, 
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 and issued in a convenient form and at a moderate price, this edition should fill 
 an obvious void. The volumes will be issued at intervals of a few months.
 
 8 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 
 
 E. L. S. HORSBURGH 
 
 THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO. By E. L. S. HORS- 
 
 burgh, B.A. With Plans. Crown Svo. $s. 
 
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 General Literature 
 
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 Messrs. Methuen's announcements 9 
 
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 INSECT LIFE. By F. W. Theobald, M.A. Illustrated. 
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 R. F. BOWMAKER 
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 NEW VOLUMES 
 
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 CICERO — De Natura Deorum. Translated by F. Brooks, 
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 C. E. PRIOR 
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 DEMOSTHENES AGAINST CONON AND CALLICLES. 
 
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 A 2
 
 A LIST OF 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's 
 
 PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Poetry 
 
 Rudyard Kipling. BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS; And 
 
 Other Verses. By Rudyard Kipling. Eighth Edition. Crown 
 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A Special Presentation Edition, bound in white buckram, with 
 
 extra gilt ornament. 7-^ °V. 
 
 ' Mr. Kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character. . . . Unmistakable genius 
 rings in every line.' — Times. 
 
 ' The disreputable lingo of Cockayne is henceforth justified before the world ; for a 
 man of genius has taken it in hand, and has shown, beyond all cavilling, that in 
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 Dutchman, is one of the books of the year." ' — National Observer. 
 
 ' " Barrack-Room Ballads " contains some of the best work that Mr. Kipling has 
 ever done, which is saying a good deal. " Fuzzy- Wuzzy," " Gunga Din," and 
 " Tommy," are, in our opinion, altogether superior to anything of the kind that 
 English literature has hitherto produced.' — Athenceum. 
 
 ' The ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. We read them 
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 Henley. LYRA HEROICA: An Anthology selected from the 
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 William Ernest Henley. Crown %vo. Buckram, gilt top. 6s. 
 
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 Guardian.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List ii 
 
 "Q" THE GOLDEN POMP : A Procession of English Lyrics 
 from Surrey to Shirley, arranged by A. T. Quiller Couch. Crown 
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 Also 40 copies on hand-made paper. Demy Svo. £1, is. net. 
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 "Q." GREEN BAYS : Verses and Parodies. By " O.," Author 
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 H. C. Beeching. LYRA SACRA : An Anthology of Sacred Verse. 
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 Mackay. A SONG OF THE SEA : My Lady of Dreams, 
 and other POEMS. By Eric Mackay, Author of ' The Love 
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 Jane Barlow. THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE, 
 
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 "Agamemnon," with " Lear," with the literature that we now instinctively regard 
 as high and holy.' — Daily Chronicle.
 
 12 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 "A. G." VERSES TO ORDER. By "A. G." Cr. Svo. 2s.6d. 
 net. 
 
 A small volume of verse by a writer whose initials are well known to Oxford men. 
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 engaging, easy and sufficiently witty.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
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 Crown Zvo. $s. 
 
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 Linen. 2s. 6d. 
 
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 net. 
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 Gazette. ' Cricket has never known such a singer.' — Cricket. 
 
 Langbridge. BALLADS OF THE BRAVE : Poems of Chivalry, 
 Enterprise, Courage, and Constancy, from the Earliest Times to the 
 Present Day. Edited, with Notes, by Rev. F. Langbridge. 
 Crown Svo. Buckram y. 6d. School Edition, 2s. 6d. 
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 intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit the taste of the great majority. 
 Spectator. ' The book is full of splendid things.'— World. 
 
 English Classics 
 
 Edited by W. E. Henley. 
 
 Messrs. Methuen are publishing, under this title, a series of the masterpieces of the 
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 at once an ornament to the shelf of him that owns, and a delight to the eye of 
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 The series, of which Mr. William Ernest Henley is the general editor, will confine 
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 The books, which are designed and printed by Messrs. Constable, are issued in two 
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 volume. 
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 By Lawrence Sterne. With an Introduction by Charles 
 
 Whibley, and a Portrait. 2 vols. *js. 
 60 copies on Japanese paper. 42J. net. 
 ' Very dainty volumes are these ; the paper, type and light green binding are all 
 
 very agreeable to the eye. ''Simplex munditiis " is the phrase that might be 
 
 applied to them. So far as we know, Sterne's famous work has never appeared in 
 
 a guise more attractive to the connoisseur than this.' — Globe. 
 ' The book is excellently printed by Messrs. Constable on good paper, and being 
 
 divided into two volumes, is light and handy without lacking the dignity of a 
 
 classic. ' — Manchester Guardian.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 13 
 
 'This new edition of a great classic might make an honourable appearance in any 
 library in the world. Printed by Constable on laid paper, bound in most artistic 
 and restful-looking fig-green buckram, with a frontispiece portrait and an introduc- 
 tion by Mr. Charles Whibley, the book might well be issued at three times its 
 present price.' — Irish Independent. 
 
 'Cheap and comely; a very agreeable edition.'— Saturday Review. 
 
 'A real acquisition to the library.' — Birmingham Post. 
 
 THE COMEDIES OF WILLIAM CONGREVE. With 
 
 an Introduction by G. S. Street, and a Portrait. 2 vols. 7s. 
 
 25 copies on Japanese paper. 42s. net. 
 
 ' The comedies are reprinted in a good text and on a page delightful to look upon. 
 The pieces are rich reading.' — Scotsman. 
 
 'So long as literature thrives, Congreve must be read with growing zest, in virtue of 
 qualities which were always rare, and which were never rarer than at this moment. 
 All that is best and most representative of Congreve's genius is included in this 
 latest edition, wherein for the first time the chaotic punctuation of its forerunners 
 is reduced to order— a necessary, thankless task on which Mr. Street has mani- 
 festly spent much pains. Of his introduction it remains to say that it is an ex- 
 cellent appreciation, notable for catholicity, discretion, and finesse : an admirable 
 piece of work.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 'Two volumes of marvellous cheapness.' — Dublin Herald. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA OF ISPAHAN. 
 By James Morier. With an Introduction by E. G. Browne, M.A. 
 and a Portrait. 2 vols. Js. 
 
 25 copies on Japanese paper. 21s. net. 
 
 History 
 
 Flinders Petrie. A HISTORY OF EGYPT, from the 
 Earliest Times to the Hyksos. By W. M. Flinders Petrie, 
 D.C.L., Professor of Egyptology at University College. Fully Illus- 
 trated. Second Edition. Crown Sz>o. 6s. 
 'An important contribution to scientific study.' — Scotsman. 
 
 'A history written in the spirit of scientific precision so worthily represented by Dr. 
 Petrie and his school cannot but promote sound and accurate study, and supply a 
 vacant place in the English literature of Egyptology.' — Times. 
 
 Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN TALES. Edited by W. M. 
 Flinders Petrie. Illustrated by Tristram Ellis. Crown Svo. 
 y. 6d. 
 
 'A valuable addition to the literature of comparative folk-lore. The drawings are 
 
 really illustrations in the literal sense of the word.'— Globe. 
 ' It has a scientific value to the student of history and archaeology.' — Scotsman. 
 'Invaluable as a picture of life in Palestine and Egypt.' — Daily News.
 
 14 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Clark. THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD : Their History and 
 their Traditions. By Members of the University. Edited by A. 
 Clark, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Lincoln College. Svo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 ' A delightful book, learned and lively.' — Academy. 
 
 'A work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the standard book on 
 the Colleges of Oxford.' — Athenaum. 
 
 Perrens. THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM THE 
 TIME OF THE MEDICIS TO THE FALL OF THE 
 REPUBLIC. By F. T. Perrens. Translated by Hannah 
 Lynch. In Three Volumes. Vol. I. Svo. 12s. 6 J. 
 
 ' This is a standard book by an honest and intelligent historian, who has deserved 
 well of all who are interested in Italian history.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. By H. B. 
 
 George, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. With numerous 
 Plans. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task — that of making military affairs in- 
 telligible and instructive to non-military readers — and has executed it with laud- 
 able intelligence and industry, and with a large measure of success.' — Times. 
 
 'This book is almost a revelation ; and we heartily congratulate the author on his 
 work and on the prospect of the reward he has well deserved for so much con- 
 scientious and sustained labour.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 Browning. GUELPHSAND GHIBELLINES: A Short History 
 of Mediaeval Italy, a.d. 1250- 1409. By Oscar Browning, Fellow 
 and Tutor of King's College, Cambridge. Second Edition. Crown 
 8vo. $s. 
 
 'A very able book.' — IVestminster Gazette. 
 
 'A vivid picture of mediaeval Italy.' — Standard. 
 
 Browning. THE AGE OF THE CONDOTTIERI : A Short 
 Story of Italy from 1409 to 1530. By Oscar Browning, M.A., 
 Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. Crown Svo. $s. 
 This book is a continuation of Mr. Browning's ' Guelphs and Ghibellines,' and the 
 
 two works form a complete account of Italian history from 1250 to 1530. 
 'Mr. Browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense 
 labour and learning.' — IVestminster Gazette. 
 
 O'Grady. THE STORY OF IRELAND. By Standish 
 O'Grady, Author of ' Finn and his Companions.' Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 ' Novel and very fascinating history. Wonderfully alluring.' — Cork Examiner. 
 'Most delightful, most stimulating. Its racy humour, its original imaginings, 
 
 make it one of the freshest, breeziest volumes.' — Methodist Times. 
 'A survey at once graphic, acute, and quaintly written.' — Times. 
 
 Maiden. ENGLISH RECORDS. A Companion to the 
 History of England. ByH. E. Malden, M.A. Crown Svo. 3j. 6d. 
 
 A book which concentrates information upon dates, genealogy, officials, constitu- 
 tional documents, etc., which is usually found scattered in different volumes.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 15 
 
 Biography 
 
 Collingwood. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By W. G. 
 
 Collingwood, M.A., Editor of Mr. Ruskin's Poems. With 
 
 numerous Portraits, and 13 Drawings by Mr. Ruskin. 2 vols. Svo. 
 
 32s. Second Edition. 
 ' No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time. . . .' — Times. 
 ' It is long since we have had a biography with such delights of substance and of 
 
 form. Such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.' — Daily 
 
 Chronicle. 
 'A noble monument of a noble subject. One of the most beautiful books about one 
 
 of the noblest lives of our century.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 Waldstein. JOHN RUSKIN : a Study. By Charles Wald- 
 STEIN, M.A., Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. With a Photo- 
 gravure Portrait after Professor Herkomer. Post 8vo. $s. 
 Also 25 copies on Japanese paper. Demy Svo. 21s. net. 
 
 'A thoughtful, impartial, well-written criticism of Ruskin's teaching, intended to 
 separate what the author regards as valuable and permanent from what is transient 
 and erroneous in the great master's writing.' — Daily Cln-onicle. 
 
 Kaufmann. CHARLES KINGSLEY. By M. Kaufmann, 
 M.A. Crown Svo. Buckram. $s. 
 A biography of Kingsley, especially dealing with his achievements in social reform. 
 ' The author has certainly gone about his work with conscientiousness and industry.' — 
 Sheffield Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Bobbins. THE EARLY LIFE OF WILLIAM EWART 
 GLADSTONE. By A. F. Robbins. With Portraits. Crown 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Considerable labour and much skill of presentation have not been unworthily 
 
 expended on this interesting work.' — Times. 
 'Not only one of the most meritorious, but one of the most interesting, biographical 
 works that have appeared on the subject of the ex-Premier. ... It furnishes a 
 picture from many points original and striking ; it makes additions of value to the 
 evidence on which we are entitled to estimate a great public character ; and it 
 gives the reader's judgment exactly that degree of guidance which is the function 
 of a calm, restrained, and judicious historian.' — Birmingham Daily Post. 
 
 Clark Russell. THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COL- 
 LINGWOOD. By W. Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreck 
 of the Grosvenor.' With Illustrations by F. Brangwvn. Second 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A really good book.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 ' A most excellent and wholesome book, which we should like to see in the hands of 
 every boy in the country.'— .S'/. James's Gazette.
 
 16 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Southey. ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, 
 Drake, Cavendish). By Robert Southey. Edited, with an 
 Introduction, by David Hannay. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 This is a reprint of some excellent biographies of Elizabethan seamen, written by 
 Southey and never republished. They are practically unknown, and they de- 
 serve, and will probably obtain, a wide popularity. 
 
 General Literature 
 
 Gladstone. THE SPEECHES AND PUBLIC ADDRESSES 
 OF THE RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P. With Notes 
 and Introductions. Edited by A. W. Hutton, M.A. (Librarian of 
 the Gladstone Library), and H. J. Cohen, M.A. With Portraits. 
 Svo. Vols. IX. and X. \2s. 6d. each. 
 
 Henley and Whibley. A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE. 
 
 Collected by W. E. Henley and Charles Whibley. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 Also 40 copies on Dutch paper. 21s. net. 
 Also 15 copies on Japanese paper. 42^. net. 
 'A unique volume of extracts — an art gallery of early prose.' — Birmingham Post. 
 'An admirable compaulj:: to Mr. Henley's "Lyra Heroica."' — Saturday Review. 
 ' Quite delightful. The choice made has been excellent, and the volume has been 
 most admirably printed by Messrs. Constable. A greater treat for those not well 
 acquainted with pre-Restoration prose could not be imagined.' — Athenceum. 
 
 Wells. OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of 
 the University. Edited by J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of 
 Wadham College. Crown Svo. "$s. 6d. 
 This work contains an account of life at Oxford — intellectual, social, and religious — 
 a careful estimate of necessary expenses, a review of recent changes, a statement 
 of the present position of the University, and chapters on Women's Education, 
 aids to study, and University Extension. 
 'We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account 
 of Oxford as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a 
 close acquaintance with the system and life of the University.' — Athcnceutn. 
 
 Ouida. VIEWS AND OPINIONS. By Ouida. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Her views are always well marked and forcibly expressed, so that even when you 
 most strongly differ from the writer you can always recognise and acknowledge 
 her ability.' — Globe. 
 
 ' Ouida is outspoken, and the reader of this book will not have a dull moment. The 
 book is full of variety, and sparkles with entertaining matter.' — Speaker. 
 
 Bowden. THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quota- 
 tions from Buddhist Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled 
 by E. M. Bowden. With Preface by Sir Edwin Arnold. Third 
 Edition. \6mo. 2s. 6d.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 17 
 
 Bushill. PROFIT SHARING AND THE LABOUR QUES- 
 TION. By T. W. Bushill, a Profit Sharing Employer. With an 
 Introduction by Sedley Taylor, Author of ' Profit Sharing between 
 Capital and Labour.' Crown Svo. zs. 6d. 
 
 Maiden. THE ENGLISH CITIZEN : His Rights and 
 Duties. By H. E. Malden, M.A. Crown Svo. is. 6d. 
 
 A simple account of the privileges and duties of the English citizen. 
 
 John Beever. PRACTICAL FLY-FISHING, Founded on 
 Nature, by John Beever, late of the Thwaite House, Coniston. A 
 New Edition, with a Memoir of the Author by W. G. Collingwood, 
 M.A. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 A little hook on Fly-Fishing by an old friend of Mr. Ruskin. 
 
 Science 
 
 Freudenreich. DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual 
 for the Use of Students in Dairy Schools, Cheesemakers, and 
 Farmers. By Dr. Ed. von Freudenreich. Translated from the 
 German by J. R. Ainsworth Davis, B.A. (Camb.), F.C.P., Pro- 
 fessor of Biology and Geology at University College, Aberystwyth. 
 Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Chalmers Mitchell. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P. 
 
 Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., F.Z.S. Fully Illustrated. Crown 
 
 Svo. 6s. 
 A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the Royal College of 
 Physicians and Surgeons. 
 
 Massee. A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By 
 
 George Massee. With 12 Coloured Plates. Royal Svo. iSs.net. 
 *A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this group of 
 organisms. It is indispensable to every student of the Myxogastres. The 
 coloured plates deserve high praise for their accuracy and execution.'— Nature. 
 
 Theology 
 
 Driver. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH 
 
 THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. R. Driver, D.D., Canon of 
 
 Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in the University of 
 
 Oxford. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 A welcome companion to the author's famous ' Introduction.' No man can read these 
 discourses without feeling that Dr. Driver is fully alive to the deeper teaching of 
 the Old Testament.'— Guardian.
 
 18 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Cheyne. FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM: 
 
 Biographical, Descriptive, and Critical Studies. By T. K. Cheyne, 
 D.D., Oriel Professor of the Interpretation of Holy Scripture at 
 Oxford. Large crown Svo. Js. 6d. 
 
 This important book is a historical sketch of O.T. Criticism in the form of biographi- 
 cal studies from the days of Eichhorn to those of Driver and Robertson Smith. 
 It is the only book of its kind in English. 
 ' A very learned and instructive work.' — Times. 
 
 Prior. CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C. H. Prior, 
 
 M. A., Fellow and Tutor of Pembroke College. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by various 
 
 preachers, including the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop Westcott. 
 ' A representative collection. Bishop Westcott's is a noble sermon.'— Guardian. 
 ' Full of thoughtfulness and dignity.' — Record. 
 
 Beeching. SERMONS TO SCHOOLBOYS. By H. C. 
 
 Beeching, M.A., Rector of Yattendon, Berks. With a Preface by 
 Canon Scott Holland. Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Seven sermons preached before the boys of Bradfield College. 
 
 Layard. RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the Reli- 
 gious Training of Boys. With a Preface by J. R. Illingworth. 
 By E. B. Layard, M.A. \Smo. is. 
 
 SDetoottonal B00&& 
 
 With Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas A Kempis. 
 With an Introduction by Archdeacon Farrar. Illustrated by 
 C. M. Gere, and printed in black and red. Fcap. Svo. y. 6d. 
 
 'We must draw attention to the antique style, quaintness, and typographical excel- 
 lence of the work, its red-letter "initials" and black letter type, and old-fashioned 
 paragraphic arrangement of pages. The antique paper, uncut edges, and illustra- 
 tions are in accord with the other features of this unique little work.' — Newsagent. 
 
 'Amongst all the innumerable English editions of the" Imitation," there can have 
 been few which were prettier than this one, printed in strong and handsome type 
 by Messrs. Constable, with all the glory of red initials, and the comfort of buckram 
 binding.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By JOHN KEBLE. With an Intro- 
 duction and Notes by W. LOCK, M.A., Sub- Warden of Keble 
 College, Author of 'The Life of John Keble.' Illustrated by R. 
 Anning Bell. Fcap. Svo. $s. [October.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 19 
 
 Leaders of Religion 
 
 Edited by H. C. BEECHING, M.A. With Portraits, crown Svo. 
 
 A series of short biographies of the most prominent leaders / /" 
 
 of religious life and thought of all ages and countries. O J l"j 
 
 The following are ready — \J\ 
 
 CARDINAL NEWMAN. By R. H. Hutton. 
 JOHN WESLEY. By J. H. Overton, M.A. 
 BISHOP WILBERFORCE. By G. W. Daniel, M.A. 
 CARDINAL MANNING. By A. W. Hutton, M.A. 
 CHARLES SIMEON. By H. C. G. Moule, M.A. 
 JOHN KEBLE. By Walter Lock, M.A. 
 THOMAS CHALMERS. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 LANCELOT ANDREWES. By R. L. Ottley, M.A. 
 AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY. By E. L. Cutts, D.D. 
 WILLIAM LAUD. By W. H. Hutton, M.A. 
 
 Other volumes will be announced in due course. 
 
 Works by S. Baring Gould 
 
 OLD COUNTRY LIFE. With Sixty-seven Illustrations by 
 W. Parkinson, F. D. Bedford, and F. Masey. Large Crown 
 8vo, cloth super extra, top edge gilt, \os. 6d. Fifth and Cheaper 
 Edition, 6s. 
 
 '"Old Country Life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and move- 
 ment, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be 
 published throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to thecore.' — World. 
 
 HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. Third 
 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The whole volume is delightful 
 reading. ' — Times. 
 
 FREAKS OF FANATICISM. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Mr. Baring Gould has a keen eye for colour and effect, and the subjects he has 
 chosen give ample scope to his descriptive and analytic faculties. A perfectly 
 fascinating book.' — Scottish Leader. 
 
 A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG : English Folk Songs 
 with their traditional melodies. Collected and arranged by S. 
 Baring Gould and H. Fleetwood Sheppard. Demy qto. 6s.
 
 20 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional Ballads and Songs of 
 the West of England, with their Traditional Melodies. Collected 
 by S. Baring Gould, M.A., and H. Fleetwood Sheppard, 
 M.A. Arranged for Voice and Piano. In 4 Parts (containing 25 
 Songs each), Parts I., II. , III., y. each. Part IV., $s. In one 
 Vol., French morocco, 155. 
 'A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S. Baring Gould. 
 With numerous illustrations and initial letters by Arthur J. Gaskin. 
 Crown Svo. Buckram. 6s. 
 
 ' Mr. Baring Gould has done a good deed, and is deserving of gratitude, in re-writ- 
 ing in honest, simple style the old stories that delighted the childhood of "our 
 fathers and grandfathers." We do not think he has omitted any of our favourite 
 stories, the stories that are commonly regarded as merely "old-fashioned." As 
 to the form of the book, and the printing, which is by Messrs. Constable, it were 
 difficult to commend overmuch.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. 
 
 Fourth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPERSTITIONS. With 
 
 Illustrations. By S. Baring Gould. Crown Svo. Second Edition. 
 
 6s. 
 ' We have read Mr. Baring Gould's book from beginningtoend. It is full of quaint 
 and various information, and there is not a dull page in it.' — Notes and Queries. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE CAESARS: The 
 
 Emperors of the Julian and Claudian Lines. With numerous Illus- 
 trations from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. By S. Baring Gould, 
 Author of 'Mehalah,' etc. Third Edition. RoyalSvo. \<,s. 
 ' A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying_ interest. The great 
 feature of the book is the use the author has made of the existing portraits of the 
 Caesars, and the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing with this 
 line of research. It is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are supplied on a 
 scale of profuse magnificence.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 ' The volumes will in no sense disappoint the general reader. Indeed, in their way, 
 there is nothing in any sense so good in English. . . . Mr. Baring Gould has 
 presented his narrative in such a way as not to make one dull page.'— Athcnaum. 
 
 THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE. By S. Baring 
 Gould. With numerous Illustrations by F. D. Bedford, S. 
 Hutton, etc. 2 vols. Demy Svo. 325. 
 This book is the first serious attempt to describe the great barren tableland that 
 extends to the south of Limousin in the Department of Aveyron, Lot, etc., a 
 country of dolomite cliffs, and canons, and subterranean rivers. The region is 
 full of prehistoric and historic interest, relics of cave-dwellers, of mediaeval 
 robbers, and of the English domination and the Hundred Years' War. 
 'His two richly-illustrated volumes are full of matter of interest to the geologist, 
 the archaeologist, and the student of history and manners.'— Scotsman. 
 It deals with its subject in a manner which rarely fails to arrest attention.'— Times.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 21 
 
 Fiction 
 
 SIX SHILLING NOVELS 
 
 Marie Corelli. BARABBAS : A DREAM OF THE WORLD'S 
 TRAGEDY. By Marie Corelli, Author of ' A Romance of Two 
 Worlds,' 'Vendetta,' etc. Seventeenth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 'The tender reverence of the treatment and the imaginative beauty of the writing 
 have reconciled us to the daring of the conception, and the conviction is forced on 
 us that even so exalted a subject cannot be made too familiar to us, provided it be 
 presented in the true spirit of Christian faith. The amplifications of the Scripture 
 narrative are often conceived with high poetic insight, and this " Dream of the 
 World's Tragedy " is, despite some trifling incongruities, a lofty and not inade- 
 quate paraphrase of the supreme climax of the inspired narrative.' — Dublin 
 Review. 
 
 Anthony Hope. THE GOD IN THE CAR. By Anthony 
 Hope, Author of 'A Change of Air,' etc. Sixth Edition. Crown 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Ruston is drawn with extraordinary skill, and Maggie Dennison with many subtle 
 strokes. The minor characters are clear cut. In short the book is a brilliant one. 
 "The God in the Car" is one of the most remarkable works in a year that has 
 given us the handiwork of nearly all our best living novelists.' — Standard. 
 
 ' A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit ; 
 brilliant, but not superficial ; well considered, but not elaborated ; constructed 
 with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by 
 readers to whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure ; true without cynicism, 
 subtle without affectation, humorous without strain, witty without offence, inevit- 
 ably sad, with an unmorose simplicity.' — The World. 
 
 Anthony Hope. A CHANGE OF AIR. By Anthony Hope, 
 
 Author of 'The Prisoner of Zenda,' etc. Second Edition. Crown 
 
 8vo. 6s. 
 *A graceful, vivacious comedy, true to human nature. The characters are traced 
 with a masterly hand.' — Times. 
 
 Anthony Hope. A MAN OF MARK. By Anthony Hope. 
 Author of 'The Prisoner of Zenda,' 'The God in the Car,' etc. 
 Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 'A bright, entertaining, unusually able book, quite worthy of its brilliant author.'— 
 
 Queen. 
 ' Of all Mr. Hope's books, " A Man of Mark " is the one which best compares with 
 " The Prisoner of Zenda." The two romances are unmistakably the work of the 
 same writer, and he possesses a style of narrative peculiarly seductive, piquant, 
 comprehensive, and — his own.' — National Observer. 
 
 Conan Doyle. ROUND THE RED LAMP. By A. Conan 
 Doyle, Author of ' The White Company,' ' The Adventures of Sher- 
 lock Holmes,' etc. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' The book is, indeed, composed of leaves from life, and is far and away the best 
 view that has been vouchsafed us behind the scenes of the consulting-room. It is 
 very superior to " The Diary of a late Physician." ' — Illustrated London News.
 
 22 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 ' Dr. Doyle wields a cunning pen, as all the world now knows. His deft touch is 
 seen to perfection in these short sketches — these "facts and fancies of medical 
 life," as he calls them. Every page reveals the literary artist, the keen observer, 
 the trained delineator of human nature, its weal and its woe.' — Freeman s Journal. 
 
 ' These tales are skilful, attractive, and eminently suited to give relief to the mind 
 of a reader in quest of distraction.' — Athenceum. 
 
 Stanley Weyman. UNDER THE RED ROBE. By Stanley 
 
 Weyman, Author of ' A Gentleman of France.' With Twelve Illus- 
 trations by R. Caton Woodville. Seventh Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 A cheaper edition of a book which won instant popularity. No unfavourable review 
 occurred, and most critics spoke in terms of enthusiastic admiration. The 'West- 
 minster Gazette ' called it ' a book of which we kave read every word for the sheer 
 pleasure of reading, and which we put down with a pang that we cannot forget 
 it all and start again.' The ' Daily Chronicle' said that 'every one who reads 
 books at all must read this thrilling romance, from the first page of which to the 
 last the breathless reader is haled along.' It also called the book ' an inspiration 
 of manliness and courage.' The 'Globe' called it ' a delightful tale of chivalry 
 and adventure, vivid and dramatic, with a wholesome modesty and reverence 
 for the highest.' 
 
 Emily Lawless. MAELCHO : a Sixteenth Century Romance. 
 By the Hon. Emily Lawless, Author of 'Grania,' 'Hurrish,' etc. 
 Second Edition. Crown %vo. 6s, 
 
 'A striking and delightful book. A task something akin to Scott's may lie before 
 Miss Lawless. If she carries forward this series of historical pictures with the 
 same brilliancy and truth she has already shown, and with the increasing self- 
 control one may expect from the genuine artist, she may do more for her country 
 than many a politician. Throughout this fascinating book, Miss Lawless has 
 produced something which is not strictly history and is not strictly fiction, but 
 nevertheless possesses both imaginative value and historical insight in a high 
 degree.' — Times. 
 
 ' A really great book.' — Spectator. 
 
 ' There is no keener pleasure in life than the recognition of genius. Good work is 
 commoner than it used to be, but the best is as rare as ever. All the more 
 gladly, therefore, do we welcome in " Maelcho " a piece of work of the first order, 
 which we do not hesitate to describe as one of the most remarkable literary 
 achievements of this generation. Miss Lawless is possessed of the very essence 
 of historical genius.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 E. F. Benson. DODO : A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F. 
 
 Benson. Crown 8vo. Sixteenth Edition. 6s. 
 
 A story of society which attracted by its brilliance universal attention. The best 
 critics were cordial in their praise. The ' Guardian ' spoke of ' Dodo ' as ' un- 
 usually clever and interesting' ; the_ 'Spectator' called it 'a delightfully witty 
 sketch of society ;' the 'Speaker' said the dialogue was 'a perpetual feast of 
 epigram and pa?-adox' ; the 'Athenaeum' spoke of the author as ' a writer 
 of quite exceptional ability ' ; the ' Academy ' praised his ' amazing cleverness ; ' 
 the 'World' said the book was ' brilliantly written'; and half-a-dozen papers 
 declared there was ' not a dtill page in the book.' 
 
 E. F. Benson. THE RUBICON. By E. F. Benson, Author of 
 ' Dodo.' Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 Of Mr. Benson's second novel the 'Birmingham Post' says it is 'well written, 
 stimulating, unconventional, and, in a word, characteristic ' : the ' National 
 Observer congratulates Mr. Benson upon 'an exceptional achievement,' and 
 calls the 'book ' a notable advance on his previous work.'
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 23 
 
 M. M. Dowie. GALLIA. By Menie Muriel Dowie. Author 
 of 'A Girl in the Carpathians.' Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ' The style is generally admirable, the dialogue not seldom brilliant, the situations 
 surprising in their freshness and originality, while the subsidiary as well as the 
 principal characters live and move, and the story itself is readable from title-page 
 to colophon.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 'A very notable book; a very sympathetically, at times delightfully written book.' 
 — Daily Graphic. 
 
 MR. BARING GOULD'S NOVELS 
 
 ' To say that a book is by the author of " Mehalah " is to imply that it contains a 
 story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic possibilities, vivid and sympathetic 
 descriptions of Nature, and a wealth of ingenious imagery.' — Speaker. 
 
 'That whatever Mr. Baring Gould writes is well worth reading, is a conclusion that 
 may be very generally accepted. His views of life are fresh and vigorous, his 
 language pointed and characteristic, the incidents of which he makes use are 
 striking and original, his characters are life-like, and though somewhat excep- 
 tional people, are drawn and coloured with artistic force. Add to this that his 
 descriptions of scenes and scenery are painted with the loving eyes and skilled 
 hands of a master of his art, that he is always fresh and never dull, and under 
 such conditions it is no wonder that readers have gained confidence both in his 
 power of amusing and satisfying them, and that year by year his popularity 
 widens.' — Court Circular. 
 
 Baring Gould. URITH : A Story of Dartmoor. By S. Baring 
 Gould. Third Edition. Crown Zvo. 6s. 
 ' The author is at his best.' — Times. 
 ' He has nearly reached the high water-mark of " Mehalah." ' — National Observer. 
 
 Baring Gould. IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA: A Tale of 
 the Cornish Coast. By S. Baring Gould. Fifth Edition. 6s. 
 
 Baring Gould. MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. 
 
 By S. Baring Gould. Fourth Edition. 6s. 
 
 A story of Devon life. The ' Graphic ' speaks of it as ' a novel ofivigorous humour and 
 sustained power' ; the ' Sussex Daily News ' says that ' the siuingoftlte narrative 
 is splendid' ; and the ' Speaker' mentions its ' bright imaginative power.' 
 
 Baring Gould. CHEAP JACK ZITA. By S. Baring Gould. 
 
 Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 A Romance of the Ely Fen District in 1S15, which the 'Westminster Gazette' calls 
 ' a powe?-/ul drama 0/ human passion' ; and the ' National Observer' ' a story 
 worthy the author.' 
 
 Baring Gould. THE QUEEN OF LOVE. By S. Baring 
 
 Gould. Thi?-d Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 The ' Glasgow Herald ' says that ' the scenery is admirable, and the dramatic inci- 
 dents are most striking.' The 'Westminster Gazette' calls the book 'strong, 
 interesting, and clever.' ' Punch ' says that 'you cannot put it down until you 
 have finished it.' ' The Sussex Daily News ' says that it ' can be heartily recom- 
 mended to all who care for cleanly, energetic, and interesting fiction.'
 
 24 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Baring Gould. KITTY ALONE. By S. Baring Gould, 
 
 Author of 'Mehalah,' 'Cheap Jack Zita,' etc. Fourth Edition. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' A strong and original story, teeming with graphic description, stirring incident, 
 
 and, above all, with vivid and enthralling human interest.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 ' Brisk, clever, keen, healthy, humorous, and interesting.' — National Observer. 
 ' Full of quaint and delightful studies of character.' — Bristol Mercury. 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant. SIR ROBERT'S FORTUNE. By Mrs. 
 Oliphant. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' Full of her own peculiar charm of style and simple, subtle character-painting comes 
 her new gift, the delightful story before us. The scene mostly lies in the moors, 
 and at the touch of the authoress a Scotch moor becomes a living thing, strong, 
 tender, beautiful, and changeful. The book will take rank among the best of 
 Mrs. Oliphant's good stories.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 W.E. Norris. MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. Norris, Author 
 of ' Mademoiselle de Mersac,' etc. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ' "Matthew Austin" may safely be pronounced one of the most intellectually satis- 
 factory and morally bracing novels of the current year.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 ' Mr. W. E. Norris is always happy in his delineation of every-day experiences, but 
 rarely has he been brighter or breezier than in " Matthew Austin." The pictures 
 are in Mr. Norris's pleasantest vein, while running through the entire story is a 
 felicity of style and wholesomeness of tone which one is accustomed to find in the 
 novels of this favourite author.' — Scotsman. 
 
 W. E. Norris. HIS GRACE. By W. E. Norris, Author of 
 'Mademoiselle de Mersac' Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' Mr. Norris has drawn a really fine character in the Duke of Hurstbourne, at once 
 unconventional and very true to the conventionalities of life, weak and strong in 
 a breath, capable of inane follies and heroic decisions, yet not so definitely por- 
 trayed as to relieve a reader of the necessity of study on his own behalf.' — 
 A then&um. 
 
 W. E. Norris. THE DESPOTIC LADY AND OTHERS. 
 By W. E. Norris, Author of 'Mademoiselle de Mersac' Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 'A delightfully humorous tale of a converted and rehabilitated rope-dancer.' — 
 Glasgow Herald. 
 
 ' The ingenuity of the idea, the skill with which it is worked out, and the sustained 
 humour of its situations, make it after its own manner a veritable little master- 
 piece.' — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 1 A budget of good fiction of which no one will tire.' — Scotsman. 
 
 'An extremely entertaining volume— the sprightliest of holiday companions.' — 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Gilbert Parker. MRS. FALCHION. By Gilbert Parker, 
 Author of ' Pierre and His People.' Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 Mr. Parker's second book has received a warm welcome. The ' Athenaeum ' called 
 it ' a splendid study of character' ; the ' Pall Mall Gazette ' spoke of the writing as 
 ' but little behind anything that has been done by any writer of our time ' ; the 
 ' St. James's ' called it ' a very striking and admirable novel' ; and the ' West- 
 minster Gazette ' applied to it the epithet of ' distinguished.' 
 
 Gilbert Parker. PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. By Gilbert 
 Parker. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' Stories happily conceived and finely executed. There is strength and genius in Mr. 
 Parker's style.'— Daily Telegraph.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 25 
 
 Gilbert Parker. THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. By 
 
 Gilbert Parker, Author of 'Pierre and His People,' 'Mrs. 
 Falchion, ' etc. Crown &vo. 6s. 
 
 'The plot is original and one difficult to work out ; but Mr. Parkerhasdone it with 
 great skill and delicacy. The reader who is not interested in this original, fresh, 
 and well-told tale must be a dull person indeed.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 'A strong and successful piece of workmanship. The portrait of Lali, strong, digni- 
 fied, and pure, is exceptionally well drawn.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 'A very pretty and interesting story, and Mr. Parker tells it with much skill. The 
 story is one to be read.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 Gilbert Parker. THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. By Gilbert 
 Parker, Author of 'Pierre and his People,' etc. Third Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 'Everybody with a soul for romance will thoroughly enjoy "The Trail of the 
 Sword." ' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ' A rousing and dramatic tale. A book like this, in which swords flash, great sur- 
 prises are undertaken, and daring deeds done, in which men and women live and 
 love in the old straightforward passionate way, is a joy inexpressible to the re- 
 viewer, brain-weary of the domestic tragedies and psychological puzzles of every- 
 day fiction ; and we cannot but believe that to the reader it will bring refreshment 
 as welcome and as keen.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 Gilbert Parker. WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC : 
 The Story of a Lost Napoleon. By Gilbert Parker. Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' Here we find romance — real, breathing, living romance, but it runs flush with our 
 own times, level with our own feelings. Not here can we complain of lack of 
 inevitableness or homogeneity. The character of Valmond is drawn unerringly ; 
 his career, brief as it is, is placed before us as convincingly as history itself. The 
 book must be read, we may say re-read, for any one thoroughly to appreciate 
 Mr. Parker's delicate touch and innate sympathy with humanity.' — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Arthur Morrison. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. By Arthur 
 
 Morrison. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ' Told with consummate art and extraordinary detail. He tells a plain, unvarnished 
 tale, and the very truth of it makes for beauty. In the true humanity of the book 
 lies its justification, the permanence of its interest, and its indubitable triumph.' — 
 A then&um. 
 
 'A great book. The author's method is amazingly effective, and produces a thrilling 
 sense of reality. The writer lays upon us a master hand. The book is simply 
 appalling and irresistible in its interest. It is humorous also ; without humour 
 it would not make the mark it is certain to make.' — World. 
 
 Julian Corbett. A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS. By 
 
 Julian Corbett, Author of ' For God and Gold,' • Kophetua 
 XHIth.,' etc. Croivn %vo. 6s. 
 
 'There is plenty of incident and movement in this romance. It is interesting as a 
 novel framed in an historical setting, and it is all the more worthy of attention 
 from the lover of romance as being absolutely free from the morbid, the frivolous, 
 and the ultra-sexual. — Athcnccum. 
 
 • A stirring tale of naval adventure during the Great French War. The book is full 
 of picturesque and attractive characters.' — Glasgoiv Herald.
 
 26 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Robert Barr. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Robert 
 
 Barr, Author of ' From Whose Bourne,' etc. Second Edition. 
 
 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A book which has abundantly satisfied us by its capital humour.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 ' Mr. Barr has achieved a triumph whereof he has every reason to be proud.' — Pall 
 
 Mall Gazette. 
 'There is a quaint thought or a good joke on nearly every page. The studies of 
 
 character are carefully finished, and linger in the memory.' — Black and White. 
 ' Distinguished for kindly feeling, genuine humour, and really graphic portraiture.' 
 
 — Sussex Daily News. 
 'A delightful romance, with experiences strange and exciting. The dialogue is 
 
 always bright and witty ; the scenes are depicted briefly and effectively ; and 
 
 there is no incident from first to last that one would wish to have omitted.' — 
 
 Scotsman. 
 
 Mrs. Pinsent. CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD. By Ellen 
 F. Pinsent, Author of ' Jenny's Case.' Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' There is much clever writing in this book. The story is told in a workmanlike 
 manner, and the characters conduct themselves like average human beings.' — 
 Daily News. 
 
 ' Full of interest, and, with a large measure of present excellence, gives ample pro- 
 mise of splendid work.' — Birmingham Gazette. 
 
 ' Mrs. Pinsent's new novel has plenty of vigour, variety, and good writing. There 
 are certainty of purpose, strength of touch, and clearness of vision.' — Atkenceum. 
 
 Clark Russell. MY DANISH SWEETHEART. By W. 
 Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreck of the Grosvenor,' etc. 
 Illustrated. Third Edition. Croivn Svo. 6s. 
 
 Pryce. TIME AND THE WOMAN. By Richard Pryce, 
 
 Author of ( Miss Maxwell's Affections,' 'The Quiet Mrs. Fleming,' 
 etc. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' Mr. Pryce's work recalls the style of Octave Feuillet, by its clearness, conciseness, 
 its literary reserve.' — Athenauni. 
 
 Mrs. Watson. THIS MAN'S DOMINION. By the Author 
 
 of ' A High Little World.' Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' It is not a book to be read and forgotten on a railway journey, but it is rather a 
 study of the perplexing problems of life, to which the reflecting mind will 
 frequently return, even though the reader does not accept the solutions which the 
 author suggests. In these days, when the output of merely amusing novels is so 
 overpowering, this is no slight praise. There is an underlying depth in the story 
 which reminds one, in a lesser degree, of the profundity of George Eliot, and 
 " This Man's Dominion " is by no means a novel to be thrust aside as exhausted at 
 one perusal.' — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 Marriott Watson. DIOGENES OF LONDON and other 
 Sketches. By H. B. Marriott Watson, Author of 'The Web 
 of the Spider.' Crown Svo. Buckram. 6s. 
 ' By all those who delight in the uses of words, who rate the exercise of prose above 
 the exercise of verse, who rejoice in all proofs of its delicacy and its strength, who 
 believe that English prose is chief among the moulds of thought, by these 
 Mr. Marriott Watson's book will be welcomed.'— National Observer.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 27 
 
 Gilchrist. THE STONE DRAGON. By Murray Gilchrist. 
 Crown Svo. Buckram. 6s. 
 ' The author's faults are atoned for by certain positive and admirable merits. The 
 romances have not their counterpart in modern literature, and to read them is a 
 unique experience.' — National Observer. 
 
 THREE-AND-SIXPENNY NOVELS 
 
 Edna Lyall. DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. By 
 Edna Lyall, Author of 'Donovan,' etc. Forty -first Thousand. 
 Crown Svo. ^s. 6d. 
 
 Baring Gould. ARM I NELL : A Social Romance. By S. 
 Baring Gould. New Edition. Crown Svo. 3-f. 6d. 
 
 Baring Gould. MARGERY OF QUETHER, and other Stories. 
 By S. Baring Gould. Crown Svo. y. 6d. 
 
 Baring Gould. JACQUETTA, and other Stories. By S. Baring 
 Gould. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Miss Benson. SUBJECT TO VANITY. By Margaret 
 Benson. With numerous Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 
 Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 ' A charming little book about household pets by a daughter of the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury.' — Speaker. 
 
 'A delightful collection of studies of animal natu-e. It is very seldom that we get 
 anything so perfect in its kind. . . . The illustrations are clever, and the whole 
 book a singularly delightful one.' — Guardian. 
 
 ' Humorous and sentimental by turns, Miss Benson always manages to interest us 
 in her pets, and all who love animals will appreciate her book, not only for their 
 sake, but quite as much for its own.' — Tunes. 
 
 ' All lovers of animals should read Miss Benson's book. For sympathetic under- 
 standing, humorous criticism, and appreciative observation she certainly has not 
 her equal.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 Gray. ELSA. A Novel. By E. M'Queen Gray. Crown Svo. 
 3 s. &/. 
 
 ' A charming novel. The characters are not only powerful sketches, but minutely 
 and carefully finished portraits.' — Guardian. 
 
 J. H. Pearce. JACO TRELOAR. By J. H. Pearce, Author of 
 'Esther Pentreath.' New Edition. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 The 'Spectator' speaks of Mr. Pearce as ' awriter of exceptional power'; the 'Daily 
 Telegraph' calls the book 'powerful and picturesque' ', the ' Birmingham Post' 
 asserts that it is 'a novel of high quality.' 
 
 X. L. AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL, and Other Stories. 
 By X. L. Crown Svo. 35. 6d. 
 
 ' Distinctly original and in the highest degree imaginative. The conception is almost 
 as lofty as Milton's.' — Spectator. 
 
 ' Original to a degree of originality that may be called primitive — a kind of passion- 
 ate directness that absolutely absorbs us.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 ' Of powerful interest. There is something startlingly original in the treatment of the 
 themes. The terrible realism leaves no doubt of the author's power.' — Athcnieunt.
 
 28 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 O'Grady. THE COMING OF CUCULAIN. A Romance of 
 the Heroic Age of Ireland. By Standish O'Grady, Author of 
 'Finn and his Companions,' etc. Illustrated by Murray Smith. 
 Crown Svo. $s. 6d. 
 
 ' The suggestions of mystery, the rapid and exciting action, are superb poetic effects.' 
 — Speaker. 
 
 ' For light and colour it resembles nothing so much as a Swiss dawn.' — Manchester 
 Guardian. 
 
 'A romance extremely fascinating and admirably well knit.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 Constance Smith. A CUMBERER OF THE GROUND. 
 By Constance Smith, Author of ' The Repentance of Paul Went- 
 worth,' etc. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Author of 'Vera.' THE DANCE OF THE HOURS. By 
 
 the Author of * Vera.' Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Esme Stuart. A WOMAN OF FORTY. By Esme Stuart, 
 Author of 'Muriel's Marriage,' 'Virginia's Husband,' etc. New 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 'The story is well written, and some of the scenes show great dramatic power.' — 
 Daily Chronicle. 
 
 Fenn. THE STAR GAZERS. By G. Manville Fenn, 
 Author of ' Eli's Children,' etc. New Edition, Cr. Svo. 35. 6d. 
 'A stirring romance.' — Western Morning News. 
 
 ' Told with all the dramatic power for which Mr. Fenn is conspicuous.' — Bradford 
 Observer. 
 
 Dickinson. A VICAR'S WIFE. By Evelyn Dickinson. 
 
 Crown Svo. 35. 6d. 
 
 Prowse. THE POISON OF ASPS. By R. Orton Prowse. 
 
 Crown Svo. y. 6d. 
 
 Grey. THE STORY OF CHRIS. By Rowland Grey. 
 
 Crown Svo. $s. 
 
 Lynn Linton. THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVID- 
 SON, Christian and Communist. By E. Lynn Linton. Eleventh 
 Edition. Post Svo. is. 
 
 HALF-CROWN NOVEL8 
 
 A Series of Novels by popular Authors. 
 
 2/6 
 
 i. THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 2. DISENCHANTMENT. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 3. MR. BUTLER'S WARD. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 4. HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 5. ELI'S CHILDREN. By G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 6. A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 7. DISARMED. By M. Betham Edwards.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 29 
 
 8. A LOST ILLUSION. By Leslie Keith. 
 
 9. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 10. IN TENT AND BUNGALOW. By the Author of 'Indian 
 
 Idylls.' 
 
 11. MY STEWARDSHIP. By E. M'Queen Gray. 
 
 12. A REVEREND GENTLEMAN. By J. M. Cobban. 
 
 13. A DEPLORABLE AFFAIR. By W. E. Norris. 
 
 14. JACK'S FATHER. By W. E. Norris. 
 
 15. A CAVALIER'S LADYE. By Mrs. Dicker. 
 
 16. JIM B. 
 
 3/6 
 
 Books for Boys and Girls 
 
 A Series of Books by well-known Authors, well illustrated. 
 Crown 8vo. 
 
 i. THE ICELANDER'S SWORD. By S. Baring Gould. 
 
 2. TWO LITTLE CHILDREN AND CHING. By Edith 
 
 E. CUTHELL. 
 
 3. TODDLEBEN'S HERO. By M. M. Blake. 
 
 4. ONLY A GUARD-ROOM DOG. By Edith E. Cuthell. 
 
 5. THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. By Harry Colling- 
 
 WOOD. 
 
 6. MASTER ROCKAFELLAR'S VOYAGE. By W. Clark 
 
 Russell. 
 
 7. SYD BELTON : Or, The Boy who would not go to Sea. 
 
 By G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 The Peacock Library 
 
 A Series of Books for Girls by well-known Authors, \S 
 
 handsomely bound in blue and silver, and well illustrated. ^ / f~) 
 Crown 8vo. *J \ 
 
 1. A PINCH OF EXPERIENCE. By L. B. Walford. 
 
 2. THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 3. THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By the 
 
 Author of ' Mdle Mori.' 
 
 4. DUMPS. By Mrs. Parr, Author of 'Adam and Eve.' 
 
 5. OUT OF THE FASHION. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 6. A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 7. HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. Meade, -zs. 6d. 
 
 8. THE HONOURABLE MISS. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 9. MY LAND OF BEULAH. By Mrs. Leith Adam?
 
 30 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 University Extension Series 
 
 A series of books on historical, literary, and scientific subjects, suitable 
 for extension students and home reading circles. Each volume is com- 
 plete in itself, and the subjects are treated by competent writers in a 
 broad and philosophic spirit. 
 
 Edited by J. E. SYMES, M.A., 
 
 Principal of University College, Nottingham. 
 
 Crown 8vo. Price {with some exceptions) zs. 6d. 
 
 The following volumes are ready : — 
 
 THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By H. DE 
 
 B. Gibbins, M.A., late Scholar of Wadham College, Oxon., Cobden 
 Prizeman. Fourth Edition. With Maps and Plans, y. 
 'A compact and clear story of our industrial development. A study of this concise 
 but luminous book cannot fail to give the reader a clear insight into the principal 
 phenomena of our industrial history. The editor and publishers are to be congrat- 
 ulated on this first volume of their venture, and we shall look with expectant 
 interest for the succeeding volumes of the series. — University Extension Journal. 
 
 A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POLITICAL ECONOMY. By 
 L. L. Price, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxon. 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial 
 Conditions of the Poor. By J. A. Hobson, M.A. Second Edition. 
 
 VICTORIAN POETS. By A. Sharp. 
 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. E. Symes, M.A. 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. By F. S. Granger, M.A., Lecturer in Philo- 
 sophy at University College, Nottingham. 
 
 THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT LIFE: Lower Forms. By 
 
 G. Massee, Kew Gardens. With Illustrations. 
 
 AIR AND WATER. Professor V. B. Lewes, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. By C. W. 
 
 Kimmins, M.A. Camb. Illustrated. 
 
 THE MECHANICS OF DAILY LIFE. By V. P. Sells, M.A. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. H. de B. Gibbins, M.A. 
 
 ENGLISH TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE SEVEN- 
 TEENTH CENTURY. By W. A. S. Hewins, B.A. 
 
 THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. The Elementary Principles of 
 Chemistry. By M. M. Pattison Muir, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 A TEXT-BOOK OF AGRICULTURAL BOTANY. By M. C. 
 Potter, M.A., F.L.S. Illustrated. $s. 6d.
 
 Messrs. Methuen's List 31 
 
 THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popular Introduction to 
 Astronomy. By R. A. Gregory. With numerous Illustrations. 
 
 METEOROLOGY. The Elements of Weather and Climate. 
 By H. N. Dickson, F.R.S.E., F.R. Met. Soc. Illustrated. 
 
 A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By GEORGE 
 J. Burch, M.A. With numerous Illustrations. 35. 
 
 THE EARTH. An Introduction to Physiography. By Evan 
 Small, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 INSECT LIFE. By F. W. Theobald, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO BROWNING. By 
 
 W. M. Dixon, M.A. 
 ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT. By E Jenks, M.A., 
 
 Professor of Law at University College, Liverpool. 
 
 Social Questions of To-day 
 
 Edited by H. de B. GIBBINS, M.A. 
 
 Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. ~ \r\ 
 
 A series of volumes upon those topics of social, economic, ** \ >-/ 
 and industrial interest that are at the present moment fore- ' 
 
 most in the public mind. Each volume of the series is written by an 
 author who is an acknowledged authority upon the subject with which 
 he deals. 
 
 The following Volumes of the Series are ready : — 
 TRADE UNIONISM— NEW AND OLD. By G. Howell, 
 Author of ' The Conflicts of Capital and Labour.' Second Edition. 
 
 THE CO-OPERATIVE MOVEMENT TO-DAY. By G. J. 
 
 Holyoake, Author of ' The History of Co-operation.' 
 
 MUTUAL THRIFT. By Rev. J. Frome Wilkinson, M.A., 
 
 Author of ' The Friendly Society Movement.' 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial 
 
 Conditions of the Poor. By J. A. Hobson, M.A. Second Edition. 
 THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. By C. F. Bastable, 
 
 M.A., Professor of Economics at Trinity College, Dublin. 
 
 THE ALIEN INVASION. By W. H. WlLKlNS, B.A., Secretary 
 
 to the Society for Preventing the Immigration of Destitute Aliens. 
 
 THE RURAL EXODUS. By P. Anderson Graham. 
 LAND NATIONALIZATION. By Harold Cox, B.A. 
 
 A SHORTER WORKING DAY. By H. de B. GlBBlNS 
 
 and R. A. Hadfield, of the Hecla Works, Sheffield.
 
 32 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 BACK TO THE LAND : An Inquiry into the Cure for Rural 
 
 Depopulation. By H. E. Moore. 
 TRUSTS, POOLS AND CORNERS : As affecting Commerce 
 
 and Industry. By J. Stephen Jeans, M.R.I., F.S.S. 
 THE FACTORY SYSTEM. By R. Cooke Taylor. 
 THE STATE AND ITS CHILDREN. By Gertrude 
 
 TUCKWELL. 
 
 WOMEN'S WORK. By Lady Dilke, Miss Bulley, and 
 
 Miss Whitley. 
 MUNICIPALITIES AT WORK. The Municipal Policy of 
 
 Six Great Towns, and its Influence on their Social Welfare. 
 
 By Frederick Dolman. With an Introduction by Sir John 
 
 Hutton, late Chairman of the London County Council. Crown Svo. 
 
 Cloth. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Classical Translations 
 
 Edited by H. F. FOX, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose 
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 Messrs. Methuen propose to issue a New Series of Translations from 
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 Croivn 8vo. Finely printed and bound in blue buckram. 
 
 CICERO— De Oratore I. Translated by E. N. P. Moor, M.A., 
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 /ESCHYLUS — Agamemnon, Choephoroe, Eumenides. Trans- 
 lated by Lewis Campbell, LL.D., late Professor of Greek at St. 
 Andrews. $s. 
 
 LUCIAN — Six Dialogues (Nigrinus, Icaro-Menippus, The Cock, 
 The Ship, The Parasite, The Lover of Falsehood). Translated by 
 S. T. Irwin, M.A., Assistant Master at Clifton; late Scholar of 
 Exeter College, Oxford. 3*. 6d. 
 
 SOPHOCLES— Electra and Ajax. Translated by E. D. A. 
 Morshead, M.A., late Scholar of New College, Oxford ; Assistant 
 Master at Winchester. 2s. 6d. 
 
 TACITUS— Agricola and Germania. Translated by R. B. 
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 CICERO— Select Orations (Pro Milone, Pro Murena, Philippic II., 
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 and Tutor of Trinity College, Oxford. 5s.
 

 
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